Hadrian's Rage (13 page)

Angel slaps her hand down on the bar and orders. “Screw that, then! Get us three Mindbender shooters.” The bartender nods and turns to prepare the concoctions. While they wait, Angel leans into Grace's ear and whispers again. To Tara, it simply looks like Angel is seducing Grace, as usual. When the Mindbenders arrive, Angel releases Grace and stands between her and Tara. She takes on a solemn pose and turns to face Tara. “Tara, I have a confession to make.” She reaches her hand behind her to grab Grace and stifle the silly girl's laughter. In a tight whisper intended only for Grace and Tara's ears, she announces, “I'm bisexual.” At first, she was going to say straight, but as she and Grace are clearly a unit, she opts for the next best thing, pretending to be bisexual.

Tara is stunned by this sudden declaration. She looks over to Grace, who is struggling so hard not to laugh that she is doubled over from the effort. “Grace, is this true?” Grace is only capable of nodding.

Angel immediately hushes Tara, who has spoken at normal volume—much too loud for such a delicate conversation. Looking back now at Angel, Tara complies and lowers her voice. “But what you were saying about the paper? I thought—”

Angel cuts her off. “Uh, uh. I was only saying that because I wasn't sure about you and, you know…” She uses her head to point around the room at the various other carousers. “But I think I know you're strai, too. Am I right?” When Tara doesn't respond right away, Angel reassures her, “It's okay. Grace and I are cool.”

Tara is sucked in. “Oh, wow. I never would have thought it of you. But you—I mean, you walked out of class after Politis read the paper.”

“Of course I did! I'm closeted.” Leaning in now, she whispers, “I didn't want anyone to suspect me, you know.”

“Yeah,” Tara ponders, slightly confused but far too drunk to distinguish
between falsehoods and truth. Turning now to her other friend, she inquires, “What about you Grace? Are you bi, too?”

“Nope,” Angel replies for her as the combination of alcohol and laughter has left Grace incapacitated. “Grace is lesbian through and through. But it's cool; she's an ally, aren't you, Grace?” All Grace can do is nod her assent. “So, am I right? Or did I just shoot myself in the head by telling you?”

This is the line that works its way into Tara's trust. “Yeah,” she smiles, feeling free and unburdened. “It's true.”

“And you,” Angel adds, “you wrote that paper, didn't you?”

“Yeah, that was my work.”

“Brilliant!” Angel adds. Grace nearly falls flat on her face with giggling. Angel sighs, “Poor Grace; I better hold her up again,” which she promptly does, using her right arm, only leaving her left hand free for the shooter. “All right, then,” she says as she picks up her shot, “to allies, bi, strai, and gay!” Angel watches as Tara throws back her shot. Then as Tara shudders in convulsions, Angel quickly dumps her shot off to her right. She shoves Grace, slightly reminding her to do the same, too. “Barkeep,” she calls out, “three more.” Angel repeats this pattern two more times, ensuring that Tara is so intoxicated she almost falls flat on her face. Angel catches her laughing. “I think you're done for, girlie. Come on, Grace; we better take Tara back to the dorms.”

But they don't take Tara to the dorms. Instead, they lure her into the alley behind The Blue Chair. Once there, they proceed to strip Tara of her clothing. When Tara resists, Angel punches Tara so hard in the head she drops to her knees. Angel tears at Tara's blouse, ripping if off her body. Grace, after unzipping the back of Tara's skirt, effectively wrenches it down around Tara's ankles. “Put her in a headlock,” Angel orders. Grace complies. Tara now retrieves the beer bottle she had smuggled out of the bar. “So you're a fucking strai, are you? Do you know what it feels like to have a strai man stab a hard dick into you?” Angel's voice has become menacing. “Well, it feels like this, you fucking strai bitch.” When Tara cries out, Angel orders Grace, “Shut her up!” To do so, Grace shoves Tara's blouse into her mouth, deep enough into her throat to make her gag. Now muffled, all Tara can do is groan. When Angel is finished, she tosses the beer bottle aside and begins to beat and kick Tara unconscious. “Let her go, Grace; she's done for.”

