Bull's Eye: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #3

Chapter 40

"Human sacrifice may have helped societies become more complex."

~Headline in Science, a peer-reviewed academic journal of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, April 2016

Glenn slaps the hand Zandra uses to hold the lawnmower knife as he yanks her up by her hair. The blade drops to the ground.

Fuck. That hurts.

Her other hand clenches a clot of mud on the way to her feet. She twists herself and returns the slap, smearing mud across Glenn's face. It doesn't stop Glenn, but it does make Zandra feel better about being caught.

Zandra's head jerks backward as Glenn screws his fist into her hair. He leads her down the trail toward the fire.

"You want another scar tonight?" Zandra says through the pain.

"Shut the fuck up," Glenn says in a growl.

Gene and the others turn to watch Glenn throw Zandra to the ground next to the burlap sack. Gun in hand, Gene doesn't sound pleased.

"I thought you addressed this," Gene says. "And now you're interrupting me with your unfinished business."

Glenn wipes a drizzle of sweat from his upper lip. "She's a tricky one, boss."

"Yes. Very...tricky," Gene says.

You have no idea.

Zandra struggles to her feet. Glenn stuffs a kick into her side. She falls back down, coughing into the dirt.

Fine. I can talk from down here. I've waited long enough.

"You're a murderer, Gene. You killed my husband. You took away my chance at a normal life," Zandra says after spitting the dirt out of her mouth. "And for what? So that you could become a little richer? A little more powerful? A little more connected?"

The other attendees around the fire don't react. The words wither and die in their ears. They all stare at Gene, waiting for his next move.

"What is the life of one person if it inconveniences the whole of society?" Gene says. "We who gather around the fire built the world you take for granted. You flick on the light switch, you go to the grocery store, you turn on the heat in the winter, and you expect certain things to happen. None of that is by accident. Your David thought that he could bring all that down because he found out about some special cooperation between my insurance company and the captains of industry so that the world keeps turning? A few lives here and there are worth it.

"You, Zandra, suffer from the same ignorance that guided your David. You've only ever had yourselves to worry about. You've never been responsible for the maintenance of civilization."

Bullshit.

"The world? The world, Gene? This is my world. Look at me," Zandra says. Glenn allows her to get back on her feet. "You and your shithead friends may well keep the lights on, the food on the shelves and the heat on in the winter, Gene, but you don't have the world. You never did. You took it. It's not yours. The lives your destroyed weren't yours to take. Why should anyone accept that? It's not like you gave them a choice."

Gene is as stoic as ever, the taut skin of his face reflecting the rage of the fire back at Zandra. "This is how the world works. It's how it's always worked. You should be grateful."

Zandra turns to the others around the fire. "And what about you? This is the price you're willing to pay? How many houses, how many mistresses, how much money do you really need? You're sick if you think it's worth it."

No one responds. Their eyes look past Zandra.

They know they're sick, and they don't care. They made their deal with Gene.

"So what happens now?" Zandra says. "You murder your own daughter, throw her body into the fire, and get it all on video so everyone here is culpable, right? It's a big circle of blackmail so no one can get out of line. Your perverted take on an aclla ritual."

Cinders from the fire pop and curl into the night sky.

"Everyone wins," Gene says.

Zandra points at the burlap sack. "Except her."

Gene's face morphs into David's in Zandra's view, if only for a second. She stumbles backward, nearly tripping into the fire. The vision could be supernatural, or it could be her conscious offering her a reminder.

Destroy both halves of Gene, the immaterial and the material. He uses the aclla as a symbol. Destroy the symbol, and you destroy Gene.

Zandra lets go. She sobs. Years and years of agony and frustration pour out. She shuffles over to the burlap sack.

"Then take me instead," Zandra says.

"What?" Gene says.

"Save the bullet. Burn the witch instead," Zandra says. "She's just a child. Let her live."

The woods fall silent. Even the fire tempers its flames.

"You would trade one aclla for another. You still won't win. You will be dead. That is all," Gene says after a long pause.

Maybe so, but I won't be there for that court appointment. No matter how stacked the courtroom is, someone's bound to ask questions. Darryl is out there somewhere, too. Gene's too busy trying to save face for his stupid ritual to think that through.

"Then let me be dead. Just don't hurt Elle," Zandra says with more conviction than she's mustered in 25 years.

"Very well," Gene says. "Release her."

Glenn unties the burlap sack and shakes Elle out. The girl resumes her knee-to-chin crouch. She looks off into the dark woods. Glenn scoots her with his foot to Gene. Neither father nor daughter react to each other; the former indifferent and the latter in a daze.

Did Gene drug Elle? She's like a zombie.

The man with the video camera steps closer to Zandra. He pans the lens between Zandra and Gene.

"You like throwbacks to older times, Gene? I'll give you one. A good, old-fashioned witch burning. Put that gun down. Throw more wood in the fire. I'll walk in myself, make it real easy on you," Zandra says.

"As you wish," Gene says.

Glenn fetches an armful of logs and dumps them into the fire.

"Get that long, skinny one over there, too. I don't want slow burns. Make that fire hot and fast so I don't need to wait," Zandra says, pointing to a stack of brush.

Glenn grabs a long, thin section of branch and pitches it like a javelin at the flames. The wood, still a substantial diameter, nearly misses Zandra's head.

The fire swells. It's too hot for Zandra to be so close, but she stays in place anyway, sweat soaking the back of the purple gown.

The other attendees press closer for a better look. The man with the video camera takes another few steps toward Zandra to keep the action in frame.

No one here thinks this is absurd. Not a one. Because everything about this is absurd. All they want is a good show and to go home the same way they came here.

"You there, with the camera. Get in real close. Closer. Yes, that's good, right there," Zandra instructs the man with the video camera. She addresses the lens, only a few feet away. "I want you to watch me die, Gene. Over and over and over again. Because I'll be watching you, over and over and over again. And you'll hear these words. I hope you die worse than I do, and that they bury you in shit. Hell isn't good enough for you, but if I see you there, I'll still hate you. Fuck you, Gene."

Gene kept his distance until now. He stomps toward the fire. "Bitch. I'll push you in myself."

The fuck you are, Gene. I'm not giving you the last move.

And with that, Zandra takes a step into the blazing heat of the fire.