"Watchman, How Much Longer the Night?"
Canto IV
When Ravens Gather
Scene 1
"Be virtuous and you will be eccentric."
— Mark Twain, "Mental Photographs," A Curious Dream, 1872.
It always took Father Sorenson a few moments to prepare for confessions. He reminded himself that the slight claustrophobia he felt was Satan's attempt to keep him from his duties. The pain in his hip and leg was not helping and he knew it was time to break down and schedule the surgery.
He didn't expect to have many people come to the church today. Membership at St. Sebastian had been dwindling for several years now, the neighborhood had taken a turn for the worse and then there was the rock-sized hole in the stained glass. It was just one more item on the list to drain the church's budget. Satan at work through idle youth, thought the priest.
Father Daniel Sorenson was a patient man. Years of service to the Lord had taught him at least that. The neighborhood had risen and fallen before; suburban optimism replaced with urban encroachment. This is turn lead to decay, and then rebirth as urban developers grinning with hope (and a great tax break) returned to reclaim what had fallen by the wayside.
The priest smiled as he noted the similarities between the cycle of redevelopment and the Christ story. I have to remember that for Passion Week, he mumbled to himself. The door to the confessor's cell opened, closed and Sorenson had to focus on the parishioner's admissions of sin.
It was a surprisingly busy day. A few young men admitted to impure thoughts and deeds. Another was almost in tears about having suicidal thoughts. An elderly lady asked forgiveness for wanting to date now that her husband had passed. A teenage girl needed reassurance that adoption was better than abortion. Sorenson knew each of them, but did not address them by name. He was their link to God and absolution, familiarity was not required. His latest confessor's voice however, was unfamiliar.
"Forgive me, Father."
"Have you sinned, my son?"
The voice behind the screening snorted a bitter laugh that startled Sorenson. "Yeah, you could say that." The voice stopped for a moment.
Father Sorenson shifted in his seat to ease his sore leg; the wood creaked and echoed in the marbled church beyond. Somewhere outside the confessional, a cough was heard. The priest was patient, the confessor would continue when they were ready.
It took almost a full minute but the voice finally continued. "I have done things I'm not proud of. Started small, y'know... candy bar or a Coke, lifting stuff at the mall. Then I did my first B and E." Another short laugh, "That went downhill real quick."
The priest nodded and waited for the details. The street kids always wanted to tell their stories of how they got away with this-or-that. They knew that confession was sacred and the priest would not turn them over to the police. God knew their fate either way. Sorenson just hoped the penance would give them time to think about where they were bound on judgment day. This young man was different, however. He did not share the details. It took another pregnant pause before the man spoke again.
"I found a better way; from the roof and work my way down or maybe climb to a higher story. Some people forget about simple things like trees and fire escapes. So it became a hobby; if I needed cash, I'd hit a place and be set for a little while. It was actually fun! It was a challenge..." The man's voice drifted off.
It was Father Sorenson's turn to speak, "But something moved you to stop?"
"Moved? You have no idea!" the voice was incredulous. "Do you believe in angels, Father?"
Sorenson smiled, "Of course, they are the messengers of God. They spoke to the shepherds about our Savior's birth..."
"No, no, no..." interrupted the confessor. "I mean like an angel appearing in a dream."
Father Sorenson was a realist. There were people on the street who suffered from delusions that could be mistaken for divine vision. It did not mean it was impossible, just largely improbable. "Have you had these dreams, my son?"
"It was getting hard to get any real sleep, so I finally did something about it."
Upon hearing this, the priest frowned. The tone of voice told him what was coming next was probably not going to be pleasing unto God.
The voice continued, "I was... called, I guess... to an old apartment building about half a mile off the lake. There was something about it that haunted me. I made my way to the third floor ledge and peeked in. I found two guys building pipe-bombs! I just knew they were the focus of my dreams. Now Father, I am not a fighter. I am more than happy to run from a fight than face someone with a gun, but I managed to take out both of them."
The shocked expression was hidden by the confessional wall, for this Sorenson was grateful. "Did you kill them, my son?" he whispered.
"No," the man said simply. "The angel's voice told me that would be wrong." He paused. "I knocked them out and tied them up."
"So you feel guilty about doing this?" the priest asked, "Are you repentant of your sins?"
"Nope. A little scared at the time, but that's it."
Father Sorensen was curious now; an unrepentant thief who attacked men who were going to do greater evil. He thought the concept was rather intriguing, but he was still concerned about the 'angel's voice' part.
"What else has this angel told you?" asked the priest.
