Posts Tagged ‘gods’

Part 8: Curtains

“No.”

“I understand you are apprehensive about the risks, Poseidon…” Cannon tried to reason with the god.

“No!  If you know this is the man, then we just…”

“You just what.  Exactly.”  Cannon asked firmly.  He tried to keep his legs from shaking and was amazed that his voice didn’t quiver.

“Justice will be had,” the god of the sea and earthquakes stated firmly.

“What kind of justice?  I imagine this isn’t the sort of thing that is going to involve a trial by jury.”

“Detective Cross,” Poseidon stood up, stretching to his full height and loomed over Cannon.  “Do not push me.  This man has murdered, you have seen it yourself.  He will face justice for crossing into our realm and committing the gravest of acts against us.”

“We don’t know it’s him, or even how he has done this!  He may be mentally ill or…”

“Cannon, Poseidon,” Cannon was interrupted by the arrival of Zeus.  “will you please explain to me why the heavens ring with your angry voices?”

“Brother,” Poseidon grumbled.

“Sorry,” Cannon replied sheepishly.

“Poseidon, do as he asks, ask for a volunteer though.  If there are none forthcoming, Cannon will you concede?”  Zeus arched one white eyebrow.

“Yes, sir.”  Cannon replied curtly.

“Once guilt has been assessed and the suspects intentions made clear, you will allow us to dispense justice in our own fashion,” he continued, holding up a hand to Cannon’s yet unspoken objections, “there is no way this can be dealt with by your courts of justice.  The man shall be punished.”  Poseidon smiled triumphantly.  “What that will entail, is yet to be determined,” Zeus finished glaring at Poseidon, which deflated his brother’s grin somewhat.

“Yes sir,” Cannon grated his teeth.  “But I ask one more favour.”

“Speak it,” Zeus replied.

“There is a reason this man can see the muses, we have to figure that out too,”  Cannon stated calmly.

“Ha, you demand more that you should, Detective,” Posidon’s voice was scathing.

“If only for your own sakes, if there’s one there could be another.  You, more than me, need to know why if you want those muses ever to be safe.”  Cannon saw Poseidon seethe somewhat but then give in.

“Detective,” the god of the sea sighed, “I’ll go ask for your volunteer.  If one is willing, they will meet you at the opera house at the specified time.”    He grasped the detective’s shoulders, “you are the most insistent and irritating mortal I have ever had the fortune to meet.”

Before Cannon could reply he felt the now familiar feeling of the ground slipping away from him.

——<<<<>>>>>>———

Cannon was pacing at the bar nervously.  It was another five minutes until intermission and there was no sign yet of a muse.  He was kicking himself inside for demanding so much, they were gods!  What did they care of mortal justice and legal systems.  What had he really thought was going to happen?  He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes shut.  It felt like he had not slept in ages; his body felt tired and his mind unfocussed.

“A worthy mortal, huh,” he sighed.

“A very worthy mortal,” said a familiar voice from behind him.

“Euterpe,” he smiled but was seized with apprehension at the same time.  His head slumped forward.  Of course it would be her.

“Didn’t think it would be me?”  She said appearing from behind his shoulder.

“I didn’t want it to be you,” he grinned sheepishly.

“Oh Cannon,” she smiled at him, her face angelic and mischievous at the same time.  She darted forward and hugged him tight.  “I would have fought the others to be here.”

“Euterpe…” he began but was cut off but the sudden influx of people into the lobby for intermission.

“Keep a sharp eye out, we need to catch him not give him another opportunity to…” Cannon stopped.  Oh god.  Oh Gods.  He swallowed hard.  This would be the only occasion to prove that Anton was their killer and the only way to do it was provide another opportunity for him to strike again .  He was going to get swift and harsh judgement and punishment, a very heavenly retribution for his attacks and Cannon needed to make sure he was delivering the right man to the gods.

Euterpe nodded and squeezed his hand before leaving Cannon.  It was part of the plan, to lure him out and not revealing the fact that he was being watched.  Cannon leaned against the bar with a soda water and nonchalantly looked around.  He knew that Zeus, Poseidon and a few others were not far off and watching the scene as well.

