XI – WILLY

Repent!

You may not believe me, but I’m a different man now. In the old days I was mean, I was evil – a merciless lackey always ready to perform every devious task Mr. Raines told me to. However, like it always happens to every man of good judgment, repent came to me. I, my fellow reader, saw the light. It touched me. It saved me.

I still remember those odd months at The Centre, when Mr. Raines suddenly turned into the town’s Sheppard, and I feel kind of awkward that I’m acting the exact same way now. With one exception: unlike Mr. Raines, I am the best singer at my choir. (He invited me to one of his concerts once and if it wasn't for the fact that he was my boss and I had to take orders from him, I would have pierced my eardrums right then.)

Of course I had to beat everybody up to get to the top, but when it comes to pleasing God, I don’t joke around. The Lord acts in mysterious ways and I’m just a pawn in His game.

Back to Mr. Raines (but just for a little while; this is supposed to be my story after all), his sudden revelation was not as sudden as some people actually believed – those henceforward referred as idiots! – but a well thought up plan to make The Triumvirate believe that he was a good guy. I, on the other hand, am not faking my feelings, my beliefs. I HAVE been touched by the light. Or, at least, blinded by it.

It happened on the fifteenth day after the shutting down of The Centre. The preceding two weeks had been spent in the pursuit of a job. Unfortunately, it was too fast for me and I lost track of it. (Just a lame joke, sorry.) Two weeks and so far I got nothing.

Although, I have to admit, being an ex-criminal who died of a heart attack while serving life at a maximum security prison a few days before joining The Centre can be an obstacle hard to get by. Not the kind of thing you would see on a normal resumé, but not the most odd either.

At the time I had not yet found my faith, my salvation; I was just a presumed dead man, with no job, no money, no papers, living inside an abandoned car. (To tell you the truth, the owner was still inside the trunk, but unless he came back from the dead, the chances of him claiming his vehicle as stolen were practically none.) A man can lose his hope of a better life if fate doesn’t show up from time to time with a good announcement. Often it comes in the form of an angel. In my case, it came in the form of a fat police officer.

As soon as it began to happen, I tried to establish a parallel between that moment and something already reported on sacred texts. There wasn’t. Even better. It would make this moment even more special.

The fat officer pointed his flashlight at me and knocked on the window glass with his baton.

(Let me just say this before I proceed, I'm not using the term fatwith the purpose of offend or diminish his abilities; it’s just to distinguish this officer from any other officers that might come along during this story.)

Back to the fat officer, he asked me for my documents. I handed them over. No sweat. He studied my driver's license. It was fake, but it looked legit. Then, he asked me to exit the car. I did as he asked and as soon as I was out he hit me in the gut with his baton.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Shut up! I remember you… Willy.”

He knows my name? But how? Who the hell is this guy? Probably some guard at the prison I was being held. Yeah, that’s got to be it. I’ll ask him.

But before I had a chance, he said, “You always stole my lunch. Now it’s payback time.”

Lunch? Is it possible? Could it really be…?

“Fat Frankie? Is that you?”

“Don’t call me that! I hate it when people call me that!”

“But you ARE fat and your name IS Frank.”

“Yes, not Frankie.”

“So that’s it? You don’t like being called—”

“No, I don’t. And if you say it again I will put a bullet through your head.”

I had to laugh. “You don’t have the guts to do that.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“I guess YOU can, right?”

“I know I can.”

“Prove it.” He drew his gun and handed it over. “Shoot me. If you think you’re—”

BANG!

“See? What did I tell you? Who’s the man?”

No answer. Some people just can’t admit to anything.

It was then that I experienced my unexpected moment of revelation. I had killed a person and I felt bad about it. (Is this what they call regrets?) How do I know this? Well, for starters, I’m using the term person instead of something. And finally, let’s see… there’s not really much else to tell.

Anyway, after experiencing these feelings, I did what any normal person would do on a situation like this: I went to the nearest drugstore to buy some regret medicine. Then I found out that it Cox was working there and decided to go to the second nearest drugstore.

I quickly discovered that there was no such as regret medicine, so I decided to take another course of action. I went to my brother’s house and asked for guidance. He was shocked to see me (Apparently I had forgotten to tell him about my fake death. Ups!) but after some talking he took me under his wing and I joined his band as a back singer.

My brother is the best piano player I’ve ever met. In fact, my brother is the only piano player I’ve ever met. So maybe he’s not the best. Maybe he’s just good.

Standard.

Tolerable.

Alright, he sucks.

He is so untalented. No match for my voicing skills.

And I soon got tired of being at the back.

I’m a spotlight man. I belong at the front.

So I said goodbye. I thanked him for his help and joined a gospel choir. My brother may be a crappy piano player but he guided me through some rough times. Yes. He showed me a purpose and that purpose is to sing. Sing! Sing!

I’m ready to go on my own now. I’m ready to spread the word, to bring repent and guidance to those who sin. I am a singing avenging angel with a flaming sword to bring judgment upon the unfaithful ones.

Repent, all you sinners!

Repent!

Or I will kick your ass.

Message received, Willy.

Good.

THE END