The Divine Adam Carter

Chapter 1

It's never good when you are summoned to the principal's office in person by her secretary. I was not asked to come into the office via intercom, nor was the task of retrieving me menial enough to trust to an office-aid. Mrs. Prince waited in front of the classroom, watching me through cat-eye spectacles while I stuffed my fat Algebra II textbook and green spiral notebook into my backpack. Pen clutched between my teeth, I avoided eye contact with my classmates. Their low moans told me they thought I was in trouble. This made me nervous. My heart beat fast. I had no idea what this could be about. If I'd done something wrong, I would have been less ill at ease. It had been a year since my last visit to Principal Reicher's office. She'd sent Mrs. Prince to fetch me then as well. My eyes remained swollen for days afterwards from all the crying. "It couldn't be worse than last time," I thought to myself, walking just behind Mrs. Prince down the empty halls of Klein High.

The blood in my face turned to ice as I stepped into the room. Mrs. Prince shut the door, leaving me in a wood-paneled office across from Heir Reicher. The Nazi-wet-dream sat at her desk, but all I could focus on was the police officer standing behind her.

Dark thoughts crashed against my chest. "If you called me here to tell me my parents are dead..." I began.

"No, no. No one died. You're not in trouble, no one is injured," she said. She gave me a few seconds to breathe in the information and waited for relief to displace panic. When confusion washed over my face, she began. "Ms. Jones. I have a letter here." Principal Reicher handed me a sheet of unfolded notebook paper sealed in a clear plastic zip bag. Taking the letter, I stared at the stiff white cuff protruding from her gray blazer. Her shiny nails gleamed candy apple red.

"Fierce!" I thought in a voice I'd never hear again.

"We need you to identify the author," said the officer.

I began reading through transparent plastic. Black ink clung thick on certain vowels and consonants where a ball point tip had drawn over again and again. The pen had pegged out, delivering less and less ink with each word. Half a paragraph later the author replaced the utensil and carried the letter on with neater strokes. When I came around to actually reading the letter, well before I turned over the page, the reason the cop was standing in the room became obvious and my blood ran cold.

"Any idea, Jesse?" Principal Reicher rarely called students by their first name, but I'm sure anxiety had turned my complexion a shade of white. She couldn't but nudge me more gently towards an answer lest I retch in a waste bin.

"Can I have a couple more minutes please?" I asked, doing my best to appear overwhelmed and not scheming.

Mrs. Reicher's golden blond waves didn't move at all when she turned her head to look back at the officer for approval. The cop nodded and I began again. I read slowly. I needed time to weigh out the consequences of my response. I wanted to hear the words on the page recited in my head again. The voices were clear. I knew who'd penned the letter.


You are a goddess among women. No seriously, you defy the laws of nature. You are both perfect in every way and you are kind. Most girls at this school are fucking cunts or butt ugly. I would kill to have you just now. I am so sore from masturbating to the thought of you. Tomorrow I get to stare at you all day, not that you'll notice. You never notice. I wish you'd notice. I wish you'd see what I see. You just go about your day spreading your love around. Treating them all as equals. Treating them all as if they're worthy of your gaze. Goddess, you are to be revered. I would serve you. Oh, that I could. Oh that you could see these fucks for what they truly are; apes among men. Scoundrels and sluts. Inferior beings in fleshy disguises. Degenerates who cloak morbid fascination and wicked tendencies behind a complacent strut that is expected of us all. But I know them for what they are because I lurk in the shadows and watch. I know who fucked that retard in the boy's locker room. She'd never accuse him. In her mind, she is just fortunate to have been acknowledged by someone who is carried on shoulders. I suppose getting porked by some sweaty jock was the pinnacle of her existence. Truly, who is more worthy of disgust here between the two? Should I include the staff? We are educated by a teacher who allows one lucky male student per school-year to go over to her house for tutoring. Every year, former pupils come into class to say "hi" after they've graduated. It is well-known that this faculty member can suck a gorilla through a straw and for her age, it is said, she is very flexible. I suppose those freshman girls in college can't possibly compete. It isn't that I mind, you know. All of these scoundrels breathing my air. I just don't want them breathing yours. I just think we could use a fresh start. I intend on cleansing this microcosm. Make parents grateful for their children, make children thankful for their teachers, make staff grateful for their routines. And "isn't it nice when no one has to worry about someone losing their fucking mind this week and pulling a semi in class?" they will say. There will be glee in their hearts. After they heal. Just before they recede back into their former selves and become fuckheads all over again.

As I made to turn it over, Reicher reached forward to take the letter. I can understand why she attempted to prevent me from reading further, but the weight of the officer's hand on her shoulder stopped her and bade her patience while I continued.

I love you Jesse Jones. I feel you in my bones. The smell of you is bliss, the softness of your hair betrays…is it Vanilla V05 with Alovera Extract? And I am sure your skin is supple silk ripe for raking. That I could mouth your name inaudibly cuming to the feel of your lips on mine. You will cum. I will wait. I will do this, all of this for you.

My cheeks flushed hot. I was upset and sad and yet wet with desire. That final paragraph, that final voice, resounded in my head, its eagerness pulsing my crotch. "Fuck!" I thought to myself, setting the plastic-wrapped letter down on the huge desk. The message was clear enough. I was had. This was checkmate. This was holy war won and I was ready for communion. I was eager to leave but decided to stand up slowly, I picked up my bag and plopped it on the chair I'd just emptied. Noting the look of surprise and inquiry on their faces, I said a name. "Adam."

The officer reached in his jacket, took out a tiny notebook and flipped to a clean page. He would have asked for a last name if Reicher hadn't said it first in the form of a soft-spoken question.

"Mr. Carter?" It wasn't a matter of confirming the name itself so much as spoken wonderment and disbelief. On her face I saw negation seeking certainty, followed by indignation.