A Matter of Degrees

by Alex Marcoux

  Clark nodded. “Yes…of course. Brennan, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you. You must stop seeing her.”

  * * *

  At lunchtime, Jessie left The Empire and drove to a nearby restaurant. She scanned her surroundings as she strolled the busy sidewalk. Satisfied that she hadn’t been followed, she punched in Rachel’s cell number.

  Rachel recognized Jessie’s number. “Hi.”

  “I was warned today by Clark Coburn to stop seeing you.”

  “Why?”

  “He wouldn’t give me a reason.”

  * * *

  While driving back to the office after lunch, Jessie punched in the Manhattan phone number. The call was answered on its third ring.

  “Good afternoon, Marcum Productions,” a woman answered.

  “Good afternoon. Is Sidney Marcum in?” Jessie asked in her normal voice.

  “She hasn’t returned from lunch yet; can I help you?”

  Jessie hesitated. “I understand that Sidney will be seeing my partner, Taylor Andrews, in Europe next week.”

  “Oh, you must be Jessie Mercer. I’m Natalie.”

  “Hi, Natalie. I hate to be an inconvenience, but I was hoping that Sidney wouldn’t mind delivering a small Christmas gift to Taylor for me.”

  “I’m sure Sidney would be happy to help.”

  “A friend of mine will be near your office later this afternoon. If it’s okay, I’d like to have him just drop the gift off.”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem,” she said warmly. “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “Brennan Keller.”

  * * *

  Jessie left work early that day and headed into Manhattan. Taylor had been a moving target since Jessie left her in France, so Jessie convinced herself that Sidney Marcum would be a more reliable means to transport her Christmas gift.

  When Brennan arrived at Marcum Productions, Inc., the receptionist greeted him. “Hello, can I help you?”

  Jessie unfastened the top few buttons of the trench coat, and smoothed out Brennan’s hair. “Yes. Is Sidney Marcum in?”

  From behind the desk, an attractive African-American woman pushed through swinging glass doors that separated the lobby from the offices. She smiled at Brennan as she dropped a pile of mail in an out box.

  “She’s in meetings all afternoon. Do you have an appointment?”

  “No. I was asked to deliver a package to her for Taylor Andrews.”

  “Oh, you must be Brennan,” the woman of color interrupted. “Hi, I’m Natalie.” She shook Brennan’s hand. “You have a package from Jessie Mercer for Taylor, right?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “I gave Sidney Jessie’s message. She’s happy to help out, and I’ll make sure that she gets it,” Natalie said warmly.

  Jessie left the small package with Natalie. As she left the building she realized the real motivation for dropping the gift off—she wanted to meet Michael Whitman’s ex-wife.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was late that Sunday night when Jessie returned from the Freemason initiation. Maxwell greeted her at the door, weaving between her legs. She had just spent the previous three hours in the car, and she was exhausted. Jessie removed the suit jacket and hung it in the coat closet. She loosened her tie and undid the top buttons of her shirt.

  Today’s initiation had been the last of the year. She had been looking forward to the break, and it was here at last. Jessie retrieved her cell phone which had been left on its charger on the kitchen counter. She wanted to call Taylor. “One missed call” was displayed, so she retrieved her message.

  “Hello, Jessie. This is Sidney Marcum. Sorry it has taken me a few days to get back with you. I just wanted to let you know that I received your package. I’m flying out on Tuesday and plan on seeing Taylor Wednesday. I hope you have a nice holiday. Good-bye.”

  Jessie deleted the message. “Sidney sounds much younger than Whitman.” She set the phone on the counter and wandered into the living room, where she parked on the couch.

  Although she was bushed, she was wound up from the trip. She needed to clear her mind. A quick glance around the room verified that the blinds were still drawn from the previous evening. She peeled the artificial facial hair from her face, and laid it on the coffee table beside her. Jessie removed her shoes, rested her feet on the couch, and then closed her eyes.

