Chapter 9 – Trials
"There's a battle between good and evil, and it's raging inside of me." – Battle by Chris August
Author's Note: I do not own the email on which the dream sequence at the end of the chapter is loosely based.
The days passed into weeks, and before anyone knew it, a month had gone by since that fateful night when Gus had been injured in the infamous windstorm; thus, commencing the chain of events that ultimately led to his having a new circle of friends and putting an end to the months of loneliness and discontent that used to hang over him like a black rain cloud. Things were looking up for him at last; the dressing around his middle was finally a thing of the past, so he no longer needed to unroll plastic wrap around himself when he wanted to bathe; he was gradually coming back to a normal routine at work as he had to regain his strength after having been on medical restriction for so long; and he was looking forward to his regular spiritually routed conversations either at the park or Elliquus' house! Though Laurie, Happy, and Precocia soon registered the Sundays at Elliquus' house were friendship gatherings of a Christian nature, they figured that the so-called oddity was just part of something they had to overlook, for they realized the importance of Gus's maintaining his new found friendships. Like the Holiday patriarch, they had not one grain of understanding just who God or Jesus Christ was; All Laurie knew was Jesus was a name frequently mentioned on the news when she was a little girl who was far too young to grasp, much less appreciate, the broadcasts covering current events.
The Holiday siblings, though, knew something of a more disturbing nature thanks to their schoolteachers. When they were in the classroom under the tutelage of these trained professionals, they learned of the strange ways of the Christians, and they were so uninformed that they knew not if this was truth, rumor, or the Emperor's using the school as an indoctrination center to turn young Romans against this new faith and relationship based population. While Laurie believed Gus was just politely listening to Elliquus' teachings, likely forgetting about them later, Happius and Precocia dropped subtle warnings to their father to be very careful what he listened to and took home while spending the day with his new friends.
Sadly, though Gus hadn't become a Christian, just associating with them in the public square was enough to have neighbors and townsfolk wonder if he had fallen under the Christians' influences; after all, he no longer ate at his workplace, always partaking of his mid day meal in the park with macius and company. Those who didn't believe he was under some sort of spell simply were left with the impression the blow to the head he had taken the month before had knocked a screw loose, thus causing him to take leave of his senses. Now, if this only affected Gus and those whom he knew directly, that would not be a problem; however, when those same townspeople had sons and daughters in classes with Precocia and Happius, the Holiday children, too, would feel the sting of ostrisization because of association with a group of folks whom they didn't understand.
It happened again, and this was getting old very fast. Precocia Holliday, once blithe of spirit on a daily basis and a girl who would promise to blossom into a popular teenager one day, now found herself eating her lunch alone for the second straight week in a row. To the best of her knowledge, she hadn't done anything that caused her friends to take umbrage with her, so why was she suddenly treated as though she carried a highly contagious disease? What had happened in the last couple of weeks that transformed her from the sweetheart of the sixth grade to the strangest one of the student body? Those who didn't deride her openly whispered behind her back while her closest friends cast eyes full of regret or pity her way. Why had her entire class turned against her?
Like a bolt from the blue, she found the answer to the aforementioned question rush through her brain with the fury of the mightiest river at the height of flood stage. Wasn't it quite recently when some of her friends' parents reportedly saw her father begin to have his lunch breaks in the park and engaging in animated discourse with a group of Christians. Precocia, wise beyond her eleven years, knew, thanks to her teacher, that many people in Rome saw Christians as superstitious folks with weird ways, so why would her beloved daddy deliberately keep company with them outside the privacy of the Sunday gatherings to which the family was invited every week; surely, there had to be other places for him to eat if he truly didn't get on with his new co-workers at the construction company. All she knew was that he'd been engaging in this behavior for some time now. Certainly, Precocia couldn't be punished for the friends her dad chose to keep; after all, if her peers would never meet those of her parents, there should be no problem. But then again, if her classmates' families had reason to believe Gus had adopted the Christians' ways, would they forbid their children from associating with Precocia because they feared her mind would be poisoned or she would poison the other kids' minds?
