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The living room door creaks open, distracting Arthur from typing in his journal to Sandra. He pushes himself away from the computer, sets aside the memory of eating by himself during family turmoil.
He finds Glenda and Raheem lurking in his living room, draped in purpose. Raheem stands in front of him, shirtless and shoeless. Glenda had changed from her Rams jersey and into a button up shirt.
Raheem stares at Arthur, picks him apart with his eyes.
Glenda moves to the side of Raheem but focuses on Arthur. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me,” Arthur says, suspecting an upcoming conflict regarding Raheem’s experience.
She says, “He got himself together and insisted we come over. What the hell is going on?”
Attempting to control the moment, Arthur motions to his couch. “Sit down, ‘Heem.” Arthur sits on his couch in front of the glass coffee table. “Guys. Raheem, have a seat.”
Reluctantly, Raheem does as suggested.
Glenda sits next to her husband, puts her hand on his bare chest, leans over and whispers in his ear, “What’s going on?”
“That is not a man I’m looking at,” Raheem says. “Or not only a man.”
Glenda whispers to Raheem, loud enough for Arthur to hear, “Do you smell that?”
Raheem closes his eyes and purses his lips. “You can’t be Him. Something...from Him?” He darts his index finger at the ceiling.
Arthur says, “I’m only me, always been me, am nothing else but me. It’s just that I can do this...thing.”
Glenda chimes in, “What are you guys talking about?”
Arthur hears himself say, “Your husband died.”
“Excuse me?” Glenda says.
“I died,” Raheem adds. “He brought me back. He’s Him. I think we all have to come to terms with that fact.”
“He’s who?” Glenda’s frowns.
“I’m not Jesus,” Arthur says.
“No one’s calling you Jesus,” she says. “What’s that smell? That stench smells crazy different in your house.”
“Same smell that killed your husband,” Arthur says.
Glenda replies, “Come on, Raheem. Let’s get the kids. We’re late.”
“How long was I dead?” Raheem says to Arthur, matter-of-factly.
“Something like ten minutes,” Arthur tells him. “She had to come over here, get me, then we had to go back over there. It must have been at the very least ten minutes, altogether.”
Glenda lifts her chin. “Baby, the kids need to be picked up. I’ll be out in the car.”
“You won’t listen?” Arthur says to her.
“Hell no. Not sure what the hell you two are talking about.” She walks away.
Raheem stares at Arthur. “Was that really you over there?”
“Huh?”
“You wouldn’t stop stabbing me. No, you don’t understand. It’s a good thing.”
Arthur says, “I don’t get it.”
Keeping his eyes on Arthur, Raheem slowly backs out of the house.
***
About an hour later, Arthur sits on Raheem and Glenda’s porch steps, hanging his head between his legs. The time may never be right to let them or the world know about his abilities. Still, he could feel the urge for revenge on the world for not being sympathetic to him for having his abilities. A childish feeling but the anger festers in his joints, regardless.
Raheem and Glenda pull up in their driveway, having picked up Tracy and Shelly from the after-school program. The engine cuts off, and the back doors of their sedan open like metal wings.
“What happened to him?” Tracy asks.
“Nothing happened.” Raheem exits the driver’s side.
“Kids,” Glenda says, exiting the passenger side. “I want you to walk right on passed Arthur, don’t say anything to him. Just go on passed, understand?”
Tracy says, okay. Shelly nods. The kids quickly scoot around the adults, wait at the front door. They’re let into the house by their father. They know better than to pay too much attention to adult conversation.
“Stay right there on the steps, guy,” Raheem says to Arthur after letting his kids in the house. “You don’t have to move.”
Glenda stops in front of Arthur. “You got something to say?”
Arthur lifts his head. “I want to show you something because you’re going to find out anyway.”
Raheem turns to Arthur. “Find out what?”
Arthur stands. “I’ll show you.”
He waves for them to follow, starts across their shared driveway. Seconds later, Arthur’s on his front porch.
On his heels, Glenda follows Arthur into his house. Raheem is right behind them.
“Is the smell in here worse than before?” Raheem’s nostrils flare. “What is that?”
“You ignored it earlier,” Glenda says.
“Damn.” Raheem tries to shake off the acrid smell.
The tap of their footsteps echo on the hardwood floor of the hallway.
Arthur pauses as he grabs the door handle to his bedroom.
“What’s that smell, Arthur?” Raheem’s hand goes over his mouth. “Rotten eggs in your sink?”
“You can almost taste it,” Glenda whispers. “Friggin horrible. What is that?”
Arthur eyes his shut bedroom door. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“What’d you do?” Raheem says, covering his mouth.
Arthur pushes his bedroom door open, leads the way in. Glenda and Raheem stop in the doorway, squinting because of the smell.
Glenda finds the courage to press forward. “Is that her? Is that her?”
Raheem says, “What the hell is this?”
“Lift the blanket,” Glenda insists, pointing at Arthur. “Lift the blanket!”
“It’s her, the blanket lifted or not.” Arthur grasps the blanket above Sandra’s waist. “I swear I was going to figure all of this out. That’s all.”
“What the fuck, Arthur.” Glenda’s hands turn into fists.
“I can still bring her back,” Arthur says. “I just don’t know how, for some reason. Need to adjust...something. Something.”
“Can’t you do to her what you did for me?” Raheem says.
“No! No.” Glenda swings her head around so she faces Raheem. “He didn’t do anything for you.” She slaps Raheem’s shoulder, her eyes fixed on the body under the blanket. “Lift it.”
Arthur tightens his fistful of blanket and rips it off Sandra’s body, like a magician who has unveiled the surprise in a newly learned magic trick.
