Judgement: Red Violet, #1

Mix Tape

For Readers,

If you'd like to experience Violet's journey as I have, please lead off each chapter with the following mixtape.

ɸ Chapter 1 – The Tattoo

Alan Walker, Spectre

ɸ Chapter 2 – The First Sermon

Shakira, She Wolf

ɸ Chapter 3 – The Discovery

Staind, "So Far Away

ɸ Chapter 4 – The Scream

Rise Against, This is Letting Go

ɸ Chapter 5 – The Vote

No Doubt, I'm Just a Girl

ɸ Chapter 6 – The Homecoming

Green Day, Welcome to Paradise

ɸ Chapter 7 – The Decision

The Offspring, Trust in You

ɸ Chapter 8 – The Exodus

Three Doors Down, Kryptonite

ɸ Chapter 9 – The Storm

The Doors, Riders on the Storm

ɸ Chapter 10 – The Field of Red

Chevelle, The Red

ɸ Chapter 11 – The Climb

Hawthorne Heights, Somewhere In Between

ɸ Chapter 12 – The Beach

Jimmy Buffet, Margaritaville

ɸ Chapter 13 – The Connection

Alan Walker, Faded

Chapter 1 – The Tattoo

Icouldn’t move.

Get up, Violet. Get up now!....Run!

Everything was moving so fast. People were running in all directions.

The giant ogres were everywhere. They towered over the ponderosa pines and sequoias of the forest. There were too many of them. We tried to outrun them at first, but they were faster and bigger than us. Their arms slowly descended from the forest canopy as they chased us down. Their sole intent was to scoop us up and eat us. They would open their wide, gaping mouths and throw us in like beef jerky. We were simply a snack to them. And each time one of us met our doom, the giant ogres would smile together. Their red eyes would open wider with satisfaction - like they were keeping a tally of how many of us they consumed.

Looking around, I couldn’t see the little girl anywhere. Her name escaped me right now. Something within me felt like I needed to protect her – to find her.

Why can’t you remember anything, Violet?

Panic was setting in along with heavy breathing. I had no idea how I even got here, or where here even was. The ponderosa pines and granite cliffs around us made it easier for the ogres to pick us off one-by one. We had no chance.

I finally got to my feet and caught a glimpse of her sprinting ahead of me. Behind her, a large furry hand was initiating its descent from the top of the forest canopy.

Instantly, I took off – yelling as loud as I could. Though no sounds were coming out of my mouth. I kept trying and trying, but nothing audible came out. The little girl was crying out - screaming for help, but there was nothing I could do. Tears started flowing down my face as the ogre’s furry hand opened to scoop her up.

I threw my arms up in the air while continuing my pursuit, mentally cursing the heavens. The hand finally closed around her and started ascending away from me – it rose higher and higher into the forest treetops.

I suddenly tripped and fell to the ground, rolling twice until I came to an abrupt stop on a thick sequoia root.

With my gaze directed upward to the sky, I saw two red eyes staring down at me – studying how best to devour me. The eyes started to get closer, and closer, and even closer. As they did, a set of large, white teeth became visible.

I laid there motionless, accepting my sealed fate, even as their sharp teeth started digging into my flesh. As they did, warm saliva began to spill out all over my arms and legs, paralyzing me with its mystical contents.  

I was about to yell out with one final breath to the heavens, when it all suddenly stopped.

Everything went black.

Only silence remained.

Emptiness.

Confusion.

And then I heard a faint voice. I tried to make out the words.

Violet? Are you okay?

It was a man’s voice. I concentrated harder, hoping it would get louder.

It called out again. Violet...do we need to take a break for the night?...Are you okay?

Snap out of it, Violet.

I finally opened my eyes.

There was a man sitting across the table from me. He looked deeply concerned – almost like he was ready to run for help.

Phew. It wasn’t real. Deep breaths.

