Welcome to Etham, Alabama (closed)

Strong hands gripped the cold porcelain of the bathroom sink. Pale blue eyes stared into the mirror, interrogating the features reflected therein – a square jaw, clenched tightly and covered with a day’s worth of heavy blond stubble; a long nose, nostrils flaring with every rapid breath; a heavy brow shading those pale eyes, eyes now red and bloodshot with the aftereffects of too many beers and too much secondhand cigarette smoke.

Another night at the Wagon Wheel with the guys from work, another run through the gantlet of cops and staties back from the bar, another night alone in the small but meticulous house with nothing but his own reflection in the mirror and maybe Conan O’Brien for company. It was in danger of becoming a cycle, these days at the foundry, trying to keep half-drunk boys and three quarters-drunk old men from setting the place on fire or maiming themselves through ignorance or boredom, then nights at one bar or another, chasing a day’s frustration and boredom with too much Bud Light and an occasional shot of Jim Beam. A cycle that he didn’t know how to break, and some days, wasn’t sure that he wanted to break – it was the same cycle that he’d watched his father complete, and his grandfather before him, though they, at least had the presence of a wife and a family, for all that it didn’t seem to have brought either of them much joy or happiness.

Virgil shoved himself away from the sink; the abrupt movement making the whisky and beer in his stomach churn menacingly. His eyes, still looking into the mirror, shifted to the right, over his shoulder, where through the bathroom window he could make out the outline of the house behind his, up on the hill, where Steve and Cathy were, no doubt, playing out another scene of domestic bliss. That, too, made his stomach turn over. Still, after years of working with Steve and living next door to them, he still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that she was with Steve, and not with him. Every time he saw her, at the mailbox, taking out the garbage, it made him feel about two inches tall. He wondered what she saw in Steve, what she didn’t see in him.

“Ahh, fuck.” Seven unsteady steps, and he was in bed.

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Sunday morning. Warm, humid, and utterly unwelcome.

The morning began with the usual routine – shower, breakfast, and coffee. After so many years in the foundry, he’d learned to just take his coffee black. What the boss called “cream” and the package called “artificially flavored non-dairy creamer”, he called undrinkable. Sprawled in his easy chair, clad in a pair of blue boxer shorts and a t-shirt for some country band he’d seen five years before, it was easy, all too easy, to rationalize away last night’s thoughts as just some drunk ramblings, one of those moments of pseudo-clarity that too much beer and too much thinking can bring.

Surprising himself, Virgil felt like he didn’t want to just rationalize them away. Maybe it was time for a change of routine, even if it was just a change for the sake of change. The TV droned on, the morning news talking heads endlessly chattering, the content of minimal value to him, since Etham was so small that it didn’t even have its own local news – the program on now came out of Birmingham. The mention of Etham, though, brought him out of his reverie and he focused on the perky blonde who was mentioning that a traveling preacher, leading a real, old-fashioned tent revival, was making his way through the state, and was presently in Etham.

Virgil didn’t have much use for religion, as a concept. He had gone with his mom and dad to church, of course – pretty much everyone had gone to church – but as he grew up, he had stopped going. But, this sounded like something unusual, something different. The monotony of work, bar, home, lather, rinse, repeat was overwhelming. Monotony was what got guys killed or maimed at the foundry, when they thought they understood exactly what was going to happen. Monotony was what led to drivers falling asleep at the wheel. Virgil felt like he’d been asleep at the wheel for months. Now, an opportunity to wake up dropped right into his lap.

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Virgil eased Old Reliable into one of the last parking places near the revival, feeling fortunate that he’d been able to find even a spot where he’d have to walk a ways to get to the tent. The turnout was impressive, given the size of Etham, and some of these people had to have driven a couple of hours from out in the county.

He accepted a program from a pretty young woman who was pointed out to him as the preacher’s wife, and found a seat near the back of the tent. It felt like it was already as hot as the foundry in there, and he knew that he’d be sweating through his shirt in just a few minutes time. With any luck at all, the preacher would at least be entertaining, and that would take his mind off the heat. One of the ladies from the church, he couldn’t remember her name, handed him a cup of water, for which he gratefully thanked her, and as he turned back to the pulpit, he caught sight of a familiar profile seated three rows ahead of him. Cathy.

