Author's Note:
This is it. Back to weekly. And now we are back with Zephaniah. Did you miss him? I did. Its a bit of a shorter chapter but we are learning about Baker. And a little about Zeph. Hope you enjoyed the daily post week! Thanks for reading!
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Zephaniah found himself retching into a porcelain pot in the next room.
And who could blame him? What kind of psycho could keep his composure or his lunch after seeing bodies, blood and bone splattered all over the place? His stomach tried to inside out in the pursuit of giving up some sort of vomit but only bile and saliva answered the call. There was nothing to give, but not for lack of trying. He was practically screaming in the pot; it was loud enough to be heard by Georgie, his employer seeking refuge on the first floor.
When the worst of it was over, he caught his breath. He stared at the thick strings of fluid hanging from his lips. And in that moment, he noticed two things. One, he hadn't eaten anything since returning to the mortal plane, not that he couldn't think of eating after what he saw. Two, this was not just any pot. He was keeled over and clutching a chamber pot, complete with the associated smell that filled his nostrils.
Zephaniah emerged from what he now knew to be a bathroom wiping the residue from his face with a white cloth he found.
"You almost done, boy? We gotta get this moving." Georgie called from the first floor. Easy for him to say from down there.
This was not just any "mess." No, Zeph was sold on a simple clean up before entering this house of horrors. And the promised five dollars barely covers the cost of entering the master bedroom. He eyed the door to the bedroom one more time before shaking his head and storming down the stairs.
"Hey, asshole!"
"Now, come on, boy. It ain't that bad."
That didn't dignify a response. Instead, Zeph opted to get in the slimeball's face and truly assess the man offering five whole dollars to clean up this "mess." He wasn't much of anything. A beer belly, unkempt clothes, hairy ears, and an odor that would probably be worse if not for the context of what aromas are coming from upstairs. But now that Zeph was in his face, Georgie was looking pretty small.
"Okay, I understand yer mad."
"Mad? What the fuck happened up there?"
"You talk good for a Mexican." Georgie appeared to be listening, but clearly not listening to the message, but the messenger. Particularly the lack of Mexican accent.
The light caramel skin, dark brown hair and near-black eye color lent to Zephaniah's ethnic ambiguity. He was in fact, Zephaniah Rios, not that it came up in conversation. Georgie didn't care to ask his first name, let alone the last name. Zeph supposed that due to a combination of geographical location and small-town isolation led Georgie to assume he was Mexican.
None of that mattered to Zeph now. He grabbed the man's collar and glared holes through his glassy eyes.
"Alright! Alright!" Georgie threw both hands up in surrender. He didn't want to, but Zeph loosened his grip, letting go of the stiff fabric of Georgie's shirt.
Taking a few steps away, Zeph felt his shoulders relax. His anger surprised him. He was normally a calm person. He would never put his hands on another person. Aside from the events leading up to his death. But that was different. Dylan was in danger.
He shook himself back to the present and returned the problem at hand. Georgie owed up on answers.
"How did something like that happen?"
"We dunno. Happened last night."
Zeph frowned the frowningest frown of disbelief. "What do you mean you don't know?"
"Ha! You seen anything like that 'fore? We don't know what happened to them." Georgie displayed his knack for getting comfortable quickly, leaning against the mantle behind him. He looked especially dirty in contrast to the elegant backdrop. "But we know damn well who. Demon boy."
Demon Boy? He couldn't mean Dylan.
Georgie saw Zeph's face turn worry and continued with renewed confidence, "Now don't you worry, the Sheriff gon' handle em for sure. Ain't no dark boy gonna kill our people and get away with it! Bettin' bullets still kill monsters!"
"Dark boy?" Surely this man couldn't mean what Zeph thought he meant. "You mean... black?"
It was the context of how this man spoke that didn't taste right when he said it.
