by Lee Bond
If this was what it was to be a normal person living a normal life, Jordan Bishop knew he was going to have to do something about being ‘normal’ soon. He could feel the cheapness of the fabric of ‘his’ couch and it made his skin crawl.
“Sir? Mister Freoli?”
Jordan could, in fact, feel the beating hearts of everyone on this floor, and if he but strained his senses a little, he could hear the soft susurration of their nighttime murmurs, either to loved ones, themselves, people on the phone. Could smell their scents, could trace each person to each room in this godawful building that barely even qualified as a structure. It was more akin to a hovel. A dirty, filthy hovel. Something Zeroites would live in, not the deposed God of Trinityspace’s number one Conglomerate.
“Mister Freoli, sir!”
Jordan blinked, drawn out of the reverie of a hunt through this building, tracking down and slaughtering every single living thing within the walls, and made eye contact instead with the young woman who’d brought him home from the hospital.
The sweet thing flinched bodily as his eyes sought out hers, and the beast inside howled with laughter while Jordan himself instantly regretted it; he was supposed to be an officer, freshly released from the hospital after extremely life-threatening injuries that'd d only just finished healing, not a predator out to consume young women.
“I …” Jordan mimicked a hand gesture he’d been seeing everywhere he looked, some kind of odd wave of the hand that everyone on Tenerek used when they were caught being strange. “This is all new to me. My … my ex-wife and I … we.”
Preeta nodded understandingly. Jerry had filled her in on all of Darren’s pertinent information before agreeing to let her take him home; as part of her rise through the Church of Nothing’s ranks, she was to do whatever Darren wanted, and she was more than willing, she was eager. Jerry had spelled out the particulars of the Freoli divorce in very clear cut language.
Darren Freoli's life was no longer the same as it'd been before the terrorist had destroyed it. The operations to save his life may have changed his face, may have made him appear different, but the trial by fire had definitively done the job by cleansing him of all that he might’ve been beforehand. Disliking his wife to the point of using Church influence to bring about a divorce was but one single side of things.
Jerry Seinfeld wanted that fracture between old and new to grow wider still, wanted there to be a continent of differences between Darren Freoli, security officer and Darren Freoli, New Face of The Church of Nothing.
Preeta wanted to be the first female to rise to the position of Acolyte. She was hungry for the influence and power it brought, and Jerry Seinfeld knew it. Knew it, and was just as willing to use as she was willing to be used.
The young IndoRussian woman –really, she should stop thinking of herself as young, she was in her mid-thirties and the Church’s demands on her time and talents had spiritually aged her quite considerably- moved closer to Darren, albeit a little cautiously; there’d been a flash of some enigmatic emotion raging in him when they’d locked eyes, and it’d knocked her for a loop. Jerry had made mention of the same thing, suggesting to her that though Darren claimed to remember very little of his time in the port before being rescued and essentially brought back to life, he might be lying to save face.
“I understand.” Preeta put a little honey in her voice. It always worked. It’d worked on five men and two women so far, outliers reluctant to move fully into the Church, to profess and proclaim their adherence to Nothingness but after she’d been done with them, those seven powerful people had all but jumped at the chance to hold press conferences. “I really, really do.”
What Jerry did with the information she gleaned was Jerry’s business, and Jerry’s business was The Church, and for Preeta, that was good enough. She didn’t know why her spiritual leader and new mentor wanted Darren Freoli treated the same way and she didn’t care.
She just knew the honey-voice worked. It was her talent, and a far better one than being a mediocre graphic designer in the employ of a lecherous bastard more interested in pronging the females in the office rather than making something of his company.
Jordan smothered the mocking laughter that threatened to rise up out of him with a hasty cough. The woman was trying to seduce him!
Sex pheromones boiled off her like a heat mirage and her body language, oh, her body language was a thing of beauty far above and beyond the earnest ardour; hips poised thusly, eyes glistening with understanding, lips parted ever so slightly, tongue playing inside the mouth now and then.
