by Dermot Davis
“I will,” she answered, her voice without emotion.
“I love you,” he then said as he turned quickly to kiss her forehead.
“I love you too,” she responded as she watched him throw some dollar bills on the table and shuffle his still-shaking body out the glass doors into the glaringly harsh sunshine outside.
Unable to stand, Fiona remained seated as if she was clueless about her next immediate move.
“More coffee?” the waiter asked her as he cleared away some dishes from the table.
“Yes, please,” she answered, despite the fact that she hadn’t touched the existing cup and drinking coffee was the very last thing that her preoccupied and scrambled brain likely needed.
Since leaving the diner, Andrew felt like something within him had died. For the rest of the day, his mind existed in a blur of nothingness as he saw to his meaningless duties behind a desk he despised, encased in the box of a room where he felt that he was entombed.
On a sheet of paper before him he read through the instructions that he needed to follow if he were to have a successful initiation with the Order of the Wise Serpents. He had been directed to appear at an address which he was unfamiliar with at precisely 8 PM on Friday. It was imperative that he arrive no earlier and no later than the appointed time. He was to dress in a nice suit but to wear no jewelry nor carry electronics of any kind.
To err on the safe side, Andrew decided to take a cab to the address slightly earlier than the appointed time. He would then wait outside until the correct time approached. The cab took him to a dilapidated small church on a lonely street in a section of Los Angeles he would not normally visit. The neighborhood was comprised of old homes that were once fashionable and formerly housed long-established wealthy families, who had since moved on. The homes were now run down and mostly converted into apartments.
Double-checking the address on the piece of paper with the building before him, Andrew looked for any signs of life or indeed any indication that he was actually at the correct address. There were no cars parked outside nor indeed in or around the small church grounds. As far as he could tell, there were no lights switched on in the building.
Realizing that, without his phone, he couldn’t tell exactly what time it might be, he felt a panic. Did he notice the time on the dashboard of the cab before he got out? Yes, it was a digital clock and the time he remembered was 7:45. He had been at the building about five minutes so that left him ten minutes he guesstimated before he should make an entrance.
When he was satisfied that his entrance would be perfectly punctual, he pushed open the heavy wrought iron gate and walked the few steps to the thick, wooden front door. There was no doorbell or knocker so he turned the huge brass knob which had seen better days. The knob didn’t turn. He then pushed the door itself but even with all his weight, the door would not shift. It was locked solid.
Worried about the time, he rushed to the side of the building to look for other entrances. At the rear of the building he found a smaller wooden door which he sensed would open for him. With a decent push, it creaked its way open. Once inside, he expected to see people or at the very least to hear some voices or some evidence of the presence of others. He became concerned when all he heard was silence and the sound of his shoes against the floor tiles as he walked gingerly into the building.
As he turned the corner past a huge marble pillar, he could see that candles had been lit and spaced around the walls. The inside was empty of pews and all furniture except for what appeared to be two wooden coffins. The timber caskets lay on the ground in the center of the circular interior. His heart pounding loudly, as he stood in the darkness where the flickering candle flames cast shadows on the dark stone walls, Andrew jumped when a masked and robed body approached him from behind.
“Hi, is this—” Andrew asked quietly but was quickly silenced when the robed person placed a finger to his lips. By the size of the hand, Andrew could now tell that it was a man beneath the mask. With a crooked index finger, the man gestured for Andrew to follow him. He was led through flickering shadows to a side room which was empty except for two plain wooden chairs. Andrew noticed a pair of pants and a shirt draped across one of them. Beneath the chair sat a pair of men’s shoes.
Intuitively sensing that he was expected to similarly undress, Andrew took off his jacket. He was given an encouraging nod from the masked man. Following the turn of the masked man’s head, Andrew then noticed a white robe which was hanging from a simple nail on the wall.
As he undressed, he heard an eerie and hypnotic chanting sound coming from the main room. The intonation sounded eerie and ancient, like nothing he had ever heard before. As if reawakening nightmarish memories within him, the male voices and subsequent vibrations sent shivers up his spine. When he changed into the robe, he wondered if he should place the hood on his head. As he turned around, he saw that the masked man had left the room.
Placing the hood upon his head, his face now partially obscured, Andrew walked slowly from the side room. The masked man stood waiting and directed him to stand behind another white robed initiate whose face Andrew could not see. Treating each other as strangers, they didn’t greet each other.
Taking a position at the front of the line, the masked man led the two initiates into the main body of the church. The sounds of chanting became louder as the three of them walked closer to the source. In the circular-shaped church, twenty or so masked men in black robes lined the walls. They paid no attention to the movement before them, as the initiates and their guide approached; they seemed lost in their monotonous chant.
Repeating the same words or sentences over and over, the chant sounded to Andrew like a foreign language, maybe even Latin. Specialis unus est omnipotens. Specialis unus est omnipotens. Standing before the altar was an immense masked man dressed in a red hooded robe. His lips moved as if he was praying over some ritual objects, what looked like a chalice and a pitcher among other items.
