The Simpatico Series Box Set (3 books in 1)

by Dermot Davis

  "What a shame," Abigail answered as if she took the girl’s comment as a genuine observation. "That's probably what you Southern Californians need the most, don't you think? A little gravitas would work wonders to balance out your psyches and add a crucial dimension to your dreadfully sunny personalities." Fiona hid a grin and tried to process her aunt’s meaning.

  As Abigail strode towards the elevators, Fiona followed hesitantly. Was Abigail for real or was she having fun by making such comments? Fiona couldn't quite tell. Once inside the museum Abigail paused and, while looking around at the exhibits with a smile, she took in a deep breath as if she was happy to reconnect with an old friend. "Devastatingly sad, isn't it?" she then asked.

  "I guess," Fiona answered, looking around to see if Abigail was referring to anything on display in particular.

  "Man's inhumanity to man," Abigail said with a lamentable shake of her head. "Shocking, shocking, shocking. Where do you want to start?"

  "I don't know," Fiona answered as she noticed a group of school children being shepherded towards the Auschwitz exhibit. "Maybe over there," she pointed towards the Tolerance Center which was decked out to look like a 1950's diner.

  "Excellent," Abigail exclaimed as she strode forward with purpose.

  Disappointed that she couldn't actually order fries and a milk shake, or indeed any other kind of food at the fake diner, Fiona and Abigail sat at a red vinyl booth. However, she found that there wasn't much to do there except operate a faux video juke box that instead of playing fun tunes from the fifties, played back various audio-visual recordings on topics ranging from hate speech and bullying to taking personal responsibility for oneself and others.

  "This is the Point of View Diner," Abigail informed as they listened to a recording about the dangers of drunk driving.

  "Yeah, I got that," Fiona answered, trying not to look too disappointed. "Let's move on," she then suggested.

  Visiting each of the exhibits one-by-one, Fiona got to learn about pretty much every incident of human rights violations since recorded time. From ethnic cleansing to genocide, from stories of slavery from the past to modern-day prejudice and hate crimes, there did not seem to be a human injustice that was not covered with documentary footage, photographs, or radio and video clips, that provided eye-witness accounts.

  Although she was not quite sure of the reason, it was the Anne Frank exhibit that seemed to affect Fiona the most. Or perhaps it was merely an accumulation of the emotions that she felt, intense feeling elicited by the dark side of man's horrific history, that finally proved too much for her. She felt nearly incapacitated, to the point of not wanting to get up from her seat, as the screen before her continued showing images and dramatizations of what it may have been like for Anne Frank, hiding from the Nazis in a secret room.

  "Is everything okay?" Abigail asked when she noticed tears falling from Fiona's eyes.

  "Doesn't this place get to you?" Fiona asked and her voice broke. She wondered why Abigail didn't seem as equally intensely affected. "All this... misery?"

  "You wouldn't be human if this place didn't get to you or touch your heart in some way," Abigail agreed as she tucked a linen handkerchief into Fiona's hands.

  "Then... why are we here?" Fiona asked as she dabbed her tearful eyes. "Why did you bring me to this place?"

  "I think it's important," Abigail answered as she looked around at the various screens which displayed intense human suffering, unhappiness, and misery. "It's important for us to realize that this is our history, right here," she said, sounding philosophical. "Like it or not, this is the true history of the human race. In all of our history as a species, there has never been a time, there has never been a moment, never even a second or a millisecond, when a crime was not being perpetrated by one human against another."

  As she wiped her nose, Fiona could only nod her head in agreement.

  "The strongest humans have always exploited the weak, the wealthy have always oppressed the poor, tribe have always warred against tribe, whether they be communities, ethnic factions, or entire nations, this world, this planet, has never known peace, not even for a fraction of a fraction of a second. It's shocking and terrifying and almost beyond reason to fully comprehend or compute. Like it or not, the facts speak for themselves," Abigail continued as she looked from one screen of horror to the next. "We are a species of savages."

  "That's a bit strong," Fiona countered, wiping away tears, wondering to herself if she was meant to keep the now-damp used linen handkerchief.

