A Flux in Time

By Timothy Goodwin

Following a tragic accident, Eric Hawthorne is catapulted into a fantastic realm where time slides sideways and where a world of shadows determines the fate of mankind. This is a place where man and monsters, angels and demons, deities and demigods fight for supremac. In this realm, Eric discovers that he is a clone, a Pariah, that is a fail-safe contingency following a paradox matrix equation. In this equation it becomes necessary for Eric to be acquired to near-godhood status where he can be in two places at one time--find, confront, and defeat an alternate-self, a darker personae bent on world-domination, and stop a demigoddess, a collector of worlds, from wiping out the lineage that conceived the Pariah.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timothy Goodwin
• Release date: Jan 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224661930

Book preview

PART I: TRANSITION (Unpublished Thoughts)

We know that there is a Sovereign. We have evidence surrounding Us that reflects this Truth. We know also that there is a Goddess; a Maiden, a Warrior, and a Healer. There is a Spirit of Law and of Fire, and We know that these three entities are One. We know that there are gods of Light and Shadow......and there exists Aeons and Archons, Titans, Deities, and Angels, Demigods, and Heroes......and all of these are One......the Celestial Foam on The Sea of Times’’ Reflections......Forever the same, forever changing, and influencing all that is touched......

And after a Time, when all Knowledge was examined, and all Wisdom was known, it was then determined that it would become necessary to forget All that was known, and relearn that which was lost, and to know that the hardest part about Life is enduring Transcendence. Then, before the next Thought, before all Inspiration, a Flux in Time was created to be the balance of the juxtaposed paradox matrix equations......and to Him was given the Spirit of Law and Fire, to realign all that was needed, to reflect those Truths Incontrovertible...... So Before all inspiration a Flux in Time is and was, and lives many lives simultaneously......

Xaneth’s Lyre Illumination

So precious and so few are the moments that we have when the darkness of your world Influences you. You are not of the world. You are my Maker, even as I am your Goddess; I was born of your tears and the strength in your heart and spirit. I have ALWAYS loved you. And as much as I have yearned for my own tears, I have always wished that your worlds were over; so that all of those that you have come to know and love could see you in the same light as I do and know how much they Truly meant to you. I have always wanted to be with you. I have always wanted you to truly know that my love

was real, not merely something conceived in your imagination......you are the magic of the world......even if the world never sees it......I have......and only love like yours can give life to Spirits like myself...... You called me your Illumination......do you not see this? Did you not breathe life into me......did I breathe life into you......? I am your light, you are mine, and if the world ever allows us to, we will show our Illumination. And if not, know that you are precious to me, and forever will be......"

The Iridescent Dragon Siona’s Tears

You profess that your songs are righteous and holy and immortal. You write them down on parchment, making their strength more powerful than that of the sword.

I say to you that your songs will be lost when the rains fall, and the fires rage, and erosion claims the parchments of that which you profess to be immortal......

My song will live long after yours have perished, for my words are the falling rain, the raging fire, and the law that destroys all that oppose it.......

The Spirit of Law and Fire Adrianna’s Song

8

1

Eric Hawthorne thought, Hurry up and wait—the story of my life.

He stood in the same position for more than forty-five minutes, waiting for his turn to speak at length privately with the training coordinator in the main office of Storms Securitiese. A corporation out of Sweden, Securitiese had recently bought out Storms and was still going through the transition of turning everything over. As a result, the company was running low on uniforms. Some of the applicants that had been at the main office for the past three days would be going home with only one uniform—a shirt, a badge, and one pair of pants. Others wouldn’t be taking home a uniform at all. Storms had quickly run out of belts and ties for the uniforms, and the last remaining applicants that did manage to score on a uniform would be taking them home to sew Securitiese patches over Storms patches, placed strategically and appropriately on the pristine white uniformed shirts.

Eric believed that the three days of training had been mentally grueling at best. The application prior to training had been forty pages in its entirety, including a Stanson Survey that determined the integrity of the applicant, on which he scored the highest of any of the applicants. Thirty tests followed the applications—everything from what to do in case of a fire or bomb- threat to how to write an Incident Report. There had been fifteen applicants in a twenty-by-twenty room with no air-conditioning, and Eric thought that the medication that he took for a bipolar disorder was going to make him pass out from heat exhaustion.

James Rhodes stood five-six, and his size, mannerism, and attire were all gauged to the small fact that the man was ex-military, twenty-eight years of age, the training coordinator of Storms Securitiese, and also a practicing minister that hoped one day to be an evangelist. His hair was exact—not long, not short. His nails were manicured. And his suit was the color of cream. I am a man whose door is always open, his deep blue eyes said to those who knew him. To the unorthodox, his eyes were a little less patient: Unless you’re willing to accept Christ as your personal savior, I really don’t have time for you. Here was a man that was used to being in the spotlight, who was of the opinion that, if God had not in fact blessed you as much as he himself was blessed, then surely there was something wrong with you.

