Authors: Angella Graff
“Oh yes, please. I should probably eat something, too,” he replied, a bit of slur in his words. “Something fried, I think. Surprise me.”
The bartender, an older man who had the look of a man who’d seen nearly everything there was to see in a bar, nodded, refilled the drink and then went to the back to fetch Ben something to fill his stomach.
It was in the mirror that Ben first saw Mark approach, and he groaned loudly. “Really? You can’t find
anyone
else
to bother?”
“Just checking on you,” Mark said as he took the stool next to Ben. “I’ll leave if you want.”
Ben stared at Mark for some time, and then said, “He’ll have what I’m having,” to the bartender as he came back into the room.
A second glass of scotch hit the top of the bar, and Mark gave Ben a polite nod. “Seems appropriate.”
“Your English has gotten better in the last few days,” Ben said, wavering a finger at Mark. “You lie about that, too?”
Mark swallowed some of the harsh liquor and grimaced as it went down. “Ah, no. Living as long as I have, it doesn’t take me much time to master a language. When keeping up appearances of being a normal, run of the mill, thirty-something year old Russian man, I laid the accent on a bit thick.”
“Hmm,” Ben hummed and took a small sip of his drink. “This whole thing is killing me, you realize. It’s going to see me right into my damn grave.”
“Not if I can help it,” Mark said in a very serious tone. “This whole thing with that doctor, it’s beyond my level of comprehension. I don’t pretend to know everything, Ben, but I can assure you I have no idea what he’s part of, or what he’s planning on doing.”
“You trust him?”
Mark let out a small sigh and bit his lip. “I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I want to. Something tells me he’s not lying, but that doesn’t mean he’s worth trusting.”
“You ever see any of this gods business he’s talking about?”
“I think so,” Mark confessed. “In the room, a little while ago, something in him shifted. Suddenly he wasn’t himself, and I don’t know if that was a “god” thing,” Mark said using the finger quotes, “or if it was something else, but whatever it was, it was something I’ve never experienced.”
“Do you really think Abby could be in danger?” Ben’s voice was thick with worry, the alcohol preventing him from hiding his emotions as he normally could.
“I don’t know,” Mark said with a shrug. “Greg seems to think so, and I’d rather err on the side of caution. I’m not sure how well I’d bear Abby getting hurt.”
“You realize she’s in love with you, right?” Ben pointed out sloppily. He stopped talking a moment as the bartender plopped a large plate of fried mushrooms and zucchini in front of him. He shoved a few, scalding hot pieces into his mouth, paying no mind to layers of skin burning off of his tongue. “She’s in love with you, and God help her for it.”
Mark’s face went a bit pink and he looked down. “I know. I wish there was something I could do about it.”
Ben looked at Mark sideways, his vision going a bit double from the scotch, but the food helping a little. “You ever been married, Mark? Or are you like… neutered?” His voice went a bit high and he waved a piece of zucchini at Mark. “Do your parts work?”
Mark, surprised by the answer, choked on his swallow of scotch. He used the cocktail napkin to wipe his mouth and he cleared his throat. “Er… yes. Yes my parts, as you put it, do work. I have been married, many times.”
“So the celibate priest thing is a choice?”
Mark gave a shrug. “I’m old, but not so inhuman that I can’t fall in love. I am also not so inhuman that I’m not crushed every time my spouse and my children grow up, age, and die while I sit from afar and watch them, unable to let them know that I’m still here, because it would reveal a secret that would destroy them.”
“You’ve never told a spouse about your little ability?” Ben asked. “You’re okay with telling a detective and a teacher that you barely know, but you wouldn’t tell the woman you loved?”
“I have told a spouse before,” Mark said, his voice raw and tense. “They believed me, stood by me, and we lived many years together. Eventually, while they aged, and their body began to fall apart, they couldn’t stand watching me continue on, apart from the mortal coil. It drove them mad, and they left me.”
The raw pain in Mark’s voice was enough to sober Ben just a bit, and he shivered at the thought of what that might be like, to live forever, and watch the ones he loved age and die while he stood apart from them, trapped.
“Sorry,” Ben eventually muttered. Though he still didn’t really believe Mark, he was clearly suffering, and Ben knew all too well what that felt like.
“Long story short, I don’t want to hurt your sister, or myself for that matter, any more than I already have to,” Mark said, waving away Ben’s sympathetic apology.
Ben polished off the plate of fried bar food, the last of his drink and declined a fourth refill on his glass. “Can I ask you a question, Mark? One that you’ll answer honestly?”
“I’ll answer it as honestly as I can,” Mark replied.
“The God from the Bible, you know, the fire and brimstone, ten commandments, burning bush guy. He real?”
Mark let out a sigh, pinching his eyes closed with his thumb and forefinger. “I think so.”
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know. I think he was long gone before I was born, and I don’t think he left Yeshua in charge of things.”
“Yeshua?”
“Jesus,” Mark amended. “Yeshua is his Hebrew name, the name I called him when I knew him. Jesus was a Buddhist.”
