Tiger Chronicles: Exodus
Chapter I: Forgiveness or Insanity
…
DISCLAIMER: It's been several years since I've started doing this, and Bill Watterson still hasn't signed over the rights to me or sent me a cease and desist. Anyway, I don't own any comic strips and don't claim to.
DISCLAIMER 2/WORD OF GAWD: Calvin himself doesn't fully understand how the gun works.
…
"A question has been asked of me by many Concerned Elders, who in their humility and good stewardship are concerned about the quality of job they are doing in purging the plague of latent disobedience festering in our world's children."
"They ask, 'Mr. Malefides, if a child should expire during external parenting methods, or if the Concerned Elders should deem the child beyond salvage, are such expirations failures on the part of the responsible Concerned Elders?'"
"No. Sad as it may be, we are waging a war against children who are determined to be disobedient from the day they are born. The old analogy about omelets and eggs applies here. Not every child can be saved. Not every child should be saved."
"That boy you heard about being turned extra-crispy would have fried at best 20 years later in the electric chair. What did he do to make the Concerned Elders decide he needed to die so painfully?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Innocent, guilty, mostly good, mostly bad, it's all meaningless details. Without examples like these, the children will forget that they are being watched, weighed, measured, and that falling short of any one Concerned Elder's standards means severe consequences."
"It doesn't matter why to me, it shouldn't matter why to you, and it didn't matter why to the boy's father, a police officer who responded to the scene and saw fit to kill each and every one of the Concerned Elders, even the Celebrants whose only job was to perform the enlightenment dance."
"So, in closing, let me summarize. When going out on a Purge and your group locates a child they deem in need of External Parenting- which in all fairness will probably be the first child you see- it will likely be not a question of 'should we terminate this child', but rather 'why shouldn't we'."
…
Pastor Victor had seen plenty of bad cases in his time as a minister.
People who life had dealt a hand so horrible, so unfair, that he couldn't really blame them for thinking that God hated them and wanted them to suffer. Counseling helped. Reaching out to them through the church helped. Faith sometimes helped.
He had dealt with cases where parents had punished children wrongly, and the kid was ticked off. Talking about forgiveness and how the parents had forgiven past mistakes helped a little, working on a plan of restitution within reason helped.
It was obvious Kyle didn't want to be here, surrounded by his parents, Mr. Mallory, a member of the church who had struck Kyle multiple times over six years for his alleged theft, two teachers from his school who had punished him and encouraged other teachers to do so as he progressed, and Mrs. Jennings, an elderly woman who…
…well, he had to face facts. Mrs. Jennings was a gossiper, a rumor-starter, someone who never took no for an answer, a holier-than-thou, and to Kyle, who had been dragooned into doing work around her house as punishment and now therapy, she had been a cruel slave driver.
"Kyle, we know you're not happy with the therapy program we've laid out, and we understand you're still very angry about what happened. What do you want to come out of this?" he asked kindly.
"I want everyone in this room to die." He snapped.
Yeah, we aren't going to get to hugs and 'I love you's' for a while.
"Yourself included?" Victor said softly after a few moments.
"Especially me. You can't hurt me if I'm dead." He snarled.
"You don't mean that." Said a horrified Jenna Blake, a blonde who was his current math teacher; she had given him zeros for every homework assignment due to the accusation. "You can't possibly mean-"
"Well, what the fuck would you know, bitch?!" Kyle lashed out. "You didn't listen the first ten times about how I didn't do it, what the hell gives you the right to decide what the fuck I mean and don't mean?"
"Kyle, please, let's be civil-" his father began…
"NO, FUCK BEING CIVIL, YOU LET HIM…" and he jabbed a finger at Mr. Mallory, who seemed to fold into himself "BEAT ME BLOODY FOR SIX YEARS AND LET HER" he jabbed a finger at Mrs. Jennings, smiling at his rage and anguish "FUCKING WHIP ME WHILE I MOW HER LAWN?" he screamed, shaking with rage.
"That reminds me, Thief, I need my hedges done this time." Mrs. Jennings said, voice dripping with satisfaction at her jab.
Victor shot Jennings a glare. "You're not helping."
She reacted with a sulking look fit for a scolded child, but Victor had to face facts- the damage done to Kyle had been immense. It had gone past abuse and into something that rivaled the new Blockhead film in terms of focused maliciousness. Yet, if everyone in the church and most of the people in his schools weren't to be hauled off to prison, they would have to further deny him joy and clamp down on him until he ceased to show any desire for retaliation of any kind.