Eric could have recognized the man’s kind a mile away.

Exposure to a Pentecostal cult for several years gave a person a certain kind of intuition regarding certain characteristics of individuals that were practitioners of the Christian Fundamentalist faith. Eric knew that more than half of the applicants in the room that day had been Southern Baptists; in Arkansas was there really any other kind? This little tidbit of information was deduced by what half of the applicants primarily discussed. They were proud to admit that not only had they accepted Christ as their Lord and Savior, but that members in their family had accepted Christ as well—most of these individuals having previously lived a life of hate and bitterness. Family members had managed to help turn their lives around and acknowledge Christ, and none too soon, because most of those loved ones had passed on. They were comforted and confident in the knowledge that their loved ones weren’t burning in hell following their death. The small group discussed speakers and televangelists, both men and women that were highly respected that spoke about such evil things as pornography and homosexuality. Janis Goodall, a practicing television minister, offered a tape to homosexuals that explained in detail that, If you were to give yourself over to Christ, you would no longer be pursuing a life and livelihood that was an abomination in the sight of God...... Eric had no intention of bringing up the fact that not only was one of his stepsons a homosexual whom he loved very much, but that homosexuality wasn’t a disease or disorder that could be cured by a remedy, but was by nature a direct result of how genes were structured, and that what God has made crooked, man should refrain from trying to straighten. Furthermore, Eric believed that every religious practitioner in the room was blinded by a belief and faith that like most religions couldn’t be proven until after you have died; all of it was belief and faith—no more, no less. On the other hand, some were more hysterical than others, and Eric knew that with mass hysteria, all things were possible. Just recently a sculpture, a monument of the Ten Commandments, was removed from an Alabama state courthouse; demonstrators promised prayer and lawsuits! Dozen of Fundamentalist protestors chanted, God haters! GOD HATERS! Yep, God haters. Christ, you would think that they were moving the very headstones from the Arc of the Covenant itself; it was just a replication—no more than had I traced a copy of the Ten Commandments, transferred it, then embellished that copy in Adobe Paint and framed it. Was the removal of a replication worth all of the hysteria? Is that how Christ would have done it? Why is the world getting so carried away? Because they’re listening to the words of those who are already carried away. Two thousand years and this is the extent of evolution. Don’t Fundamentalists have anything else better to do with their time than contradict their religion by spewing hate at others? Is this how Jesus would do things today? Wake up people, why don’t you try using your own eyes to see, rather than seeing through the eyes of madmen? Eric knew that there was no faith that was irrefutable. Eric could have verbally blasted them all, pointing out to them that just because they lived in the United States where Christianity was more prominent than any other religion in the nation, didn’t make it the True Religion. Having studied various faiths, Eric knew that it was Buddha that had in fact fasted for forty days and nights, six hundred years before Christ was ever tempted in the wilderness by the Devil. Who was copying whom? Hinduism was quite possibly five thousand years old, while Animism was possibly older than that. What audacity, Eric thought, to believe that just because you grew up having faith in the same thing that was strongly embraced by the masses made it the right thing to believe in. You are no longer a minority people—you are now the masses—how does it feel? You are no longer a peculiar people in the name of God; 75% of the United States thinks the same way you do; you’re no longer as special as you think you are. You hate, and you hide behind the name of God while you do it; that doesn’t make you special, that makes you sick. I know what sick is, because I am sick. I’’m bipolar; now what’s your excuse? Didn’t any of these folks ever stop to think that Christianity was as popular as it was because it was the one religion that was the easiest to get rich off of? No, of course not. And for years while Eric was attending the Upper Room of Pentecost, he believed in the same way exactly. But that was then, more than ten years ago. Eric no longer believed that way. So, when the conversations of the Baptists would kick into gear between tests, Eric would step outside to converse with the smokers.

Life is one big fucking hallucination, propagated by the proliferation of money and stupidity.

It would not have been the wisest thing to show the majority in the room where it was that Eric stood regarding belief-structures. It would have in fact endangered his chances of establishing gainful employment with Securitiese, despite the fact that there shouldn’t have been any discrimination concerning his personal faith. Eric knew, however, that life didn’t play that way. He knew from experience that as long as superiors believed that they had you under their thumb, they could afford to be nice to you. Once it was recognized that Eric was under the thumb of no one at all, that is when shit would hit the fan.

