Hydrophobia

"If it is true that angels walk the earth among us, affecting our
lives in various and beneficent ways, then it is only logical to
conclude that so would other, less benevolent spirit creatures as
well."
-- rjhudson

I

It was early yet in the morning. But surely not this early, Jackson
thought, a little drowsily.

He opened his eyes and knew instantly that something was wrong. He was
no longer drowsy. Jackson looked around at his room noticing grimly how
dark it still was. His internal clock told him that it was time to get
up, and yet the usual sunlight was not pouring through his bedroom
window. The window that faces east.

Jackson Evans vaulted out of bed and glanced anxiously through the
beige venetian blinds, bending them to form a wide v-shape that he
could peer through. He immediately saw the reason behind the dawn's
darkness. Jackson stared blankly out of his window at the pouring rain
for a long moment before grimacing and cursing under his breath. It was
raining hard.

Too hard.

The skies all around were dark and filled with foreboding storm
clouds. Slanting rain pounded the pavement and grass and the tops of
houses for as far as his eyes could see. And Jackson's eyes could see
very far indeed.
Butterflies of fear were beginning rumble deep in the pit of his
stomach and he glanced nervously around at his sparse bedroom
surroundings.

A small television screen stared back at him with a dark gray visage.
A few posters on the walls watched him without empathy, instead with
careless, detached expressions. For this did not involve them. Jackson
would find no solace there.

He shut his eyes and leaned back, forcing himself to be calm, shutting
out the fearful words spoken not so long ago that were now echoing
through his brain. He willed his heartbeat to slow down to normal. He
was not surprised when it obeyed him.

Dark weather has long been known to spark further depression in those
of already dark moods. It is commonly accepted among the psychiatric
profession that people of low spirits tend to sink even lower when the
storm clouds strike. Just as cheerful, bright, sunny days often bring
out the best and happiest emotions in all people.

But Jackson Evans had not been depressed before the rain started. The
poor child was nervous and afraid for reasons that would seem far
fetched to most should he choose to explain them. But Evans certainly
had no desire to explain anything to anyone. He hoped to carry that
particular secret with him to the grave.

And perhaps even beyond, for that matter.

A voice that he recognized as the voice of fear and caution told him
to stay in his room and simply watch the rain. Ignore the call of
responsibility. Yes, that would have been optimal. But no, the voice of
reason was always the loudest in his mind. The voice that constantly
told him things he didn't want to hear. The voice that told Jackson he
had to venture out into the downpour because he had a college class to
attend and he had missed too many sessions already.

It was too bad that he did not have a roommate to convince him to stay
or go. Someone whose opinion he could rally against and figure out how
to handle the situation. He often found it helpful to have to someone
to talk to and reason things out with. That way, the bad guy would not
always have to be himself. His would not be the loudest voice of logic,
or illogic as the case may be.

But Evans lived alone in the small, cheap apartment. Had done so ever
since being orphaned by what had been termed a "freak automobile
accident." He was nineteen, however, and although suddenly pressed to
take care of himself, had made do.

"Hell," he had mused once, looking around at his used furniture and
cracked walls with a strange adolescent pride. "I done pretty damn well
for myself too," he said. "Didn't I?" he added when the walls gave him
no reply.

Jackson looked down at his sports watch to see how much time he had.
Naturally, he would wait as long as possible, giving the weather as
much chance as he could to clear up. It would only anger him if he
braved the weather merely to have the rain stop as soon as he arrived
at school, or came into the safety of his car.

His watch told him he had twenty minutes.

"Man!"

He hurried through his apartment gathering the necessities, his
books-of course-his rain coat, umbrella, and at last a nice long-sleeve
shirt to fit snugly underneath the rain coat for insulation against and
to soak up any excess moisture.

Jackson glanced in the mirror and would have laughed if the situation
hadn't been so serious. The reflection he saw was that of a man bundled
up tightly despite the warm October weather. After all, fall did not
seem to exist in Southeast Texas. And no one had ever said it had to be
cool just because it was raining. The humidity only made the heat feel
worse. It had other, darker side effects as well.

But he was set to go, finally. Ready to go and running late.

Jackson stepped out onto the covered porch outside his front door and
stared at the sky one last hopeful time. Spiteful raindrops soaked the
concrete just inches from his feet, feet protected by thick-soled
shoes.