  Relax, she told herself. It didn’t take long for her body to unwind, but her mind kept replaying activities from that day, that month, and that year. Unexpectedly, Jessie’s thoughts drifted to other images. Images foreign to her, or at least, so she thought. At first, the geometric patterns came so quickly that she couldn’t see them. Then they slowed—circles, triangles, pentagrams, hexagrams, tetrahedrons, and others—but they were still meaningless to Jessie.

  * * *

  The sand scorched the bottom of Jessie’s bare feet. She quickened her pace; somehow knowing that relief was just beyond the peak of the sandbank. She knew she was being chased, making her sprint even faster. Her swiftness and ease dashing up hot sand surprised her. Almost effortlessly, the strong, youthful legs carried her up the crest and over, and then she saw her destination. She bolted down the embankment, and at the base of the dune her feet plunged into a small pool of water, relieving her searing skin.

  She sighed as the tepid water doused her feet, then laughed, but her voice seemed foreign. An abrupt splash from behind surprised her. She turned. A young girl with an olive complexion was dancing in the shallow water. Although her ankle-length linen dress was pulled to her knees so the bottom wouldn’t get wet, she splattered the water so much that the top of the short-sleeve dress was soaked.

  The girl laughed at Jessie. “I almost beat you that time, Lukeman. Let us try one more time.” The girl ran up the mound of sand.

  Lukeman? Jessie gazed into the pool surrounding her. Before the water calmed, she glimpsed a white kilt draping just below the knee, then her olive-colored legs standing in the shallow pond. She leaned over, closer to the water, waiting for the ripples to still. When they did, she gazed into the dark-brown eyes of a ten-year-old boy.

  His hand felt the smooth bald head. With the exception of a small patch of hair tied on his right side, his head had been shaven. With his hands he explored the dark skin of his upper torso, the lean but firm abdominal muscles and developing pectoral muscles. It was indeed the body of a boy.

  Echoes of laughter thrust him from this memory, to a future event.

  * * *

  A blast of sand brushed against his face. The air was hot and dry. He squinted, waiting for the wind to subside. When it did, his gaze returned to the rock face carved on the body of a lion. Although it was huge, behind it a massive pyramid soared above the landscape. He observed the causeway that connected the sphinx and the pyramid.

  Throughout his life, clairvoyant images had revealed his future. Today, his visions showed that his initiation would begin in the temple of the great sphinx. Here he would begin his transformation, then proceed through the causeway to the funerary temple at the east side of the pyramid. After another initiation he would advance to the north entrance of the pyramid. Once inside, he would master ceremony after ceremony, progressing through chambers that few had known, until he would conquer the final initiation, finding eternal life.

  A footstep alerted him of her presence, catapulting him back to his present. He felt her energy before she touched him and he smiled. “Hello, Mother.”

  Eshe moved to his side and set her hand on his shoulder. He found the warm smile on his mother’s face. Like the young girl, she wore an ankle-length linen dress with straps.

  “Hello, Lukeman. Are you seeing your future?” Her neckline was adorned with a broad collar shining of gold and precious stones. Her earrings glittered gems, and matching dual bracelets dressed her upper arms.

  “Mother, why are only a select few able to learn the secrets to eternal life?”

  “I wish I had a good answer, but I don’t. T
he gods and pharaohs believe that only a few chosen souls can seek the mysteries of our creators. This is how we have lived and died for many lifetimes.

  “But you know—it is not right.”

  Eshe smiled. She admired the insight and strength of her firstborn. Her arms embraced the strong boy. “You are correct. It is not right.

  Darkness came, and with it brought anger and sorrow. The echoes of her cry brought him to a new place.

  * * *

  At first it was so faint that Lukeman didn’t know what it was. Then he recognized his sister’s distress. With more urgency he searched the palace until he found Dalila, sitting against the hard chamber wall. She was sobbing.

  “What is wrong?” Lukeman asked.

  Dalila’s tear-filled eyes met Lukeman’s, and his heart ached sensing his sister’s sorrow. Then he heard the yelling, and he understood. His mother and father were arguing again, but it was different this time. Lukeman approached the curtain that separated the chambers. He peeked through a tiny crevice.

