The Serpent and the Light

by Bo Luellen

  The man dramatically swung the clipboard under his arm and decreed, “Well, this won’t take long, Mr. Jekyll. If you will just give me entrance to your apartment?”

  Henry didn’t press any further, opened the front door for the man and sat outside thinking, I have a house full of new stuff that I can’t explain how it got there. This is all building to something awful, and running is sounding like a great plan. Maybe if I take some of this money and hide out in another town for a while, this all would go away.

  After the exterminator left, he shuffled into his apartment, locked the front door, and went room to room looking for clues. All he found was a spotless house and none of his original personal effects. His high school yearbook, his clothes, and anything that he brought with him from home was gone. He spent the rest of the time trying in vain to get into the mysterious password-protected “H” account on the laptop.

  Tulsa, OK - Wednesday, October 17th, 2018 – 5:00 p.m. CST

  The alarm on his new phone went off, signaling it was time to get ready for work. While he got dressed for his shift, his hairbrush hit something that felt different on the spot where he had fallen. As he rubbed the area, he found his injury no longer had a scab or stitches, and his flesh was as if it had never been damaged. He also discovered something else, his bald spot had black stubble growing out. Turning to look in the mirror, he let out a giggle of joy at the sight of the dark hair peeking out. He wasn’t sure what was more disturbing, the new hair, or miraculous healing.

  His grin faded as he looked over at the backpack and remembered the patch of skin still locked away in the plastic bag. For a moment, he thought about reconsidering calling Utterson but quickly dismissed that idea, as he would have an impossible time explaining himself. He gripped the sides of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror. Henry struggled to make sense of what was happening and shuddered at the insanity that his life had become.

  He closed his eyes and thought, I just have to keep a lid on everything until I know more. This is a puzzle, and I have to figure it out. Then I can decide what to do.

  Tulsa, OK - Wednesday, October 17th, 2018 – 6:01 p.m. CST

  He rolled his bike up to Lewis’s Hoagies just in time for his shift and looked around at the empty parking lot. He walked into a dead restaurant, with only two couples eating and a lot of empty booths. He knew that wouldn’t last, as the Wednesday Church crowd would hit soon. As he rounded the front counter, Juste and the crew greeted him with hugs and handshakes.

  The Cajun whistled and sang out, “New clothes, bon ami? You look like you robbed J.C. Pennies.”

  Henry looked at his new black slacks and replied, “Yeah, ummm, well, I picked up a couple of new things for the funeral. I thought I’d break the shoes in working a shift.”

  In the back of his mind, Dr. Lanyon’s voice echoed, “Regardless of what choices you make, each day you must wake up and face the awful truth that you are your mother’s son. Your first instinct will always be to act like her.”

  It was a statement that had hit him hard, I wonder what the professor would think of me now. How quickly I just slipped into creating a lie to cover up the truth. I’m in way over my head, and Juste should have been the person I trusted the most. Instead of telling him the truth, I used a sympathy ploy to side step what was really going on.

  The Cajun slapped him on the chest, snapping him out of it, and then reminded him, “Hey, tonight’s the game. Do you think we should still do it?”

  It never occurred to him, It does seem in bad taste to continue with our weekly D&D session like nothing happened. What if Jeff was still in mourning?

  Henry pulled Juste to the side and considered, “I’m not sure we should. I mean, Jeff and Lewis started this place together. He could be busted up.”

  Dallas pushed her thin frame between the two of them, leaned her back on the wall, and said, “Has Jeff called the game off?”

  Henry shook his head now, and she continued, “Well, that means he might need to see his friends. Besides, Lewis would’ve wanted you nerds to have fun and celebrate. He brought us all together, and he wouldn’t want his death to bring you apart, even for a night.”

  Juste looked down and remarked, “A veiller would be good, but it will be hard to look at that empty chair where Lewis used to sit.”

  A moment of silence hung in the air before Dallas kicked off the wall and replied, “No, it won’t. I’ll take his seat at the game, and we can kill some orcs in his mighty name!”

