Revelation Page 2

  Harden opened his eyes.

  The slat in the center of the door opened, bringing with it a brilliant, rectangular shaft of fluorescent light into the room. Then, the partial outline of someone’s head eclipsed the beam.

  “Put the typed pages by the door. Then turn around and stand in the back corner.” The voice was deep, emotionless, and unfamiliar.

  “Are you going to let me out?” Harden asked.

  A few more seconds.

  “Put the typed pages by the door. Then turn around and stand in the back corner.” The voice was louder this time. More commanding.

  Harden did as he was told. He picked up his solitary page of work and made his way toward the door as the backlit head watched him. Harden noticed an unnatural, Charlie Brown–roundness to the man’s skull. He placed the page in the dirt by the door and then made his way back to the far corner of the room, walking along the walls to avoid the body.

  “Don’t turn around,” the voice said. “We’re watching.”

  We are watching. Not I am watching.

  The slat closed, then Harden heard the sound of a heavy bolt sliding open on the other side of the door. The door opened and more light filled the room. Harden felt the air pressure in the room change as a slight rush of atmosphere rippled throughout the stale cell. He sucked it in and hoped that a bit of fresh air would wash away some of the death stench.

  Should he try running? Who knew how many of them there were, but this could be his only chance. The door was open. He could run full speed and try to knock over anyone in his path, hoping just to make it outside. He could make it. He could be free. There was a chance.

  Or he could end up like Derek.

  He squeezed his hands into tight balls, his body shaking with indecision. Listening, he heard a dragging sound, quickly followed by the sound of clanking and a hollow thump. Before he could decide what to do, the door slammed shut, and the bolt slid back into place. Harden turned and stared at the cracks of light. He had missed his opportunity and could only hope there would be another.

  The light turned on.

  Derek’s body and the typed page were gone. In their place was a simple tray of food, a bottle of water, and a red plastic bucket.

  Harden yelled at the door.

  “I want to talk to him.”

  There was only silence in return. At one point, he thought he heard laughing. But maybe it was only in his head.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SEPTEMBER 1989

  “We have to get you to a doctor, man. Let me help you.”

  I finally chanced some words, mumbling through my fingers.

  “It’s . . . it’s okay.”

  I don’t know why I said it. It wasn’t okay at all. This guy just broke my tooth with a goddamn Frisbee.

  “No,” he said. “It’s not. Let’s at least go to the university clinic.” He said the words with such decisiveness it was hard to argue against it. He called out to whatever kid was supposed to catch the Frisbee instead of my face.

  “Jeremy, I’m taking him to the clinic.”

  Jeremy mumbled something that sounded exactly unlike an offer of assistance. He almost seemed disappointed that my blood interrupted their game, and he picked up the disc and walked off without a word to me.

  After I scooped up my tooth and shoved it into my pocket, the guy responsible for my new smile put his hand on my shoulder and walked me along the sloped terrain of the quad toward the center of campus. His hand rested on my shoulder for a while. Normally this would have made me uncomfortable. But not this time. This time it was actually comforting.

  He finally released his touch, but only to stick his hand out to me. “Wiley,” he said. I offered him my bloodied hand, which didn’t seem to give him a second thought. “Wiley Martin. I go by Coyote.”

  I nodded, then almost asked him why he went by Coyote before I made the connection. Now that I look back on everything, there was much more meaning in Coyote’s name than the easy connection to a cartoon character. More than anything, there was something feral about it all.

  “Harden,” I mumbled.

  “Simon?”

  I shook my head, then spit a glob of bloody saliva onto the ground. I was thankful to see no other teeth jettisoned with it. “Harden,” I repeated. “Harden Campbell.”

  “Ah, Harden.” Coyote shook his head. “Well, Harden, I’m deeply sorry I just fucked up your mouth.”

  The words It’s okay, no big deal rose in my throat, but I suppressed them.