The rain had not slackened the slightest bit. If anything, it might
have even gotten worse. And there were no signs that it might slow down
in the near or distant future as far as Jackson could tell.

"No big deal," he muttered. "Just my usual great luck, right?" he
said, not without some humor. "Yeah, what the hell else did I expect?"
the young man added, grinning crookedly when no one answered him. He
almost chuckled even.

Jackson stood there a few seconds more, growing later but not caring.
"Fine," he finally said, filling with resolve.
"What-the-hell-ever."

He steeled his nerves and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets,
preparing mentally to leave the protection of the covered patio.

But despite his tough words and angry bravado, Jackson could not hold
back one last pitiful glance at the heavens. "Pretty please." With
sugar on top.

His only reply was the steady tattoo of raindrops on the gray pavement
in front of him. A taunting voice from the heavens, it seemed.

The anger returned swiftly as his hope diminished. Malice and reckless
youthfulness (a dangerous combination) flashed through his dark eyes
and he grinned his lopsided grin once more. "Then I defy you stars!" he
shouted half-jokingly to the heavens.

And then he did.

II

"Yo Jacko, man. What's the deal with the rain-man get up?" Andr?
asked, eyeing his friend humorously and patting him playfully on the
shoulder. Jackson glanced quickly at the damp hand resting heavily on
his arm. He relaxed only after noticing that he was still securely
protected from whatever droplets Andr? had on him. Then he looked
meaningfully at his friend, watching him, warning him with those same
dark and reckless eyes.

Andr? shrugged, uncaring. His attitude was almost exactly what you'd
expect from his looks. Short and stocky, bold and cocky. He wore his
thick hair in small, neatly kept cornrows and his goatee was
immaculately trimmed. His light, but not quite hazel, brown eyes were
bright and carefree, in complete contrast to Jackson's dark and intense
ones.

The two were almost complete opposites, in fact, both in appearance
and behavior. That had been a large factor in the beginnings of the
friendship.

"What are you talking about?" Jackson finally said with his usual
practiced innocence.

"The rain-coat, Sherlock," Andr? explained gesturing. "The
long-sleeves and shit. It ain't raining that bad." Jackson merely eyed
him, not amused at all. "You must be expecting a flood or something.
Can't get your hair wet? Is that it?"

"I'm fine," Jackson said, straight-faced and serious, almost rude
even. And that was that.

Not that Andr? was offended or intimidated, he simply knew better than
to press the issue. The only time he had ever seen his pal come
anywhere close to loosing his temper had been at a time like this. When
Andr? had kept bugging him about his apparent hydrophobia. Other times,
Jackson seemed a little too calm and relaxed. In fact, nothing seemed
to upset or ruffle him. As if he was well aware he could handle any
situation. And so even though Jackson was not a particularly big man he
got away with a lot. Especially with people who knew him.

Andr? waited patiently just inside the entrance to the Social Sciences
Building while his friend lowered and closed his umbrella and took off
his rain-coat, folding it carefully under his arm.

The halls were quiet and empty since the two students were very late.
Class had already started but neither of them seemed to care or even to
notice.

Andr? was of the opinion that college was supposed to be fun, and not
such a worry and a hassle all the time as all of his elders seemed to
think. He expressed these views at every possible chance; profoundly
aggravating whatever adult audience he had at the time. Then he
shrugged when they provided evidence to the contrary.

Jackson, however, had a somewhat more legitimate excuse, should he opt
to share it. But he did not opt. He never had and probably never would.
Not even to his close buddy Andr?.

"Get to class on time," Professor Williams said with irritation as the
two found their seats. Andr? grinned at the other students around him
and Jackson smirked, knowing that tardiness was the least of his
worries. Especially when it came to this teacher.

Their attitudes did very little to appease the professor. He seemed to
be angered even further by the fact that they had arrived together.
Obviously they had been goofing around somewhere instead of getting to
class. Too many of professor Williams' students just did not give a
damn. A pity, he thought, because he was such a good teacher, and his
subject was so interesting.

He was normally a pretty easy-going professor and even at that moment
his manner lightened a bit as if he really didn't want to offend his
tardy students. "You know actually," he said. "You're like the tenth
loser students today, so don't worry, you're definitely not
alone."

