On Faith

By Jackee C.

Prologue

Mud splattered on his sneakers as he trudged through yet another puddle, adding mottled streaks of gritty brown to the once black and white Converse All-Stars. It didn't matter. He was nearing his goal. For the first time, he would be doing it on his own, proving that he was ready for this responsibility. He didn't need some babysitter to walk him home from school. He knew his way around, and today he was going to prove it.

As he crossed through the rain dampened grass and neared the utilitarian brick building that was Johnston High School, the sounds of muffled grunts and groans greeted his ears. He picked up the pace. The taunts and cheers that accompanied the groans and whimpers registered in his young mind as a curiosity -- movie imagery to be brought to life.

Rounding the corner of the building he was brought up short. Three larger boys were beating up a thinner young man while another looked on. Curiosity turned to confusion as the scene continued to unfold, and he recognized the young man lying on the ground. He knew he cried out, but couldn't be sure of the words, and then he was running forward.

The larger boys paid little heed to his vain attempts to protect the other boy. They only laughed, pushing him away until he fell into the mud alongside their original target. The short-lived battle was over before it began. One of the larger boys said something that convinced the older boys to leave. They all shuffled away, their laughter echoing behind them.

As they disappeared behind the buses lined up near the student parking lot, he looked on with hatred in his eyes and mud and tears on his cheeks.

Something was wrong. Peter Caine knew it from the moment he steered his electric blue sports car into mid-afternoon traffic. Frowning, he threw a quick glance at the dash gauges. There were no warning lights, the tachometer indicated that the engine was at a nice, contented 2000 RPMs. There was even a full tank of gas. Everything seemed to be well in automobile land.

Turning his attention outward, he looked toward the clear, blue skies. No storms on the horizon. There was almost a playfulness to the atmosphere. Blustery autumn winds whipped at the branches of trees, scattering colorful leaves in a whirlwind dance. Even the pedestrian and automobile traffic seemed to move with jubilant energy under the brilliant sun of early fall. In a word, it was beautiful out. Just the kind of day Peter liked. So why was he getting such an incredible sense of foreboding?

Turning mechanically onto a side street, he continued to ponder the feeling on a less physical level. Maybe it was something from within. He felt okay. He'd paid the rent. He'd paid the cable bill -- not that he ever watched much television anyway. He'd --

A sudden flash of Day-Glo purple and a piercing sense of panic drew him forcefully to full alertness. His right foot slammed on the brake, throwing the car into a short, tire-screeching skid. By the time he focused out of the windshield, a small featured young woman with alternately green and purple hair stood frozen inches in front of his bumper.

"Jeez! Are you all right?" he called, making ready to climb out of the vehicle to offer assistance. It was the least he could do, considering the fact that he'd nearly mowed her down.

He'd hardly gotten the door open when the young woman's shocked expression turned to a snarl. "Learn how to drive, you freak!"

"Yeah! Freak!" A spiky-haired young man, garbed in chains and leather stepped to her side. Making identical obscene gestures in Peter's direction, they continued on across the street. The words "you suck" emblazoned across the back of matching jackets was his final view of the couple.

"There's gratitude for you," Peter huffed to himself, seriously considering the temptation to ticket the pair for borderline jay-walking, lewd behavior, poor fashion sense and whatever else he could think up along the way. But as satisfying as the thought was, it would only make him late for his appointment with Capt. Simms.

Resigning himself to duty, he put his car back in gear and continued on along the road. He studiously ignored the feeling of anxiety that nudged at his subconscious. "It's probably just the adrenaline," he murmured to himself. "Think about something else." Like the poker game at his apartment that night. Like the. . . Oh crap. Like the tequila I was supposed to pick up for Jordan's special margaritas.

There would be no time after work since Simm's meeting was likely to run long. But then he remembered that there was a liquor store just a couple blocks ahead. He threw a quick glance at his dash clock. If he could make the light at Summer Mill Road, get in and out of the store in six minutes, and take the freeway back to the precinct, he should have just enough time. Piece of cake. He could do this.

Summer Mill Road loomed ahead, and the light was green. Peter pressed his foot a bit more firmly into the gas pedal. Stay green.

One second ticked by. Stay green. We can do this.

Green changed to yellow. I can still do this. I can make this light.

"It is my destiny to make this light." Determined, he pushed even more firmly into the gas pedal. The high performance engine responded with a deep guttural sound as the car shot forward, pressing Peter slightly against the seat back The vehicle cleared the intersection just before the light switched to red.

"Woo! I love this car." His triumphant proclamation was barely past his lips when distinctly familiar flashing blue lights pulled in behind him.

"Oh, crap," he grumbled, looking down at his speedometer with a sinking feeling. Had his Shaolin Spidey senses been trying to warn him that there was a traffic cop nearby? Had he even exceeded the speed limit in the first place? As he scanned the street in search of a sign he caught sight of the liquor store. Pulling into the lot with the cruiser close on his tail, a plan began to form. Providing the patrolman had no gripes against the 101st, and could understand the value of a happy girlfriend and the correct drinks at the office poker game, nevermind getting back for a meeting with one's captain on time, the plan could work.

Peter cut the ignition with a sharp motion, satisfied with his idea. But when he would have removed the keys, his fingers lingered. The tiny stirrings of anxiety that had plagued him earlier were growing. He shook his head slightly as if to shake them off. It didn't work. The feelings wouldn't let go.

No time. There's no time for this. The words rushed through his mind as he climbed distractedly from the vehicle. Of course he didn't have any time. He had to buy tequila and meet with Simms.

There's no time! Can't stop it! Can't stop!

The words came more urgently, and Peter wasn't sure whether he had thought them or simply picked them up. Was his father trying to contact him? Pop?

"Remain in the vehicle!"

The patrolman's order interrupted Peter's disjointed musings. Reflexively, he extended his arms out to the sides in a gesture of non-aggression, and focused on the officer whose nameplate proclaimed that he was T. Denton. Peter didn't like the nervous look the young patrolman shot in his direction. It was time to identify himself as one of the good guys.

"Listen. . . I. . . " Peter's voice trailed off as the feeling of foreboding suddenly pushed harder against his mind. His eyes seemed drawn in the direction of the liquor store. As he focused on the squat brick and glass building, sensation and imagery slammed into him with the power of a freight train. He staggered as his senses went into overload. Without conscious direction, he felt himself running.

"Stop!" Officer Denton's voice echoed into unimportance. Peter's entire focus was on reaching the liquor store. The distance to the glass front doors seemed impossibly far, and he felt as if time itself were dragging at his feet, holding him back from reaching his destination. But he couldn't stop. He had to keep moving. There was no more time.

He heard it then, a sudden deep rumbling boom followed by a brilliant flash. He felt the force slam into him mentally and physically. All was light and sound and color as he tumbled and fell, powerless to halt his momentum. And just as suddenly it was all gone. No sound, no color. Everything faded to black.