The Fall of Society (Book 2): The Fight of Society (2 page)

            “Close your eyes, son,” Ardent told him in a calm voice.

            The sailor closed his eyes and tears ran down his bloody face.

            “Our Father, who is in heaven, holy is your name,” the sailor spoke. “Your kingdom come, your will be done—”

            Ardent aimed his pistol…

            “—On Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread…” the sailor’s memory failed him, “…I forgot the rest.”

            Ardent continued for him, “—And forgive us our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us. And lead us not into temptation—”

            Ardent placed his finger on the trigger…

            The sailor remembered, “—But deliver us from evil. Amen. Thank you, sir.”

            Ardent dispatched him.

            A second casing fell next to the first.

            Ardent left to go back to his mother and the moment he was in the corridor, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of—

            A figure standing motionless in the middle of the walkway. The person was covered in a white sheet from head to toe. It was only several feet from him and Ardent gasped in horror.

            “Oh God!” he mumbled in quick shock.

            The apparition before him invaded his mind…

OVER FIFTY YEARS AGO

PASADENA, CALIFORNIA

OCTOBER

IT WAS EARLY EVENING AND THIS MIDDLE-CLASS NEIGHBORHOOD WAS QUIET. The sun’s rays stretched across the houses, keeping some of the kids on the street warm. A group of boys were playing street hockey, some girls were spinning hula-hoops, and other kids rode bicycles. This was a time of innocence and it was way before the creation of zombie-like children that played video games or stared at their smart phones all day and night.

            These were real children.

            Playing in front of houses that were built with genuine craftsmanship, one house in particular was a California ranch-style home. There were no kids playing in front of it. There was actually no sign of anyone, just a lone vehicle parked in the driveway. A new Chevy sedan that looked more like a tank than a car. Things were built to last back then. The porch light was on and the few lights that were on inside the home betrayed the little boy that peeped through parted curtains.

            The inside of this house was immaculate—everything arranged neatly and cleaned by a woman who clearly took pride in her home. The sweet voice of Billie Holiday swept through the house from the caress of an unseen record player; it reported the tune “I’ll be seeing you.” The occasional crackles and soft hisses from the vinyl’s grooves gave the music a crisp, real sound. A woman was partially visible as she moved about in the kitchen, tinkering with silverware, finishing preparations for dinner. The aroma of a hickory-smoked Virginia ham, laced with pineapple and dotted with cloves, filled the dwelling. It was so pungent and perfectly cooked; it probably distracted Lady Day as she sang.

            The boy was about seven years old. He wore blue overalls and a white t-shirt, his youthful skin darkly lustrous. An African-American child, he was innocent, more innocent than his mother wanted him to be, but that was the truth of it. His hair was cut very short and it showed the arc of his head, which was a little big for the size of his body. His mother knew why that was—her son was smarter than any other child on the block and one day, when he grew up to be a man, he would be the captain of a ship.

            Just like his father.

            Not too far from the child were pictures on the fireplace mantel of his family—most were of a black man in a navy officer’s uniform—the boy’s father. Another picture of the boy with his parents was a testament to that fact and, even though his father was a little too young to be a member of the Golden Thirteen, many of those black officers were his friends. The pictures showed the unity of the family—the father a solid man, a family man, and a good man. His wife was his rock, keeping them together in times of hardship, which were more often than not, but they always pulled through with the help of her devotion and love.

            The boy peered through the window at the children playing outside, all the white children playing outside. He didn’t understand why some of them and their parents treated him differently. He knew his skin was darker than theirs, but he also knew his blood was just as red as theirs. And he knew that from when he got into a scuffle with a white boy last summer and they both scraped their elbows on the street. That was the first time he saw blood, his or anyone else’s, for that matter and, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the last time. He didn’t understand why some people hated him, especially since he hated no one, but he did understand why his mother kept him inside most of the time—to protect him.

            “Dinner’s ready,” his mother called to him from the dinning room.

            The child didn’t answer as he continued to look out the window—many of the children were being called to their homes for dinnertime as well.

            “Did you hear me, Ardent?”

            “Coming, Mommy.”

            He pulled his eyes from the window and trekked his way to the dining room where he found his mother finishing the table, which was set for two.

            “I’m glad you could make it, Mister Keller,” his mother told him with a smile.

            She was a vision, in her early twenties, a tall and thin beauty with ample curves where they were needed. She was dressed like a movie star, that is, her clothes, make-up, and hair were immaculate. A living portrait of the American dream.

            Her son giggled from being called ‘Mister’.

            “Why do you call me that, Mommy?”

            “Because…you’re my little man, aren’t you?”

            “I guess so.”

            “No guessing. When your father is away, you’re the man of the house.”

            “Okay.”

            “Good,” she said as she placed a serving of vegetables on his plate. “I hope you’re hungry, because I think I made too much.”

            “Again?” he asked.

            “Yes, again, funny man.”

            “You keep forgetting that daddy isn’t here right now to eat all the food you make.”

            “Not forgetting, sweetie…wishing.”

            “Wishing for what?”

            “Wishing he was here so he can go Trick or Treating with us this weekend.”

            “Me, too.”

            “Okay, eat your dinner before it gets cold.”

            “But I wanted to show you my costume.”

            His mother was confused, “Costume? What costume, sweetie?”

            “The one I made for Halloween.”

            “But I thought you wanted to be a cowboy for Halloween?”

            “I did, but you said that we didn’t have money to buy me a cowboy costume, so I made one myself.”

