Steve Alten - The Mayan Resurrection

‘Wait, Manny, before you leave, I wanted to ask you a question.’

‘Just one?’

‘Are you happy?’

‘Are you?’

‘I try to be.’

Immanuel looks away. ‘I hate it here. It’s like being in prison. Mom’s paranoid-she never lets me leave, and Jake is a jerk, always acting like some goddam drill seargent. All he cares about is his stupid fantasies.’

‘It must be hard on you.’

‘It’s harder on her. He treats our mother like crap.’

‘Why do you say that? I’ve never seen him lose his temper with her.’

‘He treats her with indifference. Like he’s afraid to love her, or anyone, for that matter. My brother’s all business.’

‘Do you believe any of his stories? You know, the Mayan myths about the Hero Twins.’

‘You’re not serious?’

‘You know, I think you really love Jake a lot. I also think the two of you are a lot more alike than you let on.’

‘Don’t say that. You think I want to end up like him?’

‘No, but I think you have a good heart, Manny.’ She touches his chest with her palm. ‘Let it be your guiding light.’

Belle Glade, Florida October 28, 2027 11:17 p.m.

They can hear the heavy bass from the speakers pounding a block away.

‘Don’t be nervous,’ Regina says. ‘Just let yourself go.’

Lilith tugs nervously at her violet skintight top, trying to hide the bulge of her protruding nipples. ‘I wish you would have let me wait for Brandy.’

‘Forget about Brandy for one night. Tonight you’re with me.’

‘If Quenton saw me dressed like this, he would… well-’

‘Relax. Your grandfather’s asleep.’

‘You mean passed out.’

Regina takes her hand. ‘Just stick with me.’

The party is in full swing by the time they arrive. Cars are parked everywhere, in the driveway, on the street, and atop the lawn. A multiracial mix of teens flow in and out of the two-storey stucco and stone home, the night air drenched with the scent of beer and marijuana.

All eyes stare at Lilith as she follows Regina inside.

Strobe lights and heavy-metal music greet her, along with a wall of moving bodies.

‘Gina-hey, glad you made it!’ Brett Longley pushes his way towards them.

‘Hey, Brett. You know Lilith.’

‘Uh, sure, I’ve seen her around school. Hey, Lilith.’

‘Hi.’

‘Yeah, let’s get high.’ Gina places a white pill on her tongue, then turns to Lilith.

Brett watches the two girls French-kiss. ‘Damn. Save some of that for me.’

October 29, 2027 2:15 a.m.

Lilith is numb.

Numb is easy. Numb requires no emotions. No thinking. An occasional breath. Just open wide for a probing tongue and the numbness comes.

I’m a popular object…

Lilith lies back on the couch between Regina and Ron Ley.

Ron is tall. Ron is a senior. Ron plays varsity basketball and runs track.

Ron is white. Ron is cool.

Ron is horny. Lilith can feel his erection every time he leans over to steal a kiss.

‘Lilith, finish my beer.’

No more beer. More beer means throwing up, and throwing up makes the headaches come back.

Lilith takes the beer from Ron and drains it.

Ron likes me. Ron thinks I’m cool. Jacob will be so jealous.

Regina passes out on Lilith’s lap.

Across the smoke-filled room, Dante Adams drains his beer. Dante has been eyeing Lilith for hours.

Dante is horny.

Dante is a predator.

Ron kisses Lilith again. Squeezes her breasts way too hard, then takes her hand and leads her into the nearest bedroom.

Don’t do this, Lilith! She tries to pull away, but all resistance is gone.

So you’re dumb. Just be numb. At least you’re cool.

Dante follows them inside.

‘Don’t-’

‘Come on, baby-’

‘No… Ron, please don’t-’

‘I don’t like being teased.’

‘I wasn’t teasing.’

‘Fine. If you won’t let me put it in you, then just suck it.’

Brandy appears over Ron’s shoulder. Just do it. It’s easier than fighting him.

Lilith opens her mouth. Inhales a whiff of his manhood. Chokes back a gag reflex, then pukes all over Ron’s basketball sneakers.

‘Ugh… you stupid bitch!’ Ron slaps her hard across the face.

Too wasted to feel the pain and too high to locate the nexus, Lilith squeezes her eyes shut and sucks on the blood oozing from her lower lip.

Dante moves closer. ‘I’ll spread her legs. You do her first… then it’s my turn.’

6:15 a.m.

Lilith staggers home just before sunrise. Her lower lip is swollen, her cheek bruised. Her shirt is torn. She is missing her shoes.

Lilith is no longer numb.

Lilith is sober.

Lilith is ready to die.

She sneaks around back and enters the kitchen. Hears Quenton snoring.

Quietly, she roots through a kitchen drawer. Locates the steak knife.

She enters Quenton’s bedroom. Sees the old man passed out on the floor. Enters the master bathroom. Stares at the tub and the razor blades lined up in the soap dish. Contemplates. Decides against running the bathwater for fear of waking her grandfather.

Lilith enters the walk-in closet. Tugs on the dangling ceiling chain, retracting the wooden step-ladder from the attic. Climbs up into the crawl space, searching for solitude.

Lilith hates the attic. As a four-year-old, Lilith feared the attic.

This morning, the attic is a refuge, a point of no return.

Dawn shines in from the cracked hexagon of glass.

Lilith stares at the veins of her wrists. She is not afraid to die, but she is afraid of the pain. Pain means noise, and noise could awaken Quenton.

She looks around for a towel or shirt, something to stuff in her mouth and bite down upon while she opens her veins.

She sits up, wincing at the sharp twinge shooting through her swollen rectum. She thinks about contacting Jacob, but feels too ashamed. He’ll think I’m a slut.

Her azure-blue eyes skirt the attic, pausing at an unrecognized cardboard box. She reaches over and opens it.

Curiosity captures her attention. It is her mother’s personal effects.

She removes the dusty photo album and opens the torn book flap, accidentally spilling half the unbound contents.

A yellowed black-and-white photo of her mother and father taking their wedding vows.

A legal document signifying Madelina Aurelia’s adoption by her foster parents, the Moreheads.

Madelina’s second-grade report card-all As.

A few disturbing watercolor paintings. Several more photos of her mother as a teen.

She fingers the sealed manila envelope. Tearing away the yellowed tape, she reaches inside, removing several old newspaper clippings and a black-and-white photo of a frightening old man.

On the back of the photo is scrawled: Uncle Don Rafelo.

She unfolds the aged newspaper clippings. Each story concerns her great-uncle, reputed to be a Nagual -a powerful Mexican witch.

Lilith reads, her schizophrenic mind absorbing the information like a sponge.

Students mill about the patched tarmac schoolyard, waiting for the sixth period bell to ring. Dozens hang in groups, smoking by the seven-foot-high chain-link fence. Others are preoccupied with palm-sized computer games. Shirtless boys play full-court pickup basketball.

Lilith kneels behind one of the basketball poles, then turns to Brandy. ‘Okay, we’re here. Now what?’

Do as I told you.

‘They’ll hurt me.’

Not this time. Get ready.

Lilith’s luminescent blue eyes follow the game.

Dante Adams dribbles between his legs, then launches a wild shot at the opposite basket. Ronny Ley grabs the defensive rebound and pushes the ball up court. Evading a defender with a crossover dribble, he pulls up in front of Brett Longley at the three-point arc and shoots.