Oh, she was a first-rate seductress, was his young Preeta Etanh. Far better than what Jerry Seinfeld deserved. If he was still CEO of BishopCo, the stunning IndoRussian girl with the smoldering eyes, the coffee and cream colored skin and that luxurious mane of black, curly hair would be his Omega Level Seductress, a woman sent out to slaughter enemies with her sexual wiles. She was worth millions.
How and where Jerry Seinfeld had found Preeta and unlocked the woman’s seductive skills was something Jordan had no desire to dwell on, not now and not ever. He was beyond the mortal realm when it came to filling such base demands as sexual gratification. He didn’t even think he could pull it off any longer, so … disinterested was he in those kinds of things.
Still, though, it was best to play a bit of the game, was it not? Jordan saw that Seinfeld had set Preeta upon him in order to gain some form of upper hand, not that it should’ve been necessary: he’d given the Church leader every indication, both verbally and non-verbally, that he was more than willing to do whatever it was that the Church asked of him, time and again, right up to the last second phone call prior to being released.
Whatever. Jordan shifted on the couch somewhat, inviting Preeta to join him on the seedy piece of furniture simply by moving his leg a few inches. The woman all but flounced onto her cushion.
“Mister Seinfeld wanted me to apologize to you, Darren.” Preeta breathed the words out, long and slow and softly. More honey from the pot, since the man was proving to be unaware of what was really happening here. “For not being there for your release.”
The beast within wanted to laugh as it gorged itself on Preeta’s immaculate flesh, but knew it couldn’t because the girl would be missed within hours of her disappearance. Jordan understood that as much as he needed to play this little bit of cat and mouse, the night was going to have be called quicker.
“It’s fine, it’s perfectly all right.”
“It’s just that he’s busy in the southern cities right now.” Preeta moved a little closer, then closer still, until she could feel the intense heat coming from Darren. She could feel his hunger, his desire to be with her, on her, in her, yet … his body language and facial expressions revealed nothing of his need. “There’s an awful lot of pressure from the non-adherents to have a clearer definition of what the Church means for those who have no desire to become a part of Nothing.”
“They are fools.” That was Jordan’s brand new go-to statement whenever anyone brought up a Tenerekian's unwillingness to embrace the Church. It was a little too blunt for the press, but in personal conversation, it struck precisely the right balance between indignation at their reluctance and unbridled disappointment.
Preeta moved a little closer, carefully, cautiously. It was hard to ignore the heat coming from Darren. It was as if he'd absorbed all the fire from the explosions at the space port, drank it down into him, and it'd changed him more than you could tell from looking at his medical files, or from comparing old pictures to the face he wore.
"Who are the fools?" she whispered. He had this kind of scent about him, too, some sort of lingering spiciness.
"All of them." Jordan answered absentmindedly, still struggling to keep from laughing, eating or insulting Preeta; as one of Jerry's handmaidens, she was someone who could -at some point- possess power he’d ultimately find valuable. Trying to find a middle ground between all those different moods bubbling through him was a
difficult battle.
It would've been a difficult thing to do, back before, when he'd been nothing but a mortal man in charge of the most powerful Conglomerate in the Universe.
Now? When he was a predator? Capable of killing indiscriminately and with wanton fury?
Uphill battle didn't even begin to describe what he was suffering.
Jordan felt a subtle internal shift in Preeta's bearing and hastened to clarify. "Those who don't see the wisdom in joining the Nothingness. I looked out over the city today on our way here, and it struck me how quiet the world is now. There's so little violence and crime. It's wonderful. I think this Nothingness ... it frees people from fearing the Dark Age. Why would anyone keep that inside of them?"
Preeta opened her mouth to answer, but clicked her jaw shut. Was that it? The secret of the Church of Nothing? She'd already confessed to Jerry that being a part of the Church had gifted her with a freedom, an unsullied wantonness that'd ultimately led her to becoming who she was now, but she'd always just thought it'd all come from being a part of something greater and more profound than herself.
