The Lamb and the Gray Battle

September 16, 2022

 Evie pulled off her big yellow rubber gloves as soon as Karen called out, "Your ride is here." She tugged the plug from the sink and strode toward the cafeteria of St. Anthony's. Her large demon red curls sprang loose as she took off the head scarf and snood. The cafeteria was almost empty except for a group of old women in the corner, slurping up soup and smacking their gums. Evie was halfway across the room when a ceramic bowl smashed into her head and shattered into dozens of shards.

Brantley abandoned his position at the doorway and ran over; Karen was already at Evie's side.

"Demon lover!" the old woman crowed.

Karen shot up and screamed, "Out! Now!"

The whole group of women creaked to their feet.

Another cawed, "I'm not going to eat somewhere that allows demon lovers."

"We are all equal in the eyes of God," Karen said, noting each white, wrinkled face shuffling to the door.

Brantley helped Evie to her feet and patted her head, a trickle of blood at her eyebrow.

"Ungrateful bats," he muttered. "What happened to beggars can't be choosers?"

"It's fine," Evie said, her scarf pressed over the cut. "They're old. Times were different a hundred years ago."

Karen pushed her dirty blonde hair back and snorted, "I don't think they're that old."

"I'm going to call Mom and Dylan. You need stitches," Brantley said, holding Evie by the elbow.

Evie's laughter was a gale soaring over the empty cafeteria and out into the sunny parking lot.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "I'm fine. Don't bother Jo. We'll pick up your brother and be on our way."

Brantley grimaced, but he helped Evie into his 2005 Ford Focus and jammed his long legs into the driver's seat. Dylan's elementary school was right up the street from St. Anthony's Lost Souls Cafeteria and Shelter, so in minutes, Evie had a squirrelly ten year old climbing over her to get to the backseat. (The backdoor wouldn't open. And if you could get it to open, it wouldn't shut again.)

"Hey, Evie, check it out," Dylan said, producing his phone and showing her a video of Nianzang, Crowned Prince of Hell, China, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. "It's his birthday extravaganza. He's five-hundred and seventy-six today."

Brantley glanced away from the road to see the video. The quality of the footage was bad, due to the government scrambling anything demon-related, but it was good enough to see that Nianzang didn't look five-hundred and whatever. He looked like he was around fifteen.

He said, "He's kind of scrawny."

"Don't be mean," Evie said, dabbing her forehead.

"How's your head?" Brantley asked.

Evie hummed, "I'm fine."

"What happened to your head?" Dylan said, picking at the scarf.

"I'm fine," she repeated, a small jerk freeing her.

"People are so mean," Brantley growled, the speed of his Ford Focus edging up. "Just because you dye your hair red, you have to be a demon lover."

"It's a fashion statement," Evie said, shifting her eyes to the window, to the landscape turning from a rundown city into the cookie-cutter housing area. The fingers of her right hand worried the small body of Christ dangling from the crucifix, even if her voice continued to sing.

Brantley growled, "You should turn off your phone before someone sees that video or someone will throw a bowl at your head."

"Someone threw a bowl at your head?" Dylan said.

"Yeah," Brantley said. "She's got a huge gash."

"I want to see," Dylan said, crawling onto the armrest.

Brantley pushed him back while Evie crowed, "I'm fine."

Though Brantley was twice Dylan's age, the pair bickered like they were both eleven years old. The two also looked nothing alike. Brantley had light brown hair and a broad face like his father. Dylan had dark brown hair. Not exactly like his mother's dark auburn locks, but close.

Thank you, Jesus, Evie thought as Brantley pulled into her driveway. The cozy little ranch house beckoned her inside.

Brantley called out, "You want to go out later?"

"I've got to go in and check on Gran," she said, her cats already congregating on the front porch, yowling to be fed.

"I could stop by, make sure you're all right."

Evie half-smiled and half-growled, "I'm fine."

"You need a ride to St. Anthony's tomorrow?" Brantley would do anything to stall Evie, but she was already focused on the tribe of feral felines. "I'm going to the library to work on a paper. I could give you a lift."

"Yeah, that would be great," she said, waving her hand.

"Bye," Dylan called out and the pair drove into the driveway next door, but Brantley wasn't as eager to go into the nearly identical ranch house.

Evie tossed handfuls of dried cat food into dozens of dishes lining the porch, then let herself in. Three dogs bowled her over, all as black as night, a black lab mix, a Manchester terrier mix and a min pin mix.

"Hello, hello," she said to each of them, scrubbing them on the head, the min pin really to small to battle the other two pooches.

"Gran, I'm home," she called, heading to the kitchen to feed the trio, two jumping on her legs and the third trying to keep up.

"Do you want tea?" she called out. The dog food clicked into the bowl.

In the backyard, three chickens clucked and a rooster named Buck strutted in the pen. The neighbor directly behind her complained about the crowing, but everyone else was pacified by free eggs and pastries. He must have had some yellow on his lineage papers, maybe even bribed officials to expunge some red. She pulled the eggs out of the nests and headed back into the house.

"Gran?" Evie called, sitting a kettle of water to boil on the stove. The kettle had been made in China. She'd had it for almost a century. Evie didn't know what it was made of, but it was heavy as lead.

Gran had been complaining about a headache for months, but she wouldn't seek medical attention. Evie didn't blame her. Hospitals around here wouldn't be able to help her. Gran didn't care about the laws, but she refused to sneak into Canada to see a doctor there. Gran waved Evie away more effectively than Evie brushed off Brantley.

Evie knocked on the door before letting herself in.

Gran lay motionless on the bed, her eyes and mouth open, gray foam coating her lips and chin. Evie collapsed to her knees, her hands covering her mouth, blocking the screams. In the kitchen, the teapot wailed.