He was well aware of how such a method would be looked upon if word got out- no doubt they'd accuse everyone involved of Malefideism, born of another pastor leading a church into a campaign of child abuse.
"Kyle, you have to understand," his mother said pleadingly. "Jesus went through-"
"Yes, yes, Jesus was flogged, nailed to a tree, died, and THEN HE CAME BACK, BECAUSE HE'S GOD. I'm not. You have been letting those two assholes-" he gestured at Mallory and Jennings- "-beat on me for six years because this asshole-" and he gestured at Victor "-couldn't be bothered to look under the podium for the envelope, and YOU two assholes punished me, day after day after day this whole goddamn time."
"Kyle, don't take the Lord's name in vain-" Victor began, and immediately realized that wasn't going to have the intended effect…
"Oh, I'm sorry. After six fucking years of being called thief-"
"You are a thief." Jennings interrupted with a sickly smile. "And a little bitch."
Kyle stood up.
"Honey, wait, you have to forgive as Jesus forgave…"
"Would you rather me call you Bitch?" Jennings chuckled. "You cried like one after I got you with the weedeater-"
The door to Victor's office slammed against the wall as Kyle made his violent exit, and Victor pursued.
If, on judgement day, Kyle was not among the number to ascend to paradise, Victor knew that it would be due to his actions. He was not looking forward to explaining to the author of creation how he had used a message of mercy and love to demonize a six year old, turning him from an innocent child to a jaded, angry nihilist who preferred death to life.
"I'll try to calm him down." He sighed as he took off running.
In college, he had been on debate, and his experiences granted him enough insight to know that the idiocy of the argument he was trying to make- that six years of intensifying punishment and degradation could be amended by comparatively instantaneous forgiveness and continued service to someone who had out and out abused him, repeatedly and unrepentantly.
If you stated something and you didn't have facts to back it up, if all you had was hearsay and opinions and your opponent had facts and expert testimony, you had already lost. His argument was that God and his people were about love and forgiveness, and he had a bible as evidence. Kyle's argument was that everyone in his life was beyond redemption, and he had six years of unrelenting abuse and a body-map of scars as proof.
Still he pursued.
If Kyle found a lawyer willing to do a pro bono, that was it. Mallory and Jennings would not survive prison. The church would take a hit financially at the very least. Kyle's parents would probably do jail time.
Making him do more sacrifices might break him, he was aware of that. Mrs. Jennings would not stop. The stigma would only die out gradually. The isolation to prevent him from ratting them out would be devastating. Mr. Mallory would get off scot-free, and that would only serve to anger Kyle further.
One life versus hundreds.
He kept running.
…
Kyle stormed out of the church, Pastor Victor hot on his heels. Years of beatings and abuse had taken their toll; his top speed was a brisk walk.
"Kyle, Kyle wait! WAIT!"
He tried to move faster, into a neighborhood he didn't know, didn't care he didn't know…
"Kyle, wait, I don't think you understand, God is calling you to perform a miracle-"
He turned around, unable to ignore this bullshit.
"This? This is God calling me to perform a miracle? Of what, forgiveness? Forgiveness isn't a miracle, it doesn't exist!"
Victor, exasperated, shook his head. "Of course it exists, you're just…"
"If it exists, if your mission is to get me to forgive…" and he let the sarcastic inflection fall on that last word, that word he had grown to despise, "…then why the hell couldn't you or the church forgive me for something I didn't do?!"
"Kyle, this is a test-"
"NO! IT'S NOT A FUCKING TEST!" he screamed, making Victor wince. Good. Now he knows how it feels.
"I know Mrs. Jennings said I did it! I know you never found any money in my room, or when dad pulled me into the bathroom and fucking strip searched me, force fed me prune juice and watch me take a shit, slapped me and beat me with a belt when I cried and told him I never took anything! You told everyone I did it! EVERYONE! My teachers! My friends! People who I would have never met traveled to my home just to tell me what a horrible kid I was! You all laughed when Mr. Mallory kicked me in the balls when I was eight! EIGHT! YOU KNEW I DIDN'T DO IT, DIDN'T YOU?! YOU ALL JUST THOUGHT IT WAS FUNNY TO HURT ME!"
Victor was horrorstruck at the insinuation. "No… no, Kyle, if we had known-"
"You. Knew." Kyle snarled.
