All but Not Everything

"May the Great Lord bring you Nothing But Healing Today!" a boisterous man of the cloth shouted to his mass of people dressed in their fanciest of clothing. His followers and worshippers stood up with him at quite a speed and shouted in favor, all with feeling and emotion of such ambition...all but one. The one remained seated, with his arms crossed and eyes closed, focusing on his own ordeal…

"Marcus!" his aunt whispered at him while the crowd cheered an amen to the priest. The young boy looked up and she whispered louder at him, "Stand if you know who you are!"

"If I do so, then I stand against who I am," he answered politely. His aunt took it as a sign of disrespect and scoffed, returning to her worship. The boy named Marcus sat unbothered in the church and had his arms crossed over his chest to avoid the communion. For him, it seemed pretty simple to preach what he believed in. However, for a family who is well-known for their strong faith, it was a lifelong battle of dissonance, a struggle between two strong notes where only one may give in…

As the proud family with their black sheep of a nephew plated their food, his aunt begged him to sit closer to the only family he had, but he refused. He didn't dress like his family. While they all had on their fancy clothing with their suits of delicate fabric and penny loafers, he dressed as if he was on some casual outing: a maroon sweater with white silhouette of a race car on the back and black jeans. While his aunt begged him to come closer, he pulled up his hood and that's when the conversation got even hotter.

"Marcus!" she yelled so loud that the whole of Manhattan thought it was encountering The Day After Tomorrow. All eyes came on the family as Missy Baptiste slammed the ground with her velvet pumps toward her atheist nephew, ripped his hood off, leaned into his ear and whispered with such aggressiveness, "Boy, if you don't come here right now and enjoy some meal time with the only family you got, you ain't got any house to come home to!"

"Much like the home I left," he remarked, taking a sip out of the sparkling water. Some of the adults heard the remark and a few made a comment about it. The eyes may have increased the anxiety and the heat in the room, but it was Marcus's silence and coldness that made Missy hit the roof. She grabbed Marcus's cup and paraded it to the audience. "Peoples, peoples of the Great Lord and Harlem! We all have been healed by the Great Almighty above, but for some, it may be too hard to crack!" She glared at the dismissive Marcus.

Missy's husband George tapped her and asked, "Missy, what are you doing? You embarrassing us or what?"

Ignoring him, Missy continued, "Only the Lord can have such a power, a power to decide whether we leave this godly world or not, a power to heal us when we need it the most, a power to answer our prayers in the coldest of nights! He can heal us, oh yes He can! But with every house of the highest worship, we stand blindly to the Lucifer in our seat, an Ibliss at our doorstep…" Her voice took a pause, letting the silence of the room build up the tension that made everyone still as a rock. She continued with the softest yet audible whisper, "...a Marcus in my hands."

There was a gasp in the room that was slowly swallowed by the silence. People stared in shock as George bit onto his knuckles and his son Rodell hid his face from behind his arms, pretending to look elsewhere.

This time, Marcus looked up. Silently, he got up, took a bite of his meal, a sip from the cup Missy held and walked out of the room, exiting the church. Before he got to the door, Missy yelled, "Hold to my promise, boy! You leave here...you are on your own!"

He paused for a moment, as if he was holding something back and didn't want to lose his guard. He can't lose his guard. For all he knew, this was only the beginning. He then continued to walk out of the place that made him the most uncomfortable...well, the second place. The foremost place of extreme discomfort was the home he was forced to reside in after his closest uncle was met with an accident and now awaited for the time to either wake up or sleep peacefully.

Man, Marcus thought as he walked toward the place he dreaded more than the place of worship. I wish you were here, Uncle Leo. I want to be with you, teach me everything you know about machines and how they work...anything to get me away from this place. Why do they give me hell if I didn't ask for it?

Suddenly, he heard a soft jingle of a bell and turned to see a woman sitting contently against a brick wall. There was no sign of help, nor a cup. It was just her in colorful clothes. She was a peculiar character to see. Any homeless person would be in tattered clothes or just skin and bones or at least an army jacket. But this woman, she seemed to hold peace and hope in her eyes. What was most attractive to him about her was her huge, golden nose ring in her left nostril. He had never seen such a piece of jewelry before and the way the light seemed to stay perched on the ring and seemed so happy and comfortable with itself.

And her clothes! Marcus has never seen anything like it before, especially for someone who is supposedly homeless. Blues as bright as the skies and pink as vibrant as the flowers of spring and a yellow that subtly complements its neighbors, all fabrics that are lined and hemmed with a small gold thread. It was amazing to see how such beautiful and bright colorful fabrics could be so clean and look so fresh even while sitting on the dirty concrete and against the disheveled brick wall.

She slapped the ground next to her, gesturing for him to sit. He did so, by the attraction of her appearance. She wasn't a beautifully presentable lady. She had wrinkles, a mole and heavy sapphire makeup by her eyes to match part of her attire. Her hair was the kind of wave that Hindu deities had adorned...is she one?

"Beautiful morning, ain't it?" she asked him. Marcus looked above and around. All there was to see were the edges of tall buildings and the mostly cloudy sky. What did she mean by "beautiful morning"?

