An hour later, he was at the office. Shay and Fabian were anchoring the skeleton crew, as they had been all week. Fabian stopped in the hallway and gave him a look that suggested that the day would have been brighter for him if Marc had stayed home today as well… or the whole week, better yet.
Conversely, Shay beamed at the sight of him when he reached her cubicle. “Hey, how are you doing? Feeling better?”
Marc nodded curtly. “Not bad. Been better.”
Shay frowned a little, but her mouth widened into a grin immediately afterward. “That’s good. At least you’re up and moving around, so that’s good, right?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
“I hear you. Don’t worry, I already sent you the variance report. Let me know if you need anything.”
Fabian came around the corner and lean-sat on Shay’s desk. “Hey girl.” He shot Marc a look that said he was excused from any further conversation. Marc obliged and proceeded toward his desk.
Soon afterward, he had turned on his workstation and logged in to the system. He launched his email program and waited for the messages to download. It was delayed due to the large file Shay sent, then a flurry of bold-type subject lines filled his inbox. Most notable was one that read “Unexcused Absences”.
“Let’s get this over with,” he sighed.
He launched the message, listing his name in the “to” line, his boss’s name in the “from” line, and four other managers in the “cc” line. Great, now the whole universe knows I called in sick, he thought.
Marc,
As you know, The Company is committed to your growth and development as an outstanding member of our team. To that end, it is vital that all employees adhere to the strictest codes of professional business conduct. We are counting
Marc sighed again and closed the message window without reading another word. He brooded in his office chair. His fist pressed against his cheek. His other arm gripped the armrest, and he had a moment of clarity: he was seated as though he were on a throne. Something inside of him snapped into place.
This… all of this… was beneath him.
He brooded on his throne, seeing peasants appealing to his mercy and compassion, and receiving none. A condemned man begged to be spared. He was not. An enemy army sent an emissary to negotiate their peaceful surrender. He ordered their eradication. This was the way of Nineveh. Marc knew.
His lips curled into a sneer, and he pressed COMPOSE on his email program. The email was addressed to his boss. The subject line said “Resignation”. The message was short and to the point, as befitted one versed in the ways of Nineveh.
I am resigning from my position of Data Analyst II effective immediately. I am leaving my access badge with the security office.
Sincerely,
Marc Morris
He pressed SEND. He locked his computer workstation and headed in the direction of the stairwell that led to the lobby, the security office, and then freedom. Fabian came around the corner with some papers from the copier. Marc patted his shoulder on his way by.
“Go get her, tiger.”
Fabian stood there, dumbfounded. “Are you… leaving?”
Marc did not answer. He answered to no-one.
He marched a steady gait, left right left right, and soon a familiar cadence drove him toward the stairway door: Tobias! Tobias! Tobias!
CHAPTER 26: CLASS PROJECT
The bearded man had been sucking on his pipe thoughtfully for what seemed like a small eternity. Agnes wiped away a stray tear, and Bess gave her a consoling look every so often, but there wasn’t much to do but sit and wait for their mentor to decide on a plan of action.
For her part, Agnes tried to review the events that led to her showing up in her brother’s apartment. She had hidden in her closet, that was certain. She didn’t intend to go anywhere, but as she sat on the closet floor she was drawn to a light. The back wall of the closet faded away and revealed a carpeted floor just beyond the former barrier. She saw the edge of an unfamiliar sofa and took the opportunity to retreat from her brother, hoping to find a way to explain herself to him. There was much about Agnes that Marc didn’t know. None of her family members knew her, really. They didn’t know about her mentoring, about Image, about Bess, the countess, or the bearded man. And they certainly had no idea how she really supported herself.
But she carefully crafted her persona to be as nondescript and unobtrusive as possible. She also had to coexist in modern society, and that meant carrying a token amount of money to buy goods and services. It meant speaking out loud to communicate with others. It meant getting rides or taking the bus to get places, if not plain walking. It was vital that the truth about who she was and what she had become—and was still evolving into—remained secret, and defied inquiry.
The candle called to her. She heard her brother’s voice call her name. She heard his voice across time and space saying that he loved her, and instantly she was drawn to him, to be an angel of mercy. She felt his longing, his sadness, his frustration. She could feel how he cared for her, as blood. She went to him to comfort him and ease his suffering.
Instead, she just created more suffering. Marc asked questions she could not answer. She thought for a fleeting moment that he had in fact heard the calling, and Image, or someone or something like Image, had made a connection with him that would lead him down her path.
Purity of heart. Purity of thought, Purity of motive. He had heard the words. She showed him the words, written there in her notebook. It was like the password to their club, wasn’t it? Why would he know the words, if he had not received the calling, like she had, years earlier?
And what of the candle? Why did Marc light it? Why had it led the way to him? He was speaking of her into the flame, and just as he blew it out, she arrived before the way was darkened and her path was closed. She tried to help ease him toward her path. He would receive a mentor and begin doing the necessary work to learn the ancient ways, to reveal the secrets, to know the essential truths. This was her indoctrination, and she was certain that a similar pattern would be followed to bring her brother into the fold.
