Welcome to Etham, Alabama (closed)

[Scuttle Buttin']

Warning: May contain disturbing and/or violent content.

Small town America.

Deep in the south, the people held their religion close, and their traditions closer. Church on Sunday, family dinners Sunday night, parades down main street on the 4th of July and New Year's Day. They didn't need a fancy rose parade on TV when they could put on something better, more authentic, in their own town. And everyone liked to see the new John Deere tractors roll down the middle of the road, deep green with those bright yellow wheels.

Etham, Alabama, located somewhere in the vast swath of land between Mobile and Birmingham that looked virtually empty on the map, was just like any of the other thousands of small towns below the Mason-Dixon Line. Everyone knew everyone else, and rumors spread faster than the winter cold among the townspeople. Gossip was a way of life, but always in whispers.

Or at least, that's what it looked like to an outsider.

Underneath the school band concerts and church ice cream socials, inside homes and back offices, powder kegs sat waiting for a match to set them off. The right catalyst could throw the whole town into chaos, ruin lives and marriages and businesses and reputations. Just a little push in the right direction, and the peace that seemed so easy would topple, tumble, and shatter.

But the odds of that happening were slim-to-none.

Weren't they?

For you, newcomer, there is no need to worry! The water from Etham's taps is clear and cool, the breeze across it's fields light and warm, and the sun never seems to stay too high in the sky for too long. The people are friendly, the food is fresh, and the cooking is good. As long as you can handle the occasional bless your heart from a stranger, you'll fit right in.

As the green rectangular sign on the edge of town says:

Welcome to Etham, Alabama!

[Vail_Indigo]

Miranda’s eyes drew Alistair to her, the slender girl’s tie soon found its way into the Mayor’s hand, a navy blue silk leash. The girl pulled back a bit, resisting the control, but a simple, sharp yank elicited a gasp, a weakening of the knees, a tiny arching of a spine. Miranda could feel this as if it were her own body. She pulled again, gently, firmly, bringing lips close to lips, and let them hang there for a very long time. The warmth of skin, of aura, of breath between the two women mixing and changing and swirling. Springtime new and promising. They waited, aching, wanting, needing. They waited, tonguetips along the edges of their own teeth, mouths alternately watering and parched dry, breaths slowly fading away from slow, deep lung-fulls of air to the tiniest inhale and exhale, only barely enough. This first touch. This was always perfect. Needed to be perfect. Lips moved closer still, lips parted, warm, wet tongues slipped free, tips touching then retreating suddenly, as if shocked. Then again. Contact. Just touching there, the slightest of movements as the world shrunk down to
here
now
us.


“Jonathan! I can’t tell you how happy I was to see you on my morning schedule!” Miranda rose to meet her guest, “Thanks Darla, hold my calls for a while, “ she dismissed her secretary.
“Its good to see you too, Mayor Skye,” Jonathan replied as they clasped hands.
If it was ‘Mayor Skye’ it was business, she knew.
“Come, sit,” she guided him to a chair, and took her own behind her desk. If it was business, then she wanted her position to show it. The town adored authority, her authority, of course.
“Now, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I was just going over some of the minutes of the last town council meetings, and some of the new laws and such going on the books.”
“You’ve been taking night school classes, haven’t you, “Miranda smiled.
“At your suggestion, Mayor Skye, “ Jonathan smiled back.
“I suppose I brought this on myself, yes. Still, I want the farmers to have one of their own to look out for them. I can’t think of a better man than you, Jonathan.”
“Flattery will get you no where, Mayor,” he came back. But it always had. Jonathan had always had a soft place in his heart for little Miranda Skye. He treasured the memories of being there when she was born, a close friend of the family.
The first thing on his list would be the corn subsidies. When Miranda had taken office, the town was basically paying farmers to grow a losing crop. The only reasons were that changing from one crop to another was, in fact, no small task, and because farmers, more than just about anyone, tend to feel a deep tie to tradition and family history. They’d always grown corn, and they always would. Corn is a waste. The town was collecting taxes to pay farmers to do nothing useful so that taxes could be collected to pay farmers to do nothing useful. Everyone knew it, no one would say it. But Miranda heard whispers from the day she arrived. In towns like this, there were always whispers.
Moreover, she had already played the conversation through every way possible.
Very few people multi-task for real. They switch back and forth between two tasks, perhaps even very quickly, but they were never doing two things at once.
Miranda could parallel process. She could split her attention between found or even 5 things at once, and keep those thoughts and mental workings completely separate. She could even create yet another subset of her mind to look at all the others and synthesize, bring everything together into a sort of working Gestalt.
This is all a way of saying that Miranda Syke was a rarity, perhaps a once in a generation mind, capable of seeing the world in new, expansive ways. That was how she often lived. This is why she had been found.
There were two things that brought her focus down to a single, crisp, powerful focus.
Neither of them were corn-related.

“I’d like to start with the cuts to the corn subsidies.”


That contact grew hot, grew fiery. Hands moved, grasped. Fingernails ran over fine silks, threatened to tear through pretty girl trousers, and rip fibers of french stockings. Fingernails found small, beautiful breasts, bare under the blouse, a pinch, almost too hard, and Ali’s hips shook. Tongues lashed, fought, demanded.
Skin glistened with sweat under summer sun. Miranda’s endless legs wrapped around her girl, crushing bodies together. Now Miranda’s turn to shake, nails down her spine, head rolling back, lower lip held between beautiful white teeth. Eyes met again, locked and powerful. Cunt found thigh found cunt. Hips moved.



“But the Jacobson’s...”
“The fact that Benny Jacobson and his entire brood have refused to acknowledge the world we live in is his own damn fault.”
“But Mayor...”
“Don’t ‘But Mayor’ me. No one is asking anyone to give up farming. And trust me, there’s a lot of folks all around the country who might feel that way. We’re just trying to encourage farmers to change with the times. What do you care if you are growing corn or kale?”
“Mayor, I hate to put you out like this, but you’ve never worked the land your entire life. I should know.”
“I know, Jonathan, but I was born and bred in a land of hard-working farmers who could use two hands to count the generations their families had brought food from the soil. Do you really think I don’t understand? The Jacobson farm is welcome to grow whatever it likes. But we aren’t going to help them continue to run themselves into the ground. Doing that’s like, like giving Rich Herd money for another shot of whiskey. Just helping them hurt themselves.”


Miranda lived here, on this edge, on this storm, on this wind. Desire and loss so close so very close. It was always too much, almost. It made her weak, made her almost helpless, made her almost a goddess. And Ali, so much like her, but so far away it hurt, for Ali, it was dissolution, it was surrender, it was giving, and accepting Mira as everything. In that moment, Mira loved her, could not help but love her, Alistair was too deep within to not love her. They cried out together as bright autumn colors rushed at them like a storm of reds and yellows and earths. They fell, catching each other, drinking tears and kisses and sharing breath.


“I just think there might be better ways to spend the money than improvements to the water processing and public irrigation systems. They work fine.”
“You thought waiting for rain worked fine.”
“Thats not the same thing.”
“Jonathan, you don’t wanna fix it if it ain’t broke, and I’m fine with that. Mostly. You didn’t want the system in the first place, but you sure love it now. This is going to increase the efficiency, and reliability. You’ll be able to custom map the amount of water your fields get, based on crop.”
“Sound more complicated than I’d like.”
“You use the web?”
“You know I do. You put in the free wi-fi.”
“Then you can do this.”
The advanced irrigation systems had been installed as a public utility during her second year in office. The wi-fi during her first. She needed their lives stable, and yes, connected to the outside world. But more, she needed everyone connected to everyone else. She needed the town to be a whole. Now they were tied through land, water, and air.
“All I’m sayin’ is that waitin’ for rain seems to still work pretty well. Been a while since we even had to worry about a drought.”
A while. Since Miranda took office, in fact.
“Still, “Jonathan’s eyes got that far-away look that farmer’s got when thinking about such things, “Could use some rain soon.”


Curves and lines found their way to fit. Miranda’s beautiful rolling hills, and Ali’s endless plains. The held each other, shaking, heat draining from them, skin cold like stone, soft like snow, in the dead still of winter. Ali barely breathing, barely moving, Mira keeping her close and closer and warming, becoming the fire the girl could huddle around to keep out the cold and the dark and the rest of everything.
Here
now
us.


"Jonathan, no one likes paying taxes..."
"But Mayor Skye, 45% on our kale crops, thats not tax, thats extortion."
"Who convinced you, and all the farmers, to start growing that trendy little superfood?"
"You did, of course,but..."
"And who set up arrangements with distributors so all those New York socialites and LA debutantes could pay crazy big city prices for the crop?"
"You did," Jonathan sighed, feeling where this was going.
“And who kept all those big corporate farms and superstores out so we could keep our ways and live our ways?”
“You did.”
"Yes, I did. And it put that big ol’ flat screen TV in your living room, didn't it? Put a lot of big ol’ flat screen TVs in a lot of living rooms where there wasn’t much before, didn’t it?” Miranda's eyes focused tightly on her 'old friend'.
"Yeah, I suppose it did. OK, OK, you win, Miranda," Jonathan chuckled, conceding defeat.
" And here we are, the same people we’ve always been. Just better. Now, when am I going to get to see my God Daughter again, and taste some of Jackie's ambrosia salad?"
"We were hoping you could come by night after next, I know little Missy would love to spend the night watching Disney on your lap."
"On that big ol’ TV," she smirked.
"On that big ol’ TV. We'll see you 7ish?"
"You bet!"
They both rose and hugged. And then stood back, holding each other's hands.
"To think, I was there when you were just born and now look at you. I will never get over it. I am just so proud of you, Mira."
"We all just do what we can for our town, Jonathan. Now shoo, I have lots to do, and give Jackie a kiss for me."


