Gabriel and Other Tales

Copyright © 2014 by Jasper-Lee Williams.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2013923635

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-5828-7

                Softcover         978-1-4931-5827-0

                eBook              978-1-4931-5829-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/11/2014

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

Orders@Xlibris.com

538443

CONTENTS

Gabriel

Vun of a Kind

Amigo, My Friend

Justin’s Chair

Epilogue

To WS84,

Thanks for the words.

GABRIEL

T HE CRAVING FOR it gnawed at his insides like a thousand tiny hands, trying at once to tear through the surface of his skin. He clenched his jaw against the agony and grasped so tightly to the sheets under him that his hands went numb.

The orange light from the faulty streetlamp outside the bedroom window passed through a sliver in the blind, casting a single ray onto the nightstand beside him. Engulfing the tiny box, it seemed to be a spotlight—his only light in the darkness.

And inside of it rested his only reprieve from the cravings, nestled within the shape of the cylindrical slim cigarettes. When the gnawing was so much that his entire body itched with the craving, he jolted upright in bed and seized them in one swift motion.

Gabriel. Her hand reached out in the darkness to soothe him.

Yeah?

What’s the matter, baby?

Nothing. I’m fine.

She sighs her disbelief. No, you’re not.

I just need a cigarette.

Baby, she shifted her weight around with an uncomfortable grunt, those things are going to kill you.

Not likely. He donned his clothing hastily in the darkness.

What did you say? she mumbled groggily, already on her way back into her slumber.

Nothing. He pulled the door gently behind him. Go back to sleep.

*     *     *

Gabriel, with the unlit slim cig hanging limply from the side of his mouth, walked the graveled surface of the rooftop twenty stories above the city, much like a devout would walk the aisle in a church leading down to the altar.

On many nights, he had stood before its tar-smeared ledge like it was a pulpit, hoping to confess—if not with his mouth, then at least with his heart; to profess what lurked in the shadowy corners of his desires—if not to someone, then to the night, with its bright moon and stars as witness. At least then there would be no fear of judgment.

He stared ahead for a long while at another rooftop across from him, one of the thousands upon thousands in the city. Each was equipped with its own hosts of characters with their own stories. And he remembered that night so clearly.

The moon had hung full and low in the sky above the city. He’d pulled a slim from the package. Out of habit then, not necessity. And across the way, on another rooftop twenty stories or so above, some other denizen had stood, probably confessing his own woes to the night.

The man had pulled on his own cigarette desperately, rapidly, as if with each pull he would be one breath closer to freeing himself of whatever was giving him woe. Then he tossed his cigarette off into the street below. He’d locked gazes with Gabriel, it seemed—even from across that great distance. And then—

The crunching of gravel behind him forced him out of his thoughts and back to the reality of the thousand tiny hands. The cigarette hung unlit from his mouth. The realization hit that he’d left his lighter in his other jeans on the floor, back downstairs where the woman beside him slept heavily.

What’s up, Gabriel? the voice said. Forgot your lighter again?

Gabriel nodded, affirming his lapse of memory. Yeah, Victor, I most certainly did.

You always do. Victor approached, with the flame covered against the chill with one cupped hand.

Thanks. Gabriel pulled long from his cig. And in just that one pull, the thousand tiny hands subsided to just a hundred.

Want to just thank you again, Gabriel. Victor wrapped his arm around Gabriel’s shoulder.

Shh. Shh. Shh, Gabriel urged him, turning back to look at the rooftop’s entrance.

No, seriously, he insisted. You must be the craziest motherfucker I’ve ever met to have done that for me.

Let’s forget about it, Vick. Gabriel pulled shakily from the cig.

Forget about it? I owe you my life. My family’s life.

No, you don’t.

Are you kidding?

Vick. It’s fine, man. Please, let’s stop talking about it already.

Fine, Gabriel. He sighed his concession. But you really are a saint.

Below, sirens wailed as the City’s Finest squad cars sped frenetically down the avenue.

They still haven’t caught him, Victor said.

Oh no? Gabriel pulled deeply. By then, the hundred hands had subsided to just a score.

Nope, he shuddered. And that’s one body every night since the first one was discovered."

That’s pretty scary.

Yeah, it is, Vick flicked his cigarette butt off of the roof. This is a crazy world.

That’s it? Gabriel gestured at the half-smoked cig spiraling down onto to some unsuspecting denizen below.

Yes, he said. I promised my wife I’d quit for her and the baby.

So then? Gabriel nudged his head at the descending butt.

Small steps, my friend. Vick turned to leave. Small steps.

How could he ever utter aloud what taunted his every waking thought? And to whom?

He could bare it all to a therapist, but before the session ended, the Men in White would be waiting, with shackles, outside the door to take him away. He could talk to his girl downstairs perhaps, but how could she ever look at him the same after, much less not run out of the apartment at a full sprint, screaming, if her condition permitted her to do so?