He turned back to the chalkboard and started to get back to his
lecture when he looked up and dropped the piece of chalk in his hand,
deciding for once to not be easy-going. To not just let it go. "You
know, I really don't know what the problem is. It's not like you can
say you couldn't find a parking space. By now you should know what time
to get here in order to get a good space. And if you have to park out
in the boonies then too bad. Do it earlier."

Several students looked at each other in surprise, smothering
snickers. Somehow it just did not fit with the professor's demeanor to
be angry. His usual amused grin fit his face too well for a scowl to
look anything but comical.

The Professor seemed to notice that no one was taking him serious and
he let the issue drop instead of letting it bother him. Once again, he
was all smiles and jokes. A real easy-going professor.

That is, until the next student arrived ten minutes later.

III

They didn't care whether Jackson was late to work or not. They treated
the matter with an unusual indifference. He was too talented and
hardworking a guy for them to nit-pick over such trivialities. At least
that was how one of his coworkers had once explained it to him. Ever
since then, Jackson had taken it easier like the older guys. The other
veterans on the crew acted with such a blatant disregard to punctuality
that Jackson's slight efforts to please were appreciated. He had never
received a reprimand. Of course no one else saw it that way.

The current rumor was that he was on "intimate" terms with the
manager, Mrs. Harmon, a thirty-something and still attractive woman.
The rumors were false, of course, but how else could they explain the
"special" treatment?

It was just as well that nobody said anything to Jackson about his
being late.

It was the third consecutive day of rain and Jackson was beginning to
feel more than a little stressed out. A steady ache behind his temples
robbed him of any long-term concentration. Not many things had the
ability to get to him, but rain... It was like his very own personal
kryptonite. As if he really needed one of those.

He spent the eight hours of his shift talking as little as possible.
Grumbling whenever he opened his mouth and only doing that much when it
was absolutely necessary. When a customer came up to him needing
directions to a certain item.

Jackson was not in the customer service department. It wasn't his job
to take care of these idiots, he felt. But he'd never been irritated
enough to say so more than he did that night.

He would grit his teeth, drop whatever case he was currently stocking
and lead the lost customer silently to where he needed to go. Once or
twice a discerning shopper contented himself with directions, seeing
that Jackson was busy and not too thrilled with interruptions.

"Jesus," he mumbled when the crew went on break, most of them lighting
up cigarettes and blowing relaxing smoke clouds into the hot night air.
"Why do only idiots shop for groceries at night?"

The rest of the crew, veterans, who had long since gotten used to the
interrupting queries made no effort at a serious reply. Tony cracked a
joke about only idiots working in grocery stores at night and everybody
except Jackson laughed easily. None of them were angry. It was no big
deal as far as they were concerned. It had happened every night since
they started working there and it wasn't likely to stop anytime
soon.

A few of them did find it humorous that Jackson had finally gotten
upset about something. His work buddies had yet to see him lose his
temper either. In fact, he had never in his history with them shown any
sign that he was human, with normal human emotions. This night they
were silently gratified.

"So the kid's not inhumane after all," they thought. "Just a little
guarded perhaps. Wrapped a little tighter than most, you might
say."

Then they went about their business for the rest of the break; eating
or smoking, not caring too much about what was bothering Jackson. Only
caring that he was bothered. Not upset in the least at the world of
late-night grocery shoppers in general.

But then, they were not hydrophobiacs dangerously on edge because of
the three-day long downpour.

IV

The rains persisted for the remainder of the week. And although there
were times when a person could venture outside without getting
drenched, times when windshield wipers on cars did not have to be on
the highest setting, the sun still refused to show its face.

"Unrelenting," Jackson thought bitterly. The weather, it seemed, was
testing his patience. Pushing him beyond his limits. He felt a break
was not too much to ask for and was getting angrier by the day. And so
finally, on Thursday, after six consecutive days of drenching rain, his
temper broke.

Jackson was again at school with his friend Andr?. Both of them were
through with classes for the day and were sitting in the snack bar at
the college enjoying a late lunch and getting ready to go home or some
place else to clown around. Andr? kept coming up with suggestions but
Jackson shot them all down.

There was room for only one other person at their table for four
because Jackson's waterproof gear cluttered the third seat. Every now
and then Andr? would glance at the chair and snicker.