Concluding that she could either wrack her brain fruitlessly or study as she ate, she unrolled the section of the news scrolls she brought in for her social studies class and searched for the article she wanted to read concerning the fund raiser for the victims of last month's wind storm. To add insult to injury, she found that she, in her haste to head for school before being marked late, grabbed the wrong scroll and found a front page article on those "Odd for God" Christians, and the picture that was featured caused her heart to plummet to her sandals! Right there for all of Rome to see was the monochrome image of Gus Holiday sitting hunched over on a park bench with his lunch box at his feet, his right arm resting against his knee while the fingers of his left hand curled tightly around his wrist. He was surrounded by men who were close enough to place their hands on his back or shoulders! A mustached man who looked to be the group's leader even had his right hand laid squarely upon the top of Gus's bowed head! All the men appeared to have their own heads bowed, and the apparent leader's mouth looked to be open as if he were raining down some sort of pronouncement upon the suffering fellow.
"That has to be someone who looks like Daddy; his face isn't' showing very well, and lots of men can look alike in black and white pictures." Her vain attempts to reassure herself fell into cureless ruin when she noticed the shadow of a cloth headband that was secured around the target of the group's petitions, and she recalled that Gus had been unable to wear his laurel wreath when he was first released from the hospital because of the intense discomfort that came with his chronic headaches, applying Happy's bandanna as a makeshift cold compress in a futile attempt to combat the pain. "Maybe they're just trying to be nice," Precocia reasoned to herself as she nibbled from her sandwich, wanting to make sense of the incredible site she beheld on the parchment. "Teacher said that those men like to … what do they call it … pray for people when they're sick, and we all know that Daddy had been complaining about screaming headaches since he had that chariot accident. Maybe they meant well and thought they had to do whatever they do to get they're God to make him well? Maybe he told them his medicine wasn't working, and they took it upon themselves to do what they do for sick people?" Sadly, no words she could whisper to herself offered her any semblance of solace, for something told her that this was far more than the actions of a desperate man's going to any and all measures to free himself from the constant headaches that gripped him since his accident.
As the dampness of a cold, rainy night seeps into the bones of an arthritic, a shivery uneasiness settled throughout Precocia's entire body when a little boy from the first grade with a mop of curly, light brown hair, approached her and glanced to the scroll that lay open upon the lunchroom table. His facial features transformed before her very eyes, as his sympathetic expression morphed into one of understanding, he uttered words that could only have appeared in Precocia's worst nightmare!
"Nobody eats with me either; their mommies and daddies don't like my mommy and daddy joining the church people. They said they can't play with me anymore. Which one's your daddy?" He pointed to the photograph that caused great distress for the older child. "See, there's my daddy," he smiled as he indicated the image, his little finger falling upon the profile of one man, Macius, who stood resting his left hand on Gus's right shoulder.
For a moment, Precocia scrutinized the little boy, trying to see if she had met him during one of the Sunday playtimes in Elliquus' back yard. She spent a lion's share of the time with the other two girls who were there and the pet lions; therefore, she didn't pay attention to who the boys were and what they looked like. Perhaps she would look out for this lad the next visit. "Oh no, I think you're a little mixed up. My dad's not one of them; he just went to the park because he likes to eat his lunch there. I think he complained to them about having a headache, and they just went and surrounded him. I'll bet he didn't know what they were doing until it was too late."
"My daddy says the church people don't force you to be with them; they just want to help people wherever they can, and they sure do like to be happy a lot of the time and show others how to be happy too. Mommy says it's some kind of good news or something."
"Happy? Wouldn't it confuse people? How does sitting like that cure a headache? Wouldn't they give my Dad medicine or tell him about a home remedy that he didn't know about? I'll bet that's what he was expecting them to do," Precocia worked ardently to convince herself as well as this little boy who was her first lunchroom companion in weeks.
"Are you sure your daddy's not a church man?" the lad inquired.
"It might look that way, but it can't be true. He'd never do that; he's been a proud Roman for as long as I can remember. He routes for the Trojans; served in the Roman army as a charioteer before he married my mom, pays taxes to Caesar, and registers for the census early. I think those headaches had to be really terrible for him to get desperate enough to get help from people who have strange ways and are really superstitious."
"What's … superspitchis?" the youngster queried as he perched on the seat across from Precocia.