Her mentor was correct: the candle was not hers. Marc seemed unfamiliar with it but seemed to form a bond with it, speaking to something beyond the glow of the yellow flame. The candle was not his. So, where had it come from?
Agnes. You are needed.
Bess was in her head now, breaking her concentration. She opened her eyes, and saw the bearded man set his pipe on the desk and lean back in his chair, stroking his beard.
“I’m afraid we will have to revisit the scene.”
The women exchanged glances, then rose from their chairs. The bearded man eased himself up and out of his seat and waddled around the side of his grand mahogany desk. He led the pair out of the study, and down the center hallway of his red brick manor. He reached into his pocket and produced a brass key, then he inserted it into a proper keyhole and gave it an urgent twist. He opened the dark wood door and flicked on a stained-glass lamp on a side table, casting a tinted glow around the room.
The women set about to lighting incense sticks, then blowing them out, leaving a wisp of sweet smoke coiling up to the ceiling. The heavy velvet curtains were pulled tightly shut. The door was closed, and a decorative rug was rolled up and placed at the bottom of the doorway, as if to prevent air from getting out. The bearded man held up a glass bell and tapped it with a glass rod, sounding a high ting, letting the sound reverberate until it ceased of its own accord.
Ornately carved stools were positioned in the center of the room, forming a triangular arrangement. The bearded man uncorked a bottle and poured something into the palm of his left hand, and smeared the substance on his forehead, then on Bess, then on Agnes. They nodded after he completed the ritual and took their seats. The bearded man switched off the light, then shuffled around in the darkness until squatting down on his stool with a grunt, then a hiss of breath as he finally made contact.
“Begin.�
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The women hummed, then opened their mouths to form an “Aum” sound, sustaining the note for as long as they could, then inhaling deeply to repeat the process.
The room changed.
The air was thick with incense, and there was an overwhelming sense that could only be described as holiness. It was ancient, but could not be placed, something eternal, something that always was, something that will always be. It defied the conventions of the mortal. It was nameless, yet it was the source of all names. It was formless, but from it forms ventured forth. The women continued their chant as the bearded man spoke.
“All that is secret is known. We are united in our purpose, to seek the truth. Reveal to us the source of the candle that brought Agnes to her brother Marc and show us its purpose.” The chanting droned on, without interruption. “Show us what the candle was meant to summon forth.” The room did not produce any revelations. The ritual continued.
“We go now, to where time and space are without meaning. We go together and seek the truth. The light is the way. Purity of heart. Purity of thought. Purity of motive. We three are united in our purpose.”
The air changed again. The heavy incense and holiness was obscured by a swirl of black smoky clouds, which soon dissipated and were replaced by a balmy breeze. The scent of grasses and trees was carried in the faint gust, and a mix of sand and earth.
The darkness was replaced by a stone-walled room, lit by windows that could not be closed, as they were carved into the stone. An old man sat on a stool, looking off into the middle distance, and seeing nothing. He was wrapped in meager robes of brown, with thin sandals on his feet. A ring of white hair adorned the sides and back of his head.
CHAPTER 27: DELETED SCENES
The trio continued their observation. An elderly woman approached the old man and beseeched him.
“Tobit, lament no more, for your son Tobias shall return unto you, and you shall be overjoyed.”
The old man brushed her aside. “Tobias is dead. He shall never return, and I shall never lay eyes nor hands upon him. Lo, the days of Tobit are at an end! My name and my hopes all die with me, but first with Tobias. Leave me, woman, leave me to die.”
The woman spat and left the room. “Tobit, have you no faith? Tobias lives, and shall yet return to you!”
The old man shook his head and wept. “Nay, for Tobias is dead.”
There was a rustling outside of another door to the room that housed the old man. He looked up, in vain, being blind, but cried out. “Who comes to Tobit? Does the angel of death come to ease his suffering? Oh, God is good, that He bring a swift, sweet death.”
A thin man dressed similarly in simple brown robes and thin sandals entered the room furtively, looking back at a long-haired woman in the shadows. He crouched down and took the old man’s hands into his own.
“Death does not come for you, noble Tobit, for Tobias has come instead, and you shall be given sight anew.”
The old man scowled and rubbed the stranger’s hands. “You are not Tobias.”
“Aye, but I am Tobias, and when your sight has been restored, you shall see Tobias and know that I have spoken true.”
The old man recoiled. “Devil! Who speaks with the name of Tobias but not his tongue? Who reaches for Tobit but not with the hands of Tobias! Oh, suffering! Oh, madness!”
The stranger shushed him. “Hush, Tobit, the time of your salvation is come.” He laid his hand upon the top of the old man’s head and closed his eyes. The old man sucked in his breath but did not speak. The stranger removed his hand from the man’s head and turned sharply to the sound of approaching footsteps from the opposite direction. Three pairs, by his count. He whispered one last thing. “When you open your eyes again, you shall see Tobias, and you shall know it was Tobias that healed you.”