It then all came back to me quickly. I was the substitute tour guide for Stan tonight to bring this newbie up to speed. Every time we took someone new into the trailer park, we’d give them a brief history lesson. For some reason, Stan pawned this one off on me.

People only slow you down, Violet. You’re better off alone.

Against all my inner loner tendencies, I didn’t push back on Stan this time. In the process, I must have drifted off into a daydream of some kind. It reminded me of the dreams I had when I first woke up in this unknown place. Ever since Stan and his crew brought me inside these Knox walls, those dreams had stopped.

As I regained my composure, the man relaxed back in his chair.

I’m sorry. Where did we leave off? I asked.

It’s okay, Violet, the man replied. I didn’t mean to come off strong. I was just saying that you haven’t yet convinced me that we’re not sitting here in purgatory—or even hell for that matter. How can you be so confident that this place is something else?

As dusk started to settle in, it was picturesque in the trailer park tonight. It reminded me of the faint, orange hue that an October sun would emit just before it set: its rays strong and the shadows on the ground stretched out long. Everything about this place felt like the fall, but who knew what month we were in now, anyway? There was no way to tell anymore.

We both took a sip from our glasses. The water within them came from the stream that ran through the trailer park. It was magically purified. The glass itself was a white, five-inch ceramic canister, dislodged from the trailer filtration systems that were no longer in use.

As the cold air ushered in, I looked back over at the newcomer. From the look in his eyes, it was obvious he was prepared for the down-and-dirty of this place. I’m sure, looking at me, he felt like he had won this initial tug-of-war. Perhaps, he did. But I doubted he knew what he was in for here. More importantly, I was sure he’d think I was a psycho once I finished shoveling this history-lesson drivel all over that grin of his.

I’ve been here for what has felt like a week, I began. Stan has been here the longest, and then everyone else has trickled in since then.

If you’ll indulge my curiosity...how old are you, Violet?

One could only imagine where this was heading.

No idea. I’m guessing eighteen, maybe? Maybe I look older since I’m taller than most girls? I haven’t seen many five-nine chicks walking around here.

I chuckled as I put down my glass and shifted my legs. My knee started bouncing with a mind of its own. This was a nervous habit of mine. Hopefully, it was not too obvious.

Thanks. Also, you told me your first name, but what is your last name?

My leg started to bounce a little more.

I have no clue. As I already said before, if you were listening, none of us have memories from our past. The forty or so lucky ones stuck here only remember concepts, like language, writing, reading, science, and math. Anything regarding friends, family, and life events has been wiped clean.

The man finally relaxed in his chair. Go on, he said.

I woke up outside of this trailer park. Some others did too, but I’m told that others appeared within the Knox walls, just like you did.

The man was quick to interject. He leaned forward with childish excitement in his eyes. "What is this Knox that you’re referring to?"

I leaned in to mirror his excitement and pointed over his shoulder. It’s that light brown, eighteen-foot wall that encircles this trailer park. There are only ponderosa pines and sequoias that tower outside of it.

I let out a laugh, hoping that his sinister grin would finally relax to a smile, and he would join me.

After a brief pause to wait and seeing no such smile, I carried on.

"Marcus has been studying the symbols on it for almost a year now. We call them hieroglyphics. That poor soul thinks they may tell us something about why we are here – maybe even help to figure a way out. And don’t ask me why Marcus and Stan came up with that dumb name to begin with. They told me that there was a place called Fort Knox in our past lives. Apparently, it was supposed to be the most fortified place on earth."

The man sat back and started to giggle. You’re telling me that this wall surrounding us is supposed to keep us safe? From what? From whom?

I was quick to reply. This answer was easy. The Temptations, of course.

The man’s giggle ceased. A look of concern started to consume his face.

The Temptations? What is that? You didn’t mention that before, he contested.

More on that later too, I replied. I’ll tell you about the Temptations, the Whispers, and the Red and White Smoke. But, hey, I’m the one leading the story here, so strap in and be patient.