"No, you have to believe me, if I had any idea you didn't-"
"YOU KNEW!" he screamed, uncaring that his outburst was drawing a crowd. "YOU KNEW THAT I DIDN'T DO IT, AND YOU LIED ABOUT ME STEALING ANYWAY!"
Victor staggered, finally thrown for a loop, confronted with the truth he had denied for so long. His mother, father, and teachers caught up, from the looks on their faces they'd overheard the gist of it…
"You all knew I didn't steal any money! You all knew I never even touched it! But you kept punishing me, over and over AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER FOR SIX YEARS!"
People came out of their houses now to hear Kyle's tirade. This was going bad to worse…
Then Kyle dropped the bomb, turning to one of the bystanders.
"I need to use your phone to call the police."
The person in question, a man in his fifties, blinked. "Wha-"
"These people abused me. They let a man beat me repeatedly and tortured me. I need your phone to call the police." Kyle repeated.
WHAM.
Kyle last's thoughts before meeting the concrete face first were that he really, really should have seen this coming…
…
Victor stared down at the unconscious form of Kyle Creekson, the twelve year old boy he had just knocked unconscious with a right hook.
He didn't mean to hurt him. He just needed him to shut up before he hurt a lot of people in ways that could never heal.
But as he looked around at the oncoming swarm of angry bystanders, livid at his actions, he realized that what he meant to do didn't mean anything, here.
Kyle had given the argument: These people abused me.
His old debate teacher had warned against actions that were akin to 'fighting fire with fire'- reactions that only served to prove the other side's point. If accused of basing arguments on ad hominem attacks, you didn't counter with allegations the opposition was taking bribes from child slavery traffickers. If accused of being unable to accept criticism, you didn't storm off in a fit…
…and if accused of being abusive, you did not punch out your accuser.
Touche, Kyle.
…
She had used the restroom, read her copy of "Get with the Program" again, and still no sign of the Bitch or the others.
Mrs. Jennings sulked.
There were lawns to be mowed, toilets to be scrubbed, cups of scalding coffee to be thrown in the Bitch's face… what was taking them so long?
She went back to reading.
It was entertaining, this guide. Nothing she didn't know already, mind, but it was a nice validation nonetheless.
She frowned as she read the chapter on this… Calvin. Horrible, wretched thing. The news said he had killed people- dozens of people. There had been some talk of terrorists and child abuse that she had blocked out; the only relevant thing was that a child capable of murder was on the loose.
She pursed her lips as she recalled Kyle's outburst a few days ago. The church finding out her accusation was unfounded was inevitable- she couldn't take the money for fear of being found out, and truth be told she was surprised she had as long as she did to have her fun. Kyle's burst of rage, however, meant that he had not been wholly broken.
If she was going to get him to reject God so that she could damn him to hell, that could be a problem. It could work to her advantage if he was bitter enough to develop maltheism…
So far, the other members of the church merely thought her mean-spirited, not dedicated to damning others. Otherwise, they'd have hurled her out on her ass long ago.
It had been an hour and a half. She bet her last nickel the Bitch was hoping to stall long enough so she'd get bored and leave. As if she would abandon her latest project to chance.
Susie Derkins. Simon Highweller. His show going off the air had been a tragedy for her, and reading the gory details only helped her get a sense of perspective. A well-meaning judge testing a student's resolve, only to be demonized and jailed for asking if the girl was sincere. At least the book had the decency to eschew all that nonsense about bombings and school shootings.
Jennings glanced at the clock…
Two and a half hours. She blinked.
In a mind that normally served only to function as a factory of cruelty and malice, a sudden spark of worry flared into existence.
Why had they been gone that long? The Bitch was one boy with a limp. He couldn't have gotten far.
The only reason that they would be taking so much time was if he had gotten himself killed, or someone had intervened…
That would mean that he would tell them about what he'd been through. Who had hurt him. And with what…
Some dark inspiration told Jennings she needed to be home an hour ago, making incriminating things such as weed-eaters and canes disappear.
Panic started to build in her, her heart pounding as she scampered to her car. For six years, she had taken the notion that The Bitch's punishments would go unreported, unheeded. That could change if he was allowed to speak to someone not in the loop.
Jennings burned rubber.
Horns blared, cars swerved, a mother yanked her stroller back with an attosecond to spare… why were all these idiots in her way?
