Baileys Besieged

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Chapter 4

A tall and lanky blonde man leads Georgia through an electronic gate. The woman clutches the key, tightly, in her right hand. As she slides the key into the bank vault keyhole, her heart gives its own quick beat to match the click of the tumblers. She twists the key in the lock, anticipating what spirits are held inside.

Georgia slides the heavy holder out on a channel track. She uses both hands to carry the tray containing the bible. Upon walking the vault over to the survey station, the attendant unlocks, the prophetess hyperventilates.
She sets the vault down and pulls up on the hinged lid, and an imaginary cloud of nostalgia flows upwards from inside the hollow steel casing; the relic offers an invisible aura that can be inhaled, almost like an old wives’ tale about a cat stealing a small child’s breath. The widow’s fingers shake as she reaches inside for the tome, lurking somewhere, within the dark recesses of the box.

An impending mystery of an unknown future rests between two tattered covers. Curiosity begs questions from the bearer: What page will open a world next? What heart string will be tweaked—this time? What descendant will come to this wielder’s private ballet? Georgia stops, and catches a quick breath.

She finds it quite odd she cannot recall her Jeremiah’s face. Perhaps Joe is becoming more than just a friend? He certainly is a hottie. Perhaps, I am finally ready to move on? The bible begs the woman to withhold such a curse; it thinks it would rather speak of a (modern day) miracle. Tendons of her arms stand out, when Georgia clutches the dead weight to both her perky breasts.

The woman returns the lock box to its channel tray. She relaxes, upon holding the good book once again. This is crazy! I need the bible to accompany me this weekend, where it can cleanse my soul with human promise.

Upon driving out of the bank parking lot, the woman feels protected, as if there is a plastic Jesus on her car’s dashboard. The tome lies lifeless on the floorboard of her vehicle. It seems the proper place, where it cannot fall or be heavily jarred. For a split second, Georgia swears Jeremiah sits in the bucket seat beside her, with his feet resting on top of the object, and all her beau’s handsome features come rushing back in one tempting blow. His boyish charm swims through, along with his intriguing brown eyes. It’s heavenly the way the mere thought of her dead lover invokes nourishing feelings, feelings that gather and flow across her body and expel bad elements like a batch of detoxifying elderberries.

Georgia checks her watch. She has plans of meeting Joe for lunch. Earlier, he had told her he had some important news to tell her. Its impartial mystery helps create intrigue in the back of the woman’s mind. What news? Is he seeing someone else?

Georgia drops Tawny off at a friend’s house, early Saturday. The young mother wishes to enjoy a quiet and contemplative time to reflect on the previous decade. The past six months…she had lost thirty-eight pounds, and it worked wonders on her picturesque face. The excess fat trickles into lank, undeniable beauty. She thinks even her breasts appear to be perkier. Guys are drawn to her, although most of them are startled to know she has a daughter.

The prophetess carries the tome over to a park picnic table. Will these unique surroundings bring out something different—between its ancient pages? She searches for a place with some shade, afraid the binding and acid pages may deteriorate in bright sunlight. She notices she has a scenic view of a lake; a lake like the one Jeremiah fished at as a boy.

Her fingers feel along the wide dirty gold edge, as if they attempt to find some hidden button which will help her remember a small book bank she had as a little girl. A group of ducks flap noisy wings, out on the water, and cause the woman to jump in her solitary state of concentration.

She sucks in a body soothing pocket of fresh air, while a solitary hornet flies by her right ear. The woman looks around, distracted by the BUZZ! Cautious. She hopes it will not invite a terrifying swarm of Killer Hornets, like the kind she read about in the newspaper. I didn’t bring any Duct Tape. Georgia giggles, although the thought isn’t all that funny. It is a nervous acknowledgement that something else is in control of things. Something else tugs at her severed heart strings. The prophetess flips the family heirloom open to Micah 4:13. The faded and highlighted ancient text reads/:

Rise and thresh, O’ Daughter of Zion,

For I will give you horns of iron;

I will give you hoofs of bronze

And you will break to pieces many nations.

You will devote their ill-gotten gains to the Lord, their wealth to the Lord of all the earth.

Something tells Georgia to turn the page. At first, she is revolted at what she sees. A phallic book marker rests between two sallow pages. In her hands, she holds a flattened digital image of an erect human penis.

It is not very long before Georgia starts laughing. Obviously, someone in the family had a sense of humor! She turns the book marker over and becomes self-conscious in holding a penis in her left hand and guarding a bible with the other. The shiny item marks a place inside the bible, and it makes its discovery (even more) hilarious. On the back of the man tool is written a short identifier. ‘Buddy WUZ here!’ A copyright on the back of the book marker tells her the item is from a well-known American Novelty Company, one that would not want itself connected with such an item—present day.

Embarrassment causes Georgia to consider removing the item. Who would know? On second thought, she feels the tasteless item belongs inside the family heirloom as much as the King of Diamonds, the Elvis Ticket, and a card which represents family inbreeding. The woman tries to remember the last time she saw a real penis or enjoyed its veined warmth. Georgia never would have admitted feeling sorry for herself, over a provocative book marker; although something does strike her, mentally, plunging her mind into deep depression.

Georgia’s eyes wander from the bible. She stares out at the calm water of the lake, contemplates where her life should head, and a sharp voice startles her. A distinct male voice resounds from incredibly far off, and yet speaks into both her ears. Let sleeping dogs lie! says a voice like Bill Murray’s. Georgia spins around on the bench seat, as if she has heard something worse than a swarm of Killer Hornets converging.

She barely ducks in time, before something resembling a spinning Medieval Frisbee launches over her head. The object fells a nearby tree, as if it has been severed by a discuss sent by Hercules. She does not know where the object came from, much less where it went. All the woman knows is she is not going to stick around to find out. Miss Alexandre closes the large book, tucks it to her heaving chest, and walks with her head lowered to the safety of her vehicle.

After turning over the car’s ignition and hearing a Street Posse riff resounding in her ears, Georgia realizes her sanity is being tested—for her part in some larger diabolical plan.

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