Peripheral Visions: Twisted Hallowe'en Twofer

Peripheral Visions: They coalesce in the soft blur of darkest shadows and take shape in the corner of your eye. But you won't see them coming... until it's too late.

Twisted Hallowe'en Twofer

Elections Have Consequences... and Consequences

"It's about time I put all those years of pharmacology school to good use," Hector muttered to himself as he put the ingredients together.

He was seated at the kitchen table – if you could call the tiny galley kitchen situated on one side of the studio apartment a kitchen. The place was barely big enough for Hector to turn around, and the narrow confines of his living space matched the feeling of suffocation that everyone seemed to be feeling these days. He shook his head and added a final packet of powder to the mixture.

Behind him, on the kitchen counter, the radio chattered it usual litany of artificially sweetened bullshit, all of preapproved by government censors.

"America celebrates its freedoms today as Prime Patriot Kirsch announces that elections are officially canceled," a deep, strongly masculine voice said.

"Yeah," Hector muttered, stirring the ingredients into the water. "Just like Kirsch said four years ago: He's made everything so wonderful, we're never gonna need to vote again." Of course, he reflected, one didn't vote for "prime patriots," whatever that meant. One voted for presidents. But Kirsch had set the title of president aside two months after winning the last election, declaring that it was time for a new day in America – a long, bright day that would unfold under his watch. A day of security, safety, and happiness.

The funny thing was, no one felt secure – least of all anyone of color, or anyone queer, and Hector was both.

Kirsch's voice replaced that of the jabbering newscaster: "This is a great day, America! I have kept all my promises to you, and I will make new promises now. I promised you prosperity: I gave it to you!"

Hector looked around the cramped studio apartment, a place he wouldn't be able to afford when the rent doubled at the start of the new year.

"I promised you a better life, and now I promise you an even better life," Kirsch's voice droned on. "Because life is good. Life is fantastic! No one gives you more life than I do, and I am the only one who can give you life. Those malcontents who say I've failed America and cry about democracy, they're the ones who offer death – death, death, death. I am life! Me! Life, life, life!"

"Ya don't say," Hector said, raising the glass and scrutinizing its hazy white hue. "Well, here's to all your promises." He swallowed the mixture in three large gulps. He sat still, staring at the tabletop until his eyes rolled back, he slumped forward, and his body went limp as the breath left him.

*** *** ***

Elias looked deeply into Encenio's eyes, unsure if he was about to laugh or cry; unsure, for that matter, if he'd remember what he wanted to say, or even be able to say it.

Drawing a deep breath, Elias plunged in: "Encenio, you're my best friend and my soulmate. You tickle my funny bone, you challenge my mind, you fill my heart, and you make my body sing. So, why wouldn't I marry you?"

Everyone in the chapel laughed. Encenio chuckled, too, even as a happy tear spilled from the corner of his eye.

Elias took Encenio's hand and slipped the ring onto his finger. "With this ring, I marry you," he said. "And I become the happiest person in the world."

ONE YEAR EARLIER

"What do you mean you have to let me go?" Hector asked his supervisor.

Julia didn't even blink. Her eyes were spiritless as she said, "New government regulations go into effect with the new year."

"What new regulations?" Hector asked. "As if they didn't burden us with enough rules and restrictions! Can't dispense abortion medication. Can't dispense contraceptives. Can't dispense antibiotics for STDs. Can't even dispense HIV meds anymore, and when it comes to prescriptions for people over sixty... well, the government has written hem off by killing Medicare and Medicaid, hasn't it, right along with ending Social Security." Hector ground his teeth. "Doesn't this bother you, Julia? The only prescriptions we're allowed to fill are vitamins and testosterone... T for cis guys, at that, so they can be 'more masculine' and 'properly American,' as if bulging biceps made anyone a man."

"Yes, well, that's what the new regulations are all about," Julia told him, her voice drained of inflection or energy. "Making sure only proper men provide health care at every level. Just like only proper men can teach school, or service in the military, or wear a police officer's badge."

"Right. No chicks, and no queers," Hector said, with a short, nasty bark of laughter. "And where is that gonna leave you, Julia?"

"Without a job," she said listlessly. "Just like you."

*** *** ***

"You're kidding!" Elias said, a look of shock on his face.

"No, I'm certainly not," his supervisor, Julia, told him.

"But... but I thought that Aaron..."

"Aaron is very competent, but he doesn't have the bandwidth to handle everything a regional director needs to handle – coordinating between more than one hundred forty locations across six states, with more to be added over the next couple of years. Americans are getting older, Elias, and they need more medication, and the company is positioning itself to serve those needs."

"Compassionately, of course," Elias said.

"That's another reason the big bosses want to promote you," Julia said. "I made a point of telling them how passionate you are about health care, about making sure people have the best possible quality of life."

"Well," Elias laughed, "I mean, you only get one life, right? And everyone deserves a change to make it a long and happy one. Isn't that what we celebrate when we go to church?"

"These days... yes. It feels good to get to be authentic Christians again, doesn't it?" Julia laughed.

"Healing the sick. Welcoming the stranger. Caring for those in need." Elias laughed too. "Aren't we the luckiest people in the world?"

TWO YEARS EARLIER

"So, it's just our bad luck, is that what you're saying?" Hector demanded. "Because if the world around us was different, we'd be happy... right?"

Encenio looked at the floor, his posture defeated and his face haggard. "It's what it is," he said. "I'm sorry."

"What happened to 'We make the world we live it?' What happened to 'Be the change you want to see in the world?' Was all that just words?"