She made a hard turn through a red light, ignoring screeching brakes and screams of fury. There was no time to play the games the normal people played, with all their insipid rules… she forced herself to breathe normally. She'd been in the clear for six years, this wasn't going to change just because of some stupid little boy…
A boy hauled himself and his bike out of her path. An indignant jogger, observing the near miss, shouted obscenities.
They didn't exist, right now. All that mattered was Laura Jennings and her house full of incriminating things that she needed to get rid of right now.
She screeched to a halt in front of her garage. No one to intrude on her, no police.
Yet.
She made a mental list of things she had used to assault The Bitch- the cane. The weed-eater. The knives. They would all have to go, but she would recover from this, she would disavow everything, move, it was going to be okay-
Then she heard the car pull up behind her in her driveway, heard the radio chatter.
"Laura Jennings, you are under arrest…"
No, she realized with a stark finality as her arms were cuffed behind her back.
No, it would not be okay.
…
Curtis had access to a laptop in what seemed like forever after his first mission, and used what time he could to distract himself from memories of his first mission.
Jesus, help them all.
It was not an oath. It was a short, desperate prayer. His superiors had believed that sending him on a mission to infiltrate a R.A.W. compound would be a suitable assessment of his skills in live combat, and partially catharsis.
But there was nothing cathartic about hauling out the dead bodies of little children, victims of an organization… God almighty, how fucked up did the world have to be, to have a massive organization dedicated to torturing children?
He had made every single member, from soldier to the lowliest janitor, pay dearly when they crossed his path. He had made no exemptions for gender, color, anything. According to the medics, that one technician would never walk right again. That was assuming her involvement didn't get her the death penalty.
Boo. Hoo.
No one was feeling sympathy for these fuckers. Not when the crazy red-and-black bastard had stopped his Michael Jackson impression to torture a torturer to death, screaming in pure rage as he did so, making a very clear threat to whoever was watching via cameras that it was on.
What little he knew of "Deadpool" was that he was a mercenary and a wack-job. He might have been paid for the job, he might have done it for kicks.
Deadpool had killed bastards, provided him with some excellent ideas to use on Barry when he got a hold of him, and carried out kids without making a single joke. That made him alright in Curtis' book.
Idly he remembered the others from his first encounter with R.A.W.
The woman and the girl, victims for speaking out. Two blonde boys, one with glasses, one with spike-hair. Himself and Chutney.
He did a search for Jason, the glasses boy, then for Calvin, the crazy spike haired one…
Oh, fuck.
Jason had been attacked several times, resulting in the… death of his assailants. Once by a group of concerned elders- domestic terrorist wannabes. Then again by an assassin. Then by an army.
All of whom were dead.
Videos of the "Good Friday War" were available. Whatever sympathy he might have had for the attackers vaporized, when, for no other apparent reason than for carnage's sake, children were dragged out of several homes and beaten to death in the streets.
Shortly after a man in a suit had shouted at Jason, there came a barrage of firebombs, gatling gun fire, (what?) mustard gas, (What?!) acid, exploding arrows…
The barrage destroyed any offensive the attackers could make, until the same man in the suit advanced… throwing cars.
Okay, what the fuck is going on?!
They peppered him with acid, explosives, gatling fire, but his skin and clothes repaired themselves and he advanced, unstoppable… only to be thrown back twice, the second time resulting in him crawling away.
He knew enough to understand that if there was an explanation for how the fuck someone could survive that, he wasn't cleared to know it. More impressive was that Jason Fox, someone he believed would die in Marine training, could mount that spectacular and effective a defense.
He would have all sorts of questions for him if he got a chance to talk. Maybe Calvin had a more uneventful time of things…
After thirty minutes of reading, Curtis decided on his first question to Calvin:
How the fuck are you alive?
…
"I've gotten a lot of emails. Most are pretty polite and professional, but I still get the occasional asshole."
"Mr. George Knouter, a self-proclaimed fan of Samuel Highweller's now defunct courtroom show, said in so many words that I deserved to be executed- in very graphic detail, might I add- for what I did to Highweller."
"Mr. and Mrs. Duncan say I'm a bad influence to children and teenagers, and I should be locked up for the horrible things I've done. Pardon me, Mr. and Mrs Duncan, for not adhering to the advice of someone who tried to frame their son for the rape of a teacher, all in the name of a 'public service announcement'."
