Summer's Child

Prologue- Bonfire Night

1970
Harry's hot. He has sweat stinging his eyes and is almost thankful the hair it took him three years of hard glares from his father to grow is gone. He's so thankful he's only in his briefs, or the fire would be making him even hotter.

It's October, by this time in New York, well the leaves would be a riot of color, and snow would be at least a hint in the air. His seems like a lovely way to do This in a place like that. With a big plume of red and orange flames licking the crisp sky.

Mack hasn't said where he is from, never seems to talk about himself. Well, that's really all he talks about, is himself. His power, and majesty and wisdom, but never basic facts like where he is from. That information, Mack keeps close to the vest. It took Harry a couple months to notice, and he may have never noticed it, like the rest of the family, if it weren't for her.

Harry wonders about the Bonfire Nights though. It seems like a weird ceremony to have in California. Well, for someone from California to come up with. It's too hot, even in October. Harry wonders why he didn't find it horrible in July? The first time he was invited, when he didn't have to make the sacrifice.

He could fess up to himself and admit it's because he was distracted. There was more flesh on display that night than the time he found his dad's playboy. Real live flesh. And after a month in the shapeless robes they all wore, cotton in bright yellow or orange, occasionally sleeveless, but only if you farmed. It was shocking. And arousing, he was still a 19 year old boy.

He thinks Mack did it on purpose. He's starting to think Mack does nearly everything on purpose. He wonder about Mack and his motives and purposes way more than he should. Than anybody else seems to. Mack is the Most High, just ask him.

And after the sacrifice, everybody down on their knees, confessing any negative thought or carnal omission uninvited and disallowed, they all seemed to believe it more.

Maybe Harry's the only one to question him because he's the newest fish, or because Jillian is Mack's favorite. Or because his hair is barely long enough to run his fingers through after initiation.

Maybe it's because Harry knows he is really here to save Jillian. From what he doesn't know. She doesn't seem to think she needs saving from anything. Harry watches her bite her lip at Mack. He's the only one in more than skivvies, boys and girls alike. The Most High only shows himself to the chosen.

Harry can tell tonight that is Jillian. And if he weren't so distracted by her perfect breast and the memory of them on his face, he would do something about it. Then maybe he'd be able to know for sure why he knows Mack isn't a prophet, and why what he has the girl's doing, the ones who don't have to shave off their hair, who get to go to the market and sometimes bring back new girls, or guys, is wrong.

Harry could focus on it, if the grass hadn't been so strong, and the beer Mack only allowed on bonfire nights so smooth going down after months of abstinence. He could focus on what's wrong. Pinpoint it, so he could tell somebody else and maybe they would believe him.

He can't though. Because all he can see is Mack's finger on Jillian's nipple and then him leading her away from the fire. The others just copulate near the flames. He can't. Harry is shy. One of the girls told him so. But he's pretty sure it's because he'd only done it the once. Going for number two three ad four in one night seemed scary. Or because he'd never gotten high before California and the beer hit him really hard tonight. His head is muddy. He can't figure it out. What's wrong exactly. With him, or Jillian, or the beautiful ranch every odd shared. But especially with Mack.

He'd not sure what's wrong with the Prophet, why he's not. A prophet.

But he'd lay odds he's from somewhere cold, like Corning, NY. Like where he followed Jillian from.

Somewhere a bonfire would make any sense.