Music Girl

By the next Saturday, Sam was allowed back out of the house, but Cynthia still hadn’t woken up. Sam visited her almost daily, rushing to catch the light rail as soon as school let out. Aravic went with her some days.

Aravic now spent a good majority of his time listening to music, immersed in Sam’s playlist. He especially liked Dream On and Hollywood Whore. He had to admit, Sam’s music was very different than anything he had ever heard, and it was rather addicting. So that Saturday morning when Mr. Thyroid announced they were going to church, Aravic grabbed his iPod Xanium and followed Sam out back of the house to the car garage.

Tomas’s black Buick was there, sparkling clean. The other car was more of a truck, also black with tinted windows. Aravic had a feeling it was bulletproof. That feeling was proven true when he was it was a Presidential S-138, a high-class, hydro-hybrid vehicle usually reserved only for important government and religious officials.

Leaning against the Presidential was Rachel. She wore a black mini skirt and maroon knee-high boots with a matching halter top. Aravic found it took a lot of self control not to snort at her, especially as she fawned over Mr. Thyroid. Aravic took a quick glance at Sam next to him. She had been freed of her boot and crutches two days ago, and she looked like the shag rugs on her floor. Sam was sporting worn tie-dye jeans, a beaded tie-dye shirt, her usual boots, silver makeup, and all her piercings. Sam called it “hippie style,” whatever the hell that was.

Moments later, Aravic was on his way to Regalist Church, something he hadn’t done since her moved in with the Thyroids. Worship was typically on Saturday mornings at the church Aravic attended, and same must have been true for the Thyroids.

They turned down 14th street in downtown and about half-way down the street, parked. As Aravic stepped out, he gazed up at the tall building in front of him. It was a shiny, metal structure 7 or 8 stories tall with a front electric sign that read, “The Regal Church of His Most Holy Creator.” A steady stream of people was entering the church, men in suits, women in dresses, children of all ages. Aravic walked beside Sam into the building.

The interior was just as sharp and intimidating as the exterior. The floor was covered in thick carpet, and between the Greek-imitation metallic pillars were concrete statues of famous persons in Regalist history. There was Trey Regal, the founder of the religion, Jonah Freeburn, the first president to instigate Regalism into the US Government, Will Cook, the one who changed America from Democracy to Autocracy, and Danny Todd, author of the Royal Book, Regalism’s equivalent to the Bible. On the walls were holographic picture frames of famous Regalistic works of art. One that got particularly dark looks from Sam depicted The Creator surrounded by tankards of wine and naked women. Aravic however tried to take in everything he saw. His church was much smaller than this one, and quite a bit poorer.

When they finally reached the actual church, Rachel grabbed Sam’s pale upper arm with her claw-like fingers and dragged her away to the women’s section. Mr. Thyroid led Aravic and Tomas to the front row of the men’s section. This set of pews wasn’t metallic like the rest of the pews. This row was made out of polished wood with plush, purple, velvet cushions on the seat.

“This row is for the rich, the poor people have to sit back there,” said Tomas boastfully as he sat between Aravic and his father.

“Lucky us,” responded Aravic absent-mindedly as he studied the set up in front of the pews. There was a glass podium for the priest to speak at, with two enormous flat screens mounted on either side of that on the wall. There was also a copy of the Royal Book on the podium, and a microphone.

Aravic turned around and craned his neck at the women’s section in search of Sam. He found her almost immediately in the very back row. He pulled out his phone and send her a text message. “hey, wat r u doin in the back row?” He got a reply shortly.

“Speak literately, and I’d rather not be up front with The Whore.”

“Ok. How boring will this be?”

“You’re about to find out.”

Aravic was only puzzled for a moment, because a silence fell over everyone in the church. A man in purple and silver robes was walking down the aisle, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. When he was securely behind the podium, three woman danced down the aisle swinging incense, wearing either purple, silver, or gold silk dresses.

When the dance was over, the priest raised out his arms. “Welcome, Children of The Creator. Good morning to you all.”

“Good morning to you, Royal Barns,” the crowd responded. Royal Barns was a man in his late fifties that was probably once tall and handsome. Now he was plump, beginning to stoop with age, and had more gray than brown in his hair. He had several wrinkles collecting around his eyes and the corners of his mouth, like he smiled a lot.