  "Is it?" Abigail asked as she watched footage of a full scale riot playing out in black and white on a distant screen. "Oh, sure, you may argue, we are also capable of great things, wondrous, uplifting literature, marvelous symphonies, glorious architecture, and all that. But, seriously, do all of our so-called creative, spiritual, intellectual, or other positive, endeavors make up for the suffering on this planet? The suffering of the majority of the human population, those who live in abject poverty, have few or no opportunities, are starving and oppressed? Is it your thesis that the human species which produced a Mozart and a Shakespeare means that all is well with the world?" she asked sardonically. "I do wish that were so."

  "So, you want to wallow in all this?" Fiona asked quizzically. "What good is that going to do?" She wiped her still-damp face with one hand.

  "Ah," Abigail exclaimed, like Fiona had just made a super point. "Therein lies the crux of the matter, wouldn't you say?"

  "What… crux?" Fiona asked, puzzled by her train of thought.

  "One comes here, one looks at all of this, all of this human darkness and misery, that one cannot possibly deny or ignore, and what does one do about it?"

  "What does one do about it? You mean, what do I do about it?"

  "Yes, exactly," Abigail answered, her eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "What are you going to do about it? Do you ignore all of this? Do you deny what is going on in the world and go back into that same world out there and live your life as if everything in the garden is rosy? Certainly, everything in your garden is rosy. You are a young woman, educated and of some means, who can have everything that her heart desires. Do you turn your back on the reality of the world and concentrate only on yourself? You drive back and forth to your mansion, never venturing out into the majority of neighborhoods in Los Angeles, communities that are poor, unkempt, and crime-ridden? Do you keep your earplugs in, so that you only hear what you want to hear, and are able to block the cries and sounds of the distress of the anguished?"

  "The distress of the anguished?" Fiona asked with a scrunched up facial expression.

  "I've never seen more homeless people in my life than I have in this city of so-called wealth, freedom, and privilege," Abigail said in a disgusted tone. "Have the homeless become so common place and numerous here that the native Angelenos don't see them anymore? Have you all come to accept that they are not going to go away so you have blocked them from your sight? It’s a very disconcerting aspect of human nature, don't you think?"

  Wondering where Abigail was going with the discussion, Fiona paused to mentally compute the point that her aunt was making and the merits of her one-sided debate. "I don't know what you want me to say?" Fiona said like the woman had asked her a question. "Poverty and homelessness is bad? What am I supposed to do about it?"

  "Oh, I'm sorry," Abigail said, sounding genuinely repentant. "I don't mean to sound like I'm on the offensive, personally attacking or blaming you for society’s ills, or some such. I get so riled up, forgive me."

  "Sure."

  "I just feel like you have so much to offer and it seems to me that you have a good heart and that you genuinely care."

  "I do care," Fiona agreed softly. "But I don't see what I could do? I mean... I don't know what you want me to say?"

  "I don't want you to say anything," Abigail said, like she was calm enough now to dismount from her high horse. "I suppose what I'm really asking is, well, not asking exactly, I would say, I'm inviting you to
do something about the sad state of the world. So, again, I’m inviting you."

  "Inviting me where?"

  "Inviting you to join us. I really believe that you'd make such a wonderful contribution. Think of it as continuing your mother’s work to change the world, joining her lineage. I'd love you to consider it, that's all."

  "Consider what, exactly? Join who?"

  "I know you may have a bias against us, what with your father's history and everything, but we really do want to make positive change in the world. That's our reason for being, our modus operandi, our mission statement, so to speak: to do good. Individuals may be able to make a small difference but as a group, we can make a huge difference. Haven't you ever wanted to make a difference?"

  "Sure," Fiona agreed as she remembered past moments in her life when she truly did wonder how she could make a positive difference in the world. "I just never knew how, I guess."

  "Well, here's your opportunity," Abigail proffered. "Let me take you around, meet others of like mind, show you our plans, how the organization and the Order of the Wise Serpents strive to make a better world, a more caring, peaceful world."