The fifteen minutes were flying by and there was no sign of Anton.  There were other floors, other bars where Anton could have gone to; Cannon felt the opportunity slipping through his fingers.  He imagined Poseidon smirking to himself counting down the seconds to the second half of the opera.

The bell went for people to return their seats the flood reversed, people crushing together to be the first back to their seats.  For a moment, Cannon lost track of where Euterpe was amongst the mess of people.  There was always an unconscious gap left for the muses when in a crowd but there were so many people that he couldn’t even see that.

He saw a hand reach up above the crowd and wave frantically.  Fear gripped his heart and he plunged into the crowd.

“Fuck!” He swore loudly and the crowd gave him angry looks.  He gripped the amulet around his neck hard and let his emotions do the rest.

“Cannon! Cannon!” He could hear her frantic voice amongst the theatre murmurs, laughs and shuffling, background noise.

He could see the gap a little ways ahead of him.  The crowd was so dense and almost impossible to move, even when he started flashing his badge about.  He caught sight of Euterpe, her eyes wide with fear as she stared at the man ahead of her.

“Anton Ferrial!” Cannon shouted loudly.  He wanted to catch him off guard but he couldnt’ let anything happen to Euterpe.   He saw a face turn in the crowd just ahead of Euterpe, the profile was unmistakable.   The crowd surged and Cannon tried to break through the last wall of people.

Then she screamed.  It was musical, harmonious, melodic, and unmistakably in pain.

The crowd had pushed Anton forward and he had taken the moment to strike out, even in this crowded area.  Anton grabbed his collar and his knife hand from behind.

“What is this?”  Anton struggled in the Detective’s grip but Cannon held fast.  Anton Ferrial you are under arrest for the murder and attempted murder of Calliope, Erato and Euterpe.”

Anton laughed loudly.

“You are one crazy copper,” he snarled, “you and I both know there are no such thing as muses.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said a familiar voice from behind them both.  “Cannon, we’ll take him from here,” Zeus’ voice was controlled but angry.  Poseidon grasped the knife from a very surprised and frightened looking Anton.

“You can’t be real,” his eyes were wide and the gravity of the situation was hitting him hard.

“We are very much real, just as much as the women you tried to murder,” Poseidon said grabbing his other harm.  “And we aren’t the forgiving kind of gods either.”

The crowd had all passed by them, looking confused at first but Cannon saw the familiar glazing over eyes like that of his captain whenver the details of the case came up.

“Euterpe,” Cannon breathed and fell down next to the muse.

“Cannon…Cannon, it is alright,” she smiled beautifully and lifted a hand to his face.

“I’m sorry, I should have been here sooner,” there was a faint chorus around the fallen figure of Eutrepe, she bled music and not blood just like the other muses.  Cannon put pressure on the wound, it didn’t look too bad but he didn’t want to take any chances.

“Cannon, it is not your fault.  She cradled his cheek in the palm of her hand.  He felt her frame tense and the muscles cramp; only a slight twitch in her smile betrayed her pain.  Her eyes still danced to some internal song that was now trying to escape through a stab wound.

“Sing to me Cannon,” she asked quietly.

“I…I…” Cannon wanted to say so much to the beautiful entity in his arms but felt giddy and foolish.   “I don’t have a great voice,” he said instead and grinned.

“Sing to me Cannon, everything will be okay.”  Her eyes closed and she squeezed his hand.  She started humming a soft tune.  He vaguely realised that Poseidon was behind him but Anton and Zeus had disappeared.  At this moment he couldn’t care less what happened to Anton Ferrial.  He sang.