Ben barked out a laugh. “A Buddhist? You’re joking, right?”
Mark shook his head. “It’s a really long story, and telling it is nearly as dangerous for me as writing it all down, but truthfully, he spent most of his life in India studying with the monks. I knew him when he was a kid, we were children together, living in Alexandria. One day they came for him, the monks, and they took him to study. He came back when we were in our thirties, he was married, had a couple of kids with him. Yehuda was so angry at him for leaving. We were living in Galilee again, and it was getting ugly. The Hebrews were so angry at the Romans, and the Romans were getting more oppressive, terrified of an uprising. Then Yeshua came back and started telling everyone about the way of peace and inner oneness and…” Mark trailed off, waving his hand. “Anyway, it all just sort of snowballed from there, and the next thing I knew, Yehuda and I were stuck with this curse, and Yeshua was gone, and people were preaching nonsense in Yeshua’s name.”
Ben was listening with rapt attention, his eyes wide. The funny thing was, there was a piece of him, a fragment left over from his childhood, of the little boy who sat in church and stared up at the crucifix and honestly believed that there was something out there that could save him, that wanted to believe Mark.
“I listen to Greg,” Mark continued, drawing Ben out of his thoughts, “and the things he’s saying about these ancient gods, and how once they could touch the earth and now they’re just fragments of themselves, and I think that the old Hebrew God probably did exist, and he probably did lead the Hebrews. If he’s still around, he’s probably just as powerless and pointless as the old Greek ones toying with the human bodies.”
Ben clenched his jaw and tried to push out that fragment of himself that wanted to believe. “It’s all insane.”
“Yes, I know,” Mark said with a sad smile.
“And somehow Greg thinks he’s going to prove it to me,” Ben said.
“I think he’s going to show it to you,” Mark corrected. “Proof is all relative, based on the belief of the person. Say you’re ill, and you’re given an injection of medicine, but at the exact same time, you’re touched by a religious healer. Five days later, your illness is gone. Which one is proof?”
“The medicine, obviously,” Ben said with a shrug.
“Now imagine that it was your sister, and not you. Which one is proof then?”
Ben let out a breath. “I see.”
“I believe that Greg isn’t trying to get you to believe, but simply to understand so you’ll help us. I don’t understand what’s going on, exactly, but I do believe that there is a danger lurking, and we need to act quickly.”
Ben stood up from the bar, brushed the crumbs from the front of his suit and stretched. He was just drunk enough to handle going back upstairs where Greg and Abby were. Abby was still not talking to him, but for the moment, Ben preferred it that way.
“Do you think those detectives are on to us, yet?” Mark called as Ben started to walk away.
Ben paused and looked back at Mark. “God, I hope not.”
~*~
It was nearing dusk when Greg announced it was time to leave. “Ben, we won’t be gone long, but if we’re going to do this, we need to go now.”
Ben looked down at his watch. “Is there some sort of ancient gods witching hour, or something?”
Greg gave a small chuckle as he shrugged on his coat. “Not precisely, but it’s best we do this after my office is closed.”
Ben grabbed his coat from the back of a chair. “Alright, well, everyone…”
“Just you,” Greg said sharply as Abby, who was sitting on a chair in front of the TV, rose. “It’s not safe for Abby, and someone needs to stay with her.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. “I’m tired of these veiled threats towards my sister.”
“They are not threats, Ben, and the warnings are not veiled. Your sister is at risk, and the further away we can keep her from a god portal, the better.”
“God portal,” Ben muttered with a snort. “I can’t even believe I’m doing this.”
But Greg wasn’t to be swayed, and before long, Ben and Greg were riding the elevator down to the lobby. The hotel, though it was the off-season, was bustling with people there to enjoy a nice dinner by the little seaside resort, and the lobby was starting to fill up with people.
The pair pushed their way through a particularly large crowd of elderly women in large, red hats and purple coats. Just before they reached the door, a woman walked in, and gave Ben pause. She was tall and lanky, carrying herself with an obvious confidence. Her hair was long, very thick and very black. Her olive skin tone and dark eyes gave her a middle-eastern look, and the crisp, pressed suit she wore gave her away as either a business professional or a cop.
It was when Ben saw the bulge on the side of her jacket, and the briefcase in her hand, that he knew she was a cop. Even with the very bright, lavender silk top she wore under her deep black jacket, she didn’t blend in with the civilians well.
Ben felt a little bit of fear creep into his stomach as her eyes locked onto his and she made her way over, her heels clicking on the floor loudly, despite the chatter of the crowd. Ben stopped Greg, and waited until she approached.
“Detective Stanford?” she asked. Her voice was deep and rich, and definitely west-coast.
Ben reached into his pocket and brought out his badge. “Can I help you?”
“My name is Detective Horvath, Stella Horvath. I was told I could find you here,” she said, extending her hand.
Ben took her hand, feeling the subtle callous on her palm, telling him that she wasn’t just a desk detective. He wasn’t sure if that made her more dangerous or less, but he was prepared to do whatever he needed to, to avoid getting brought in.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said as cordially as he could.