Zoey Walker stood rigidly among her fellow mourners, strangers all. Her mother and father were there, beside her. Their support, unspoken but immense, had given Zoey the strength to put on a simple black dress and step out of the door.
The minister’s voice did not reach Zoey’s ears. Her mind was miles away, but not in the strange digital mindscape that only she could access. The cemetery was devoid of technology, filled only with death. In the prior evening, Zoey had surfed the news for the related disappearances the inspector had mentioned.
Four individuals had gone missing over the span of the last month. All of them were professors or doctors in varying degrees: biology, prosthetics, engineering, and programming. There were no correlation between the four individuals and no relation to Sean. She had asked herself over and over: Why him?
Waves of frustration and confusion smothered her thoughts. There had to be something she could do. It was so easy for Sara to step in, take charge. But Zoey was not Sara, and she didn’t know what to do. On her desk, back at home, was her easy way out: a transmitter to the stars. One call to Sara, and she would clear up everything for Zoey.
Zoey didn’t want Sara to do anything. How could she ask for Sara’s help after Zoey so blatantly turned her back on her? She was on her own. Whether she liked it or not.
After they lowered the casket into the cold ground, Zoey found herself drifting back to the church. Her parents were talking to Sean’s parents, but Zoey couldn’t stand the thought of talking to anyone else. A more modern affair, the church looked more like an arena than a place of worship. Through the glass double doors she went, only to be met with the quiet humming of the building’s heating system.
The room was a large semi-circle, slanting downhill with the altar at the bottom. The altar was surrounded by rows and rows of ascending pews. Zoey sat nowhere in particular and rested her head on the back of the pew in front of her. She closed her eyes and tried to silence her mind, an exercise Sara taught her long ago.
Her mind quietly mapped out the church’s electrical skeleton, but Zoey dug deeper until she could block out her mind’s unnatural talent. Until the stillness of her mind matched the stillness of the room. There, she found a serenity that she was sorely missing in the strenuous last few days. All of her anxiety and tension was gone along with the rest of the world. She was not so lucky in keeping it though.
The creaking of a door echoed throughout the vast room. A humble man in black stepped out and placed something on the altar. He looked up and noticed Zoey sitting in the pews. He walked up the ramp towards her. He had white hair and blue eyes. The wrinkles of time could not hide his honest face. His voice was quiet but commanding.
“Elizabeth? Elizabeth Walker? I haven’t seen you since you were so tall.” He held a hand perpendicular to his waist.
“Father Peter? Is that you?”
“I’m touched that you remember me.”
“Mother always spoke kindly about you.”
Father Peter sat down next to her. Silence had swallowed their conversation, until the priest said, “I heard about Sean. I’m very sorry.”
“Why do people die?”
“Why do people live?” returned the priest. “None of us knows the answer to either of these questions, except God perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
“Yes, well, there’s a great amount of uncertainty in our existence. I just rely on faith to see me through.”
“But why faith?” asked Zoey. “If there was a God, why not just tell us our purpose so we can fulfill it easily. Why do we have to stumble around in the dark? Why do we have to question the things that happen to us?”
Father Peter shrugged. “Another excellent question.”
“I guess if we knew why they had happened, we could accept it easier. Unless there is no reason.”
“And what would randomness accomplish?” asked the priest.
“How else can you explain the suffering and the tragedies?”
“How can you say that after everything you’ve seen?” Zoey turned and looked at the priest; her heart skipping a beat. “You’ve seen the sun rise. Trees changing colors every season. The strange complexities of life. How can you believe in randomness?” His blue eyes sparkled in ambient light. “The Earth and everything on it is an impossible work of art.”
“I don’t know what to believe,” Zoey admitted. “If God was responsible for all the beauty in the world. Then why is there so much hatred and death? Why are there people randomly kidnapping and killing people?”
The priest sat back in the pew. “Poor choices, I guess. Free will. We aren’t given a purpose, because we have to choose our purpose.”
“That sucks.”
Father Peter smiled. “I think you’re getting the idea of it now.” Zoey rubbed her forehead; it felt like a headache was coming.
“Why the ordeals? The suffering? I’ve seen what people are capable of,” she said.
“And I know what people are capable of too. I’ve listened to the members of my parish. Some wake every morning to quietly, courageously get out of bed only to face a grueling job or an abusive spouse. Being a hero doesn’t mean you’re Saint George slaying a dragon. You just have to persevere to be better.”
“And what happens when you run out of strength? Do you just let the world walk all over you?”
“I don’t know. We just keep going and do the best we can. We’re only human, after all.”
“If only it was that easy. Nothing’s changed since I’ve left. Talking heads, signifying nothing. No one knows anything, not about the important things.” The pain in her forehead was not going away, and sweat started dripping down her neck.
“And there’s an answer you’re looking for, isn’t there?” came Father Peter’s quiet voice.
“What?” asked Zoey furtively.
“It’s in your eyes,” continued the priest. “There’s something there, burning intensely. What are you looking for?”
Zoey stood up. “It was nice talking with you, Father.” She pressed her temple as the throbbing increased. Nausea clouded her thoughts, as she suddenly felt hot, and the sweating continued unabated. She was vaguely aware of her stomach feeling heavy and uneasy.
“There’s no need to get agitated. You can talk to me.”
“Thanks again,” said Zoey as she walked up the ramp. She opened the door as a cool breeze flowed through her.
The pain in her head continued to get worse as the increasing nausea made her lose her balance. She did not even remember throwing up in the green grass. The intense disorientation quickly brought her to her knees.
Zoey vaguely heard the voice of her mother before she passed out.
Click here to read Chapter 5
Written by J M Emmons. The story and all characters are copyrighted by J M Emmons.
No comments:
Post a Comment