"I know it sounds like a bad movie, but if I told you, you would be in greater danger," replied the confessor. "Just trust me, even you don't want to know."
"You realize," said Father Sorenson, shifting the topic, "if you are not repentant, I cannot give you absolution."
"That's OK, Father," noted the voice. "I didn't come here for forgiveness anyway."
"Then why did you ask for my forgiveness when you sat down?"
There was a hint of a smile that carried into the man's voice. "That's just what I thought you were supposed to say. Too many movies and TV shows, I guess."
"So why are you here if not to ask for God's forgiveness?" asked Sorenson.
"I just figured your church could use a little help." The door to the confessional opened as the man headed out.
Sorenson quickly opened his door to see the man behind the voice. As he limped out, he noticed a small briefcase and a motorcycle helmet by the confessional. Next to it stood a lean man of about twenty wearing a leather jacket.
The man indicated the briefcase, "Your roof must leak in at least four places and I think the rest could go to replace the broken stained glass." He then placed his hand on the priest's shoulder and smiled. "The archangel Raphael sent me to help you," he whispered. Without another word, the man handed the briefcase to the priest, took his helmet and strode out of the sanctuary.
It was then that Father Sorenson realized his leg no longer hurt.
Scene 2
"You may say I'm a dreamer | but I'm not the only one | I hope someday you'll join us | and the world will live as one"
— John Lennon, Imagine
The street was familiar, but he couldn't recall the name. The cars, the rain, the lights... they all seemed like something out of a movie, with a little of that other-worldly character streets had late at night (early in the morning, actually) after a club closed and the gig was done. The diner across the way was lit up, a 24-hour joint that looked like it would have good coffee and a bite to eat.
The diner was familiar to Billy, somehow, although he couldn't remember the name of it. As he walked inside, everything seemed to be comfortable and, well, right. Only a few people inside, except for an odd collection of people in the far corner. A young woman (hardly more than a girl) with an open laptop computer, a non-descript guy sitting next to her that reminded him of someone he would see behind the counter at a gas station, and a sharp-looking guy in the same booth with his tie loosened (but still stylishly poised around his neck). There was a young man wearing leather at the table very near the booth, obviously part of the group, but not in a cozy way. Billy sauntered over to join them, and could see that the napkins at each place had symbols on them. A globe, a sword, a raised hand, a horn (the kind you might see a Viking blow into)... and at his place, a burst of flames.
Billy knew he was dreaming, because some small part of his mind was reminding him, You've never been here before. Who are these people anyway?
Scene 3
"Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."
— Eugene O'Neill, playwright
Although Rabecka had not been to this part of town much before, she had little difficulty catching the right train and finding the diner. The dreams were pretty clear, and she had learned to trust the dreams, as much as she could figure them out. They whole symbolism and mythology angle was new to her, but she was catching on fast—faster than even she expected.
Rab was, her parents would say, gifted. While many thought she was letting that talent go to waste by not getting into college right away, she just wasn't ready to give up her freedom to focus on school again just yet. Sure, there was stuff she wanted to learn, but she was learning new things every day anyway. You see, Rab was intensely curious. Feeding this curiosity was an ability to remember what she saw. Not only did she have a photographic memory, a friend had said, but she actually had film in her camera. As a result of her ability, she was, well, bored with most things. There was only two areas that were constantly fresh enough to hold her attention: pop culture, and computers. Software, hardware, connectivity, security, programming... she juggled it all with relative ease. For entertainment, she held a job at the Virgin Entertainment superstore to keep up on music and movies of many genres.
The diner she was approaching was so non-descript that she was sure many people passed it each day without even noticing. "Samson's", the sign in the window said. She crossed the rain-drenched street and went in. The diner still had a fair number of people in it for the late hour.
When she dreamed this, there were people in the far booth she was supposed to be with; at the moment no one else seemed to be here yet. She made her way over to the corner and pulled her laptop from her backpack. Conveniently there was an outlet below the table and an unencrypted wi-fi signal she could snag for internet access. And the diner had a... comforting feel to it. Not fancy, not harsh, but peaceful.
Gazing through the steam from her coffee at the patrons of the diner, she pondered her dreams. As of last week, everything had changed. Talk about learning something new. For instance, she didn't even know there was an angel named Raguel until he actually introduced him- (her-?) self. Since then, life had become a lot more interesting.
Scene 4
"There are two kinds of paranoia: Total, and insufficient. I am both, because if you think you are sufficiently paranoid, you're not."