But what if it was more than that? What if it was that she no longer feared The Dark Age? Preeta tried finding the solution inside of herself, but couldn't. She'd been a member for too long, but what if he was right?
The implications were staggering. Everyone literally everywhere in Trinityspace suffered from Dark Age ennui, yet as she sat there, staring into Darren's penetrating eyes, she found ... nothing. No fear. No worry that tomorrow morning or the next day or a year from now, everything Darren took for granted would be taken from him, swept away on the tide of a Dark Age.
To Preeta's certain knowledge, no one had ever explicitly pointed out this earthshattering point of view.
Preeta needed to get this information to Jerry Seinfeld as soon as possible. If they could find a way to get the Church of Nothing out of the solar system, to other systems, other Galaxies ... the church would grow beyond all boundaries and borders, uniting the different worlds and peoples in a way much more profound and powerful than anything that Trinity had to offer.
Jordan watched Preeta intently as his proclamation took root in her very soul. It was clear as day from the way she sat there, head tilted to one side just so, that no one had ever made the connection before now, and little wonder. They were too close to the epicenter to see the most profound side effect of an otherwise dreary and pointless religion.
He, as an outsider, though, he'd seen it almost immediately. As the greatest Captain of Industry to have ever existed, he'd never really felt the tremors of fear that percolated through the populace the longer the Universe went without a Dark Age, but only because he knew a profound truth that Trinity rarely let slip: Dark Ages were never that total, not all machinery stopped working, not every system was plunged into total chaos.
And the ones that were? Not for very long. To his recollection, secret Bishop files indicated that the longest period of absolute darkness and chaos had been just over three hundred years, and even then, not as ... comprehensive as the dregs of existence imagined.
Trinity used the fear of the Dark Ages as It's most powerful, influential weapon. Should the masses realize the plunging blanket of night was never there for long, and never as bad as It said, Trinityspace would tremble.
Jordan wanted to laugh at Preeta and her stunned expression. He could literally taste ambition flowing from her like waves of cinnamon and knew that their time was almost done by the way she was fidgeting in place.
Torn, now, between fulfilling the mandate of seduction handed to her by Jerry Seinfeld and her desire to bring him the news that the Church of Nothing was actually accomplishing something.
The being who'd once been a man wanted to toy with her a little while longer, just to see how long he could keep her in this dingy little apartment that reeked of other people's desperation and regret, but he had better things to do.
"Are you okay, Preeta?" Jordan was impressed with how sincere he sounded. "You look ... disturbed by something I've said." Even the manufactured ardour that'd get even the staunchest of men or women naked before she'd said so much as 'take off your pants' was gone now, replaced by an electric excitement.
Preeta raised a hand to her lips. "I'm ... it's been a long day, I think. Longer than I expected. I ... I am tired. I imagine you must be as well. First day out of the hospital, all those reporters asking all those questions ..." she trailed off, not knowing where to finish her train of thought.
"Plus I need to familiarize myself with my new accommodations." Jordan said with a sly smile. The response his words elicited from Preeta were fleeting like lightning, yet it spoke more than a thousand words; she would stay if he demanded it, would do as she'd been ordered, but her heart wouldn't be in it.
The look of pleasure in being freed from a chore she wouldn’t enjoy was one Preeta was going to have to work on if she intended on becoming a power in the Church. Fleeting as it’d been, not everyone would be completely bowled over by her skills.
“Are you certain?” Preeta demanded, unable to keep her eyes from stealing to the door. “I … could stay and talk with you some more. If you wanted.”
Jordan put a hand on her upper thigh, felt the heat there, the delicious strength of a woman’s body in it’s most perfect state, wanted to partake of the meat beneath the thin layer of flesh, wanted it more than anything else in the world, and for a brief second, he let the hunger rush through his outstretched hand. Preeta quivered in response, a wholly animalistic and instinctual response.
