Authors: Angella Graff
It was lunchtime when Ben got the call from Mark. He was sitting at his favorite sandwich shop near Pier 39, a steaming bread bowl of fresh clam chowder resting on a tray as he sat outside, enjoying the sun that had come out briefly before the fog was set to roll in later that day.
Ben usually kept the ringer to his personal cell off, and had forgotten he'd turned it on, so when it began to chime, he jumped, spilling a spoonful of the hot soup onto his thigh. It burned right through his trousers, and he stood up, nearly spilling the rest as he fought to wipe it off.
“Hello,” he gasped, managing to grab the call on the last ring. “Shit,” he swore, not able to help himself against the heat of the creamy soup.
“Are you alright?” It was Mark, and he sounded half-concerned and half-amused.
“Just spilled hot soup on my lap, so I've been better,” Ben said. He had forgotten momentarily why Mark would be calling him, but it only took a second to remember. “Do you have some free time to talk?” The soup on his trousers had cooled to an uncomfortable temperature, but better than the boiling hot mess, and he sat back down, taking a drink of his water, and pulling his food back in front of him.
“I do, I am on lunch right now, so I have an hour,” Mark said.
“Is my sister with you?” Ben asked, not sure he really wanted to bring Abby in on this or not.
“She's supervising the primary lunch hour,” Mark said. “Would you prefer to wait for her?”
“No, I'd prefer to discuss with you in private before I decide whether or not to let Abby know what’s going on.”
“Sounds fair. To answer your question on the message, I believe I can identify this man, if he is who I believe he is.”
“And who is that?” Ben asked.
Mark hesitated before answering. “I would prefer to see him first, if it's all the same to you.”
“How are you going to see him if you're blind?” Ben blurted, a little meanly, but mainly out of confusion. He was already apprehensive about relying on Mark to positively ID the man at all.
“It's complicated,” Mark said. “Though I would like you to take care in remembering that just because people cannot use their eyes to see, they do have other means of identifying the world around them.”
Ben was frustrated at his own insensitivity and naivety towards Mark's impairment. “I'm sorry,” he said quickly. “I shouldn’t have assumed you didn't have a way of knowing who he was because you're blind.”
“Is he nearby, Ben?” Mark asked. “I thought I might be able to tell if he was, but...”
“He's in a hospital in San Diego County,” Ben said.
“How far is that? I've never been outside of San Francisco, I'm afraid.”
“Several hours south,” Ben said. “About seven, if you drive really fast.”
Mark was silent a moment. Ben could hear a strange scratching noise on the other end of the line and then Mark said, “I've checked my schedule, and I believe I can get someone to cover my classes if you're free to go down there on Friday afternoon.”
Ben felt stupid having not considered that he would likely be the one to take Mark down to that hospital. It didn't make sense for anyone else to do it, but he was still massively apprehensive about getting involved in this. Mark wasn't exactly forthcoming about his information, and the idea of taking a road trip with him, as harmless as he seemed, made Ben nervous.
“I'm not sure that I can, but I'll see what I can do,” Ben said slowly.
“I understand your hesitation,” Mark said, speaking Ben's thoughts aloud. “If it were me, I would hesitate as well. I merely ask now that you give me one opportunity to explain this to you, and in the end you either choose to believe, or not.”
“Believe?” Ben asked. “You're being honest when you say this isn't a God thing, right?”
“The idea the Church portrays as God is incorrect,” Mark said. “The idea that Jesus Christ was a demi-God sent to save our souls is a misrepresentation of the man he was meant to be, and while what happened to you needs explaining, and doesn't exactly belong to this world of consciousness, it's most certainly not a God thing.”
Ben was now more confused than ever, but he realized if he ever did want to get answers, and how he wanted answers, he would have to take him on this trip. “I'll clear the time with my captain later today and let you know as soon as I can.”
“I can't make a promise on whether or not you will regret this. People have had this information before and some could handle it, and some could not. I have faith in you, though, Ben, that this will help you.”
“Okay,” was all Ben could think of to say. Mark was strange and off-putting and all Ben really wanted to do was hang up the phone. “My lunch is almost over, so I'll be in touch soon.” He didn't give Mark an opportunity to say anything else, and he switched his phone off.
It wasn't that Mark seemed like a bad guy, because he didn't. There was just something odd about him, and even though he repeatedly claimed not to believe in all of what Ben considered to be hokey religious nonsense, he wasn't sure Mark was telling the truth.
He cleared the hours with the captain as soon as he was back in his office, and hoped that for the rest of the week he would be able to concentrate on his cases and not think about the crazy homeless person, the mysterious blind priest, and the fact that he may have been, against his will, healed by the bleeding hands of a religious miracle.
Chapter
Eleven
Ben couldn't get a straight answer out of Abby, who was furiously brushing and braiding her hair in his bathroom mirror. It was impossibly early Friday morning, and she had showed up just as Ben was turning on his coffee maker.