— Guildenstern, from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead
This is a little like an AA meeting, thought Sean. They all recognized each other from their dreams, but awkwardly, didn't even know each other's names at first. They were obviously supposed to come together, but beyond that, the details were fuzzy. They could see the symbols of the angels marked on their hands: a sword for Michael, a ramshorn for Gabriel, a hand for Raphael, a globe for Raguel and flames for Uriel. After exchanging names, they shared the stories of their dreams and visitations, their tasks, and their trials since their investitures. When Sean shared the story about the break-in at his apartment, the mood became more somber.
"Is this going to happen to all of us?" asked Rabecka.
"Eventually," sighed Vance. "I think, eventually, all of us will have to become mobile, unrooted, for our own protection."
"So, a moving target instead of being something to hone in on," said Jimmy.
"And," added Billy, "we are only going to be adding enemies to the list."
"What about our family, or friends?" Sean voiced, thinking of his sister.
"I don't necessarily get along with my parents very well," Rab offered, "but if they get tangled up in this..."
"That's a less-than-pleasant thought," said Jimmy.
"Understatement," mumbled Billy.
"Sadly," said Vance, "I think that we'll be refugees. I don't think we'll be able to trust much of anyone."
"I certainly don't think we can trust the authorities," said Sean.
"Not," said Jimmy, "that some of us ever have, but this is far more dangerous now."
"So, we're basically dead to the world, and the world to us," said Rab. "Like that Spiderman quote about 'with great power comes great responsibility' and all that. Anyone and everyone we know could be used as leverage against us."
Billy spoke back up. "Are we to assume that there are agents or some-such-thing in the police, in the government, in the banks? This all sounds a little too paranoid."
"I am quite familiar with paranoia," answered Vance. "We are beginning to see that anything is possible. In this light, I'd rather be paranoid and alive than careless and dead, or worse."
"Worse?" asked Sean.
"That's not important right now," said Vance. "But I believe we will need to learn to live under the radar of society and cover our tracks."
"What about fingerprints?" asked Rabecka.
"Wear gloves," said Jimmy.
"What about my van?" asked Sean.
"Falsify or eliminate the serial numbers, license plates, or any other identifying marks," said Jimmy.
"There are security cameras all over the city, inside and out," noted Sean.
Jimmy spoke up again, "Wear hats that cover your eyes, non-descript clothing."
They all turned their heads and looked at Jimmy more closely.
"Hey, don't you guys watch TV?" said Jimmy, defensively, holding his hands up in front of him. "This is all like a movie, after all." Thinking of the pipe-bombers, he added, "Except that it's real, and dangerous, and more difficult than everything we've done before."
They all reflected silently for a few moments as the server came over to refill their coffees.
"So," said Billy, "Explain to me what these words from my dreams mean. What is a... tsaba? I know it has something to do with this group."
The sound of Rabecka's keyboard drew their attention, and she soon read aloud, "Tsaba, that is, pronounced saw-bah. Noun. A Hebrew word meaning 'a host of warriors'."
"I think Michael used that word, too, but I didn't understand it at the time," said Vance.
"OK, then, what is a...," Billy paused as he tried to remember the sound of the word. "A sfraggis?"
"How do you spell that?" asked Rab.
"I haven't the slightest idea," admitted Billy.
Rabecka thought for a moment, and the safety pins in her eyebrows tilted as she concentrated. She typed a word into the search box, scrolled through the results, clicked once and then announced, "Sphragis. It's a Greek word. It means 'seal', something official. Confirmed, proved, authenticated. In the Bible, it refers to the seal on the foreheads of the chosen of God, kinda like a supernatural brand." Vance lifted his hand to look at the symbol placed on his palm.
"So, maybe they meant to say forehead or hand," offered Sean.
"Gregory, the guy from my band," Billy shared, "his mark, the mark of the enemy, was on his forehead."
"Can they see our... sphragis?" asked Jimmy, his mind racing with the implications.
"I don't think so, at least not automatically," said Vance. "I think we would have all been run down in the street already if we were that obvious."
"But," interrupted Sean, "if Billy became able to see the mark on the guy he knew, there will be ways for them to find us out, I'm sure."
They settled into silence again. The rain outside had stopped, but they could still hear the sound of the wet pavement beneath the car tires as vehicles drove by the diner. They had all heard the warnings of the angels, but, of course, it was just starting to really sink in. They were guerilla fighters in a war, both hunters and hunted.
Their conversation carried them far into the early hours of the morning.
"So what do we do now?" Rabecka voiced the question they were all thinking.