“I think,” Jordan said as he pulled his hand away slowly, “it’s best if you leave. For tonight. Don’t you?”
Preeta tried to assimilate the raw heat pouring from Darren Freoli’s palm but gave up quickly. The world had become a strange place, and the leaders of the Church took great pains to remind everyone that the Changemaker’s efforts to alter the Universe were happening around them all the time, unseen, behind the scenes and that if they could be made different, so too could anyone. Jerry Seinfeld himself used her own personal metamorphosis into the woman she was today as proof of that, and she hadn’t gone through nearly the kind of crucible that Darren Freoli had.
In the same meeting where she brought up the power the Church of Nothing had over The Dark Age, she would be compelled by loyalty and hunger for advancement to mention Darren’s difference. Preeta didn’t think she’d be able to put what’d just transpired into words, so she’d only bring up that he was very much different than the man she’d been expecting, leaving discovery of just what that might be to Richie and his Learning Men.
“I…” Preeta climbed off the couch, felt Darren rise respectfully beside her, “I do think it’s for the best. For … for tonight.”
Jordan plastered a smile on his face and gestured towards the exit, an exit that –whether she knew it or not- Preeta was all but running towards.
“Allow me to see you to the door, Preeta. As we walk the great distance,” here, he smirked at his poor little joke and she joined in, “I would like to take the opportunity for being there today, at the hospital. It was a pleasant surprise to see you instead of our leader, Jerry Seinfeld. And also here, in my new apartment, it was nice to spend a few minutes being able to be … me. The new me. Laying there, being burned alive, being confronted by the truth of all things, changed me in ways I can’t properly explain, even to myself. The intense damage done to my face, forcing me to choose a new one … it only made that difference more … real. I … I’m going to have to find out who I am now. If I said or did anything to frighten you, I am sorry.”
There. That should work. Was working. The knot of tension riding high between Preeta’s eyes was smoothed out now, and her posture had relaxed to the point where she wasn’t practically vibrating in place.
“It’s fine, Mister Freoli, I …”
“Please, call me Darren.” Jordan asked smoothly.
Preeta nodded hesitantly. “Fine. Darren. I … forgot what you
’ve been through, somehow, didn’t really consider the implications. Of course you’re struggling to find your new way. And that’s what the Church is all about, in the end. Finding a new way to be, and embracing the Nothingness that is out there.”
“I am excited to begin my new journey, Preeta.” Jordan opened the door and, placing his palm on the small of her back, gently ushered the young woman through. “With you as my guide, I cannot help but think it will be a quick and painless discovery. Will I see you tomorrow?”
Preeta nodded, distracted by trying to figure out how she was going to phrase Darren’s inadvertent discovery to Jerry. “Yes, yes, of course. First thing, Darren. Jerry wants to speak with you in the Main Compound to go over your education in the Church. As the new face of Nothing, you’ll be given some … extra insight into how things work. It’ll be quite an exciting day. Be sure to get as much sleep as you can. I’ll call you before I come to pick you up. Is that all right?”
Jordan nodded and smiled. “Perfect. See you then.”
Jordan Bishop shut the door on Preeta’s answer and then leaned against the old wooden frame, listening to the woman’s footsteps as she made her way down the stairs.
Sleep?
Sleep was the last thing he had on his mind, but he had to progress carefully; as this was a Church-owned facility, only the most foolish of fools would imagine that he wasn’t being recorded day in and day out, so anything he might want to do in his dingy apartment simply could not happen.
Unfortunately, that rather included looking things up on the local networks.
Like the location of Arturii’s one and only Black Altar.
Because if there was anywhere he was going to make the kinds of contacts he needed, where he was going to learn the sorts of things he needed to learn, it was in the one place on the entire planet where people of the Church got to be who they really were.
