The Big Blue Sky: Seventy-four

Waverly pushed through the circle of worshippers and went right up to Doug. He pulled away the cap and leveled the pistol at Doug’s forehead. Their eyes met and Doug knew there was nothing more he could do. Doug climbed unsteadily to his feet and breathed deeply, resolved and resigned to his fate.

“Can we do it away from these good people?” said Doug, feeling like it was a final request.

Waverly looked around at the group, an eclectic mix of folks who had lost hope, and had lost hope that hope still existed in the world, except among one another, and most particularly in this small group.

“Good people?” Waverly scoffed. “I feeling scummier just being near them.”

“That’s enough!” Reverend Steve stepped between Waverly and Doug. “Not in my church, and not while I have anything to say.”

“Want to be a hero?” said Waverly “I’ve got more than enough bullets.”

“That’s what it will take.” With that a tough lady named Diamond, who’d cut her teeth on these hard streets, struggled with addiction and a thousand and one other trials moved beside the Reverend. A fellow named Roland, struggling through cancer was there next. They were soon joined by the rest.

“You’re gonna have to kill us all,” said Diamond, defiantly.

“You’ve lost,” said Doug. “How far are you going to take this?”

“Till the end.”

“What end?” Doug winced at the pain. He was caught by a chain smoking Blues bassist named Warren.

“Because I’m a soldier, and I am honor bound to finish this fight.”

“For Umberto Shosa, or the money? What does any of that matter now?”

There were sirens in the distance, coming closer by the moment.

“Then all I have is honor.” The gun faltered in his hand. He regained it, his face breaking from emotion, from shame and fear and uncertainty and so much more. Waverly shook the weapon. His voice rose, almost breaking. “Now standing fucking aside!”

Across the park, over Waverly’s shoulder, the street was suddenly filled with police vehicles. Dozens of officers piled out, approaching the would-be worshippers, Doug and Waverly with weapons drawn. Molly was among them, her shoulder hastily bandaged. Doug closed his eyes and opened them once more, believing his eyes and the loss of blood were playing ticks on him. The sight of her gave him strength and filled him with emotion.

The Reverend waved them off and stepped forward until the short barrel of the Bushmaster pressed to the center of his chest. His eyes found Waverly’s and held them firm. “I don’t know you, brother, but I know myself in you. I know where I’ve been and what sins I’ve done. And I’ll tell you this, that, ‘I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.”

“I don’t care for your god-bullshit,” Waverly said, his voice low and anything but certain.

“Then care for your own soul, brother. Pray for it, as all of us will pray for yours. Pray for the strength to be a better man, to beat the hate and evil in your heart right now.”

Waverly pushed the barrel harder into the Reverend’s chest. The man stood firm. There were tears threatening in Waverly’s eyes. “Enough! I swear…”

“Swear to god,” said the Reverend. “Swear to him that you still have righteous and love in your heart, and swear that you will be as brave in seeking redemption and forgiveness as you have been in war.”

“I won’t go to jail.”

“There are worse things,” said Diamond.

“Like what?” said Waverly, emotion tearing at his heart.

“Like dying alone,” she said. “I know, I almost died once, before I was saved, and I was never more alone.”

“Let me have the gun.” The Reverend slowly reached up and started to pull the gun from Waverly’s hands. He held it a moment, finding the reverend’s eyes on his own.

“Let me die,” he said weakly. The Reverend pulled the gun from Waverly’s hands. The police came forward, closing a circle, their weapons trained on Waverly.

“It’s called rock bottom,” said the Reverend. “Only one way to go from here.”


Doug found Molly, and noticed the badge around her neck. It had taken one of Waverly’s bullets, but had saved her. She fell into his arms. Behind them Waverly was pushed to the ground by police.

“I thought you were dead.”

“You’re hurt,” she said, noticing the blood at his side.

“We’ve got to get to that Press conference,” he said.

“Doug…” she protested. He cut her off quickly.

“We’ve fought too hard, Molly, and too many have already sacrificed too much.” Doug touched her face, pleading with her. “Can you live with yourself if we had a chance to stop this war and we squandered that chance?”

He was right. She knew he was right. She recalled his words that first day in Istanbul, where she hung on every word, as if each was new and undiscovered. How he saw the world in such vibrant colors, with bright white highlights fading at the edges and rich black shadows punctuating forms, because those were the hues and shades and lines that made up the world, rather than soulless black and white or undisciplined color. He was indeed a hopeful realist, just as he described himself at Ground Zero, and that was perhaps what she was coming to love more than anything about him.

A policeman came up and helped Doug to a squad car. He slid into the back seat and fell against her, where Molly cradled him in her lap.

“You hang in there, pal,” said the cop. “We’ll get you to a hospital right away.”

“No,” said Molly. “North Branch and Division.”

“What’s there?” asked the cop.

“A chance for peace.”

As they pulled away Molly wondered if he would fall in love with her one day. Could Molly rightly expect that? For now it was enough they were both alive. As for tomorrow, well, it was enough that she could hope…