There, on the floor, fingers playing idly with hair, Mira let herself enjoy the tiny pain that Ali could never be hers. That the circuit would not complete. She did not know why, but it was what it was.
She enjoyed the hurt, indulged it, but only for a moment before allowing herself to fall back into the almost-perfection.
Yes, Jonathan, there would most certainly be rain tonight.
A smile curled across lips.
Etham was working out just fine.

[Miss_Vivi]

Fuck Etham, Alabama.

Fuck the quaint little buildings, the people who always smiled and waved at her as she walked through town on her way to work, fuck the backwater, bible thumping, conservative always married bitches who looked down on her for being unmarried, and wearing men's clothing.

Fuck this town.
Alistair hated almost everything about this town.
Almost.

She didn't hate her job, as assistant to the shiny wonder girl-Mayor Miranda. Well, that was partially a lie. She hated the job. She didn't hate Miranda. For the 300th time since she woke up that morning, Ali fantasized about leaving.

She fantasized about watching the town burn in her dust, in her dreams she was always leaving. Skipping up the steps to City Hall as she outwardly smiled and nodded at her fellow citizens all the while imagining them burning up in a fiery haze of screaming and running.

The office off of Miranda's wasn't large, but it was capable for her needs, she saw to the morning meeting, got the staff taken care of and settled with some of the new changes that Miranda wanted to try out, and handled all the incoming emails. It was enough of a distraction that she barely had time to think of leaving before she had stepped into Miranda's office.

And there she stopped breathing.

Miranda was beautiful. Not in that glossy magazine, air-brushed, fake sort of way that some of the farmer's wives had begun employing once there was a little money to burn. No. She was breathtaking, her wit, her voice, those nails, the way she turned and beckoned Ali to her side.

Ali would have crossed fire to be with Miranda. Sometimes, late at night she had stolen out of her house and walked to Miranda's just because being near her made her feel better.

Until it didn't.
Until Ali noticed that her boss was casting sidelong glances at other girls. Alistair tried to justify it, who could ignore Miranda? But she knew, she knew that she'd be replaced soon enough.

Even if Miranda was fucking her right now.
It wouldn't last.
It never did.

[Scuttle Buttin']

Glory to the King Ministries

So blatant, it was almost laughing in their face. And yet, they never saw. People were too often predictable.

Levi King, for his part, relied on that predictability. It made things so much easier to plan, plans so much easier to execute, and executing his exit so much easier. His was a touring show, one that had crisscrossed the deep south for years, and praise be to the Lord for it.

Most towns were like all the others. He and the trophy of smiles and silence came in, obtained whatever permits were needed (a process that was usually easier even than setting things up, so thirsty was the flock for God's word), and the revival began. Each night built upon the one before it, the people were worked up into a worshiping frenzy, a starving mass of humanity that looked to the good Reverend King for their much needed sustenance.

But traveling revivals weren't easy, good people! Funding was not made by corporate sponsors, and the rich had no use for the Word. It was only they, with the money they earned through their hard work and God's good grace, that could keep his ministry moving down the road. Winning souls, saving eternal lives. Good work, and honest work, and work that they needed to help continue.

Levi was an eloquent and engaging speaker, able to work a crowd into a ball of energy with fire and brimstone preaching, or settle them into somber silence at a heartfelt story about someone he encountered in his travels. The coffers were always full.

From town to town they went, spreading the word, raking in the money, and moving on. When they found a town they could spend some time in, they'd find someone in town looking to rent a house and take up residence for a month, perhaps two. When between stops, they lived in the top of the line RV that seemed to both give them a certain kind of prestige and serve as a physical example of the costs involved in this kind of life.

--------

Etham, Alabama was not initially on Levi's list of towns to stop in. He'd never heard of it, in fact, lost as it was in the no-man's land of the state that was not within an easy drive of Mobile or Birmingham. He'd been sent in their direction by a woman that had been born there, and who told him late one evening that she thought he could work some good in her hometown. She helped him get in contact with a local minister, and after a short stop in southern Georgia, he was on the way to Etham.

It was not the smallest town he'd ever brought the show to, but certainly not the largest as well. A couple thousand people, with farmland dotting the countryside around it, and as with any good southern town, plenty of churches.

The First Baptist Church of Etham was the one welcoming he and Andrea - he hated that she called herself Andi, and would refused to do so - and it was the currently empty rental property of one of their members that they would be staying in while in Etham. Levi was unsure if they'd be around for long, he never was until he got the feel for a place, but extra room to move around, and to entertain guests, was never a bad thing.

It was late in the evening when they arrived. The town, dark and quiet around them. Asleep. They'd sleep tonight, too, and tomorrow the work would begin. Andrea would set up the house, unpack clothes and arrange furniture. Levi would set out to meet town officials, sign permits and find the right spot to put up the large tent that was currently folded in the trailer behind the large RV.

Levi King had come to Etham, Alabama. And the town was never going to be the same again.

[Faux_Pas]

-----

[Britwitch]

There was a chill in the air. But she didn’t mind. It helped. It eased the pounding in her head and cooled the heat on her cheek. A hand clutched around a bag of garbage, she made her way down the path that led away from their house and towards the trashcans near the garden fence. With a heavy thud that seemed to comprise mainly of glass and tin, the bag was dropped within and the lid replaced carefully. Instead of returning to the house, she stood by the fence, eyes looking up at the starlit skies up above. Cathy wiped at her face a little petulantly. She hated that it still made her cry. Even after all this time. Wincing as her palm brushed her cheekbone and the area stung, bringing fresh tears to her honey brown eyes.

She hated that it never failed to surprise her when it happened. The warning signs were as clear as day, the one word answers that started the moment his boots came off, that dangerous glint in his green eyes when she’d turn and catch him looking at her. Cathy had learnt the types of things that might be more likely to set him off. Making sure the dinner was a near as it could be to being ready without spoiling when he got home. There was always beer in the fridge and a bottle of something in the cabinet. True they couldn’t really afford to keep up with his habit but like any good housekeeper she’d found ways of cutting costs elsewhere to make sure there was enough spare cash after bills and food to keep his appetite at bay. So they didn’t have fancy shampoos, so she couldn’t actually remember the last time she’d bought herself some clothes. Working in the town’s dress shop had its perks though. Spare material could be easily saved wherever possible and with some clever needle work a new dress could be made with a little overtime and the use of the shop’s machine. An onlooker would never know.

Cathy glanced back at the house behind her, their home. Their little piece of heaven. Or so it had once been. Steven was just stressed. That’s what she kept telling herself. Worried and unable to explain why. Sighing heavily she leant on the fence and let her eyes wander towards the town. To the lighted windows twinkling in the dark. The nearest house belonged to the foundry’s foreman, Virgil. He was a good man, and like Cathy and most people in town, had grown up in and around Etham his whole life. They’d been at school together and now him and Steven worked together. Her brow furrowed slightly as she stared down the road. A brisk three minute walk and she’d be at his door. A run and she’d been there in less time. A few minutes, that was all, and she could escape.

She’d lost count of the times she almost done it. Unlatched the gate and thought about running. She didn’t know Virgil that well but she was sure he’d help her. She was positive he would. Sure he’d probably doubt that the former local football star was doing what he was almost every other night but the bruises would say more than words ever could. Those awful marks she carefully covered up every day.

But she’d never done it. Something had always held her back. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was fear or some bizarre sense of duty. Whatever it was, it always made her drop the latch and wander slowly back inside. Back to him. Back to her life, such as it was. To his mumbled apologies and clumsy fingers that always followed their ‘fights’. Back to his excuses as to why it had happened and only being certain of only one thing. That his temper would flare again. Even now she knew it would be a matter of moments and her feet would slowly take her back inside. Hoping he'd be sleeping.

It was like living with a volcano. Knowing an eruption was coming. Never knowing quite when, but knowing it would cause pain and suffering when it did and knowing that one day, it might do far worse.

[LeChatNoir]

The old F-150 pulled into the driveway and stopped, the engine cutting off into silence. Despite the age of the vehicle it was clearly well maintained, and it stopped smoothly without any screech or complaint from brakes or engine. The driver exited his door, closed it firmly - not bothering to lock it - and strode up the short walk from the driveway to the front door of his home. His shift was over for the day and it was Friday, which meant that the workweek was done, as well. And all Virgil Hawkins wanted to do was get home, get out of his grimy clothing, and have a beer.

