Apathetic God

by Ian Withrow

  When her master had returned from Rome three days before, it was as though he were a different person entirely. Gone in a heartbeat were the hallmarks of his incredible age. His clothing was modernized, as was her own “uniform.” He’d moved out of the Acropolis and had taken up residence in London, much to the dismay of his eight and a half million new neighbors.

  Natalie wasn’t thrilled about her new job as the Devil’s secretary, but at least it meant she got to spend time away from him. It also meant time to sort out the latest in a series of distressing changes in her life. Theoretically, at least.

  Functionally, it meant she was rushing to meet yet another dignitary who wanted an audience with Weyland. By the time she made it back to her offices on the 28th floor of the Gherkin building, she could tell her guests had been waiting for quite a while.

  Rebecca, her secretary, was serving coffee to two stern-looking men. That was another thing, how the hell had she ended up with a secretary?

  “Good afternoon ma’am, allow me to introduce our visitors. This is Lieutenant General J. Malone, and this is Under Secretary for Diplomacy and Public Affairs P-”

  “Presley? Oh my God, Presley Weiss!”

  “Natalie? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Natalie ran over and gave her friend a hug. The tall, handsome man in his mid 30’s, wrapped her in a bear hug. Natalie felt relieved at the presence of one of her oldest and truest friends. For a fleeting moment she was able to forget her troubles.

  “Natalie seriously, this is not a safe place for you. I thought you were doing field work in Asia!”

  He held her at arm’s length, eyes full of concern.

  “I know, trust me I know. This was not my first choice of day job. I was working a dig in China and he just… appeared out of nowhere.”

  “Weyland?”

  Natalie nodded, a chill running down her spine as she remembered her first meeting with her new master. Natalie fidgeted with the golden choker around her neck. The thin chain was heavy against her soft skin, an ever-present reminder of her station.

  “He picked me, God knows why, to translate for him. At first it was just that, then it became tending to Lauren. Now I’m running around in heels and a pencil skirt trying to organize meetings with world leaders.”

  The general cleared his throat softly and Presley gave her a sympathetic look and took a solemn step back. The man took a thin folder from his associate and offered it to Natalie.

  “Right, I suppose that brings us to why we are here, after all. I have a statement prepared by the President for Mr. Weyland, as well as a few documents I’d like to go over with you.”

  “Becky, can you file these please?”

  Rebecca nodded curtly, took the pile of paperwork from Natalie, and walked softly out of the room to file it. As soon she shut the door behind her, Natalie took the red folder and flipped through its contents.

  “So Pres- Err, Secretary Weiss, what exactly am I looking at here?”

  “Well, effectively, the United States, in conjunction with the United Nations and NATO, would like to welcome Mr. Weyland to our planet, as well as identify his current and future goals. We’re also requesting an idea of how long he intends to stay, and we would like to know if he plans to contribute anything to the humanitarian and peacekeeping missions popping up all over the world as a result of his and Lauren Corvidae’s… activities.”

  Natalie looked over the documents with a slight frown on her face. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and considered her response carefully.

  “Presley… a lot of this is not going to go well.”

  “I was afraid you’d say that. Is there anything you can do for us?”

  Damnit.

  “I’ll see what I can do Presley, I promise.”

  She managed a weak smile, but was sure her friend was unconvinced. Her anxiety kicked into overdrive and her brow creased as she thought through her options.

  “Natalie, are you in some kind of trouble here?”

  Presley reached a hand out but pulled it back when Natalie flinched. She gave the tiniest, almost imperceptible nod.

  “Hey, are you ok?”

  No, fuck no.

  “Sorry! I’m fine! Sorry, just stressed out a bit. Don’t worry I will take care of it, ok? Actually, I have to take these proposals to him, but let me give you my number.”

  Presley seemed taken aback at the sudden close of their meeting, and he exchanged an unsettled glance with his military counterpart.

  “I uh, does that mean we’re... done here? I was really hoping for more of a-”

  He stopped speaking and rose a quizzical eyebrow when Natalie gave him a very pointed look. Natalie grabbed a spare piece of paper and scribbled a number on it before folding it in half and handing it to Presley.

  “I’m sorry, Presley, I wish there was more I could do. I will pass this information along to Weyland and, if he desires, he will send a response.”

  Natalie held her arms out for another hug and Presley accepted. As soon as they embraced, Natalie began to whisper fervently into his ear.

  “Find Lauren Corvidae. I don’t know how but she’s the key to stopping him. She’s the only thing he seems to care about, or fear. You have to find her, Presley!”

  She didn’t linger, but as she pulled away he kept her at arm’s length a moment longer. He looked into her eyes, trying to convey his concern non-verbally.

  “Do you have time to catch-up away from the office? Maybe over dinner?”

  Natalie’s composure almost broke. To be so close to her old confidant and yet utterly unable to unburden herself was killing her. All she could do was shake her head no and turn away before he could see her start to cry.

  “Becky, can you please show these gentlemen out?”

  “Yes ma’am!”

  “Natalie…”

  Natalie kept her face hidden, her back turned, and her eyes tightly shut to hold back her tears. She tried to think of something, anything that she could say to help him understand.

