The Sons of God

I

THE STEEL DOOR SLAMS SHUT WITH A THUNDEROUS ECHO. Several prisoners murmur or cry out as the guards walk briskly by their cells in the darkness.

Neal labors to stand up as he waits to confront them. He is absolutely unafraid. A light shines through the bars on the face of the guards' defiant adversary. The 70-ish Black man, a former journalist, adjusts his shredded blue suit, once his signature, as he straightens to his full height. Jaws swollen, both eyes nearly shut; he braces himself balling his fists.

The first guard angrily warns him.

This is the last time we're going to tell you to keep quiet in here.

Neal retorts.

They're coming back! To wipe the memory of you from the face of the earth!

Enough!

A fireman's hose is placed between the bars. The water explodes full blast slamming Neal against the back wall of the cell. After a long minute of this pummeling, the water is turned off and Neal falls to his knees. The second guard then un-holsters his taser.

Maybe this will shut you up for awhile.

He fires. The electric current zips through the air like lightening and strikes Neal. Still on his knees, he is frozen in place as the current crawls over him, buzzing, crackling and popping. Finally, it dissipates and he collapses onto the floor of the dark, water-logged cell.

The first guard laughs.

How do you like our new toy? Shocking isn't it!

The second guard warns them all.

Keep quiet in here if you want to live through this night!

The cell block door clangs shut behind them as they leave.

With a jolt, Neal raises his head gasping for air having fallen face forward into the pool of water in his cell. Steam rises from his body as the smell of burnt hair hangs in the air. Neal manages to sit up with his back against the wall. He spasms as he gingerly peels a gold cross on a small gold rope chain from his sternum where it has just been seared into his flesh. The cross has the look of an heirloom; old but still elegant. A perfectly symmetrical cross is now branded in the center of his chest. Barely conscious, he tries to speak.

They're coming back…'on the clouds of heaven'…they're coming back for you!

From a nearby cell, another prisoner calls out.

Hey, are you ok? Who're you talking about? Who's coming back?

Neal manages a smile as he remembers.

II

In the living room of Alexander Mason's New York City apartment, no one appears to be home. The doorbell rings insistently.

A half-sleep, half-drunk Alex emerges from his bedroom in a faded robe.

As he reaches the door, Alex calls out.

Who is it?

Through the door the answer comes.

Messenger.

Alex looks through the peephole then unlocks the door.

Alexander Mason?

Yes.

The guy hands him an envelope.

Don't worry, they can't evict you yet.

Alex just blinks for a minute wondering how the guy got past the first floor security desk. He lets go of the thought and resigns himself to the situation.

Thanks.

He turns and pushes the door shut all in one motion. The shutting door echoes slightly in the mostly empty apartment. Alex goes over to a recliner, plops into the chair and opens the envelope. He stares at the summons to appear in court then tosses the letter onto a pile of notices and unopened letters on his coffee table.

What next?

You wouldn't know it to look at him, but this 40-year old Black male is a very accomplished guy. An award-winning journalist, he's hit a wall in his life.

Alex looks around the now sparsely furnished apartment lamenting that an old 15-inch color TV sits on a milk crate in front of the place where a 110 inch HD screen once rested. On the floor around the recliner, various newspapers and news magazines are scattered about. A floor lamp is on one side of the recliner and a small table on the other. Atop the table lies a wrist watch, a half-smoked joint in an ashtray, and a goblet half full of white wine. Dejected, Alex picks up a TV remote from the coffee table and turns on the TV. He takes a gulp of the wine and leans back in the chair.

CNN plays. A middle-aged African American Senator, Virgil Watson, is being interviewed on the steps of the US Capitol.

As the new chair of the Armed Services Committee, I hope to tamp down some of the current rhetoric on Central Asia. Having served in the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, I would hate to see the tenuous peace and goodwill built up in that region, over the last several years, go by the wayside over some misguided, and frankly, irresponsible statements coming from certain House members. The true threats to all of us are still the Jihadists, who have to be eradicated for the sake of every people and government around the world.

As the senator and his top aides make their exit, a face Alex would recognize is directly behind the senator's; his older brother, Gary. But Alex has nodded off. Suddenly he comes to life.