"What the hell is so damn funny?" Jackson demanded, dropping a
french-fry and glaring angrily at his friend.

"Chill out cat," Andr? said easily. "I ain't laughing at you
man."

"Let me guess. You're laughing with me?"

Andr? held up his hands defensively and put on his most serious face,
which unfortunately, was not nearly serious enough for Jackson. "Look.
I'm cool," he said, smothering a chuckle. "I ain't gonna' laugh no
more."

Jackson merely stared at him blankly and Andr? was forced to say
something into the awkward silence.

Unfortunately.

"Hey, why would I laugh at you? I ain't that bad of a friend, am I?
Come on, it would be bad form for me make fun of such a debilitating
condition."

"Condition?"

"Well, you know hydrophobia is a documented illness."

"Well I'm not ill, damn it."

"No, you're just in denial."

"Would you just drop it already? I didn't know you had such a huge
problem with pissing me off," Jackson said loudly and several people
turned to stare at them curiously. Andr? waved at them cheerily
reminding them to mind their business and Jackson stared down at his
half-eaten burger. His appetite was long gone. And he was now
sufficiently angry at the world in general to take his anger out on
somebody else. Somebody or something, he didn't care. Just something
concrete and not so vague like the weather, a non-entity. Deep down it
pleased him that Andr? was testing him. For he was being provided with
an outlet.

After all, it was more than just the rain that bothered him, though he
would never admit this. It was his luck in general. The accident, the
foreboding coincidences of the contract he'd signed. The prices of
survival in this cold world. Jackson was ready for his chance to vent.
Ripe as a large dark plum.

When the curious attention had once again been diverted away from
their conversation Andr? went on. This time, to his credit, he sounded
less comedic and much more sympathetic.

"I don't mean any offense, you know that. But I mean, for real Jackie.
You can't blame me for being interested in this. I am a psyche major,
after all."

"Even it's none of your damn business?"

"Sure," Andr? said, as if Jackson's had been a silly question. "Do
therapists ever have any business in the stuff their patients bring to
them?"

"I ain't no damn patient," Jackson shouted, his anger quickly
resurfacing. Finding fresh arenas for expression. He stood up not
remembering to gather his books or his raincoat. "And you ain't no damn
therapist either," he said glaring daggers.

Andr? opened his mouth to reply but was too shocked at his friend's
display of emotion-his first. He meant to say: "Hey, Jacko. I'm just
messing with you man. Don't get so mad. You know I was only joking."
But he said nothing.

Jackson walked away from the table seeing red. "What business did
Andr? have trying to counsel me?" he thought. "What business does he
have thinking he knows anything about anything?"

"You don't know shit," he thought ruefully. "None of you do. Not an
insightful one in the whole damn bunch." He shoved the door to the
snack bar open and stepped outside, not caring that he'd just barely
missed hitting a fellow student who was innocently about to enter the
snack bar.

He stood there a moment fuming. His thoughts were still on Andr? and
his massive ignorance. "If he'd had even the slightest clue," Jackson
thought. "If Andr? could only see me as I truly am." For Jackson felt
himself to be the one person in Andr?'s life beyond the need of help.
He could take care of his damn self.

After all, hadn't he? When his back had been against the wall, when
there seemed to be no way out for him he had taken matters into his own
hands. He had made a deal that secured his immediate future.
Jeopardizing his distant future, of course. But Jackson had never
stopped to ask himself which of the two was more important.

Worried about his friend and more than a little curious to see what
Jackson could do without his rain gear, Andr? followed him
outside.

Unfortunately.

He did not see the need to keep his mouth shut. Nor did it seem
necessary to him that he keep his comments light and comforting.
Curiosity had already gotten the better of him. Andr?'s path had
already been chosen. He just had to see what Jackson would do when
finally angered past his limit of self-control.

We must forgive him a little. He is too interested in human nature.
Too curious a person to heed the warning signs.

"I may not be a therapist but I do know you ain't going no where
without your rain-coat," he said at Jackson's shoulder. He pointed out
at the rain not more than ten feet away from where they stood just
outside the door to the snack bar and underneath the protection of the
covered patio.

Jackson looked at his friend for a short instant and there was a gleam
in his eyes that no man had previously seen. Andr? did not
notice.

"It hasn't stopped raining and you're still scared of the water,
aren't you?"