I was forceful and rightfully so. After all, Stan should be giving these damn 101 classes tonight, not me.

I continued.

The Knox wall is only part of it. As you can already tell, other things are different here. Take nature, for one. The air is still and lifeless, and we have no seasons. There are other things, too: none of us have shadows anymore, and we don’t ever get sunburnt. Even Jason, with his milky-white skin, never gets even a tinge of red. If anyone should be burnt to a crisp by now, it would be him. Don’t you think if this were purgatory or hell, that everyone would be feeling a burn for our wrongdoings?

I stopped abruptly.

I hit a temporary roadblock. I said his name—Jason. Just saying it made me feel different inside, almost aroused. I could suddenly picture Jason’s feverish eyes, square jawline, and chiseled muscles. I doubt I ever liked anyone in my past life, and I’m confident that any touchy-feely love stuff was never part of my DNA. Not even this shanty trailer park could change that.

But why do I even care about him?...Let it go, Violet....Move on!

Are you ok? the man asked.

Yeah, sorry, I recovered quickly, but I had totally lost my train of thought. The man quickly picked up on it.

You were talking about the natural differences of this place, the man said.

Yes, thank you, I said, recalibrating. And there is something else different: there is no wind here. It’s always dead still. Even beyond the large walls surrounding us, I don’t see the ponderosa pines blowing. Maybe heaven’s breath doesn’t reach us here.

He perked up. What do you mean? What is heaven’s breath?

I remember something before this place, but I don’t know why I do. It’s maybe an old wives’ tale. It went something like this: when the wind is light, the heavens are calmly watching over us, but when there’s a storm, the heavens are upset - the angels are breathing harshly on us.

I see, the man replied. Interesting.

The problem for us right now is that there is no wind ever. It’s almost like the heavens moved on, and we are the damned. We are the forgotten.

I paused after seeing the man fidget suddenly in his chair. It was almost like I struck a nerve. Something deep down within him was plucked in the wrong direction. It was like playing a piece of classical music in C major on the piano. Suddenly, your hand slips, and you strike an F sharp on the last measure of the song.

Though, what struck me the most is something I had missed until now. He was wearing a gold chain necklace around his neck that held a crucifix. It had blended in well with his nerdy, button-down shirt, but thanks to his fidgeting and the faint torchlight, a glimmer of it caught my eye. Perhaps, I should adjust my choice of words with him?

Hell no, Violet. Don’t change for this guy.

He appeared re-energized. I suppose mentioning the heavens meant that I was playing in his biblical sandbox now.

That’s interesting and very deep, Violet. He was also ready to move on.

"You’ve told me a lot about what you have observed, being here. But what I’d like to hear now is more about how you feel."

You’re asking me how I feel? I replied, slightly annoyed. That’s easy. Here’s my list: lost, curious, tired, dirty, confused, hungry, and fed up. And I’ve even got one more phrase that describes it all much better for you.

What’s that? the man questioned further. That’s what I’d like to know.

Damned, I replied instantly. We all are.

I see.

He sat back in his chair again. He looked annoyed, almost like I was wasting his time.

The October sunset let out its final beams for the night. Looking past this newcomer, I could see them filtering through the tall, thin ponderosa pines and reflecting off the many trailers that sat idle and lifeless in the center of this place within the Knox wall.

How do people manage their hygiene and basic needs around here? he asked. It appeared he wanted to move off the biblical subject matter for the time being.

The trailers are our homes, I replied. "That’s where we sleep. Aside from a nice, comfy two-inch-thick mattress, they don’t offer much. We sleep two in each of the twenty or so trailers. For some reason, I have my own. I’m the lucky one. My understanding from Stan is that they were empty when he first arrived here, bare bones—just shelves and all.

Then what are we drinking here, Violet? he asked while looking down at his glass, studying its contents.

It’s stream water.

He looked surprised. Shocked.