Standing at his front door, his key halfway into the lock, Virgil glanced to his right, up the hill towards Cathy and Steve’s house. He couldn’t help it, even though he felt vaguely guilty every time he looked. Over the past few years, he hadn’t talked much to Steve, despite the fact that they worked close by each other, and he hadn’t said more than a few words to Cathy in even longer. On some level, it killed him to have the girl that he’d been so infatuated with since the tenth grade living right next door, but on another level, at least he got to see her occasionally, even if he couldn’t quite bring himself to speak with her and even if she’d seemed more and more withdrawn, lately. Virgil shook his head at his own damned foolishness and opened the door.

Half an hour later, showered and changed, dark hair combed into some semblance of order, Virgil took a seat on the couch while he figured out what to do with the rest of the night. It was a Friday night, which meant that there were three main options for entertainment – the TV, a book, or a trip into town for beers with the guys. TV was always a decent option, though he wasn’t a huge fan of most of the Friday night lineup. Getting home as late as he did from the foundry meant that most of the stuff he was interested in watching was already over. Books were also good, and he’d just picked one up on the Vietnam War that looked good, but he wasn’t really in a reading mood. That pretty much settled it, then – beer it was. A couple of quick phone calls later and things were set. A meeting in twenty minutes at the Wagon Wheel, further destinations to be decided as the whim of the evening took them.

Virgil popped the top on a can of Monster Energy as he headed back out to Old Reliable, his venerable F-150. The pickup was approaching twenty years old, but he lavished it with love and attention, particularly in his current absence of a girlfriend. Regular oil changes, brake jobs, and even that fender replacement a year or so ago – all had been done by his own skilled hands. As he approached the truck his eyes were, as always, drawn up the hill. This time, though, he was both rewarded and tortured by a glimpse of Cathy, standing by the fence. He raised one arm in greeting, not certain if she was even looking his way in the dim light, and kept walking towards his truck. Damn.

[thestruggle]

Bethany King stood in the kitchen of their new temporary residence, a stack of towels in her hands. They were a mostly dull array of colors and threadbare, with one or two red patterns stark against the gray and white. In the beginning, she had tried to brighten their homes with thrift store finds: picture frames that she had no photos for, rag rugs, cheerful quilts. Beth could not recall the last time she had made the effort. Levi had never noticed, and it was frivolous of her to engender such distractions. Vain. Vanity was a sin.

The room she stood in was dull under a dim light. The linoleum was scrubbed but cracked and faded, the walls were white but yellowed around the edges from too many meals cooked with too little ventilation. The counters were narrow and the porcelain sink had stains around the drain. The one bright spot was the small window above the faucet, with a window box that held some kind of flower. Pansies, she thought. They would be something to look at as she stood at the sink and washed dishes, cooked dinner. It was something: Beth always found something.

She opened a drawer, the tracks squeaking in protest as it rolled out. A headache pricked around her skull but she pushed it resolutely away. They had only just arrived and there was a huge amount of work to do. There always was. Beth laid the towels into the drawer and straightened a crooked edge. She needed to get new shelf liners, that was a task she always forgot.

The drawer was pushed shut.

There had been many houses like this. There had been many nights in cars, in tents, in the RV: Beth could never say whether she prayed to stay alone or to hear Levi's belt as he came for her. Sometimes the solitude was too much that she welcomed even that. The loneliness crept up on her, if she let it.

So she tried not to let it.

The boxes surrounding her were taped together and flimsy, cardboard and some crates. Their contents were well-used but not loved, not treasured. Beth eyed them and felt exhausted. There was nothing to do but unpack—Levi would expect her to. As long as she stayed out of his way, she didn't exist. He wouldn't notice a box of pansies outside their kitchen window, nor a tidily arranged stack of towels, nor a well-appointed home, nor a wife that prayed continually for guidance. She swallowed, drily. There had been guidance, she knew. By Levi's hands and word she had been led to the light; her husband was merely continuing the work that her father Tilford had begun when he had dunked her in the river. So many souls, so many people to lead. Levi was a shepherd, a real man of God.

“The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep,” Beth whispered, pressing fingertips to her forehead. She was tired, that was all. When the fatigue of their travel became too much her mind wandered in murkier waters. It was harder to recall the cool, comforting slip of the river and its cleansing purpose: her thoughts slowed and turned to a kind of quicksand, dragging her deeper. Beth often wondered where her prayers went, who received them. Did they drift, spiraling, unheard?

No. No, they were a candle in the dark. There was good. There were flowers in the window box. There was a cross around her neck. She just wasn't praying hard enough.

Shrugging off the doubt, Beth reached into the next crate. There were plates and cups and bowls in there, wrapped in fading newsprint. These would go in the cupboard above the drainboard. Her mind was back to ticking down the list of tasks that needed to be completed and she praised God for it. Beth was wicked for allowing herself to be distracted by unworthy thoughts. She was a wife, a preacher's wife: God sent trials to those he loved, a chance for them to prove their devotion. The work was welcome. Her resolve deepened and she briskly unwrapped the cup in her hands, the paper rustling and crackling as she placed it on the countertop. Long ago she had learned to save the packing materials, for they never lingered long enough for her to replace them if they were thrown out. The cup she held in her hands, Wedgwood china, was the last of an incomplete set that had been spoiled by her carelessness. She had placed them in a box and worried about them all the way to their next destination years ago, and had wept when that box was opened to reveal a pile of broken crockery.

Vanity.
Pride.
They were just utensils, after all.

The china was cool against the pad of her fingers, and she ran them over the pattern of a sailing ship emblazoned on the side. A corner of her delicate mouth perked up. It was still a pretty cup.

And then her thumb felt a ridge that was unfamiliar. Frowning, she turned the object over in her hands, holding it up to the weak light. There was a crack in the cup. It angled down the side, spidery and ugly. She grasped it closer, trying to see how bad it was and the china shifted, dragged on her finger, catching--

She gasped. The sharp edge had dug into her skin, protesting her examination. Blood welled at the wound and smeared onto the cream surface of the once smooth exterior. Beth dropped the cup in shock, and then desperately made a grab for it as it bounced off her hand and crashed into the kitchen floor, the now shattered pieces skidding across the dingy linoleum. She stood, stupefied, her heart ramming against her ribcage. The sting of the scrape numbed in the face of consternation, her brown eyes wide and terrified. The crickets outside kept on with their nightly chorus, and the stillness of the air bloomed like a soap bubble. Swelled.

And then burst.

A tear tracked down her cheek and she hastily brushed it away, remembering at the last moment the blood on her hand. The cup was gone. Her clumsiness astounded her, and the adrenaline rush of the initial smashing noise was still buzzing through her. Beth carefully edged along the floor to avoid stepping on any shards and pulled the drawer containing the towels open once more. Wrapped one around her hand. Bent down and started gathering the pieces. She wouldn't let him see the mess she'd made of such a simple task.

Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things; and give me life in your ways.

When they were at last all collected in the bloodstained towel, she sat against the wall, a numb weariness stealing over her. The contents of the cloth clinked together, passed over each other. Beth closed her eyes.

There were pansies outside the window.
There were stars in the sky.
God moved around her, His wisdom abounded.

Beth sat in her new kitchen in Etham, and prayed once more for guidance.

[Scuttle Buttin']

Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.

The desk wobbled irritatingly as he scribbled notes in the yellow legal pad he kept in the slim leather portfolio. The first night of the Revival was always the same - bring them in with the love and compassion, send them back out with the fire and brimstone, and watch the seats and coffers fill with each subsequent night - but he still tried to flavor it with new bits here and there to keep it fresh. It was a trick he learned when he was first starting out, taught to him by a man that had all but convinced him he knew what someone in the crowd was thinking.

Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

Discussion with the man later proved that it was little more than a clever parlor trick, and one that had served him well for decades.

Another lesson, learned during only his second revival, was that nightly Bible study was necessary. Mandatory. Much like a student studying for a big test, he had to know what he was talking about forward and backward. People loved testing the Man of God, and if he did not have a ready answer then he ran the risk of looking weak and unknowing in front of the flock

sheep

and ruining his standing with them. A mistake that was often fatal. The uber faithful would stay, they would stay if he fucked a chicken on stage in front of them and claimed it to be an order from God himself, but they were not going to provide him with the necessary funds to continue his work. And he ran the risk of news spreading, even among these small isolated towns.

And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

And Lord above, was Etham small and isolated.

Just north of 8,000 people, judging by what he saw of the town in the dark as he drove through, and the only way in or out was via a two-lane road that wound through trees and farmland. An actual interstate seemed to be a foreign concept here.

Etham was perfect.

Even as he sat on the fragile wooden chair in the small extra bedroom that would be his office, Levi was completely put together. Image was everything, the true first impression he would make on people, and even at this late hour when few knew they were here he had to be ready. The minister could drop by because he saw lights on in the house and wanted to welcome them to town, and not a hair would be out of place on Levi's head. The clock hand had already swept past 11, but until he slipped between the sheets after watching over Beth's evening prayers, Levi was ready.

Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful.