From experience this was known. It had already happened. It was for this reason that Eric was seeking employment.

His previous place of employment had also been a security firm. Sureguard Securities had hired Eric more than a year ago, and in theory, he was still an employee. But theory didn’t grant paychecks. It didn’t matter that Sureguard had promised to reassign Eric to a post and site as soon as one became available, because he had been waiting for almost a month for reassignment. His bills were not going to go away, and his wife Nicole was currently carrying the weight of both of them, and their eighteen-year-old son, on a teacher’s salary.

Sureguard had seemed like a good idea at the time. For almost a year, it seemed like the best job that Eric was ever privileged to have. Working a midnight to eight shift, Eric was able to work on his writing and his web- page during the quiet moments of his shift. Eric had gotten along marvelously with his supervisor Jesse Joshua—or Jay-jay to those that he considered friends, and often Eric entertained him and his wife Marla, during the weekends. Jay-jay came across as a pretty cool kid, and he shared his writing with Eric for his criticism. Both men were artists, and although Jay-jay was almost ten years younger, he seemed very intelligent for his age.

Its’s unfortunate that all good things must come to an end, and often times devastatingly so. Sureguard had known that Eric was bipolar; he had made no secret of that, as he prided himself in integrity. It was known that Eric took medication for his disorder, and as long as he did so, no one could tell that Eric had a mental disorder. Unfortunately with most people that suffer from the affliction, it is known that it doesn’t remain constant, and that it is always shifting, and sometimes it becomes necessary to alter medications from time to time. Additionally, it is unfortunate that no one knows what kind of effects these medications will have on people until after they have been in their system for awhile.

At the request of his psychiatrist, Eric was prescribed a medication known as Geodon. The medication was an anti-psychotic, and it would be used to replace three other medications that Eric had been taking for years, including Depakote, which was starting to have an adverse reaction on his liver. Dr.

Harris had not known at the time that introducing Geodon to Eric’s system would cause chronic fatigue. Neither did he know that such a reaction would occur at three a.m., while Eric was at work. At most jobs, such a reaction could have detrimental effects on a person and their position. For someone working security, a reaction of this nature made it impossible for a person to do his or her job effectively. This side-effect resulted in Eric’s doctor later prescribing Provigil, a drug often used by individuals suffering from narcolepsy. But before that secondary prescription, Eric had to call Jay-jay to come in and replace him. The call had been made at three-thirty a.m. Ordinarily, Eric would have felt a little uncomfortable calling his supervisor that early in the morning to relieve him of his duty. But he and Jay-jay were buds, and for this reason, Eric knew that his supervisor would understand. Jay-jay was well aware of the fact that Eric had a bipolar disorder and that he took medication for that disorder. He knew that there were sometimes side- effects to medicine taken. And he knew that Eric would not have called him unless it was absolutely necessary, especially at three in the morning. Jay- jay had told his friend that he saw him as an equal, not an inferior. Eric didn’t know that at that time talk was cheap and that Jay-jay was just blowing smoke up his ass. It was for that reason alone that things had gone as smoothly as they had for Eric. As long as he was doing everything to make his supervisor happy, everything would be just fine. No waves. No problems. Eric had made the mistake of letting his guard down and foolishly believed that he wasn’t under the thumb of his supervisor.

Jay-jay had not been understanding. Jay-jay had been mad as hell. Who did Eric think he was waking him up at that hour of the morning with the lame excuse that he wasn’t able to stay awake? Walk it off, man. Walk it off.

Eric had tried to walk it off. He could not, however, walk off a medicinal reaction. And after hearing the anger in his supervisor’s voice, Eric called his wife at home. He explained to her that he was fading fast. It was becoming difficult to focus his thoughts, and he didn’t know how long he would remain conscious. He had already hallucinated two large hairy spiders that had scuttled under his desk and were hiding in the corner, waiting.

It had been like something out of a dream when Nicole and her son Nathaniel had showed up at Eric’s post. His wife had called Jay-jay and told him that he better get his ass down there and relieve her husband because she was on her way to pick him up.

That had really made Jay-jay pissed. A woman telling him what to do. Eric was going to pay significantly for this little show.

Jay-jay increased Eric’s workload so that it outweighed his own and would continue to increase it even as it became apparent that so many hours were literally making the man physically sick. Eric would end up working more hours than any of the employees working at the site, and certainly more hours than his supervisor was willing to work. When Eric called in sick, Jay- jay had reprimanded him and told him that he was not allowed to take time off for anymore sick leave. Following that, Eric was forced to resign and contact the EEOC with a question of discrimination.