"Maybe they were," Encenio said, still staring at the floor. "But all those things Kirsch said he'd do to people like us... those were all words too, right? Until they weren't. And don't lecture me about 'being the change,' Hector. You could have voted, you know, instead of spouting bullshit about your vote not counting, there not being any difference between the parties... seriously? You didn't see any difference between the candidate who said she was going to protect the rights of every American to make a decent living, to walk down the street without fear... and even to get married? She was talking about people like us, Hector. Men who don't marry women. People of color who get relegated to shit jobs for shit pay. People who get the short end of the stick and the blunt end of the cop's billy club just for being who they are in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Yeah, we're gonna have this argument again?" Hector asked. "Like my one puny vote would have mattered? Like the Electoral College was gonna let her win, instead of Kirsch?"

"It matters that you speak up. It matters that you try," Encenio said, life coming back into his voice and his eyes, now boring into Hector's, lighting up with anger.

"So why won't you try? Why are you giving up on us?"

Encenio's eyes dropped to the floor again and the moment of anger passed; his body seemed to slump into itself again. "Because the world is so much bigger than us, and so much meaner. Our own neighbors are starting to call us names... haven't you noticed? Haven't you heard what they say, haven't you seen how they look at us? Fish stinks from the head, Hector. People are sheep. They follow the leader, and when the leader says that queers are coming for their children, they believe it. When the leader says people of color are all 'invaders' who are 'poisoning the blood of America,' they panic. When the leader says, 'Hate thy neighbor,' it doesn't matter what the Son of God said two thousand years ago – people do as they're told. I can't face all that, Hector. Not with someone who wouldn't at least try to stop that boulder before it started rolling. How can I give up? You're actually asking me that?" Encenio laughed sadly. "You didn't even try."

*** *** ***

"What do you say we give it a try?" Elias asked.

Encenio, scrolling on his phone, answered with a distracted, "Try what?"

The park was lovely on this late autumn day. Leaves littered the ground around the table in jubilant hues of yellow and red. All the colors in the world seemed warm: The air, the sun, the ice cream in the two paper cups that sat on opposite sides of the shoes board painted on the table's surface. All of it had taken on the hue of Elias's excitement.

Leaving his plastic spoon embedded in his melting ice cream, Elias dipped a hand into his pocket, then slid off the small bench on his side of the table. Dropping to one knee beside Encenio, he opened his hand to reveal a plan gold ring.

Encenio looked at the golden circle lying in Elias's hand. "Is that for me?" he asked.

"Yes," Elias told him. "Now that it looks like we're going to keep the right to get married after all, why don't we jump in and do it?"

Encenio took the ring from Elias's palm, and Elias plucked it back. "I wanted to get you an engagement ring," he said, "but I can't quite afford both quite yet. In another year or so, when I'm eligible for a promotion..."

"I can wait," Encenio told him. "And I don't need a ring to make a promise that, yes, I will marry you. In a year or so. When we're both settled in our jobs, when we move to a nicer place..."

"When we can afford a wedding," Elias laughed.

"Because you know our mothers aren't gonna let us have a cheap little private ceremony in front of the justice of the peace," Encenio said, laughing too.

Their hands clasped together, with the gold ring tightly held between them.

"So, that was a yes I heard?" Elias asked.

"That was a yes!" Encenio reassured him, before the two of them sealed the engagement with a kiss.

THREE YEARS EARLIER

"Maya! Chester!" Hector cried, seeing six cops in riot gear surround his friends. Two cops raised their clubs and then they were beating Chester, who fell out of sight. The cops bent low, swinging their clubs with both hands. Screaming incoherently, Hector pushed his way toward them, but the crowd was chaotic and he was pushed back again.

Now the cops were picking up Chester's body. He could see that they had struck Maya, too; blood ran down her face. The cops carried Chester and pushed Maya, her hands now zip tied behind her back, toward one of the unmarked black vans that had screeched up moments before, just before the cops thundered into the peaceful protest march. The people had been singing "We Will Overcome" when the attack started; now the singing was erased by screams and gunshots. Hector doubted any of the protestors had come armed; they were all from the same church, and they didn't believe in violence.

But violence was being visited upon them by Kirsch's henchmen. It wasn't like they hadn't expected this might happen; similar peaceful protests in cities across the country had been beset, with people beaten, killed, imprisoned... or simply disappeared.

The unmarked black van started driving away, taking Maya and Chester... where?

Hector knew deep in his heart he would never see them again. He looked around for Encenio, but all he saw were people running, people crying out, the colorful shirts of the protestors and the hard-shelled black riot gear of the police.

Tear gas stung his eyes and gripped his throat. Hector turned and ran with the rest of the crowd.

The cops had tried to hem them in by attacking from both ends of the streets, but somehow Hector found his way past the police, past their unmarked vans, and away from the throng and the chaos. The streets were eerily calm and empty – there weren't even any militias counter-protesting or setting buildings on fire, knowing that the church protestors would be blamed for it on social media and in the press.

The militias didn't need to lift a finger. They knew the cops shared their views. They were the cops, Hector realized, remembering how Kirsch had effectively deputized white nationalists a few weeks earlier. "True Americans will stand united against these leftist lunatics," Kirsch had said, and Hector had heard stories of cops and militias meeting, of body armor and weapons being handed out to bearded men who swore their loyalty on the spot to Kirsch, and only to Kirsch...

Hector found his way home. Eyes red, voice raspy, he managed to croak, "Thank god you're here," when he saw Encenio in the living room.

Encenio must had taken a blow from the cops; there was dried blood streaking his face and a gash high on his forehead.

"Are you all right?"

Encenio waved Hector away. "I'm fine. I was lucky... luckier than Tristan and Marz, luckier than Dara and Jean..." He started sobbing. "Did you see the black vans?"

"Yes," Hector said.

"They're gone," Encenio choked. "We're never going to see them again."

He didn't mean the vans. He means the many friends that had been shoved inside of them.

"Hector, what are we going to do?"

"Hope the security cameras didn't pick up our faces. Hope we're not picked up in the sweeps. They're coming, Encenio... we just have to keep quiet, wait for the storm to pass."

