Justin
1981
‘Happy New Year,’ he said.
The blade went in more easily than he’d expected. He stood there counting—one, two, three—and then the guy started screaming blue murder.
By one minute past midnight, he and his mates were darting down the alleyways, left, right, right. Until now they’d have followed him anywhere. They fed off his energy. But he heard the high-pitched terror in their giggles and knew he’d gone too far this time. One by one they slunk away. Lame excuses. When the going got tough, the tough went home to their mums.
Only Liam was loyal. The pair of them ended up hiding behind a shed near where the commercial fishing boats tied up. Liam kept moaning, Fuck, it’s freezing, even after Justin gave him his beanie. It was midsummer, but Wellington didn’t care about the seasons.
‘D’you think you killed that guy?’ Liam whispered. His squinting eye was all over the place. It did that when he was upset.
‘He didn’t look dead to me,’ said Justin.
‘Why’d you do it?’
He’d done it out of rage. He’d done it because all the world was celebrating the birth of another year, and he was sixteen years old and couldn’t see the point of his own existence.
‘He had a Hawaiian shirt,’ he said.
He’d sliced his hand on razor wire while they were climbing the perimeter fence. The wound gaped open like a mouth. The blood looked dark and slippery in the yellow wharf lights, as though he was leaking black engine oil.
Liam was shivering noisily. ‘Do anything for a cup of tea.’
‘Fuck off home,’ said Justin. ‘Go on.’
‘What about you?’
‘For Christ’s sake.’ Justin gave him a push. ‘Just sod off.’
So Liam sodded off, still wearing the beanie. Justin heard him crashing over the fence, then his clumsy footsteps, then nothing.
That left diesel and rotting fish. It left the mean wind, the blackness that rang in his ears. The fireworks were over. The party was over. For days he’d been high on rage and hooch and vodka, but even they’d deserted him now. He had nothing. He was nothing.
Curling on the cold ground, cradling his throbbing hand, he tried his very best to die.
•
Someone was shouting in his ear: Justin! Justin Calvin!
He knew that voice. His old friend.
‘Messenger?’ he cried, crawling from behind the shed. ‘Where are you?’
The night was thinning. Seagulls scolded and scrapped around a rubbish bin, dragging out fish-and-chip papers. He staggered to the wharf and stood right on the edge, balancing above the oily water and massive ropes of fishing boats. The sea began to glint in the light of a new day.
Something was going to happen. He knew it. He knew it. He could feel his power growing and swelling. His mind filled with a deepening roar, as though a vast crowd was applauding.
‘Messenger!’ he screamed. ‘Here! I’m here!’
And then it happened. Dazzling fire hurtled across the water like an arrow from a bow, straight into his eyes. It was a pointer, marking him out. Messenger was coming, yelling a triumphant greeting, but this time he’d brought an army. They flew in ranks, shining squadrons singing with a million voices. Justin had never felt like this before. Their love was a swollen river, lifting him up and carrying him in a tide of shining gold.
He stood with his arms stretched towards the Host. They were made of white light, blindingly bright, pieces of the sun. His head felt ready to explode with the power and glory of their singing. He laughed, and shouted, and sang with them.
He didn’t notice the two policemen walking up the quay. Only when they reached him did he hear the crackle of a radio, and a voice saying they’d found a teenager who fitted the attacker’s description and he was in la-la land.
They didn’t know. They could never know. Poor fuckers, he thought, they can’t see what I can see. He wasn’t afraid of being locked up. What did any of that matter? He was in the presence of beings from another realm altogether, and their message changed everything, forever. It changed everything for him, and for the men who stood beside him, and for the entire human race.
At last, he knew what he was doing on this earth. He knew what he had to do next. He knew everything.
He remembered who he was.