What time is it?!!

He grabs the wrist watch and screams.

Nooo! Not again!!

He scrambles out of the chair and down the hallway to his bedroom. He's late for work again.

III

Alex comes out of the 72nd St. subway rushing towards Columbus Avenue.

He weaves in and out of other pedestrians until he runs into something, dropping his shoulder bag. A gigantic Black man turns around, picks up the bag and smiles as he hands it to Alex. As Alex looks at the man, he notices his collar and realizes that he's a street preacher. Alex apologizes.

Oh, I'm sorry. And thank you.

The preacher is affable as he speaks to Alex in a uniquely African American baritone voice.

That's alright brother. Here, take this for your troubles.

He holds out a tract towards Alex, but Alex declines."

No, thank you.

Go on, take it. Read some good news for a change.

He smiles at Alex as though he knows what he's been going through. Startled, Alex takes the tract, stuffs it into his back pocket and hurries up the street.

As he reaches the corner at Columbus Avenue, Alex waits with the crowd for the light to change. The WALK sign lights up and everyone crosses the street. While Alex is in the middle of the intersection, a car turns and hits Alex. He is rolled unto the hood for a moment then thrown to the ground as the car comes to an abrupt stop. He jumps to his feet, disoriented, but apparently unhurt. A crowd starts to gather as traffic partially comes to a stop. It takes a moment for him to gather his thoughts as the mousy White female driver gets out of the car.

I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!

Suddenly, Alex comes to life and tears into the woman.

Are you crazy!!!

I'm sorry…I didn't see you…

"Didn't see me!! I was in the middle of the crosswalk! With the WALK sign showing! You didn't see me?!!!

I'm sorry…

Are you crazy! You could have killed somebody you pitiful excuse for a human being!

Alex's ferocity has the woman frightened to tears.

I'm sor…Are you alright…

Fine! No thanks to you! God! You idiot!!! Aaahh!!

He wants to hit her, but the crowd has grown bigger and he restrains himself. Furious, in shock and a little embarrassed, he storms off.

IV

The professional looking, but street-wise Latin beauty, Maria Sanchez, walks through the kitchen of the very upscale Concerto Restaurant.

Down the back corridor at the time clock she finds Alex tying on his apron. From behind him, she takes his bow tie from his front pants pocket, puts it on him and straightens it for good measure. Obviously more than friends, the brash 20-something native New Yorker steadies Alex who is still trying to calm himself.

Here she comes…

And here I go. Thanks.

I'll just add it to your bill, sir.

She kisses him on the ear, wipes off the lipstick and disappears into the restroom.

Alex takes a deep breath and walks back the way Maria has just come. He encounters the restaurant manager, Danielle, as she enters the kitchen. The 30-ish statuesque blonde is all business all the time with everyone, except Alex. She favors him for some reason not even she is quite sure of. She confronts him at the food line.

Mister Mason! Weren't you supposed to have been here 30 minutes ago?

Alex checks orders and garnishes plates on the line as he answers his boss.

Danielle, you will not believe the day that I have had! I can't even begin to tell you.

I'm sure. Alex…This is the fourth time this week. We're going to have to have a little talk later.

With his face towards the line, he answers under his breath.

The littler, the better.

Grabbing an order, he turns to her, nods submissively, smiles and backs out of the kitchen into the dining room.

Danielle is exasperated with him, but doesn't want to let him go. Shaking her head, she goes back to work.

V

It's a busy night at the white table cloth bistro. Music, served up by a piano trio in the center of dining area, fills the room.

Alex reaches the service bar and slams an empty tray on the bar. He grabs bar napkins and angrily wipes the stain on his tuxedo shirt. Maria arrives behind him with a bottle of club soda and a cloth napkin.

Here.

He stops, breathes and takes the cloth and soda.

Thanks…again. How do I make it through the day without you?

That's what I keep asking myself. Let me move in and you won't have to.

Maria…

I know, I know…You want to get things together first. You want your old life back. I know. But I don't care about that. I just care about you.

I know. Hey…Thank you. Really. It's just that today…if one more thing goes wrong...

All you got to do is whistle. You do know how to whistle… She kisses his cheek, wipes off the