  With a smile, they agreed, and Todd began serenading Dallas with his off-key, homemade, dwarven power ballad. The rest of the night shift went smoothly, as the church crowd shuffled in, and Juste spent the evening schooling Dallas in on all the D&D rules between customers. Dallas took a concerted effort to listen with anticipation to each rule Juste and Todd explained to her.

  Henry couldn’t help but smile, She’s tough as nails, but Dallas is mush on the inside. She hates gaming, but I think she is doing this to help everyone heal. Dallas Webb… softy. Who knew?

  At one point in the conversation, she asked, “If I play a guy, can I roll to see if a serving wench will have sex with me?”

  Juste looked at her with stars in his eyes and asked, “Will you marry me?”

  Tulsa, OK - Wednesday, October 17th, 2018 – 8:55 p.m. CST

  Todd locked the restaurant, and in less than thirty minutes the crew was ready to walk out of the door. The group of players was always motivated to finish their closing duties on game night. They decided this would be a farewell game in honor of Lewis Turner.

  Outside, Jeff Lancaster’s red Mazda pulled up and honked at Todd, who piled into the front passenger seat. Jeff was a slender man in his mid-fifties who had a long grey ponytail, a thick beard, and wore an old tie-dyed Joe’s Crab Shack t-shirt. Henry and Juste gave him a peace sign as they jumped in Dallas’s car and the pair of vehicles motored down the road towards Lancaster’s house.

  When they got to Jeff’s place, Dallas was taken aback by how beautiful the man’s home was. The two-story house sat on five acres of land in a nice neighborhood on the south side of Tulsa. A restored 1957 Chevy was parked in the driveway, alongside a 2017 Audi S7.

  Dallas stopped dead in her tracks and asked, “I thought Jeff was Lewis’s stoner friend. What’s with all of this?”

  Juste put his hands in his pockets and answered, “Jeff is Lewis’s oldest friend. Lewis moved in with him after his divorce. They went in together on the sandwich shop, and now Jeff is the controlling owner of Lewis’s Hoagies.”

  Henry grabbed their dice and books from the back seat and added, “That didn’t sit too well with his ex-wife. I think she assumed half would be willed to her daughter.”

  When they stepped inside, there were several boxes of fresh pizza waiting on them, as a bald man introduced himself to her, “You must be Dallas Webb? Nice to meet you. Donald Spencer, the ex-brother-in-law, who Lewis got to keep after I divorced his sister.”

  “The Don,” as they called him, had a bulging gut like a bloated catfish, and a personality dialed up to a 10. The Don was quick to give Dallas a quick tour of the photos on the wall. He pointed out the picture of Lewis, Jeff, and himself in Iraq when they served in the Green Berets.

  Jeff piped up, saying, “When we left the service, Don found out about the abandoned property and pitched them the idea of opening a shop. Lewis put up the bulk of the cash, I handled the books and Don ran the marking. Three-way split on the profits.”

  Dallas examined a photo of the three of them at the grand opening to the restaurant and asked, “That is prime real estate. That must be one mean loan you guys owe to the bank.”

  Jeff organized some dice on the table and answered, “Lewis paid for it all, upfront, in cash.”

  Todd looked up from his Player’s Handbook and exclaimed, “Jesus! What? He told me he was a security guard before he opened the shop. Where did he get the money?”

  Don cleared his throat uncomfortably as Lancaster repli
ed, “Lewis always had some cash stashed back, I think.”

  After everyone had some pizza in their stomachs, smoked some after-dinner weed, and made themselves something to drink, Jeff started the game. Juste sat across from Henry, with an ocean of chips, drinks, and dice positioned in every free spot on the table. Everyone was picking out the figurine they were using to represent them on the battle mat and making last-minute updates to their character sheets.

  Dallas picked up one of the tiny miniature statues and asked, “What exactly do we do with these?”

  Juste pointed at the pewter fig and replied, “Cher, it is like a chess piece. You use it to move around the board, it’s appearance is supposed to represent what your character can do. For instance, if you were a brave knight, you would look for some statue that had a person in full armor with a sword.”