“In all of heaven down to the earth
Through the spaces unknown and unseen
If you’ll listen, I’ll sing you a melody
A tale, a dream, a song of you and me

And the stars will shine and echo
celestial spheres will be dancing
As I weave the story, the melody
Of the history of time inbetween

Your gentle touch on this world
that changes dreams into reality
and songs blessedly come to be
will be sung throughout eternity

I know I am no worthy mortal
for such a entity such as thee
All I have is my simple, rough voice
to whisper to you this melody

From humble mortal to celestial muse
All the tales of beauty throughout history
That have been written or will soon be
cannot capture how lovely you are to me.”

He trailed off and opened his eyes, to find himself surrounded by gods back in Olympus.  Euterpe was sleeping soundly, pain free but still grasping his hand.

“I…usually I’m ill when you bring me here,” he muttered, turning bright red.

“Come,” Poseidon said smiling, leave her Euterpe to rest.

They walked out to the central square, with the brilliant fountain and ambrosia smelling sweetly in the cool air.  Poseidon looked happy, the tautness in his bearing was gone and he sauntered casually.

“Zeus will be here shortly,” he said suddenly, “to tell you the verdict.”

“Huh,” was all Cannon could say.  What was there to say?   He knew that Anton was guilty but his notions of justice were a bit muddled after Euterpe had been one of his victims.  Cannon  shook his head, he would have to leave it with the gods.  They were probably in a better position now to judge Anton than him now anyway.

“We have been fair,” Posieden replied.

“I somehow think our ideas of fairness slight differ from each other,” Cannon said wryly, running his hand through his hair.  Poseidon laughed loudly.

“Even after all that I have seen of you, and all that you have seen of Anton, you still surprise me.  Any other man would have liked a few hours in a room with him with brass knuckles.”  Poseidon looked at Cannon closely.  “It was good to have met you Detective Cannon Cross.  Never a more worthy mortal has entered our home.”  He offered his hand and bowed his head slightly in thanks.

“Brother,” Zeus spoke from behind Cannon, “may I have a work with the Detective?”

“Of course,” Poseidon smiled once more and then wandered off into Olympus.

“I heard you guys have a verdict,” Cannon said calmly.  “Bit quick?”

“Our sense of time is slightly different than yours, Detective,” Zeus replied calmly.

“Everything seems slightly different up here,” Cannon replied, “is it up here?  I’m a bit confused where celestial planes actually are.”  Zeus laughed.  “Detective, I am glad the threads of fate have brought you to us.  You will be reserved a place in the Elysian fields if you so desire.”

“No needing to be virtuous until my death bed?  Pretty good deal, that,” Cannon replied calmly.  This was all getting a bit weird for him.

“Ah, well, I know a guy.  My father, so to speak,” Zeus replied.

“I didn’t think you guys got on to well, you know, with the overthrowing and taking over of Olympus and all,” Cannon recalled from the mists of his university classics class.

“Ah, well, mythology, bunch of old stories you know,” Zeus winked.  Cannon grinned, as weird as it was, he liked the gods and the muses.   “But anyway, I thought you should know what we found out about Anton.”

“How he could see the muses?”  Cannon asked.

“Yes.  It seems that his parents both had a unique lineage.  They both were descendents of gods,” Zeus began.  “I don’t know if I can adequately explain to you how this all works but think of it as genetics.  They each possessed a dominant gene that was godly.”

“And because they had that kid, he inherited them both.  Does that mean he’s a god?”  Cannon asked incredulously.

“Not exactly,” Zeus replied.  “But he had some traits, like the ability to see others like him.  But instead of being awed but this, his character was warped.  He saw the muses touch both his parents and he saw that after being touched, they separated.  They each became famous for the arts and so he shunned them.    His hatred festered and when he saw the muses again, the bitterness was intensified their interference in the lives of mortals but more so because of what the interference did to his life.  He believed that if there had never been the muses, his life would have been different.”

“I thought you knew who all the gods and children of gods were, how come you didn’t know him?”  Cannon asked.

“Well, you know,” Zeus said gruffly, “there are always indiscretions amongst even the celestial.”  He cleared his throat.

“You know there are an awful lot of myths about your indiscretions,” Cannon teased.