The stranger slipped out through the door from whence he entered and vanished.
Another younger man, a woman, and the old woman returned. The young man spoke: “Father, it is I, Tobias, and have returned at last. By the grace of God, I shall remove your blindness and once more you shall see Tobias.”
The old man tried to protest, but he felt a familiar hand wipe something on his eyes. “Open your eyes, now, Father, and see that your son has returned.”
The old man did as he was told, and rejoiced at the sight of his son, returned at last from faraway lands.
“Tobias has spoken true,” said Tobit.
CHAPTER 28: EXODUS
Marc returned home in the early afternoon. He had taken a circuitous route, driving around absentmindedly, knowing the way home but impulsively taking right or left turns at various intersections, not caring where they led. He would get home in due time. Driving was soothing, and a distraction from staring at the walls of his apartment. There would be time enough for that later.
He kept his car stereo switched off. Whatever was on the radio was irrelevant. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, and with the exceptions of engine, road, and city noises thumping, growling and wailing outside of his protective metal and glass bubble, he succeeded.
There was no turning back now. He had resigned, without notice. He had never done that before, for any reason. On his worst-ever work day he might have blown off steam after work, having a drink, or ranting—sometimes both. But his comfortable position at DRC didn’t give him much reason to do either. He showed up, did his job, then went home each night. No fuss, no muss. Now he threw his entire career away, up to and including his employee badge, which now resided in the security office. There would be calls. There would be emails. There would be letters. They would steadily progress from concern and worry, to more formal proclamations regarding his decision to terminate, what that meant for his benefit package, and other loose ends.
He felt his stomach turn for a moment as he considered the future timeline of events, and questioned his decision, if only for a moment. Was he really throwing it all away for… Inanna? Who was she? Did he imagine her? No, he reasoned, she was real—is real. His body ached for her, and again sent a thrill throughout his entire nervous system with the very real remembrance of their one and only contact. Her touch, her scent, her kiss, the sound of her voice in his ear, the heat of her breath against it as she spoke to him. All real. It all happened, and he would have her once more. And again. Forever.
His meanderings had taken him to an unfamiliar part of the city. He was never one to concern himself with “bad” neighborhoods, as his travels tended to be uneventful and he wasn’t mixed up in anything that would either take him to such places, or if he ever did go to such a place, such as he had just done, he was just passing through. The bad stuff only happened if you lived there. Or were actively involved in something bad—well, he assumed.
He found himself stopped at an intersection that was further delayed by a slow-moving freight train. That was fine with him… more time to think. He slid the gear shifter into Park and let the engine idle.
This was an industrial area that had gone through boom and bust times. People often thought of Chicago as a single monolithic entity, but the locals knew better, and even at that, they didn’t know the extent to which it was the sum of its many parts. The well-off parts, or the more famous ones, like the Gold Coast or the Magnificent Mile attracted attention, visitors, and money. Places like this, with dirt and decaying buildings, many not even bothering to board up missing windows, once part of a manufacturing boom decades earlier for what would now be a dead industry, they were in the debit column of the balance sheet in terms of prestige. It didn’t appear as though the city was devoting much in the way of time, money, and resources to improve the place. He figured he should be happy to have passable roads.
The train screeched inexorably forward.
Marc lost himself in another remembrance of Inanna. Her olive skin, her golden adornments, how they shone in the sunlight, how her dark hair spread out in all directions beneath her as she laid on the ground beneath him, her touch, her scent, her taste. He would have h
er again. Inanna would always be his. He would take her, he would—
His thoughts were interrupted by two homeless people pushing shopping carts filled to absurd levels with garbage. They eclipsed the sight of the passing train, and for a moment he made eye contact with one of them: a grimy woman with stringy hair, wearing a heavy coat that appeared to have been scavenged from somewhere, and what appeared to be men’s work pants, covered with streaks and stains. He wanted to believe they were just dirt and mud.
A black trash bag became untied, and spilled soda cans out like a broken piñata. The woman cried out, and her companion, a black man also dressed in a heavy coat and with scars across his left cheek stooped down to help recover the lost loot. The woman reached forward to grab a can as it rolled clumsily away, and Marc caught sight of her through his side window. He watched with fascination as the woman was clearly panicking that something so forgettable seemed to be the line between life and death. Then again, he reasoned, they are homeless, and they’re probably taking the cans to a scrapper for a few bucks. He was relieved to be spared the awkward theater normally involved when panhandlers would pass his car.
Once the cans were secured, the duo pushed their cars to the opposing sidewalk, and then back and out of sight.
The train cleared the crossing as well, and a moment or two later, Marc continued his aimless journey, He slid the gear shifter into Drive, and tapped the gas pedal, leaving the intersection, the homeless, and the train tracks nothing but a distant memory.
He looked at his gas gauge, which estimated a quarter of a tank left. Best to cut the wandering short and get back home, he decided. He’d have plenty of time to think there and regroup. He pulled over and retrieved driving directions through his phone. Shortly thereafter, he was taking an expressway on-ramp and heading for home.
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