"Superstitious … It means they have really odd beliefs and sometimes even cast spells on people." The Roman girl reached for her milk carton and took a sip. "I just hope those men didn't cast a spell on Daddy. Maybe that's why he keeps going back to them all the time; someone put a spell on him."
"My daddy says spells are bad and we shouldn't do them, or we'll get in trouble," the tot commented before retrieving some animal crackers from the pocket of his little toga and cramming the handful of small sweets into his mouth.
"If it's not a spell, then how could these men have changed my pop? He was never like this before. He's been acting kind of odd since his accident … and even more so since he started going to this man's house on Sundays and eating his lunch in the park instead of at work."
"My daddy and his friends like to make new friends all the time and be friends with someone named Jesus. Maybe your daddy just wants to have friends too."
Oh, if only gaining new friendships was the only reason for Gus's repeated encounters with the Christians; if only the pre-teenager could have never lost the wide eyed innocence experienced by the younger child who sat with her. The problem could be so simply addressed and resolved; however, something in the very core of Precocia's personage kept nibbling at her mind and telling her that there was far more going on than she could ever suspect. She knew from this moment forward that she would have to keep a close eye on her father's actions and behavior patterns, for if he did begin to emulate the Christian company with whom he was now associating, the entire family's lives could be complicated if what the teacher said was correct.
The school bell heralding the arrival of lunchtime at Roman High sent its shrill signal through the building, and countless teenagers gleefully poured out of the classrooms anticipating an hour to ingest the cafeteria's idea of lunch and, more importantly, socialize among themselves without worrying about teachers putting an embarrassing stop to it in front of everyone else in the room.
Happius had just lifted his backpack to his locker, which just happened to be directly above that of his friend, Marc, a youth whom Gus had rescued from drowning in a freezing lake sixteen months ago, resulting in Mr. Holiday's hospitalization with pneumonia. He had just about had the bag inside the locker when he discovered that the unreliable zipper had too easily slipped open, thus resulting in his being showered in wayward scrolls and school supplies!
"Not again!" the teen growled as he retrieved the fallen items and carelessly crammed them into the offending bag once more before hastily stuffing it into the locker and slamming the door shut. "Hey, Marc, remind me to ask Groovia to grab me a safety pin from her Home Ec. class; I don't think this stupid thing will stay zipped anymore."
"Sure, but why not buy a new backpack at the school store?" Marc stashed his own bag into his locker and swung the door closed with his foot.
"It would be a moot point; I'm starting college in the fall, and I wanted to get a new pack once I'm on campus. I can put up with pinning this one shut for now." Hap responded with a smile as the boys headed for the cafeteria.
"Uh, Happy, can I talk to you about something?" Marc nervously began, popping his knuckles as they walked past the principal's office on the left and the school nurse's office to their right.
"Sure, what's up?"
"You know how much I admire your pop and would do anything for him after he saved my life that winter. OK, I thought he was wacked for asking me to take Snobia to the prom last year, but when you told me your landlord was coercing him into fixing her up, I kind of understood why he did it. Well, I know you'll think I'm crazy for saying this, but … is someone trying to force him to say and do odd things again?"
"Come again?" Happius arched his eyebrows in confusion as the pair passed through the lunchroom doors and took their place in line.
"There is no easy way to put this, but uh … Hap, I don't know if you know it or not, but your dad's been hanging out in the park with some of those guys said to be Christians. My mom told me she was taking a shortcut through there on her way to a doctor's appointment, and she saw him eating lunch with them, even showing interest in what they were saying."
"Come on, marc, aren't you jumping to conclusions; even if they are Christians, couldn't they have been talking about sports or something else not related to religion?"
"I don't know, Hap, but what my dad saw in the news scroll tells me they weren't talking about sports. There was a front page article on Christians, and a picture went with it. They showed somebody who looks a lot like your pop all hunched over and a bunch of guys surrounding him, probably practicing some kind of strange ritual over him. You'd better get him out of there before it's too late and he has to go somewhere to get deprogrammed."