"People… my actions were the result of either getting attacked or someone else being attacked by grown men and women who wanted to hurt and kill children and teens because it made them feel good. So for your own sakes, consider whose side you want to be seen as being on before you send me a death threat describing how you'd torture me to death."
"Oh, and on a more pragmatic angle, look at my track record for dealing with people who tried that. Go ahead. I'll wait."
-Recent Entry on Calvin's Blog
…
April stuffed things into a backpack in a frenzy, not really caring for fashion.
"Honey, you're taking this way too personally." Her father said for the tenth…
…twentieth?...
…hundredth?…
It didn't matter. Hollow words.
Humiliated in front of the school by her principal. With her parents holding her down so he could strip her…
…and they had no idea.
She looked back at him after she finished getting her clothes, searching his face for some indication that he knew he'd messed up big time…
Nothing.
If John Patterson knew that there was something seriously wrong with forcing her daughter onto a stage so a principal could strip her to her underwear and force her into a gunge tank, he wasn't showing it. The voices of disgust and rage from the students and teachers gathered for the event- a post school year party- had only confused him and his wife.
Her mother-only-in-name.
They had thrust her into the hands of a pedophile, and they didn't see anything wrong with it.
Elly Patterson had always been 'out of touch' to put it kindly, 'batshit insane' to put it more accurately, incapable of seeing past her nose. She probably did think it was completely appropriate behavior.
She probably thought that despite the "God kill me now and I will sing your praises forever in heaven" embarrassment, she could just shrug, say "it's just a joke, now stop being so dramatic", and that would be it.
"April, look, he was just joking around, and it got out of hand-"
She'd heard this story before. She wasn't going to hear it again, and pushed past him, shoved her mother aside when she tried to hug her…
"Honey you're overreacting…"
Hate you.
"…can't take everything so personally, it's not…"
Never want to see you again.
"…you don't mean that, you need to laugh it off and apologize to Mr. Dregs…"
You're both fucking insane.
A friend was waiting outside in a car for her. Everything seemed so hazy, she couldn't even tell whether she was thinking or saying things, but she was coherent enough to know the person in the car was a friend, or at the very least not the two people who had betrayed her…
Somewhere, in the back of April's mind, she knew going to a friend's house after her life was ruined wasn't going to fix anything in the long term. But there was no way in hell she was going to sleep under the same roof as them.
…
The rain came down in torrential sheets, soaking the grass into a muddy carpet of green and brown. Lightning flashed across the sky with ear-splitting peals of thunder, briefly illuminating the seemingly endless expanse of damp green.
Susie laughed and ran faster, clad in red swim shorts and a blue shirt.
Calvin pursued, chasing her playfully, wearing the black pants and red striped shirt of his youth.
Both were barefoot, which made the terrain treacherous to run on, but he knew, somehow…
They were safe.
The lightning blazed across the sky in jagged, iridescent cracks, the rain soaked them through and through, but Calvin knew, as he gave chase, that they were in no danger.
Her feet kicked up small splashes of muddy water as he dashed after her…
Why?
Why not?
He wasn't angry, she wasn't angry, she was laughing…
Finally he caught her, picking her up off the ground, and she squealed for joy…
Her hair was soaked, and she was out of breath, but she was… happy.
Safe.
Happy and safe with him.
"I don't want to lose you." she says softly.
"You won't." he promises.
"Could we stay? Do we have to go back?"
There were three cracks of thunder that sounded suspiciously like knocks…
And suddenly, he was awake, holding a pillow.
Gone was the rainy field, the soaked Susie Derkins, the thunderstorm that baptized them both. The weather was a hot sunny day, and as he sat up, he was ready to dismiss it all as a simple dream…
…and yet he couldn't shake the feeling of an incredible loss.
…
"You want to know why Malefides keeps getting followers?"
"Because he tells them what they want to hear. Not what they need to hear, not what they deserve to hear, but what they want to hear, nothing more, nothing less."
"I've heard of people trying to win Malefidians over with logic and reasoning, let me just say right now: You're wasting your time. If these assholes- and no, don't bleep that out, that's what they are- had any logic in them, they wouldn't be taking advice from a torture manual."
"Malefides tells the child abusers their children are provoking them deliberately. He calls forced waste retention- also known as not letting kids use the bathroom- discipline building behavior. He calls a group of men raping a little girl a "lesson in humility and obedience". Whatever they want to hear, that's what he'll preach."
"Then these people go out and screw up innocent people's lives, dance around in bathrobes, and they are genuinely shocked when they're shot at or arrested."