The pen (black ink, never blue) moving against the page was the only sound outside of the faint ticking clock somewhere behind him and the occasional rustle from downstairs as Beth unpacked and set up house. Neither sound was given even a neuron devoted to them, both his wife and the clock inconsequential tools that were doing their jobs as they should, and so his attention to either was wholly unnecessary.

While laying in bed at night, just before drifting off to sleep, his mind would sometimes turn to the question of love, and whether he would apply it to the way he felt about Beth. She was an attractive girl, of that there was no doubt. He may even go so far as to say one of the more attractive he'd ever laid with. The Lord's work, it turned out, made one rather appealing to women. And the deviant, defiling things they'd tempt him to do with, and to, them...

But love? He couldn't ever settle upon an answer. Were she to be taken from him, he felt as if he would know some sorrow. Were his right hand separated from him, though, he may similarly feel sorrow. Did that mean he loved his right hand? He did not believe so. She drew in the men that were not initially lured by the message he delivered, and she looked good while on his arm. She led the music ably enough. Her body was still tight to his needs, not ruined by child birth. Condoms were strictly forbidden, he would tolerate nothing separating them when they came together. Unfortunately, the devil had tried to ruin their lives with a child a time or two, though her body proven unable to hold up to his demands and that of the growing child. She had cried and he had told her that their Lord worked in mysterious ways, but for them he had a plan.

Not so mysterious, really. Levi's plan did not include children.

Let the message of Christ dwell among you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom through psalms, hymns, and songs from the Spirit, singing to God with gratitude in your hearts.

With two and a half pages of scribbled notes, he felt there was little more he could add. The meat of his message would remain the same, and much of what he'd written tonight would be discarded or edited in some way before he set foot behind the pulpit to deliver the Word. He hoped to meet with the mayor in the morning, as well as some of the elders of the church, and through those discussions more would be added or subtracted, depending on the feel he got for the town throughout the day.

Levi was a gifted speaker, able to steer the emotions of his people as if by remote control, and part of his gift was his ability to adapt as situations and information dictated. A town struggling economically was told about the way God rewarded those who gave of themselves. A town flush was warned that it was easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven. And where feminism crept in, the people were reminded of man's place as the head of the household. Beth proved quite useful then, too.

And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.

A glance over his shoulder at the clock, and he discovered to his surprise that it was nearly midnight. He had hoped to be at the mayor's office first thing in the morning - they often proved to be quite valuable allies during his time in a town, and he hoped to get him on his side before the tent had even been set up - and there was plenty to do after that. Tomorrow was quite likely to be their longest day here, and it would likely begin just after sunrise.

These fucking farmers loved getting up with the sun for some reason.

The pen was twisted closed and slid into the leather loop next to the legal pad, and Levi flipped back to the first page of his notes to skim over them quickly. Always wanting them fresh in his mind. His eyes were nearly to the bottom of the first page when a shattering crash sliced through the silence, and Levi's eyes fell closed, jaw clenching. Did she always have to be so fucking clumsy?

The portfolio was flipped closed and he stood from the old chair, smoothing his shirt and straightening his belt once he did. He suspected he'd not be wearing one of them for much longer.

His notes were left, forgotten for the moment, as he made his way down the stairs to see what mess she had made now. He found her sitting against the wall with a towel around her hand, and another cradled in them, wrapped around something the cast out a faint clink with every movement. Another broken dish.

Truly, he cared little about the dishes unless something nice was needed for a meal with people from the town. Money and items meant little to him, outside of the power they bestowed or displayed. But clumsy and distracted fingers irritated him to no end, and she knew that. Perhaps that was why her eyes were closed as she sat there. Perhaps it was why her lips moved in a silent prayer, asking that she be spared from the wrath of her husband. The whisper of leather sliding through belt loops would be answer enough for her to know her prayers would not be granted tonight.

As he used his belt on her and filled their little house with the sound of leather on flesh, his Bible still stood open upstairs. At the top of the page, the last verse he'd read in Colossians that night waited to greet him again in the morning.

Wives, submit yourselves to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord.

[thestruggle]

To the outside eye, the hush of the house would have given the impression that Beth had been alone. A nighttime lull. She knew otherwise, and heard the telltale scrape of a chair across wooden floorboards above her head. The house was new enough to her that its noises were unfamiliar, but some harbingers were impossible to misunderstand. Her spine pressed harder into the wall, her tailbone dug into the linoleum. The panic was consuming and sudden. She strove to melt herself into the wall.

Pray.

An excellent wife, who can find?

In the past the warnings had been fewer, for Beth could not predict what would tip the scales. She was a resourceful girl—she had to be, with the negligence of her history and the accompanying loneliness. She had learned early on how to care for herself, how to nurture a thought until it bloomed into brilliant fantasy. The household skills she maintained were integral but those were only a part of the intricate structure her thoughts could delve into: her survival skills. She wouldn't allow herself to consider what she may have done if Levi had not found her, without warning, outside that tent so long ago. No warning. Unprepared.

Beth had come to understand caution.

A town in Georgia, not long after they were married. Levi slapping her for stirring her tea too loudly at the table, his gaze flat and remote. Beth responding with indignation, disbelief. His hand coming for her cheek again, and her protests fading into a dawning comprehension.

There were footsteps now.
There had been footsteps before.

She is far more precious than jewels.

Beth clutched at the bundle in her hands as though it could bolster her strength in the face of what she knew was coming. What strength did she have, really? The broken crockery in her hands, the prayers on her lips, the admonishing cadence of his footsteps. Yes, she had grown adept at reading the writing on the wall. So why had she dropped the cup?

In the RV outside of a backwater in Mississippi. Beth slamming into the screen door, the rough material rasping against her face. Levi's hands twisting around her neck, shoving her like a rag doll. Her voice pleading, bargaining.

The final steps cleared, the creaks were closer now.
Measured, even.
Unhurried.
Beth closed her eyes.

Faster, she prayed faster, prayed more. She reached out--oh God, please, light his way, don't turn him from me--but there was no answer. The cup was her answer. Vain. Sin. Pride. A sob trembled in her throat and she forced it back, opened her eyes. Beth found a smile from somewhere. Beth always found something. She smiled up at her husband's impassive face. A subdued cheerfulness: just an accident. Tears clung to her eyelashes.

“Oh, Levi, I'm sorry. I'm so clumsy, I-I dropped the cup,” Beth's voice was always soft, always deferential, when she talked to her husband. “I cleaned it up though, I got all the--”

His belt was sliding through loops, a snakelike release. Beth shrank back into the wall, her heels of her feet slipping, kicking the floor once or twice as she struggled to stand.

“--all the shards so you can't cut yourself, Levi--”

A hallway of a house in Louisiana, swamp air surrounding. Beth clawing at the floor as Levi drags, and pulls, and kicks. Her dress ripped. No one comes. No one ever comes.

She held out her hands, placating, dropping the towels onto the tabletop with a tinkling of broken china, backing into the corner. The table was to her right. He vacated the doorway. She scrambled for the small margin of space between the table and the wall, fighting, still fighting—how was she still running? After all of the years, and all of the pain, after all of the screams and noises of terror—but what was a wife without obedience? Beth couldn't run. Where would she go? And she loved him. Didn't she?

Didn't she?

She does him good,

“-please, no. Oh--!”

And the belt struck, in the back, on her spine. The pain was intense, flaring, a nerve protesting such direct treatment. She clung to the door frame but only briefly, another blow following, aimed at her thighs. A snap on skin, making her hop, staggering away into the next room. Weeping, but not out of surprise. Not out of shock at the pain. The tears fell without restraint, with no notice, though Beth had tried desperately to suffer in silence. Her penance. Her contrition. The tears fell because she could not change it, because the cycle repeated again and again. Alone, always alone—for the hopes that had blossomed, to be dashed when they ended in a rain of blood and cramping agony. He comforted her then. Didn't he? Didn't he?

In the bathroom of a church house in Florida, smaller than the current one, a wooden cross on the wall. Levi's breathing in the other room, relaxed and slow. Beth's own breathing labored and painful, ribs cracked. Too excruciating to weep.

Beth was at the stairs and she grasped the banister, trying to shield herself with its sturdy build. The blows kept coming, inexorably. She couldn't see his expression, the tears blurred her vision. She used to try, to look up and catch his attention, to beguile him. He was handsome, she had always known that. He was charming and sophisticated. He could be patient, he could be kind. Through the word of God, he saved so many—his hands dipping down into the licking flames. He could be...

and not harm,

The belt licked out, and she buckled into the staircase, leaning hard against the risers. Beth felt the sharp pain in her knees, knowing she would have to cover up the bruises somehow for the opening tomorrow. Unless he would kill her. Would he kill her? Was this the time?

Repeating the only words she ever knew to say.
“Please, no. No more. I'm sorry.”

Outside of a tent in northern Georgia, pressing the knuckles of Beth's hand to his mouth. Touching her hair. Smiling a secret smile.

Flinching away from him.
Trying to disappear.

...all the days of her life.

[Scuttle Buttin']

"We turn tonight, my friends, to the book of Jonah."

