PRL Serials

Something is amiss. 

The Alia tilts her head away from the sunlight, then grabs the handles of the chair where she sits to turn it around. The metal legs screech against the wooden patio in the back of the house that Alia now calls home. It’s a beautiful home in an affluent cul-de-sac, and Alia has been a butcher at the local grocery store for much of the time that she has lived with the family. She got the job as haphazardly as she had made her way to the area and decided to stay. She was in the store with her mother deciding on pork chops for her first official Sunday lunch with them and the man behind the counter looked at her with glazed-over eyes and a dumb smile, but he spoke with enthusiasm as he hacked at the side of meat with a cleaver. “It’s not a hard job at all, and it’s the best paid in the store, you’d be perfect.” Alia graciously accepted, but a part of her was unnerved by the rigidity of the man as he hacked and tiny splatters of blood jumped onto his white apron. 

The job keeps her from the sun gazing, and on this Sunday she is turning away from the rays of the sun so that she can’t look directly at them. Despite the rejection of her preternatural ability, she can sense that something is not right.

It’s the man sharing the table with her and her family. He is her age, early twenties, but he dresses like he has held a serious job with a business for long enough to justify a full wardrobe. He has a nice watch, fills out his button-down shirt well, and he looks comfortable and casual. 

Business associate of her new father, she has no reason to doubt that, only her new father is an accountant for the state, and government employees do not dress as expensively as this man does. His hair is dense and black in a tight afro on his head and he wears an earpiece that stands out against his skin tone that is almost an orange brown. When he smiles, his teeth show white in stark contrast as well, and it would be disturbing if the man was not so attractive. His eyes are almost slits underneath his bushy eyebrows when he smiles and his cheeks are big like shiny orange marshmallows. Alia hates that she enjoys looking at him. He unsettles her and she is sure that he is the source of her discomfort.

“So, I am happy to share what seems to be an honored tradition of your family,” the man says. “Happy especially to make the acquaintance of this, your oldest daughter, who is as beautiful as you described Mr. Jameson. I understand why you have kept her hidden from the world for so long.”

Her father smiles. “She just came back to us, Selassie, and we are all lucky for it.”

The family says that a lot, that they are happy to have her back, but the first she had met the family was a couple months ago now on the campus of Fayetteville State University. Alia has generally enjoyed her stay with the family and she has just gone along with it. But the arrival of Selassie on this Sunday has only upset her. She hates to hear that the man is apparently here to ogle her at her new father’s request and she glares at them across the table. 

They all sit at a metal table outside on the patio; her new parents, siblings, and the man Selassie. Her mother sits next to her and she seems to notice the young woman’s annoyance. She grabs Alia’s hand in both of her own and she stares quietly at her husband. When they make eye contact, they share a tense look and then the father clears his throat.

“But it’s good that you are here so that we can discuss your new business. Maybe you can talk me away from my job.”

Selassie stares at Alia but tears his attentions away. “Yes, the business.”

They both stood and Alia’s father led Selassie to the outdoor refrigerator for more beer. 

“Why is he here?” Alia asks her mother, never taking her eyes from the chair Selassie had occupied.

“Like your father said,” the woman stumbles over her words nervously, “He wants to open a new company and hopes your father can work for him.”

Alia nods and stands. “I’m going to get overtime at work then.” She walks away before her mother can respond.

The woman calls after her, “It’s rude to leave a party for no good reason, Alia, even if there is only one guest. Who knows what bad luck you’ll stir up?”

Alia stops to face her. 

“Say what you want to say.” Alia does not like the feel of the day at all. Even the aura around the home seems hostile, almost angry with her.

“I said my peace. You do what you feel is best, and I will make apologies to our guest.” The woman stands to join the men at the refrigerator and the two teenagers leave the table as well, never making eye contact with Alia.