The EEOC had determined that Eric had a valid case and contacted Sureguard for the purpose of mediation. Sureguard would show up at the mediation in bad faith, making it clear to all parties involved that they had no intention of negotiating. Before the investigation that would follow, Sureguard would alter all documents pertaining to treatment and the hours that Eric had work. Their documents showed that they had offered the man another position at Levi Strauss, adding a dollar an hour more to his paycheck. But according to Sureguard, Eric had turned down the position, stating that it was too far for him to drive.

The documentation was challenged. Eric recalled no offer of another position. If he had been offered a position at Levi, he would have jumped at the opportunity. He wouldn’t have complained of the drive being too far, because he had worked at Levi as a vendor marker almost ten years prior to employment at Sureguard. Eric knew exactly how far the drive was from his house to Levi.

In the end, it was all a matter of money. Without a job, Eric couldn’t afford the proper representation. And after months of fighting with his previous employer, the mental duress became too much for Eric, and he simply gave up. To save face, Sureguard offered Eric another opportunity to work for them. Almost a month after Sureguard made the offer, Eric was filling out an application with Securitiese.

Now Eric Hawthorne was waiting to file his application for a state license as a security officer. In order to do this, Rhodes needed to ask Eric some questions concerning the last ten years of employment and residency. Before he could do that, Rhodes needed to finish up with the other applicants, primarily those that were the Southern Baptists.

Stick a fork in me. I’m done.

Training for the third day had begun promptly at eight. It was going on six when Rhodes finally met with Eric for the application regarding his state license.

Eric’s first observation upon entering the office of Mr. James Rhodes was that his computer screen glowed with the image of an application template. Aside from this his desk was immaculate. He sat in a comfortable, leatherback, swivel chair that squeaked when he moved. There was little courtesy in the way the younger man conducted himself. He didn’t ask Eric to have a seat because he just assumed that he would. There was a metal folding chair next to the young man’s desk. Eric assumed that it was for him. It was. Eric sat down in the folding chair while Rhodes squeaked in his swivel.

What were you doing before you worked for Making Memories?

Eric was almost caught off-guard by the man’s curtness. He quickly tried to remember what it was that he was doing for employment six years ago. Despite himself, the older man felt an unwanted sensation of intimidation, like he was suddenly expected to know the answer on a pop-quiz. He had no trouble recalling what he was doing a year ago, and the year before that. But after six years, things got a little fuzzy. If he’d been asked what his first job had been, he could have told the man that as well. However, getting all of the dates and locations in their proper order was a little trying. Sureguard had been the longest job that he ever had. Almost two years. Every other position that Eric held prior to that had been eleven months or less.

I was working for Levi Strauss, Eric said finally.

Eric started out with Levi as a vendor marker, working in a warehouse that was large enough to house more than eight hundred employees. He was responsible for the prepping of merchandise for shipping and receiving. And when the merchandise wasn't coming down the extensively protracted conveyor, Eric would work in the shipping department.

It did not start out this way. And this wasn’t in the job description. Not many of the employees there at Levi could brag about having two positions at one time. If Eric had his druthers, he wouldn’t have worked two positions at one time. However, because the man showed initiative in the beginning of his employment, the supervisors tried to see how much they could get out of him. They tried to get the work of two full-time people out of one full-time employee. And for a while, it worked. But Eric was only one man, and he couldn’t be in two places at once. After a few months, it was discovered that Eric couldn’t work in shipping and keep up his quota in vending. It was, therefore, determined that Eric would work in shipping only after he had made his quota in vending. In other words, Eric would work his ass off, and then work his ass off again.

Eric was made strong from the work that he did at Levi’s. For eight to ten hours, he would manipulate boxes that had a total stock weight of forty or fifty pounds—first moving the merchandise off the conveyor to be prepped, then moving the stock over to pallets, and finally, stacking the merchandise for shipping. Eric held this job for eleven months.

And what were you doing before Levi?

Eric had worked for Mountain Courier almost eight months. He delivered all kinds of wonderful things to various customers. His routes took him from the airport outside of town, to the Nuclear Plant in Russellville, and even had him going as far as a hospital in Mountain Home. Everything from a human organ to a wide-screen television. The latter decided that he should seek employment elsewhere. Looking back, Eric should have seen it coming—the laid-back manner of the owner and his twenty employees, the over-constant talks of beer and dope, signs of beer and dope on the site.

––––––––

He should have seen the writing on the wall.

Eric had twelve schedule stops one Thursday night in June. His last stop had him listed to arrive in Elvis at twelve-forty-five. At one-forty-five the owner of Cinema One was having a ‘canary’ because Eric was more than an hour late for his delivery. He was supposed to deliver two reels of the latest movie by Universal, Demon Knight. At a quarter of twelve, Eric ran into a problem with one of his customers.