They are in the one stoplight town of Alma, Georgia. Population somewhere around 3,000, though he is able to draw more from the surrounding towns in Bacon County. It is not far from the coast, but the heat is oppressive tonight and many in the crowd are fanning themselves with little paper fans stapled to the ends of Popsicle sticks. Sweat stands out on Levi's forehead, darkens the underarms of his shirt. His suit jacket has long since been cast aside over a chair. His tie is loosened.

But the heat seems to have energized him. He feeds off of it, just as he does the repeated "Amen" that rises from the crowd before him. His people. They are in the palm of his hand, all eyes on him, following as he stalks about on the small stage. When he pauses, you could hear a pin drop were it not for the sound of the cicadas droning their song outside the tent.

Wetness on his back, making his shirt stick to his skin. The muscles in his arm burn, but he ignores it.

No.

He welcomes it. An obstacle to push through. The heat in his bicep will not still the belt in his hand. Her "no," her "please," they are just as ineffective. They are, in fact, the opposite of ineffective. They drive him on, urge him forward. Just as Jesus drove the demons out and into the pigs, so too he must

"-get thee to Nineveh, the Father told Jonah. But our Jonah here, he had no intention of going there, did he? Jonah, he thought if he just ran, if he just hid, that God would not find him! A foolish thought, if ever there was one, am I right?"

"Amen!"

"Amen my friends, amen indeed!" The Bible was on the small podium, open but for the moment ignored. Levi had hit his stride, and had not intention of derailing it now to check his notes or reference a specific verse. He was rolling, and they were rolling with him.

"Jonah though, 'Maybe if I run to Jaffa, maybe if I get on this boat and sail to Tarshish, maybe there I can hide-

"-it? All wrapped up in the towel, and not even tell me? Why must you always do this to me, Beth?"

The belt hung at his side, the tapered leather end swaying a bit just above the ground as he spoke, his voice low and tinged with exertion.

"I do not enjoy inflicting this onto you, Bethany, but you leave me no choice in the matter when you act with such a foolish spirit."

Levi fell silent, his head shaking slowly. A puddle of disappointment in the face of an ocean of delivered pain. His eyes drop to glance at the watch on his wrist, and then lift back to where she clung still to the banister, tears streaking her face.

"It's late. Go clean up. I'll be up in a moment to watch over your prayers-"

"-in the belly of that whale. Because that's when we pray, isn't it? When we've run from God until our skin is dusty and we've worn down our shoes. When we're exhausted and cannot go on anymore, that's when we finally turn to God."

"Amen!"

"When the mortgage is comin' and we don't know how we're going to pay it!"

"Amen!"

"When the crops aren't growin' up like they're supposed to!"

"Amen!"

"When the hurricane is bearin' down on us, shutters flappin' and cats and dogs are pouring from the sky!"

"Amen!"

"We wait until we're broken down, until we have no choice but to fall to our knees before we gettin' on them."

He stopped at the edge of the stage, and let the silence swim among the sound of the cicadas as the seconds drained into the night. When he began, his voice was low, reaching to the back of the tent but scarcely beyond it.

"Because that is where we should start, isn't it? On our knees, askin' what it is that is wanted of us. It is there we find our answers. There we show that we are truly giving ourselves over to God and saying, 'Here I am, Lord. Here is your servant, askin' what it is you want of me.' Instead of tellin' Him what it is we want, we should be thanking Him for what we have. It is there, on our knees-"

"-for your prayers. Don't dawdle, Beth. I'm tired."

He stood at the foot of their bed, his shirt off, chest bare and dry. His feet were bare as well, shoes standing next to each other near the closet door, and behind it on a small hook hung the belt that had reddened and marked her skin minutes earlier.

"I know it hurts," he said with some approximation of sympathy in his voice, "But you can thank God for that pain, and the lesson that it gives.

More pain would follow. It always did. Her marital duties were still expected, whether her skin stung with each movement or not, and Levi took a particular pleasure in rough touches where the belt had lapped at her skin. On her knees at the end of the bed she had only recently made, she would worship one master and begin the worship of another. A penance on her knees.

"And leave the light-"

"-on for as long as you all would like, dear friends. Stay, and fellowship in the spirit. I'll stay here until the sun rises up! Any that need help, that need to stop running and find their way down to their knees, I'll be waitin' here for as long as it takes."

[thestruggle]

Every night Beth wore a white nightgown to bed. It was cotton, with an intricate lacy pattern along the edges. It had short sleeves. It stopped at her knees. When Levi had first taken her from Followill, it was one of the few items she had bought for herself in preparation for their marriage. Get a white nightgown, girl. Brush that hair 'til it shines. Beth did it every night. The gown. The brush running through her chestnut hair. Her wedding ring on her finger.

Her nightgown often smelled like bleach.

A ritual.
Some things stayed the same, like brushing her teeth, washing her face.
Some things changed, like braiding her hair so it would curl the next day or leaving it long and loose.

She tried to braid the silken strands but her fingers balked at the complexity. Beth instead left her hair drifting over her shoulders. She had rinsed her toothbrush, set it aside, turned off the faucet. The cap of the toothpaste was screwed back on. A drop of water fell from the spigot, landed in the sink's basin. Echoed throughout the room. The places his belt had struck were raised into long welts and they would ache. The cross around her neck gleamed silver in the valley of her throat. The towel she had taken from the stack was folded and hung on the rack. She smoothed it with trembling fingers. Nice and neat.

There had been a time when Beth stared into the various bathroom mirrors, seeking answers or absolution. The light in the bathroom in Etham was instead turned off without comment, without the audience of her reflection. Levi stood by the bed, which she had draped in old percale sheets and a blue quilt earlier that evening. Were they in the same night? How much time had passed? It seemed like a lifetime had taken place since she dropped the cup—a pang of regret there, still, for her clumsiness—and she was dazed. But so life went for her, with giant leaps from flashing immediacy to long waits.

Comfort was coming. Levi was right, she could offer it up. The floorboards were cool under her bare feet as she passed by him, hesitating at his nearness. Carefully she lowered herself to her knees, drawing the hem of her gown up so it wouldn't tug. She placed her elbows on the bed, clasped her hands together. Her chin tilted but only just, the bow of her lips resting briefly at the place where her thumbs crossed. Her body protested. Her thighs cried out at the contact of cloth on her skin. But she could offer it up.

Beth closed her eyes.
Beth began to pray.

“Dear Heavenly Father, bless me on this night.”

Dear God, please let him fall asleep without touching me.

“Watch over me, and give me guidance, and forgive me my sins.”

Let him be repelled by me.

“Give me guidance, God. Show me the way to glory.”

Wash away his desires.

“Bless my husband, Father. Bless his patience and willingness to teach me how to be a good wife.”

Or let him be pleased with me, God, for one night, one night.

“His work in Your name is true and strong. He leads us as You guide him, in Your wisdom.”

If You could tear the roof off of this house,

“Bless those who seek to join us, who wish to be rid of sin. Give them hope--”

if You could crack my life open,

“--and lead them to Levi, to You. Please, Father--”

if You could give me wings,

“--watch over us--”

I'd fly into the sky.

“--and give me strength to--”

Here Beth stuttered briefly, stopped, swallowed. She had been about to ask for strength to fly away.
No, not that. Not that?

“--give me strength to continue spreading word of Your blessings to the world. Keep me free of sin. Keep me safe, Father. Thy will be done. Amen.”

She whispered, again,

“Amen.”

As Levi's hand came down into her hair, so helpfully kept free, Beth thought of wings. As his fingers twisted around her arm, as his hand snapped her head back and brought her to standing, she thought of flying. What are wings? His fingertips dug into the flesh of her thighs as he yanked up the bottom of her nightgown. His palm pressed into her cheek, shoved her face down into the blue quilt. Her legs dangled over the side of the bed, not kicking, not fighting. I could fly.

The air on her body, chill, exposed.
A vicious thrust, and he was inside of her.
The tears came.
They always did, no matter how much she fought them.

As the quilt became a navy blur, as strands of her hair tore painfully in his grasp, as she cried out once—how was there still pain? Beth wanted to run away in her mind, to think of a sea of stars above, with wings that stretched and shimmered in the light. A body that was cradled in the glow of the moon, a sky full of peace. But Beth never went away. She was always there. His hands always crawled all over her, dragged over her. He was always inside her, his words and his touch. Her tears ran down and dampened the quilt. The weight of him pushed her down. The bed creaked and sighed. His breath was hot at her neck.

He twisted her arm up behind her back, and picked up his pace.
I'll fly away.

-----

The morning came. The bed was made. The nightgown was bundled to be washed. The brown hair was combed. Beth wore a yellow dress and had put up her hair. She wore a white sweater to cover the marks on her arms, and the skirt stopped just below her knees. She greeted the day with a hopeful smile. The night was the night, and the shadows were gone in the light of day.

Weren't they?

She stood at the sink, and the pansies winked at her through the open screen. Beth washed the plate in her hands, feeling the water run over her wrists and palms. She resisted the urge to keep scrubbing and placed the plate in the rack. Today she would need to go start organizing the preparations for refreshments, music. There was always something to do. Beth always found something. The church ladies were waiting for her. Beth King, they would say. The blessings of your life. Right by your husband as he leads the charge of glory! I am just so pleased to meet you.