  “My aim sucks, man. I didn’t even see you there. But we’ll get you fixed up—whatever you need. I’ll take care of it.”

  “I have insurance,” I said. I wasn’t actually sure about that. It all depended if the payment was made this month.

  “No, no, I’ll take care of everything. We’ll get that tooth put back in there in no time.”

  I studied him as we walked. He was one of them, I assumed. Wyland University was full of them. The more I looked at him, the more sense it made. Thick rugby shirt. Expensive watch. Styled hair made to look disheveled.

  Rich kid.

  He would throw money at my mouth, no matter how much it cost. He would buy his conscience clean.

  Thank God, I thought. As much as I tired of the constant wealth around me, I was glad it was here now. My dad’s threadbare insurance would probably only pay enough to fashion my tooth into a necklace. I would gladly accept Coyote’s offer.

  The university clinic was almost empty, the suffering flu-ridden masses still months away. After a triage check of my temperature and blood pressure, I was taken back to see the doctor. Coyote, to my surprise, insisted on going with me.

  The university physician seemed annoyed at having to do any work. He opened my mouth and crammed some gauze in my gap.

  “Got a missing tooth,” he said.

  No shit, I thought. I dug it from my pocket and presented it to him. He gave it a second’s glance.

  “Going to have to see a dentist,” he said. “You can keep that one as a souvenir. They’ll probably make you a new one.”

  “Are there any dentists here?” I asked.

  “Nope,” he said, crumbling his fists into the pockets of his pristine white medical coat. “I’ll give you some ibuprofen for the pain. They can get you the names of some local dentists up front on your way out.”

  He scribbled something on a pad and left the room. Coyote shook his head and turned to me.

  “You got a car, Harden?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Come on.”

  I followed him out as he strode up to the receptionist. He pulled out a slim leather wallet and placed a shiny platinum credit card in front of her. “Put his bill on this,” he said. “And I need the name of the best dentist in town.”

  I wondered if there was such a thing in Tillman, New York. The receptionist must have, too, because she rolled her eyes as she took his card. She fumbled through a file cabinet and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  “Here are all of the dentists in the area,” she said, sliding the paper across the counter to Coyote. “One of them has to be the best.”

  As she rang up my charges on his card, Coyote asked to use the phone. Two calls later he hung up and smiled at me.

  “Found a dentist. Don’t know if he’s the best, but he can see you now. I’m driving.”

  At that point, I was just along for the ride. Coyote was in charge. Four hours later, I had a repaired tooth and a new friend.

  I didn’t stop to wonder how long either would last.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “To the left. Left. Left.”

  Derek’s voice hissed in excited glee. I’m not sure why he was being so quiet. No one could see us up here.

  Derek held one handle of the water-balloon slingshot, the black rubber tubing pulled thin and taut as I held tightly onto the balloon itself. Jacob squeezed the other end, snorting laughs through his nose. The lights of our apartment were out, and I could only make out
the silhouettes of my two roommates as they stood on either side of our fourth-floor window. Below us, Dilfin Avenue blossomed with collegiate nightlife, punctuated by the late-night staccato bursts of the drunken aimless. We weren’t among them. We were drunk, but we weren’t aimless. We were aiming, in fact, at a fourth-floor window directly across the street from us.

  “Just a sec . . . hang on . . . and now!”

  I let go. The small blue balloon—about the size of a softball—launched from my grip and whooshed through the open window. I tried to follow its path, but it was damn fast, and I lost it in the darkness of night. Seconds later I heard it slam into the apartment window across the street with a resounding whomp. There was a party in the apartment, and we hit our mark perfectly.

  Jacob was the first to collapse to the floor in fits of laughter. Derek and I joined him, and we all peered over the windowsill like soldiers scouting from a shallow bunker. The partiers were backlit, so it was hard to make out more than shapes, but pretty soon three or four of them were staring out the window and pointing in our direction. I could see the telltale shape of Solo cups in each of their hands.

