"Watchman, How Much Longer the Night?"
Canto VIII
Down the Rabbit Hole
Scene 1
"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one."
— Albert Einstein
Christine awoke refreshed and clear-headed for the first time in days. Stirring some peanut-butter into her yogurt container, she ate her habitual breakfast as she dressed and listened to the radio news. She was at the clinic before eight o'clock, a vet practice she co-owned with two other doctors. I feel better than James Brown, she told herself as she sorted through the day's paperwork. As the staff came in, they also noticed that she was back to her practical, positive self.
The police called about 10 AM. After some quick introductions, the detective got right to the point. "We know that you're not on our regular call list for when we need a vet's professional opinion, but this case is right near your clinic. Could you go over there and take a look?"
Since the appointment calendar had some slack in it, she explained the situation to her staff, grabbed her bag, and stepped outside.
The address was so close she was able to walk there in mere minutes. The small, plain house had a tall wood-plank fence butting up to its south side, which ran over to the property line and then turned back, presumably to surround the back yard. An officer stood by the gate in the fence.
Christine stepped up to the officer and identified herself, and they opened the gate and motioned her through.
The back yard was not large. Except for the gate in the fence, there were no other entrances (or exits) except through the house. A small garden occupied the grounds along the back of the yard, and a charcoal grill was parked outside the back door. A little homely, but, at the same time, homey. Nice enough. Two officers looked up when she entered, and then stepped apart, allowing her to see the reason she had been called.
The corpse of a large dog lay in the grass, its feet laying away from her. Living dogs just don't lie quite that still. Before she was close enough to ask any questions, one of the officers stepped forward to introduce themselves.
"Dr. Jacobs? Officer Barnes. We're glad you could come over and give us your opinion," he said very seriously.
"My opinion, officer, is that the animal is a dog," she said, hoping to elicit a more friendly response from the officers. The two officer looked at each other briefly, saying nothing, and maintained the air of seriousness.
"Yes, we're glad you can confirm our observations on that point, Dr. Jacobs," the second officer said. Karrigan was the name on his badge. "We were hoping you might also be able to give us some information on the cause of death."
"What time did you get the call?"
"About an hour ago. The owner said that she let the dog out into the yard about 6 AM, and then became concerned later when the dog had not scratched at the door to come back in. She found him out here just before nine."
Now that she looked down at close range, Christine could see a couple of things very clearly. First, the dog was huge, a mature bullmastiff that was large even for its breed. Second, that the dog was missing a large portion of its throat. She swallowed, and then took a calming breath as she pulled out some exam gloves. Crouching down near the animal, she began to examine it and catalog her observations in her head.
Time of death: probably shortly after it was let out this morning. Rigor mortis just beginning to set in, so animal was probably not in a prolonged struggle, which would have sped up the onset. Very little blood. In fact, surprisingly so... where did it go? Nothing except grass caught in the dog's nails, and no blood, fur, hair or cloth in its teeth or mouth—another hint that there was not a prolonged struggle. What could take out a 150-pound dog without much of a struggle? The neck wound... really, just one wound, it appears. Rough, not a knife or tool, significant section of the throat is missing, probably a bite from another animal. It would have had to be as large as this one. And where is the blood? No other apparent cuts, scratches or bites.
Christine stood up and looked around the yard for other clues. "The gate?"
"Locked," replied Barnes.
"Anything on the other side of the fence to allow something to climb over?"
"Nothing near the fence at all," said Karrigan. Christine could see that there was nothing near the fence inside the yard, either.
What can leap a seven foot fence and quietly kill a bullmastiff without much of a struggle? Christine shuddered involuntarily at the concept.
Scene 2
Morpheus: This is your last chance. After this, there is no turning back. You take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill – you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.
— The Matrix
"You still haven't really answered one of my earlier questions," Brisco Smith declared, waving a hand at the being standing—or is that floating?—in the apartment. Raphael waited silently. "How do I know that this isn't all in my mind?"