  “Presley, do you remember the petroglyphs, three years ago? That promise?”

  He was silent a while. Almost to the point that Natalie turned just to see if he was still there.

  “I do.”

  She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

  “Take care of yourself, please.”

  “You too.”

  She stayed put until the door clicked softly shut behind her exiting guests, and then for several minutes thereafter. She took a few deep breaths, re-adjusted her ponytail, and tried to compose herself before walking toward the large black double-doors that separated her offices from Weyland’s. As her hand touched the polished silver handle she found herself praying he wouldn’t be inside.

  Weyland was sitting in a massive black chair behind a wide glass and metal desk. He was facing outward from the tower, looking over the bustling city, but Natalie knew from the faint scent of ashes that he was here, and angry.

  Another unanswered prayer, then.

  Natalie took three steps into the room and knelt down, waiting to be acknowledged. Since she’d withheld information from her master in Greece, she was on a much tighter leash, and he expected a great deal of obedience.

  “Another groveling diplomat, I assume.”

  His voice was distant, laced with indifference. He’d shown little interest in geopolitics, in anything really, since moving to London. Other than obsessively tracking the whereabouts of his most desired prey, Lauren.

  “Yes your majesty, it was an envoy from the United States this time.”

  “Show me.”

  Natalie shuddered, but dutifully stood and approached him as he slowly turned around to face her. She walked up beside his high-backed leather throne and knelt beside him. She didn’t flinch when he raised a hand and put it on her forehead, but she trembled like a leaf.

  In the space of a few minutes Weyland strip-searched her memory of the brief meeting with Presley. She could h
ide nothing from his probing mind, and she shuddered with revulsion as he traced Presley back through her life, sorting through every detail of their relationship for the dozen years they had known one another. She felt him pause on her college years, carelessly shuffling through her strongest memories with Presley. He spent some time branching out along other connections, ensuring he had the full context of every nuance of their meeting before finally relinquishing control of her mind.

  Natalie felt bile rise in her throat but choked it down. Colors faded and popped in her vision and she felt the too-familiar migraine building until it felt like it would split her skull. Flickering after-images of nameless lands and far-off places strobed in front of her and she tried to remain as still and steady as she could. Already she could feel her memories as less… personal. More distant. Like a movie or a TV show she had watched, rather than experiences she had lived.

  Weyland was silent for a long while, processing the information he had gathered.

  “You may go. Meet your friends for dinner.”

  Natalie was stunned. She stood unsteadily to leave but stopped at the door when he spoke again.

  “The Petroglyphs. Such an interesting memory. Oh, how the threads of fate weave...”

  His words carried the weight of an iron chain. The light golden choker she wore suddenly felt tighter and she caught her breath.

  Weyland watched his servant slip out the door, the sounds of her rapid heartbeat fading behind the heavy door as it swung shut behind her. He stewed restlessly a moment before standing and walking to the large glass windows that lined the outer wall of his offices.

  He didn’t need to read the paperwork she’d brought him. He’d known what it said since before she set it down. It seemed that much had changed since he was last awake. A few centuries ago no one would have dared negotiate with him. His word would have simply been law, as it was in man’s earliest days. He seethed internally, sending smoke curling from the fabric of his designer suit.

  He had seen the birth of men. Guided them, nurtured them, tried to lead them into peace and enlightenment. But every time he turned his back, every time he left them to their own devices, they disappointed him.

  Every. Time.

  At every turn they disrespected him. They worshipped others, false Gods and idols. They destroyed each other in his name, squabbled over nonsense. It seemed they were eternally bent on disobedience. As in ages past, the only thing they respected was power. So he would remind them what true power looked like.

  This new breed of mankind was particularly defiant. Already he had done more to punish them than had been required before and rather than yield they sent their dignitaries to negotiate. As though their mortal institutions should have some sway over him. As though their opinions were equal to his own. Weyland would not abide it. Could not. Though it pained him, it was his responsibility to bring them back to heel by whatever means necessary.

  He looked out over the city, his powerful eyes flitting from person to person. How utterly unconcerned they were. In three short days they had gone from terrified at his sudden presence in the city to continuing their daily lives as though nothing had changed. He felt a grudging, frustrated pride.

  His wayward children were resilient, to be sure.

  As was his wayward bride, it seemed.

  Lauren was drifting restlessly over central California. She’d been airborne since Weyland dropped her off in Chicago three days before. She’d leapt wordlessly skyward, unwilling to share a single second with him that she didn’t have to, and turned westward.

  The sparkling pacific coast stretched out to her left and right as far as her augmented sight could see. Million-dollar homes slipped past underneath, tucked into the hills around the dense urban sprawl ahead of her. The hot dry winds of the West Coast kept her aloft with only a minimum of effort.

  She’d never been to Sacramento, and she was certain that if she’d been less distracted she would have loved the colorful city. As things stood, she was trying to shuffle through the events of the last few days.

  Focus.

  Lauren took a deep breath and futilely attempted to clear her mind once more. It was no use, every time she closed her eyes she was bombarded by a clashing maelstrom of disjointed images, sounds, even smells. Snapshots of experiences she’d never had and people she’d never met. Equally frustrating was the gnawing hunger that gripped her stomach.

