The Agency

by Shawn Oetzel

  When the silence became too much for her, she asked, “So how long was I out?”

  “About 36 hours.”

  “Wow,” was all she could think to say. “I’m sorry I went all zombie on you.”

  “No need to apologize, Agent Sommers. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. Your body and mind needed some down time. I understand completely.”

  “I guess,” she said. “You’re a bit mistaken however.”

  “How’s that?” Ambrosius asked.

  “We’ve been through a lot. Not just me.”

  She took another sip of coffee and felt another smile reach her face. Ambrosius nodded his head and smiled back. She knew it was his way of showing his appreciation. This case had been tough on both of them on many different levels. The fact they had made it through together was something she knew she would never forget.

  “So what happens next?” she asked, looking at the case carrying Excalibur.

  “I was hoping you would accompany me on a trip to Glastonbury before heading home,” Ambrosius said.

  “I would be honored,” she said, a lump of emotion catching in her throat.

  When they finished their meal, Ambrosius paid the bill and she was proud of herself for accepting his generosity without arguing. They exited the hotel and were met by a London Agency car and driver. She turned to look at Ambrosius who merely shrugged his shoulders sheepishly.

  “I figured we may as well travel in style,” he said.

  “Well who am I to argue with British logic?” she said, and they both shared a laugh.

  The two hour drive from London to Glastonbury was a pleasant one. They spoke very little, neither one wanting to broach the subject of having to say goodbye. Instead they danced around the issue with small talk. With the passing of every mile, however, the weight of inevitability could not be ignored.

  Amy did her best to take in all the local scenery and could not deny the beauty and charm of the English country side. She listened as Ambrosius talked about the rich history of Glastonbury. The eloquence and longing with which he spoke told her more about the near mythical area than the actual facts he relayed. From what she gathered Glastonbury was not just a place ripe in Arthurian legend, it was Ambrosius’ home.

  As they neared the small town, Amy could see a series of hills of varying sizes. The largest of which she could see had a tall stone tower which Ambrosius called Tor. According to the British agent, this was all that was left of a church dedicated to the Archangel Michael. Tor also reputedly marked the entrance to Avalon.

  “Where exactly do you have to take Excalibur?” she asked.

  “The Chalice Well,” Ambrosius said in a whisper.

  She heard a sadness in his voice, and when she looked at his face could see a similar sadness mirrored in his eyes. This had to be a bittersweet moment for him. Yes, it was the completion of a centuries’ old journey and a life’s quest, but it also meant his own time was coming to an end as well. She had the sudden urge to reach out and grab his hand, which she did not hesitate in doing, and was rewarded by a warm sincere smile at her gesture.

  The car slowed to a stop in front of a raised area that reminded her of a park back home. Ambrosius stared out the window for a minute before grabbing the case containing Excalibur. Amy followed. There was a chill in the air, and she could see her breath.

  Ambrosius waited for her in front of a set of stone steps. She approached the British agent, and they made the short climb hand in hand.

  The Chalice Well was located in the center of a stone-paved circular area. An overwhelming sense of peace and serenity came over her. This was without a doubt the most beautiful and spiritual place she had set foot on; tears sprang to her eyes.

  “What is this place?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

  “This is the Chalice Well,” Ambrosius answered reverently, pointing to a raised rock cairn. “This is where Joseph of Arimathea washed the cup of Christ, or the Holy Grail if you prefer. The waters that flow here run at a constant pace which never changes and always at the exact same temperature. Some even believe the water in this well holds the very essence of life itself.”

  She watched as Ambrosius set the case down on the ground and unclasped the latches. When he pulled forth Excalibur, the beauty of the sword in this place took her breath away. She knew she was in the presence of true magic.

  She and Ambrosius crossed to the well. She helped him remove the intricately designed wrought iron covering. Several feet below in the dark interior, she could see the swiftly moving water.

  “Thank you for helping me get to this moment,” Ambrosius said.

  She did not know how to respond, and so instead reached over and squeezed his hand again. Then, together they stepped to the well and Ambroisus dropped Excalibur in. She waited for the splash the heavy blade would cause, but it never came. She looked over the edge into the depths of the well but the sword was gone.

