Heaven’s Intruder, a Soul Searcher story

Intruder breaks into posh apartment to deliver revenge... and a philosophical question.

Warning: This story is dark and includes a discussion on rape. Now you know, so please do not complain.

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Josh Theroux narrowed his eyes at the view from the picture glass window. It was a clear day, which brightened his bedroom suite, but made it possible to see the NoSo village off in the distance. The downside to being on the top floor, he thought. The city was also slowly receding, like male pattern baldness, which further lessened the overall effect.

He had his hands pressed against the glass and his nose was almost touching it, so the intruder’s reflection barely registered. None of his staff would dare enter while he was present, so he knew it was someone unauthorized.

He moved only his eyes, so he could better see the intruder reflected off the window. It was a thin, poor teenager. Girl? Boy? Somewhat effeminate, as was the fashion of NoSos. And dressed in black canvas, also common for NoSos. The intruder’s head was covered entirely in a dust mask, even the tattoo window was covered, which was a serious crime. Long black hair flowed from the bottom of the dust mask, but not long enough to let Theroux guess the intruder’s gender.

Theroux glanced down the intruder’s body, looking for a weapon. Both hands were visible, one was gloved, but neither held anything. Theroux was in great shape; he exercised religiously, so he knew he was easily a physical match for the intruder, regardless of the gender. If there were no weapons, the intruder was no threat. Theroux relaxed somewhat.

The intruder spoke, a soft male voice, coldly, “I know you can see me.”

Theroux turned around. He asked, more out of curiosity, than conviction, “How did you get in here?”

The intruder’s response was just as emotionless, “DNA scan. I’m your son.”

Theroux fingered the S under his own eye. “I can’t see your ta-"

The intruder stepped on the line. “We’ll get to that.”

Theroux smiled, unconcerned still, since the intruder could do him little harm either financially or physically. He knew, however, that the intruder’s clothing was loose enough to hide a weapon, a small gun or a knife. “Should we sit and-”

The intruder responded quickly, “We’re fine here.”

Theroux raised his hands. “Why are we here? Why are you here, I mean?”

The intruder sighed. “I just wanted to see my father.” Neither spoke for a couple seconds and just as Theroux was going to break the silence, the intruder continued, “And to ask you a philosophical question.”

Theroux laughed. “You broke into my home to talk philosophy?”

“Yep.”

The intruder barely moved during this whole exchange, though Theroux noticed that the teenager had slipped his right hand into the front pocket of his canvas pants. Likely he had a weapon, which put Theroux more on guard.

“Okay. So ask.” He watched the boy’s right pants pocket.

The question was clearly prepared. “If you rape a soulless woman and she turns out to have a soul, is it still rape?”

Theroux spat back, “If they have no souls, they aren’t human. It’s not rape.”

The intruder raised his voice for the first time. “Answer the question I asked!”

“I have never forced myself upon a real woman. And with the soulless it’s not rape.”

The intruder pulled down his dust mask to reveal a thin-lipped dusty face with the beginning of a beard, but Theroux focused on the blue S. The teenager stared into Theroux’s eyes.

“You raped my mother. I’m the result.”

Theroux shook his head. There were many rapes, but all the females were soulless. All had N tattoos. He checked before he slammed their heads against the ground to take the fight out of them. He hated it when animals struggled.

“Not possible.” Theroux’s mind raced back fifteen to seventeen years, his guess at the age of the boy in front of him, to remember any potential female that might be the intruder’s mother. There were only a couple. That was at the very beginning of the Triaspora.

The intruder raised his voice again. “Then consider it a hypothetical question.” Now softer, “If you raped a woman and she turned out to have a soul, would it be rape? And would your immortal soul be destined for hell?”

Theroux asked gently, “Who was your mother?”

“Is. She’s still alive.” The teenager was unmoved.

“Does she know you’re here?”

The intruder’s mouth cracked into a slight and malicious grin. “No. And I’ll take your delay as a ‘yes.’ You do believe it's rape. And you do believe your soul is now forfeit Thank you. That’s what I came here to learn.”

“I’m not your father. Unsure how you got past the scan, but they are never perfectly accurate.”