  "Are you sure you're working for the same company as my father?" Fiona asked, only half-joking. "He may have wanted to make a difference in the world once but, at some point, as far as I could tell, his work became all about the money and power."

  "Yes, unfortunately. That is a hazard of the human species, I'm afraid,” Abigail said in her clipped, posh, British accent. She frowned and then her face softened and she spoke again, “Don't be too hard on your father; we all suffer temptations in life and who are we to judge, right? I only hope that your father's descent into selfish materialism hasn't tarnished your view of things. I don't mean to sound so blunt, but, there you have it. Consider the fall of your father to be a morality tale, if you wish. My only hope is that his unfortunate life choices and attitudes don't discourage you or, even worse, cause you to use his behavior as an excuse for you not to get involved yourself. I believe in you, Fiona. I believe that you can use your talents and gifts, where they could be best employed, and really and truly make a positive difference in the world."

  Thoughtfully, Fiona looked around at all the school kids and wondered about the state of the world that the children were inheriting.

  "You do want to make a difference, don't you, Fiona?" Abigail asked gently. "I can tell."

  "I do," Fiona agreed in a soft voice. "I never wanted to live just for myself; simply for my own pleasures, consuming and idly entertaining myself. I just never knew how I might contribute."

  "Well, then, there you have it," Abigail said cheerfully. "Now you know and here's your opportunity. I don't want to brow-beat you into something that isn’t meaningful to you," she said, backing off. "Think about it, that's all I ask. I believe that you have a huge contribution to make to the world, a purpose. It would be a shame if I, as your relation, didn't encourage you in that direction. I have a responsibility to you, Fiona."

  "Yeah," Fiona said, her mind lost in thought.

  "Come, let's leave now before the post-work traffic makes getting back to the hotel a two-hour commute."

  Sitting quietly in the back of the town car, Fiona looked thoughtfully out her window as Abigail caught up on her emails and allied correspondence on a laptop computer. Randomly glancing at the assortment of people outside, Fiona saw how sad everyone seemed to appear. Some people drove by in expensive cars while others walked with their shopping bags, yet most, if not all, of them, appeared unhappy, bored, or even worse, filled with despair.

  Were people truly living lives of quiet desperation? The phrase was from a quote she remembered from some tweet that had struck a chord with her. Could it be true? What is my purpose? Fiona wondered. Was Abigail correct? I must have been born for a reason, she thought to herself.

  Would it be remiss of her to not even consider whatever it was that Abigail was suggesting she get involved with? And how come her father never even discussed his business in terms of how he was making a contribution to the world? And, perhaps, more importantly, why did he never encourage his daughter to take an interest in his work and support her in getting involved? Her father hadn’t valued her opinions, as far as she could tell. Most of the time Simon had given the impression that, not only did her opinions not matter, but beyond her use to him as a Moonchild, she had little or nothing to contribute to the world.

  It was such a contrast to hear Abigail speak to her, as though she had talents and gifts of her own, that she, Fiona, could be valuable to the world at large. It was welcoming to hear Abigail speak of her gifts in such a complimentary fashion. The fact that this busy woman would take so much time from her work commitments and take a deep interest in her, and her social value and mind, her soul even, was an undeniable boost to her self-esteem. That Abigail had talked to her, like a peer and an adult, with responsibility to humanity, treating her like someone of importance, was especially rewarding. Abigail’s request, that she think about how she might contribute to the world, gave her a huge rush of self-confidence. Fiona watched Abigail typing on her laptop and it further elevated her sense of self-worth; her aunt was an important, wise woman of the world, a female captain of industry. Abigail’s belief in Fiona was flattering.

  Later in her hotel bedroom, Fiona relaxed on the bed and seriously considered what it would be like to have a true purpose in her life, to live for a purpose larger than herself, to serve. The idea of doing something, of applying herself to truly make the world a better place, greatly appealed to her. Up to the present moment, the way that she had been living her life now seemed pointless and boringly vacuous.