  As Henry listened to the exchange, he looked down at the pieces Jeff had scattered across the table and discovered that his heart wasn’t quite into the game tonight. Being surrounded by photos of the three made the loss of their friend hit hard.

  Jeff looked up from his books, exclaiming, “This one's for Lewis. So, let's have some unruly fun in his honor.”

  Don and Lancaster raised their beer glasses towards a photo of Lewis and toasted, “De oppresso liber!”

  Lancaster glanced at his watch and announced, “Okay, five minutes until game time. Everyone finish up.”

  Don picked up a beer bottle cap and snapped it at Jeff’s face exclaiming, “Shut up, Queef Master! You will wait, and you will like it!”

  The sadness around the table broke as Jeff yelled at him, “Hey, Donald! You’re not supposed to call me that in front of anyone! You promised!”

  Don gave a broad smile and answered, “Oh, no. I made that promise to Lewis, and he’s gone. So, now I’m free.”

  Spencer tapped Dallas on the arm and asked, “Hey, have I told you how he got that nickname?”

  She gave him an awkward glance and replied, “Man, I just met you.”

  The color in Jeff’s face went pale as he begged, “No, Don. Man, please. It has been twenty years, it’s time for it to stop.”

  Don gave him a sympathetic stare and gave a supportive, “You’re right, man. I’m sorry. This isn’t fair. It isn’t right for you to complain about me telling this awesome story!”

  Everyone laughed, and Don bellowed, “So the year was 1996. Lewis was driving his cherry red Bel Air up one of the streets in Tulsa. We are all barely in our twenties and not a care in the world. I’m riding in the passenger seat, and our hero was in the back. He had just started banging this slutty waitress at a dive bar. Keep in mind, Jeff had little to no experience in the sack. We were glad to see him finally getting some so he would calm down a little. Ten minutes into the ride, we are all jamming to Tom Petty on the radio. Our valiant slayer of vagina asks from the back, “have you guys ever had sex with a woman so much that she farted on you?”

  Lewis and I both played it cool and asked him why he would inquire about such a thing. Then Jeff starts explaining, in detail, how he had turned this 45-year-old woman over during sex, and she “farted” on him. He said it was strange because it didn’t smell. We laughed so hard we almost went off the road. Our fearless leader, Lewis, finally explained what a queef was to our Romeo. Of course, Jeff just sat back in the crushed velvet seats of that old car and let it all sink in. Just when it got quiet, Jeff says, “If she farts out of her vagina, does that mean I did good?”

  Jeff’s face was hidden behind the Dungeon Master’s screen as the room filled with uproarious laughter. Todd was so stoned that he fell out of his chair, and Dallas said she peed a little. The red face of Lancaster burned so brightly that he looked like a tomato.

  Don made a farting noise with his hand against his face and announced, “Do you hear that sound? That means you’re doing great, Jeff!”

  It was the first time Henry had laughed since his friend's death, and he had to admit it was nice to be here with friends. He looked over at the chair Dallas was sitting in, and he could clearly remember Lewis being there at the last game. As the laughter finally died down, he wondered if his pal was doing okay on the other side and if he was getting to see old friends.

  Todd broke him out of the thought by exclaiming, “Look at these figures, man. None of them fit my character! A dwarven cleric is supposed to be short and stout. How am I supposed to play when the only figure of a cleric is an anorexic she-elf?”

  Juste replied, “Just pick one that is the closest, bon ami.”

  Todd snatched an orc bandit out of the pile and resigned to say, “This will do, I guess.”

  Dallas ran her fingers over the little statues and asked, “Okay, so if I’m taking over for Lewis, then I’ll need a-a-a-a-a-a-a what?”

  Juste grabbed a figure and remarked, “Lewis always played a thief. He used to say he liked to hide, so he used this.”

  She plucked it from his hand and admired, “Oh, this looks cool. Is this one of those Hobbits? Does this mean I can assassinate people and steal from them?”

  Jeff broke in and said, “It’s called a Rogue, and they never refer to themselves as thieves. It would be like calling yourself a murderer if you were a Valkyrie from Norse mythology.”