Grace does as she's told and allows Tara's limp body to fall to the ground. Standing back, the two women stare down at their work. They are both struck by the horrifying wonder of what they have done. Suddenly, Grace squeaks out, “She's still breathing, Angel.” Looking into her girlfriend's eyes, the terror of the moment causing tears to streak down her face, Grace whispers, “What if she wakes up and tells someone?”

Angel's mind turns cold and calculating. She sees an old brick lying against the building wall. Picking it up, she shows it to Grace. “This will prevent that.” Grace watches in horror as Angel smashes the brick three times into the back of Tara's skull. The brick, now stained red, falls from Angel's hand. She doesn't look up to address Grace; she merely mutters, “She ain't telling nobody nothing now.”
17

This is a special
Salve!
News Report. This just in—the body of Augustus Uni student Tara May Fowler was found in the alley behind the uni’s student lounge, The Blue Chair. Although full details of the story are yet to come in, some say she had allegedly tried to seduce young men while drinking at The Blue Chair. Apparently, this establishment is well-known as a strai bar. I’ve spoken with a witness from The Blue Chair, and my source suggests that whoever murdered Ms. Fowler was likely a male. Apparently, Ms. Fowler was making unwanted advances towards many of the young men in the bar. It may be that one of these young men, disgusted by her overtures, may very well have killed Ms. Fowler.

If the murderer truly is a decent, hardworking gay man, then I can honestly say I feel for him. I can’t imagine the horror and disgust he must have felt by having a strai come on to him like that. It would have been very shocking, and then, under the influence of alcohol, anything can happen. I hope when they do find this young man that the courts go easy on him. A life sentence of military duty, like that given to Frank Hunter, the man who murdered a straight male five years ago, would be reasonable.

Another conceivable scenario is that the young man who killed Ms. Fowler is another strai. We all know what these heterosexual barbarians are like, especially the male. The primal beast comes out in them when sexually aroused. It is entirely plausible that he murdered her as part of some sick het’ro sex thing.

One thing is for certain—the young woman was beaten and raped before being murdered.

Either way, this story is a clear warning to our youth who like to play with strai fire. Het’ro public displays of affection are not wanted in our society. Strai guys and gals, you better learn to control your sexual urges. Whether
this death resulted from a decent citizen who snapped at unwanted solicitation, or from the brutal act of het’ro lovemaking, what you are playing with by pretending to be strai is clearly deadly.

Nobody likes to hear about acts of horror. No one wants to condone murder, but strais need to take a lesson from these events. Your ways are not welcome in Hadrian, and there are those willing to act outside the law to rid our good country of your disease-ridden ways. Remember, being straight is a choice. Choose wisely and reject those disgusting opposite sex attractions.

Stay tuned to HNN for more on the murder of the Augustus Uni strai.

Vale!

Jason’s bubble rides so smoothly that he feels as if he is floating on air, which helps to ease the tension. He is a little nervous about tonight because he will be dining at Faial Raboud’s home—and they will be alone for most of the evening. Ever since their work together during the Hunter trial and their success at getting President Stiles to legalize heterosexuality, Jason and Faial have formed a strong friendship. Jason Warith squints his eyes as he approaches Faial Raboud’s home. Being pre-dusk, the sun’s rays are hitting the solar panel siding at the exact angle that reflects the strong light back into his eyes. Even the Ray Ban sunglasses he is wearing fail to stave off the worst of the glare. It is this incessant glare occurring post-dawn and pre-dusk that is the most annoying quality of life in Hadrian, even with the mandatory anti-reflective coating. Along with Ray Ban glasses, the parasol is an ever-popular accoutrement in Hadrian fashion. To help reduce the glare factor, Hadrian’s city engineers designed all homes to face the same direction so the sun would not reflect into a neighbor’s house or yard, with one line of houses per street. However, glare remains an issue when the sun’s rays hit the panels at those crucial angles, post-dawn and pre-dusk. An added advantage to this unique design feature is that no one lives directly across from, or immediately behind, someone else, thus making for an expansive city and large backyards, the latter of which are necessary for home gardens and fowl as livestock since many of the wealthier citizens raise their own chickens, geese, or ducks.