Suddenly a sinking feeling overcame Happy as the puzzle pieces started falling into place. Yes, his father spent Sundays at the private setting of a Christian man's home, and he was keeping company with new friends in the park because he could no longer stand eating with his co-workers; however, he had been certain Gus blocked out any of the Christians' specific influences. Now, Marc's observations caused him to think twice about what had come over his dad, for Gus's grumpiness had ebbed considerably since he began associating with these new men. Was it the side benefits of new friendships, or was it the result of a spell? Until he gathered more information from observations at home, he had to give his father the benefit of the doubt. "I don't think we have to worry about that, Pop isn't acting any differently at home as far as we can tell, except that he's in a much better mood than he's been in a long time." Hap reached for a tray and flatware, passing them to his buddy before gathering some for himself.
"If this change in his mood is sudden, that's a red flag right there, buddy. You'll want to keep a close eye on him and seek help immediately if he is under a spell."
"He's probably on top of the world right now because he has new friends, something he hasn't had since all the other men he was close with had moved away or couldn't hang around with him anymore. Come on, we've even done it when making a new friend or when we first started going steady with a girl who takes your breath away. I'll bet Pop was like that when he was first married to Mom. Give him some time, and he'll get back to normal." The teenager paused momentarily when realization dawned upon him that marc could see the same evidence in his own family. "OK, should we assume your brother is under a spell because he's in such a good mood and acting like nothing will ever go wrong for him again, or do we just know he's going through a nice long cloud nine period because he's a newlywed?
"I honestly think what's going on with your pop and these new friends of his is something different from Harry's getting married. Harry fell in love; there was no superstition involved. Look, I'll take Snobia to Grad Night if your dad would just stay away from those guys; you know what Mr. Accademium said in social studies class; the … what did he call them … 'superstitionis novae ac maleficae' … could cast a spell on him if he's not careful."
"OK, OK, OK, I'll watch him, but if he does settle down after a little while, can we please drop the subject of spells?" Happy retorted with a hint of exasperation in his voice as he loudly laid his tray upon the metal rack and approached the institutional fare the school board fed to Rome's youth five days a week at the noon hour.
"All I can say is I hope you're right for his and all of the rest of your guys' sakes," Marc sighed, slipping his tray onto the rack and casting a disgusted glance at the unappetizing entrees.
Before anyone knew it, another weekend was upon the Holiday family, the Saturday night sky draping its star spangled cape over the city of Rome. Now that the clan was making the weekly traverse to Elliquus' home, they made the effort to retire for the night at a decent hour so they could all rise and bathe and not be late to the gathering that meant so much to Gus. Groovia had agreed that her and Happy's Saturday nights could be spent in front of a romance flick on TV with a big bowl of popcorn or dancing to his stereo provided they could go out for fun on Fridays. On this particular night, the whole family surrounded the television and enjoyed a family friendly tear jerking program Laurie had wanted to see for weeks since it was advertized in the evening scroll. The show was just about over when gravely snores emulated from the man of the house, who lay stretched out in his favorite chair, his feet propped upon the ottoman and his head slightly cocked to the left.
"Poor dear, he must be absolutely exhausted," Laurie softly commented after having switched off the TV before the closing credits finished scrolling the screen. "Maybe we should just let him sleep here for now, and he can always come to bed if he wakes up in the night. Come on,
kids, help me make him more comfortable." With that, she gingerly slipped Gus's laurel wreath off of him and wedged a throw pillow under his head so as to prevent neck cramps.
Happy gently took hold of his father's wrist and removed his watch so the family man would not inadvertently shift his position and bear his full weight upon and crush the timepiece while Groovia undid his sandals and swiftly slipped them off his feet, her charm bracelet quietly tinkling as she moved her right hand. Precocia crept over to the sleeping form and spread a homemade baby blue and white afghan over him, gently tucking one edge under his shoulder. Every tender touch caused the slumbering body to twitch; however, Gus did not awaken. Instead, each sensation the family meant for his comfort became props his brain would use in forming a very vivid dream!
"Hey you, get up!" a centurion's loud voice rent the silence while his hand that was none to gentle grasped Augustus Holiday by the left arm and roughly yanked him from off the prison issue bunk on which he lay. "It's time to go! You won't need this anymore; the laurel wreath is for worthy men, and you are nothing but flotsam!" With that, he precipitously yanked Gus's wreath from his head, crushed it under his heel, and then punched the prisoner hard enough to cause facial swelling! He then seized Holiday by both arms and thrust him forward.