Raphael said nothing. Brisco filled in the answer himself, after a moment's thought. "Except that there is no way I could hallucinate the future, and then act on it."
"How do I know that you are really what you say, you are, an archangel?" Brisco hesitated as he searched for words. "You're not human, but what other options are there?" Raphael smiled, but said nothing.
"For all I know," Brisco continued, "you're some super-advanced alien from Star Trek, some cosmic 'Q' come to mess with my feeble human mind. If angels and devils are real, you could just as well be a devil pretending to be an angel."
Raphael waited a moment after Brisco finished his questioning, and then commended him. "Assuredly, far too few mortals look deeply into their experience of what they see when they encounter spirits, demons or heavenly messengers. For indeed, Lucifer is the prince of lies, and his followers learn the same craft.
"Many," the angel sad sadly, "have fallen prey to the forces of darkness in this way. Indeed, such a member of the dark legion would speak to you even as I am speaking to you at this moment."
"So," demanded Brisco, "how is anyone to know, which is which?"
"I am not asking you to serve me, and only me," said Raphael. "I am really asking you to serve the one I serve, the one God, the creator, the Holy Spirit and giver of life, the one who walked on the Earth as a mere human, so that humanity could be sanctified and redeemed. If you accept your calling to my order, you will join me, and other Sentinels, in the struggle for the souls of countless people. Whereas the Adversary would seek to bully or buy your loyalty with threats or temptations, probably with great subtlety, a loyalty ultimately based on fear. In your language it sounds like a cliché, but the true God does not rely on fear. God relies on love."
Despite Brisco's natural skepticism, there was no denying that this was happening, and that Raphael was an authentic messenger, probably from heaven, from a God that Brisco had chosen not to think about much until just recently.
"I don't suppose that I get a magic sword, or x-ray vision or something like that for joining." Brisco was only half-joking, Raphael knew.
"Not in the way you currently imagine, but Sentinels do gain new talents, to aid them against the enemy."
Brisco kept up his questioning a bit further. "I get the feeling that this isn't going to be easy."
Raphael was more blunt than Brisco expected. "Far from easy. You will lose much, if not all that you possess. You will suffer physically, mentally, and perhaps spiritually. You will be hunted."
"And people volunteer for this job?" Brisco asked incredulously.
"On the positive side," added the archangel, "you will have meaning and purpose; you will hunt the enemy and disrupt their plans; you will bring healing and comfort to your fellow Sentinels; and you will find God's peace resting deep within your heart. Your actions will benefit many people and save many from extreme suffering."
Brisco thought about the potential fate of the person driving the red Toyota Prius, had he not acted, and recognized that his heart had accepted, despite the dire outlook. "This whole 'cosmic struggle' situation stinks."
"It would seem so," conceded Raphael.
"I suppose this means that I'll have to learn to pray," Brisco said, looking at his feet.
"That would be a worthy pursuit, Brisco Smith, and a rewarding one."
Scene 3
"Merciful Father, may these mysteries give us new purpose and bring us to a new life in you. Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen."
— Prayer After Communion for the 5th Sunday of Easter, from the Sacramentary (Roman Missal)
Jebediah stepped through the doors of the Chicago church tentatively. He was unaccustomed to churches, and the intricate details overwhelmed him for a moment. Everywhere he looked, symbols on the walls, in the woodwork and in the brightly sunlit windows drew his eyes. Statues. Celtic knotwork designs. Angels. Crosses. Simple, rounded arches. A large, stone font of water in front of him, under the balcony in back.
Jeb walked up the stone aisle until he was at the front pew, where he knelt down to think, and, well, to pray. The praying part was new to him, but it was, he supposed, just talking with God. But, not knowing what to say at the moment, Jeb was quiet, staring at the design in the floor around the altar. Jeb traced the intricate lines of the design with his eyes, following its organic weavings slowly around the circle.