Sandra lay on her side in the fetal position, her hands clasped together as if snuggled down for sleep. The sheets soiled with dark brown, almost black splotches, and streaks of dried blood. Deeper splotches of dried blood near her head. Her hair, still its usual burnt amber shade, curled over her neck. She lay in one of Arthur’s baby-blue collared shirts.
Sandra’s stained teeth. Her sloppily hanging tongue. Her eyes blankly in her head, perfectly white. The side of her face basically shot off, but the mangled flesh partially healed. He expected to see the right side of her forehead shattered. Instead, pinkish flesh has grown in the area she had shot off.
A butterfly seems to flutter around the inside of Arthur’s stomach. Perhaps he hasn’t failed yet.
“She shot herself,” Arthur says.
Her decomposition is less than it should be. Still, she’s dead.
Glenda steps backward towards the exit, her hands over her mouth, in shock. “You can’t do this.”
A single, deep breath leaves Sandra’s body.
Raheem gasps.
Glenda’s fingers intertwine at her chin as if in prayer, her feet together as she bends forward, peers in at Sandra from across the room.
“Did we all see that?” Glenda says in a whisper. “It’s all wrong.”
“Is. She. Breathing?” Raheem gathers himself.
Arthur grabs Sandra’s wrist, and then moves his hand to her forehead. He tilts her head back. With her head tilted, he splits her colorless lips with his thumb, index, and middle fingers. He leans forward and breathes a single breath into her mouth. “She’s breathing again.”
“911,” Glenda says.
“Nobody’s helping her but me.” Arthur sets down Sandra’s head. “I’m the one. I’m the only one for her. Always have been.” He starts in Glenda’s direction, meaning to make or let her understand.
Glenda backtracks to the door, sticks her arm straight out, gesturing for him to stop. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
Arthur stops.
Raheem makes small steps in Glenda’s direction. “It’s okay.”
She lowers her hand. “No. It’s, not.”
“It’s a lot simpler than you’re making it, honey. Arthur is curing Sandra, in his own way. That’s what we’re seeing. That’s all. Baby, it’s okay.”
“Look at her,” she pleads. She points to Sandra. “Does that look like curing to you?”
Arthur says, “Go ahead and be confused. It’s why I showed her to you. It’s easier explained if you see it. It’s my mistake. I really thought she was gone for good. She’s coming back. She’s breathing. Probably a mistake showing you.”
Hands on his hips, Arthur stomps passed Glenda, and then out of the bedroom.
A moment later, Glenda and Raheem arrive in the living room, covering their mouths and noses, protecting themselves from the smell of Sandra’s body.
Glenda raises her voice. “I’m calling 911.”
Arthur hears ‘911’, the threat in her tone. “She’s coming back, the same way Raheem came back. Ask your husband.”
“Baby,” Raheem says, almost singing. “We can’t deny any of this is happening. Look, Arthur might not believe it, but this is God working. This is how He does His work. People see it and don’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it either except for what happened to me. You want me to come to my senses? That’s what I’ve done.”
“But Raheem,” Arthur says. “It has nothing to do with God. I don’t want someone thinking I had her holed up because of God. That’s crazy. Not what’s happening. People will be offended by what I’ve done.”
Disappointed, Raheem drags his feet out of Arthur’s house.
“You have to stay away from us.” Glenda points at Arthur, as she starts for the door. “Don’t come anywhere near me or my family.”
***
Glenda strolls across the driveway to her front porch where she hesitates to walk into her home. Check on the kids, call the cops. I don’t know everything, just call the cops.
When she finally enters, Raheem is waiting for her. “You’re not turning him in.”
“I don’t see it as turning him in. You shouldn’t either. You should look at it as helping Sandra.”
“He’s already helping her. You don’t want to see it that way.”
She throws her hands in the air. “This is too much. It’s too much. What’s he doing to help her? You saw what I saw. He’s not helping her. I-I’m calling.”
“Think about it. What’s he doing to her?”
“There’s blood all around her. Old blood at that. It’s Sandra. Are you crazy? Are you friggin crazy?”
“You’re the one treating her like she’s going to die. Clearly she did something to herself and he’s helping.”
“What are you asking me to do? He-he’s killing her, or at the very least not helping. I don’t know how you don’t see that.”
“I’m begging you,” he says. “Leave him alone for a night or so. Let him see it through. The truth lies in what if. What if she’s better tomorrow than she is today? I want you to think to yourself, what if she’s even better the day after. I’m begging you. Begging you...don’t call anybody.”
She smacks her thighs. “You don’t think being over there earlier plus knowing what we know makes us responsible?”
“Responsible for what? We didn’t do anything to harm anybody. I don’t think he did either. He said she shot herself.”
“You believe that? Is she someone who would do something like that? It’s more like he did some crazy shit so she’s barely hanging on. Don’t you see that?”
“We’re going to regret it if we turn him in,” he says. “We’re married. We’re both going to own the actions we take against our neighbor. We do certain things as one person. This is one of those things. I can’t let you call on him.”
“I’m waiting, then, for him to, what, finish hurting her?”
“You don’t believe that. If you stop his process right now, I want nothing to do with you. I’m being real right now. This is bigger than me or you. Let him finish.”
“You’ll actually leave me over this? Oh my God, what the hell.”
“He’s not hurting her.” His tone is soft. “Wait one day. The end of tomorrow, not even through tomorrow night. After that something is wrong.”
“Where are the kids?” She gazes up the staircase. “In their room?”
“She’s going to come back healthy. He’ll eat her pain like he did for me.”
Her eyes close, her shoulders drop, as she hangs her head. In an amazingly short amount of time, she’s lost her husband, and Sandra. Arthur caused both losses.
“You’ll be in the room?” she asks.
“I’ll be praying about all this. You don’t have to join me. I won’t ask you.”
Fine, she thinks, before marching her way into the kids’ bedroom.