Passing through the bright reflection, Jason turns into the side driveway and around to the parking stalls in the back. All entrances to a home in Hadrian are at the rear. Housing in Hadrian has very little diversity. A house’s front and roof consist of solar panels. The only signs of wealth in a family home are its size and the presence of glass windows. Faial Raboud’s
home has three small glass windows. Jason surmises correctly that each window is for a bedroom, the slightly largest of the three most likely the family room. Reaching over to the passenger side of his small bubble (not being married and having yet to bring his own child into the world, Jason only owns a small, two person bubble), Jason retrieves the small bundle of flowers he picked fresh from his garden prior to leaving for Faial’s. Jason presses the button to release the bubble door, but only after taking one deep breath of the flower’s scent. Pausing with one foot out of the bubble, Jason begins to question himself. Maybe the flowers aren’t such a good idea after all. Faial might misconstrue.
No
, he reminds himself, subconsciously shaking his head along,
it isn’t inappropriate to give the person who invited you to dinner flowers
, and reassures himself that nothing sexual will be construed. Faial is in a solid, loving relationship, so to think she might misinterpret his intentions was just foolishness on his part; he is, after all, the head of Hadrian’s reeducation system. Stepping confidently out of the small vehicle, Jason walks towards the door with a spring in his step.

Faial and Yuusi’s home is small but luxurious. The living room, which also serves as the dining area, is decorated in ancient Persian. There is a large stone fresco hanging on one wall showing a line of bearded men in long robes, each with a dagger sheaved at his side. Its grandeur and size is all that is needed to decorate that wall. On the adjoining wall, a small statue, a woman seated wearing a headdress and veil that drapes over her shoulders, sits atop a marble pedestal. Above it on the wall is a small oval window offering illumination. Furniture is also sparse. In the center of the room is a low oak table placed atop a Persian tribal rug decorated with squares of multiple colors. Upon the table, a beautiful crystal vase is now home to the flowers Jason has brought. Surrounding it are glasses and a bottle of red wine, open and breathing in anticipation of consumption, as well as a few plates of hors d’oeuvres: pork and lemongrass meatballs in lettuce cups; small bites of roasted cucumber sandwiches; and Faial’s favorite, hummus with home-baked pita chips for dipping. Faial, her partner Yuusi, and Jason sit sprawled on large pillows scattered around the table, each a different color to match the squares on the rug, with varying shades of yellow, orange, blue, green, and red.

Although the appetizers and cocktails began without incident, it didn’t take long before all the pleasantries were over. Faial’s lover asked to be excused to take their youngest daughter to a small birthday party for the little girl’s friend, leaving Faial and Jason alone. There is nothing awkward about the moment. Faial treats Jason as she would any houseguest—with respect, ensuring his wine glass is always full and the vintage to his liking. When she notices he has yet to try one of the hors d’oeuvres she set out, she begs him at least to try the baked pita chips and hummus. “Really,” she smiles, “the hummus is quite mild, and the spices baked onto the pita are not too pungent. I’m sure you will like it.” She lifts the plate with both hummus bowl and chips atop and brings the victual offerings closer for him to reach.

Jason politely refuses. “No, really, Faial.” He takes in a deep breath to luxuriate over the smells emanating from the kitchen. “Whatever you’ve got cooking in there smells so fantastic I want to save all my appetite for that.”

Faial’s laughter is as beautiful as the full lush lips it emerges from. Jason catches himself admiring them. Faial redirects his attention to her eyes. “Really, Jason, I must be honest. I did not prepare the meal for tonight. That’s Yuusi’s handiwork we smell, not mine. She prepared the hors d’oeuvres and our meal. All I had to do was open a bottle of wine. I’m afraid I’d burn the pot if I tried to boil water.”

