Maurice Broaddus - King's War

Baylon lunged toward him just as Garlan turned his ring and disappeared. Garlan threw himself against the concrete embankment, evading the initial grasp. He turned to kick him. Garlan tried to brace himself as much as possible. With all the strength he awkwardly managed, he stomped.

Baylon barely flinched, but the impact pushed him toward the river's edge. He couldn't hear above the roar or the current. Landing on his back, mired in the mud of a puddle, he locked eyes on Garlan. His heart pounded in his head. His mind, however, focused with clarity at the task at hand, detached, like he was playing a video game. Baylon's piercing howl cut through the noise of the storm.

Garlan bumped against a barbed-wire fence. He cursed the Private Property — No Trespassing sign that swung wildly in the wind. He scanned for a weapon of some sort. A discarded piece of rebar was jammed between some concrete debris at the base of the bridge, but it meant rushing past Baylon to get it. The rain dumped down in sheets, creating a haze over the water against the lights overhead.

Baylon slowed as he realized he had cornered himself. Garlan edged along the fence, never turning from Baylon, his hands feeling for any break in the fence. His pupils dilated, thick blood vessels wrapping his eyes like jealous lovers. Leaves crunched and twigs snapped underfoot with each lumbering step, his feet sliding in the thickening mud.

Baylon's stride stiffened, each step requiring that much more effort. His laborious breathing sounded like wind tunnels. The mud by the fence bulged then oozed forward as if something plopped in it. Rain outlined the shadow of a figure. Baylon stiffened his hands. Without warning, he dashed forward and drove his fist through the center mass of the rain-occluded wisp. Blood sprayed the bridge embankment.

Garlan faded back into view as his pulse lessened, the last beats of his heart bringing him into full view. Baylon grabbed Garlan's hand and slipped the ring from it. Placing it in the center of his palm, he examined it. Then he flicked it into the air, caught, and pocketed it before police came to investigate the scuffle.

Now it was just him and Dred. Dred would have to turn to him again, and things would be like they were.

The window latch clicked slightly as the glass slid up. An exhalation of a breeze jostled the curtains. The room was a murky swirl of shadows, unfamiliar and terrifying. The night hid the creature under the bed or bought camouflaging protection for the bogeyman in the closet. There were all sorts of predators in the night. Things that went bump in the night. Things that no amount of iron bars, safety glass, or fancy alarm systems could give the illusion of providing safety against.

He slipped in noiselessly. Despite his build he moved with the grace of a thief, light of foot and touch. Her mother certainly didn't lack for imagination. She wanted her daughter to have a magical, safe childhood, a little girl's room fraught with little-princess dreams and little-princess trappings. Mementos of a childhood denied him. It took him forever to find. There was power in a name: a tracer spell might have sufficed, but the apartment complex had some sort of ward placed on it. His own mother used a similar spell also to hide from him.

The little girl was just as beautiful as he imagined her. The sounds of light snoring filled the room as she snuggled into a thick pink blanket and pillow. For a moment he stood over her, just watching her sleep. He covered her mouth and sat down next to her. Her eyes sprang open, large with panic. Her balled little fists slammed into him, then slowly ceased as recognition filled her eyes. He removed his hand.

"Daddy!" she whispered with enthusiasm, sitting up to give him a hug.

"Nakia," Dred said.

Growing up, all of the adults in King's life filled his head with the idea that he had so much potential. That he was good and somehow destined to do great things. However, he had trouble enough leading his life much less the fact that he never truly envisioned himself as a particularly good man. He clung to the quiet belief that he never lived up to being the man he was meant to be. This knowledge both haunted and drove him. What he was slowly coming to accept was that he was a man out of place in this world. Try as he might to get caught up in the cynicism of this age, he couldn't shake his core faith that people were called to a purpose, were meant to stand for something. He'd been given a responsibility and had betrayed that. He didn't deserve anything approaching honor or respect, but he knew that no one was beyond redemption. Or forgiveness.

Even himself.

"Everything looks good, Mr White," said a small squat woman with large glasses who perked to attention around him like he was the last rib at a family barbecue. The nurses fussed about him, drawing blood and checking his pulse and pressure, poking and prodding him. The police had already left, marginally satisfied with the answers he had for their questions. His friends — his only true family — waited down the hallway.

"When can I get out of here?" King raised the bed so he could sit up.

"The doctors want to keep you overnight for observation. No reason why we can't let you go in the morning."

"Can you send my people back here? I'd like to see them."

"Only a couple at a time. We don't want a crowd in here." The nurse pushed her glasses up on her nose. A sweet smile curled on her lips, but she was not a woman to trifle with.

King raised his hand to his forehead as if nursing a headache. The images replayed in his mind. The searing pain of being shot. After that, his memory became stills. Flashing lights. A breathing mask. Bleets of a machine. Doctors hovering over him. Then nothing. He dreamt of his father, though it wasn't his father. More like the ideal of his father. And there was water. Cool. Refreshing. Pure. Like drinking life itself. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice Lady G enter.

"Hey," Lady G said.

"Hey," King straightened. He pulled the sheets down on his leg, not wanting her to see him in so pathetic a state. "Just you?"

"Nah, they all out there. Wayne. Pastor Winburn. Big Momma. Percy. Had."

"No Merle?"

"He out of pocket. Some girl though. Calls herself La Payasa."

"Who?"

"Says she's with Black's crew. Helped bring Had and Percy back safe. So did Lott."

"Yeah, I need to handle some things. Old business." The question was still there, unspoken — Why did you do it? — but silence reigned with no obligation to fill it.

"King, I-"

"You know what I've realized?" King cut her off. Nostalgic for times that never really existed. Sometimes he feared that he couldn't relax and enjoy life because he lived it like it was glimpses of happiness spent holding his breath, waiting for the fall to happen. "I've worn out my capacity to love. At least in my own strength and on my own terms. I've just sort of reached my limit on what I can do on my own. It's a big world out there and I'm still amazed by all the good. And there's still so much to do. Like this Black situation."

"You and Merle go on about your duty. Your responsibility. It doesn't have to be you. The world will go on if you don't get on your white horse to try and save us all."

"When I first met you, you seemed like such a scared little girl. I mean, you came across all hard and stuff, but I could tell. I wanted to protect you. Heal you. I lost my way. Tried to deny my feelings for you, but they were too strong. Fell in love with you. I thought you felt that way too." It was always so easy to be with her. She understood him in ways few others did, without him having to explain much. King stirred as if bored. His brow lowered. Her voice didn't fill him with the crazy passion it used to. Loving her was like loving a black hole. Some days, he thought he loved her so much he hated her for making him so weak. Then there was something else. Something he didn't want to have to admit to himself or voice because to voice it made it real. That he loved the idea of her loving him. That if she accepted him, he'd finally feel good about himself, because of who she was… Good. Innocent. Pure. "Everything I did, I did out of love."