She dried her hands, leaning against the counter. Levi stood up from the table, lifted his suit jacket, shrugged it on.

No children? Not yet? Well, the Lord knows best. You'll be blessed soon, I just know. With your sweet nature? You'll be a wonderful mother. You'll raise them right, honey.

Levi kissed her forehead.

And your husband is just such a powerful preacher. What a fine man of God.

The door opened, closed.
The towel was folded.
Beth looked at the pansies in the window box.

What a fine man of God.

[Scuttle Buttin']

"These religious assholes are ruining this country!"

"Not in front of the children, Robert!"

With a snort and a roll of the eyes, the newspaper was closed, folded, and tossed onto a pile that would later turn to kindling for the fire.

Levi's father, Charles Grey, was a professor of Biology at Quinnipiac University in Connecticut, and one of a growing number of atheists in his department. He had no patience with religion or the religious, banishing the topic from his house unless one were to be cursing it.

His mother, Marilyn, a housewife and former Catholic, was not a fan of the cursing either, and would admonish Charles when he'd do so in front of either of their two children. Levi's sister, Julia, would occasionally giggle when her father would let loose a 'naughty word.' Levi, for his part, couldn't be bothered to care one way or the other.

It is 1978. Annie Hall would win best picture. The World Cup would be played in Argentina. Pope Paul the Sixth would die, with Pope John Paul the First named as his successor. He would die 23 days later, and be followed by Pope John Paul the Second. In Guyana, Jim Jones and his People's Temple cult would commit mass suicide.

And in Hamden, Connecticut, Levi Grey already views his parents as lesser, only occasionally useful people. Though unknown even to him, he was learning from them things that would be useful for the rest of his life.




The day dawned bright and clear in Etham, Alabama. Levi showered, dressed, and ate in virtual silence. The marks of the previous night still burned into Beth's skin, but all of them were, of course, her own fault. Why she couldn't be trusted with simple tasks at times was a mystery he planned to devote no brain cells to today.

"I'll see you at the church this afternoon. Have the chairs unpacked so they can be set up as soon as the tent is up."

They were the only real words he said to her, delivered more as statements than even instructions as he put on his jacket and adjusted the cuffs. The bang of the screen door closing was the next sound he made.




"Dude, seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? She's crying!"

The winter of 2000. A heavy blanket of snow covered the campus of Brown University, and much of Rhode Island moved at a cold, slippery crawl. Inside a dorm room that was almost freakishly clean and organized, Levi Grey sat on the edge of his bed in a pair of boxers, and took another pull from a bottle of Johnny Walker Red. Behind him, a thin blond girl lay naked and covered nearly up to her wide eyes by a dark comforter.

Standing just in front of him, his eyes also wide, was a useless Polish faggot named Albert. They had been roommates for just over a year now, though theirs was always a tense relationship. Albert didn't approve of the girls Levi would bring to their room to sleep with - mostly because they were rarely his girlfriend - and Levi didn't approve of the men Albert brought to their room to sleep with because they were men. Still, occasionally promiscuous though he would be, the numbers clearly did not lie: Levi had far more partners in his bed, and seemingly an easier time getting them there, than Albert ever did.

Another of those number had been in his bed when Albert returned to their room with Levi's girlfriend. She was devastated to find him fucking one of her Sorority sisters, and Albert was upset that he was doing so without any kind of warning written on the dry erase board stuck to their door. Levi, for his part, was annoyed that he'd not been able to finish yet. The girl, whatever her name was, had no idea what to do.

Levi's only reply was to stare at Albert until he got frustrated, shook his head, and left to go find Melissa.

Once the door closed, the cap was screwed back onto the bottle and Levi stood, pushing the boxers down his hips, and turning to the wide eyed girl staring at him from the bed. A hand reached out, fingers curling into her hair, and he pulled her, not entirely gently, to him.




The day was warm already, even though it was just past 8:00 a.m., and Levi walked towards the smallish building that housed City Hall with more determination than was perhaps necessary. The nice thing about small towns, even outside of the generally oblivious populations, was that the size made walking virtually anywhere in town a rather simple thing. It also gave him time to be seen among the town, and let the word of his arrival spread. Free advertisement nearly by stepping out the door.

This meeting with the mayor had been arranged by the same minister that he had connected with to bring him to Etham. Whenever possible, Levi tried to meet with the powers that be in a town, so that he could convince them that they should come to the opening of the Revival that night. For the good of the town. Bringing people together. Giving everyone a sense of community. So simple and eager to please were most of these people that it very rarely failed.





"Please, call me Levi. Mister King is my father."

He smiled pleasantly at the young woman as she sat across from him, hands smoothing the blue gingham dress against her thighs. Her parents thought her a troubled girl, unable as she was to decide on a college, a major, or a boy she'd like to see. She'd been kissed, twice, and both times found the experience pleasant until clumsy hands began groping at full breasts that had seemed to be more trouble than they were worth. It was now the summer after her senior year, and Mississippi was experiencing a heat wave that people would be talking about for some time. Even as they sat under a spinning fan, Levi's eyes followed a bead of sweat as it rolled over her collarbone and dove into the valley between her breasts.

Fucking high school boys, he would think as he watched the sweat and she prattled on incessantly while staring at her hands in her lap. Fucking high school boys had no idea what they were doing with this one. Such wasted potential. So many missed opportunities.

He would fuck her two days later, taking her virginity on the desk he used in small study of the house a church member had given them use of. Try though it may, the small window air conditioner couldn't keep up and both of them were covered in sweat by the time his seed was mingling with it on her body. The open Bible under her had all but attached itself to her wet skin, and flimsy pages tore when she was lowered back to her feet. The girl was certain she was going to hell, perhaps as early as that evening for tearing the Bible. Levi couldn't help but to roll his eyes at the foolish child, who apparently didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that she'd just been fucked on top of the damn thing.

The girl proved to be naturally talented with her mouth, and it was only when the L-word came tumbling from her lips after he'd fucked her across the couch while Beth slept upstairs that the Glory to the King Revival had run it's course and needed to move on. She was crushed, but understood that it was God's will that Levi move on and spread the Word. He promised to write. She promised to wait for him. Levi knew only one of those had the possibility of happening. The second... it wouldn't surprise him if she did, for a time. He was her first, after all. To the first black girl he fucked, Levi shared no such attachment.




8:17 a.m., and he arrived at City Hall. A small sign extending off the wall and into the hallway pointed him to the Mayor's office. Just outside the door, Levi took a moment to adjust his tie and pulls his collars down. Far too often these small town mayors had an overinflated sense of importance, and Levi walking into the man's office looking rumpled would give off a bad first impression. At all times, unless moved by the Spirit on stage, he must look put together and presentable.

Once finished, he turned the knob and stepped into the small, and currently quiet, outer office. Turned away from him and looking through an open file drawer, who he assumed to be the receptionist was the only other person in the room with him. Door open still, Levi stared at her back with a slight, puzzled frown. The clothes were distinctly male, but the hair was long and free like a woman might wear it. The shape of his... her?... body was hard to tell given the attire, and for the first time he wondered just what kind of town he'd walked into. Either the men were wearing their hair like women, or their women were dressing like men. Both options could prove to be excellent fodder. Surely the rest of the town didn't approve of such behavior.

Clearing his throat, Levi spoke up.

"Excuse me..."

Miss? Sir? Fuck it, move on.

"...I have an appointment to see the mayor. I'm a little early, I know, but I thought if he could see me early I might get out of his way sooner."

[Miss_Vivi]

"One day I'll fly away
Leave all this to yesterday"

A pipe dream, leaving Etham, running away from this one horse town, this town that was almost languidly killing her. Another signature, another piece of paper with the motto emblazoned across the top, confugii civitatem. Refuge. The paper was tossed aside and another grabbed, too quickly, slid along nimble fingers where paper tore asunder the skin beneath it, tearing a gasp from the girl who held the paper, the town, the mayor together.

For Ali, it was but a drop of blood. Refuge.
It felt like universal vindication that this place was going to bleed her dry.

Another sigh. Another piece of paper with another signature, added to her growing pile. The blood was ignored. No nursing the wound, no spilled and sorry tears from her, for this town.

She would leave.
Or she would die here.

What more could your love do for me
When will love be through with me
Why live life from dream to dream
And dread the day when dreaming ends

She had no anchor to this town, aside from her ailing father.

No man.
No woman.
Though Miranda played her for a beautiful fool.

Miranda, in all her brilliance, her quiet but strong governance, how it had won over her body, her mind and she tugged at Ali's heart. Too many times recently, had Ali caught a sidelong glance at a pretty face in a pretty dress, walked in on a meeting where hands that should be on a powerful desk were instead on a leg.

Why live life from dream to dream
And dread the day when dreaming ends.

"Excuse me...I have an appointment to see the mayor. I'm a little early, I know, but I thought if he could see me early I might get out of his way sooner."

A glance. Not long enough to catch anything but a suit. Another one of those. A stuffed shirt, pretentious wannabe, who thought in gender binaries and cried seeing the eagle, the flag and the cross in one place. Useless men who never thought beyond their own conservatism, and most of them did not know what to do with her. Ali never looked up.

