Blasphemy: A Like Story

Chapter Five

"Do you have any weapons on you today?" the officer asked, with his knees digging into the small of my back as I lay helplessly in the street.

"No," I mumbled, through a mouthful of rocks.

Beside me, Bishop, likewise prone, was already handcuffed.

More police were starting to arrive from other counties. As I was dragged off to one of the many cars now occupying farm yard, a fire truck appeared.

Instead of being face down in the dirt or bound, Asmodeus was talking animatedly with two male officers, one hand on his hip and the other twirling his hair.

I heard him say, "A weapon? Oh my god, you are too funny."

The officers both stood rigid and mute, staring at him, until the one kneeling over Bishop joined them.

"What are you doing," he asked.

"She's innocent," mumbled an officer, whose large hands were nervously flexing, in a monotone voice.

Asmodeus looked at the new comer and said, "It is all a misunderstanding."

"Oh," he said, walking back around the car to release Bishop. "Sorry about that, Ma'am."

Then, without a word to each other, all the first responders there perked up like prairie dogs smelling a lion, stared into the sky a moment, and walked back to their vehicles. As they started to leave, I shouted "Hey" from the back seat where I was trapped, but the officer driving didn't seem to notice. When I looked out the rearview window, Asmodeus flipped me off with a smile.

The backseat of the squad car was clean to the naked eye, but smelled like urine. There was a faded stain of something brown on the floor. Noxious fumes poured in from the heater vent and I wondered how the officer worked without succumbing to carbon monoxide poisoning. Beatboxing over the sound of radio chatter, he drove through the empty roads without a care. Feeling low spirited and light-headed, I rested against the grate between us.

Then thought about how many germs were probably on it.

I sat up and tried to keep as little of myself from touching the inside of the car as I could. Eventually it pulled into a vacant lot, where the officer let it idle. He pulled out his phone, dialed, and was on long enough for me to hear the voicemail pick up.

"Bitch," he said, flinging it into the passenger seat. "I hate this."

I hate this

I perked up at that. It may seem foolish but, though I was helplessly adrift at that moment, I had not forgotten my real purpose was to become immortal again. And hear was a human, hating in my very presence! I felt it must be a sign from God.

"What do you hate?" I asked.

The officer jumped, placing a hand on his holster. "Who the fuck are you?"

"You just picked me up," I helpfully reminded him.

"Oh right. The chase," he said, smacking himself on the temple.

"And you hate?"

"You like a therapist or something?" he said.

"Or something," I replied.

"Shut up."

He turned around in his seat and backed the car out. Soon we were back traveling through the city. I thought he had forgotten I was there again until he said, "It's my wife."

I leaned forward encouragingly.

"I hate her. She has no time for me anymore. She's always out with her friends or taking care of the kids. She doesn't answer my calls. Just ignores me," he said.