“It’s always the swan story.  Honestly, even in allegory.  A swan?  Really.  You people can be so very weird,” Zeus shook his head and Cannon laughed deeply.

“So what are you going to do to him?”  Cannon said once the laughter had stopped.

“He could not remain a threat to the muses,” Zeus said seriously.  “To be fair, in the old days I would have just struck him down at the merest hint of guilt.”  He sighed and faced Cannon.  “He will not be permitted to live.  He’s going to have an accident, that covers this all up, so that he will not be remembered in his world as a murder of muses.”

“I understand,” Cannon said slowly, “I don’t agree but I understand.”

“You do not have to carry the burden of judgement, or the burden of remembrance if do not wish to,” Zeus said gently, “I know we are never very clear on our demands of mortals and our judgements are not always seen as the best ones.”

“You can say that again,” Cannon sighed.   “How is all this going to look back home?  The Captain never seemed to really know what was going on.”

“There will be a commendation in your file, it will be obscure but have recommendations from the highest of sources,” Zeus replied, “but no one will ever know.  There once was a time when gods and mortals could be on the same plane but that time has passed.  We are in the twilight of our time, Cannon but we will do what we can until we are completely forgotten.”  Zeus looked like a very old and tired man in the fading light.  Careworn lines etched deeply around his eyes and he for once, looked small.

“We will be at a loss when that day comes,” Cannon replied.  They walked in silence for a bit, gazing upon Olympus.   “Can I see Euterpe before…” Cannon finally asked.  Zeus smiled.

“I feel you will be seeing a lot of Euterpe,” the chief of the Olympian gods said with a twinkle in his eye.  “After all, the muses still exist between the worlds.”  He turned and faced Cannon, his hand on his shoulder.  Cannon knew what was going to come next.  “If you wish to retain that burden of guilt than you shall have the blessings and freedom afforded to gods to enter and leave this plane.  You can retain the amulet we have given you so that you may still know us.   That is your reward and your punishment if you so wish it.”

“I do,” Cannon said solemnly, the weight of the decision settled on his shoulders heavily.

“So be it,” Zeus said “Cannon Cross, until we meet again.  Blessings of Olympus be upon you, with our deepest gratitude we thank you.”  Zeus layed his other hand on his shoulder and Cannon’s view of Olympus and the god of thunder dissolved into his office back at the station.

He sat down heavily in his chair.  Things were going to be a bit odd from now on.  Someone knocked on the door and the Captain’s head followed quickly.

“Nice job on that case, Cannon,” he said grinning, “looks like you are going to be smiled on from high places.”

“You have no idea how true that is,” Cannon thought.

“Anyway, if you aren’t too busy, I’ve got a case for you,” the Captain flashed a file at the young detective.

“Isn’t it still my day off?”

“Well, I suppose so.  But it’s interesting,” the Captain’s eyes twinkled.  Cannon’s mouth hitched up into his familiar grin.

“How interesting?”

—-Fin—-

Hooray! All done.  Hope you all enjoyed it.  Sorry for the massive Vacation Delay on the final episode.  Have a new serial all lined up for your consumption to start in a week or so!

Part 7: A chance encounter

Returning to his office, Cannon found the reports he had requested on his desk.    There was a publicity report on Anna Farrial and her ex-husband; all standard stuff which he quickly skimmed through.  He then had a look at their son’s file, Anton Farrial, who appeared not to have fallen in either of his parents’ footsteps.  He was an actuary, as far from his parents’ profession as Cannon could imagine.   Then he saw the address:  Anton lived in the city.  He quickly scanned over Anna’s and her ex-husband’s files but they both lived on the other side of the country.  Anna was here for the Arts week and the tribute to her career.

It had to be him. Cannon felt uneasy guessing but how was he supposed to ask questions of anyone else?  To everyone else in the world the muses were invisible.   At some point Anton had been able to see the muses, it was not to hard to believe that he still could.