Just outside the jail cell, another centurion stood with a heavy length of chain that he intended to use to restrain the detainee. He muttered insults and curses as he bound the iron chain around Gus and snapped the cuffs so tightly around his wrists and ankles the bewildered roman wondered how his blood still could circulate through his extremities.
"March!" the law enforcement officer commanded in a sharp voice, tearing Holiday away from the first guard and touching the tip of his sword to the captive's spine, thus forcing him to drag his feet to wherever they bid him go. The horrible clatter of his bonds assaulted Gus's ears with each laborious step he took, and he soon found himself being roughly thrown into a chair in the defendant's box within a courtroom.
The prosecutor entered the room and took his place at his own station, unrolling some scrolls and stabbing steely daggers to the defendant. He was the ugliest villain Gus had ever seen, his snarling countenance leaving the prisoner under the impression he either suffered from violent delusions, rabies, or a combination of the two. The only thing that tore his gaze away from this awful man was the entry of the very distinguished looking judge in full flowing robes, a man whom everyone in the court, save the prosecutor, automatically and gladly respected!
"Hear-ye hear-ye, this court is now in session!" a bailiff, a much taller and beefier version of Mr. Evictus, called out, stamping his staff on the floor and bringing everyone to order.
"We are here to determine the eternal destination of one Augustus Holiday; I see the defendant has chosen to represent himself. The prosecution may begin his opening arguments," the judge announced after having settled in his own comfortable seat behind the bench.
"Judge, My name is Beelzebub, and I am here to prove why this dog before you belongs in Hell," the prosecuting attorney's voice, which left the demonic presence sounding like he was both hissing and growling as he spoke, sent chills down Gus's spine. "Prove me wrong if you can, you worthless piece of trash!" he demanded as he rounded on the restrained Roman, spitting as he talked. "Judge," he again addressed the awesome one who presided over Holiday's case, "This man has proven himself to be a poor husband and father who does not value his family one bit. He refused to take his wife and children on a weekend vacation and got their apartment burglarized when he decided to take a free handout offered by the Southside Gang, some men who have become my personal friends. How does it feel to ruin your family's weekend?"
"Wait, I couldn't afford the kind of trip they wanted and thought that was the o-" Gus began, only to be cut off by the monstrous lawyer.
"Silence!" he loudly spat, again whirling around on one heel and staring down his victim. "You aren't a supportive husband and father at all; you balked about having to look for your children's runaway lion; you ignored your howling pet because you wanted to eat dinner rather than comfort him; you abandoned your wife and children in exchange for instant stardom; you had to be prompted to spend time with your son when he had girl problems; and you told him to go get another girlfriend as if one could replace a girlfriend as easily as one changes under garments! Of course, what else can be expected from a man who assigns his family the same low level of value." With every utterance of "you" or "your" the thug verbally drew out the words and stabbed a bony finger in Gus's face, certain to put a great deal of emphasis on the aforementioned pronouns.
"I! LOVE! MY! FAMILY!" Gus protested with pleading eyes, his words tearing from the depth of his heart.
"The defendant is out of order," the judge stoically stated after loudly bringing down his gavel, producing the same frightening crack Kara Holiday used to as she slammed her potato smasher against the cutting board when halting her sons' squabbling.
"If you love your family, you wouldn't treat them as you have!" the wicked one snorted.
The horrible attack on the defendant's character played out for what felt like forever, the villainous scoundrel emphasizing every fault Gus had ever had in his lifetime. Unhappily, when Holiday tried in vain to defend himself, he was either interrupted by the prosecution or told by the judge he was out of order, his continuous arguments ultimately being put to a halt when the bailiff acknowledged a signal from the judge and quickly bound a thick cloth over the "unruly" prisoner's mouth. Because his chains only allowed him to reach his hands to just below chest level, he was unable to claw at and remove the gag. Now that the criminal was silenced until further notice, the arguments continued in spades until the closing statement was rendered.
