The Portent

by Michael S. Heiser

  He looked at her kneeling alongside the couch, his eyes now fully adjusted, transfixed by every feature of her face and the deep orange glow of the edges of her hair against the fire’s light. “I wanted you to feel special.”

  “I do,” she replied with a soft smile. “But what’s the occasion?”

  A sly expression creased his face. “It’s your birthday.”

  “No, it’s not.” She cocked her head to one side, taken by a sudden realization. “It’s not Melissa Carter’s birthday, but you’re right, today is my real birthday. How did you know that? I’m sure I’ve never told you.”

  “I have my ways,” he answered, grinning with satisfaction.

  “I want to know how you found out,” she insisted, trying unsuccessfully to look annoyed.

  “It’s called research.”

  “Don’t give me that,” she replied, trying not to laugh.

  “I know your real name and where you’re from. I found your name with your picture in an old issue of your local newspaper, something about kids from your high school serving a meal around Christmas time. It was dated and happened to mention the meal was on your birthday.”

  “A picture? From high school? I bet my hair was ghastly.”

  “It wasn’t as nice as it is now, but I liked it.”

  “Well, two can play this game,” she said in mock defiance. “I’m going to discover yours, along with some unflattering information.”

  “You’ll never find it. You might see my name in a box score or something, but otherwise I’m invisible.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “There’s no way I’m telling you my birthday.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s embarrassing. I still have some dignity left.”

  “Were you born on Hitler’s birthday or something?”

  “No, it’s worse than that,” he joked.

  “Come on!” She laughed.

  “Forget it. I’d only tell you if I knew I was dying. Then the humiliation wouldn’t matter.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m considering it.”

  “Get used to disappointment.” He stopped. Melissa could see that the word moved the evening’s circumstances back into his thoughts.

  He sighed. “I’m glad you’re home safely. Did you have fun?”

  “Actually, yes. I didn’t expect to, but I did. But I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about what you were up to. Whatever you made up there smells wonderful, but you can barely boil water—unless you’ve been feigning incompetence all this time.”

  “No, my ineptitude is real,” he answered, enjoying her astonishment. “What you missed tonight is now the one thing I can make. It’s Martha Stewart’s spicy coconut chicken casserole. She and I hooked up on YouTube. I’ve been practicing the recipe.”

  “Martha Stewart?” she exclaimed with a laugh. “You’ve been secretly watching Martha Stewart videos down here in the bunker? Wait till Malcolm hears this.”

  “He’s never going to know.”

  “He’s going to know tomorrow—unless you tell me your birth date.”

  “Do what you must.”

  She laughed again. “How did you pull it off? If you’ve been practicing, what did you do with all the food?”

  “I’d make it in the morning right after you left, then have some and take the rest to one of the guys’ dorms. I’m a big hit over there.”

  “I can’t believe you could be so deceptive,” she said, pretending to be shocked.

  “Believe it.”

  “Oh!” Melissa touched her tummy. “Just some movement in there,” she explained before he could ask.

  He took the cue and sat up. “Plenty of room up here,” he offered, patting the space next to him and taking her hand.

  She got up slowly and joined him on the couch. “Now,” she said, settling again. “What’s this?” She held up the gift box.

  “That’s for you.”

  “I know it’s for me,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I want to know what it is.”

  “You’d know that if you opened it. It won’t harm you.”

  “I’m more interested in how much it damaged your bank account,” she replied with a hint of sternness in her voice.

  “The bank account’s dead. It died happy.”

  “Brian, you—”

  “Open it,” he interrupted her.

  Melissa eyed him suspiciously and began to remove the wrapping. She stopped as soon as she saw the name on the box. “Tiffany’s? Are you serious? That better be just for effect.”

  Brian answered only with a sheepish raise of his eyebrows.

  She opened the box. “Oh my gosh,” she exclaimed breathlessly. The contents gleamed blistering white as the box tilted toward the fire’s light.

  “It’s a necklace,” he said in order to puncture the awkward silence. “And that’s not silver,” he added, “it’s platinum. I wanted something different. I liked the shine. And I asked for the emeralds. They match your eyes.”

  Melissa stared at the contents, speechless. She slowly removed the dazzling piece. It was a woven, geometric necklace about the width of her finger that had two small ovular emeralds attached to a much larger, square-cut stone in a Y-shaped structural design.

  “Hold it up so I can see what it looks like on you.”

  She hesitated, but then complied.

  Brian stared, captivated by the symmetry of Melissa’s face, the glow of her auburn, shoulder-length, bobbed hair. Even in the dim light he could make out her deep green eyes, matched by the gems. “Wow, it’s just perfect.”

  “Well, at least I can still feel attractive from the neck up.”

  “Please. You’re amazing.”

  “Sure,” she said gratefully, but with a whiff of skepticism. “And ‘amazed’ is the right word,” she said, eyebrows raised in a mild scolding. “Brian, this is really too much. I don’t even know where I’d wear this.”

