CHAPTER XXVI - Modern Day, Eighteen Months Ago
It was another conversation in our house — one of those that cement relationships.
“See, you don’t know how to live,” she said.
“Maybe not,” I acknowledged, becoming angry.
“Tomorrow I’m taking you dancing,” she stated.
“Fine! I surrender!” I said.
“Yippie!” She responded, with a huge grin on her face.
“But wait, there was something else I wanted to discuss with you,” I added.
“The old man?” She asked.
“The old man,” I agreed. “How did you know?” I asked.
“I’m psychic!” She replied and I frowned. I don’t like it when she reads minds, especially not mine.
“Didn’t read your mind Ray, and I don’t need psychic abilities to figure out your thoughts,” she defended herself, obviously reading my mind this time.
“So how did you know then?” I asked.
“He’s the one constant in the ever shifting narrative — a mystery,” she replied. “So it’s only natural he’d be your next topic of conversation,” she explained.
“Right,” I answered.
“All right,” she said. “So what about the old man?”
“When I read your account a thought occurred to me, one that I hadn’t thought of in my youth. An old man apparently sent Richard, and perhaps others my way, to help me,” I said.
“He sent the Demon to you too, if indeed they are the same man,” Jaunee replied.
“Not to me, to Lord Durrant,” I corrected.
“Yes, to Lord Durrant. He specifically mentioned him as the Sword of God,” she said. “A mistake, you think?” She asked.
“Or a deliberate misdirection on his part,” I suggested.
“What about the rasping-voiced old man who enlisted you?” She asked. I hadn’t thought of him.
“You think that was him?” I asked, clenching my jaw. I didn’t like where this was going.
“Well, a recruiter was found dead shortly after you got enlisted, right?” She asked.
“Yes …” I replied.
“So who’s to say your guy didn’t kill the real recruiter, stuff him in the closet, and I don’t know … recruit you?” She said.
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“Who is he?” She replied.
“Let’s see what we know about him…” I said, and began gathering my thoughts.
“We know he’s got a rasping voice,” Jaunee offered.
“We know he’s about forty years old,” I added.
“We know he’s got Arabic numerals tattooed on his arm,” she added.
“Arabic numerals? Right! They were quite rare back in those days; who’d tattoo Arabic numerals on his arm?” I asked.
“Holocaust survivor?” She asked.
“What? A thousand years before it took place?” I replied. It fits, but doesn’t make sense.
“True, highly unlikely,” she agreed “Though you must admit, it fits,” she added.
“I can admit that it fits, but not that it’s in any way plausible,” I replied.
“Very well, let’s sort out the ‘whats’ and ‘whys’ and leave the ‘hows’ for later,” she replied.
“Very well,” I replied. “So why would someone go for all that trouble?” I added.
“What trouble?” She asked.
“Arrange things, people, and situations as he would have them be,” I explained.
“Arrange for you to fight the Demon?” She asked.
“And win, by sending the Demon after the wrong man,” I corrected.
“All right, let’s think back, what else did he do?” Jaunee asked after some pondering.
“Buried Raymond the Forester — even wrote in Hebrew on his tombstone,” I offered.
“Saved a young Raymond the Forester, according to his own testimony,” Jaunee offered.
“You believe that was him as well?” I asked in astonishment.
“Yes,” she replied.
“That would mean the rasping-voiced man was busy arranging things since my birth, if not prior to that,” I said.
“Indeed,” Jaunee agreed.
“Alright, what else?” I asked.
“Sent Richard with money,” Jaunee offered.
“After Richard made sure he gave it to the proper man,” I added.
“But all these things happened at wide intervals, that’s why I never thought them linked. You see, if he helped both Raymond and Richard and lived to recruit me and send the Demon after the wrong man …” I said.
“Then he’s over a century old!” We said together.
“It doesn’t make sense,” I said. “I was an ordinary man and you were just a psychic. What’s so special about us that made an immortal of this power intervene every step of the way?” I asked.
“Obviously, he knew something. We’re both immortal now, aren’t we?” She asked.
“Yes, probably because of his constant intervention.” I insisted. “But there is more to it than that. This takes very careful planning and foreknowledge, not just longevity and patience.” I explained.
“You’re building towers on air,” Jaunee said dismissively, just when I felt we’re starting to uncover something real.
“Fine, fine. So where does that leave us?” I asked, getting frustrated with this mystery.
“With nothing, really,” Jaunee replied.
“Why nothing?” I asked, and I was started to get uneasy. Jaunee is highly intelligent, far more intelligent than I, and her mastery of the occult puts most men to shame. It’s unlikely that she knew so little about something which had such impact over our lives. And yet, she’s my daughter, and she will never betray me. I don’t believe she would have hidden the truth from me.
“All right, not exactly nothing. We know that there may be a man or a group of people bearing similarities, who may have influenced events during your childhood over a relatively long and unlikely period of time for his or their own reasons, which we don’t know,” she explained.
“There must be more,” I insisted, damn it. Was she reading my mind?
“Why are you so troubled by it?” She asked.
“Because if it’s true, it means that someone I don’t even know influenced key events in my life that eventually led me to the life I have now,” I explained. “And I did not ask for this, any of it. I wanted more than anything, to live a normal life,” I added. I know it may sound odd to some, but truly, my life, though long were not a happy life. And I would take a normal, happy yet short life for all the longevity and power in the world.
“Yes,” she agreed, a hint of sadness creeping into her blue eyes. “And unless we can travel through time there is no way for us to know what really happened.” She said, dismissing it again. The sorrow in her sight lingered still, though she tried to shove whatever saddened her deep inside.
“Damn it, I have to think things over. I’ll crack this riddle eventually,” I said, and by God, I meant it. If someone messed with my life, I would mess with his, permanently.
“I want to help,” she replied, shifting tones.
“Excuse me,” I replied as I answered a buzz from the security personnel. “It looks like that won’t be necessary,” I said as my face flushed red.
“Why?” She asked, insulted.
“Take a look,” I said, and pressed a button on the monitor. There was a white man with graying blond hair standing at my door, wearing a biker’s leather jacket and smoking a cigar. It was as if someone had stepped on my grave ― I remember this man, or at-least the sound of his voice.
“Tell him it’s Uncle Xan,” the rasping-voiced man said as I turned on the sound. He looked directly into the secret security camera now with a smile, as if he knew I was watching on the other side.