Running into her here was like running into her at the grocery store – pure torture. When he saw her out back, it was relatively painless, just a quick wave and a hello, maybe a few words exchanged over the fence. The grocery store, though, was much, much worse. For one thing, Steve would never have deigned to do the grocery shopping, and so Virgil knew that whenever he saw Cathy at the grocery store, Steve wasn’t around. That made it worse, somehow, as did the fact that she was always pleasant and friendly and willing to stop and talk for a few minutes. Virgil had never known Steve to go to church a minute in his life, so that made this another Steve-free environment.

Then the preacher took the stage, and Virgil understood why the tent was so packed.

Her footsteps were steady and rhythmic, falling one after another at an intense, challenging pace. They would have echoed, but the sound was swallowed by the thick heat of the open road. Alabama summers were brutal. Sweat dripped down every inch of tanned, velvet skin despite the sun lazily staying beneath the horizon. In those moments, time stood still in Etham. It was Miranda's favorite part of the day, the only part that belonged solely to her.

The road didn't care about her political affiliations. It didn't care how perfect her hair was or whether her eyeliner was smudged. It had no opinions about her lovers. But it did demand her honesty. It demanded her sweat, her tears, and occasionally her blood. It tore ripped her last gasps of air from her lungs. The road was simple. There were no complex twists or turns, no mine fields to navigate. It was the only pure thing in Miranda's life, and one of the precious few things she was devotedly committed to.

Etham wasn't a large town, but she took pride in the fact that she could cover the full length of it in less than an hour. It gave her a sense of ownership, of belonging. Etham was her town. In one way or another, almost every part of her existence was poured into its veins.

Isis ran by her side. The pink leash wrapped around Miranda's hand was tight, but unnecessary. Isis was well trained and wouldn't deviate from Miranda's path, but there was a law about leashes. She couldn't expect her citizens to obey a law she, herself, refused to. Part of the challenge of her morning runs was to keep a fast enough pace to properly exercise the impressive specimen she kept as a companion. Rhodesian Ridgebacks were bred to hunt lions. They had the physical prowess, courage, and the tenacity to chase a cat six times their size up a tree. If not exercised properly, Ridgebacks got restless.

Isis was no different. Miranda respected those traits in the dog. They reflected qualities she prided in herself. Isis complimented her, and she was the only creature Miranda was willing to share her entire life with.

Disappointment ran through her serene mood as she saw the end of her driveway approaching. Though both she and the dog were always panting heavily by the end, it was bittersweet every time. She gave everything in her heart to the road each morning so she could start the day off fresh with a clean slate.

Routine carried her the rest of the way home. Once her front door was locked behind her, she went to the kitchen to pour fresh water for herself and Isis. She stretched for exactly ten minutes before she went to watch the sun rise from the window in her shower.

The rest of her morning went as it always did, like clockwork. Her outfit was meticulously chosen based upon the weather forecast and the day's activities. It was the day of Levi King's revival. She required something classy but lightweight, elegant but functional. A simple, pretty white sundress made the cut. It was sleeveless to help with the heat, but possessed the higher neckline church events required. It was full length, but it was made of linen and flowed around her ankles well. It wouldn't get caught if she needed to do some lifting. She wrapped her blonde tresses into a loose bun to keep it off her neck and kept her accessories simple. Her makeup was light and waterproof to fight sweat. There were a million more appealing things to do than sit at King's ridiculous revival, but Miranda saw it as her job to defend Etham from predators. There was no better way to learn about her prey than to observe him at his best in his own territory.

She left Isis on the living room floor with a new bone and locked the door behind her. The coffee shop knew to expect her early. Despite the sign on the door always reading “closed” at that hour, it never failed to open for her. The chatter was pleasant and friendly while they filled her order. It was larger than usual, but she had made a promise. She ordered a smaller cup for herself and one for the fire marshal. She happened to know he favored hazelnut with just a hint of sugar blended in.

When she paid, she made sure she left extra for a tip and made her way back to her car. The fire department was less than five minutes away, and when she pulled up, the marshal stepped out of the engine garage with a smile on his face. Derek Miller was a handsome man. Miranda had gone to high school with him and, like her, he had worked hard to get to where he was at his age. His body was hard, his values were good, and his political views were aligned with hers. Miranda knew he wanted her, and he was everything her career and social life needed. There was only one thing wrong with Derek Miller. He had a penis, and Miranda couldn't force herself to be interested in anything beyond friendship.