"I remember your appointment, Mr. King. Have a seat, and I'll let Miranda know that you're here."

She might have grinned to herself when she disclosed that the Mayor was in fact, a woman.

"Our Reverend Aaron made sure to let us know that you were arriving today. Welcome to Etham."

It was then that Alistair looked up. That she finally paid attention to the man in her office. It was then that she stopped breathing for a moment. Levi King was a man who sucked all of the air and energy from the room, and replaced it with his own, the kind of man who made her want to sometimes be small and feminine. He held her gaze for a second, and she tried to smile.

"Ahem. Excuse me." She walked into Miranda's office quietly.

"Yes. Yes. Please darling, I will see you there! 8pm." The phone was promptly hung up, and Miranda looked up to meet Ali's eyes. Ali swore that something guilty lurked there, she knew it couldn't be her imagination.

"Your 9am is here." She said curtly, quickly turning on her heel and walking out on the woman without a word, moving quickly back into her office, "Mr. King, Miranda will see you now."

She gestured towards the office and let him walk past, closing the door behind him.

That. Bitch. She knew Miranda was going to hurt her.

One day I'll fly away
Fly fly away...

[IvoryTigress]

Guilt was the last thing stirring in Miranda's heart. The subtle shimmer in her knowing, piercing gaze was, at best, a brief hint of sadness. She enjoyed Alistair. The woman was a rare beauty trapped in a town that would never fully understand her. She was the intensity Miranda craved. The kind of woman who would leave scratch marks and gasp for air as her mind tried to process what her body was going through. She was different in a sea of uniformity. She was all of that and more, but it was that "more" that was starting to become a problem.

Miranda didn't whisper promises in the dark. Even at thirty-three, she desired nothing beyond a night's pleasures. Ali wanted more. She wanted the night to extend to the morning, the afternoon, the next evening, the next day. She wanted the promises Miranda had no intention of giving. She saw it in the flash of anguished fury in those beautiful eyes, a flash that was happening more and more frequently.

As she set the phone calmly back into the cradle, she made a mental note to be home in plenty of time to prepare dinner. Her recipe for zesty Italian chicken with mashed potatoes and asparagus would do in a quick pinch. Alistair's anger was misplaced. Her 8pm dinner date was with her sorority sister and her husband. The adorable couple was driving through Alabama and wanted to stop by Etham for a quick visit with Miranda. Ali's anger should be at the woman who was coming three hours later. It was a shame, really. Miranda genuinely liked Ali's sharp, quick mind as much as she adored the deliciously tempting package it came in. She was mildly disappointed Ali didn't understand, but she would never blame the woman for wanting more.

It would be a distasteful task. Because Ali was a woman of passion, Miranda didn't expect her to go quietly. There would be a temper tantrum, kicking and struggling, screams and tears. She would make a large mess around town that Miranda would have to clean up quietly. The steps she took down that path would have to be careful ones.

But Alistair was a problem for another time. The problem that demanded her immediate attention was the early Mr. Levi King. A little more than thirty minutes early spoke volumes about him. He was a man who refused to work on anyone else's schedule but his own. He likely believed he was better than anyone who lived in Etham. The priorities of a small town Mayor didn't compare to the importance of his work, of his time. She was tempted to make him sit in the waiting room until she was ready to deal with him, but Ali had already shown him in. So, Miranda put on one of her most charmingly professional smiles and studied the man who wanted nothing more than to rob the people of Etham blind for as long as he chose to stay.

A perfect suit draped over an equally perfect male physique. His smile was just as charming, just as fake as hers. His eyes were friendly and warm, but they didn't fool Miranda. He was a public speaker by profession. He made his living from preying on the weaknesses of others, conning them out of their money. He was likely good at it, if he was making enough money to still travel. She didn't doubt the words that would come out of his mouth during this little meeting would be dripping with sweet honey.

Miranda couldn't fault him, entirely. There wasn't a place in the United States where people didn't depend on the hope of freedom from whatever suffering was currently making their lives miserable. But it was easier to take advantage of in the South, where religion was so deeply rooted in the fabric of society that people sacrificed everything they had for it, including their freedom of thought. While Miranda couldn't blame him completely, she could disapprove of his chosen profession, and she could do what she could to ensure his stay in her town as brief as possible.

She didn't have to double check her own perfectly tailored, feminine cut business suit. She knew nothing was out of place. Her blonde tresses were styled into a loose bun that was, somehow, entirely professional while still giving the impression that she was approachable. Not a single strand ever fell out of place. Her make up was never smudged and always complimented her attire. Her nails were always manicured with clear, clean polish. But even if the smallest of those things had fallen just shy of perfection, it wouldn't have been noticed. Miranda Tate shined, and it wasn't because of what she wore.

Her office was much like the woman herself. Everything was clean and had a place, as if she had placed a ban on dust. There were small photographs of her parents and close friends in classy frames in discrete places. There were tasteful, subtle landscape paintings created by local artists along the walls. It was painted in soft, neutral tones. The office was warm and inviting, but it was clearly a space where work got done.

Miranda rose from her desk as King entered, ever the southern debutante turned corporate. But she didn't move to the other side of her desk to greet him. She made him walk the path alone. She made him come to her if he wanted to do the polite thing and shake the slender hand she offered, a hand that possessed a strong, firm grip. Confident, competent cerulean eyes found the preacher's. Held them. Didn't back down from the charisma in them.

"Ah, Mr. King. You're quiet the early bird. Welcome to Etham. I'm Miranda Tate. It's my pleasure to meet a man who travels to spread the word of the Lord. Won't you take a seat? I can have Alistair bring you some water or coffee, perhaps."

With her other hand, she gestured toward one of the two chairs in front of her desk. Whether he shook her hand or not, she sat down and crossed one leg over the other, the sharp spike of a black stiletto heel catching the natural sunlight spilling in the room from the open window. She slid a fresh legal pad off her desk and into her lap. A pen was pulled from the sliding middle drawer. Writing implement in hand, resting on the legal pad, she never once broke eye contact. Her smile only got sweeter.

"So, tell me, Mr. King. What can I do for you this morning?"

[Scuttle Buttin']

The town's mayor is a woman? How very... interesting.

Levi had been in Etham for less than 24 hours, and this was the first truly interesting thing he'd found within it's borders. There were few small southern towns that allowed themselves to be run by women, prone as they were to be ruled by emotion at least once a month.

His eyes swept over the front office girl as she left to inform the mayor of his arrival, and he wondered just what kind of person would hire a girl that dressed in men's clothes to be the first face anyone saw when they came to this office. Even before she had disappeared from view, another thought bloomed in his mind.

Secrets, little girl. You have secrets. But who from? The mayor? The town? Me? Yourself? All of the above, I suspect...

He licked his lips as he heard the girl announce his arrival, the hunter salivating for the hunt, and was smiling when the girl returned to the outer office.

Oh yes... I can smell it on you. You and I are going to be spending time together, you confused thing.

He would make it a point to acquire her name, and extend an invitation to the revival, before he left. This one had a jungle gym in her head, and he wanted to swing from every bar he could.

"Thank you, miss," he said with a cheer that made him seem as if he belonged in this place, at this time, and he knew it. Rising, he buttoned his jacket and moved past the girl, eyes sweeping her once more before he was beyond her. Her scent still lingered in his nostrils, an essence he committed to memory, as he entered the mayor's office and found her standing behind her desk.

Etham, you delicious little nugget, you just keep giving me gifts...

She extended her hand, and held his gaze, and smiled right back, but it was on him to come to her. It was well played, a fine opening move in a game most people didn't realize they were even playing, and he was only more than happy to cross the room and return her firm, confident hand shake. By the time he unbuttoned his jacket and sat across from her, Levi was practically beaming. Meetings like this had become so easy that the manipulation of the supposedly powerful man across the desk from him was barely fun any longer. Miranda and her girl with secrets and this little town around them seemed like they just might change that.

"A pleasure to meet you Miranda, and please call me Levi," he said, still holding her gaze, the smile he'd worn since the 4th grade still shaping his lips. "And thank you for the offer, but I'm fine."

Alistair. It had to be the girl, and no wonder she wore the clothes of a man. Who names their girl Alistair? Confused from the beginning, and she must just be crawling with secrets...

"I won't take up much of your time, Miranda," he said, shifting gears into a more businesslike tone, "I just like to stop in with the mayor of the towns I visit, to get a feel for the area, see if there's anything they might like me to focus on during my time here."

He paused, leaning forward a bit, his tone lowering as if what he was about to say was for their ears only, but his eyes never left hers.

"I know in small towns sometimes the teenagers can grow bored and turn to drugs or alcohol, some places have problems with vandalism or things like that even. Bless their hearts, I know it is not because they're bad kids, of course, but who isn't prone to a little trouble at that age?"

The question was rhetorical, asked with a grin, and he sat back and let the lowered voice fall away as he continued.

"That is not a knock on the job you are doing here, certainly, but it's been my experience that everywhere could use a refocusing on the Lord. Even fine little towns such as this one. But," he turned his hands out, palms up, a bit of a shrug, "That is more my job than yours, isn't it? If there's nothing specific you'd like me to focus on from the pulpit, then I'd be happy to say a short mornin' prayer with you, Miranda, and let you get back to your important business.