“We are glad to welcome back our brother and generous donator, Nathan Thyroid and his family,” Royal Barns said, indicating his head towards Mr. Thyroid. There was a fair amount of applause. “And now if you’ll please, I’ll start the sermon…”

They began with a prayer and then Royal Barns moved on to his preaching, reading passages from the Royal Book and relating them to everyday life. “Have you fallen asleep yet?” read Sam’s incoming text.

“Not really, you?”

“Omg yes, I put in my headphones a long time ago.”

“It’s very different from my church.”

“Cool. Enjoying Metallica now, see you in a few hours.”

Aravic was horrified at the thought of being stuck in church until lunch. His church was usually over in an hour. As stealthily as he could, Aravic put in the headphones to his iPod.

Aravic began to zone out and daydream as he listened to Sam’s playlist. Smoke began to fill his nostrils, and he assumed they were burning incense again. Aravic didn’t fully come to until he heard muffled screaming.

“Aravic, come on!” shouted a distant voice. He pulled out his headphones and his eyes refocused. The podium was empty, people were running all around him, and sweat poured down his face and neck. And there were flames all around him.

Panic-stricken, Aravic’s first inhalation sent him into a violent coughing fit as smoke filled his lungs. He fell out of the pew and onto the floor, gasping for air. He started to army crawl towards the aisle. He couldn’t tell where the fire was because it seemed to be all around him. He had made it to a row of metal pews when he felt a burning pain. One of the pews had fallen over onto his thighs, trapping him. The hot metal burned him through his jeans as he cried out from the agonizing pain.

-

“Where’s Aravic?”

That was my father’s first question.

Like it was my fault.

Technically, it was his and Tomas’s.

And yet, I was catching the blame.

“Dammit,” I muttered, searching the crowd for him. His tousled blonde hair was no where in sight. I looked up at the church. Black smoke was curling off the building. ‘How the hell did it catch fire?’ I asked myself. ‘Maybe the carpet… ?’ I scrunched my eyebrows, looking around for Aravic again, but I knew it was fruitless. I glanced between the burning church, the crowded street, and back again. I sighed, made up my mind, and charged into the church.

“SAMANTHA!”

It was difficult maneuvering in the church. The fire was everywhere, stretching up the walls twenty, thirty feet in the air. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and kicked down the door into the actual church. A hot wave of smoke hit me in the face and I fell to the ground coughing and wheezing. The tears that fell down my face evaporated almost instantly.

I started crawling though the wreckage of pews, searching for Aravic. Every time I inadvertently brushed the metal of a pew, it burned me. I tried to ignore the pain, but I couldn’t help but notice it. I kept thinking, ‘What if he isn’t in here? What if he just went out the back? What if I die in here for nothing?’

After a lot of crawling, coughing, and getting burned, I found him. He was trapped under a fallen pew. I pushed it off with much effort, burning my hands in the process. I rolled him over, but he didn’t respond. I slapped him. That did nothing but leave a red mark on his cheek.

“Wake up you damn mofo!” I yelled, shaking him. Again, no response. I assumed him unconscious, threw my arms around his waist, and heaved. I nearly dropped him in surprise. “Fuck it all Aravic, you’re so heavy!” I snarled, lifting him up again and started dragging him towards the exit. Every breath I took let more and more smoke and ash into my lungs, but I kept going. Lungs burning, eyes searing, I stumbled out into the entryway, nearly dropping Aravic again.

I had to drop to my knees and cough as hard as I could, spit flying out of my mouth, and every sharp intake of breath lit my throat on fire with ash. I could feel my brain going fuzzy, and my vision was blurring as my tears tried to in vain to stop my eyes from getting raw.

‘Stay awake dammit, stay awake!’ I told myself, fighting the very strong and inviting urge to plunge into sweet unconsciousness. ‘Gotta - keep - going!’ I began to crawl again, dragging Aravic with me by the wrist, threatening to dislocate his arm.

I was about halfway down the hall when a light shown down it. Not hot flames, but pure sunlight, and shadows falling though it towards me.

And I knew it was safe.

So I gave in to what my body craved, and blacked out.