Fire in the Snow

Now that woman was standing in his bathroom, naked under a stream of hot water.

Martin turned away from the window, trying to shake the image out of his head. The feel of Risha's cold, bare breasts on his chest flickered in his memory. He remembered the wet fire of her mouth. Her touch dropped all the blood out of his head and straight into a curled-up ball of animal need.

"Grow up, goddammit," Martin muttered to himself, shaking his head again. He'd been with dozens of women, including some of the most beautiful bodies in the DMV-area. Why was this one crazy woman getting so deeply under his skin?

Martin stepped across the polished white floor towards his glass and steel liquor cabinet. Rows of bottles of all shapes and sizes clinked as he rooted for something with just enough kick.

"Do you usually drink alone?"

Martin started as he heard Risha's voice from across the room. Looking past the sleek gray lines of his modern furniture, Martin saw Risha standing barefoot on the marble tiles at the entrance to the bathroom. A thick white towel covered her from chest to thighs. Her smooth ebony shoulders and legs gleamed under the bright overhead lights.

Martin swallowed hard.

"No, not usually," Martin explained smoothly, lifting up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue in salute. "But I think it's fair to say this hasn't been a usual night."

"On that we can agree," Risha murmured, half to herself.

Martin pulled off the top and poured two streams of amber liquid in quick, practiced motions. "If you're worried about me drinking alone, you have the solution right here in front of you." He set the glasses next to each other on the clear coffee table with a clink.

"Does that line work with all the other girls?" Risha said distantly. Her gaze roamed over his apartment.

"That one's a first for me. But then again, so are you."

"I thought you were going to be a perfect gentleman." Risha shook her head, gently swinging waves of little braids.

"A gentleman tells the truth, and lady--that's the truth."

"So, I'm the first girl you fucked in the snow?" Risha snapped like a whip.

Martin recoiled. "Is that what you think happened, me fucking you?" He glowered. "I seem to remember you begging me to make love to you. And that's what we did."

"I never begged!" In an instant, Risha was furious. "This is on you. I was vulnerable and you took advantage of me!"

"Took advantage of you? Took advantage of you?!" Martin marveled at how quickly the conversation had turned. "I gave up a deal of a lifetime for you! I poured out my heart to you, and you come up and kiss me half naked! I'm not a goddamn statue, lady. If anything, you came on to me!"

"I was meditating!" Risha shook with emotion. "You're all the same. Men like you can't understand anything except power and pussy. You can't even imagine something greater than yourself."

"Well, good for you! You think you're some kind of enlightened goddess, but sorry, lady, you're not. You're flesh and blood like me, so you better get used to it."

"You got your flesh," Risha said bitterly. "You're not getting my blood. I never should have found you in that ice cream shop."

"You're damn right!" Martin roared. "You've probably wrecked my career, you crazy bitch. Do you know how many millions of dollars were on the line?! I never should have listened to that goddamn vision."

Risha seethed with indignation. "I hate you. I hate you. You're just like all the rest. I can't even leave now without freezing in wet clothes in a blizzard. You manipulated me, and now you've got me. I hope you're happy with yourself."

"I'm fucking ecstatic!" Martin yelled. "Go on, take some of my clothes if you want. No one's forcing you to stay here."

"Never. Never. I won't walk out of here with your smell on me," Risha spat.

Martin's fury turned so hot that it crystallized. His voice became calm and clear. He cleanly emphasized each point. "Your clothes are down the hall. There is an open room on the left. By the sound of it, the wash is done. You only have to wait another thirty minutes for the dryer. I broke my promise about being a gentleman, but I will stay out of your hair for that long, at least."

Martin cracked his knuckles unconsciously. "I will order you a reasonably-priced hotel, and a ride to your location. Then you can leave and get the fuck out of my life."

Risha closed her eyes, taking a deep trembling breath. As she stood, the towel rose and fell slowly with each increasingly steady inhalation and exhalation.

When she opened her eyes, her face was calm but her voice still shook. "Thank you for the offer. Yes, please do set up a hotel. You can count what happened in the snow as payment for the room."

Martin scoffed incredulously, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, lady." He turned away from her.

Risha whirled and strode on bare feet towards the hallway. Before she entered, she turned and said over her shoulder, "Don't you ever call a woman a bitch again."