"Most people focus on the big picture before they get to the smaller details," she explained, looking up at the sky above her. "But some...some pick out the little things and admire it, not realizing how much it could really change the picture if you manipulate it one bit."

What she was saying didn't seem to make sense. If I wanted to listen to some inspirational lecture, I would've stayed in that godawful church! he thought, sighing out of exhaustion.

"You're going too fast," she told him. He looked to her in question. She continued, "All your life, you've wanted something so bad, but the only trouble was that the people around you didn't give a damn about it. They had their own system set, their own principles, their own way of thinking. The only thing they fear is that when someone breaks the chain, all hell breaks loose."

She looked to him and asked, almost taunting-like, "Will it?"

"You called me here for a conversation or a lecture?" Marcus remarked. "I don't even know your name."

"And I don't even know yours, Marcus," she chuckled. He was shocked and confused. He interrogated, "How did you know my name?"

"I was there when you lost the two people who brought you into this world and when he came to carry you…"

"What?" he asked her. "I don't remember that."

"You were a baby then, the only person you knew and trusted was Leonardo Toussaint, another black sheep who rarely contacted the family."

"Him I remember...but how were you there?"

"I was one of the RNs who delivered you and saw the accident unfold. Leo came to your father's side and he gave you to him, granting custody."

"Yeah…" Marcus accepted as part of his muddled memories. "And now...he's in a coma and I'm stuck here for God-knows-what!"

"For someone who doesn't believe in a god, you do say it a lot," she remarked with humor.

Marcus sighed with disappointment. "And now my aunt and her looney family got me living through hell…"

"And about last night?"

"Last night…" he slowly recollected. "Now that was crazy…"

"They don't even know, do they?"

"They don't deserve to know, especially after my cousin caught me right when it happened. We both sworn to secrecy but I doubt he would keep it."

"Your cousin is one colorful one, isn't he? On weekends, he's the godsend of all that is holy and the weekdays, he is a godsend to those thirsty eyes."

Marcus chuckled, "Yeah, he's a lying slut." He blinked twice and snapped, "Wait, is that why you called me here? To trash talk Aunt Missy and her family? You're one mean lady, aren't you?"

"I only uncover what your innermost feelings are. But I do acquire a special talent that not many can achieve on their own."

"And that is…?"

"I can see what your fate is."

"Whoa, what? You mean, like a future or something?"

"Not exactly, but yes."

"So...you know what my fate is? How? Do you intake a person's auras, emotions...well being?"

She chuckled. "I am Madame Azreena, the one who can see all but not everything. I summon you here for an important message because your life had changed the moment you entered that garage."

"Yeah," he responded to Madame Azreena, becoming more and more intrigued in what she was saying. Before she could continue, Marcus found himself replaying that very night, a night he would never again remake nor expose to anybody he knew. It was a late night walk to the deli to buy some eggs for the next morning, but Aunt Missy was under the impression that her trusty son Rodell was still at his Bible studies. He always told her that these sessions run late. She had to trust Marcus with the task despite his apathetic self and his bizarre fascination with certain appliances. He took favor in the order and set off to his duty. No big deal. Just a young boy going to the deli for an errand. He, of course, had to make sure no trouble would come his way for the way he looked. No matter how he dressed, he will always be seen as a threat and there's little effort to change that.

When he came back from the deli after purchasing the designated item, he felt something grabbing onto him. He looked over and found no one there. Could it be a cold breeze or was someone too quick for Marcus to see? It was late at night and he had to get home safe and sound. But something called to him. There was no voice heard, but it felt stronger and more powerful than just a cold breeze. Marcus followed through.

He noticed a huge vat of darkness nearby. It seemed like a driveway, but nobody was there. Since he could spare a minute or two from the apartment of hell, Marcus took the first step into exploring the darkness. In his mind, he could imagine what he could find: tools, broken appliances that could be mended, perhaps an old-fashioned car. Cars that are advertised today, in his opinion, focused too much on class rather than a beneficiary need.

He didn't know what it was, but it was some kind of voice that seemed to call to him, asking him to walk this way, begging him to open the Pandora's box. Placing the bag that contained the carton of eggs at the threshold, he entered the dark mass, looking for a switch but found that there wasn't any in sight. How could there be a garage if there's no light? Is this a daytime job?

He walked around, discovering the empty space there was inside. Safely and carefully, as not to make a sound, Marcus felt his way through the empty darkness. In the distance, he heard a voice confirming a farewell and a sudden clash of metal thundered behind him, shutting off the last source of light he could salvage. "Oh no," he muttered out of fear. "I'm trapped!"

He ran to the metal door and banged his fists as hard as he could. He shouted, "Hello! Let me out! I'm stuck here! I'm only a kid!"

But nobody heard him. He felt completely lost. "Great," he said to himself. "Now I'll never get those eggs to Aunt Ursula…"

He reached for his phone and enacted the flashlight, examining the area. It was completely empty, except for an unopened box. It seemed to hold some kind of laptop inside since it had the company's logo on it. As he observed it, he discovered a note on top, which read "RETURN TO SENDER. SERVER IS CURSED."