Jackson muttered an indecipherable phrase in what may have been Latin
and grabbed Andr? by the throat.

Both sensing and seeing a fight at hand a large crowd quickly gathered
and pressed itself to the windows of the snack bar, unable to follow
the fight because it was taking place too close to the door to allow
safe exit. They were a bloodthirsty lot, but none of them were
crazy.

With an almost inhumane roar Jackson lifted Andr? off the ground with
one arm and flung him as if he weighed nothing farther than humanely
possible.

No one was able to utter a word as Andr? landed in a crumpled heap
several yards away on the soaked grass, heavy raindrops falling over
and around him.

He was not seriously injured (beyond his pride) but still he made no
move. Lest he antagonize the monster any further. Truly, no other
description could fit to the man or beast that had thrown him so
bodily.

A cursory glance showed no noticeable change in the man, the close
friend and associate. But Andr? gave him more than a cursory glance. He
stared in horror as Jackson advanced slowly before stopping just short
of the overhang where only small droplets of water splashed on his
clothes but doing no serious damage. Sharp fangs appeared from under
his lip and he snarled.

His eyes seemed to glow an eerie evil red, and had his fist not been
clenched Andr? might have seen what looked like claws at the
fingertips.

Jackson had cleared the exit to the snack bar by a wide margin finally
and the door was safely opened. The large crowed poured through it
accompanied by two uniformed security guards. They barely managed to
scramble out ahead of the crowd receiving not a few shoves and other
rude treatments. They pretended not to notice. It was all a part of the
job. No sweat.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here?" the first of the two demanded,
the most outspoken of two. Then he managed a startled, "the hell?"
after getting a closer look at Andr?, crumpled on the grass and not
moving.

The second guard, the one with "Zack" printed on his name tag, said
nothing but moved in front of Jackson, blocking his progress and
staring into fiery eyes that appeared not to see him.

"Turn around and go back inside," he said sharply and with more
authority than anyone had spoken to Jackson with in a long time. Not
since his father had passed. "Do it, Jackson. I mean it. Go and get
your raincoat right now. And I want you to come with me,
quietly."

The first guard, emboldened by his partner's blazon confidence, seemed
to overcome his initial shock and managed, "he ain't going no where
just yet. Not 'till we find out how hurt this guy is and whether or not
he wants to press charges." This one slowly began making his way
towards Andr? who still lay on the grass motionless. "Jesus! That was
assault if I ever saw it."

Neither Jackson, Zack nor Andr? seemed to hear him.

"Jackson," Zack repeated. "Do you hear me? Calm down right now. Go
back inside and get your rain-coat and umbrella," he repeated. A little
more forcefully this time. He put a surprisingly strong restraining
hand on Jackson's arm.

This at last, the physical contact, seemed to bring Jackson back to
the here and now. He tore his eyes away from his victim to stare
menacingly at Zack. If anything, his anger seemed to blaze hotter at
finally noticing the impudence of the security guard addressing him
with such authority.

Do you know who I am? Do you know what I can do to you? "You presume
to order me around?" he said quietly.

"I do," the guard replied simply, answering both Jackson's words and
his unspoken thoughts.

Jackson continued to stare, growing angrier at each passing second.
Several, dark thoughts passed through his young mind. Thoughts that
never should have seen the light of day, or night. Thoughts that never
would have occurred to the old Jackson. The intense but cheerful young
man before the accident.

"Listen to him for your own sake," a new voice said and they both
turned to see several more spectators standing close by.

The speaker stood out a bit from the crowd. He seemed darker somehow
despite his light blond hair and fair features. The newcomer spoke
again. "Jackson you don't want to do anything rash." Both his words and
his manner of speaking them were soothing, calming. Then his voice took
on a lightly mocking manner. Mocking his own previous seriousness.
"That is, nothing beyond what you've already done, you forsaken
moron."

By then Jackson's appearance had begun to return to normal, his anger
slowly abating. He recognized the newcomer and wilted visibly. Danger
registered in his adolescent mind, fear for the first time in a long
while.

Zack felt more comfortable grabbing Jackson's arm and steering through
the crowd and back into the snack bar. The crowd gave them plenty of
space. That is, until the two came face to face with the mysterious
spectator who had spoken.

"You know I cannot let you take him like this," he said quietly,
almost gently.