“Well, whoever cooked it, and whatever it is, it smells delicious. I’m dying to sink my teeth into it.”

“You’ll have to be patient; it’s a pot roast, all the trimmings but the salad cooking inside with it. That,” she says, while blinking her right eye to check the time, “I can fix, and—” Faial draws out the word, “—Yuusi said it won’t be ready until the meat reaches 75 degrees Celsius. Before leaving, she said that would take at least another hour, and that was half an hour ago.” Shrugging apologetically, she adds, “I’m sorry the meal isn’t traditional Persian, but Yuusi is very fussy when it comes to preparing fancy meals for guests. Since she couldn’t stay, she decided to create an all-in-one dish for us.” Then, fearing she has underplayed the quality of tonight’s meal, Faial assures Jason, “It really will be delicious, I promise you.”

Jason smiles. “Oh, I’ve no doubt. It smells too good not to be delicious. And,” he says as he reaches for the pewter plate Faial holds before him, “I have these wonderful Persian appetizers to enjoy while we wait.” As Jason
dips a pita chip into the hummus, he asks, “How is your daughter doing? Cantara, right?”

“Yes, good; she’s doing well. Spring finals are coming up, so she’s busy studying.”

“Good for her. How old is she?”

“Just turned twenty-two. She served her four years in the military and then started uni as soon as she got out. She’s an April baby, born on the 19
^th
. She spent her whole birthday voc complaining about having to write a final exam on her birthday.”

“Which uni is she attending?” Jason asks to keep the conversation flowing.

“Augustus Uni. I wanted her to go to Antinous, but she insisted on Augustus.”

“Why is that do you suppose?” Jason is curious, as would be anyone. The Uni of Augustus suffers from the stigma of being in the city where the dirty nuke exploded that fateful day of 6-13. An extreme evangelical Christian, one Jeremiah F. Butler, drove into Augustus City and exploded the nuke, killing himself whilst simultaneously destroying most of the city and the surrounding southern grasslands in the process. Even though Augustus was rebuilt more than one hundred kilometers north of the old city, many people still view it as an unhealthy place to live.

Before Faial is able to answer Jason’s query, Cantara opens the door and calls out “Mom, Mom!” Her voice is high-pitched and filled with sorrow. Faial turns in the direction of the kitchen. Hearing the distress in her daughter’s voice and not having anticipated a visit at this time causes her to rush into the kitchen where the two women crash into each other’s arms. “Mom! Mom! Oh, Mom!” the poor girl wails.

“What is it, honey?” Faial cradles Cantara in her arms and begins to rock her from side to side.

“They killed her—they killed her. They beat her and raped her and killed her. They murdered her!”

“Hadrian’s Lover,” Jason mutters. He has followed Faial into the kitchen, being drawn by the terror of Cantara’s voice.

“Who was murdered?” Faial asks.

“Tara,” Cantara wails. “Oh, Mommy, they killed her.”

“Tara,” Faial is stunned. Tara and Cantara had been friends all through high school, even planning to go to the same uni together after their time
in the service. Until learning their daughter was straight, Faial and Yuusi had assumed the two girls were a unit. “Calm down, baby; tell me what happened.”

“Dean Stuttgart came to my room—he came and told me. They found her body. We had to identify it. Oh, Mommy, it was horrible. She was all bloody and bruised and pale.”

“What happened, baby? What happened?”

“Tara went out drinking. She wanted me to go, too, but I had to study. Oh, Mommy, I should have gone. Maybe then those bitches wouldn’t have killed her.” Gasping between sobs, she explains, “Oh, Mom, they killed her because she was straight.”

Faial’s grip on her daughter tightens. “Oh, dear. Oh, baby.”

Jason places a hand on Faial’s shoulder. “Maybe we should do dinner another time. I think you’ve got your hands full here.”

Faial looks over her daughter’s shoulder to smile weakly Jason’s way. Tears are streaming down her cheeks. “Thanks, Jason; another time, another time.”