The young detective was troubled as he put these links together.  Cases, even murder cases, were supposed to be business as usual.  Follow the clues, ask questions and find someone likely to be the guilty party and your job is done.  Then it was all up to the justice system to determine if you had put together the puzzle or just mashed the pieces together.  This case though, he knew, would be totally different.  How do you prosecute someone for killing a myth?  Or what was supposed to be a myth anyway.  He wondered what angry and hurt gods would do to a mortal that had trespassed in their lives  and murdered their kin?  How was he supposed to make sure he had the right man when he could hardly ask people about gods and muses that they thought were fiction?  It was all very overwhelming and he could feel the guilt of a man not yet tried hanging over him.  He shook it off, if he didn’t find the right man those muses would die; one way or the other someone was going to suffer.   A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts.

“Cannon?” the Captain asked as he entered the detective’s office.

“Hey Captain,” Cannon closed the files and pushed them to the side of his desk.

“How’s the case going?”  He asked.

“It’s got some unique challenges,” The Detective replied.  He saw the Captain’s eyes glaze over again as if he was following a script in his mind.  Cannon realised that his Captain knew nothing of the nature of the case.  He shook his head, the gods were strange and invasive.  Cannon was growing to like them but he wondered if he’d even remember them when the no longer needed his help.

“You look tired,” the Captain stated, “don’t work yourself too hard.”

“Always do, you know that.”

The Captain shook his head and shut the door behind him.  Cannon watched the busy station humming along from behind his windows.  None of them would know, he thought, none of them could be the worthy mortal.  Cannon shook his head and shut of the light.  He had to go find Anton Farrial.

Cannon left the station with the intention to follow Anton from work but diverted course to the culture district to see if Anna Farrial was going to make another appearance.   Luckily for him, it was the gala event, Anna Farrial was going to perform with the national orchestra and chorus in the evening, which was sure to draw out Anton.  Even luckier, Anna Farrial was just coming out of rehearsal and Cannon nearly ran right into her.

“I’m so sorry!”  Cannon apologized profusely, highly embarrassed at almost knocking over a national treasure.

“It’s alright young man,” she laughed musically.   She laughed with her entire face, her eyes twinkling merrily at Cannon’s embarrassment.  “I know I have shrunk in my old age but I didn’t know I was turning invisible too.  I must be more careful.”  Cannon only flushed a deeper shade of crimson.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” he said meekly, “it is nice to have you back in the city, once again.”

“It is…interesting to be back,” she replied, looking around the atrium of the National Arts centre.  “It wasn’t always such a nice place to be.”

“Sorry if I’m asking too personal a question,” Cannon began, “but why is that?”  Anna laughed again once more.

“Young man, you must be the only person who has asked me that and not read it in the papers,” she shook her head amusedly, “come, buy me a drink!”  Cannon couldnt’ help but follow the silverhaired petite woman over the the bar.

“You see,” Anna began, after sitting down with her gin and tonic, “this was the city that started my career but also the one that took the most from me personally.”

Cannon wondered why she was telling him all this information or even why this cultural icon was even bothering to sit down and have a drink with him.  He put it down to something the gods were doing, people were never this open, especially to strangers.  She hadn’t even asked who he was.

“It was so hard starting out,” Anna continued, “both me and Severn, my first husband, were so earnest and impatient with ourselves.  We wanted to be recognized and hear and see our works played in halls like this one.  It was our undoing really, there is no way we could support each other when we needed all the attention ourselves,” she smiled sadly.   “No wonder Anton never followed in our footsteps, he saw how selfish we both were.”

“Do you still talk to Severn?”  Cannon asked, hoping not to offend.

“Oh yes.  We made much better friends than married partners.  He at least, also still talks to Anton.”

“Oh?” Cannon tried to sound casual but he felt his stomach turn to ice.

“It’s not something that is well known,” she whispered, “but I have a restraining order against my son.”

“How come? If you don’t mind of course,” Cannon inquired further.  Anna sat back and finished the last of her gin an tonic.  Her waterly blue eyes focussed on something in the distance and she sat, her fingers steepled and pressed against her lips for a moment.