  His father, Oba, paced back and forth, and his mother knelt on the ground near him. Oba seemed enormous compared to his mother’s cowering body.

  “You are a disgrace to this family,” Oba screamed.

  “Please…the children,” she stood up calmly, blood trickling from her lip.

  “You don’t want them to know their mother is tainted? You didn’t think I would find out? I’m Oba, the vizier, the pharaohs closest advisor. Of all the souls in Egypt…you will pay dearly for this act of weakness.” Abruptly, he slapped her face with the back of his hand.

  “No!” Lukeman screamed, rushing to his mother’s side. He placed his body in front of Eshe stopping another blow.

  Oba loomed over the boy, and with an unwavering stare he said, “Wish your mother good-bye, Lukeman.”

  * * *

  Desolation added to the darkness and sorrow. This time the echoes of sobbing were of his mother’s, and they brought Lukeman again to his future.

  Lukeman didn’t know why his father sent him to the dungeon, but when Oba asked him to go, he obeyed. One of the servants escorted him down the dark passageways. Turn after turn, Lukeman trekked through the mazelike corridors until they arrived at the dungeon door. The servant lifted the beam, permitting access to the cell. He nodded at Lukeman.

  Naive about what lay behind the door, Lukeman opened it. Instantly, his stomach churned from the putrid smell of dying flesh. He covered his mouth and nose, fearing he would vomit. He stepped into the dark cell, lit only by tiny holes to the outside world. He couldn’t fathom why his father had sent him here, and then he saw her lying on a thin blanket.

  “Dear god!” Lukeman rushed to her side. He barely recognized her. She had withered to skin and bones. “Mother?” he swept her in his arms, and held her the way she had embraced him, so many years earlier.

  Eshe stirred and opened her eyes. “Lukeman?”

  “Yes, it is I, Mother.” Tears came to his eyes.

  Eshe gasped for air. “You have grown.”

  “Mother…I didn’t know you were here. Father told me you went far away. He has held you here all these years?”

  “I needed to see you before I go.” Eshe coughed. “Your father has given me a gift.”

  “My father should burn in netherworld.” As a boy, he had never understood why his mother was sent away. “What happened, Mother? Why did he do this to you?”

  “I fell in love…with a servant…Jahi. He was…untouchable.”

  Lukeman felt the life energy seep from her frail body. “Mother, don’t leave. Not now that I have found you.”

  “The baby…Find the baby, Lukeman. When I was put here, I was with child.”

  “You had a baby?”

  “A girl. It’s Jahi’s. Find Jahi and tell him…” Eshe closed her eyes.

  “Mother? Don’t go! Stay! Please.”

  The words were barely audible. “It is my time. I love you.” Eshe’s body stilled.

  She was gone. Lukeman cradled her, and wept for their lost years. Rage fueled his soul, a feeling so foreign to him, and dangerous if not harnessed.

  * * *

  Lukeman left the dungeon and hunted for his father. He raged through the palace, seeking the man who had killed his mother. He found Oba in the food preparation area nibbling on grapes and pomegranates.

  Lukeman’s stormy entrance alerted Oba. He saw the anger in his son’s eyes, but he was unthreatened by it and popped a grape in his mouth.

  Lukeman struggled to control his feelings. “How could you do that to her?” he screamed, clenching both hands. “You killed her.”

  “Punishment for women who commit adultery is death,” Oba said matter-of-factly.

  “Yet, it is no crime for you to seek the companionship of another woman?”

  “Men may have many wives, as long as they can afford them.”

  “Mother said she was with child. What happened to the baby?”

  “It died in childbirth.”

  “Father…you must provide her with a proper funeral.”

  “I mourned her passing six years ago,” Oba said coldly.

  Lukeman could barely control his emotions. “Father, I have never liked you,” tears of anger filled his eyes. “I have always respected you for the great man that you are. But I cannot anymore. I have never felt hatred, until now.” Lukeman moved to the exit. “I will leave here, before I do something that I will regret for eternity…before I kill you.” Lukeman dashed from the palace.