The stream running through here is what we drink and use to bathe and wash our clothes. It’s magical and always fresh. But all that magic has one downfall - there is nothing living within it; no algae, no frogs, and certainly no fish – nothing to eat.

Understood.

His gaze shifted.

What is that image on your arm?

I looked down at my left arm. There was a large tattoo of a she wolf with long, dark hair. Its thick strands trailed downward from my shoulder to my elbow. The she wolf’s face was exquisite – its fangs were sharp and distinct. There were even a few dimples on its cheeks. The flicker of torchlight in the room allowed the inscription underneath it to just be made out.

Lone and Proud, it read.

Despite having no memory of how I even got this tattoo in the first place, I quickly figured it out.

The she wolf is me.

At some point, I must have wanted to make it as plain as day for the world to see: that I’m a lone wolf in spirit and didn’t need any pack to slow me down. Although I don’t have real fangs and claws, the thought of them gave me strength.

With this realization, I came out of my trance.

Sorry, I didn’t realize you were partially blind, I joked, to avoid letting on too much.

Very funny, he annoyingly replied. But seriously.

As I mentioned before, none of us have memories. I wish I could tell you what my tattoo means, but I have no clue.

I gladly lied. For some reason, it was so easy to lie. I just didn’t care about hurting his feelings or anything of that nature. From the look of his expression and that sinister grin on his face, he bought it too.

The few torches next to our wooden table were starting to get low. Their dim light illuminated the simplicity of the table. It was made from tree limbs. A cascade of vines wound their way around the legs, in a constant struggle to hold it together. The torches themselves were courtesy of Stan and those who came before him. They found a way to use pine resin from the tall, skinny ponderosa trees outside the Knox. The resin was highly flammable and was caked onto a pinecone wick inserted into the end of each torch.

What do you think happened here?

Stan told me that many people first thought there was some kind of apocalypse—something like Russia or North Korea finally shouted ‘sayonara’ to the world and hit the launch button on their giant nuclear computers in their bunkers.

People actually believed that?

Things weren’t exactly tip-top with those countries from what I remember.

I suppose it could be possible. But what caused people to move away from this idea?

It stuck with folks initially, but after a while, Marcus, our science guy around here, explained that if that were true, there would have been some kind of nuclear winter, and all the animals would have three heads by now and glowing.

I chuckled.

It felt good to laugh. I couldn’t remember having laughed all week.

The man didn’t join me. He was too engaged - too damn serious.

And the other ideas?

People clung to the idea that a big storm must have wiped things out. This would explain the dangling power distribution pole over there.

I pointed to the right.

The man shifted in his chair. There was just enough ambient light remaining to make out the outline of the damaged utility pole.

He nodded. That explains why I haven’t seen any lights. I’m guessing the trailers are powerless too?

Yep. No power lines mean the trailers are lifeless. It has left us back in the Stone Age. We live by torchlight and campfires. We had to centralize everything—our dining area, our supplies storage, and even a large outhouse. We light a large bonfire at night in the center of the trailer park to help.

He looked around the park, squinting his eyes to focus – taking it all in to see if there were any holes in my story to poke through.

Well, the storm idea had explained the power issue. But it didn’t explain all the other oddities. I’ve already mentioned some of Marcus’ observations on the natural stuff, but there are some other things that are unexplainable. Take, for instance, Stan’s shirt.

The man didn’t budge. Though, it was evident he was confused.

"You haven’t noticed it yet? I asked.

He shook his head.

I’ll spoil it, then: Stan’s shirt magically changes on its own.

The man was silent, almost studying me. He probably realized by now that I’m a great liar, so he was likely looking for some other form of body language to see if this was made-up or not.

His eyes were steadfast. It was like he was trying to peer into my soul, trying to reach into me like a heart surgeon reaches into a patient’s chest, digging and digging to locate the pumping heart and feel it beating in his hands.

Go on, he finally replied.

