When a young man learns that an ancient cult believes he’s the anti-Christ, he attempts protect himself and his girlfriend from their violent retribution, only to discover a complicated underworld where no one is as they seem, and that the cult just may be right.
Maybe therein lies the problem. Singular intelligence without a soul to guide it, without the compliment of empathy and understanding. Is it truly illumination if the light has no heat? The tragedy of human luminescence manifested in a wandering void, a man searching for scientific answers in a world where the laws of physics provide only a framework, not the life. “
From Treatise on Isolation, Ulrich Engle, 1250
From Treatise on Isolation, Ulrich Engle, 1250
CHAPTER ONE
Boulder had always had its share of crazies. The vacant-eyed lot, faint odor of patchouli wafting after them as they shuffled down the aisle at Whole Foods. That flowered robe-wearing ensemble always handing out pamphlets on Pearl Street, assuring all that God's love was evident in the beauty of the tulips. Or the wild-bearded man manically pacing in front of the bank, ranting to an audience of none about the "bourgeois vagina" of the capitalist pigs. They were all part of Boulder's, um ... charm?
But none, to his face at least, had ever before accused Adam of being the Anti-Christ.
Until today.
He’d been minding his own business. Starkly uncomfortable in a suit and tie, as unusual for him as if he’d walked into the coffee shop wearing nothing but a glittering tiara. Even the mop-headed barista, she with the look of perpetual hang-over and faint, you’re-a-pain-in-my-ass smile whenever he tried to chat her up, stared unabashedly, as if seeing Adam in a suit were a sign of the Apocalypse.
Maybe it was.
The more leisurely crowd had yet to arrive. The round, wobbly tables sat unoccupied and expectant. Waiting for the first wave of laptops, scones, and sporadic, caffeinated dialog. At this early hour, most of the customers arrived in a hurry, waited in line with exaggerated toe-tapping and clock ogling, and scurried away. They had places to go, jobs to begin; men and women whose lives left little time for lackadaisical loitering in the green linoleum-clad confines of Vic’s Coffee.
Exactly the fucking life Adam had been trying to avoid.
He’d wound his way through the scattered tables and sought his customary solace in back-table seclusion and a double Americano. Hid himself behind a newspaper, immersed in a description of CU’s latest grid-iron debacle, an riveting 48-3 dismantling. He’d needed something to distract himself. Distraction from worries over the impending disaster scheduled for nine a.m. sharp. Distraction from thoughts of Sherry’s unrealistic expectations of the outcome.
And something, anything, to make him forget about the damned noose-like tie digging into his neck.
He barely noticed when someone sat at the neighboring table, looked up with only a faint nod of recognition and acknowledgment to the Tarot reader, a Friday morning fixture at Vic’s. The round, mahogany-skinned man’s smooth voice and personal gravity ensnared all who wandered too near. He’d usually linger through morning hours, his wide cheeks breaking into a warm smile, greeting everyone with baritone happiness and cheer. Enticing them to come, to discover what their future held in store.
For a small fee, of course.
The man knew better than to attempt to entice Adam into a reading. He’d tried and failed numerous times. Adam had a decidedly low tolerance for bullshit.
After this minimal greeting, Adam returned to his paper, to his cooling coffee, to his pained attempts not to think about the job interview. He mostly ignored the low rumble of the Tarot reader explaining to someone about cleaning the surface of his table so it wouldn't interfere with the magnetic fluctuations in their aura. A parade of large words, layered and interwoven. A heaping helping of unnecessary convolution and complication.
A.K.A. bullshit.
And that’s when life had taken a severe turn into the surreal.
"Young man, I know you don't believe, but I have looked into your world of possibilities.” The Tarot reader. Obviously addressing Adam. Less jovial than usual.
Adam had caught his breath, then wasted a shrug behind his paper. "Thanks. I'll definitely keep that in mind."
"Your future is in limbo, the potential for disaster and greatness equal. Remember, the right choice is not always an easy one."
Adam snorted, broke into a smile despite himself. "Jesus, did you read that crap on a fortune cookie? Please. There’s a reason I refuse to -how did you describe it?- let the cards read my fate. I’m not paying your for that."
"She paid for it."
Adam lowered his paper just enough to spy the Tarot reader’s thick index finger indicating the woman across from him. A new face at Vic's. He would have remembered the young woman’s vibrant pink hair, closely shorn. Her broad shoulders stretching the limits of her cotton T. The vivid tattoos scrolling up her forearms. And he certainly would have remembered those big, brown eyes. Attractive in a natural, innocent sort of way.