Encenio looked at him in shock and disgust. "The storm to pass? This is never passing, Hector. This is America now. This is how things are going to be." He buried his face in his hands. "And it didn't have to be this way..."

*** *** ***

"Thank God," Hector said, putting down his phone. He looked across the table at Encenio. "They stopped the outbreak. It could have become another pandemic."

Encenio put down his slice of toast and crossed himself. He kissed his index finger knuckle, swallowed his bite of toast with a sip of tea, and said, "Thank God and our president. I knew when she stood up to congress and issued that executive order to save the Health and Human Services Department and the CDC that it would be worth the risk she was taking... Can you imagine what would have happened if Kirsch had won? He was ready to gut the government from top to bottom. No more Education Department, no more Health and Human Services, no more nothing except cops, national security, the military... a military he said he would use against citizens if they tried to protest, or, how did he put it, 'bring radical socialist trouble to our cities'?"

"Yeah, well, he didn't win," Elias told him. "God wouldn't let him win. God wouldn't do that to America."

"God let it happen in a lot of other places," Encenio said.

"But America is different." Elias grinned. "America is special."

"You really think so? I think it was the voters, not God, who chose the way things are, and I think things could very easily have been different," Encenio told him.

"Yeah? Well, let's see what happens in the midterms. That's where the real test will be... with so many rights of so many people up in the air, we better hope God really does love America," Elias replied. He pulled the chair around his neck and the silver cross he always wore emerged from under his shirt. He kissed the cross. "I have faith," Elias said. "Gd loves us." He leaned across the kitchen table and kissed his partner. "And I love you. And it's nobody else's business, and nobody else's choice what to do about it but our own."

FOUR YEARS EARLIER

"My vote doesn't count," Hector said.

"Of course it does," Encenio told him. "One vote, one voice. It's your birthright."

"Not according to Kirsch and half of congress," Hector said. "All us people of color, we're 'immigrants,' remember? Even though I was born in Brooklyn, and you were born in Queens or wherever."

"Kansas," Encenio told him. "You know that."

"Hence the 'wherever,' and anyway, do you think there's that much of a difference between Kirsch and – "

"Are you kidding?" Maya cut in, her voice disapproving. "I swear to Christ, if I hear one more time that 'There's no real difference between the two political parties,' I'm gonna start breaking some motherfucking bones."

"You heard the lady," Encenio smiled.

Maya didn't appreciate his humor. "Don't give me that patronizing bull," she said. "This is nothing to laugh about. Take your boyfriend's weak-ass excuses and multiply them by a million, by twelve million... that's how we lost the last three elections."

"It doesn't matter who's in charge," Hector said. "Things never get any better."

"I disagree with that," Maya told him, "but even if I thought that was true, things can get worse. And they will. Kirsch and his people have come right out and said exactly how things are gonna get worse."

"Not for rich people, of course," Encenio said. "Not for lily-white people in their lily-white megachurches. But us ordinary folks... us mere Catholics, those of us who don't throw in with the evangelicals..."

"Or even the evangelicals who don't throw in with the power grab that's going on right now," Maya said.

Hector waved a hand. "Just go and vote if that's what you want. When the Promise Posse beats you to a pulp or shoots you up, don't cry to me about it."

"So that's why you won't do your duty to your country?" Encenio asked. "You're scared of the militias and the hate groups?"

"They're gonna be out there today," Hector said.

"Yeah? So are we. So are the cops, too."

"The cops? They buddy up to the militia guys."

"There are enough cops willing to do their sworn duty that I think any trouble is gonna get put down pretty quickly," Encenio said.

"But maybe not when it's time for the next election," Maya said. "Not if Kirsch wins. And who knows if there would even be another election under him and his 'reformers.' Reform, all right... reforming America into Chile at its worst!"

"Here we go again with your great-grandparents fleeing Chile under Pinochet," Hector sighed. "America, the great shining hope of democracy. Hah!"

"It was true then, and it can be true again," Maya told him. "And yes, I'm gonna keep talking about it, because why should people who love freedom come here and then stand back and watch their country turn into a shithole dictatorship all over again?"

"Dude, you grew up in San Rafael," Hector sighed.

"Like you said, it doesn't matter to Kirsch and his masters. They are happy to call all of us 'immigrants' and tell us to 'go back where we came from,' even if we came from San Fucking Rafael," Maya chided him.

Encenio nodded in agreement. "Come on," he said. "Vote. It's your patriotic duty."

"No, man, it doesn't even matter," Hector said. "You go and vote if you believe in it so much."

"If you don't, you might be sorry," Encenio warned.

"Yeah, like my one vote is gonna make a difference." Hector rolled his eyes.

"It will make the difference of one man casting his one vote. That's what democracy is about. If you care about democracy, you have to participate in it."

"He's right," Maya said. "Think about Encenio, and multiply him by a million, by twelve million. That's how we win the next election, the next three elections... the future, the right to even have a future."

"Guys," Hector told them, "no. You want to go? Then go!"

"Okay, then." Encenio got to his feet and nodded at Maya. "You ready? Let's go be responsible and hope it's enough."

*** *** ***

Walking away from the polls, Encenio said, "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"No," Hector said, grinning. "You're right, I do feel better. I'm sorry, I was just feeling..."

"Oppressed? Overwhelmed? Hopeless? How much worse you think you would feel if you didn't win and then Kirsch became president... or, as he likes to joke, Day One Dictator?"

"That's no joke," Maya said. "He means it."

"Hey, Maya? You think we might actually win?"

"You mean, do I think there's a chance America might actually remain a democracy? Not go down the road Chile did? That maybe we won't all have to go to Canada or else be murdered by our own government? Yeah... yeah, I think so. I think maybe America can prevail against her enemies, domestic as well as foreign." She looked at Hector. "And when we do, you can feel better about that too."

"Why? I mean, it's not like my one vote actually changed anything."

"It's a good think everyone ain't like you, Hector," Maya sighed.