Well....each day, Stan’s shirt changes into one of three colors: pink, blue, or black. The one common theme is that it always displays a car on it. But the freaky part is what’s driving the car – giant dogs. They’re even wearing sunglasses like they’re the coolest things on the road.

The man leaned forward with a look of anger on his face.

You expect me to believe that, Violet? the man asked angrily. I get it. You don’t want to be the one sitting with me on my first night here, but at least pay me some respect, and don’t feed me some crazy bull—

He stopped himself and put his hand up to his mouth.

My guess is that he didn’t want to curse. He likely thought that saying anything profane would have meant certain doom—that the chain and crucifix around his neck would have started to burn, allowing the smoke and the smell of burnt flesh to fill the air around us.

I broke the awkward silence.

If you don’t believe me, see it for yourself. Stan believes that the almighty is playing a cruel trick on him.

I suppose that would bother most men, the man replied. And I agree that is odd—a shirt that magically changes without any scientific purpose or natural reason. I may question also what, if any, lesson was trying to be taught if this were, indeed, purgatory or hell.

Agreed. I’m glad to see you’re starting to question things like the rest of us.

He gave a brief nod, almost shyly. It was sort of like he tried to stop it midway through, like he didn’t want me to see that he was starting to understand my point of view.

You know....we’re actually very lucky to have Stan here.

Why’s that?

Stan seems to know a ton about medicine, and he has no idea why. We all think he was probably an old, retired veterinarian, or something like that, before this place. He’s also the one who designed the animal traps that we put out every night to catch our dinner.

You hunt around here? the man looked surprised. That’s good to hear. And what do you typically catch?

I smiled, just before delivering this spoiler alert. Your typical, five-star meal: grilled rodents.

The man jolted.

I dug in more. The one you ate with all of us tonight, remember?

I swear he almost fell out of his seat. It was sort of like a couple sitting at a drive-in movie. The girl lets out a scream at the scariest part in the movie, launches her popcorn in the air, and the boyfriend is showered with the kernels on its way back down. The man sitting across from me looked like he was the boyfriend, sitting there and watching the kernels in slow motion about to pelt his face on their descent.

He slowly regained his composure.

Oh, he replied. I see. Well...at least, they’re a source of protein.

But doesn’t that make you question this further? I challenged. If this is truly purgatory, why would there be rodents? Why would we need to eat in the first place if we’re all dead?

The man was quick to move on. Your point is taken. Tell me more.

Well, speaking of Stan, we still can’t figure out his Whisper yet or what it even means.

What is a Whisper? he asked. Just when I think this couldn’t get any weirder... You already mentioned Temptations, and now there is something called Whispers? You left all of this out on the first go-around, Violet. I’d like to hear this finally.

Whispers happen to all of us. Consider them another tally on your list under the ‘Against Purgatory’ column rather than the ‘For.’

I gave him a moment to let it sink in and then continued.

I’m sure your Whispers will start soon if they haven’t already. You’ll be going about your normal business throughout the day when, suddenly, you’ll hear something. It can be anything—music, someone talking to you, someone reading a book aloud, a movie playing. Everyone’s Whisper is different, and only you can hear your own.

I see. That does make sense now. I thought I was going crazy when I first arrived. I’ve heard people reading Bible verses to me, and it only happens when no one else is around.

Until now, I hadn’t noticed that he had jagged scars encircling both wrists. They were almost like small slashes. I had my own feelings about what these were, but our first chitchat was no time to engage him on that personal subject.

The other part about the Whispers is that when they happen, people feel pain – terrible pain, I explained.

I see. Is the pain the same for everyone?

No, not at all.

But—

Hold on, pal. Let me finish.

He shifted in angst.

Okay, Violet. Standing by.

I regained my focus.

"For me, my Whispers are always the sounds of baby music or a man reading children’s books. Don’t ask me why; I sure as hell don’t know the reason for it. And when