And just as the final pull of the second cigarette approached, any lingering hands beneath his skin submerged to such a depth that he no longer felt them. Not enough at least to keep him awake. With a long final drag, he flicked the butt off adroitly and turned, leaving behind his thoughts for the night to deal with.

*     *     *

Gabriel.

He turned his head from the cloudy night sky outside. Yeah?

I’m hungry.

He jolted up at the opportunity. What do you want?

The usual. She grabbed his hand in a gesture of gratitude.

He squeezed it firmly in return; the heat from it was a stark contrast to the chill slipping in through the parted window.

Okay.

Be careful though, she urged. No heroics.

Okay, baby. He leaned in to kiss her. Right back.

He walked through the night like one oblivious to the reputation of the city’s lower end. It was notorious for offering many dangers for those intrepid and foolish enough to traverse its shadowy streets while the moon reigned high. But it wasn’t courage or foolishness that compelled his stride. As such, the city offered no resistance to his passage through the short few blocks from his building to the all-night convenience store.

The clerk behind the register smiled widely as Gabriel entered. He waved and made for the aisles promptly so as not to forget any item on the small but meticulous list of her evening snacks. The last time he’d done so and botched the order, she’d turned on him like some woman possessed by a devil from the hordes below.

He shuddered at the thought and approached the register and its smiling clerk.

Hello, hello, my friend, the older gentleman said.

What’s up, Aziz? Gabriel placed the few items on the counter.

How are you, my friend?

I’m fine, man, he said. Thanks for asking. He reached into his pocket for his wallet and realized the man had not scanned the items and instead had placed them in a brown bag and slid them forward.

Take it, Aziz said.

Come on, man. Gabriel pulled a bill out.

No, no, my friend! Aziz insisted vehemently, raising his slender leathery finger into the air to affirm his conviction.

Come on, dude. We’ve been through this already.

No, Gahbriel, he said. He mispronounced the name, as he’d done every time he’d uttered it, despite the many times Gabriel had painstakingly enunciated it correctly for him. You don’t pay. Ever. He waved his finger briskly at the outstretched bill. Mayor’s instructions.

Come on, Aziz. Gabriel placed the bill on the counter. I don’t need the mayor flipping the bill for me.

What you did was very brave, Gahbriel—

Oh god! Not this again, Aziz. How long ago was that? Gabriel withdrew his bill, conceding to the futility of the argument. The last time he’d tried to leave it and flee, Aziz had followed him out of the store and down the block, with no regard to the unattended register.

You… don’t… pay. He reached up into the shelves behind him for a pack of cigarettes. Ever! He tossed them into the bag as well.

Fine, man, Gabriel snatched the bag up. But I’m not going to come here anymore if you’re going to act like this, Aziz.

Good night, Gahbriel, he said from behind. And tell your lovely girlfriend I say hello.

*     *     *

Just shy of reaching the corner, something stirred in the furthest range of Gabriel’s vision. Stopping abruptly and tossing the half-eaten chocolate bar to the side to free his one hand, he whipped his head around. From out of the shadows, where the streetlamp failed to illuminate, a skulking figure emerged into the orange light.

Hey man. the fellow whispered.

Gabriel squinted his eyes for a moment before recognition drew his head back in. He exhaled a sigh of relief as he did. What’s up, dude?

The hunched figure approached. He was an unkempt fellow with raggedy clothes that were much too big for his slight form. Though not totally covered in grime, a shower would not have hurt his cause. What’s up, man? He oscillated his head to the left and right nervously, then took a step forward.

Gabriel looked down at him, unfazed by his presence. Why are you skulking in the shadows?

The fellow’s head twitched, and he scratched at his face. You need something, man?

Gabriel looked around to ensure they had privacy. Nah, man.

You sure, man? I got those relaxers you like. He oscillated his head again.

A police squad car whizzed by, and the fellow jumped back, vanishing, it seemed, back into the shadow of the corner. When the car had passed a good distance, he reemerged.

Nah, man, Gabriel said. I don’t need those anymore.

Oh… okay. The fellow flexed and extended his fingers in such a way that it made him look like some creature from the rodent family skilled enough to stand on its hind legs. I got other shit too, man. He rocked back and forth. Ya know? Needles and pipes or whatever you like. He paused for comedic effect. That rhymed, you know.

Yeah. Gabriel chuckled. Okay, man. Nah, I’m fine. But thanks for asking.

The ratty fellow grunted his protest and looked around once again nervously.

Why are you so jumpy?

The City’s Finest is out tonight, the ratty fellow said. They’re still looking for that guy. That serial killer, you know. I don’t wanna get pinched.

Oh yeah. Creepy. But I gotta breeze, man. Gabriel moved to cross the street.

Hey, hey! The ratty fellow followed him a step.

What? Gabriel turned his head back.

You sure you don’t need anything? I know how you like those—

Listen, shithead! I don’t need anything, okay! Gabriel clenched his fist. So stop fucking asking me!

The ratty fellow retracted fretfully. Sorry, man, he said. I… I could just use the business, ya know.