"You can't stop me, Percival."

"We outnumber you, Zack" Percival said and waved his hands behind him.
Suddenly several of the onlookers stepped forward to join him. They
glared ominously, radiating danger and hatred. They were dark
souls.

"You think that matters to me? This one of yours broke the rules. Your
own rules as well as ours. And don't make the mistake of thinking I
can't summon enough support to back me up on this. The kid's done. And
you will be too, if you try anything foolish. I've got friends in these
parts too."

Percival glared at him for a moment and then broke into a broad
child-like grin. "You know Zekkie, you're right," he said, using a
nickname that he knew Zechariah hated. "I never can argue with your
logic, old buddy. We're just too much alike." Then he glanced around in
mock nervousness.

"I better get out of here before your 'friends' show up." He laughed
heartily and slapped his nemesis playfully on the back. "Oh I suppose
the real target of my anger is this idiot." He glanced at Jackson again
and his smile vanished completely. He had to restrain himself not to
cuff the kid on the back of the head. "You put us all in danger, you
moronic loser," he said. "We had high hopes for you, kid. Never
imagined you'd turn out to be such a pathetic pawn." With that,
Percival turned away.

"Wait a minute," Jackson gasped. "Come on! You're not really gonna'
let him take me away, are you? Percival, you ass!"

"Sorry, kid. You screwed up," Percival said already retreating as if
he could somehow sense the approach of Zechariah's promised allies. "If
I wasn't so superior in power to Zekkie here, I'd be in trouble too.
And all because you let a stupid mortal goad you into losing your
temper." He turned again and continued his retreat. "What a forsaken
moron," he muttered in disgust without turning back around. "You were
warned," he called loudly and disappeared into the crowd.

Despite Zekkie's amicable warnings he'd had every intention of
capturing Percival as well all along. He let go of Jackson's arm
swiftly in pursuit of his archenemy.

But Percival was much better at this game and was long past capture.
So were his cronies. There was no trace of any of them. By the time
Zeckariah realized his error in chasing after them, Jackson too was
attempting escape. But he was not quite as talented or as agile as
Percival.

Jackson had reached the door the to the snack bar and was about to
enter when he glanced furtively behind him and caught Zechariah's eye.
A lot passed between them in that moment.

Do you know that you're lost? That you've got no where to run?

Evans recognized the taunt in Zechariah's eyes. He knew he couldn't
possibly make it inside in time to get his raincoat and get back
outside again. Zechariah may not have been a match for Percival but
Jackson was aware that he would prove to be no challenge whatsoever. He
was a mere novice. A new recruit.

Zeck nodded toward the door, taunting him once again this time
verbally. "Make a move," he said.

Jackson could not resist.

He only hesitated a second before a look of desperation passed over
his suddenly young and immature face. He made a strange hand gesture
and muttered another curse in the same archaic language. There was a
blinding flash of light that forced all onlookers to shield their eyes
while giving shouts of alarm.

It hadn't been noisy enough to be a bomb. In fact, it hadn't really
made any noise at all. Several would later describe, however, a
terrific noise like thunder and the roar of a large beast.

Gradually the glare died down and spectators noticed with increasing
alarm that Jackson was no where to be seen. And "Zack"-administration's
favorite new security guard was likewise vanished.

No one would hear from him again. His post had been compromised by
Percival's detection and escape and he would have to assume another.
Though it wasn't as tragic as it sounded. Zechariah and his "friends"
were constantly taking new forms. Finding new and better ways to serve
humanity.

Neither would Jackson Evans ever be heard from again. His umbrella and
raincoat gathered dust in lost and found until finally some greedy soul
took them home for themselves. There was no reason to waste such
perfectly good rain gear, after all.

Zechariah deposited the rest of Jackson's discarded items, namely a
long-sleeved shirt, pants, boxer shorts, socks and shoes in a dumpster
on his way out. And that was the pretty much the last of that.

For the most part.

While being helped back to a chair inside the snack bar Andr? nearly
broke his neck slipping on the strange dark goo that had somehow found
itself on the ground not far from the snack bar entrance. He wiped his
shoes on the grass with a disgusted grimace and continued shakily on
his way inside. It was not long before the rain had washed the strange
sticky substance away completely.

And then Jackson Evans was gone forever.