"Elias," Hector told her.

"What?" Encenio halted in his tracks. "What did you say?"

"I said I'm feeling so hopeful, I'm feeling like such a new man... I'm gonna go by my middle name from now on."

"Why? What's going on here?" Maya asked Encenio.

"Ask him," Encenio grinned.

"It's just... Hector was my old man's name."

"His dad used to beat the fuck out of him," Encenio said.

"Trying to beat the gay out of me, actually," Hector – Elias, now – explained.

"That's why he had such a hard time standing up for himself," Encenio said. "Even when his own country is under threat, and his own future might be extinguished out from under him."

"My god, he must have really fucked you up," Maya said. Then: "I'm sorry. That was insensitive. It's just that... well, my parents were always really supportive."

"Things change," Encenio told her. "Slowly, but they do. We – " Encenio's glance included himself as well as Elias. "We are gonna be good, supportive parents. Right. Elias?"

"Parents? Are you guys expecting or something?" Maya laughed.

"No, but one day we might be. I mean, we should probably get married first...."

"Oh, what, you want me to propose? Dude, let me finish school first," Elias told him.

"Yeah, we have a ways to go before we get there. But I'm thinking, as dark as the past few years have been, maybe we have a path forward now. Just maybe. A thin sliver of hope, a ray of sunlight in the distance..."

"If we can keep our eyes on the goal and not just start with the infighting again," Maya said. "They're always trying to turn us against each other."

"And we keep falling for it," Encenio said, nodding, "but we're learning. And when it really counts... well, sometimes we pull through."

"Sometimes," Maya said. "Here's hoping."

"I knew you two were gonna talk politics the whole time," Elias complained.

"You have something else you want to do?" Maya asked him.

"Yeah... how about some ice cream?"

"America, and even the whole world, teeters on the brink today," Maya said. "And you want to eat ice cream."

"Comfort food," Encenio grinned.

"No," Elias said. "Like I said... suddenly, I am feeling hopeful. Renewed. Like I took charge of my own fate instead of whining about how shitty things are. So, come what may, I'm in charge of my life now. And besides..." He put his fingertips to the cross beneath his shirt. "I have faith."

"In God?" Encenio asked.

"Of course, but also... in America. And in us."

Maya rolled her eyes as the two men clasped hands.

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Unaccountably Hungry

"Trick or treat," the guy in the grinning Kirsch mask said.

Billy could barely hear him over the dance music. "Are you gonna be a trick?" he asked.

"For you?" The man's eyes seemed to flicker over Billy from behind the mask. "Sure. I've always had a thing for the big bad wolf."

Billy grinned, his lips pressing against the thin plastic of his wolf mask. "And I've always wanted to take a bite out of a wolf in sheep's clothing."

The guy in the Kirsch mask didn't seem to hear him. Or maybe he was just more interested in cutting to the chase. They had been dancing with each other for a while now; it was obvious there was a mutual attraction.

"Wanna go to the back room?" Kirsch Mask Guy asked.

Billy's grin grew wider, pushing the wolf mask slightly askew. He reached up and pulled the mask back, revealing his face. There was a rumor that security cameras were surveilling the crowd tonight – everyone knew that this was an unofficial "gay event," and the government had begun spying on queer gatherings of every sort. Masks were mandatory for this year's Hallowe'en Ball, which indicated that if the management at Rex were indeed collaborating with the feds they at least had an inkling of conscience about it.

Billy wondered if the feds even knew about the back room. Of course they did, he thought; they knew about everything. But things weren't so bad that a blackout play space would be banned outright... maybe by the time Hallowe'en rolled around again next year, but not yet.

Kirsch Mask Guy hesitated, then reached up and pulled his own mask back. He was as handsome as Billy had hoped he would be, and his dark eyes were even more compelling without the mask.

"Let me tell my sister," Billy said. "I don't want to drop out of sight. She worries."

"Nah," the handsome man said. He grabbed Billy's hand. "Let's just go."

Karen would be pissed if he went AWOL, Billy thought. If, he amended that thought, she even noticed. Billy glanced over to where he'd last seen her dancing with a shirtless hunk wearing a Bugs Bunny mask, but he didn't see her. He wondered for a moment if Bugs might have dragged her off to the back room and they were doing what bunnies do; he wasn't sure he wanted to come across his sister and some guy going at it in a play space.

But that seemed unlikely. The back room was understood even by straight revelers to be a gays-only space.

And why should he have to answer to Karen, anyway? He was an adult. He'd been chafing lately against Karen and his parents always hovering over him. Maybe this night, this moment, was when he should break free. Billy turned back to his handsome hookup. "Okay," he said, his grin now unrestrained by the mask.

*** *** ***

Karen was tempted to pull the Marie Antoinette mask off in order to see better. She spun around slowly, still dancing, scanning the room anxiously for Billy.

"You need something?" the guy in the Bugs Bunny mask asked her.

She looked back at him, appreciating his lean, chiseled torso all over again. He wore blue jeans, and his long legs made them look delectable.

"You want a water or something?" Bugs asked.

Before Karen had a chance to reply, a commotion erupted at the far side of the room. Panic swept across the crowded dance space. People started heading for the door.

"Aw, man," Bugs groaned.

"Is it a raid?"

"Not from the back room it's not," Bugs told her. "A raid would mean cops coming in through the front. Probably it's just someone overdosing on party drugs. Or someone dropped their drink while getting a blowjob. Everyone's so on edge..."

Bugs fell silent. An unnatural stillness came over him as he faced the far end of the room. Then he turned and hastily headed for the exit, just as a throng of fleeing people stampeded past. Karen struggled to stay upright in the sudden human maelstrom, looking around for Billy. She was about to scream his name – that would probably be futile in the hubbub – when she spotted him staggering toward her.

He was the reason everyone was fleeing.