  “Wear it around the house if you think it’s too flashy.”

  “You don’t wear something like this around the house, Brian. A state dinner, maybe.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Of course. It’s breathtaking. It’s just—you’re too good to me.” She smiled appreciatively, returning the necklace to the box. “Now how much did it cost?”

  “If I tell you, will you ask me to return it?”

  “Probably.”

  “Too late. I already burned the receipt,” he replied, nodding in the direction of the fire.

  “I’m serious, Brian. This must have cost a small fortune. You shouldn’t have spent all that money on me.”

  “Melissa,” he said, becoming serious, “you have to understand something. It was a few thousand dollars, but—”

  “You spent a few thousand dollars on a necklace? Brian—”

  “Let me finish,” he said. “It’s been four years since I celebrated Christmas with anyone. The necklace is for your birthday and Christmas, too. I wanted to give you something exceptional—something that would make you think of me whenever you saw it. I may never have the money or the opportunity again. I needed to do this while I could.”

  “What do you mean you may never have the opportunity again—and that it’ll make me think of you?” she asked, alarm rising in her voice. “What are saying? You sound like you’re leaving.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he responded, smiling reassuringly. “I’d never leave you—” He stopped as if needing to catch his breath.

  “What is it?” she urged.

  “I’m not planning on going anywhere, but I know the day will come when you’ll need me to go.”

  “Brian, if I must say it, what the hell are you talking about?” she demanded, her eyes flaring.

  He looked at her. She saw the anguish in his eyes and didn’t press.

  “The last few months here with you,” he began, “have been the best months of my life. I wouldn’
t trade them for anything. But I’ve come to realize that my being here has made you a prisoner. And tonight sort of reinforced the point.”

  “What? How?”

  “Don’t you see? The babies will be here and then gone in a few more months. You’ll be able to start over. At some point you’ll apply for another teaching position somewhere else. We can move together to maintain appearances here, but you’ll have a chance at a new beginning—the chance to meet someone and get married and have a good life. But you can’t do that the way things are now. I’m in the way.”

  “What if I’m happy here?”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t, but you need the freedom to make choices. You don’t have that now. You’re going to meet someone and fall for them, someone who can give you the kind of life you deserve—someone life Neff.”

  “Neff? I see the problem now. Why are you threatened by Graham?”

  “Seriously? He’s rich, good looking, and has clear direction in life. Other than that, we’re like twins. I just can’t give you those things. The truth is,” he stammered, “I have nothing to offer you. You just can’t see it now, but I see it—clearly.”

  She turned to face him squarely. The light of the fire glistened off his moistened eyes. “You’re right,” she said, locking eye contact. “As usual, your analysis is very logical, but your argument isn’t compelling. You’ve overlooked something—something that’s fatal to your thesis.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, surprised.

  “He’s not you.”

  “I think that’s exactly my point,” he protested.

  “Malcolm and Dee were right,” she said thoughtfully, studying his expression. “You really can’t imagine this being your real life.”

  “Malcolm and Dee? Right about what?” he asked anxiously.

  “I had a little talk with them earlier today, about you … and us.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means they were right—at least about one thing. But I need to hearit.” She forced a smile, her own disquiet creeping into her heart.

  “What did they say?” he asked, trying not to sound too defensive.

  “I’ll tell you, but first I need to say something.”

  Brian eyed her apprehensively.

  “I’m thrilled with the necklace,” she said. “And I won’t question your judgment again about the money. But you need to know that it won’t be the thing I remember about tonight for the rest of my life. It won’t be the dinner, either.”

  Brian looked into her eyes, trying to divine her thoughts. They drew him in but weren’t giving anything away. “And what’s that?” he asked cautiously.

  “This,” she said, reaching down to the floor and under the couch. She brought out the plastic sleeve, never breaking her gaze. His eyes looked down at her hand and then closed tightly.

  “Melissa,” he groaned. “You shouldn’t—how could I be so careless?” he berated himself, then fell silent.

  She put down the page and took his hand, squeezing it affectionately. “Do you love me?” she whispered in earnest, undeterred by the anguish on his face.

  “Melissa, don’t …”

  “I need to know,” she whispered again. She released his hand and took hold of his arm, then rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Please …” His voice cracked. A tear trickled down his cheek.

  “I want the truth, one way or the other.”

  He was trembling, fighting for control. She waited patiently. She tried not to measure the silence. Her awareness drifted back to her conversation with Malcolm and Dee. There was nothing she could do but wait and fight the anxiety slowly invading her heart. Her mind clouded with regret. Suddenly she felt him relax.

  Brian sniffed and cleared his throat. “It’s true.” His voice broke again, but he managed to keep going. “It’s true. You’re my first thought every day, and my last thought every night. I’ve really tried hard not to let it happen.… I’m sorry.”

  Melissa sighed quietly, reaching across his chest and pulling herself closer. He put his arm around her. A wave of relief swept over her. “Thank you—and there’s no need to apologize.”

