The Tree of Knowledge

As soon as Marcos is gone, the man cuffs my hands behind my back.

It’s only now that I seem to remember how cold I am. My teeth chatter as I shiver in my clothes soaked with melted snow and blood. The man eyes me.

“We’ll stop at a motel tonight.” He promises. “I’ll get you a hot meal and some dry clothes. And you could really use a bath.”

I want to punch him for saying that and I’m not even sure why.

“What’s the date?” I ask him. I lost track at some point…

I’m not sure when I stopped counting. But I think I know why. I think I let Jace be dead, and moved on. I was making a new life for myself.

Now that I’m being dragged back to my old life, the countdown seems important again. Can I see him again? Is he dead already?

“It’s Thursday December the fifth.” The man says.

Jace will be executed in two days.

And now so will I.

Maybe they’ll stone us together.

Like Art and Nolan.

We walk for half an hour before coming to some bushes. Within them the man has hidden a black dirt bike. He instructs me to get on the back. Behind my seat, there are handle bars mounted to the back, so I can hang on while still handcuffed.

How goddam convenient.

The bike roars down the road towards the front gate, cutting a black streak through the snow. Just before the entrance, we pass Carlsbad Cavern. The crazy cannibal people are there, watching us pass. On the side of the road, I spy one TARDIS blue bicycle handle poking out of the snow.

The guards let us through the gate without hesitation. They gape at one another in amazement.

“You actually found her? That’s really her?” one of them asks.

“The one and only Kit Williams.” The man responds.

“You were in there a whole month.” The guard says to me. “How did you not get eaten?”

“Jesus must love me.” I answer him.

From the gate we ride to a waiting pick up truck. The man has me wait in the cab while he lowers down a ramp and loads the bike into the truck bed.

I think about running. I think I could open the car door behind my back. But then what? There’s nothing but desert stretching out around me. He’ll probably shoot me in the back, if I don’t trip and break my neck first.

And if I got away, then what? I have no gun and no money this time. No gear. And my hands are cuffed behind my back. If I run back to my cavern, he’ll just come right back there and get me. And this time it might be Bonita that dies for me. Or Marcos. He might find The Temple of the Unnamable Gods.

I can never go back there. I’ll put them all in danger if I do.

So there’s really no chance of running. Hell, with my hands behind my back, I’m not sure I could even climb out of the cab without falling down.

The man gets in the truck and starts the engine.

The sun is setting now. In the distance, I see the bats flying across the desert. Out of their caverns. Out of my cavern.

“By the way,” the man says, “My name is-”

“I don’t give a good goddam what your name is.”

The rest of the drives passes in silence.

We stop at a run down motel in Carlsbad. The man makes a point to get a receipt from the front desk clerk “for expenses.”

Penny pinching mother fucker.

The guy and the front desk’s eyes bug out when he sees the blood all over me, but he doesn’t say anything.

The man handcuffs me to the bedpost while he goes out for food and clothes.

I will absolutely not admit how good it feels to lay on a real bed.

He returns with a shapeless Wal-Mart dress, a head scarf, and Chinese take out.

Gun drawn, uncuffing me, he says I’m not getting dinner until I take a shower.

Under no circumstances will I admit to how incredibly luxurious the hot water feels on my skin, and what a difference it is to really be clean.

Nor will I admit that the orange chicken and fried rice tastes like the very best thing I’ve ever eaten.

The man makes a second attempt at conversation over dinner.

“I talked to your husband. He was happy to hear you’ll be home tomorrow.”

“Shut the ever loving fuck up.”

I though I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I pass out almost immediately. Must be the mattress.

I dream about Jace. We’re sitting in the pomegranate tree, holding hands. He hand feeds me the seeds, one at a time.

“Now you will be like God,” he tells me, “Knowing good and evil.”

I wake in the morning to the shrill sound of the phone ringing.

Our wake up call.

It’s time to go home.

Today is Friday, December the sixth, and tomorrow, Jace and I are going to die.

It’s an eight hour drive back to Carrolton. I sit in the passenger seat, my knees hugged to my chest.

About an hour in, the man tries one last time to make conversation.

“Look,” he says, “You have to understand that I had to shoot him. He didn’t give me another choice. It was practically self defense-”

This is the part where the yoga pays off.

I twist my body to the left, hook my long right leg, and kick the man in the face.

He pulls over, swearing, blood gushing from his nose. He gets out of the truck and slams the door behind him.

More yelling. More swearing. Much kicking of the dust.

I sit and wait patiently for him to get back in the truck.

When he calms down, he comes around to my side of the cab and binds my ankles with a piece of bungee cord.

We set off on the road.

Seven hours to go.

The man killed Billy does not try to talk to me again.

I use the quiet time to pray.

Are you there God? It’s me, Kit.

And I’ve got something to say to you.

I want you to know that you are one sick son of a bitch.

And I won’t ask for your forgiveness.

I’ve been trying so hard to be sorry for what I did but I can’t manage it. And you want to know why? It’s because I didn’t do anything wrong.

Oh sure, I broke your precious rules. But since when did you get to decided what was right and what was wrong? Who put you in charge anyway? I didn’t fucking vote for you.

Have you considered the possibility that it’s your rules that are wrong? That maybe humanity possesses a fundamental understanding of what is right, and your bull shit book doesn’t make the cut?

So here’s some suggestions for you.

Helpful hints, if you will, since you seem to lack for a moral compass.

Slavery is wrong.

Rape is wrong.

Giving a man absolute power over his wife is wrong.

Banishing someone to the desert to get eaten alive by cannibals because they ate a steak rare is wrong.

Come on God, really. Any idiot child knows this stuff.

You created these laws that are unjust and cruel, and then you demanded we worship you. That we even love you.

You’re not an easy man to love.

You tell us to worship you, and follow your rules, or burn in Hell for all eternity.

You’re just an over glorified tyrant, aren’t you?

Well I refuse to bow to tyranny.

You ask me to love you.

But my love is precious and beautiful and I can give it to whoever I want.

No matter what your book says.

And it will not be wasted on you.

I would rather go to Hell than love you.