His mask was gone, and his bare face was covered with gore. He looked like he had been eating raw meat. His brown and white striped shirt – his idea of wolf wear – was soaked with blood.

Now Karen did scream his name. "Billy?" she called. "Oh my god... Billy?"

*** *** ***

Karen pulled at him and Billy stumbled forward uncertainly. His body was lead; his mind was a haze. Someone... a cute bartender wearing suspenders over the bare chest... yelled something angry, something about Billy not going anywhere, and shoved him against a wall. Billy slumped to the floor, his arms and legs feeling cold and numb. Karen screamed and pleaded with the bartender. Billy could barely make sense of what they were saying.

Billy sat stunned as the police swept into the club. It didn't take them long to arrive. But neither did it take long – a few eye blinks – for Billy to find himself sitting in an interrogation room, handcuffed to a metal table. The first truly coherent thought Billy had was that the room looked the way interrogation rooms always looked in TV shows: It was dark, dingy, and had a mirror on one wall. With that thought, Billy searched the walls and ceiling until he spotted the video camera in a far corner, pointed right at him. Billy was tempted to offer a smile, but he looked at the mirror instead. His reflection was haggard, and there was something wrong with his mouth...

It was streaked, Billy realized, with something that might have been dried blood. Had he been bleeding? Had someone punched him?

Studying the reflection further he saw that his shirt was stained with something dark. Blood, he thought – too much for a nosebleed.

"Hey!" Billy called. "Hey, someone?" He looked at the camera. "Someone want to come in here and tell me what's going on?"

His call went unheeded for long minutes. He sat still, his head filled with a dull buzzing sensation. Hearing his own heart beating, Billy started to feel hot and restless. It made no sense: The cops had him – the last place anyone, let alone an openly gay man, wanted to be was in police custody – but he didn't feel afraid. He was puzzled about what was going on, but even that started to seem unimportant as a feeling of deep fatigue came over him. His head dipped as he began to drowse.

Then his head snapped up as the door to the room opened and an angry-looking man wearing a nice button-up shirt and a tie came storming in. He also wore a badge on that nice shirt. "Wake up, buttercup," the man said.

Billy couldn't help a grin at the cheesy TV show dialogue.

"What's so funny?" the cop asked, stooping next to Billy to unlock the shackles that restrained him. The cop flinched back a moment later. "That blood is staring to stink," he said.

Billy looked down at himself. "Where did... what happened?" His thoughts were clearer, but he wasn't having much luck speaking.

"Why don't you tell me?" the man snapped.

"Lay off him, Gary – he ain't a suspect." Another man had followed "Gary" into the room and was standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in his hand, looking bored. The man had grey, unruly hair, gray stubble, and jowls that made his face seem to slope right into his neck with no trace of a jawline. "At least," the man said, appraising Billy with eyes that seemed to glitter, "not yet."

"Officers," Billy managed, "what happened? Why am I here? Was I in a fight?"

Gary stepped back as the shackles fell away, turned, and marched out of the room. The gray-haired man moved just enough to clear the way, his glittering eyes never leaving Billy.

"From what evidence we have," the gray-haired man told him, "it looks like your back room date got his throat cut. The guy who did it is dead. He was found at the scene with the knife in his hand and his neck broke."

"Uh... so why am I covered in blood?"

"Don't you remember?" the gray-haired man asked.

"No..."

"Seems like you and the victim were standing pretty close to each other when it happened. Maybe even had your arms around each other... does this sound familiar to you?"

Billy had a dim recollection of a handsome man, a dance floor jammed with people...

"The guy with the President Kirsch mask?" Billy asked.

"You're a little behind," the gray-haired man told him. "Kirsch declared himself leader for life, and Congress went along with it. He's First Patriot Kirsch now."

It seemed to Billy he'd heard something about that. He wasn't sure when. "Wha, I, I, I... I don't know," Billy said.

"You nervous?" The gray-haired man seemed to lean forward with interest even though he didn't actually move.

"I... I can't... It's hard to talk," Billy said.

"You feel cold? You feel like nothing is real?"

"Yeah," Billy said.

"You're in shock. Better than when we brought you in, though – you were practically catatonic. I guess you've had quite a trauma." The man drank from his cup of coffee, then gestured with the cup. "Oh, I'm sorry. You want some? Maybe it'll warm you up. Perk you up, too."

Billy shook his head. "I don't drink," he said. "Coffee, I mean... too bitter."

The gray-haired man drank the rest of his coffee and set the cup on the table. "Good choice. The coffee around here is terrible. So you don't really follow politics, do you?"

Billy wasn't sure if that was a question, or how it was relevant. Then he realized it must have been a reference to his not remembering that Presi... that First Patriot Kirsch had effectively ended American democracy and imposed an increasingly oppressive police state. That wasn't something he was ignorant of; it was something he'd gone dancing to forget about for a while.

"Okay, well, let me catch you up on more recent events," the man said. "That guy you were with in the back room was a martial arts instructor. Our theory right now is that he had a beef with the attacker, and he had enough time after his throat was slashed to strike back and break the guy's neck. Maybe you tried to help him? Apply direct pressure to the wound and all that other Eagle scout stuff?"

"I don't know," Billy said dully. He had a vague memory of blurred motion, of physical violence – screaming, gurgling... blood spraying his face... "Maybe. I mean, I guess..." He took a deep breath, and the surge of memory faded away. He looked at the gray-haired man. "Am I still under arrest?"

"Look, kid, dancing at a club ain't illegal," the man said. "Witnessing a murder ain't illegal. Being in a back room where faggots get it on? That ain't illegal... yet. But it will be once they pass the Public Morality act. So, no, you're not under arrest, and you are free to go. But let's just say that any helpful information you can give us will be like a gold star or two next to your name when and if you end up back in custody again."