She perched on the chair across from the Tarot reader, gaze intent on Adam. Appearing almost concerned or worried.
Adam set the paper down. "Who are you?"
"Maybe a friend." She flashed a thin, half-hearted smile that did nothing to relieve the weight behind her eyes. A sadness that seemed too large for her - what? -twenty-five years?
"Um… okay." Adam folded his newspaper with slow and careful precision, laid it before him, his gaze traveling from face to face The Tarot reader appeared almost as perplexed as Adam felt.
Adam should just leave. His coffee was cold. He was in a bad mood. He had no patience for loonies.
But where would he go? Too early for the interview. And he had no desire to return to Sherry’s hopeful optimism about the job, her undying and unwarranted belief in him.
And he had wanted a distraction…“Why would you ask for my future?”
“I’m worried about you.”
Adam searched for a hint, some faint curl of a smile, light in her eyes, some indication this was all an inside joke between her and the Tarot reader, who sat, uncharacteristically quiet, looking from Adam to his new "maybe friend”.
"Um. Okay. Thanks for the concern, but you wasted your money. I don't believe in any of that nonsense, Tarot or horoscope stuff."
"What do you believe in?"
"Huh?" This was not the typical early morning chit-chat, the brief, empty socialization he normally kept to a minimum, only the bare necessity so as not to appear too anti-social. He almost would have preferred some vapid discussion of the weather at this moment.
"You're a scientist, right?" she asked as if they were old friends. Coffee shop regulars who met every morning, discussing local politics over scones and espresso.
He answered with a hesitant, “No.”
"No?"
Adam sighed. "I mean, I may have been at one point. But right now, I'm a big fat nothing. I'm unemployed." Much to his girlfriend's chagrin.
"I see.” She nodded. Leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “But by nature?"
Adam snorted. "That, my 'friend', is a great question."
She appeared thoughtful, as if she actually had some inkling of all the issues and questions that straddled him.
He took a bemused sip of coffee, turned to the Tarot reader, who had begun sliding his cards into their purple velvet case. "So…just what the hell is this all about, anyway?"
Before the man could answer, the strange woman leaned forward as if revealing a secret. "Interesting choice of words."
"Um… Okay." Adam looked toward the counter. As if our Lady of Perpetual Hangover might swoop down and rescue him…
The pink-haired woman sat back, crossed one leg over the other. "I'm just trying to get a feel for you. To see if there's hope. I mean, do you believe in anything he said?" She nodded toward the Tarot reader, whose customary smile had disappeared, replaced by the most serious of stares. And more than a hint of confusion.
“No. No, I don't. I told you. Why would I believe in that?"
"Why believe in anything?"
Jesus! There were times for navel-gazing. Times to sit back, perhaps take a long hit from the emergency joint Adam kept stashed in his glove compartment (completely legal in Colorado), and deliberate life's serious questions.
But this was not one of those times.
Or maybe it was. For the joint part, anyway. Adam slid his chair back and rose. "I'm sorry, but this little game is getting boring and I just remembered some last minute ‘prepping’ I need to do for a job interview."
"It's a simple question. You can't answer it?"
She certainly was persistent, he had to give her that. "I believe in things that have ‘evidence’."
"Well, I'm sure there was plenty of ‘evidence’ at some point that the world was flat.”
Adam gave an exaggerate sigh. "Of course. And then we discovered new evidence and changed our minds. It's called 'learning'. And I've never seen any evidence that Tarot boy here spouts anything but vague generalities that someone can always find truth in." Adam met the Tarot reader's eyes with a shrug. "Sorry, no offense."
The Tarot reader shrugged back with a "none taken" faint smile.
“He implied you have a difficult choice to make.” She cocked her head slightly, like a curious puppy, as she peered up at Adam. "Are you saying you don't have an important decision to make?"
Adam released a dismissive chuckle. "Hell, everyone is faced with important decisions almost every day."
"What if he specifically asked if you are contemplating your future in physics?"
Adam gave his best bored look. "I'm supposed to be impressed with that? You just asked me if I were a scientist, and I said, no, I was but am currently unemployed. So, guessing I’m a physicist isn't too much of a reach. Lucky for you I didn't study biology or chemistry. You'd have guessed wrong.” Adam sighed again. “Look, I need to go get ready for a job interview."
"I really need to know if you going to return to physics."
"Why the hell do you care?"
She set her coffee mug down, all pretense of casual conversation gone. Leaned forward, again as if she were about to share a momentous secret and weren't simply bat-shit crazy. "It is very important. Your answer will help me decide."