“I don’t doubt that my son is intelligent as I know that he has done very well for himself.  But he became increasingly agitated as young man.  I remember him talking as a child about an angel who had visited us but he never seemed to have let this go.  He became increasingly agitated and obsessed with muses of all things!  I think he was becoming mentally unbalanced.  I asked him to seek treatment and he refused,” she waved her hand at the past as if dismissing it.  “There were some more, uglier incidents but I do not wish to dredge that up tonight.  It is going to be such a beautiful evening, I hope you will come to the performance.  I’ll make sure to leave your name at the door, Cannon.”  She smiled warmly and shook his hand and then excused herself for rest before the evening’s festivities.

Cannon sank deeply into the plush chair and slowly drained the last of his scotch.  It had to be Anton, he thought.  But how had he been able to see the muses in the first place?  He abandoned his plan to find Anton and follow him for the evening as Cannon knew exactly where Anna Farrial’s estranged son was going to end up.  Cannon just needed a way to get Anton exactly where he wanted him.   He looked upwards and gripped the black amulet around his neck.

“I need to ask a favour Poseidon,” he whispered allowed, “and you are not going to like it.”

Night Shift

It was in the very early hours of the morning when I got the call.   I think I may have been dozing off or in a deep daydream, either way I wasn’t quite sure of my reality when I heard the tone in my headphones.  It was the night shift at the call centre; nothing but police and ambulance calls asking for Lithuanian, Urdu and various other languages that I would never hope to understand, all which were disturbing my attempts to nap through to morning.

“You’re through to Lee, how may I help you?” I droned sleepily, pulled a little closer into wakefulness by the thought process required for vocalization.

“We’ll come to that shortly,” said a deep voice.  It rumbled like thunder, a deep bass note that somehow formed impressions of words in my mind.  I could feel the reverberations in my lungs as if I was standing on a train platform or in front of a bass amp at a concert.  There was static on the line, perhaps indicating an overseas call but I couldn’t be sure.  Before I could ask another question, the same question I asked 99.9% of the callers, the fields on my screen pre-populated with characters I had never seen before.  The conference call screen lit up but before I had time to attempt to decipher in all the information scrolling along the fields, another voice entered the conversation.

“Hello Lee,” it greeted me.  This voice was lighter than the other but with a decided air of gravity.  While the tone was light, the words made impressions on my mind like brands.  It felt like I could see the words blazing behind my eyes.  It was painfully brilliant.

“Argggle,” was all I could manage as I waited for the letters of my own name to lose their brilliant gleam in my own head.  “Are you sure you are registered with this service?” I whispered hoarsely, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples as if this could erase the marks behind my eyelids.  The automatic customer service playloop took over as my pain threshold was being overrun.  I felt I had to finish the call quickly so I could run off and throw up.

“We really aren’t,” the brilliant voice said “but you can say we had a hand in its creation.”

“In a roundabout way,” the thunderstorm rumbled.  I was still trying to fight an overwhelming feeling of nausea brought on by the pain in my mind but I swore the thunderstorm sounded like a chuckle.

“Err…well,” I felt awful and decided to hang up.  I was just moving my mouse over to do just that when the first voice said it would be pointless.

“Really,” said the second voice, burning its way across my mind once more, “this could be a test call!”  At this point I could care less what these two were on about.  My head felt like it was going to melt.

“Well, I suppose,” I muttered “but those usually don’t pre-populate my fields with unknown characters.  Plus, its 3:25 in the morning.”

“Got you there, chief,” said the deep voice.

“No matter.  You’ll find you can’t hung up on this call until we’ve decided it to be complete,” the second voice said, the length of the sentence causing me to groan from the searing light.  I closed my eyes momentarily but it seemed to make it worse, so I focussed on the grey casing of the hard drive.

“I won’t last that long,” I choked, “my mind is burning.  Oh God.”

“He has a problem with that,” came the laughing rumble, it reminded me of a thunderstorm rolling across the lakes back home; the sound of a storm coming or just passed, echoing across the flatlands.  Some bright lights flashed across my vision again but made no discernable impression of language.  However, if I was forced to make a guess, it would have not been the sort of language to use in front of my mother.