"Will the defendant please rise and approach the bench?" the judge kept his voice glib, his jaw firmly set as the bailiff tore Gus from his seat and forcibly marched him before the honorable man. "Have you anything to say in your defense?" Upon receiving only a couple indistinct grunts from the shackled and manacled man, he cast a glance to the bailiff. "Please remove the restraint." Once compliance was issued and Gus's speech was restored, he continued, "Now you may present your case. Can you refute these arguments the prosecution has against you?"
"OK, nobody's perfect. I can't stand here and say I didn't do those things, but don't all the good things I did through my life matter here? I saved my son's best friend from drowning in a freezing lake; I went out on a limb to get my landlord's daughter a date for the junior prom; I knocked myself out trying to attend my daughter's music recital and play on the company bowling team on the same night; I stooped to dressing like a woman to get my wife out of a jam when she had to dress like a man and pose as me to save my job; even though it was done by accident, I got a bank robber captured; I had to have done something right to tie for AD sixty-three Father Of The year; and I never left my family for stardom. That was just from a dream I had once; in fact, I confessed it was a fluke and not bravery that got that robber captured instead of letting everybody believe I was some kind of valiant hero who deserved fame."
"I'm sorry, sir, but those arguments are not enough to refute those of your opponent." With the thrice slamming of his gavel, the judge pronounced sentence. "Augustus Holiday, you have been found guilty as charged by the prosecution; you are sentenced to eternal torment in hell."
Gus was frozen in the spot where he stood, unable to do more than gulp down a lump in his throat. He couldn't even blink, so great was the shock from which he was currently suffering. Not even the sick feeling in his stomach or the instability of his legs could compare to the mental unrest he now felt rushing throughout his mind. As if the physical and mental symptoms weren't enough; his emotional well being was dashed into cureless ruin when the judge suddenly morphed into one whose hair and beard were as white as the driven snow, whose very presence was cast in such a rich glow and wrapped in a loving spirit. Unable to speak or even stand for one second longer, Gus collapsed to his knees, never once taking his saucer wide eyes away from the gentle entity. The worst was yet to come with the sad oration that came forth from the voice that Gus was beginning to recognize.
"Depart from me; I know you not." He spoke with the most heart wrenching pangs of disappointment shadowing his voice before a few tears rolled down his cheeks.
With no warning, the prosecuting attorney, laughing nefariously, locked a white hot metal collar that was attached to a five foot length of chain around Holiday's neck so tightly it was certain to cause severe burns and bruising and made breathing laborious at best. With a hard yank of the leash, he sent his newest victim sprawling on the floor and dragged his prone body out of the courtroom and down a dark corridor that suddenly took a sharp downward spiral into complete darkness where the echoes of screaming surrounded the condemned man from every angle. Struggling against his bonds, Gus tried to let out his most blood curdling scream; however, no sound issued forth from his tortured throat. Sure enough, he heard the clattering of his chains as he attempted to flail, but nothing could prepare him for the realization that those cries that sounded off all around him were his own wails! Then his entire body was enveloped by a prickly sensation as the dismal darkness and horrible din faded out, returning a trembling but now free Gus to his chair where Brutus quietly paced around him and nuzzled him in the neck, having caused the sleeper's brain to register it as the scorching choke chain used in the nightmare. Apparently the Roman had shifted during this brief period of slumber, as the blanket was now wrapped more snuggly around him, one corner resting lightly upon his cheek, thus being disguised as the restraints the imaginary centurion and bailiff used on him.
"Mr. Holiday? Are you all right?" Groovia gently approached the chair where one of her hosts for the night lay, still unable to move, save the shivering from his troubling vision. "Mr. Holiday, what's the matter? Happy, something's wrong; his eyes are starting to open, so he's awake, but I don't think he can hear me."
Happius crept over to the chair, gently draped Groovia's shawl around her shoulders and cast his eyes upon the form that was reclined before them. "Pop? You all right?"
"What … who's there … where am I?" Gus slurred so softly one had to strain to hear him.
Closely scrutinizing his parent's countenance and recalling any body and rapid eye movements, Hap realized this was the result of a nightmare and his father would have to pull himself out of it naturally. "I think he'll be OK in a few minutes; he must have had a really bad dream and has to wake up enough to know whatever it was isn't really happening; Precocia does this too," the teenager had become used to his father and little sister's nonplus state of mind following terrifying dreams and had faith that everything would be all right once he returned home.