"It attracts idiots, and it attracts people with phds. It attracts people from all walks of life, who all have several things in common- they cannot stand to be called 'wrong', they have little or no empathy, and for whatever reason, they have a burning hatred for anyone below an arbitrary age limit."
"You think I'm complaining about what I go through? To hell with me. I'm fine. These people come after me and they die. You want to know who suffers? Who deserves a lot of people getting really angry on their behalf?"
"People like Jessica Mavin, who still get death threats from people she's never met, three times her age at least, all because six walking cancers assaulted her. Assholes come from across the country just to throw rocks at her as she gets out of school because they're offended at her having the audacity to say what happened to her was wrong."
"People like Officer Greths, whose wife was killed and son was deep-fried by a bunch of "Concerned Elders" who barged into a restaurant and started killing kids because they were bored."
"People like the Fox family, who, regardless of apparently being armed to the teeth, didn't deserve to have a bunch of idiots descend on their house with intent to kill."
"People like Ashley Banker, a twelve-year old girl whose asshole of a neighbor helped R.A.W. members abduct her and haul her off to a now-defunct torture camp. Bianca Tate claims she did it because she felt Ashley didn't have enough adversity in her life. Ashley is now blind, deaf, paraplegic and needs several prescription tranquilizers to help her sleep at night. Tate still claims she did the right thing."
"Hell, you want someone more current to pity? The kids of these idiot parents who can't even blame their actions on a book who think helping frame their son for a rape that never happened or stripping and humiliating their daughter is all good fun. God, I hope they are idiots. The idea of someone logically deciding to become a Malefidian is beyond me."
"These people didn't ask for the scum of the world to come barging into their lives, rip everything apart, and do everything in their power to salt the earth."
"One final note here: One reason the police get from Concerned Elders- the ones they arrest and don't shoot on sight- about why they go out and commit these atrocities is that they don't get the respect they deserve from children. They are violently and deeply offended when everyone under 18 doesn't stop and touch the ground with their forehead in obeisance when these "wise and wonderful" adults fart in their direction."
"To paraphrase Charlie Brown, one of the few filmmakers that doesn't make me nauseous- we'd show you the respect you deserve, but you're too big to flush."
-Interview with Calvin Halgins
…
"…sorry, what?" Susie asked again, blinking.
"Suppose you had the power to change the world." Calvin repeated, not looking at her, looking down at the grass… or looking through it. "Like these… metahumans or mutants we keep hearing about."
They were eating lunch together under a tree by a river near the woods, one of the few remaining places not bulldozed and developed into a mini-mall or suburb.
"…change the world how?" she asked. The conversation between them during their get-together had been friendly and relaxed, with both parties occasionally making a double entendre, but this threw her for a loop, somehow.
"…like… oh, I don't know. You got the power to… change things. Like, physically change them. But only if…" he paused. "…only if people believed you could do it."
She raised an eyebrow. "…a faith based superpower? That sounds like one of those insipid Christian action cartoons they made me watch in Sunday school."
"Well, it doesn't have to be exactly that. Anything on that scale." Calvin clarified.
Unsure where he was going with this, Susie thought. "…in other words, power approaching a god."
There was an uncomfortable silence. Calvin looked…
…guilty?
…afraid?
…worried?
"…yeah."
"Well," she said, shrugging as she sipped lemonade. "it would depend on who gave it to me. I mean, if someone in a black suit came up to me with a contract they wanted signed in blood, I'd say no." she said jokingly. "…and if the power meant I'd have to fight God, I'd pass. I've it on good authority that doesn't end well." She looked at Calvin, chewing his sandwich. "Why do you ask?"
"Just… thinking." He said after he swallowed. "I mean, I used to think having 'super powers' would be awesome. But now with everything that's going on, just being known seems trouble enough."
Susie nodded solemnly. "I… I just wanted to make the issue known, you know? Make people aware that people were homeless in their own city." She looked at the creek, a bird bathing itself by the shore. "…of course, if I had superpowers like you said, Highweller wouldn't have been a problem." She said sadly.
"Hey," Calvin said suddenly. "Highweller wasn't your fault. Don't ever tell yourself that. People like him… people like him are scum. They don't care about anything but their own ego."
He reached out to touch her, and she leaned in. It felt nice, warm, relaxing.
She wasn't an idiot. There were still monsters out there. The Destroyer that haunted her dreams was real. But she would take her respites where she could get them.