The intruder laughed, then he became talkative. “You can believe what you want to believe, but you cannot change what is. If I am your son and my mother has a soul and you raped her, well, regardless of what you believe or want to believe, you will likely wish you had no soul once you shuffle off-” As he spoke his right hand came out of his pocket to gesture. He was holding a gun.

Theroux jumped back and looked around the bedroom suite for a suitable weapon.

“Oh, I’m not here to kill you.” The intruder waved the gun casually and then slid the hand and the gun back into his pocket. “That would be too quick for you. I’m here to paint you a mental picture. To ask you that one philosophical question, which you answered with your deflections, and then paint a picture.”

Theroux was now angry. “Who is your mother?”

“That’s the picture. Relax. You’re not going to die today.” This seemed like the truth, though the boy was hardened. Theroux prided himself on being able to read tone, but the boy’s speech patterns were too flat.

Theroux gestured to the sofa as he asked, “May I sit?”

“No. You can stay right there until I leave.”

Theroux snapped angrily, “Now you answer my question,”

“Like you didn’t answer mine?”

“I’m getting tired of this,” said Theroux as he started walking to the sofa. “Either shoot me, answer, or leave. I’ll be sitting over here.”

Before he could take a step, the teenager said, “Wodehouser.” Theroux froze.

Wodehouser was the leader of PAST, People Against Soul Testing, and a known soulless. Even though he had recruited plenty of Hollywood types with souls, when there was still an active Hollywood, PAST never quite found the traction they needed to stop the Tattoo Laws from being put in place.

His daughter Amanda Wodehouser was in Theroux’s class throughout childhood. He met her first in pre-school. She grew to be beautiful and mouthy and she deserved what she got. And, Theroux reassured himself, she had an N tattooed under her left eye, so she didn’t matter. He especially enjoyed that one, since she was a virgin at the time and she thought of herself as a person. Her Dad’s words filled her with such self-importance for an animal. It wasn’t his first sexual attack on a soulless female, but she was the daughter of the leader of a movement and a personal nemesis. She was kicked out of school in senior year of high school, along with all the other soulless children, which is when he lost track of her. This was only three after he deflowered her. He was glad to see her go and to take her haughty glares with her.

“Your mother is Amanda Wodehouser,” Theroux said it as a fact.

“Yes.”

“She had- has no soul. Not a person.” He recalled telling her this as she stared back at him from underneath, glaring up at him, after he had finished. “You are not even a person. This is like tenderizing a piece of meat.” He could see her lying there, hatred in her eyes, an N tattoo in bright red under her left eye. As he focused his memory, he now realized something was wrong with the picture. Something was amiss.

His thoughts were interrupted by the intruder’s words, “She has a soul. She also has an N tattoo. It was an unfortunate rebellion by a reckless teenage girl.” This was spoken as if listing ingredients for a recipe. It felt like the truth.

Theroux recalled how passive she had been during the rape, even though she was a virgin. He thought it was because she only pretending to be a virgin, just like she was pretending to be a person. “Soulless whore,” he called her afterwards, his face inches from hers, his right eye nearly pressed against the N tattoo in bright red under her left eye. But, again, something was wrong with the mental picture. His mind finally saw the mistake. The N was backwards. He could see it clearly now. It was the right color, but it was in reverse. This was before the Tattoo Laws. This was before it was a crime to cover the portion of your face below your left eye, regardless which tattoo you had or even if you had none. He had ripped off her scarf to verify she was soulless before he raped her. How could he have missed it? The N was backwards, as if his memory was seeing it in a mirror. He never saw it again, since she kept her face covered.

The intruder once again broke Theroux’s reverie. “So we are back to the question. If you rape a soulless woman and she turns out to have a soul, is it still rape? And will your soul rot in hell for eternity?”

Theroux raised his head to see that the intruder had stepped right up to him and was pointing the gun directly at his face. He didn’t even have time to wince before the bullet went through his head and lodged in the bulletproof glass.

–End–


Note: These stories, which include "The Soul Searcher" and "Maddy's Last Moment in Redding Town" are studies for a potential novel or something similar. Please let me know your thoughts.