The Last Handful of Clover - Book 1: The Hereafter

1.37 Justin Defies God

June 6, 1:58 pm

While Carla Grayson was talking to Michelle Kilani, the subject of their discussion, Howard Gunderson, was sitting in his cell, staring at the white cinder block wall across from his steel bunk. He was staring and still, but a closer look would show that his hands gripped the metal edge of his bed so hard that his knuckles were white, and his lanky forearms were roped with tension.

And Howard Gunderson was not alone in his cell.

The other occupant looked a year or two younger than Gunderson, and they might be mistaken for cousins. Gunderson wore his standard orange prison clothes, but the other boy had on a Levi jacket over a ratty t-shirt with the name of a band that went out of style twenty years ago, and a faded black baseball cap that sat backwards on his head. Both boys had brown hair, but Howard's was sandy brown and neatly combed, while the pacing boy's hair was darker, and his cut was a bit shaggy. Both boys had muscles that made them look like they had just popped out of the gym, but Howard was tanned and healthy, while the other boy looked pale, like he had spent his life indoors.

While Howard stared at the wall, his companion paced back and forth in front of him, as if he was not used to being in a cell. His hands searched for something to do with themselves, and he kept shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair, as if a fly were trying to land on his forehead.

Each time he walked in front of Howard in the short cell, the strange young man stopped to look down with a lean, hungry look in his eyes, like a wolf sizing up a meal. But then he would quickly resume his distracted pacing, as if he was listening to something in his head that only he could hear. Finally, the pacing boy sat down next to Howard Gunderson. He sat very close. Close enough that their arms touched, and their knees slid gently against each other, almost tenderly. Howard did not look at his companion. He just continued to stare at the wall, but his breath became a bit more strained and ragged. The sweat on his forehead dribbled down to his thick, sandy brown eyebrows.

The new boy finally shook his head especially violently, then calmed. In fact, he fell into a state of strange contemplation, and he let his head drop onto Howard's shoulder. For a few moments the two shared the silence of the cell, and you could be forgiven for mistaking them for two young lovers, sitting together on a hillside, watching the sun set over the mountains.

But soon Howard Gunderson's anxiety grew so strong that the shaking traveled all the way to his shoulders. He let out a soft, strangled, mewling sound, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the trembling that threatened to engulf him. His hands clenched and released, clenched and released...

The other boy seemed not to notice, or not to care. Now his hands were on Howard. First, it was just one hand, gently, on Howard's thigh. But then he turned, and both hands were touching him. They explored Howard's chest and torso, and eventually both converged on his face, which the dark-haired boy explored hungrily like he was a blind man.

It was only a voice in the boy's head that stopped his exploration of Howard.

Justin... said the voice.

The new boy stopped, and snapped his hands back from Howard Gunderson, as if he was a boy caught with his father's pornography and his hand in his pajamas. He drew in a deep breath, before answering the voice in his head. Finally, he spoke aloud.

"Yes, Lord. I'm here."

It is time, Justin. God has need of you.

Justin squeezed shut his eyes, and he pressed straining fists against his forehead. "Whatever you wish, my Lord. I will do whatever you ask."

I know you will, Justin, the voice continued, softly, but as insistent as a knife pressed between his eyes. But you have much to prove. Your Mistress tells me you have repented your sins and done as you promised.