The Assigned (4 page)

“What took you so long, daddy?” Christina whispers.

“Huh?” I mumble. Distracted by emotion, I barely make sense of her words. “Oh you know those doctors,” I regroup. “They love to talk to Daddy.”

“What do you talk about?” my delicate child murmurs. “About me?”

I make an effort to perk up. This is
not
about me in the least bit. I do my best to smile as I approach the bed. “About you, about birds, about trees, about …
monsters
.”

She slightly turns her head. “Monsters? Uhh unnn.”

Kneeling beside the bed, I softly rub my nose against Christina’s. “Uh
hunn
.” It takes every ounce of energy in my being to hide the anguish that brews inside.

“Uh unnn”

“Uh hunn”

Alicia smiles as Christina and I go back and forth.

“You guys having fun?” says a voice from the door.

The smile I once entertained leaves. “Can I help you,
Chap
?”

Standing at the door is a man dressed in faded blue jeans, slightly worn white tennis shoes, and a speckled blue blazer. Modern bifocals protrude over his nose. He wears a black buttoned-down shirt with a white circular collar. Slight blemishes in his coffee skin tone bear signs of a middle-aged man. His coarse hair has already begun to recede.

“And how’s my little Chrissy?” he asks, seemingly ignoring my question.

“Hey
Chappy Brynint
,” says Christina, her front two teeth missing as she smiles. I hate to admit it but her face lights up at the sight of this man.

“Ok, Chap,” I grunt. “You said your hellos, thanks for stopping—”

Alicia cuts me off. “Zeek stop it. I asked him to come.” Her tone softens as she addresses our company. “I’m sorry Chaplain Bryant.”

“Oh no problem at all,” he says before glancing my direction. “I’m glad to see you’re doing as well as
usual
, Mr. Myers.”

Like him, I ignore the comment as I move closer to the door. I don’t care for the Chaplain’s visits, but Alicia requests his presence and Christina seems to enjoy the man.

“
Chappy Brynint
?” She could never get his name quite right. “Say the
brayer
with me, please.” Matter of fact, there were several words she hasn’t quite mastered.

“Sure sweetie,” he answers. “You wanna join us Alicia?”

“But of course.” Alicia moves to the other side of the bed. They each clutch one of Christina’s small hands.

“Think we should let your dad join us?” he asks.

“Uh huh,” Christina nods.

“You go ahead sweetie. I’ll watch,” are the words that pour from my mouth although my face says more.

“Ok suit yourself. On a count of three. 1 … 2 …”

The three join in a synchronized prayer.
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.”

I’m sure my face has deepened in color by now. The only thing that keeps me from berating this hospital preacher man is the fact I don’t wanna upset my daughter.

I throw the chaplain a curt glance letting him know it’s time to end his visit.

“I’ll try to stop by tomorrow, little Chrissy. I’ll say a prayer for your father too,” he smiles as he winks. Christina almost seems to blush. He hugs Alicia before I ask to see him outside. I don’t understand why he has this effect on them.

In the hallway, I’m ready to give the reverend an earful. I could care less about his white collar. To me, anything or anyone that represents a god is just as fake as the smiles people give me around the hospital. This so-called chaplain just takes advantage of families in their time of sorrow. With the door firmly closed, I begin my rampage.

“Look, I don’t care who you are. Stay away from—”

“Mr. Myers, are you a man of faith?” the chaplain interrupts.

Part of me wants to ignore the chaplain’s question and continue with my storm of words but something compels me to answer. This may be the perfect segue to really tell him what I think of all this
‘god’
mumbo-jumbo. I look him straight in the eye.

“If you’re asking if I believe in some jolly, white bearded dude that sits in the sky determining who lives or dies, the answer is no.”

“That’s unusual, Mr. Myers. Especially considering your daughter is so full of faith.”

“She’s a child easily influenced and as a matter of fact, I don’t appreciate you filling her head with this junk. Especially while she lies there …” Tears beg for permission but I deny their request. “… dying.”

“Mr. Myers, I don’t believe in an old white-haired guy that sits in the sky picking people off at random. I believe in God. A God that is kind, loving—”

“Loving?” I counter. “What kind of
god
lets an innocent five-year-old die?