“How’s this then,” I sighed with relief as the lights behind my eyes merely glowed, like the last rays of a sunset.  It was rather quite pleasant.

“Much better,” I said after finishing my glass of water, in a long slow chug.  I felt completely parched after that cacophony of words and light.  “But you know there are other calls, the emergency services…”

“Don’t worry about the other calls,” the first voice stated, “you’ll find none will queue, nor will time pass until this conversation has ended.”  I shrugged and turned to face the call monitor.  It took me a second but I realized the time wasn’t ticking by and the screen wasn’t refreshing every few seconds like it normally did.  In fact, there was now no noise in the office whatsoever.  The normal hum of computers and overhead lights were completely gone.  It was dead silent and very creepy.

“Sooo…” I said leaning back to the full extent that my chair would allow me.  I was wondering what my part in this entire conversation was going to be.  Normally my job was quite simple, maddeningly easy and quite boring.  I took calls, found interpreters and matched the two up so some poor holiday maker from Brazil or a refugee from Somalia could get medical attention.  Or booked into custody, depending on the degree of holiday revelry.  My participation in the actual call was minimal and routine.

“We’re going to ask you some questions,” said the first voice.

“And you are going to answer us honestly,” said the second.

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”  I asked, getting up to make a cup of tea.

“It would be a lot less painful if you did it our way,” said the light voice.  I noticed the words got progressively brighter to the point of scarring behind my eyes once again.

“Okay! Okay! I get the point.  I see the light,” I said hurriedly, not wanting that pain to return.  I flicked the switch on the kettle but was dismayed to see it wouldn’t turn on. “Damn it.”

“It’s just a kettle,” said the first voice.

“Really, no sense of language these days, that has to be a sign,” said the light voice in reply.

“I always thought it was the intention behind the language or actions that counted,” I kicked the water fountain after it too, failed to produce my fervent desire of something liquid.

“Mm,” rumbled the first voice, “his intention was just frustration, not an actual desire to send that object to suffer torment for all eternity.”

“We really don’t’ have words for that anymore, I think,” I said going back to my desk.  I suddenly remembered that I had a can of Dr. Pepper in my backpack.  “I mean, we use the words love and hate to describe TV shows or a new song on the radio.  It has diluted the meaning somewhat.  That intense level of feeling would be almost incommunicable.”

“But the original word meant something completely different,” glowed the second voice in my head, the words seemed jagged and irritated.

“Meh,” I replied.  I wasn’t about to argue about etymological shifts with a glowing voice in my brain.  I couldn’t be bothered.  I wanted my caffeine, trapped in liquid form in a can to enter my bloodstream.

“That wasn’t a question anyway,” stated the first voice.  It rumbled at a higher decibel level than previously.  I shifted uncomfortably in the chair.  “I shall subject the candidate to the first round of the inquisition.”  I couldn’t help it, I tried to suppress a giggle but failed.  Who used language like this?  This was a call centre after all, not normally associated with high calibre discussion with theological overtones. The voice chose to ignore my sniggering, much to my relief.  However the question that followed wiped the smile off my face.

“Have you ever done something terrible in your past? Something that you would regret for the rest of your life?”  I felt the voice wash over me, as if the rumbling was actually the surf on a beach and each would was pounding into my body.  I choked on my drink, feeling like I was about to drown with each syllable uttered.

“Well,” I managed after coughing and spluttering in a rather undignified manner, “not really.  I mean, we all do stupid things.  But you place those things in context of a hundred or so years more experience; hell, even fifty and I’ll write it off as inexperience and stupidity.  Granted, with luck, I still have fifty more years to prove myself completely wrong.”

“Well I’m pleased with that,” said the second voice, sending a warm and comforting glowing light through my brain.  But before the sensation had time to set in, the next sentence felt like molten lava in my veins.  The words were spoken throughout my entire body, every cell imprinted with the idea.  “Have you ever known true love or have sacrificed something dear for your fellow humans?”