She stepped out of her car with a coffee in each hand. She met him half way and offered him one with a smile. He grinned back at her and inhaled the sweet aroma.

"Miss. Tate, why is it you are the only woman in town who can get my coffee right?"

"I'm not sure, Mr. Miller. Perhaps you're not quite specific enough when you order," Miranda replied before taking a sip of her own.

He laughed and nodded once. "Maybe. How are you this morning, Miranda?"

"Well. I'm up and moving. That's all that matters."

"Lies. I'm pretty sure you're up before almost everyone in this town. I see you run the streets every morning. How you keep up with that mammoth of yours is beyond me. You’re secretly one of those strange morning people," he said playfully.

"Hmm. I never took you for a stalker, Derek. And Isis keeps up with me, not the other way around."

"Ain't that the truth. I prefer to think of myself as a well-trained observer. So, we got us a preacher man to check out this today?"

Miranda nodded. "Indeed. Levi King's traveling revival requires a safety inspection."

"Do you have a reason to be concerned or do you just not like the man?"

"Now, Derek, he's a man of the Lord. I'm sure he would never intentionally put citizens at risk. But he does travel and that equipment is put up and broken down quite a bit, I imagine. It would be irresponsible for us to ignore that fact."

Derek studied her closely for a moment. When she only offered him her best professional smile, he laughed. "You were born for politics, Miranda. If you want, I'll drive. It'll save on gas."

"You're sweet, Derek, but I'd rather take my car. I've got a few things to do once it's over and I don't want you to have to haul me around."

"Maybe I'd like to haul you around," he replied.

Miranda let a slow smirk touch her lips before she walked back to her car. She opened the door and then looked back at him. "I'm not a woman who likes to be carried. I'll see you there."

She didn't give him a chance to reply. She slipped into her car and pulled out of the station, leaving him to watch her go. It was a short drive out to where King was setting up, and Derek wasn't far behind her. Once she pulled up, she made sure all the volunteers and both Levi and his wife, Beth, had their chance at coffee. She worked as hard as anyone else, setting up tents and putting chairs up in neat rows. She hid her annoyance behind witty banter with older ladies and polite conversation with Beth when Derek found everything to be operational.

Miranda's first impression of Beth was that she was small, both of body and presence. She hid behind plain, boring clothing and shy smiles. She seemed happy and engaged with those she spoke with, but it was her eyes that told the truth. Being a politician meant Miranda had to be good at reading people. She had to be able to see what was beneath the surface quickly so she could tailor her responses to achieve the desired result. Bethany King had kind, but dark eyes. She had the thousand yard stare a person gets when they've seen or done too much. Her eyes were timorous, at best. When the light caught them just right or an unknown thought passed through them, they were downright bleak. She was a woman of unspoken stories, and Miranda was willing to bet they were dark ones.

While she had no doubt Levi ruled his home with an iron fist, Beth would still be his weakness. If not out of love, than out of the fountain of knowledge she, no doubt, possessed. Miranda was not above using the weakest link to rip an opponent to shreds. So, Miranda made sure that Beth knew her name and that they spent enough time chatting about nothing in particular that the girl would remember her. Bethany would be a power play Miranda would use only if she had to. She could be ruthless, but she wasn’t entirely heartless.

But the day went on and it wasn't long before everything was set and ready. People began to arrive and Miranda did what she did best. She talked to voters. She made herself visible and approachable. She made sure others could relate to her. She didn't speak one word about politics, but she knew every word she uttered was heard and filed away. It was all a well-coordinated game, and Miranda was one of the best players around.

Her heart skipped a small beat when she caught sight of Alistair sneaking in toward the back. Skillfully, she kept her surprise entirely hidden. It was nothing more than a quick glance. As far as Miranda knew, Ali wasn't much for God. But even with just that quick look, Miranda knew something was wrong. Alistair looked drained, exhausted. It made her heart twinge, knowing she was likely the cause of at least part of it. But Miranda couldn't give Alistair what she wanted, what she needed. The way she lived her life suited her. It couldn't be any other way. She didn't want it to be, and she refused to apologize for who she was. So, instead of walking to Ali and entwining their fingers to pull her away somewhere to drown that sadness in something so much sweeter, Miranda turned her back. She walked deeper into the sea of old women, crying babies, and bored men. She pushed the encroaching scent of Ali's skin to the back of her mind where it belonged.