  “C’mon,” Jacob said. “Let’s do another.”

  “Let’s give it a minute,” I said.

  God, this was so stupid, which was maybe why it was so much fun.

  We peeked out as more of the partiers came to the window. There were maybe twenty people total in the small apartment, mostly men. One of them, a hulk of a student in what looked like a tight varsity jacket, pressed his face against the window as he scanned outside.

  “Okay, another,” I said. “Keep low.”

  Derek and Jacob resumed their positions. I waited and watched. After a few moments, three more partiers across the street had their faces pressed against the window. I quickly lifted myself up, took a fleeting moment to adjust my aim, and fired. As I dropped back to the floor, I kept my focus on the balloon. This time I could see it the entire flight. It was a good shot.

  WHAM!

  Dead center, a second time. It must have scared the shit out of them, because two of them jumped back and, I can only assume, spilled their beer.

  “Holy shit,” Jacob howled, collapsing to the floor. “That was perfect.”

  We hid on the floor and laughed as we finally heard the partiers open their window and yell from across the street.

  “Fuckin’ pussies! Try doing that again!”

  A few more catcalls followed, and then the three of us decided not to risk any more shots for the moment. Jacob reached up and inched the window closed.

  “Call that a success,” Derek said. He started crawling back to the bottle of tequila a few feet away from us on the floor, and I smiled at the way he and Jacob hid in complete cowardice the same way I did. They were both on the rugby team and could hold their own, but stupid violence wasn’t in their nature, at least not Derek’s. If someone shot a water balloon at Derek, he wouldn’t be angry. He’d want to join in.

  Jacob was a little different. I don’t think Jacob would ever go looking for a fight, but he would get into one quicker than Derek. He was just stupid enough not to realize when something wasn’t worth it. It was an annoying trait, but once in awhile it was entertaining to witness. Derek and I had been roommates since our freshman year, and Jacob shared a house with us our sophomore and junior years. Now, all of us seniors, the three of us shared the rent on a four-bedroom place while we searched for an extra person to cover the cost. We were looking, but not very hard. The extra space was nice; besides, Derek helped to cover my portion of the extra room. It was an above-average place for a college apartment, and the only way I could afford to live there was with a bit of Derek’s charity.

  Sitting on the floor, Derek poured three more shots and handed one to both Jacob and me.

  “To the inauguration of the new apartment,” he said, raising his glass.

  I swallowed the liquid and felt it tear down my throat. It burned a bit less than the previous two, which meant I was numbing up.

  “Salut,” I said, pushing on my new tooth with my tongue. The swelling on my lip was almost gone, but the cut on the inside of my mouth was slow to heal. I proudly withstood the sting of tequila.

  I started to think about launching another balloon when there was a pounding on the door. Not a knock. A pounding.

  “Holy shit,” Derek whispered, sputtering a drunken laugh. “They found us.”

  Jacob took a slug straight from the bottle, not seeming to care in the slightest at the visitor at our door.

  The pounding came again, but no voices. I got up.

  “Where are you going?” Derek said.

  “I want to see who it is.”

  “Good, you’ll be the first line of defense. We’ll jump out the window while they tear you apart.”

  He looked over to Jacob, who said, “I don’t give a shit. Open the door. Let’s see what happens.”

  I started walking to the front of the small apartment.

  “Seriously, Harden, don’t open the door,” Derek said. “Could be a whole group out there.”

  I can’t explain why I wanted to open the door. There was something in me that felt like we had to own up to what we did. Not that I felt bad. It was only a stupid water balloon, after all. But if we were going to sit here and hide in the dark, that had to be balanced out with facing a real live person standing at our door, waiting to confront us. I just had a sense that everything would be okay, but that’s the kind of drunken thinking that can end badly.

  Halfway down the hall, I heard a voice through the door.

  “Campus police.”

  I stopped. Campus police? Our apartment building wasn’t even on campus.

  “Harden, don’t open the goddamn door,” Derek called out.