The gray-haired man's demeanor shifted. He smiled, and his voice grew warm and confidential. "Look, when people see things... good people, when they see horrible things... it can be a real jolt. It can mess you up. You might start to have flashbacks or nightmares about what happened. If you do..." The man fished a card out of his trouser pocket. Billy registered for the first time that the man also wore a long-sleeved button-up shirt, though his was partially open and a white T-shirt was visible. His trousers were brown and looked like they had come off the rack. The man had a large belly; Billy couldn't see his belt.

The man extended his hand, offering the business card. Billy reached out and took it.

"Your sister? Karen?" the man said.

"Is she all right?" Billy asked, suddenly apprehensive.

"She's fine. She's been raising holy hell, demanding to see you, demanding that we get a lawyer in here... you don't need a lawyer, do you, son?"

"A lawyer? Why?" Billy asked.

"That's what we asked her. She just went on and on about your rights." The gray-haired man laughed. "As if this was 2023 and suspects still had rights. But, like I reminded my colleague, you are no longer a suspect. We have a suspect, and he's dead, and you're free to go. Unless I should get someone to take you the hospital? Get you looked over?"

"No," Billy said, climbing to his feet. Sensation had returned to his limbs, and he was feeling warmer now. "I'm fine. Can you take me to my sister?" For the first time, he noticed the rank smell of the blood on his shirt. "I need to get home and get changed."

"Sure." The gray hired man smiled at him, but his eyes still glittered in a way Billy didn't like. "Follow me."

*** *** ***

"What did they say to you?" Karen asked him. She was driving. It was still dark. Streetlights passed by as the car sped homeward. Half the lights were out, and Karen had the high beams on – which was fine at this hour, since hardly anyone else was on the road.

Billy rubbed at is eyes. They felt dry and scratchy. "He said some dude slashed... slashed the guy's throat."

"The guy you went to the back room with," Karen said disapprovingly. "Without telling me."

"You and Bugs Bunny were dancing," Billy said. Then: "And I didn't know where you went. I didn't see you."

"And you couldn't look for me? Or Dex, or Lila?"

Billy shrugged. He felt tired; drained; not in the mood for another interrogation.

"Thank god Dex saw you headed back there and followed you," Karen said.

"What?" Billy asked.

"Who do you think made it look like someone else ripped that guy's throat out?"

"What?" Billy asked, louder.

Karen glanced at him and then returned her attention to the road.

Billy saw the exit to their part of town flash by. He half turned in his seat. "You missed the exit," he said.

"No, I didn't," Karen said.

"You did. We just went by it."

"We're not going home, Billy. I have to get you to The Community."

"To... where?"

"Someplace safe," she told him.

"But Mom and Dad..."

"We worked this out a long time ago," Karen told him. "We hoped this wouldn't happen to you, but..." She shrugged. "But of course it did."

"What happened?" Billy asked. "You mean that guy getting killed?"

"Yes, that would be it," Karen said drily.

*** *** ***

They drove beyond the city limits. They drove as the darkness grew light, then as the sun rose, then as it climbed high into the sky. Billy's shirt was really stinking now.

"Take that thing off," Karen told him, "and..." She gestured at the back seat.

Billy turned and looked behind him. There was a plastic bag with some clothes in it.

"When did you..."

"The cops had you for a couple of hours. Mom and Dad drove to the station in both cars and they brought supplies. If the cops come looking for you, Mom and Dad are gonna tell them that you're with our cousins in the country. You've had a shock after all. You need time to recover." She laughed. "Man, oh man. What a life."

"Karen, what the hell?"

"Like I told you, little brother. We're gonna explain everything. But for right now..." She gave him the side eye. "I mean it. Take off that shirt. Pants, too – there's a full set of clean clothes in that bag. And you might want to take a wet wipe and finish cleaning up your face. You still look like an axe murderer."

Billy reached back for the bag, then hesitated. "I don't want to take my pants off with you right here."

"I'm watching the road, Billy. Anyway, you're not my type."

Pulling the bloody shirt over his head, Billy said, "I hope we're gonna get something to eat pretty soon."

"You want to eat? Karen asked, as if she couldn't believe it.

Tired, crabby, Billy snapped, "Gee, sis, I dunno why, but I'm just kinda hungry after a night of such chills and thrills."

*** *** ***

It was mid-morning when they finally stopped to get something to eat and to tank up the car. Then it was more driving. Karen wouldn't say where they were headed, but it was clearly deep into the desert.

"So, like, are we headed to Burning Man or something?"

"As if," Karen said. "That was months ago, and it's totally lame and corporate now. I mean, of course it is, or they wouldn't let it happen."

"I was kidding," Billy said.

"Where we're going... well, there's no place safe in the world," Karen said, "but it'll at least be off the beaten track."

Billy stared out the window at the empty landscape. "No kidding," he said.

*** *** ***

It was dusk when they arrived at the town. It was perfectly modern, perfectly neat and orderly... and perfectly new.

"When did they build this?" Billy asked, looking out at the prefab buildings: Houses, a couple of stores, a laundromat, several service stations.

"A few years ago. I don't know." Karen steered the car off the main road and then took a side street. She pulled up in front of a small, neat house, and killed the engine. "At last," she sighed, stretching. Then she opened the door. "Let's go," she said.

Billy followed her up the sidewalk, taking note of the gravel yard. Karen walked right into the house, not bothering with the doorbell or to knock. "Hey," a familiar male voice greeted her.

Billy followed his sister into the house. Dex was there, standing in the living room. "Hey, killer," Dex grinned at him. "So, got your first taste, huh?"

"Leave it, Dex," Karen said.

"How are you feeling today? Like a new man? Or... not a man?" Dex laughed.

"He doesn't even remember what happened," Karen told him.

"Oh, yeah. Right. You're not integrated yet," Dex said.

Billy shook his head. "I don't know what you mean," he said. "I didn't kill that guy. The cops said..."

"The cops," Dex told him, "have no freaking idea what's going on."