The two initiates were directed non-verbally to each stand before one of the empty coffins. The Red Robed Man then stood before them and held up the chalice which Andrew could see was full of liquid. “I am the keeper of secrets,” the man in the hooded red robe said. Unable to see his semi-obscured face in the darkness, Andrew could only hear a voice.
“I am the keeper of secrets,” the man repeated in a tone which suggested that it was for their benefit and it seemed that he was indicating that they should both repeat his sentence. “I am the keeper of secrets,” Andrew started and was soon joined by the other initiate, who sounded very nervous.
“I swear my obedience,” the man said. For each oath the man uttered, Andrew and the initiate repeated the words. “I swear my loyalty.” “I swear my trust.” “Should ever I give up my secrets.” “I will be giving up my life.” Andrew didn’t think too much about the meaning of the words, he merely concentrated on repeating them perfectly.
The Red Robed Man then offered the chalice from which to drink to the other initiate. The initiate drank but because he apparently didn’t drink enough, he was quietly instructed to finish the whole thing, which he did. When the other masked man refilled the chalice, the Red Robed Man offered it to Andrew. Andrew drank it down in one nervous gulp.
The drink tasted sweet and Andrew actually liked the beverage, whatever it was. He felt instantly drowsy. The black-robed men then changed their chant. Volo morior. Volo morior, they chanted, over and over.
“I want to die,” the Red Robed Man encouraged the initiates to say.
“I want to die,” the initiates repeated as Andrew felt increasingly uncertain on his feet, as if his body or the room were swaying.
“I want to die!” the Red Robed Man repeated more loudly.
“I want to die!” the initiates repeated at the same volume.
“I want to die!” the Red Robed Man shouted, even louder.
“I want to die!” the initiates shouted at the top of their range.
Standing betw
een the two of them and moving very swiftly, the immense Red Robed Man’s gloved hands pushed both of their foreheads back so hard that they both fell backward into their respective empty caskets simultaneously.
Andrew hit his wooden coffin hard, landing on his back. He mentally remarked to himself that he should have felt much more pain but that he felt woozy from whatever they had put in the drink and his senses were numbing out. His vision had become distorted; the wooden rafters above seemed to reduce and magnify in size in the flickering candle light.
The lid of the coffin appeared from nowhere and, once placed upon his tomb, plunged his sight into sudden darkness.
Andrew could only hear his rapid breathing now as the chanting seemed to stop and he was left to dwell in silence and stillness. Unsure about what to do, he felt claustrophobic, confined and terrified. He contemplated banging on the lid to get it to open but he sensed that that would be considered forbidden.
“Weow!” he heard himself say as the coffin was swiftly hoisted up into the air. Andrew felt disorientated, like he was floating or gliding through dark nothingness. Absent of any context or frame of reference to where he actually was, he felt like he could very easily be trapped in some void, in a strange vacuum of space. As his coffin was manhandled through the mid-air of the church, the chanting resumed or, rather, a different chant was begun. Volo regenero. Volo regenero, it sounded like, though it was difficult for Andrew to hear, and it was repeated over and over again.
Frightened out of his wits, in the darkness, Andrew found himself breathing more rapidly. He had no idea what was going to happen next and he wondered if he had actually really and truly told the gathering that he wanted to die. He had, though, he realized. In fact, he had shouted at the top of his voice that he wanted to die. If they killed him, as part of some twisted ritual, would his personal statement get them off in a court of law?
Just then, the coffin stopped moving. It rocked and swayed gently in the air and nausea filled his body. He felt like he wanted to throw up but he held it back for fear that he might actually kill himself by choking on his own vomit. The chanting stopped. The lid was quickly removed and even though there was very little light, Andrew’s eyes stung as if they had been stabbed with daggers. Feeling nauseous and gasping for air, Andrew would have promised them anything if they would only stop what they were doing and let him get down and go home to his own safe and warm bed.
Still hurting terribly, when his eyes adjusted to the light, Andrew realized that he wasn’t lying down. He was still in the coffin, standing up. As he took in abnormally large gasps of air, his head throbbed like it was about to explode. Around him was mostly darkness.
Although his focus was a blur he could see some kind of giant object in front of him. As he tried unsuccessfully to train his focus to make out what the object was, the men began a new chant. Ego sum prognatus iterum. Ego sum prognatus iterum.
It didn’t make any sense but the object in front of him looked like a huge bird-like sculpture thing with a scarily sharp beak, bright shining obsidian eyes, and iridescent feathers barely visible in the faint shimmer reflected by the candle flames. Looking to each side of him, several robed men wearing hideous bird head masks were holding up the coffin. His heart pounded and his nausea increased. The candle flames flickered and the shadows on the walls seemed to move faster and faster.
The chanting stopped and the Red Robed Man appeared. “My life now belongs to Narrus!” he said. Time had slowed down for Andrew, or perhaps his brain wasn’t fully awake, so it took him a while to realize that the man was repeating himself because he meant for Andrew to repeat the phrase and was getting annoyed that Andrew wasn’t playing his part. “My life now belongs to Narrus!” Andrew finally said.
“To disobey is to die.”
“To disobey is to die,” Andrew repeated.
“As a sacrifice to Narrus, you will now offer up your fidelity,” the man said as the robed men began a new chant. Ego dedi sursum meus virtus. Ego dedi sursum meus virtus.