When the time came, Miranda picked a seat in the front row. It didn't surprise her when Derek took the seat next to her. Nor did it surprise her when the weight of his body "accidentally" scooted the chair closer to her when he sat down. She said nothing about it. Doing so would hurt her image more than it aided it. Besides, Levi King was the only man to currently hold her attention.

She had no interest in the content of his sermon, other than to analyze the message he wanted to send. She wanted to watch him speak, to see the way he carried himself, to study how he took control of the mindless masses. If Levi turned out to be more trouble than just the petty pilfering of what little money most people of Etham possessed he was currently engaged in, Miranda wanted to know what she was up against. Knowing one's opponent was more than half the battle.

As the words poured out of his mouth and he guided the crowd through scripture, Miranda found herself unimpressed. That wasn't to say Levi was a poor speaker. On the contrary, he was rather good. He owned his space, didn't stutter or fumble over his words. He was passionate and proud. But, the problem with Levi King was he didn't genuinely believe his own bullshit. It took a skilled, careful eye and a mind that wasn't chained by the religion he preached to notice that the passion was an act. Miranda was sure she could count on one hand the number of people in the crowd capable of spotting it.

One of the reasons she was good at her job was because she didn't have to act. To an extent, all public speaking was acting, but Miranda refused to give speeches on issues she didn't truly believe in. She never said one thing for voters but personally believed another. She ran her campaign on things she was genuinely passionate about, so that her emotions and excitement over issues could be felt by the crowd when she spoke. On stage, Levi thought he was invincible. He took pride in being able to fool and manipulate so many people. But preaching was still just a tool to him, not a genuine interest. Miranda knew, if the time ever came, she would find an intense amount of pleasure in squashing him like the bug he was.

She fought back a laugh as he spoke of God's armor and the evil it defended against. It implied, that as a servant of the Lord, he could provide that armor. But what most of Etham would never see is it meant Levi knew the armor's weaknesses. He could penetrate it, corrupt it. He could do whatever he pleased with it. Miranda had plenty of armor of her own. She didn't need his.

When his gaze found hers, she held it. She let him see that she saw him. At his last words, she didn't show him fear. She wasn't afraid. She gave him nothing but an oh-so subtle, knowing smirk. Miranda was amused by his challenge, and she knew he saw it.

They were animals, circling each other over a piece of meat.

No, that wasn't quite right.

He didn't think Miranda saw Etham as simply a piece of meat. It was more like he was a hyena come for her young, come to pillage her nest of all that he could, and she... and she.

This one would fight him with more than just the fire marshall. He saw her smirk, let the silence extend as fans swam through the thick southern air, and he replied to her only with a slowly spreading, Cheshire Cat-like smile. Turning his attention then back to the podium, he closed the Bible before him slowly, smoothed his palms over the cover of it, and smiled again as if recounting some pleasant thought.

Looking up at the gathered crowd, he stepped around the podium, and injected still more silence into the room. His dark eyes scanned the people slowly, remembering faces, guessing at relationships between two sitting next to each other. The body language between the dear mayor and the man next to her, for example, was a delicious thing to behold, like candy he wished he could sit for a time and savor. The ever so slight raise in one shoulder, the angle of her hips. That man had no clue he was throwing his desires at a brick wall. It made Levi want to laugh, to stop and point out his pointless desires so the room could laugh with him.

But no. That wouldn't be in keeping with the actions of a man of God, would it?

His eyes, instead, kept moving, settling at last on the woman from the mayor's office, stood with her back against the back wall of the tent. Ali was her name, and her odd, someone masculine style of dress seemed to carry over into her nighttime hours as well. She had seemed initially as if she might be of some use to Levi, and asset he might have used to learn more about Miranda. There were secrets in that woman, secrets in both of them, and he had thought Ali would be the weak point. The air between them now, though, seemed sour, like milk gone bad. There had been a shift in their relationship, he could discern that much just from the way Ali's eyes bore into the back of Miranda's head, and it was as if no one but the two women existed under the canvas of the tent for her. She felt volatile to him, just as likely to turn on him and run into Miranda's open arms as she may be to turn on the mayor and run into his. Watching her, she felt like nitroglycerin, useful but dangerous, and he wasn't sure the risk was worth it just yet. He'd remember her, keep an eye on her, but for the time being she would exist for him as background noise until she showed herself to be useful enough that he'd accept what risk came with the information.