"There is one thing I'd do if I had superpowers." She offered causally.
"Oh?" Calvin said, drinking some lemonade.
"I'd peek on you in the shower."
She doubled over in laughter as Calvin fought to get the lemonade out of his nose.
Life…
Life was difficult, but it had it
s good moments, and one of those was watching her boyfriend blush and try to get lemonade out of his nose while looking dignified.
She'd ask him later about what he thought about the dream she had about the rainy field.
…
The days where Jason Fox had energy to devote to childish girl-bashing were long behind him, so when Eileen Jacobson knocked on the hotel room door, he was less irritated and more concerned.
Eileen had, among other students, contacted him after word of the 'Good Friday War', to make sure he was still alive, but he hadn't expected her to visit in person.
He stepped outside to talk in private. "Hey, what's up-"
"An's run away."
For a moment, weary processors in his brain ran to figure out the enormity of what that meant.
"An? An Xiao? As in, daughter of the cocksucker?" he asked.
"Cocksucker and abuser." Eileen said bitterly. "Her dad found out she told the truth about the gun drawing bullshit, and beat her up pretty bad."
Jason made a mental note that he now had a 'volunteer' to test any new weapons on.
"Shit. Any idea where she went?" he asked.
"Have you heard of this 'Exodus' thing?" Eileen asked. Without waiting for Jason's no, she continued. "It's basically a big camp-out for kids who have been hurt by the Malefidiot bullshit. They're saying until their parents or whoever wise up, they're not coming home."
Several dozen possible outcomes of this formed rapidly in Jason's head, none of them good. They could run out of food. They could kill each other. A few armed Malefidiots could find them and go on a killing spree…
"And the cocksucker?" Jason asked.
"He's in lock-up. An's mother is leaving him over this, I hear. Phoebe's tried calling her cell, but she hasn't responded."
"Shit… look, I can sympathize, but… what do you want me to do? I barely know An-"
"But she knows you." Eileen broke in pointedly. "Everyone does. All I'm asking is that you call her and try to talk some sense into her. This… won't end well, Jason."
Then they were on the same page, then.
It should not have come as a surprise that Eileen's intellect could calculate all the ways this "Exodus", a bold, but unplanned gesture, could fail. An wasn't thinking rationally; being assaulted by your own father for telling the truth had that effect.
She held out a scrap of paper with An's number.
"I'll do what I can," said Jason finally. "but you have to understand… if it was as bad as I think it was, An's not going to feel safe here. We don't feel safe here. Even appealing to logic, it's going to be a hard sell."
Eileen just nodded sadly.
…
Alone in his sparsely furnished room, Malefides meditated.
Or, at least, it felt like meditating, letting the power of the abyss flow through him, showing him the outside world.
This Exodus lunacy was a welcome diversion.
R.A.W. was one of many facets of the plan. To subscribe to their methodology with the same zeal as so many of their best agents did was folly.
It was time to work the other end.
These were not your typical angsty teenagers who wrote depressing poetry because their parents didn't buy them the right color car- they had legitimate grievances, injuries physical and mental brought about from either parents or 'Concerned Elders' taking the methods his book- the Malefidian's Bible, "Get With The Program"- to heart.
In a way, that made it all the better. For all of them to congregate together, whatever the reason, was an opportunity he could not afford to pass up.
The most damning incidents of late came to his mind. The false accusation of rape, the stripping and humiliation of a girl, a boy punished horrifically for six years, hell, even the woes of Susie Derkins were usable…
The inspiration came to him quickly, as he recalled an axiom spouted repeatedly during Derkins' nightmarish trials… "No Good Deed Goes Unpunished".
The actions of one side provided fuel to convince the other side to follow a certain course of action, which in turn would provide fuel to the first side…
It was a perpetual motion engine of misery.
Precision would be crucial here. To turn a child against oneself, all you needed to do was hit them, lie about them, insult them, and you had a life-long enemy that saw you as an unreasonable tyrant that needed to be escaped or destroyed. To turn them against someone with the same ferocity, even when the target party had been openly and blatantly abusive, required a more delicate touch…
One general message to provide a common sense of distrust, and then more specific nudges for individuals…
He became aware of a messenger outside his door, ready to inform him to report for duty. A brief flash of irritation, then a willing by the darkness within him, and all that expected him to attend another insipid meeting forgot he was ever requested to attend…
…he had so much to do, and never enough time to do it.