"Hap, is that you?" Gus queried, his eyes slowly opening and his body gradually regaining mobility. "Can't be morning already," he commented as he realized he had fallen asleep in his chair, believing he had been there for hours since he had no memory of pulling the cover over himself and was without his wreath, watch, and sandals. "Hope your mother isn't in the bathroom; we've got to get to Elliquus' house early. It's my turn to bring the coffee."
"Take it easy, Dad, there's no hurry or anything like that. It's still Saturday night; Precocia's just gone to bed; Mom's sewing in your room; and I'm taking Groovia home. I have my key, so you can lock the door if you want to call it a night."
"OK, son, just remember to come right home; we have to get up early tomorrow." The patriarch scrambled to a standing position and tossed the afghan onto his chair, not bothering to fold it up properly. In a clearer state of mind, Gus would have known full well that Hap was aware of the hour the family planned to rise; however, he was still working to burn off the nightmare's fog.
"Yes, sir," the youth decided to humor his groggy parent as he, with his left arm around his girlfriend, padded to the door. "Good night, Pop; I'll try to be quiet when I come home."
"Good night, Mr. Holiday," Groovia peered over her shoulder and smiled to the older man, sauntering through the open door.
"Night, kids," Gus called before the door swung shut behind the teens and he trudged into the kitchen to help himself to a little snack and a goblet of cold water. "Man, what a nightmare," he muttered under his breath, dropping three peanut butter cookies onto a napkin and retrieving a drinking vessel. "That's the stuff horror flicks are made from."
"Who says it's a movie, Holiday; that's what will happen to you one day," the terrible voice of that monster in his dream assaulted Gus's brain, sounding every bit as malevolent as he did when the vision was playing. "You will be all mine. Tell me, do you prefer brass or iron fetters?"
"Augustus, do not listen to him; you are hearing a lie. There is a way to escape that fate."
Never in his life was Gus so relieved to hear the voice of the mysterious, yet benevolent apparition; at least he wouldn't have to face this unseen but very real foe unattended!
"Now there are two of you?" Gus retorted in a theatrical whisper as he filled his goblet to capacity and sat down to partake of his snack. "I'm hardly used to one of you guys; now I have another to deal with?"
"Augustus, I represent good while the other presence you sense stands for evil. Anyone or anything I love, he hates. Do not listen to him; hold onto me, and I won't let harm befall you."
Overwhelmed by now having two specters speaking to him, Gus tried in vain to settle his nerves with the consumption of his refreshments; however, the pleasure only lasted for as long as the taste of the sweet treats remained on his tongue. His stomach swirled like a cyclone so severely; it wouldn't surprise him if he ultimately tossed his cookies all over the kitchen floor! He made his way back into the living room and settled onto the couch, rubbing his gut in counterclockwise circles in an effort to end the tornado within.
"Augustus, you have new friends now. Let them hold you up and give you strength," the loving spirit kindly encouraged the troubled Roman.
"Call any of them at this hour, and they won't be your friends anymore," the baddy jeered.
"Augustus, pick up the scroll by the phone and call somebody; you will know which one."
With trembling hands, Gus unrolled the scroll, which was a phone list of the entire congregation at Elliquus' house and scanned the names. Macius had a note next to his listing saying not to call after eight O'clock, and Gus recalled Macius' wife went to bed very early because she was a morning newscaster who had to be up long before the sun five days a week. His eyes then fell upon Elliquus' listing with the note to phone any time. Perhaps the hour wasn't too late?
"Here goes nothing," Gus mumbled as he dialed the leader's number. The purring telephone rings sounded off in his left ear, and he hoped he was not imposing upon the amiable man.
"Hello." The gentleman jovially greeted, his voice bringing security to Gus, who could use all the allies he could get at this precise juncture.
"Am I glad to catch you, Elliquus I … I …where do I start … man, I'm going to be sick."
"Just take a deep breath, take your time, and tell me what's on your mind, Gus."
Figuring there was no turning back, Gus regaled the terrifying tale that tormented him during his nap, while Elliquus gave him a listening ear and silently prayed for the right words to say to him.