  * * *

  Although her body was here, Jessie’s mind was back in Egypt thousands of years ago. But when her cell phone chimed, it severed the connection with her distant past, and she struggled to find her way home. Like an unwelcome friend, Lukeman’s rage followed her back. Jessie woke disoriented. Abruptly she stood, the dizziness hit, and her heart pounded wildly. She stumbled back on the couch, feeling Lukeman’s anger caged inside her.

  “What happened to me?” she said.

  “You are remembering,” Charlie answered in Jessie’s mind.

  “Remembering what?” Jessie murmured, almost inaudibly.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was a few days before Christmas. With no initiations, and no reason to go to the office, Jessie was on sabbatical from Brennan. She had stocked up on food and intended to hang out in her apartment with Maxwell through Christmas. After her Egypt experience, Jessie needed a break.

  She had set up her laptop at the kitchen table. Her fingers quickly stroked away at the keyboard. Her story, The Ultimate Conspiracy, was finally coming together. In between moments of clarity, she’d grab a handful of dry cereal and munch on it. Her attire lacked her body suit and her face was hairless. She felt more peaceful since she recognized that Lukeman’s displaced anger was not Jessie’s. But was it?

  The cell phone that connected her to her real life chimed. Knowing that it was probably Taylor, she smiled and grabbed it without looking at the display. “Hello.”

  “Jessie, it’s Rachel. What are you up to these days?”

  “Hi, Rachel.” Jessie hoped Rachel didn’t hear her disappointment. “I’m writing.”

  “Would you like to get together for dinner tomorrow night?”

  Jessie hesitated. The last thing she wanted was to cut short her life as a recluse. She recalled their last meeting. “After last time, do you think that’s wise?”

  “If either one of us has a tail, let’s abort. There’s a good restaurant in Tappan that would make a good meeting location.”

  Jessie wanted to scream, “NO, THANK YOU!” But she also knew she was starving for human contact. “Do we need reservations?”

  * * *

  Once again dressed in Brennan’s garb, Jessie headed out. After being out of the body suit for a few days, her breasts were now sore by their containment. As she crossed the Hudson River she listened to the radio. A newscaster reviewed UN discussions regarding the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait.

  “Today, behavior of the United
Nation members was baffling. Like children, the delegates resorted to name-calling, and three countries announced their withdrawals from discussions. According to representatives of at least two member states, a significant portion of the UN is opposed to taking any action against Iraq. Apparently, their reluctance is triggered by the United States’ and coalition force’s failure to uncover Saddam Hussein’s weapons of mass destruction in the earlier—”

  Jessie turned the radio off. She shook her head. “I can’t believe this has dragged on this long,” she mumbled.

  Jessie drove past the restaurant, monitoring the traffic behind her, then turned again and watched. After ten minutes of futile zigzagging, she arrived promptly at seven o’clock. The parking lot was packed.

  A hostess greeted Brennan. “Can I help you, sir?”

  Even after all this time, Jessie was still not accustomed to being greeted as a man. Eying Rachel at a table against a wall, she pointed. “I see my party.”

  * * *

  The waiter took their menus and hurried off to the kitchen.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Rachel’s voice was low. “Have you had any other warnings about seeing me?”

  Jessie shook her head. “No. Coburn never brought it up after that one time.”

  “Do you think they’re on to us?”

  Jessie lowered her voice, “I think if they suspected that I wasn’t who I appear to be, they would have pursued it confrontationally. They knew about your investigation into secret societies last year. Maybe they just don’t want Brennan to get mixed up with the wrong people.” She smiled.

  Rachel changed the subject, “Do you have any plans for the holidays?”

  “You mean other than missing Taylor and feeling sorry for myself? I just want to spend a few days writing, and being my old self.” Jessie was thoughtful. “Actually, this will be my first Christmas, ever, without being with my brother.”