“I realize you think you know him,” Ben was saying as he leaned in the bathroom doorway, his eyes narrow and disapproving, arms crossed over his chest, “but you really don't. You don't know if he's some crazed killer or total nut-job. You're not coming with us.”
“I do know him, he's my friend, he's not crazy, and I am coming,” she said. The finality of her words made Ben realize there wasn't much he would be able to do to change her mind, and he knew if he refused to let her in his car, she'd simply follow with her own.
“Did he invite you?” Ben asked for the fifth time since she'd gotten there.
“No,” she said with a huff, applying some light green eye shadow to her eyelids. “Just like I said the other dozen times you asked me, Mark didn’t invite me along.”
Ben rolled his eyes. Abby was not the type of girl who typically wore make up. Most mornings she washed her face and put her hair back in a simple tie. This morning she was wearing slim jeans, a tight sweater, and her hair was braided and twisted neatly at the nape of her neck. The eye shadow was what threw Ben over the edge and put up his hands. “Do you realize you're painting your face for a man who can't actually see what it look like?”
Abby froze, her hand in midair clutching the make-up brush. Under the face concealer, her cheeks went pink and she gave him an embarrassed smile. “It's stupid, I know, but I like him and it makes me feel a little more confident to look good.”
“Even though it doesn't matter to him?” Ben pressed.
“Yeah.”
Ben hesitated, tempted to tell Abby then that Mark had declared himself not interested in her, but Ben didn't want to get involved. Instead, he sighed and backed out of the bathroom doorway. “Don't get your hopes up, okay. Guys like Mark, the mysterious, weird past, secretive dudes, they're never all they're cracked up to be.”
“I'll be the judge of that,” Abby said.
Rolling his eyes, Ben went back into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee. With Abby tagging along, Ben knew the extra caffeine was going to be necessary, and he waited out the half hour before Mark arrived on his chair by the window. San Francisco was raining, as usual, and foggy, but the temperature was tolerable, and he was looking forward to having a day off, even if it was for some insane road trip to see a comatose man in a mental hospital.
When Mark arrived, he was wearing a heavy coat, damp from the rain, and his hair had formed little ringlets against his forehead and ears. He was smiling, though, when Ben answered the door, and walked in after Ben stepped aside.
“Abby's here,” Ben said as he heard his sister banging around his bedroom, putting the finishing touches on her outfit. “She insists you didn't invite her, so I'm not sure how she found out.”
“Likely she was spying on me when I was confirming my plans to leave,” Mark said, his face bright and cheerful. “She's been rather curious about this whole situation. I can't blame her for being a little sneaky.”
“Oh I can,” Ben said. “There's a chair directly to your left. You can have a seat until we take off, she should be done soon.”
“Thank you,” Mark said as his hand darted out to inspect the chair, and then he had a seat.
“Would you like coffee before we go?”
“Thank you, no,” Mark replied.
Ben shrugged and went back to his own hot, bitter brew, and by the time Abby was ready, Ben was fired up and a little jittery. Abby, with Mark on her arm, headed downstairs as Ben locked up, and within minutes, the three were on the road, Ben at the wheel, heading for the freeway to take them down the coast.
Mark, for his part, seemed a little nervous. “I'm not overly fond of cars,” he said, after Ben asked him if he was alright. “I've never been entirely comfortable in motor vehicles.”
“Don't worry about it,” Ben said. “I prefer to take the trolley or train around town, but after becoming detective I've had to drive so much that it doesn't bother me anymore. We're in for a long ride though, so I hope that's okay.”
Mark waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and fell silent for some time. They entered the freeway, and after a while, Mark seemed to calm down and eventually started talking. “Ben, how much do you know about the Church?”
Ben pursed his lips together and gave a dissatisfied hum. “I know enough. We grew up in the Church, but by college I had figured out my own version of theology.”
“So you have a basic understanding of Jesus, his healing powers, his message and his companions, yes?”
Ben gave a little shrug and glanced back at Abby in the back seat who was giving him her version of the 'please just be polite' stare. “Yes. What are you getting at? Because you did repeatedly tell me this wasn't some sort of religious miracle nonsense.”
“I realize this topic makes you uncomfortable, Ben, so I do apologize, but everything surrounding this situation is rooted in religious history. It's necessary to understand a little of the past to understand a lot of the present.”
“Go ahead,” Abby said, leaning forward and putting her hand on Mark's shoulder. “Ben and I are
both
listening.” She gave a scowl to Ben who rolled his eyes but said nothing in protest.
“I don't feel the need to explain biblical basics to you both, since you seem to have a fair understanding of them. Jesus performed healing miracles. Healed the blind, the lepers, and at a few instances, raised the dead.”
“He also drove out demons, cursed a fig tree for not being in season, and had anger management issues in the temple,” Ben said.
“This is true according to biblical text,” Mark said, unfazed by Ben's attitude. “Now, we have to remember that being a Christian person, or having an understanding of the Bible and of religious past doesn't require one to be a Biblical literalist. There isn't anything in the Bible asking for us to believe in its literal interpretation.”