At some point, Jeb became aware that the light in the church had dimmed, at least in his peripheral vision. Only the sanctuary around the altar seemed lit, and Jeb felt increasingly drowsy. He let his eyes slip closed. There was the sound of wind. Wind?
Jeb opened his eyes to find himself kneeling on the concrete of an El station. The station was deserted. Thunderclouds hung overhead, blocking out the sunlight, and the air was vibrant with expectant energy. He looked all around himself, but the church was gone. 'Granville station,' said the sign on the fence across the tracks. At least it doesn't say 'Mobil', like in the Matrix movie. Cautiously, Jeb stood as a low rumble signaled the approach of a train. As the train pulled into the station, Jeb saw no one in the cars... no one except for the few faces in the windows of the car that stopped directly in front of him.
As the doors slid open, the people on the car looked out the windows at him. One of them, a pleasant-looking man with a large tattoo on his forearm, was standing inside the open door, and motioned for Jeb to join them on the train. As he motioned, Jeb could see the glowing mark on the man's palm. Upon seeing the sphragis of the man, Jeb stepped to the train quickly to greet this unknown comrade.
Jeb heard the sound of the doors close behind him, and blinked to find himself standing, once again in the church. Sunlight spilled through the stained glass windows across the floor. The clouds, the station, the train... a vision. And not the first vision like this he had experienced, although this was the first one during waking hours since he had left St. Louis.
He looked around to see that he was now standing in the raised sanctuary of the church, just in front of the altar, near the center of the intricately designed circle in the stone floor. The altar was bare except for a white cloth cover, and a thick red book. Looking around to make sure no one else was in the church, Jeb walked around the altar to get a better look at the book. A ribbon marked one of the pages, and Jeb opened the book there to read the short prayer:
Merciful Father, may these mysteries give us new purpose and bring us to a new life in you.
Even with all of his strange experiences since the archangel came into his life, Jeb was still surprised to see that the prayer before him was perfectly suited to his present state of mind. Coincidence? The peace he felt while re-reading the prayer indicated the truth. No, not a coincidence. I don't think I'll believe in 'coincidences' ever again.
With that, Jebediah reverently closed the book, and headed down the long aisle toward the door.
Scene 4
"We are all alone until we accept our need for others."
— Dr. Henry McCoy (Beast), X-Men
Brisco tossed and turned in his sleep. In the dreams, he was running down a street... he was standing on a roof of a tall building... he was in a dark, wet tunnel... something was chasing him, but every time it got close, he met a person who pointed out the way and distracted his pursuer. He could the faces of his benefactors clearly: A young man on a motorcycle. A plain-looking girl with crazy-colored hair, a college student, perhaps. A middle-aged guy with a worn, pinstripe suit and a fedora. A sharp-looking guy with a disarming smile. A confident, broad-shouldered man in a leather jacket. A man with a tattoo covering the outside of his forearm.
As Brisco ran into the El station and up onto the platform, the people who had helped him were already there. Brisco could see that each of them had a symbol, on their hands or on their foreheads, like a glowing tattoo, each different from the next. As the train pulled up to the platform, Brisco looked down at his own hand and found a similar symbol on his own palm. As he looked up again, he saw that the doors of the train had opened, and that the people had stepped inside. Brisco rushed to the door and stepped onto the train just before the doors slid shut behind him and he was swallowed in darkness.
Scene 5
valor, n. A soldierly compound of vanity, duty and the gambler's hope.
— Ambrose Bierce
Except for himself, the train car on the northbound red line was empty. Odd, at this time of day, Brisco thought. But then, as the train stopped at the Bryn Mawr station, a pair of Caucasian hoodlums stepped onto the train. Before the doors even closed, they walked over to where Brisco was sitting and began to hassle him.
"I think you're sitting in my seat," said the man who was wearing jeans and an oversized black sweatshirt.
This is just like being in middle school again, thought Brisco as the doors to the car closed and the train began moving.