  “Ambrosius…,” she said her voice trailing off.

  “It’s all right, Agent Sommers. My time here is coming to an end. The car will take you back to London.”

  “Ambroisus…Merlin, I can’t just leave you,” she said.

  “Don’t worry, Agent Sommers. Old magicians never really die, we simply fade away. Please go and trust in the knowledge that all is as it should be.”

  “I’ll never forget you,” she said.

  They embraced tightly. When she finally felt him pull away, tears were in her eyes, but a smile was on her face. They shared a nod of professional understanding before she turned and walked to the awaiting car.

  She looked back at Ambrosius standing near the well. The sunlight seemed to intensify, causing a bright glare she had to shield her eyes from. When the light faded back to normal, Ambrosius was gone.

  She wiped the tears out of her eyes as she settled in for the first leg of the trip that would eventually take her home.

  —Epilogue

  Amy stood at her living room window, looking out at the park across the street. In the time she had been away, a winter storm had swept through Washington depositing several inches of snow in its wake.

  She was used to seeing and hearing children at play in the park, but now it was deserted. Someone had stacked the picnic tables on their ends near the park shelter, giving them the appearance of headstones sticking up to mark the graves of summers past. The somber imagery fit her mood perfectly.

  Her plane ride home from London had been uneventful, a nice change of pace from the chaotic whirlwind her life had become. Though many would consider her first case a success since she had achieved all the objectives, it still did not change the fact that Reggie was dead and she was now alone.

  Upon arriving back in Washington, she had gone straight to the Agency and given her report to Director Smith. She had turned over the bracelet the Ghost had used so effectively during his reign of terror. Of course the Agency was pleased with her results, but the director had informed her that, due to the extraordinary nature of the case, she’d be remaining on administrative leave for the time being. Not even the director’s words of how Reggie would be proud was enough to brighten her mood in the least.

  Reggie had been laid to rest at Rock Creek Cemetery while she was in London. She’d missed the service, and would never forgive herself even if she had a pretty good idea Reggie would have understood. She’d stayed at the gravesite until she was so cold she could no longer feel her feet and could not stand the chilled air and the heavy emotional toll of the visit, then turned and drove herself home.

  Now, back at her apartment, the place seemed so empty. She had lived by herself for the entirety of her adult life, but never had she felt so completely alone as she did in this moment.

  She continued staring out the window, contemplating her future.

  Resign from the Agency? Return to the West Coast?

  She was on the verge of making a life altering decision when her phone rang. The sound was so loud in her quiet apartment she actually wi
nced. Not feeling up to having a conversation, she let her answering machine pick up.

  The ringing stopped. She heard her own voice giving instructions to leave a message and was starting to slip back into her self-induced depression when a new yet familiar voice emanating from the machine caught her attention.

  “Agent Sommers, this is Professor Jack Foshay. I am going to be in Washington D.C. all next week for a seminar. I was hoping, if you are not too busy, that we could get together for a drink or maybe even some dinner. I believe you have my number already. I really hope to hear from you, and I look forward to possibly getting to see you. I hope all is well with you, and I also hope to speak with you soon. Goodbye.”

  Just hearing the professor’s voice made her smile. She felt a twinge of excitement deep down in her stomach. Her decision to leave Washington now forgotten, she picked up the phone and began dialing.

  “Maybe it won’t be so lonely here after all,” she said.

  About the Author

  Shawn Oetzel was born and raised in Central Illinois where he still lives with his wife, three kids, and their frustratingly lovable pet pooches, Hemingway and Molly. When not working or writing his next project, Shawn can be found attending his children’s many extracurricular activities, or tucked away in his favorite corner at home, losing himself in the pages of another good book.

  The Agency is Shawn’s second novel; his first, Dying Moon, was published in 2009 by LBF Books, and is scheduled for re-release by Belfire Press in 2013, shortly after his young adult novel, The Adventures of Captain Kitchen.

  Shawn has always dreamed of being a superhero, knight, or a writer. He is ecstatic he has made good on at least one of those endeavors.