“I don’t know God’s reasons for everything,” says the chaplain. “And frankly who am I to question God? But I do know—”

“That’s just what I thought
preacher man
. You don’t know anything. Me and my daughter are doing just fine without you or your god.”

I turn my back on Chaplain Bryant as I head towards the room. He calls for me but I refuse. The chaplain tries again, this time almost shouting. “Mr. Myers! Please!”

I stop for a moment, my back still turned.

“Mr. Myers, your daughter lies in that room fighting for her life. I’ve prayed for her and with her, but sometimes God wants to see what are you going to do for yourself before He intervenes. Please, pray for your daughter. What do you have to lose? If I’m wrong, oh well, life as usual. But just imagine for one moment that I’m right. Think about it, sir. Don’t let the past destroy your faith. Make the first step. God will do the rest. Do it for your daughter, Mr. Myers.”

I turn towards Chaplain Bryant, making sure he hears and understands every word I’m about to say. “Your services are no longer needed …
preacher man
,” I spew before slamming the door.

“Why did you do that Zeek?” Alicia frowns. She’s been listening. “We need all the prayers we can get!”

“Prayers?!” I nearly growl. “Alicia, god has nothing to do with this! There is no—” I glance towards Christina. Our voices have risen quite a bit and neither of us wants to do anything to upset her, regardless of the topic. We continue, more subdued. “There is no god,” I say. “What kind of god would let a five year-old suffer like this, hunh? First Angel, and now Chrissy? Where’s god in that?”

“You can’t keep blaming God for what happened five years ago,” she says taking my hand. “Or yourself for that matter.”

Not wanting to have that conversation, I turn away, but Alicia continues. “Look, I’m a wreck too, but I’ve gotta have faith in
something
. I mean with my sister and now my niece? I’d be crazy by now.”

She steps in front of me, her hand stretched towards Christina’s bed. “You have a beautiful little girl lying there. At least have faith in
her
. We can agree on that, right?”

I try to look away but Alicia won’t let it go. “Right?”

I give in, finally smiling. “You just don’t quit, do ya lil sis.”

“Nope,” she smiles.

-----------T H E A S S I G N E D-----------

Dusk falls fast over the Memphis skyline. The drinks fall fast as well, the lights now dimmed at Round One, giving the spot a more club-like atmosphere.
Now this is more like it
, I observe after returning from the bathroom. Attractive young women adorn the bar like beautiful decorations. I turn on my million dollar smile as easily as the flick of a light switch. Most return the favor. Slightly buzzed, I select my latest acquisition. It’s much easier being Tre “TNT” Turner when I’ve downed a few.

“Hey Lou,” I say, getting the bartenders attention. “Tell the one in that low-cut yellow top …” Lou points the woman out sitting on the other side of the bar.

“… yeah her. Let her know, drinks on me.”

“Gotcha, TNT.”

Lou walks over to relay the message. The co-ed grins as she looks my way. Freckles are barely noticeable under her machine-tanned skin. Her long blonde hair hides any evidence of its original color.
Just like I like em.
After a few moments she flirtingly waves. Nonchalantly, I turn my head as I finish my drink. Never let on too quickly. After all, it’s just a game. No different than the football field.

I take one more look in
low-cut yellow top’s
direction. She’s still looking. Briefly I smile back before pretending to engulf myself in my smartphone. She motions for Lou.
Perfect …

I can see her whispering something to the husky bartender out the corner of my eye, though I pretend not to notice. She must have given him a message for me as he walks back towards my direction. Just as Lou is about to gesture for my attention, something catches
his
attention. He pauses as he gazes over my head.
Must be a woman
, I smile, as I turn around to see the distraction. Guess I was right … sort of.

Definitely a
woman
, but wearing a steel-colored pantsuit with an egg-shell ruffled collar and ruffle sleeves protruding from her suit coat, this one definitely sticks out at the modern pub. Her attire is a mix of the Victorian Age and “The Matrix”
.
She has to be in her late fifties, early sixties. Long, ultra-straight, platinum gray hair drops below her shoulders. Her fair skin tinges with warm hints of brown. It’s hard to tell her background under that coat of hair. Maybe Middle Eastern, Brazilian, Creole? I don’t recall ever laying eyes on this woman before, but there’s still something oddly familiar about her.