Adam replied with exaggerated enthusiasm and mock smile, "Really? Decide what?"
A swell of sadness, a deeper set melancholy that no one, at any age, should have, welled behind her eyes. "Whether or not I really believe that you're the Anti-Christ."
Boulder had always had its share of crazies. The vacant-eyed lot, faint odor of patchouli wafting after them as they shuffled down the aisle at Whole Foods. That flowered robe-wearing ensemble always handing out pamphlets on Pearl Street, assuring all that God's love was evident in the beauty of the tulips. Or the wild-bearded man manically pacing in front of the bank, ranting to an audience of none about the "bourgeois vagina" of the capitalist pigs. They were all part of Boulder's, um ... charm?
But none, to his face at least, had ever before accused Adam of being the Anti-Christ.
Until today.
He’d been minding his own business. Starkly uncomfortable in a suit and tie, as unusual for him as if he’d walked into the coffee shop wearing nothing but a glittering tiara. Even the mop-headed barista, she with the look of perpetual hang-over and faint, you’re-a-pain-in-my-ass smile whenever he tried to chat her up, stared unabashedly, as if seeing Adam in a suit were a sign of the Apocalypse.
Maybe it was.
The more leisurely crowd had yet to arrive. The round, wobbly tables sat unoccupied and expectant. Waiting for the first wave of laptops, scones, and sporadic, caffeinated dialog. At this early hour, most of the customers arrived in a hurry, waited in line with exaggerated toe-tapping and clock ogling, and scurried away. They had places to go, jobs to begin; men and women whose lives left little time for lackadaisical loitering in the green linoleum-clad confines of Vic’s Coffee.
Exactly the fucking life Adam had been trying to avoid.
He’d wound his way through the scattered tables and sought his customary solace in back-table seclusion and a double Americano. Hid himself behind a newspaper, immersed in a description of CU’s latest grid-iron debacle, an riveting 48-3 dismantling. He’d needed something to distract himself. Distraction from worries over the impending disaster scheduled for nine a.m. sharp. Distraction from thoughts of Sherry’s unrealistic expectations of the outcome.
And something, anything, to make him forget about the damned noose-like tie digging into his neck.
He barely noticed when someone sat at the neighboring table, looked up with only a faint nod of recognition and acknowledgment to the Tarot reader, a Friday morning fixture at Vic’s. The round, mahogany-skinned man’s smooth voice and personal gravity ensnared all who wandered too near. He’d usually linger through morning hours, his wide cheeks breaking into a warm smile, greeting everyone with baritone happiness and cheer. Enticing them to come, to discover what their future held in store.
For a small fee, of course.
The man knew better than to attempt to entice Adam into a reading. He’d tried and failed numerous times. Adam had a decidedly low tolerance for bullshit.
After this minimal greeting, Adam returned to his paper, to his cooling coffee, to his pained attempts not to think about the job interview. He mostly ignored the low rumble of the Tarot reader explaining to someone about cleaning the surface of his table so it wouldn't interfere with the magnetic fluctuations in their aura. A parade of large words, layered and interwoven. A heaping helping of unnecessary convolution and complication.
A.K.A. bullshit.
And that’s when life had taken a severe turn into the surreal.
"Young man, I know you don't believe, but I have looked into your world of possibilities.” The Tarot reader. Obviously addressing Adam. Less jovial than usual.
Adam had caught his breath, then wasted a shrug behind his paper. "Thanks. I'll definitely keep that in mind."
"Your future is in limbo, the potential for disaster and greatness equal. Remember, the right choice is not always an easy one."
Adam snorted, broke into a smile despite himself. "Jesus, did you read that crap on a fortune cookie? Please. There’s a reason I refuse to -how did you describe it?- let the cards read my fate. I’m not paying your for that."
"She paid for it."
Adam lowered his paper just enough to spy the Tarot reader’s thick index finger indicating the woman across from him. A new face at Vic's. He would have remembered the young woman’s vibrant pink hair, closely shorn. Her broad shoulders stretching the limits of her cotton T. The vivid tattoos scrolling up her forearms. And he certainly would have remembered those big, brown eyes. Attractive in a natural, innocent sort of way.
She perched on the chair across from the Tarot reader, gaze intent on Adam. Appearing almost concerned or worried.
Adam set the paper down. "Who are you?"
"Maybe a friend." She flashed a thin, half-hearted smile that did nothing to relieve the weight behind her eyes. A sadness that seemed too large for her - what? -twenty-five years?