  “I don’t want things to change,” he replied haltingly.

  “I do.”

  “Why? Things are so good now, despite the danger.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” she replied, sitting up. “I love you, too.”

  “Don’t say that, please.”

  “It’s true,” she said, repeating his own answer with a smile, wiping a tear from his face. “I know you’re afraid that I don’t mean it, or that I’ll change my mind, but I won’t.” She looked him in the eye. “I know what I’m saying. I feel the same way you do.”

  “That makes no sense,” he objected.

  “Of course it doesn’t,” she challenged wryly. “If love made sense, it would be predictable. It doesn’t follow a formula. If it did, it would always happen the same way for the same reasons. It’s not about logic, so let’s put that to rest.”

  He looked at her, a dazed expression on his face. “You just destroyed everything I’ve been thinking for months in a couple of seconds. That’s a little intimidating,” he said, a faint smile appearing.

  “Intimidating? I’m not done with you yet,” she warned airily, reaching again for the slipcover. “What does it say on the back?”

  “It’s Egyptian.”

  “I can see that. That wasn’t my question. I want to hear what it says.”

  “No one really knows exactly what spoken Egyptian sounded like, but—”

  “You’re stalling—and you’re wonderfully bad at it. Let’s have the translation.”

  “It’s a poem.”

  “Fascinating. Now what does it say?” She was grinning, enjoying the joust.

  “It’s a New Kingdom text from the Chester Beatty papyrus.”

  “Class is over, professor.”

  He grinned. “It’s a love poem … and it’s a little embarrassing.”

  “That just makes me want to hear it even more,” she said, laughing. “If you need a dictionary, I’ll get you one from your shelf.”

  He took her hand in both of his, caressing her fingers. “I don’t need a dictionary. I know it by heart.” He recited the words:

  One alone is my sister, having no peer;

  more gracious than all other women.

  Behold, she is like the rising morning star;

  at the beginning of a good year.

  Shining brightly, fair of skin;

  lovely is the look of her eyes.

  Sweet is the speech of her lips;

  she utters no excess of words.

  Sloping is her neck, fair are her breasts;

  her hair is true lapis lazuli.

  Her arms surpass gold;

  her fingers are like lotuses

  “Mmm, I like it. Is that all?”

  “No, but I should probably stop there.”

  “Oh, really. Why’s that?”

  “It gets a little … racy.”

  “Oh, that’s even better,” she cooed warmly, leaning in close to him. “I hope you never learn how to extricate yourself from a conversation.”

  Brian looked into her eyes. His eyes fell to her mouth. He ran his hands over her arms, then her shoulders, and then to her bare neck, feeling the warmth of her soft skin. She turned her head and kissed his hand. He gently turned her face toward his.

  The phone rang loudly, piercing the silence. Neither of them flinched, their full attention still on each other, inches apart.

  The phone rang again, insistently.

  “I’d better get that,” Brian said in a low, parched voice.

  “It’s my phone,” Melissa replied, her words barely audible.

  A third ring.

  Melissa pressed her cheek against his and nibbled playfully on his ear. “Hold that thought,” she insisted in a whisper filled with promise. She pulled back slowly and slid off the couch, then headed toward the
desk and found her phone in her coat pocket.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Melissa, it’s Graham. I’m sorry to bother you so late this evening, but something terrible has happened.”

  “What’s wrong?” Brian heard the alarm in Melissa’s voice as she returned to the couch.

  “Well, when I got back to the guest house tonight, Malone had a disturbing report. He was watching a rebroadcast of tonight’s news and saw that girl’s face on TV, the one who confronted you at the coffee house.”

  “Becky?”

  “Right.”

  Melissa shot a bewildered glance at Brian, who was watching her intently.

  “Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. The report wasn’t about her. It was about her boyfriend, the one who got arrested in Chicago. He’s dead.”

  “What? How can that be? He should be in jail awaiting trial.”

  “Our thoughts exactly. Apparently he made bail a few days ago and was shot tonight outside a bar. The only reason it was on the news here was the local connection with Becky. There was no word on where she is.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “I don’t like it,” Neff said ominously. “There’s just something not right about it. I can feel it. Malone and I are going to watch your house tonight in the car. We’ll take turns. We’re used to that sort of thing. I just wanted to let you know.”

  “Thank you,” Melissa replied, her heart pounding.

  “Make sure Brian knows. We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

  “I will. He’s right here.” She stared at Brian, her eyes wide with fear. “I’ll tell him everything.”

  29

  Many evil things there are that your strong walls and bright swords do not stay.

  —J. R. R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

  “Is this the place where you two met that Becky girl?” Dee asked Melissa, surveying the eclectic mélange of patrons in the small café who were sheltering themselves from the bitter Fargo winter over their favorite hot treat. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen people scattered here and there at the tables. Most had Christmas packages tucked near their feet, making the cozy space feel cramped and confined.

  “No,” she answered, “this is a new place. A lot smaller, but as long as the coffee is good, I don’t care.”