“Jason?” Cantara pulls away from her mother to turn and see through blurry eyes Jason Warith, the Director of Reeducation. “Jason Warith? What is Jason Warith doing here?” All sorrow and terror churn inside Cantara, spilling out in wrath. “What is Jason Fucking Warith doing in our house?”

“Baby, I know you’re upset, but that doesn’t give you the right to attack my friend.”

“He’s your friend?”

“Yes, he’s my friend. I voc’d you dozens of messages about him, but you don’t read my messages, do you?” Seeing the wounded look on her daughter’s face, Faial regrets having chided Cantara at such a sensitive moment. “I’m sorry, baby, but we have talked about him from time to time, too.”

“Yeah,” Cantara mutters her discontent, “and I told you what I thought about him then.”

“And I told you,” Faial says in her friend’s defense, “that he was the man who helped me change the laws. Without his help, heterosexuality would still be illegal.”

“Well, with his help,” Cantara’s voice drips with venom, “heterosexuality’s still illegal and a fucking stigma! He runs those fucking camps and publically says straight people should never have sex!” Turning now to face off with Jason, Cantara demands, “Where do you get off?”

“Cantara, please.” As much as she feels for her daughter’s loss, Faial cannot allow her to take all of her pain out on Jason.

“It’s okay, Faial. Your daughter is upset. I should just go.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Cantara hisses. “Just go!”

Faial Raboud glares at her daughter. “Baby, I know you’re hurting, but you’re taking liberties you’ve no right to.” Before Cantara can protest, Faial puts a finger to the young woman’s mouth. After silencing her daughter, Faial turns to face her friend. “I’m so sorry, Jason. She doesn’t really mean it.”

“Don’t say what I don’t mean. I know what I’m saying and I mean it!”

“Enough, Cantara!” Faial’s struggle to avoid getting angry with her daughter is failing. “This attack against Jason is unwarranted. You can’t use your grief as an excuse to abuse another.”

“But he’s—he’s—we both know what he is!” Cantara’s anger reaches a breaking point as each word bursts out of her like successive thunder crashing. “I. Will. Not. Submit. To. His. Authority!”

Faial grabs her daughter by the arm and quickly pulls her away from Jason. “You’ve got it all wrong, young lady.”

“Oh, do I? Do I?” Cantara pulls her arm loose from her mother’s grip before storming back to confront Jason, Faial trailing at her heels. “Who in Hadrian’s name do you think you are?” Cantara demands of a clearly befuddled Jason Warith.

“Ah,” Jason stammers. “Fa-Faial, what is going on here?”

“Hadrian be damned, I will not go to one of your reeducation schools.”

“You’re—” Looking now to Faial, Jason asks, “Your daughter is straight?”

“Straight as an arrow, you Vibia bitch!” Cantara shouts.

Faial and Jason wince. Many consider such an insult to be the worst one can give to another in Hadrian. Vibia Sabina was the name of Hadrian’s wife. History suggests she was a plague to the Roman Emperor.

“Okay, back off,” Faial demands. “Jason didn’t come here to talk you into attending reeducation. We weren’t even expecting you. In fact, he had no idea you were straight until you so rudely announced it to him.”

“Then what’s he doing here?”

“I invited him for supper.”

Cantara stares at her mother, dumbfounded. “What in Hadrian’s name possessed you to invite
him
to dinner?”

“We have become good friends since the Hunter case. You would know
that if you ever read any of my voc messages.” Faial is no longer worried about wounding her daughter. “As I said, he was instrumental in helping me amend the law that made heterosexuality legal.”

“He may’ve helped change the law, but sure as Vibia was a bitch, this man is a hypocrite!”

Faial is mortified by her daughter’s cruel treatment of her guest. “Take that back, Cantara.”

“NO! You must’ve heard him. Remember when he was on
Salve!
? To say—well, to say that it is wrong for heterosexuals to have sex is like—well, we might as well go back to making it illegal again.” Cantara is near to tears. “Attitudes like his just pave the way for people to do what they did to Tara.”