"Um… okay." Adam folded his newspaper with slow and careful precision, laid it before him, his gaze traveling from face to face The Tarot reader appeared almost as perplexed as Adam felt.
Adam should just leave. His coffee was cold. He was in a bad mood. He had no patience for loonies.
But where would he go? Too early for the interview. And he had no desire to return to Sherry’s hopeful optimism about the job, her undying and unwarranted belief in him.
And he had wanted a distraction…“Why would you ask for my future?”
“I’m worried about you.”
Adam searched for a hint, some faint curl of a smile, light in her eyes, some indication this was all an inside joke between her and the Tarot reader, who sat, uncharacteristically quiet, looking from Adam to his new "maybe friend”.
"Um. Okay. Thanks for the concern, but you wasted your money. I don't believe in any of that nonsense, Tarot or horoscope stuff."
"What do you believe in?"
"Huh?" This was not the typical early morning chit-chat, the brief, empty socialization he normally kept to a minimum, only the bare necessity so as not to appear too anti-social. He almost would have preferred some vapid discussion of the weather at this moment.
"You're a scientist, right?" she asked as if they were old friends. Coffee shop regulars who met every morning, discussing local politics over scones and espresso.
He answered with a hesitant, “No.”
"No?"
Adam sighed. "I mean, I may have been at one point. But right now, I'm a big fat nothing. I'm unemployed." Much to his girlfriend's chagrin.
"I see.” She nodded. Leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “But by nature?"
Adam snorted. "That, my 'friend', is a great question."
She appeared thoughtful, as if she actually had some inkling of all the issues and questions that straddled him.
He took a bemused sip of coffee, turned to the Tarot reader, who had begun sliding his cards into their purple velvet case. "So…just what the hell is this all about, anyway?"
Before the man could answer, the strange woman leaned forward as if revealing a secret. "Interesting choice of words."
"Um… Okay." Adam looked toward the counter. As if our Lady of Perpetual Hangover might swoop down and rescue him…
The pink-haired woman sat back, crossed one leg over the other. "I'm just trying to get a feel for you. To see if there's hope. I mean, do you believe in anything he said?" She nodded toward the Tarot reader, whose customary smile had disappeared, replaced by the most serious of stares. And more than a hint of confusion.
“No. No, I don't. I told you. Why would I believe in that?"
"Why believe in anything?"
Jesus! There were times for navel-gazing. Times to sit back, perhaps take a long hit from the emergency joint Adam kept stashed in his glove compartment (completely legal in Colorado), and deliberate life's serious questions.
But this was not one of those times.
Or maybe it was. For the joint part, anyway. Adam slid his chair back and rose. "I'm sorry, but this little game is getting boring and I just remembered some last minute ‘prepping’ I need to do for a job interview."
"It's a simple question. You can't answer it?"
She certainly was persistent, he had to give her that. "I believe in things that have ‘evidence’."
"Well, I'm sure there was plenty of ‘evidence’ at some point that the world was flat.”
Adam gave an exaggerate sigh. "Of course. And then we discovered new evidence and changed our minds. It's called 'learning'. And I've never seen any evidence that Tarot boy here spouts anything but vague generalities that someone can always find truth in." Adam met the Tarot reader's eyes with a shrug. "Sorry, no offense."
The Tarot reader shrugged back with a "none taken" faint smile.
“He implied you have a difficult choice to make.” She cocked her head slightly, like a curious puppy, as she peered up at Adam. "Are you saying you don't have an important decision to make?"
Adam released a dismissive chuckle. "Hell, everyone is faced with important decisions almost every day."
"What if he specifically asked if you are contemplating your future in physics?"
Adam gave his best bored look. "I'm supposed to be impressed with that? You just asked me if I were a scientist, and I said, no, I was but am currently unemployed. So, guessing I’m a physicist isn't too much of a reach. Lucky for you I didn't study biology or chemistry. You'd have guessed wrong.” Adam sighed again. “Look, I need to go get ready for a job interview."
"I really need to know if you going to return to physics."
"Why the hell do you care?"
She set her coffee mug down, all pretense of casual conversation gone. Leaned forward, again as if she were about to share a momentous secret and weren't simply bat-shit crazy. "It is very important. Your answer will help me decide."
Adam replied with exaggerated enthusiasm and mock smile, "Really? Decide what?"
A swell of sadness, a deeper set melancholy that no one, at any age, should have, welled behind her eyes. "Whether or not I really believe that you're the Anti-Christ."