This is a strange feeling, the entire family upset with her all at once. And maybe she is overreacting, but she feels everything rejecting her and repelling her from the beautiful backyard with the elevated patio that overlooks a pool, all surrounded by a wooden fence. It is the first time she feels unworthy of it all, and as she reaches the bottom step, Alia stops to assess the current hostilities. 

Had they really become upset with her because she finds the man Selassie off putting? Were they hoping for a romance between the two of them, or was there something important about him that she wasn’t aware of?

Alia looks back in the direction of the family and she is surprised to see the big, glowing orb of red energy that surrounds them, but she is truly startled when she notices Selassie grinning at her with his stark white eyes. And she swears she sees his body grow, and his orange brown skin expands like elastic until he is taller than the three story house. The family doesn’t seem to notice, only Alia. She stumbles to the gate of the backyard and she hears Selassie chuckle. She runs to the sidewalk in front of the home and turns, expecting to see Selassie towering over the house, but there is nothing and Alia assumes that she has overreacted. 

At the grocery store, Alia is in the back at her locker, changing into her uniform; the long white apron, the cobweb-like hairnet, and the shirt that has small stains of blood that persist despite the many washings her mother has done, and she hums along to the song that plays over the speakers of the store. When she is done, she goes to the freezer in the back where huge sides of animals hang from hooks, and she squats next to a hollowed out pig, then leans a shoulder into it. She lifts it off of the hook and carries it carefully to a table with sufficient space to dismember the body. 

In the twenty-some years of Alia’s life, she’s never really had a job, but she does seem to be made for her current occupation. She is stronger than she looks, maybe because of the way she chose to pass the time when she was institutionalized and stuck inside her room; she often tested her endurance, balancing things on her limbs or standing on one leg, then the other. The cumulative effect of decades of those types of things was that Alia developed a body with a strong core and stabilizer muscles that came in handy for lifting and dismembering animal carcasses. 

She goes to work on the pig, taking advantage of the rigidity of the frozen meat to hack through it with a cleaver. She often gets lost in this work. It doesn’t bother her at all to handle the dead animal carcasses, she is appreciative that she gets to be more hands on with the food she eats than at any other time in her life. It makes sense that if she is going to eat animals, she should learn to butcher their bodies, and she shows a detachment that even her coworkers are unable to display at times. The man who gave her the job always expressed his gratitude that the animal arrived to the store already drained of blood and gutted, and it made Alia wonder what the job of the person who processes the animals before she gets them is like. 

She cuts and packs chops and slabs of ribs, feet, hocks, butts, shoulders; one carcass after another. Until her cleaver stops mid-air and her hand struggles against some unknown force that is keeping it above her head, like someone suddenly grabbed her wrist. When she looks up at it, her hand is covered in a red glow that she cannot break free from.

“The Red Father lent me some of his gifts,” Alia hears Selassie say from across the empty room and her head turns like a whip in his direction. 

He approaches Alia. “Not that I need them. I’ve had you so good for a while now. The Jamesons made you so happy, I was sure that I had you.”

Alia’s body is still aside from the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes steadily in and out, and her mind is clear so that she can maintain control of herself. 

“But you feel it don’t you? You know me? You look just like her. You’re not her, though, are you?” 

Selassie lifts a hand and his hold on Alia’s hand disappears. She backs up to the closest wall and stares at him. 

“I was stupid, I just had to see you. Had to see this. You know that we are making history. The Red Father and his crew, we managed something that has only ever been detailed in books no one will ever read. We are legend made real. And Red has his sights on you. He is coming for you Alia. But if you are mine, then we can rule together and Red will just have to live with it.”

Nothing Selassie says makes any sense and the Alia stays quiet, watching the man, trying to enter his mind the way she knows how, but Selassie is no normal man. His mind is a rush of red winds, like a tornado. 

“You tickle,” Selassie says and he stands close to Alia, runs fingers along her cheek. He flicks two fingers and the cleaver flies from her hand and thuds into a wall.