Gabriel exhaled his rage through his nose. You got the shakes, huh?

The ratty fellow scratched again at his neck. Yeah… I’m tripping bad… Need my fix.

Why don’t you just use your own shit then?

Oh no, he hissed emphatically, his eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets, the red veins in them threatening to explode at a moment. You never get high on your own supply. It’s bad business.

Gabriel huffed at the irony. How much you need? he asked and reached for the note in his pocket that Aziz had refused to take.

Just enough to get a hit, man… I think I’m starting to see shit. The ratty fellow looked off behind him, somewhere in the darkness of a side street, where the light dared not illuminate.

Here, man. Gabriel turned the bill over.

Thanks, man, the ratty man said and backpedaled back into the shadows. You’re a saint.

Even with the thousand tiny hands far below the surface, submerged in the sea of nicotine coursing through his blood, Gabriel’s thoughts still managed to wander off into the darker trenches of his psyche—the part that he’d never admit aloud existed, a part he felt uncontrollably compelled to linger in.

*     *     *

Gabriel, she cooed at him, reaching her hand behind her to claw sensually at his leg.

Yeah?

What’s the matter, baby?

Nothing, he said, patting at her hand. I’m fine.

She sighed. Want to talk about it?

There is nothing to talk about.

She groaned her protest and slid her backside toward his pelvis, clawing again at his thigh as she did. Okay. So if you don’t wanna talk then let’s do something else. She moaned with longing.

Gabriel sighed.

You don’t want to ’cause you think I’m fat. She retracted her hand.

You’re not fat, baby.

So then…

It’s just…

’Cause I’m fat and unattractive. Just say it!

Baby, he pleaded, turning on to his side and sliding his boxers down as he did.

You do, Gabriel, she whined. I know you do. She raised her hand to cover her face.

Does that, he began, pulling at her hips to slide into her, and eliciting from her a quivering. Does that feel like I’m not attracted to you?

No… she gyrated her against his pelvis feverishly and moaned. No, Gabriel, it doesn’t.

*     *     *

Another night and another thousand tiny hands clawed at his skin. The cig hung unlit from his lips. Without it, his thoughts would wander again into darkness. Until he stumbled upon that urge somewhere in the shadows of his psyche, an urge so powerful he had to clench his fists and grind his teeth to resist. The more the tiny hands clawed, climbing closer to the surface, the more difficult the struggle, until his skin burned with itchy desire.

It burned so much that he reached his hand up and scratched against them, knocking the unlit cigarette from his mouth as he did, but he deftly dropped to a kneel and pinched it between his forefinger and thumb before it could fall to the street below.

He reached for the lighter, but again, it wasn’t there. It was on the nightstand beside the bed. He’d seized the opportunity to leave her while she was still sleeping, and elude badgering about his disregard for his health. He’d left in a haste and forgotten the lighter. He sighed and moved to turn, but the crunching of the gravel behind him halted him. He smiled, appreciating the interruption.

Need a light? the voice said. The manner in which the words traveled through the air immediately dispelled any notions—if, for a split second he had any—that it was his friend Victor coming to his rescue, with lighter in hand, yet again.

He turned, a little off put by the prospect, but there was no one to greet him.

Need a light? the voice said again.

The words seemed to originate from many directions at once, as if there were many voices speaking at once.

He spun around, with the cig still in his mouth hanging limply, and his hands rose in defense if necessary, but nothing but the empty ledge awaited him.

"Need . . . a . . . LIGHT?" it said again slowly, enunciating each syllable so theatrically so that it seemed that whoever was speaking had all the time in the world to do so.

He spun again and this time was greeted by a series of blinding motions that transpired too quickly for his eyes to capture.

First, he saw the pale face. And then a blur, which he surmised—once he was dangling from its grasp at arm’s length from the roof’s ledge—was the thing’s hand.

He went up and out so fast and with such ease that he wondered why whatever it was that was holding him hadn’t just torn his head clean from his shoulders with the immense strength it possessed.

Daring a glance down, he saw his cig spiraling down to city below, which seemed to wait eagerly for him to follow and plunge to a painful death on its pavement.

Averting his eyes from the prospect of doom below, he allowed them to travel up to the pale face of the thing again. In a word, it seemed inhuman—like a monster cut out of the pages of a child’s fairy tale and given life.

Although its head bore the relative shape of a man’s, the skin painted onto its face was the white of milk. The veins underneath were such a shade of blue that they seemed to radiate with faint light, like enchanted canals flowing through its body carrying whatever nourishment the monstrous thing required to move the way it did. Its irises were such a pigment of yellow that one would believe that two tiny suns had been placed in the Milky Way of its sclera. Those suns, imperfect in their design, held two tiny specs of black holes that acted as its pupils. Its mouth, the slash of red that it was, was placed at such an angle, as if to imply it was smirking. And smirking because it possessed the knowledge that it did—which it knew with the utmost certainty—that there was none higher than it in the hierarchy of the food chain.

Gabriel winced as he could feel the bones in his trachea compressing under