I was glad I had been sitting at the time, for the room was spinning and I felt ill again.  I wasn’t quite sure that I had feet, or a body for that matter, after the words had been spoken.  But then the pain returned, every hair felt on my body was standing on edge and my skin felt like it was burning.  I jumped out of the chair suddenly, sending it crashing into the desk behind me.

“You know, this really isn’t cool.  It still hurts!” I yelled at the computer screen and the strange symbols.  I was completely pissed off now as I had knocked over my can of Dr. Pepper in the general flailing that had taken place.

“Testing of one’s soul is impossible to pass painlessly,” said the light voice.  With each word the pain lessened and replaced with a cooling balm.

“How long is this going to go on for?!” I sighed, utterly exasperated by this crazy conversation. I could only hope that it was some sleep-deprived dream and that I’d soon wake up.

“As long as it takes,” the dark voice growled.  I knew he meant it.  It wasn’t a question of minutes or hours or even time.  It was all of time, until the end of time, if need be.  And here I would sit, stuck in this bloody airless office with nothing to drink, with the annoying crackle on the lines and the dark and light playing their games in my mind.

“Fuck that!” I shouted at the empty office, “I deal in 9-5, weekends off, overtime extra.  No, I’ve never loved or sacrificed for anyone, really.  Civilization and society has smoothed most of the bumps in my road, thanks.  I’ve had girlfriends but that’s all they’ve ever been.  Happy?  What next? Back to the dark?  I’ve never murdered anyone; I always want something I can’t have but it is usually something promoted by a faceless corporation and obtainable if I save enough money and don’t blow it at the pub.  Yes, I try to be nice and don’t steal; occasionally I help old ladies with their groceries and am nice to my mother even though she’s going senile!  Haven’t you never heard the Grey Race? Jesus!”

There was silence from the two voices and all I could hear in my headset was the crackle of the bad lines.  “No need to involve him,” stated the light voice calmly.

“Their tempers get shorter every time, don’t they,” said the first voice.

“Fuck off,” I muttered and gulped the rest of my caffeine down.

“That, he really did mean,” said the second voice.

“Here’s a question.  Why is my soul being tested anyway?”

“To see if its time,” came the answer from both, an odd harmony of light echoing off dark chords.

“For what?”  I yelled in frustration.

“Honestly, I thought the middle ages was bad or understanding Revelations,” mumbled the dark voice.

I was tired.  My Dr. Pepper was slowly dripping onto the carpet and the voices on the lines and the static was getting to me.  I sighed deeply.  I hoped I was just having a nightmare, either that or I was beginning to think I was going mental.

“You know, why don’t you let us figure it out, eh?  Third parties just cause confusion and unnecessary complications,” there was silence again at the other end of the line.  I was hoping that they had gone away, but the eerie silence in the office was omni-oppressive.  I was hoping they weren’t too offended that I basically informed them of their irrelevance.  Looking back, I wonder how I remained so calm.  Now, I begin to shake and need a healthy dose of whiskey.

“Thank you for your time, Lee,” the second voice said.  It wasn’t the same happy glow that was used before, nor the searing pain but it still scratched.

“You have been most useful,” the dark voice buffeted a little.  But it seemed to indicate that this person was more amused.  It felt like a “wink, wink, nudge, nudge” moment.  I wasn’t sure how to take that but was sure this person’s good side was definitely not the right place to be.

The fields depopulated and the sudden return to the noise of the world startled me.  I sat in my chair, watching the seconds tick by for a couple minutes when I heard the kettle go off.  Slowly I got up to pour myself a cup.  I shook my head and grinned I walked back to the desk, completely secure in the knowledge that sure that I had just dreamt everything.  However, when I got there I saw the spilled soft drink still dripping onto the carpet.  The grin slipped and I ran to the bathroom, knowing I was about to be sick.

——-

I wrote this awwhille ago.  I still think its too choppy but oh well.  My brain isn’t working and I wanted to have something to show for my night.

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