"I hope, by the time I leave your lovely little town," he began at last, his eyes moving still through the crowd, "You will be well equipped with those pieces of armor, ready to take on anything the Great Deceiver throws at you. And for the rest of my time here, we'll cover those things in more detail, so that you leave here each night filled with the Spirit, confident in your walk with the Lord, and sure of the path you tread.

"But I want to shift gears a little first. I know it's hot and ya'll are probably about sweating through your clothes right now," he said, a grin on his face as he ran the back of his wrist over his own forehead, "So I promise I'll be quick, and then we'll leave you with a little singing, a taste of the Spirit so you're ready to come back for more tomorrow night. Amen?"

He nodded with the 'Amen' he got in reply, then continued on as if bolstered by their agreement.

"I want to leave you tonight with the idea of seed planting. I know it's somethin' you all are well acquainted with out here in the real America. I've seen your fields and your gardens, beautiful crops and plants given to us by the Father, fed by the sun and your love and sweat. And you know, each seed you plant is a little sacrifice, in the money you have to buy, in the time you have to take to prepare the soil, dig the hole, plan out where you want each one to go so your garden or your field is set up for success.

"It's a risk you take, too, that your time invested in that little seed, the sacrifice you've made will come to something. It takes time to see it through, patience and perseverance. But then, you see what those seeds have become, what all those sacrifices have turned into. You bite into that first peach of the season, or slice up that first tomato, and lick the juices from your fingers..."

He paused, one hand held out in front of him, the fingers curled as if holding an invisible fruit, and he grinned again.

"Making you hungry, aren't I?"

He waited a beat for the laugh to roll through the crowd, then pressed on.

"But those are not the seeds I want to talk to you about tonight. The seeds I want you to think about are ones you plant with your money. God has prepared the soil for you already, dug the holes, he even already knows what the fruits of your sacrifice will be. He only needs you to make the sacrifice."

He paused, moving around to the other side of the podium, so he stood on the side of the stage where Beth sat.

"When we started this ministry out," he said, gesturing towards his wife, "We had very little money. Just scraping by, making ends meet by the grace of the Lord. But we prayed, every night we prayed, for guidance and direction. And every time, the answer was the same for us: 'You belong on the road, serving me, a witness for the salvation I offer.'

"So we took the little savings we had, the small seeds we'd been given, and we planted them. And now..."

He paused, lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug as he waved a hand around him, as if to say Look at what it has turned into.

"Now I get to come to fine towns like Etham, and fellowship with the wonderful people there. Now our little seed has turned into this whole ministry you see here. And the seeds you plant now with us not only help keep my mission going, but God will reward you as well. Seeing you all here, watching people night after night come to their salvation, that is my reward for the seed I planted all those years ago. For you, God may have something different in store. That relationship that seems broken beyond repair is anything but, when you plant a seed with the Lord. Those bills that are piling up, creditors calling day and night and it seems as if nothing can make it stop? The Father can, when you plant a seed with him.

"I know, in times like this, it is a sacrifice. Remember, though, the sacrifice that was already made for you, on that cross on Calvary. Compared to that, He only asks of you the planting of a seed.

"God bless."

With a nod towards those who had sung at the beginning of the evening, Levi stepped off the stage and made his way out of the tent, and towards the RV parked behind it. Inside the tent, as the singing began, the volunteers from the sponsoring church collected their faux velvet bags, and began to pass them through the crowd for the offering.

As he stepped up into the small interior, he opened the knot on his tie and pulled the strip of silk from around his neck. Dropping it on the formica table, he pulled out the chair he'd been sitting in not long before as Beth knelt in front of him, and dropped into it with a frown. This time, his thoughts were far from the pressing need in his gut, far from Beth's lips encircling his cock, far from anything that had happened in the motor home tonight. This time, his thoughts were centered solely around the woman those assholes elected mayor, and the threat she posed to him.

Absently, he scratched at the palm of his right hand. He needed... a release.