“As a sacrifice to Narrus, I now offer up my fidelity,” Andrew said with difficulty. His head drooping, entering a deep altered state of consciousness, all he wanted to do was drift away into sleep.
As the chant intensified, the Red Robed Man danced around Andrew with what looked like a big stick adorned with feathers and at the top, the head of a bird of prey. Suddenly jerking the bird head into Andrew’s face, Andrew blacked out in an instant and fell to the floor.
Andrew lay on the cold stone floor of the side room where he was apparently carried and tossed. Groggily, he opened his eyes. There was very little light but, as he came to and focused, he could see the face of Simon, grinning at him. Dressed normally in a crisp white shirt and red striped tie, Fiona’s father sat upon the wooden chair where the other initiate’s clothes had once been kept. “You okay?” Simon asked.
“Yeah. I guess,” Andrew said, moving his sore body so that he could sit up. “I feel stoned or something,” he said slowly, trying to get his body to fully cooperate.
“The after-effects of the Ambrosia, that’s all.”
“Ambrosia?” Andrew repeated, like seriously?
“The fraternity accepts your pledge,” Simon said, leaning towards him and extending his hand.
Andrew took Simon’s hand like he thought the man was extending it to give him a hand up. Instead, Simon shook his hand with formality. “You’re one of us, now,” he said.
“Cool,” Andrew said, still trying to figure out how to stand up.
“I know that you know this already but you can’t tell a living soul what happened here tonight.” Simon said pointedly. “I mean, no one,” he then said, Andrew knowing that the “no one” that Simon was emphasizing referred to his daughter.
“No. Of course not,” Andrew answered, finally working out how to successfully get to his feet.
“You look after the brotherhood, the brotherhood looks after you,” Simon said somberly, his leg resting on the chair and acting casual like he could be in a men’s locker room in an upscale country club. “You did good,” he then added, looking at Andrew like he was really and truly proud of the young man. “You did really good.”
“Thank you, sir,” Andrew said as he turned his shirt around in his hands in order to figure out where he should place his arms. He pulled his shirt on and then picked up his pants.
“I can give you a ride home,” Simon said. Had Andrew been in a more coherent state, he would have felt mildly encouraged and pleased by such a rare offer. However, the thoughts of being trapped in a car and having to make conversation all the way to his mom’s and then seeing how his mom was going to react upon seeing Simon, made him pause for thought.
“No, thanks. I’m good,” Andrew finally said, pleased with himself that he had his pants all figured out. “I’m going to walk,” he lied. “Need the air. And the exercise.”
“Cool,” Simon said in an attempt to bond. “I’m down with that,” he said and smiled. “Well, close the door behind you when you leave, Andrew. The security guy will lock everything up later.”
“Okay, sir,” Andrew said, watching him go and then realizing that he needed to sit down to put his shoes back on. Once he was fully dressed, he looked around to make sure that he had everything. A small plastic ice chest cooler sat in a dark corner of the room. There were three curious green glass bottles inside, one empty and the other two full and unopened. When he sniffed the open, empty bottle, he knew exactly what it was: the so-called Ambrosia that he had drank during the ceremony.
For no particular reason, Andrew closed up the cooler and took it with him. Maybe he could have the brew back engineered to discover exactly its chemical composition or maybe even make himself a martini some evening that he wanted to get high.
He had to walk a few blocks before he found a taxi in the area. This one had just dropped someone off at a budget motel. The driver was amenable to waiting outside his mom’s house while Andrew returned with some cash. Angela had
just begun working night shifts again and Andrew was thankful for the empty house.
Throwing his body onto the yielding bed had never felt so good and he savored the comfort and indulgent softness of the cool sheets. He was aware that his emotions were not fully registering in his brain, however, and he knew that if he did focus more upon and got in touch with them, he would invariably be feeling, at the very least, really shitty. He had no idea of the implications of what he had just sworn allegiance to and he didn’t care to think about it in depth at all, for quite some time.
In many ways, it was irrelevant what the initiation ritual meant or didn’t mean. Underlying all of Andrew’s thoughts and beneath all his emotions about just about everything in his life lay one core reality alone: Fiona, or more specifically, the absence of Fiona.
Willing himself not to think about his girlfriend’s absence, he knew that to do so just might destroy him. Half expecting, no, fully hoping that she would call him and speak to him in that sweet, bright and cheerful voice of hers, he checked his phone for any missed calls or texts. There were none. A bleak despair threatened to overtake him.
Collapsing back onto his bed, he didn’t want to acknowledge to himself how hopelessly lost he was feeling. He tried to sleep but could not. He refused to contemplate a life without Fiona; the thought itself had the power to annihilate his very will to live. He would refrain from all thoughts that he and his beloved were through.
He would comfort himself with the idea that they were taking a break from each other. That’s all. Every couple, now and then, needed to take space from each other to do their own thing. She would be back. She would go into the desert for a day, maybe even a few days and she would miss him. She would miss him terribly. She would miss him so much that she would not be able to bear to be away from him for a second longer. She would rush back into his arms. It was a given. The only uncertainty was not if, but when.