She peers around the bar until her eyes find … me, surprisingly. We stare for a brief moment before I pretend to get a text message. Not really wanting to know more about the mystery woman, I turn back around on my swivel bar chair. Out the corner of my eye, I notice she is now standing right beside me. It’s as if her eyes pierce through my skin. Others notice as well.

“Uhh, yeah whada it be?” Lou asks the woman, attempting to end the eerie moment. She says nothing. I can still fill her eyes penetrating the side of my face. Finally, I’ve had enough. “Something I can help you with?” I say, somewhat crude.

What’s with this lady?
She continues to stare. People around the bar wait for a response. I smirk at the crowd before addressing the obviously crazed woman.

“He-he-he-hellooooo?” I mouth, insinuating the woman is slow. People laugh as I take another sip of my
act out
juice. Lou tries to intervene once more. “Look ma’am, you’re gonna have to buy something or I’ma have to ask you to leave.”

Then just like that, the woman turns around and heads for the exit. After a few steps, though, she stops. It looks as if her eyes glaze over, but it’s hard to tell in this light. Suddenly she rushes back to the bar. Lou frowns as the persistent lady beckons for him to come closer.

“Look, are you gonna buy something this time?” He asks, thoroughly annoyed now. The strange woman continues to motion for Lou with her hand. He stands arms folded, resisting. She smiles, her head slightly tilted. Lou finally lets down his guard and leans over to see what the woman wants. She waits a moment before softly saying, “May you use the rest of your time wisely.”

Confused, Lou stares at the woman, his tall frame still hunched over. Then comes the sound …

ZZZIPPPPP … CRRACCKK!!!

An errant dart flies over Lou’s head and crashes straight into a huge display bottle on the bar counter. It shoots through the container like a bullet. Red liquid bursts from the bottle, soaking those closest to it, including me. I can’t believe this! Do they know how much this shirt costs?—Wait a minute … I notice something odd. The placement of Lou’s head—now standing straight up—and the contact spot of the dart on the bottle are nearly identical. The tall server instinctively rubs the side of his temple. Did—did she just save his life? Hell, did she just save mine? From where I’m sitting the dart could have just as easily hit me. I turn to see the woman’s reaction but she is nowhere to be found. Nah … can’t be.

“Sorry about that, TNT,” says Lou while handing me a towel.

“This is a $600 dollar shirt,” I grumble as I continue to wipe the strawberry flavored beverage from my clothes.

“I know ,” says Lou. “Those college kids always in here throwing darts all over the place, like it’s funny or somethin’.” Lou reaches for the side of his head again. “They done it this time!”

Just then my phone rings. Frown lines set in as I notice the number.
Better be good …

“Yeah,” I answer.

A voice whispers on the other end, “Tre … Tre … ’that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” I say. “You called my phone didn’t cha? And why are you whispering, T-Mart?”

My younger brother, Martin, doesn’t sound like himself. “I—I need your help, Tre.”

“Speak up! I can’t hear you!” The background music of the bar drowns out his voice. “And where have you been? Mom and Dad have been blowing up my phone worried about you.”

“I—I need some help, bruh,” he murmurs.

“Look, just ‘cause I got money don’t mean I’ma give it to you to go on one of your binges.”

“It’s not like that,” he says. “Look man, I just need—”

I cut him off as I can hear the desperation in his voice. “Oh no, you not getting a dime from me T-Mart. You still owe me for—”

“I don’t want your money!” he screams through the phone. “I need your help, please!”

This desperation is not addiction-related. I can hear it in his voice. No, this is something different. Fear. I make my way to the bathroom, away from the noise.

“Okay Martin, tell me what’s going on.”

Martin’s deep breathing bellows through the phone. Standing six-feet with dreadlocks and tattoos, my brother isn’t the type to scare easily. A few moments go by before he begins.

“Remember when Dad used to say in his sermons,
when you’re around true evil, you’ll know?
”

“Yeah?”

“Well these people, man. They’re evil. I can feel it!”