The other man, overweight and wearing fairly expensive jogging suit, kicked Brisco's foot hard enough to sting. "Are you deaf, &*$#-head?"
Brisco was not about to say anything, and there was little chance that he would fare well if he resisted, so he began to stand up and move to another seat. Before he was even half-way up, they pushed Brisco back into his seat with enough force to hurt... seriously. This is exactly like being in middle school again. Not good.
"I said, I think you're sitting in my seat!" threatened the one in jeans more loudly.
As they continued to taunt Brisco, a third figure, who had boarded the other end of the train car at Bryn Mawr, walked up as well.
I hate trading bruises with thugs, thought Brisco. Three against one? Brisco began to brace himself to make a desperate move, but when he looked up at the face of the third man, Brisco smiled. He was a tallish guy in an open leather jacket, older than Brisco, but still young, and obviously physically in shape. And he was one of the people from his dream, one of the Sentinels. Two versus two, they would be able to fend off the jerks harassing him, possibly without too many bruises.
"Do you guys need to be so loud?" The other Sentinel spoke clearly over the shoulders of the men, without yelling. He startled the two problem-makers so badly they visibly jumped. They turned on him in unison and began directing their invectives at him, clearly embarrassed that they didn't realize he was there until now. Brisco saw the chubby one pull a knife, but before he could do or even yell anything, the attacker plunged the knife into the other Sentinel, just below the ribs.
The knife failed to penetrate, the mysterious Sentinel didn't budge, and everyone stopped in surprise. The Sentinel looked calmly at the knife, and then at his attacker with a cold, detached gaze.
"Nice knife," the Sentinel said. The attacker pulled the knife away and made to slash at the Sentinel's face, but the Sentinel, expecting the move, caught the chubby attacker's wrist, twisted the knife from his hand and pushed him backward.
The other hoodlum launched a series of punches at the Sentinel, but Brisco was ready for him. From his sitting position, he kicked out at the backs of the attacker's knees and sent him down hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Brisco stood up, keeping his distance from the man's reach.
The two attackers looked at each other in confusion, knowing that they had no hope of succeeding in a fair fight, especially since Brisco's size and strength were much more apparent when he was standing up.
"Enough of this &*$#," the overweight man said, and he turned away and moved quickly to the door at the end of the train, and went through to the next car. His partner scrambled to his feet and went in the other direction and into the adjoining car.
Brisco held his hand out to the other Sentinel, knowing that the sphragis would show. The other Sentinel did likewise, exposing his mark as he reached out to shake Brisco's hand.
"Jeb," the Sentinel introduced himself.
"Brisco." He bent down and retrieved the fallen knife. "Do you want this?"
"I don't use 'em much," answered Jeb. "Keep it."
As Brisco slipped the knife into a pocket, he glanced down at the rip in Jeb's t-shirt where the knife had gone in.
"Body armor helps," said Jeb, tapping the vest through his shirt.
"Thanks for the help," said Brisco with a laugh. "I was pretty sure I was going to end up with some bruises."
"Are the trains always this dangerous?" asked Jeb.
"You're not from Chicago? No, they're usually not much of a problem, at least during daylight hours. Oh, maybe the occasional thief, but nothing worse than what you'd expect on the street. They wouldn't have been so bold if there were more people on the train."
"I dreamt of others, in addition to you. Do you know them?" asked Jeb.
"No, I saw others also, including you, but I haven't met anyone else yet," remarked Brisco
In the background, the intercom announced their approach to the Granville station. They stepped over and stood silently near the door as the train slid into the station and came to a halt. When the doors opened, they saw two other Sentinels waiting for them, familiar faces from their visions, like a strong dose of déjà vu.
:: End Canto 8 ::
7th Seal Image: Pat Loboyko. ©2005 Scott Mitchell.
Genesis 32:24 – Jacob Wrestles with the Angel of the Lord
Gustav Doré engraving