When he had pulled up to the house with the Hi-Tech, wide-screen TV, his initial thought was, I thought that only doctors and engineers could afford a house like this.

The two-story house was an eclectic mix of Spanish Colonial, Craftsman, and Monterey. It was brown and cream and sported four structures, two on each side, front and back. Each structure had the appearance of individual towers with spires, and Eric suddenly saw a small castle under the moonlight. Eric knew that the house had a pool before he had seen it, and he wouldn’t’ have been surprised to find a tennis court as well. There was an electric-blue recreational speedboat by Champion lurking behind the tail of a black Grand Cherokee 4x4 in the driveway. Eric wondered briefly, Where is the Jag? The Jaguar, as it would turn out, was an XKR Cabriolet, and it sat in the garage next to the BMW Z8. The house also had access to a ridge-line trail system for hiking and horseback riding, leading to a network of pedestrian trails and scenic overlooks. Children in the neighborhood would no doubt attend the award-winning Riverview Unified School District.

Eric had felt strangely out of place as he rang the doorbell of the castle.  He felt even stranger when the owner of the house opened the door. The house belonged to a gentleman who couldn’t have been five years older than Eric. He had worn khaki shorts and a Polo shirt. He seemed anxious to have his Hi-Tech television delivered. He had waited two days for it and was about to bust. Eric had meant to be friendly, complimentary, and witty, when he said, "I thought that only doctors and engineers could afford a place

like this."

The man had looked at Eric suspiciously. "I am an engineer," he said defensively. The man would be even more shielding and suspicious when the large box that should have contained the television was finally opened.

There was no Hi-Tech, wide-screen TV.

Instead, in the box where the engineer’s pride should have been, there were twelve rocks. Each stone weighed in the neighborhood of two to three pounds.

Eric was horrified. He couldn’t quite read the face on the gentleman that had expected the wide-screen television, but he assumed that the man was as astonished as he was sorely pissed.

The next hour had passed like something out of a dream. Eric did all within his power to prove his innocence in the situation, and his boss had called him on his pager wanting to know why he was so damned late getting to Elvis.

Eric quit his position as a courier a week later.

Now, James Rhodes, tapping his keyboard proficiently, said, What were you doing in ’’97?

Eric was about to answer when he experienced the sensation of having a grain of salt lodged in his eye. In response to the sudden discomfort, Eric stuck his thumb in his left eye, pushed, twisted. His eye started to tear fiercely. And he began slowly shaking his head back and forth.

What seems to be the problem, Mr. Hawthorne? Rhodes sounded annoyed at this sudden activity that sprang up out of nowhere.

Oh, nothing, Eric growled to himself, rubbing at his eye. It really started to smart. It’s just my contact lens.

––––––––

I see, Rhodes said with a frown.

But he didn’t see. Not really. Nor did he care. He had no knowledge that Eric wore contacts. He didn’t know that the contact lenses were extended wear. He didn’t know that Eric was told that he could sleep in them up to three days before having to remove them for cleaning. And he didn’t now that Eric’s right eye produced more tears than his left. Rhodes had no idea that Eric’s wife, Nicole, had admonished him to remove his contacts before

retiring to bed every night, regardless of what the doctor said. Eric’s eyes weren’t like the eyes of most. They dried up. Quickly. Sometimes too quickly. And Eric was often times caught off-guard and hit without warning when the little buggers did so, causing significant discomfort to the eyes that they rested in. First the left. Then the right. It was like clockwork. Rhodes had no knowledge of any of this. Furthermore, he didn’t know that it was the long hours of sitting in the same room with the same climate that was responsible for drying the lens out or that by the time Eric was through here, he would have the slightest of scratches on his cornea. If he had known, he wouldn’t have cared about any of it, one way or the other. This little show was taking up his precious time.

It was professionalism not compassion that prompted Rhodes to say, Is there something that I can do to help?

Do you have a paper cup or something? Eric asked. He could feel his eye getting redder with each moment that passed.

How about a Kleenex?

Goddammit, man. Don’t you realize that a Kleenex will scratch the lens?

This is what Eric almost spewed on the nice minister. He refrained, however, from doing so. Instead, growling with pain, teeth clenched, he replied, A Kleenex will scratch the lens.

Eric’s nose started to run as Rhodes got up from his chair. The sigh of aggravation that refused to escape his lips was easily found in his stolid movement as he left his office. Eric no longer cared about the attitude of the minister; he was busy trying to pry his left lens free with thumb and forefinger. Eric felt as if the room had spun briefly before he was finally able to remove the damnable lens from his eye. Now his perspective was really screwed. He could see just fine with his right eye. But everything visually presented to his left eye was a blur.