"Oh!," he said, sitting up straighter and smiling sheepishly as if he'd just remembered, "And also, I'd like to extend an invitation to both you and... Alistair, was it?... to my humble little revival. I'm sure you're very busy, with your duties here," his eyes left hers for the first time here, and flickered down to her empty fingers, then just as quickly back up to hold her gaze again, "and wanting to spend time with your family too, so I'd certainly be understandin' if you could only make one night. But the wife and I, we'd love to have you for the opening night, if you could spare the time."

A fine opening gambit, dear mayor. Now let's see how you react to another's moves...

[IvoryTigress]

He crossed the room on long, confident strides. She expected nothing less. Hands met, joined, refused to give an inch. She listened to his every word, gave him her full focus. She watched him lay card by card on her desk, set his scene. Levi King liked to dance. He was good at it. So far, he hadn't missed a step. He made a subtle jab at her ability to run the town, and covered it with the polite truth that Etham was no different than any other town. Children would be children, as he said, but she wasn't quite good enough, special enough, to have a crime free town. It was bait she didn't chase. There was no need to defend the crime rate in her town, nor her involvement in preventing it. It didn't come close to chipping her armor. She let his statement go unanswered, for the moment. Her smile remained open and friendly, the confidence never wavering. Her clear, sharp eyes held his as he layered on the charisma. She leaned back in her chair, relaxed and took it all in.

She let him get through all the useless and boring fluff, the comments and mannerisms that made him look like he could fit in anywhere or nowhere at the same time. She let him share his opinions, fueled and based off of his vast experience of the world and religion. None of it was of any importance, and Miranda found herself counting the seconds, wondering if he would ever get to the real purpose of his visit. When it finally came, she almost rolled her eyes.

He wanted her to come to his revival. Her presence would add to his authenticity, give the people of Etham just one more reason to possibly drop a few extra dollars in his plate. It amused her, but it was hidden behind the mask they both wore. Miranda had planned on going to the opening day to his little show. It had been in her schedule from the moment she was informed of his coming. Mr. King had his cards to play. She had hers. Once he had finally said his piece, Miranda answered, bit by bit.

"Well now, Levi. Who would I be to tell a man of the Lord what he should or should not preach? Just as you wouldn't tell me how to keep this town afloat economically and politically, I would never dictate what messages you deliver. There isn't a doubt in my mind, Mr. King, that you will find the right words for Etham."

Her voice and tone were full of practiced politeness, business-like and efficient. But, much like all civilized conversation below the Mason Dixon line, there was a hidden message that was coated in the infamous hospitality and propriety of the South. She waited until their broken gaze reconnected. There was no sheepishness in Miranda, genuine or fake. She refused to pretend for the preacher. She wouldn't be anything other than what she was, a shark. A creature deadly in its beauty.

Her lips curved in a pleased smile. "You flatter me, Levi, coming all the way down here to personally invite me to your revival. Of course, I'm coming," she paused, a heartbeat of silence filling the room before she finished," with the fire marshal, to ensure all your tents and equipment are up to code. We wouldn't want the citizens of this quiet little town to be injured, would we? I'll be there bright and early, coffee in tow. I'll gladly help you and your wife set up in any way that I can. I wasn't always the mayor, so I'm no stranger to hard work. It will be refreshing to get out into the open air. I'm excited to hear your sermons."

With nothing worth writing in her notebook, Miranda set it down on her desk, pen resting neatly on top of empty pages. Levi was not worth noting. Long, crossed legs unfolded crisply as she rose from her chair.

"If that was all you needed to see me about, take comfort, Mr. King. There is no where I would rather be that day than your revival."

Miranda was a good southern woman. She went to church every Sunday. She had a bible in her home. She knew her verses and the lyrics to all the songs. She participated in after church activities. But she was not a woman of faith. All of those things were expected of her, and so they were done. She studied the bible out of duty, but also because she knew she would need to know the text from which her opposition, mainly the strongly conservative of the town, would use against her as her subtly liberal plans for the town started to move forward. She threw the ball back into the preacher's court. It was routine and painless to indulge him.

"I think a morning prayer would be the perfect end to this meeting and a beautiful start for the rest of my day. I'll follow your lead, Levi."

There was the smallest of hints of something sharp in those sapphire eyes as they held his, never once having lowered. The game was set. Miranda had made her position clear to a man she knew could both read between the lines and hide within them.

When her head bowed, Miranda's mind was already moving to her next appointments. She reviewed data and planned. They drifted to her time after work. Isis would, naturally, need a walk. She ran with the Rhodesian Ridgeback every morning, but the two year old still had her puppy energy. There was meat and fresh vegetables in her refrigerator. Dinner would be quick and easy. A very subtle smile touched her lips as the thought of Tiffany spilled into her mind. Yoga instructors were so amazingly flexible. A sudden realization had her fighting to keep her mask of friendly hospitality plastered to her pretty features. Why was it, that every time she fell into prayer, her thoughts reliably found their way to pleasured screams and greedy pleas? To the intoxicating, slick feeling of a woman craving to be touched? While others begged Levi's deity for forgiveness, Miranda day dreamed of drowning in sweet, blissful sin.

[Scuttle Buttin']

There may be no music playing in the mayor's office on this fine Spring day, but the thread of a dance was clearly being spun out around them, and the mayor seemed to be keeping with him step for step. There were times when this would be a frustration for him, a cause for anger or lashing out. There had been times it may have led to violence. But this was not the Levi that sat across from her today, and instead he only soaked in it and moved right along, beat, stepsway, beat stepsway...

The smile never faltered. Even when she mentioned the fire marshal, he took it in stride and nodded, as if this was expected - nay! welcome! - all along. Another move in the dance, and this one, oh, she had more up her sleeve. In his head, Levi had the image of a roast chicken sitting on her desk. Browned and plump and juicy, ready for the devouring. It was not the meat he was after in this one, though. The real shape was underneath, to be found in the bones after it had been taken apart. The pretty bird hid the shredded carcass underneath, and all it took was a little work to find it.

"Then we welcome both you and fire marshal, bless his heart, to join us," he said, brightly, with a nod as he spoke. "Some of the other wives in the church have generously donated their time, but we'd be happy to have you join us to set up, too. The Lord does provide in times of need, doesn't he Miranda?"

Levi rose from his seat as she did from hers, smoothing his tie and buttoning his coat once he'd straightened up, and he nodded again, smiling as if things could not have possibly gone better. Yet the smile never quite reached his eyes.

"But let us pray, and I'll let you get back to your busy day."

His hands moved to clasp behind his back, head bowing forward, and he closed his eyes.

"Merciful Heavenly Father, we come together in fellowship today thankful for this beautiful day you've given us, and for this opportunity to work together to spread your message and glorify your kingdom. I thank you, Lord, for bringing Miranda into my path, and thank you for your holy light that I can see shining within her. I ask you to continue to bless her, and to help her lead the fine people of Etham as they grow and prosper together. Watch over her day, Lord, and help her to avoid the temptations the Deceiver will throw in front of her."

As he spoke, Levi's eyes opened, and he lifted them to her face, though his head remained bowed forward.

"And watch over us all, Father, as we prepare for the revival that you have guided into this city. Help us to bring your light into the heart of this city, and to cast out the sin and darkness that tries to replace you, Lord. In your name we pray," he said, and like a switch being flipped the smile was back on his face, "Amen."

Eyes open already, he lifted his head and looked to her once again.

"Thank you for taking the time out of your day to meet with me. I look forward to seeing you at the revival, as I'm sure does the rest of the town. Have a blessed day, Miranda."

He did not offer a hand shake, but merely a slight inclination of his head and he turned to move out of her office. Just inside the door frame leading to the outer office he paused and turned back to her, as if he'd just remembered one final thing.

"Oh, before I go?" The smile spread a little more, and now it did find his eyes, which were bright and alive with light. "Please let my wife know if you'll be having a husband or boyfriend join you. I'd like to save you a seat up front, and would like to have him sitting with you, of course. Thanks, Miranda!"

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and disappeared into the outer office. His eyes were quickly on Alistair, and the smile did not leave him.

"Alistair, was it? I don't believe we've had a chance to properly meet each other." Levi's eyes still were alight with happiness, and he extended his hand to her, covering it with his other when they shook. "I'm Levi King, but I suppose you already knew that didn't you?" He laughed lightly, happily pointing out his own silliness at needing to point out something she already knew, and as he spoke he kept hold of her hand with both of his.

"I just wanted to take a moment and personally invite you to join us at the revival out near Reverend Aaron's church. I believe Miranda is joining us as well, and it would be quite a blessing to see both of your smiling faces there, for the town and for myself. Think about it' won't you?"

Her hands released, and again he didn't wait for a reply from the woman. Less than two minutes after leaving Miranda's office, Levi was back out in the sunshine and making his way towards the church to check on the progress of things. Each step there held a bit more bounce, and a smile accompanied him nearly the whole way.

Levi was having fun.