"And that's how we like it," another voice said.

Billy looked over to see a man sitting on a couch. He started. "Jesus," he said. Turning to Karen, he exclaimed, "That's Thenos Turk."

"Yep," Karen said.

Billy turned back to the man sitting on the couch. "Are you really him?"

The man stood up and took two steps to draw nearer. He held out a hand. "I am indeed," he said. "And I'm so happy to meet you."

Billy shook Turk's hand, too stunned to say anything more. Thenos Turk was a billionaire – he had his fingers in all sorts of internet businesses, applied sciences, and politics. He was a hero to some, and a symbol to others of capitalist greed that had gone completely off the rails.

"You're the guy who... who invented that glowing polymer stuff..."

"Lumentic," Turk said. "And, no, but I am the venture capitalist who financed the people who made it work."

"And... and that metal that they use in the new quantum computers," Billy said.

"Nope," Turk grinned, pulling is hand back and raising it in a gesture communicating modesty. "That wasn't me. That was Trimble. It would have been me, if I'd caught on sooner to the potential for metals and crystals that can vibrate at multiple frequencies at the same time. But Trimble is brighter than me. That's why he's a trillionaire, and I'm still catching up. On the other hand..." Turk swept an arm, as if to indicate the whole town. "Like him, I have my own little oasis of safety and sanity. Only, his caters to people who want to live in the past. Mine is a place where... well, where people like us can live, full stop."

"People like us?"

Turk looked at Karen and Dex. "It's time we had The Talk," he said. "Karen, you'll find dinner in the oven."

"What, I'm the serving girl now?"

"Just serve yourself. We'll be along. Dex, feel free to join her."

"I've gotta go find Lila," Dex said. "But then, yeah. I'm hungry." He winked at Billy. "Unaccountably so." Dex and Karen left the room.

Once they were alone, Turk pointed to a liquor cabinet. "Would you mind pouring me a scotch?"

Thinking of how Karen had pushed back on Turk treating her like a domestic, Billy was about to tell him to pour his own drink. Then Turk added: "And pour one for yourself."

"Well, okay then," Billy said. A few moments later, drinks in hand, he approached Turk, who patted the sofa. "Come on, have a seat. This is all... thank you," he said, as Billy handed him the glass. "This is all new to you," he said as Billy sat down next to him. "But I'm gonna make it as easy as I can. Which still won't be easy, but let me start from the start."

"Okay," Billy said, sampling his drink. It was better than any scotch he'd ever had. Stronger, too – a lot stronger. "Hmph," Billy said, and wiped at his eyes.

"This is single cask strength," Turk told him. "And you didn't add any ice or water. Which, by the way, is how I like it." He took a sip, then smiled, obviously unfazed by the the liquor. "You want to add a little water to yours?"

"No," Billy said. "It's fine."

"Good man. Takes it as it is. No need to dilute anything. Good. So... as I was saying, I'll start from the start. You've heard of Neanderthals? Denisovans? Floresienses?"

"Sure."

"Inquisitive, too. Most kids your age wouldn't, not even before Kirsch outlawed science curriculums in the schools. Well, Billy, the arrogant idea is that only homo sapiens survived to the present day. That's not correct. We're here, too. We're... there's no scientific name for us, but we're the human equivalent of mushrooms. You know how mushrooms sprout on the surface from an common underground source? That's us. We're all... interconnected, I guess. Our minds, or maybe our souls, are joined at the root, in the deep subconscious. As we grow up, our minds start to harmonize. We find our way into the common psyche."

"So we're physically the same as regular people, but..."

"But psychically, we're very different from them," Turk said, finishing Billy's sentence. "Tell me something; have you been feeling more confident? More creative? Maybe hungrier than usual, or hornier?"

"I'm nineteen. I'm always hungry, and I'm always horny."

"That would explain why you ran off to the back room with some stranger, which, from what I understand, you never would have done before. You used to be a little shy. But now... now are you feeling a little more – I don't know... angry? Confrontational?"

"I've been pissed at how Kirsch and his lackeys in the courts and in congress keep coming down on us."

"Us?"

"You know. Gay people. And not just us, but... everyone. I mean, everyone who doesn't just bow and scrape and flatter him."

"Yes, I know what you mean," Turn nodded. "And he does that for the same reason dictators and strongmen always have: Because he's in power, but he has no idea how to do anything constructive in the world, how to lead, how to... well, how to give people something of value. So he invents threats, and then claims to the provide safety. But he's not safe; he's dangerous. Not just to us, but to everybody. Still, we're the first ones to bear the brunt. Why? Because we're creative and curious and smart. We're energetic, and generous. And..." Turk laughed. "We tend to be queer. And we're definitely horny."

"Dex isn't queer," Billy said.

"Even among our kind there's a full spectrum of sexuality. And anyway, I bet Dex has had his share of same-sex encounters. He and Lila are poly, you know."

"What's that?"

Turk shook his head. "A different conversation. My point is that once people like us come under attack, that sets off a reaction. We're all connected, but we're all individuals, too. We have different reactions."

"Yeah," Billy laughed. "You actually supported Kirsch."

"It's a matter of protecting my business interests," Turk said, "but also keeping my enemies close. Besides, the man is a sucker for flattery. I drop a word in his ear and I steer the ship."

"What ship?"

"The country, kid. I steer Kirsch away from some of the really atrocious shit he wants to do. At least... I do my best. But he's still building concentration camps where he can enslave, torture, and murder 'the enemy from within,' which is to say, anyone who doesn't flatter him. Certainly anyone who criticizes or challenges him. As an added bonus, he keeps ignorant hands busy doing the devil's work. People just love having an excuse to be their worst selves. Have you noticed how many people say 'My leader told me to!' when they're explaining the murder and chaos that has overtaken America? People are violent, nasty hominids at heart, and civilization is only ever a few resentments away from collapse. Kirsch, like all autocrats, is just using people's dumb beast brains against their higher reason and their higher morals." Turk moistened his throat with a sip of scotch.