  It seemed that no matter what she ate it was always there, nagging at her, making her antsy to the point of being nauseous.

  Her less pleasant symptoms stood in stark contrast to the immense power she felt coursing through her veins. She was incredibly strong, faster than she’d ever been, and she could see and hear at an astonishing distance.

  Finally, with a long sigh of frustration, she swooped down low and landed atop a tall billboard overlooking a crowded highway. She no longer cared if she was seen, and for their part the people seemed to give her wide berth. She was followed everywhere by a contingent of aircraft but they never got close enough to be construed as a threat.

  Lauren paced the small catwalk in front of the sign for several minutes, trying to push the cacophony of voices and visions back into the darkest corners of her mind, before plopping herself down and dangling her legs over the edge as she had done in Ireland.

  Fine, let’s do this.

  She closed her eyes and fully embraced the visions.

  With her mind open and receptive, the visions came in much more clearly.

  She was in a park, sitting at the top of a short metal slide and looking down at a woman who held outstretched arms to her.

  “Come on down sweetie, don’t be scared I’ve got you!”

  Her perspective moved as she slid down the narrow metal path and into her mother’s waiting arms. As she neared the woman she realized she must be a child, so great was their difference in size.

  The moment she reached the woman the image shifted.

  Now Lauren was sitting at a small, candle-lit table set for two in an intimate upscale restaurant. She glanced down at her watch: 7:35. The dark suit jacket sleeve and the coarse black hair on her wrist besides the expensive gold timepiece took her back a moment. She must be living a man’s memory?

  She could feel his sadness, his date was nearly an hour late and hadn’t called. Lauren’s host let out a dejected sigh and reached for his half-empty glass of wine. His hand froze, hovering over the table, when he saw her walk in. The object of his attention - Lauren searched for the name - Cassidy, was stunning. Her long blue dress and sparkling silver heels matched her silver hair perfectly.

  The man could do little more than wave when they finally locked eyes. His suit looked like the clothes of a peasant in comparison to Cassidy’s beauty.

  It went on like this for what felt like hours, days even. Memory after memory, story after story slowly unfolded before Lauren’s eyes. Dozens of lives playing out before her with crystal clarity.

  Deep down she knew what was happening, but she denied it as long as she could. It wasn’t until she saw herself walk through the doors of BT tower through the terrified eyes of a young secretary that she could no longer stomach it. She tried to pull out, but realized too late that she didn’t know how.

  She experienced her own death dozens of times, screaming internally as she was carried, a helpless passenger, through the last moments of her victims. In her desperation she reached deep within herself, seeking the darkness that had saved her before.

  It responded hungrily and the visions flickered and faded. Rather than disappear entirely, they appeared washed-out, surreal, like film that was overexposed and burning.

  Moreover, as the memories were consumed, her hunger was sated. The throbbing need within her subsided and she was able to think clearly at last. She dove hungrily back into the memories, realizing quickly that they “tasted” differently depending on their nature. She avoided bitter sadness and sour pain and focused on the sweet taste of joy and the savory flavor of ha
ppiness.

  Then she stumbled on love.

  The rich umami of it was addictive, she craved it. She tore through the faded memories and sought out every scrap, discarding the rest thoughtlessly. Soon she could find no more and the hunger returned, stronger than before.

  She wanted more, needed it.

  “If you’re just tuning in, we’re here live in gridlocked Sacramento where the being known as Lauren Corvidae appears to be in some sort of trance above interstate 80.”

  Kent Dailey was beaming into a camera some 30 feet below the subject of his broadcast.

  “Once believed harmless, Corvidae has been responsible for the slaying of more than 50 people in the last week, including police officers, women, children, and even the late Pope in Rome. Department of Defense officials advised Sacramento PD this morning that her projected flight path would put her over the city, and citizens have been advised to remain indoors.”

  He gestured behind himself at the massive crowd that filled the streets as far as the eye could see.

  “You can clearly see here that the residents of the city have not heeded that advice. On the contrary, it seems the entire city has turned out to see what she will do next.”

  Clark gave him the thumbs up and he broke his on-screen smile. He pulled off his light gray blazer and fanned his face.

  “Jesus Christ it’s hot. How long is this chick gonna sit here.”

  Lauren had been sitting like a statue for almost 6 hours. It provided the perfect opportunity for Kent to catch up to her, but he was more than a little miffed at what he’d found. They’d been following her from the ground for days, broadcasting where they could and trying to keep the story fresh and interesting.

  To be honest, fighter jets circling Lauren as she drifted across the heartland wasn’t very compelling footage after the first day. That being said, it beat the hell out of her sitting uselessly on a billboard.

  And what a billboard it was, too. Kent scoffed at the massive photo that covered it. The picture, which depicted Lauren backlit by the sun against a clear blue sky, had reached worldwide popularity within hours of it’s release two days ago. Now it was everywhere. Billboards, online, magazine covers, people were going mad over it. Kent had heard a rumor that the negatives, for supposedly it was captured on real film and not digitally, were being valued at several million dollars already.