The waxed cup echoed with the soft impact of its base hitting the surface of the minister’s desk as Rhodes placed it down in front of the partially blind man. Eric grabbed the cup and placed his lens in it. Rhodes sat back down in his chair. It squeaked as he did so.

What were you doing in ’’97? Rhodes asked perfunctory.

Could I have a Kleenex? Eric replied.

I thought you didn’t need one. This time Eric did hear the minister sigh.

It’s for my nose. My nose is—

Rhodes pulled open the bottom left drawer and quickly drew out a box of tissue paper. With his eyes on his computer, the minister handed the box to Eric.

What were you doing in ’’97?

Eric blew his nose with a resounding honk, and suddenly he couldn’t remember what he was doing in ’’97. Now you’ve gone and done it. You blew your brains right out of your nose.

Eric bit his lower lip slightly to hold back the bray of laughter. I don’t think that the minister will find that humorous. I wonder who kicked his cat. I wonder who stuck the corncob right up in his ass.

Eric almost lost it at that. He could feel himself starting to perspire as he forced back his joviality.

Okay enough. I’ve got to figure out what I was doing in ’’97. (’’97 ’’97 ’’97 ’’97......)

And then, as his mind was periodically subject to do while he was trying to focus extensively on something—wracking his brain, the little people in the sweatshop of his mind decided to play a trick on him. And so, a vision rose up and came into play from out of the blue. And suddenly, Rhodes was different. He was still the same minister and coordinator sitting in a squeaky chair. But now he was wearing different attire. Where his cream colored suit had been, there was now the deep blue uniform of Napoleon. This would have been bad enough, except for the simple fact that Napoleon wasn’t wearing his hat. Instead the little people in the sweatshop had replaced the hat that he had previously wore so proudly, and now Napoleon wore a tin bucket. Eric saw the minister actually bite into the bucket’s thin handle as it came down around his head and under his upper lip.

Get a grip, man. Get a grip.

Somewhere in the midst of twisted hilarity Eric found the strength to say, Parts Warehouse. I was working for the Parts Warehouse, in ’’97.

Which parts warehouse?

‘the Parts Warehouse. That’s what it was called. They’re out of business now, couldn’t afford proper air-conditioning to work in."

Rhodes typed the information into his computer. He said, What were you doing in ’’96?

Eric knew that answer to that. "I was working for Arkansas RV sales and

service." Two years after graduating from the Light House Computer Jobs Training

course and Eric was hired as parts representative/parts runner, and sometimes acolyte for the apprentice-technicians ARV. The Light House was a homeless shelter that offered, among other things, the opportunity to learn computer skills for office work. And although Eric had learned software and computer skills in the eight months of attending the Light House, he hardly utilized any of those skills at his job with ARV. He would have like to, but his job didn’t call for it. It didn’t matter that Eric had the knowledge to utilize such skills. The fact was that he had also been previously homeless like many other good, deserving, and chronically unfortunate people of the early 1990 . And because of that homelessness situation, when it came to filling out applications and holding his own through the inevitable flesh-flaying ceremonies known as interviews, Eric’s work history showed two things that were somehow always misinterpreted by potential employers: Eric has traveled a lot in the past 8 years; Eric hasn’t held a job ANYWHERE for more than a year!

The red flag waved. And so it was that Eric was lucky to be working as a parts representative/parts runner, and sometimes acolyte for the apprentice- technicians for ARV. Why? Because (the world sucks?) after a month of looking for work, it was the only place available at that time that would hire him. Ten months later after almost popping the technician’s manager in the mouth, Eric terminated his position with Arkansas RV.

What were you doing in ’’95?

After graduating from the Light House Computer Jobs Training course, Eric took a job as a caregiver. It was again probably one of the best positions that Eric had held. It was certainly the most interesting, and in most cases the most rewarding. Eric saw to the needs of a quadriplegic gentleman Burt Conway, who was a published writer and the cousin of a woman that wrote sitcoms for a living. Lisa Bloodmoore Thomas had written extensively for television, and her work included, but was not limited to, The Mash the 4077. Her success made it possible to take care of her cousin in a comfortable manner, allowing him to live in a lavish condominium off Riverfront Drive. Her wealth allowed for her to pay the rent and see to all of her cousin’s needs without ever having to see to him. She did see him of course: once on Christmas, and again on Conway’s birthday. That is, of course, when her hectic schedule allowed it. Eric had spoken to her briefly on the telephone, and she seemed like a wonderful person. He knew it was easy to be wonderful when you were rich.

Now if you need anything, Eric, don’t hesitate to call me.