"A cursed server?" he said to himself. How could a server be cursed? Determined to see the problem, he opened the box and got out the laptop. It was clean and minty-fresh, as if it just came from the factory. It was sleek and shiny, like the bald head of the priest at that god awful church. He powered up the laptop and saw a login page. He found himself baffled as he couldn't crack the code.

He decided to do "control, alt, delete" and, for some strange reason, he was able to get through, with the screening saying Login Successful. "That's crazy...what kind of laptop is this?" he asked himself.

There was a black screen and a loading up signal in the center. As he awaited for the laptop to gain control, he felt some kind of strange energy reaching over him. He grabbed his phone and tried to flash whoever it was with his flashlight, but nobody was there. Suspicious of his surroundings, he made himself known by calling out whoever was there. When no answer came, Marcus proceeded to see after the laptop. That's when things took a turn.

When he laid a finger on the mousepad, a sudden bolt surged through his arm like an electron traveling through a wire. The screen on the laptop spiraled into a white screen and emitted static sounds, like the entire circuit was breaking down. The surge of electricity didn't travel on his skin, but rather through his body and, suddenly, to his heart. With no time to realize what was happening, Marcus looked up to the ceiling and screeched of agony, slowly passing out besides the sizzling laptop.

A few minutes later, a few knocks on the garage door and in came Rodell with his worried look as he saw his unconscious cousin, sprawled out on the floor with a fried laptop on his leg and his arms out like he finally found his bed. Rodell rushed to Marcus's aide and picked up his hand and smacked it, hoping to wake him up. As soon as Marcus opened his weary eyes, Rodell asked, "Yo cuz, are you alright? What happened? The hell are you doing here?"

Struggling with a headache, Marcus muttered, "I don't know...I don't remember coming here. I remember walking out…" He gasped, "The eggs!"

Rodell chuckled, pointing to the open door and rustling bag. "They're right there. Come on, let's get home or else my mom will freak!"

Rodell proceeded to drive him and his cousin home until some unfriendly company came their way. Rodell pulled on the brakes, got out of the car and asked his cousin to stay put. Frightened and still confused from what had just occurred in the garage, Marcus took it upon himself to sleep in the passenger seat. As he tried to sleep off his worries, he was suddenly awakened by a huge uproar of yelling and clashing of metal. He looked around through the window and found Rodell getting himself into a fight. They were throwing punches and swinging empty cans at each other while the rest filmed it. One of them was holding a huge crowbar and he was behind a violent yet defenseless Rodell.

For the first time in his life, Marcus felt restless. He couldn't stay in the seat any longer. The voice was getting louder and louder, begging for them to stop beating up on his cousin. He had to go and help his cousin from getting hurt. The voice inside him couldn't stop screaming, begging the gates to be open! This was the night that changed everything. As soon as he jumped out of the seat, his hand remained on the handle, gripping onto it like a wire charged onto a plug.

There!

The heat and friction from the palm of his hand remained strong as his sole focus became the safety of his cousin. The gang noticed what was happening in Rodell's car and were shocked at what they were about to see. Rodell, locked in a bearhug by a heftier person while almost being knifed down by the leader, was bewildered when the leader stopped his attack. He had never seen his greatest foe with such fear in his eyes as his head was turned to Marcus. The sweat down his rival's neck...one just doesn't see that in a person like that.

Rodell decided to take a look as well and was temporarily blinded by the impact and glow that came forth. His rival screamed and cursed as he was pushed back about half a block. Rodell, free of his bearhug, shook his head, standing back up. It was as if a spirit had come down to save the day...but that spirit lies in one particular human. What could this supposed spirit be? Did it just come down like lightning from the sky?

Rodell muttered out of confusion, "What just happened?"

One of his rival's henchmen pointed to the left of Rodell and he looked, following the trail of smoke that came about. He was stunned to see his own cousin holding a huge machine, a snout as large as a pipe found in the sewers with the circular abyss that only speaks of fear to those who dare to stare into it. Marcus, kneeling on one knee and panting, looked up to his shocked cousin and asked, "What's wrong?"

Rodell quivered and shook his finger rigidly to the weapon Marcus was unknown of holding. Marcus took a look at what he was holding and gasped, freaking out. Rodell looked over to the side and shrieked, "My car! Where is it?"

Marcus released the weapon, immediately reverting to the object that it once was. Rodell and Marcus, staring at the car that was oddly parked, were speechless, they couldn't grasp at what they had just witnessed. Rodell's opponent ran off with his gang and nothing was heard of them. Frightened and confused, Rodell asked his cousin, "Marcus, what the hell was that?"

Marcus took a few steps towards the car, feeling its smooth surface and studying its luster in the amber lights. He responded with mutual feeling, "I don't know either...but I think I know where to find the answer…"

"So, have you found it?" Madame Azreena's voice snapped him out of his daze. Marcus looked stumped and caught himself. He responded, "Oh yeah, yeah! I thank you for reading my future!"

He got up, sensing an epiphany in his path. He ran off, bidding adieu to the peculiar psychic. Madame Azreena watched as he ran off to the path of his home. She chuckled, whispering to herself, "He has arrived to stop you, Cyrus…"