"You're right, I shouldn't." Even if you actually are a crazy bitch, Martin added silently. "That's not the kind of man I want to be."

Risha looked over her shoulder a moment longer, hesitated, mouth half-open, then turned decisively and walked out of sight. Martin heard the metallic bang of dryer doors opening and closing.

Bright light flashed through the violent snow static outside the windows. Seconds later, deep booming vibrated against the window panes. The rare mixing of snow and thunder raged on.

Martin swore viciously under his breath.

Martin paced, adrenaline pumping through his system. He could not understand why that woman was so delusional. Blaming him? Accusing him of taking advantage of her? She didn't just live on a different side of the city, she lived in an alternative reality.

Martin cursed himself even more violently. His hands itched for his phone.

He had let himself get carried away, and now he could see a decade of work slipping through his fingers. Charles Wilson's quivering jowls screamed at him about every single line item of the contract that Martin was losing at this very moment: $35.7 million dollars for transistor and capacitor technology; $13.3 million for technical training and management; $25.6 million in weapons-specialist recruitment and employment; $75.8 million for missile targeting alignment and satellite coordination--all because Martin wanted to get his balls drained by a stupid, naïve, childish piece of ass.

Amber liquid in shot glasses called to him. A few quick strides and he held the hard, smooth curve of a glass in his hand. A jerk and a swallow. Liquor burnt its way down.

Martin sat in the steel and shine of his luxury loft, staring at the patterns of the snow against the wall of glass.

Images of the snow falling down on Risha's black-shadowed skin came unbidden. There, clear as a picture, was the snow falling in front of the poem he had written while Risha licked the last bit of cream from her spoon. There was her hand on his arm as he talked about the war. There was Jamal's half-skeletal bloody head swinging slowly back and forth.

Martin downed the second shot of scotch.

His fury slowly drained out of him. It left him with nothing. Just a cold, numb emptiness etched into his chest.

Martin's gaze roamed over to the liquor cabinet. A hidden side door held a loaded SIG Sauer P226 pistol. When that feeling filled his chest, the familiar touch of its metal handle was comforting. The SIG called to him from across the room like an old army buddy.

"What vision?"

Martin just about leapt out of his skin. He turned to see Risha standing at the entrance to the hallway, still covered only in a towel. Her arms crossed tightly across her belly.

"Excuse me?" Martin asked.

"Your insults distracted me, but I heard what you said."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Martin reached out to pour another shot of whisky.

"When I said I never should have followed you into that shop, you said you never should have listened to that vision. That 'goddamn vision.' Right?"

Martin stared silently and swirled the liquor in his glass.

"What vision, Martin?" Her voice was soft but firm.

"Just wait for your clothes and go. You don't want anything to do with me."

"Try me."

"Like I said, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"So, this does have something to do with the poem, doesn't it?" Risha's voice was shaking now.

Martin turned away from her and looked out into the storm. Light flashed. The windows vibrated with the deep concussion that followed. Martin shivered. A puff of mist formed with his every exhalation.

Risha strode across the room and stood in front of Martin, her arms still crossed tightly around the towel.

"I have a right to know," she insisted.

"No offense, lady, but we just met a few hours ago. I don't think I owe you anything."

"You wrote it for me. I have a right to know why."

"I didn't write it for anyone, especially not you. Hell, I never even imagined someone like you existed."

"Then why, Martin? Why? What vision were you following?"

Martin's eyes widened as he saw flakes of snow, shining with what looked like little electric sparks, drifting through the windows and into his apartment.

"No, I won't listen," Martin muttered. Shivers racked his body. Mist blew out from his lips. He convulsively lifted and swallowed another shot.

"I'm not asking you to listen," Risha replied, "I'm telling you to explain yourself. You spoke straight into my heart, and then claimed my body like no one ever has. What vision, Martin?"

The sparks and snow were pouring in now. Lightning struck again. The snow-sparks vibrated with its flashing, rising up to form looping ropes of patterns around the room. Risha stood in the center of the swirling mass.

Martin put his hands on his head. "This is crazy. This isn't happening. I have to--" Thunder rumbled inside the freezing room. Everything vibrated. The light and the snow pulsed and surged. Something like pairs of massive wings of snow formed behind Risha. Her eyes began to glow with an inner light.

