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The Secret to Life, pt 2
2003-12-18 at 12:01 a.m.

fiction

The Secret To Life pt. 2

Tom Rightwell was born in the rain.

He opened his eyes to cold drops and a world that seemed colored only in shades of gray, muted blue, black.

He was nude, and he didn't know where he was.

He just knew his name was Tom Rightwell, he had some kind of job to do, and he needed to move.

Fast.

Pure adrenaline slashing through the system when coming from a complete null, a lack of self only moments before, is debilitating.

But great yellow lights were bearing down too fast on him and he had to-

Tom Righwell rolled nude in the gravel on the berm, wondering why this new world was made up of cold and pain. He felt each litte scrape and cut as if he were being bitten by thousands of little animals.

The giant thing with the yellow eyes roared onwards. It had red eyes in the rear and Tom felt a momentary terror that it would return. Perhaps it was chasing him. He had some dim memory of such things happening before. But it passed as he took stock of his situation.

Tom Rightwell did seem to know more than his name.

He knew he needed something called clothes.

He knew there was someone he was supposed to look for.

He did not know where he was, exactly. He did not know where he came from. He did not know what he was supposed to do when he found the someone. He did not know the name of the someone.

He did not know why it was very clearly outlined in his mind that the someone he sought was dangerous.

Very, very dangerous.


Truckdriver Richard Waters retired two weeks after he nearly ran over the nude man.

It was a medical retirement, initially-he was obsessed with certain images from the night when the man appeared, nude, on the rainy road in his headlights.

The night after he'd arrived home from that haul his wife had awakened at three in the morning to find Richard clipping and pasting images from the Cistine Chapel all over their den.

A year after he retired, on a whim, Richard Waters took a piano class, and found he'd always had a neglected musical gift. He began to pursue music with a vengeance, and when he came out of retirement three years after that night it was to take a job as a music minister for a small country church.

He lived 35 more years, playing the organ every Sunday morning save one-due to a blizzard-and he was well-loved by all the parishioners for not only his music, but his deep commitment to God. And his smile, which was most radiant when he played the hymns.


Tom Rightwell stumbled down a muddy embankment and splashed into a shallow creek. Due to the driving rain it had picked up volume but was not yet a danger to wade through.

Tom had the strangest feeling of being utterly lost yet led.

The world around him was more or less familiar. He knew what trees were, water, he knew the wet stuff soaking his nude body and making him so cold his teeth chattered was rain. He did not know where he was going.

He'd been walking through the thinly wooded countryside away from the road for over an hour, feeling only a vague sense that this was probably the right thing to do, not sure at all.

He didn't feel fear so much as he felt incredibly bewildered. Half-ready for whatever he was here for.

He knew for instance that it was dangerous to his flesh to be in this cold state, with all these scrapes.

Tom was beginning to feel the smallest tingling of something that might be fear when he saw the lights through the treeline ahead. These were stationary, unlike the twin yellow eyes of light that had nearly killed him, and there was something about them he found...right.

He was not tired, strangely enough. He didn't even know what tired was.

Tom Rightwell came out of the treeline into a muddy field. Far across the field he could see a large building with a dim light coming from the center. Strange sounds were emanating from the lighted area. They were coming from some kind of creature.

Tom thought of the word horse, without knowing what that meant.

A sudden spur of feeling sent his feet to flight. He felt he had to get to that lighted area. He took off at a run, through the dark, through the rain.


The day Andy Klink was ordained he took his first child.

Andy had wanted to take a child since he himself was a child. He'd wanted to kill Joey French's little sister.

He played Little League with Joey. Joey was the best hitter on the team. Andy was a good fielder, and with his broad shoulders the best long ball hitter, but Joey was the consistent guy on base.

His little sister was named Mary Jane, and when Joey's mom was at practice, Mary Jane, whom Andy recalled in his fantasies as being three, would come down to the fence separating the field from the stands and stare out at the boys. Andy always remembered her face being smeared with chocolate, with this infuriatingly stupid gaze-no life to it, all solemnity.

Andy had a fantasy of holding little Mary Jane up by one arm and with the other whacking away with one of the aluminum bats until she was clattering skin bag of bone shards.

This was on his mind the day of his ordination.

It was at Good Shepherd Church, where Andy had been a ministerial intern. He'd already ingratiated himself with the congregation when the tragedy with Sela had occurred, so on the day he was ordained the church was full of loving sympathetic faces.

He took the child at the lunch held afterwards.

Andy spotted the one he wanted running around the room as the majority of adults were still filling their plates at the serving window.

She was the Minor family's youngest, Linda.

Andy considered this closely. The Minor family was the largest in the church-6 children. They were overtaxed by this, and if there was a kid on the loose, not watched, it was usually a Minor.

Hell, the name felt appropriate.

A Minor killing.

Andy restrained himself from laughing when the thought occurred to him.

It was a neat trick, watching little Linda as so many greeted him, congratulated him. As the Bishop engaged him in stupid Old Man chatter about nothing. Multitasking-Andy was becoming a master of this.

The perfect moment came when little Linda dashed right out the double doors at the end of the Fellowship Hall closest to Andy.

He immediately switched his gaze to the table where the majority of the Minor family sat.

They didn't have a clue.

He calculated. The Minors were overtaxed but not neglectful. He figured he had 5 minutes, 10 tops.

With a flash of his beautiful lopsided grin Andy excused himself to "use the facilities."

Bishop Wing nodded indulgently, quickly turned to bore the Head Pastor, Reverend Ken.


"Linda?"

The little girl turned. She was standing at the children's fountain outside classroom 102, the 4 year old room on Sunday mornings. Andy had given several children's moments in there on Sundays, to his eternal boredom.

"Mr. Andy?"

She reminded him of Mary Jane French, a little. A bit older. He sighed inwardly. No baseball bat.

"I saw you coming out and thought I'd see if you wanted to play a little game."

It was a trite approach. Classic molester bullshit. Well, he wasn't going to molest her. Adult women were his preference there, though he'd probably try everything eventually. Not today.

The game he wanted to play with Linda came to him, perfectly, as he stood there in the quiet hallway, hearing the dull roar of the faithful down the hall behind them.

"What game?" she asked, expectantly. This was Mr. Andy. He'd just been turned into a preacher, according to her Mommy. He was nice, too.

"Would you like to learn how to baptize people?"

A puzzled look crossed her face, but only for a moment. A pretty, shy smile highlighted the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. "Okay!" she said brightly.

Gently, Reverend Andy took her hand. As they headed for the stairs into the sanctuary, he thought to himself how perfectly things worked out sometimes.

How glad he was that these people, when it came to baptizing new members into the flock, believed ardently not in the 'catholic' method of 'sprinkling', but in the more scriptural baptism by immersion.

Little Linda Minor would learn about immersion.

...to be continued...




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