THE SOJOURNER PART 3

The stage is in total darkness, some members of the audience are straining to see what is going on; others adopt a when-they-are-through-we-will-see-what-is-up attitude. The cyborg and the little boy appear in the midst of this. Only a few persons spot them. Then suddenly, with a blinding flash, the spotlight comes on, followed by strobes.

Boy and borg take a low bow, or something that is supposed to be that. It is obvious the boy is not used to such expressions of refinement; as for the borg, well, it could not do much better than the stiff, lopsided, bending from the waist that tilted its torso at an awkward angle. Some people could not hold back the laughter. The two characters appear embarrassed…

The borg recovers first.
“We will get right to it. This is the day that birthed ‘this’…” a sweeping gesture with a metallic arm completed the statement. “Here is the fourth instalment; it is for all of you–from him.” It pointed to a shadowy figure backstage with a flourish. “Do that which feels good to you with it. Arrivederci!”
It pulled the boy after it and leaves.

The boy’s voice is heard, “Hey, you did not tell them about the surprise!”
CURTAINS

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It was hellish. Only the first day of the weekend and already emergency services was stretched to its limit. There had been two fire outbreaks, at Meadow Lane and Prospect Street—two opposing ends of town; three break-ins and a domestic violence turned fatal. Someone had quipped that it was not even the 13th. Maybe F. Krueger would have made an appearance. And it was only ten minutes past the tenth post meridiem hour. Now this! The Chief shook his head, both sad and frustrated. It was gonna be a long night. He had to call the missus and tell her the next morning's cook-out had been shot to pieces.

Champlain is a small, sleepy, border town with a population of under ten thousand, the average age of which is forty and nine out of every ten persons are male. Hacked into two unequal parts by Interstate 87, its closest neighbours are Grand Isle County, Vermont on the eastern edge and Saint-Bernard-de-Lacolle, Quebec, to the north. Most of its inhabitants have lived there for years and over ninety five percent of them are white. Hence, any dark skinned person would easily stand out, especially one who taught in the nearby University of Vermont.

A likeable fellow, he and his wife had grown to be an integral part of the fabric of Clinton County, the larger community to which the town belonged. He had even served for one term on the High School Board. That was before there was an unsubstantiated rumour about misconduct involving a kid. Even though the boy had insisted he was not making things up, it was difficult to believe him. He had always been problematic. The man had resigned and lived without much of social interaction since then. Now here they were fishing for both man and wife in the lake. Chief Bajer shook his head again. This time he was not sure why. He hoped it was not becoming a habit.

Preliminary scene of incident investigations had given them a rough idea of what transpired in the moments before the accident. Another vehicle, a heavy one from the tyre threads, coming from the opposite direction had been on a collision course with the smaller one. The sedan had apparently veered off the road and plunged into the water below. The other vehicle was long gone.

When the car, by virtue of propulsion, defied the law of gravity, the world stood still. The expression on Claire’s face was one of horrified incredulity and a refusal to accept that their car—with them in it—was suddenly in-flight. He looked from her to himself—no seatbelt, he had been too worked up to remember to put it on. Then, all at once, motion was restored to the world. It began with a crawl that in atto moments metamorphosed into a horrendous speed that seemed to be more than that of subway trains. As the lights bounced off the water rushing up to meet them, he thought of the brakes.

The forces generated in a 30m/h accident can increase a vehicle occupant’s body weight to that of an elephant. This can be fatal for those not restrained by seat belts as they become projectiles. It is the reason 75% of those ejected from automobiles, in accidents, die. Imagine that scenario multiplied by two. When the sedan hit the water with the boom of a detonation in an enclosed space, he hurtled through the wind-shield into the surrounding nothingness.

They pulled out the woman from the passenger side. She was still strapped in. The driver could not be found. The Chief placed a call. He and the person at the other end of the line went back and forth for a few minutes. When he hung up, the look on his face was that of a man about to have an apoplectic fit. He let loose a stream of cuss words. Little wonder the country was going to the dogs, people had to be begged to do their duty.

About half an hour later, the wailing of a siren heralded the arrival of help. Chief Bajer had decided that a team of divers needed to go down and search for the man. Since he didn't have any, he had asked for some. Only by applying pressure on some balls was he able to get what he wanted.

Two hours later, they were still searching. The objective was no longer finding him alive. It had shifted, without anything being said, to recovering his body. So far they had had as much luck as a one-eyed osprey trying to catch a fish swimming solo downstream.

A cop who had walked some distance from the scene to smoke saw something. He went to investigate. It was a head. A human head! The rest of the body was submerged save the hands that clung to a log of wood for dear life and the head that remained above water. From its sockets stared, crazed, unseeing eyes!