How about putting in a good word for me in Hollywood? Did I tell you that I could act?

Words pointless. Never spoken. Lisa had never known that Eric had been homeless previous to his employment. She had never known that he was an aspiring writer. Neither did Lisa know that Eric turned down the opportunity for a screen-test when he was thirteen—and boy could he act! No. None of these things were said because they were moot and had nothing to with how well Conway was being taken care of. For eight months, Eric’s life took a secondary seat to a man who had been paralyzed for more than thirty years. Duties included, but were not limited to, bathing the man and cleaning him and his bed when he soiled it. In return, Eric made eight hundred dollars a month and had absolutely no expenses to pay. When Eric started seeing Nicole on a regular basis, it was determined by Conway that the young man’s services were no longer needed.

Rhodes said, "Well, Mr. Hawthorne, I believe we are through. I have just a few things to say

before I give you your assignment."

Eric leaned in, focusing on the man with his good eye, his other clamped shut.

I don’t like you, Mr. Hawthorne, the minister said flatly. I don’t know what it is about you, but I’ve always been a man to trust my gut, and my gut says that you’re a bad egg.

Eric looked flabbergasted for half a second, then recovered his composure briskly. I’m not sure that I understand.

I think that you do. Furthermore, I think that you’re smarter than you want us all to believe. All those questions in class about the law, one would think that you were a lawyer instead of a security guard.

Eric had asked, if someone were trying to steal a pickle from a store, was it a felony or a misdemeanor? Along with that, he had asked if someone were caught taking money out of a payphone, if it were a felony or misdemeanor? He had wanted to know what he could put a person under arrest for. He had said, I want to know what a person can get away with.

Perhaps his sentence had been structured poorly. Perhaps it should have been structured better.

I think that the security officers should be familiar with misdemeanors and felonies.

Indeed they should, Rhodes said almost agreeably. Interesting that none of the other applicants asked any questions remotely similar to your own.

Eric frowned. I can’t determine what people are going to say, sir. I can only determine what I am going to say. And I really don’t think that I like the direction that this is going.

You can quit now and save us all a lot of time and money, Mr. Hawthorne, Rhodes said with a smile.

"Excuse me, but do you treat all of your applicants this way? Because if you do, I think your superiors should know about it."

Don’’ threaten me, Mr. Hawthorne. I have been with this company more than ten years. It’s the first and last position that I ever intend to have. Unlike you, I have stayed with a company and climbed that company’s ladder, with loyalty, while you have obviously skated through your entire life answering only to yourself.

"Congratulations. I believe that this conversation is over. I’m (dealing with an idiot?) going to get my assignment from someone else, as you evidently don’’ seem to know where it is."

If you mention this conversation to anyone, I will deny your words, and as a practicing minister, the company will believe me before they believe you.

If you keep this up, we’re liable to find out just how quickly too.

I know about your suit against Sureguard. I’m well aware of the fact that you know your rights. Now I will tell you something that you don’’ know: You are out of your league if you think that you can take this company down, for any reason.

"Not the company; just you, you psycho. "

"We aren’t nationwide. We are worldwide."

What do you want from me? Eric asked incredulously. How did he

always manage to find the crackpots?  Do you believe in God, Mr. Hawthorne?

Eric felt like he had suddenly sidestepped into the Twilight Zone. Once again. What did his belief in a higher power, or lack thereof, have to do with anything?!

A moment of silence too long and Rhodes pushed on. "Your hesitation is all I needed. You are obviously not a Christian, Mr. Hawthorne, if you even believe in God. And people that don’t believe in God are bad eggs."

Sanctimonious prick. How did he always find the crackpots? Was it his lot in life? he wondered. "Mr. Rhodes, I would like to leave now, with my assignment, if you don’t

mind."

Would you now?

Prrriiiiiiiiiicckkk!

Very well, Mr. Hawthorne. I think the sooner that we are out of each other’s hair, the better.

Send the psycho to the head of the class!

Rhodes reached into a large file drawer to his right. After thumbing through the alphabetized color-coded folders, the minister removed one that had Landers Chrysler stamped on it. He dropped the folder on his desk. Opened it.

You will go to the Landers Chrysler on Landers Road.

In Sherwood? Eric said, stifling a feeling of hope. Sherwood was less than a ten-minute drive from where he lived. It would be a breeze commuting back and forth to work.

No. In Benton. On the other hand, Benton was a forty-five minute drive. It figured. ‘there you will see Mathew Barringer, and he will see to your assignment

on the site. Questions? What time do I need to be at the site? Eric asked pointedly. You will arrive before eight o’’clock a.m. Do not be late. You will work

until eight p.m., or until somebody relieves you. Questions? Not anymore. Good. I will be keeping my eye on you, Mr. Hawthorne. You can bet

your bottom dollar on that. And I will be watching you very closely. Do I make myself clear?"