  The fact that Abigail was her aunt gave considerable more weight to the woman’s argument. Family do look after their own and she was delighted to finally receive the approval and encouragement from a close family member. Just because her father had ignored her most of her life and never even considered that she had career aspirations of her own did not mean that she shouldn't create an independent life for herself. She could hardly sit around reading books, practicing spiritual techniques, seeking gurus, and alternately shopping, watching movies and TV, and generally trying to amuse herself, every day for the rest of her life, could she? What kind of a life would that turn out to be?

  Turning to see who was calling her, when her phone vibrated, her heart skipped a beat when she saw Andrew's smiling face on her screen. Thrilled that he was calling her, she was also terrified to answer his call. Since leaving him, she had refused to take his calls because she knew the power that he held over her. She didn't trust herself to remain removed from any emotional entreaties that he might make. She knew herself well enough to know that she would cave in easily and agree to see him or do pretty much whatever it was he suggested that she should do but she couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t trust him after what happened.

  She knew herself better than to allow herself to open up. To be vulnerable was to be open to the possibility of being hurt. If her One True Love had taken up with Lily, there was no role for Fiona in his life. In the past, she had feared that kind of three-way dynamic. She thought that he might ask her to be his "friend," that person he wanted to hang out with and confide in about his love for someone else. In the past she knew that she wasn’t strong enough to be his platonic friend. Was she now? Picking up on the very last ring, before the call went to voice mail, Fiona nervously put the cell phone to her ear.

  "Hello?" she answered, as if she didn't know who it was on the other end of the line.

  There was a pause. Did Andrew hang up already? Was she talking into her own voice mail? She listened intently to the phone, straining to hear.

  "Fiona?" a shaky voice asked softly as if the person on the other end of the line were in shock.

  "Yes?" Fiona answered, her heart already aching.

  "Fiona?" Andrew asked again, as if he could hardly believe that she had picked up and it had thrown him for a loop.

  "Andrew?" Fi
ona asked, as tears ran down her face.

  "Hi," Andrew said, as if he could barely believe his luck.

  "Hi," Fiona responded, unable to say anything else.

  "How are you?" he asked, still sounding like he was in shock but obviously knowing that he needed to say something to keep the conversation going.

  "I'm good," she answered, trying to make her voice sound strong. "How are you?"

  "I'm good," he replied, even though to her he sounded like a zombie. "I... I missed you," he said, beginning to sound more human.

  "I missed you too," she said after taking a deep breath.

  "You did?" he asked, as if he didn't totally believe her. "Really?"

  "Yeah," she said, her head nodding in agreement. "Really."

  "Wow," he said, like he was stunned by her admission. "Wow."

  A silence ensued as if neither of them knew exactly what to say to each other.

  "I need to go," Fiona finally said, feeling like she was already overwhelmed. "Nice hearing from you."

  "Oh, okay," Andrew said, clearly taken by surprise. "Oh, just one thing," he said, like he now remembered his reason for calling.

  "Yes?"

  "Uh, it's about Abigail," he said like he wasn't sure how to begin.

  "Yes?"

  "Your life is in danger," he then blurted out.

  "What?" Fiona asked like someone had just told her something that was entirely nuts.

  "With Abigail. She's a danger; your life is in danger," he said quickly, kicking himself for not being more prepared or articulate.

  "Abigail is my aunt. She saved me, she's taking care of me, spending time with me," Fiona said like his accusation was the absolute stupidest as well as craziest thing she had ever heard. "Why, exactly, is she a danger?"

  "I don't know but your father and I, I mean, it's your father's idea really," he admitted and stumbled in his thought and speech.

  "My father is the danger," Fiona said, her vulnerability quickly superseded by her anger. "My father's the truly high-risk, unpredictable person in this scenario and, quite frankly, if you can't tell the difference," she said and paused to try and contain her rage. She stared around the room and felt her entire body go hot with upset. What was Andrew up to? What was her father trying to do to her? And Andrew, cheating, devious, power and money-hungry, Andrew. Now he was in cahoots with her rogue, criminal, evil, father? Something in her snapped. "You know what?" she asked, like she was done already. "Don't call me again. I don't want to hear from you or my father ever again. Seriously," she said and hung up.