The devil will come, and we must be damned.
― Christopher Marlowe
Back at the Fire
I hated studying Dr. Faustus when I was in Breton's class at university, but he thought it taught a lesson.
I believed Marlowe was trying to depict the tragic downfall on an over-reacher, but I think Breton wanted to explore the heart of darkness inside each of us.
I resented him for that.
But I was young and stupid and thought life only consisted of what I could grasp with my fingers. Clearly, I was wrong.
It was only years afterwards when life broke me that I finally understood art, but refused to embrace mystery and had a specific distaste for metaphysics.
Then I had a brief encounter with a clairvoyant who haunted me from then until now.
I say up 'until now', because I'm not sure if Angelica will still haunt my dreams or relent out of respect for Brooke―my choice of life mate.
Life mates, soul mates―the whole damn thing is a riddle and frankly too much trouble to figure out. Well, that's what I thought a few short weeks ago―before solar storms, end time prophecies, plagues and demonic attacks in the middle of the night.
This whole experience has been so bizarre I'd dismiss it as an aberration on my part if it weren't confirmed by our collective experience and happening on a world scale.
So, where am I now? Well, I guess I'd say I'm open―open to the possibility of unseen realms, to that malevolent darkness inside us about which Breton tried to warn me and the futility of combating an unseen foe.
Yet Frank thinks I can rise up and overcome. Let's see how that turns out.
"You're still up―do you want some company?"
Angelica has come down to make coffee and spotted me by the fire.
"Sure, and I also wouldn't mind a coffee."
"My culinary skills can't equal Brooke's but I'll try."
"Two scoops and a pinch of salt―there's no secret formula."
"Thank you. I may actually enjoy drinking it from now on."
Why is it everything between us seems couched with innuendoes and double entendres? I doubt Angelica is jealous, but our easy camaraderie seems gone.
She hands me a steaming mug and slides in beside me on the couch. My stomach gives a little flip because my fist instinct is to put an arm around her the way I always do, but do now with Brooke.
And then it hits me. I dreamt of Angelica the other night and it was so familiar I scarcely gave it thought―until now, with her beside me and Brooke upstairs sleeping in her room.
Is this guilt or desire? Something else to figure out.
"I imagine this will keep happening," she whispers, "I mean it's gone on so long it's part of our relationship."
Busted! How can I keep secrets from a clairvoyant?
She reads my thoughts and giggles. "You can't, and by the way, it's guilt―not sex, you quaintly call desire."
I lift my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Okay, I'm adjusting, or trying to, Ms. Prosecuting Attorney."
She caresses my cheek, "Ah, but that's where you're wrong―no condemnation intended, but I think you have a case of Catholic guilt."
"You're probably right," I smile ruefully, "I blame it all on Breton."
“You can’t do that—you chose him as your mentor—and now you have Frank. So you see, you don’t need me as your spiritual connection.”
I stare at her. “Is that all you were to me—is that what you’re saying?”
She shakes her head. “No, of course not—we’re soul mates but not necessarily lovers. We’ll always be in each other’s life. But I’m not jealous of Brooke—I’m happy you’ve found her.”
My arm goes round her waist and she leans her head on my shoulder. “Now that we’ve settled that,” she laughs, “I’m hungry—do you feel like toast?”
I wish I could settle all problems so easily, especially my fears about the cartel and local patrols sent out by Ike Helmsley.