"We follow our dreams and our instincts," said Vance, quietly. "We prepare ourselves to duck and run at a moment's notice."
"So, a bit like that Bible story where Jesus says to somebody, sell all your possessions and come and follow me?" asked Sean.
"Speaking of which," said Jimmy, "do any of us actually have a Bible?" There was a long pause, but then Vance spoke up.
"Yes, I think so. Or, at least, I used to. I just haven't looked at it for a long, long time."
"And we've got it online," Rab added over the sound of the computer keys.
"You've got it online," Sean pointed out, wiggling his fingers over an imaginary keyboard. "The rest of us seem to be missing something."
"At least I don't have a steady job to worry about," said Billy.
"I do," said Sean.
"So do I," said Rab.
"And so do I," admitted Vance. They all turned and looked at Jimmy again.
"Not me."
"I suppose we can try to keep those jobs while we can, as long as it seems safe."
"I don't feel safe," said Sean. "It seems paranoid to say so, but someone is out to get me. There's just too much evidence to ignore. If they know where I live, they probably know where I work."
"Can you quit and find other work?" asked Billy.
"Yeah, I think I can pick up something else. I'd better make a phone call or two and get started." Sean stood up and tossed a enough money on the table to cover his bill and a tip. "Money is going to be a serious problem."
Jimmy stood and spoke up. "It's almost dawn." They all looked across the diner through the front windows, but the city lights made it difficult to see if the darkness was fading or not.
"You can sense when the dawn is coming?" asked Rab.
"Well, when I look at a clock, I can," Jimmy said with a smile, pointing at the clock hung above the door.
Vance stood up also, saying, "Then let's go see what the day brings."
Scene 5
Morpheus: "I imagine that right now, you're feeling a bit like Alice. Hmm? Tumbling down the rabbit hole?"
Neo: "You could say that."
Morpheus: "I see it in your eyes. You have the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up. Ironically, that's not far from the truth."
— The Matrix
Sean had collected a suitcase and a duffel bag of clothes together, and a crate of everything else he felt he couldn't leave behind. He boxed up some more items, hoping he would be able to come back for them.
Fortunately, the intruders had not discovered the slightly loose piece of molding by the bedroom door. A hiding place for... a few sensitive items. A fake driver's license and a fake passport, both bearing Sean's photo, both very professionally done. Not the kind of things he would want anyone to know about. He was sure, however, that they would be very handy in the days to come.
It was almost noon when he finished packing up. He was exhausted, and sat down in a chair facing the apartment door. Just a little nap. He placed his Glock G17 pistol on his lap, and began to fade off.
Suddenly, Sean found himself completely alert, with his Glock in his hand and pointed at the door, safety off. He had fallen asleep, of that he was sure, but a noise of some sort had cut through the background noise and alerted him. Listening intently, at first he could only hear the noise of his pounding heart. After a moment, his ears picked out the traffic, the 'L', the neighbors upstairs, and... footsteps moving down and away on the stairwell. He looked closely at the door to see if it had been disturbed, and his eyes landed on an envelope that must have just been slid under the door.
Cautiously, gun still in hand, he stood up and walked to the door, listening closely for sounds of anyone in the hallways. Satisfied that he was probably alone, he bent down to pick up the envelope and crossed to the table. He knew as soon as he saw the landlord's stationary on the paper he pulled from the envelope what this was about. An eviction notice, maliciously back-dated to more than two weeks ago, so he wouldn't have as much time to get out. Somehow, not really a surprise. Under normal conditions he could have successfully challenged it, but he wasn't staying anyway.
The sun cut into his apartment at an angle that told him it was mid-afternoon already, so he scrounged up some crackers & summer sausage and prepared to go out. After scouting to see if his van had been tampered with, he went up and brought down everything he could take with him. Before leaving the apartment for what was probably the last time, he picked up the phone to dial a friend. He held the phone for a moment, listening to the cold sound of the dial tone, and then hung it up again without dialing. Maybe he was being paranoid, but things were happening fast enough that he wouldn't be surprised if the phone was tapped. Best not to risk it. Sean left his apartment keys on the counter, and without looking back, walked out. I feel like a refugee. Wait, I am a refugee.
:: End Canto 4 ::
Scene one written by Grey Grooters.
7th Seal Image: Pat Loboyko. ©2005 Scott Mitchell.
A mosaic of the Archangel Gabriel, as depicted in the Greek tradition at the 12th century Capella Palatina in Palermo, Sicily (Italy).