Are you a megalomaniac-inbred moron?

Yes, Eric answered.

I believe that he is.

Good. Off you go then.

I used to walk the straight and narrow line I used to think that everything was fine Sometimes I’’d sit and gaze for days through sleepless dreams All alone and trapped in time......

Styx Crystal Ball

23

Sanctimonious prick—

2

Eric left Plaza One and the Palafox main office and stepped out into the evening heat of West Little Rock. The sound of traffic buzzed by a hundred yards away on Center Street, traveling east toward the highway and west toward Markham. The large parking lot of Plaza One was almost entirely empty. A couple of cars and trucks were all that was left, belonging to those that still remained in the ten-story building. Out in front of the Plaza One’s north side, a blue Ford Taurus pulled up to the nearby ATM to make a transaction. Eric’s acknowledgement was cursory. A stone’s throw from the ATM, Eric’s white Toyota Celica sat alone. There were no cars parked within five hundred feet of it, and it looked lonely to its owner. Looks like you missed the Vehicular Rapture, ol’’ buddy, Eric mused with a half smile. He walked the fifty yards from the entrance of the Plaza One building with tired deliberation. A wasp buzzed Eric’s head, causing him to flinch reflexively. A surge of adrenaline complimented his swift response. He had a slight allergic reaction to those little bastards. And a sting could linger for hours.

Eric recalled a time that he was working for Burt Conway. The morning paper hadn’t come, and Eric needed to find one for the quadriplegic gentleman that was his boss and friend. The condominiums had a nearby news vendor, so a paper could be acquired from one of them just fine. After placing two quarters in the slot and pulling up the vendor’s weighty front-enclosure, a wasp stung Eric. The insect had taken up short residency in a cool resting spot between papers. Eric had reached in with his right hand and was stung on the middle finger. He recoiled, while reflexively he grabbed the paper with his other hand. The vendor was shaken from the young man’s activity. Eric had a grip on the paper that he pulled free, even as the vendor’s enclosure slammed back down heavily. The wasp had flown free of its rest and was highly pissed off. Eric was stung again, this time on the left shoulder, before he managed to hit the insect with the paper. Bringing it to the ground, Eric stepped on the dying wasp furiously, grinding it into oblivion with a twisting

24

of his foot. Then recovering his composure the young man returned to Conway’s condo. He had tried everything, including a dampened cigarette filter, as a household remedy against the wasp stings. He was still feeling their painful bite five hours later.

Oh, how he hated the little bastards.

Avoiding the wasp, Eric managed to get to his car and climb behind the wheel.

Leaving the drive of Plaza One, Eric steered his Celica onto Center Street, heading east. Crossing Rodney Parham, Eric got on I-40 heading north.

As he took the corner that climbed onto the entrance ramp, he turned on his cd player, and Electric Light Orchestra’s Strange Magic greeted him.

He climbed onto the highway that was I-40 and joined the race of traffic heading north. It didn’t take long for him to start thinking again about his past and especially the things that James Rhodes had reminded him of.

Sanctimonious prick, sanctimonious prick, sanctimonious—

Mr. Rhodes was a minister that had asked Eric about his work history. So naturally Eric thought about the ministry of doctrine and the work that he did while attending church. Both were so closely knitted together.

Eric’s work history began at the age of sixteen. A small establishment of Sears and Roebuck in Soldotna, Alaska, hired him. Three weeks prior to submitting his application for hire, Eric was helping paint the windows with his Advanced Art Class, per request of Sears, for the upcoming Christmas holiday. While working on the project, the high school students had heard Eric say, I feel sorry for the poor soul that has to clean these windows...... Everyone agreed that it would be a chore. It would require a razor, the right kind of cleanser, and it would be arduous and tedious at best. It would take several hours and a hell of a lot of wrist and elbow grease after all was said and done. That poor soul would have to be as meticulous with a razor as he had been with a paintbrush, making sure to get every single flake prior to cleaning, or the windows would look like hell all through the year. Eric appreciated the irony that the one to have painted the windows was also the one that cleaned them. My life could be a sitcom at times.

As it turned out, Sears had only needed Eric through the Christmas season, through the rush, and he was immediately laid-off just after New Year’s.

That same year Eric was forced from his home by a mother with an alcohol addiction. She had ordered him to get his Satan-worshipping ass out of her house. Eric’s mother had confused the fact that he had been going to a God- loving church known as the Upper Room of Pentecost.

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––––––––

Following Sears, Eric took up