            “You made a cowboy costume?” His mother was perplexed.

            “No, it was too hard.”

            “So what did you make?”

            “I can’t tell you.”

            “Why not?”

            “It’s a surprise.”

            “Good. Go get your costume and I’ll wait here, so you can surprise me.”

            “Okay, Mommy,” Ardent said and went to his room.

            She heard him rustling about in his room, getting his costume together and a moment later he came back, but stopped in the hallway. Just out of her sight.

            “Are you ready?” he said to her.

            “Yes,” his mother answered with a smile.

            “Are your eyes closed?” he asked.

            “No.”

            “Then you’re not ready! Close your eyes!”

            “Alright, they’re closed,” she said.

            He peeked around the corner to make sure her eyes were closed and, once he saw they were, he stepped into the dinning room for her to see.

            “Okay, you can open them now!” Ardent said happily.

            His mother looked and when she saw what he was wearing, she did her best to hide the chagrin on her face.

            He had a white pillowcase over his body with holes cut out for eyes.

           
“That’s where my pillowcase went to,”
his mother thought.

            Little Ardent had also cut holes on the sides of it for his arms to fit through.

            “Um…” she stuttered a bit, “…what are you supposed to be, sweetie, a ghost?”

            “Yeah, but I’m Casper the friendly ghost,” he said enthusiastically.

            “That’s nice.”

            “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” his joy fled.

            “I like it, Baby, but I thought you wanted to be a cowboy, that’s all.”

            “Mommy, you said that I couldn’t be a cowboy.”

            “I know, I know, but it turns out I have a little money and I was going to use it to surprise you and buy the cowboy costume you wanted.”

            “Really?”

            “Really,” his mother assured him. “Now, why don’t you take that off so we can have our dinner and, after that we’ll go get the cowboy costume.”

            His mother didn’t have the heart to tell him why she really didn’t want him to wear his ‘ghost’ costume, being that she was from the South. That was some of her past little Ardent never needed to know.

            He took off the pillowcase, ran to her, and embraced her tightly.

            “Thank you, Mommy, thank you very much!”

            “You’re welcome, Baby.”

            And that embrace meant more to her than he would ever know…

DAY 45:

ARDENT and  BEAR

ARDENT STOOD THERE IN THE HOSPITAL CORRIDOR PETRIFIED FROM SHOCK. The memory of that particular Halloween with his mother had drilled him. His eyes were pulled in like a black hole to the figure before him with the white sheet over its body, and it was inescapable. Ardent heard the echoed memory of Billie Holiday’s voice—

            “I’ll be seeing you…
”

            The ghost swayed in place several feet from him, but this apparition had no holes for the eyes or slits for the arms, it was just a sliver of white sheet. Ardent couldn’t move, let alone breathe. His eyes screamed and his mouth wanted to join in, but he still couldn’t draw breath into his lungs. The phantasm took a step forward and the sheet got caught under its foot and was pulled off. It fell to the floor gracefully as a ballerina and revealed what was hid, even though Ardent knew who it was—

            His mother.

            She faced the other side of the corridor and she had this set-in-stone look of confusion, a drunken bewilderment as to who or where she was. Ardent’s lips trembled and his eyes burned with swelling tears as he tried to remain in control, but it was impossible.

            “Mom?” Ardent said as tears traced over his lips.

            She heard his voice and turned her five foot four body around, dragged her feet, shuffled to the sound of him and when she faced him, Ardent’s face tightened with despair.

            His mother had become one of them.

            Her milky eyes set their soulless gaze upon him and she moved for him.

            Her feet
scratched
along the linoleum with each step bringing her closer to Ardent.

            “Mom? It’s me…Ardent.”

            She responded by gaping her fetid mouth open for what she wanted to feast on.

            Ardent struggled badly with his next decision—

            He slowly raised his .45 toward her…

            She was seven steps from him
…

            His eyes were drowning as he aimed at her face…

            Five
…

            She raised her hands toward him…

            Three
…

            He placed his finger on the trigger…

            Her putrid fingers were within inches of him…

            Ardent remembered that Halloween when she bought him the cowboy costume that he had wanted so badly. She would never know how much that meant to him.

            One of her hands moved along the slide of his gun, she would claw at him in a second…

            He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t shoot his mother…

            He was going to die with her, right here, right now…

            She began to whisper to him, but Ardent quickly realized it was a low, inhuman howl…

            He still couldn’t pull the trigger…

            “Mommy?” he whispered in misery.

            A shot cracked the utter silence and a bullet hit his mother’s forehead.

            She dropped to the floor in a lifeless heap.

            Ardent’s gun hadn’t fired; he turned behind him where the shot came from—

            Bear stood there with a smoking gun in his hand.

            Ardent rushed him and slammed him against a wall with his hands around Bear’s throat—

            “NOOO!” he shouted in a long growl of anger and sadness.

            Bear didn’t react; he raised his hands in surrender.

            “Sir,” he said in choked words, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I had to!”

            Ardent had hate in his eyes and the intent to kill in his hands.

            “I’m sorry, sir, but we need to leave!” Bear struggled to speak through Ardent’s grip, squeezed tightly around his neck.

            Ardent was forced to regain his senses as another walking corpse staggered around a corner, attracted by the gunfire. It came straight for them. Ardent let go of Bear and shot the beast down, and then walked over to his mother’s body.

            “Sir, our vehicle is this way,” Bear pointed in the opposite direction.

            Ardent ignored him as he gently picked up his mother and carried her back into her room.