  I turned. “I just want to see.”

  I laughed as I crept closer to the door, wondering if it would suddenly burst open, knocking out all my other teeth. The thought sobered me just a bit as I cautiously leaned in to the peephole.

  My left eye almost touching the peephole, I was surprised to find neither a drunken mob nor the campus police standing in the hallway. I unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door.

  “Hey there, Coyote.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Coyote grinned. It wasn’t the same smile I’d seen when I first met him. This one had a touch of snarl to it.

  “How’s the tooth, Harden?”

  Jacob called out from behind me, “Who is it?”

  I turned. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I know this guy.” I looked back at Coyote. “Tooth is great. Come on in.”

  Coyote walked into the darkened apartment with an amused look on his face. I got the feeling he enjoyed unknown situations.

  “Were you at the party across the street?” I asked. “Did you see us?”

  “No, no,” he said. “I was on the street. Saw the whole thing.” He walked down the hallway and stood directly in front of the launching-pad window. Jacob and Derek looked up at him from the floor, and I could see Jacob’s arms tensing. Coyote turned. “You stayed in the window too long on your second launch,” he said to me. “I saw your face in the street light.”

  That’s good eyesight, I thought, forty feet below and all.

  I nodded to my roommates. “This is Jacob and Derek.” No one shook hands.

  “This is the guy who knocked out my tooth,” I explained to them.

  Jacob looked at Coyote with interest for the first time. “Oh, okay. Right on, man.” Jacob was always saying right on, which annoyed me mostly because I found myself now saying it on occasion.

  “You should’ve scalped him with the Frisbee,” Jacob said. “Harden needs a new haircut more than a new tooth.”

  “This is Coyote,” I said.

  “Coyote what?” Jacob asked.

  “Coyote is his name.”

  Jacob cocked his head and asked Coyote, “You Indian or something?”

  “No,” Coyote said. “It’s just a nickname.”

>   “Oh. Right on, man.”

  Derek remained silent, just studying Coyote as if trying to assess if he was still a threat or not. Coyote walked to our kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

  “There’s some beer in there if you want one,” I said to him. I shrugged to my friends, and Jacob whispered something about the beer being his. “And we have tequila over here.”

  Seconds later, Coyote returned carrying something in his hand. As he came closer, I finally made out a small naval orange that had been rotting in the produce drawer for at least a month.

  I said, “Don’t eat that. Seriously.”

  “The problem with water balloons,” he said, “is they act more like a grenade rather than a missile.” Coyote lobbed the orange up a few times in front of us. “I mean, they’re fine if you’re going for shrapnel wounds, but they don’t give you the impact of a real shelling.” He nodded to Derek and Jacob. “Grab the slingshot.”

  There was an authority to his voice. It wasn’t even a commanding phrase, but his tone suggested you could trust him to make the right decision, and the best thing to do was to listen to him. This turned out to be the most powerful thing about Coyote: his ability to sound like he always knew what was for the best. I suspect there are millions of dead soldiers scattered around the world who listened to the same kind of person.

  Jacob and Derek rose from the floor, and each of them took one end of the slingshot and positioned themselves on either side of the open window.

  I just stood and watched. The party across the street was back in full force, and no one seemed to care anymore about some idiots launching water balloons at them. I knew it was a bad idea the moment I saw Coyote place the small piece of fruit in the pouch and pull the slingshot back. I knew it was a bad idea when I saw Derek and Jacob stretching the rubber tubing to capacity. But I didn’t say anything, and that just about sums up the difference between leaders and followers. Followers sit back and watch.

  I watched that little piece of forgotten produce rocket out our apartment and absolutely shatter the window across the street. As the splintered glass shards rained down forty feet below, and as Derek and Jacob fell to the floor with fear-tinged hysterics, I sidestepped out of view from the outside world. Not Coyote. He just stood there, plain as sight in front of the window, a tight grin of satisfaction on his face.