  Henry listened to their exchange as they got her caught up on the rules for her new character. He was still having a hard time deciding which one would best represent his Mage. Henry went to grab a little silver statue and noticed a blue mechanical pencil gripped tightly in his right hand. He didn’t remember picking it up and didn’t even recognize it as his. As the group continued their discussions, his eyes moved down towards his character sheet. Fear hit him like sheets of rain against a tin roof, as he saw the letters “R-U-N” written in bold strokes across the paper. His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and a cold chill caused goose pimples to spring over his arms. The letters were taking up almost the entire space of the page, and the letters were traced over several times. He suddenly felt vulnerable as he realized his reactions must be telling, and it would draw attention. He covered up his paper with his hand, did his best to control his breathing, and scanned the room out of the corners of his eyes.

  He quickly flipped the paper over and thought, Okay, calm down. Someone could be playing a joke on me.

  The group was its usual self with no signs of anything amiss. Donald was showing off his Bard figure and entertaining Dallas by making it dance on the table while singing about Goblin herpes. Everyone seemed to be engrossed in fun, while a single line of sweat dripped out of Henry’s thickening hairline and onto his nose.

  Jeff stifled a laugh, pointed at the figurine Juste was holding, and noticed, “Did you switch character classes, man? Why are you using a Paladin statue instead of your Ranger?”

  The Cajun eyes were glazed from the pot as he replied, “Huh, well, I just picked something, I guess. It will work for now.”

  Juste slapped it on the board in front as Jeff observed, “Okay, it looks like everyone has a figure.”

  Henry realized he hadn’t and objected, “Wait, I still need one.”

  Don gave him a raised eyebrow and asked, “What’s that in front of you, then?”

  Looking down, he saw a figurine of a winged gargoyle that had red eyes and sported leathery looking wings. Just like the mystery note, he had no recollection of putting it there or having seen anyone else slip it to him. The shiver on his arms streamed down his spine, and the butterflies in his stomach started dogfighting with one another.

  He picked up the statue and thought I’m going crazy. Something has happened to me. I’m losing time like in an alien abduction. Maybe I’m having an LSD flashback.

  Henry nervously nodded and confirmed, “Yea, I mean. I picked it. I’m ready.”

  Jeff gave a confused shrug at the odd choice and recapped what had happened in the last game. Henry leaned back in his chair, put his shaking hands under the table so people couldn’t see them. He was now sweating profusely, and droplets were
starting to decorate his work shirt. Henry closed his eyes to catch his focus and then opened them again to find Dallas was staring at him from across the table. He shot her a fake smile in an attempt to look normal, as she kept an even and unyielding look of suspicion on her face.

  After a few minutes, Jeff’s speech hit a high gear and allowed him to glance back down at the odd note. As he prepared to flip the paper back over, he saw his new phone laying in the middle of his character sheet. He slapped his pants pocket, where he had put it in a subconscious effort to confirm the impossible. Somehow it had made its way to the table, and the passkey hand been entered. On the screen, the Uber app opened and showed that a driver was in transit to pick him up. The display told him the ride was paid for by a bank account he didn’t recognize. It also gave an estimated arrival time was 10 minutes, and he could see the car moving on the map towards Jeff’s house.

  He felt dizzy from the stress and wondered, How could all of this be happening? How had the note been written, who slipped me that statue, and who put in the request for an Uber ride? For that matter, whose bank account is attached to that app?

  Todd’s words sent a shock through his body as the cook asked, “Dude, did you call for an Uber? What the hell, man?”

  Everyone stopped talking as he stood up and excused himself with, “I’m sorry guys, I’m not doing very well with this. I think it is too soon for me to play again with Lewis gone. I’m going to jet.”

  There was a round of objections from Jeff and Don, who tried to get him to stay. He waved his hand as he backed up towards the front door and kept apologizing. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t contain his fear any longer. He just wanted out of there and for life to start making sense again. His hip knocked over one of the TV trays, and snacks went flying onto the carpet.

  Don popped to his feet, exclaiming, “Hey, buddy, calm down! It’s tough on all of us, so we get it. We got you, man. Stay or go, it is all cool. Just take a breath.”