"But that causes an effect among us, too," he continued, "because we tend to be the ones they attack: The queers, the artists, the social justice warriors. We have an ability for higher reason and higher morality; we appreciate fact and truth and science... and that's inconvenient for people like Kirsch. So, yes, we get attacked – and that causes a kind psychic turbulence among us. Until it doesn't. Until we harmonize... and that, Billy, is what we do. Sooner or later, we harmonize. Then we fight back. That's what's started happening, and it's gonna get ugly."

"Ugly? Why?"

"We fight back with reason and ethics, but we, too, are animals... and not entirely human animals. You think we're physically identical to homo sapiens? No. We're not. We have extra teeth, and we have claws, and we have immune systems and hormone levels that outstrip homo physiology. We're smarter, we think faster, and we can move faster. And, Billy – when we get worked up, we can be brutal. Like you were last night."

"Like... me?"

"Dance floor. Hormones. Music. Excitement. All of that in your conscious mind. But subconsciously? You tapped into a growing rage, a growing drive to strike back. And you did, Billy. Do you know that there was a full moon last night? If Dex hadn't staged a mundane crime scene by breaking that guy's neck and planting a knife on him, and if a bunch of our people haven't been on the scene to give the cops statements about a knife attack and a martial artist who managed to kill his attacker before bleeding out, what do you suppose the cops would think?"

"About what?"

"You. With a mouth full of blood. With bits of the guy's flesh still between your teeth."

"I... what?"

"That's right, Billy. You're tuning in, you're becoming one with us. You have regular human genes in you, too. Your dad's a regular old homo sapiens. We thought maybe you wouldn't harmonize... but it's happening."

"My god. Am I turning into a werewolf or something?"

"Well, that's what the more suggestible people might think. That's what social media might start to circulate, if we didn't provide a more mundane explanation. But now? Naw. You're just some poor kid who saw a horrible, bloody murder. I doubt the cops will even follow up with you, or even do an autopsy for that matter. A back room, a gay victim, what do they care? Meantime... you're here now. With us. Safe, in the middle of the desert – and among your own kind."

"Safe? From the cops?"

"From the cops, from Kirsch... from a war that's about to erupt all over the world. There are only a few democracies left, Billy, and the greedy homos... homo sapiens, I mean... are trying to topple the last of them, re-make the world in a fascist image. That's how people have lived for most of human history. And before now, we couldn't really stop them. But the times have changed. Technology means that we have weapons we never dreamed of. And the fact that there are one or two billionaires among our community means that we have resources we never had before. Social media; medicine; the science of psychological influence; a hidden infrastructure of electronic surveillance. The homos invented all of this, and they thought they were the only ones who were going to use it. But we're along for the ride, too, and we are gonna turn their weapons against them."

Billy's heart was beating fast. He'd been muzzy headed all day, but now the fog had cleared from his brain. He felt sharp, strong... and angrier than he'd ever been at Kirsch and the people who enabled him. "What can I do?" he asked.

"You? You can stay put. Live here. Grow up. Get an education at the school I've set up."

"School? I graduated a year ago."

"College, Billy. You need to complete your education. Become a lawyer, a doctor, a scientist, an engineer... someone who can help rebuild the world."

"We're gonna... we're gonna tear it all down?"

"No, Billy, the homos are. We harmonizers are gonna let them... and even help them... do it. But the coming catastrophes are their choice, and the death toll will be the debt they pay for it. In the end, we'll still be here. We'll have a lot of work to do repairing a deeply damaged world – and reigning in what's left of homo humanity."

"We're taking over?" Billy asked.

Turk shook his head. "No. We're just going to step up, step in, and do it right."

"I don't want to be stuck out here doing nothing while the fight is going on!" Billy said. "I want to fight, too!"

"You will, Billy. We're all part of the same thing – remember? Once you've harmonized... once you've integrated... you will be part of everything that we do, as we all will. And you will play your part... which, given your academic aptitudes, means you will be a warrior of truth. And anyway, Billy, you need time. You're an early bloomer... usually our abilities don't surface until we're in our twenties. You need to mature. I was an early bloomer, too... I started to harmonize when I was twelve. And I'm super-aggressive. But I took the time to learn how to be my best self, to use that aggression in business and channel my energy into creative, constructive channels. I could have been part of the street fighting in the mid- and late twenties..." Turk grinned, and suddenly fangs seemed to sprout, a lot of them, rising among his other teeth. He raised a hand and claws appeared, seeming to unfold from under his fingernails. Billy blinked, unsure of what he was seeing.

"But I didn't rely on my extra teeth or my claws. Instead of ripping out throats, I learned how to turn the technological and economic assets the homos so witlessly use to my own... to our own... advantage. You understand?"

Turk's words, and his voice, seemed to whisper in Billy's mind even as they filled his ears.

"You do understand," Turk said. "I feel your mind opening to us, integrating with us. A couple of weeks from now, Billy, you will truly be one with us. You need to trust me now. You need to let this process happen."

Billy nodded, and then slowly smiled. He felt a pressure behind his teeth, under his gums. His tongue probed the tips of sharp new teeth... teeth that had reflexively deployed the night before. He remembered that now, recalled the feel of the teeth surging out of his gums. A flash of memory came to him – swift movement, hot flesh, screams. A flash of overwhelming need... and of hunger...

"You all right?" Turk asked, leaning over to look at him more closely.

Billy caught his breath and grinned at Turk. "I'm fine. I'm... I'm great!"

Turk grinned back at him and raised his glass in salute. "Welcome! Welcome!" he said, laughing. "Welcome to the family, Billy boy!"

America perches on the edge of deepest darkness next week. What will the future hold? Perhaps a vision of brightness – and a tale of the "Keepers of the Light."