"I'm crazy, too, remember? All of this is crazy." Risha spread out her hands, her voice passionate. "But you can tell me, Martin. I hate you for what you've done, but I can't stop caring about you. There's something beautiful inside you. Something hidden, and it's trying to come out. Please, Martin, just let it out!"

Sharp frozen iron gnashed and cracked in Martin's chest. The snow almost filled the room now. Strands of electricity connected each snowflake. The light behind Risha's eyes pressed down on him with the heat of a furnace.

"Alright. Alright!" The words ripped out of Martin. "I see things. I hear things. Words like fire from the fucking sky that melted that poem into the snow. I was listening to goddamn visions in my head, and that's why I wrote all that nonsense on the sidewalk."

The storm of cold and white and lightning still roared in the room.

"Has this happened before?" Risha asked quietly.

"Yes!" Martin gritted his teeth and clutched himself tightly, shaking. Ice was forming on the tips of his fingers and nose. "Wings from the sky crashing into blood, when I was in Iraq. It saved my life once. Or at least it helped me take another man's life! That's all I really know."

Electricity arced and twisted. The spectral wings waved behind Risha. Thunder boomed violently from every corner.

"Then it happened again when I came to D.C., and again when I got this job, but I didn't listen. I knew this place, and this job would kill my soul, but I didn't care. I still don't care. No. No! I refuse to let my life be controlled by some goddamn voice in my head!" Martin was yelling now. Frost covered every surface of his skin.

"There's something more." Risha moved closer. Martin shrunk back. The fire from her eyes sent out waves of heat. It was melting into his chest.

"That's all I know, I swear!" Martin tried to close his eyes, but the light pounded redly through his eyelids.

"What vision are you following, Martin," Risha was breathing slowly and steadily.

"I told you! The words from the sky. That's how I wrote the poem." His heart felt like it was on fire now. Molten iron bubbled out and pooled on the floor.

"Martin, what vision are you actually following?"

"I've told you all I know! Isn't that enough? What do you want from me?" The heat from her eyes was painful. The electricity from the storm felt like it was cutting into his frozen skin.

"What vision, Martin?"

The last of the metal melted out of his chest. Pain from his fresh heart screamed.

"I don't know. I don't know!"

"It's time to let it go."

"Let what-- what am I--?"

"The vision. Let it go."

Air like a hot oven blew sand in through the open window of the Humvee. A beautiful smile split through Jamal's face. "Yeah, man, that's us, living the fucking dream." Martin grinned and joked back. Belly laughs brayed out of Jamal for the last time.

"The vision..." Martin whispered.

"The vision." Risha answered.

The pieces of metal ripped through Jamal's head. Martin screamed and flipped around as if gravity had left him. He shook Jamal on the shoulder. He swung around in the harness. The metal had blasted through half of his face. Flaps of cheek skin and muscle hung down to his chin. His teeth were exposed. Some were bloody and broken. Most of his eye socket was bare bone and red pulp. The face turned around to Martin and grinned.

"It should have been me," Martin said.

Warmth began flowing back into his body. The electricity faded around the room. The glow dimmed in Risha's eyes.

"It should have been me!" Martin cried out. "He actually had a life to live, and I've done nothing! He was the best friend I ever had, and in one second in Iraq the world rips half his head off. His blasted face haunts me everywhere I turn. "

Heat pumped into Martin's chest. The snow swirled slowly. The wings behind Risha faded into shapeless strands of white.

"I watched him die. Risha, I watched him die. One minute he was a man, and the next he was a piece of meat. And for what? For what? He lived more in a day than I did in a year, but he's dead, and I'm alive. It should have been me. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!"

A decade of unshed tears burst out.

Gentle snowflakes fell around Martin as he wept in huge, heaving gasps.