"Now c'mon, boy." Georgie dragged out the words, almost consoling Zeph until he continued. "What else would I be talkin' bout? He's a criminal, wanted for aidin' and abettin' some runaways. Mrs. Crock upstairs was the one who done seen one tryna steal from jerky from the saloon."
He pointed a lazy finger through the ceiling and to the recently deceased woman upstairs.
Caution crept up Zeph's spine as he watched the man continue his story. Georgie was lost in his own retelling of yesterday's events to notice, pointing at the various 'right there's and 'down yonder's.
Finally, Zeph began to piece together that this wasn't the modern civilization he thought it to be. Old buildings, out-dated language, cowboys. Zephaniah wasn't just sent back to the mortal plane, he was sent back a couple hundred years as well.
He should've noticed sooner but it wasn't exactly the first someone expects to see when they are sent back to the mortal plane is it?
None of this is helping me find Dylan, he thought to himself.
"Had ourselves a hanging out in the middle of town yesterday afternoon too. Still out there, if you hadn't seent it. Quite a while since we had one, too. But things are changing for the better, you know. New leadership coming..."
Zephaniah stopped hearing him.
A hanging.
Something about those two words presented reality to Zeph. It was ugly and crude. The way Georgie spoke was as if this was the norm; this was acceptable. Not only that, did he call them runaways? There is no way that could mean what he thought it meant.
A torrent of sadness and anger brimmed at the surface of his throat.
His mind wandered toward the center of town.
"Hey!" Georgie said it as if he'd repeated himself already, placing a hand on Zeph's shoulder, "Ain't too bright, are ya boy? Ha! Don't worry none, we gonna catch 'em."
Zeph glared at the hand on his shoulder, considering a number of ideas.
Before he could pick one, the hand left him and Georgie straightened his clothes completely ignorant to the looming threat before him. For his part, Zeph did his best to calm himself despite Georgie's incessant ramblings.
"Yup, Sheriff said we gonna catch those n-"
"Don't," Zephaniah cut him off. "Don't say that word."
"What? Why? The fuck you mean? Ain't ya'll started that shit in the first place?"
Zephaniah felt hot blood fill his face but calmly bent his elbow to raise a relaxed, open palm despite himself. He showed Georgie the palm of his hand and gave a face that said 'would you really like to know why?'
"Ne-"
Zeph hand swung like he was hitting it out of the park, catching the G before it left the man's lips. It was an open hand slap, but bone and lean muscle connected to Georgie's nose and cheek. To him, it really did feel like the stone hand it was a couple hours ago.
Zeph slapped the shit out of little Georgie.
Georgie gave the Wright Brothers a run for their money. Georgie was the first man to fly, albeit only a few inches off the ground.
He was knocked out of his shoes. He was nearly knocked out of his socks. In the elegant flourish of a dead fish, the man performed a perfect spiral before falling to the floor, clutching his face.
Zeph didn't flinch but his inner self was stunned in what his body did for him.
"What was that for?!" Georgie struggled to pick himself off the floor, losing his footing once on the way up. When he straightened himself, he tilted his head back, scrunching his lips and wiggling his throbbing nose. Blood poured like a river from his nose.
That quelled the beast in Zeph. This man was seriously asking why. Not standing with his dukes up or doubling down. Just a 'why'?
"Really?" Zeph's eyelids softened, tilting his head to the side in exasperation.
Georgie looked up at Zeph clutching his nose as his senses returned to him. "I... I guess not."
"Hey, what's all that racket in there, boys?" Deputy Mikey's voice called from the street out front.
Georgie's eyes darted between Zeph and the door, visibly undecided on what to say.
No reply came from either of them before the door swung open. Deputy Mikey crossed the threshold removing his hat. He looked at the two men: a bloodied Georgie and a presumed-Mexican man looming over him.
It was clear that the Deputy knew exactly what was going on, but he was waiting. The seconds felt like hours as the tension rose. The deputy was waiting. Waiting only to hear from Georgie before acting.
Georgie snorted and pinched his nose. He gave one more look to the man that assaulted him before speaking.
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