CHAPTER VIII: THE GIFT

~~~~~~~~~~~

February 13th, 2019.

Persephone Heights Apartments, Suite 1402

Washington, D.C.

11:31 p.m.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Risha sat quietly beside him, her hand on his broad back, leaning against him as he cried. Only a distant glimmer of light remained behind her eyes.

"That's the vision you have been following, isn't it?" Risha murmured. "That's the true master of your life."

Martin tried to reply, but the grief stuck in his throat. Even more hot tears burst out, wave upon wave, until his entire body ached. He wept until he felt like he was going to die.

And then, somehow, he had no more tears to shed. Pain pulsed in his heart and through his body, but beneath that beat a tremulous rhythm of peace. Risha's hand ran slowly up and down his back. The world was back to normal now, all traces of the vision faded away.

"Thank you," Martin managed to choke out. He turned away from her, hurriedly wiping the tears off of his face. "I've never had anything like that happen to me before."

"I know, I would remember." Risha twitched a half-smile.

Martin gave a ragged laugh, brushing the last of the wetness off his face. "I see you learn bad jokes quickly. Nicely done." He turned back towards her hesitantly. "I thought you still hated me, though."

Risha pulled back her hand and sighed. "I didn't mean that.... No. That's not true. I meant it. But I wasn't thinking clearly. I just hate how much power you have over me."

"What do you mean?" Martin frowned.

Brown arms crossed over towel-covered breasts. "Don't you see it? I can't say 'no' to you. If you tell me to stay, I'll stay. If you say 'leave,' I'll leave. Even if you don't say anything, and you just speak with your body, I'll listen! If your body wants me, it will have me."

Martin raised his eyebrows. "I must be blind, because you seem unbelievably strong to me. You shake me to my core without even trying."

"Yes, I am strong! That's why I hate what you do to me. It's like I have no choice anymore; I'm just swept along by a force beyond my power."

"Now you know why I hate these visions!" Martin exclaimed. "It's like someone grabbed the wheel and is driving my life for me. All I can do is hang on for the ride."

"Now imagine if a flesh-and-blood person could do that to you," Risha argued back. "Martin, you could destroy me. That terrifies me. You terrify me." Risha's bare shoulders shivered.

"I would never want to hurt you." Martin was passionate. "And you are powerful. You have power over me. Even just now, I saw you like some kind of angel, or goddess or something, shining light on me in the storm. It was beautiful, but terrifying at the same time."

A play of emotions ran across Risha's face. "Me? Right now? I mean, I was very in touch with that deep, clear spot that I get when I'm in meditation. It was like I could see straight into your life. You were a pool of water, and I could see the bottom. But I still feel like the normal nobody-special weird black girl from Detroit. I'm not magic, Martin."

"Maybe you're magic, and maybe you're not, but you are special. Can't you see that?" Martin reached out a finger and ran a knuckle down her high cheekbones. "You're special to me. You healed me of pains I didn't even realize I had."

Risha closed her eyes and breathed through half-open lips, leaning her face into his touch. She pulled away.

"Risha, please. Talk to me. I just shared everything with you. Don't shut me out again."

"I can't be with you, Martin," Risha murmured, her eyes on the polished floor.

Martin noticed that the sounds of the dryer had ceased echoing down the hallway. A surge of fear came up in him.

"I'm not saying you have to commit to anything. There's no rush," he said soothingly. "I just don't want you to walk out of that door, and never see you again. You are remarkable. Truly extraordinary. Risha, you are beyond imagination," he finished in wonder. The image of Risha with glowing eyes and an electric swirl of snow-wings flashed in his mind.

"Martin," Risha turned, placing a hand on his arm, "you are broken. We're all broken in some way, but you are deeply, truly broken. You've taken a huge step, but you have just started healing."

"That's why I need you with me, Risha," Martin implored. The warmth that was beating in his heart now was painful. The tenderness wanted to be held by her. Comforted. He wanted more of that light that she had shed on him.

"I can't do this healing for you," Risha explained firmly. "I am not your Magical Negro! I'm also not a therapist, and you're clearly traumatized. That doesn't just end in a day, Martin. Not even in a month. Maybe in two or three years you'll be in a better place, but you're really just starting this journey."

Martin frowned, half-laughing. "Magical Negro?! What does that even mean? Come on, this has nothing to do with that. I'm not asking for you to be my therapist. Just be in my life now and then. Like I said, we can take it easy. I'll do what it takes, trust me, normal, yet wonderful, lady from Detroit." Some of Martin's shattered confidence was slowly coming back, and he gave her a winning smile.