Chapter 49

He’d been finished for several hours, but Arnold Cavenstein could not shake the feeling that he was inevitably bound for misfortune. Not until these people, these doomsayers, left his apartment would he see any chance of improvement on the situation. He sat crookedly, slumped upon a dirty stove in his kitchen staring out the window, pondering his state of affairs. The view looked out across a city landscape which had just emerged from its evening slumber. The sun peeked over the horizon casting shadows over toppled buildings, bathing the land in light. Arnold sipped gingerly at a cup of coffee that he had only moments ago reheated from a surplus left from his guests’ dinner.
As he sipped and swirled the coffee in his mouth his thoughts cycled dramatically from the events of the past two days to the foreseeable intentions of the dining party. While they had said in their original letter that they wished to ‘leave him to himself’ once they had concluded their affairs his paranoia had begun to get the better of him. He suspected now that it would not be as easy as it had originally been intended.
The cup of coffee shook in his hand as he brought it to his lips. His other hand rose to steady it and, with much concentration, willed the quivering limb into submission.
A light bell sounded from the next room prompting a hasty leap from the stove. Mr. Cavenstein flew into the room with a flurry of energy, but his face betrayed him, portraying the desperation of a man to the gallows, wishing for a pardon in his final hour. The four table members sat tall in their chairs, feigning alertness, but obviously tussled from their long engagement. Roland, as had become the routine, spoke first.
“You can clear the table now, Arnold. Thank you. We shouldn’t be much longer.”
Arnold nodded and quickly set to work around the table.
“Shouldn’t be,” mumbled Simon leaning back in his chair. He let out an elongated sigh as he ran both of his hands through his thick black hair. His hair, which had been so stiff and orderly at his arrival, had begun to stick out in awkward angles. This was due to his proclivity of running his fingers through it in any moments of mild stress, of which there had been many through the stretch of the past two days.
“Aren’t any of you even the least bit curious as to what is taking so long? We’ve been in this bloody room for god knows how long with nearly no word from anyone! I’m ready to go and take care of this myself!”
At this both Roland and Ms. J shot Simon a cold glare.
“What?” growled the giant, “where’s the harm in that? Sweet Christ! All any of you want to do is talk! Talk, talk, talk! Well, I’ve had it.”
Simon stood up from the table and began to walk towards the door.
“I wouldn’t do that,” said Roland quietly.
“Do what?” said Simon spinning in his tracks. He approached the table as if he were advancing on his prey, coiling up for a full spring. Mr. Cavenstein noticed the advance and backed against the wall, moving out of the line between the two men.
“You know we’re waiting for a ghost, right? He’s a coward! He crawls in the shadows, never looks anyone in the eye. Probably’s run off and left us to…”
“Now that’s enough,” bellowed Victor from his normally quiet side of the table. “You’d be smart to choose your words more carefully. Jehovah may be a bit unorthodox for your tastes, but he is a faultless technician, which is more than I can say for some at this table. He is entirely thorough, never doing more or less than has been requested.”

*~~*

Twenty-four years earlier…

Three men dressed in dark suits sit inside the back of a van headed towards an undisclosed situation. The men sit facing each other in a triangular formation and hunched forward to keep their voices low. The largest of the three men commands the attention of the other two, being both greater in size and volume.
“Bloody bumpy roads,” growls the large man in a thick accent, “thought this place was being looked after.”
The other two men murmur in agreement. One of the smaller men reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out a package of cigarettes. He offers one to each man, who both silently decline. He retrieves a small lighter from his coat pocket and snaps it to life.
“Any idea of what we’re meant to be expectin’ out here?” mumbles the small man through the corner of his mouth, the other busy with a freshly lit cigarette.
“Just some nobody in the sticks who’s forgotten he’s not in charge. A real asshole, if you ask me. Knows that if he doesn’t do as he’s told that someone’s going to come and rap his knuckles, but goes ahead and does it anyway. People like that just get at me in the worst way. Just like that guy we pulled in last week. The one with the long hair holed up in that shithole of an apartment. He kept yelling about how they couldn’t make him do anything he didn’t want to. Why sign up then? Just do as you’re told. Or that preacher hiding out in the warehouse. He looked surprised! Surprised! Couldn’t understand why we were bringing him in and all that! Then why’d you run and hide you old fool?”
The large man throws his arms in the air in disgust. As he brings them back down he catches his hands in his black hair, running his fingers down the length of his scalp.
“I’m fed up with’em. These people are useless. I expect it’s time for a change and if the people on top aren’t ready I’ll be ready for them.”
The van begins to slow down and the smoking man quickly dabs out his cigarette on the floor. The van stops and the back door swings open. The scene is idyllic, an open countryside cut in two by a narrow road. A small house sits on one side of the road, a tire swing hanging from a tree in the front yard. Wind whips by the open door of van as the men rise to leave.
The large man hops out of the van first and turns to the other two. His eyes light on them with a fierce intensity.
“Just follow my lead.”

*~~*

“As for your restlessness,” muttered the old man, “remember that you were called here for your past experience with the subject at hand, period. You may see what we’re doing here as a waste of time, but I assure you that as you grow older you will discover the value of words over action. Now sit down.”
Simon hesitated for a moment before treading back to his seat. At the same time Arnold slowly left his position from the wall and gathered the remainder of the dirty plates from his guests. The table was now empty save for a small centerpiece of spices and the telephone that had been requested by the party days before. Arnold pushed through the door to the kitchen when the phone on the table began to ring. As the kitchen door closed he quickly laid the dishes on the stove and put his ear to door. He needed any reassurance that this nightmare would eventually end and he hoped that this call might be it.
Through the door the hushed voices of his guests were barely audible save for Roland who, sitting closest to the kitchen, could be heard in spurts.
“You found…”
“Where?”
“…need to get in…”
“…don’t waste…”
“…borrowed time…”
The phone clicked down on its carrier and Arnold Cavenstein slid away from the door. He stood and returned to his position on the stove. He picked up his now room-temperature cup of coffee and took a long draw from the cup. As he churned the liquid in his mouth his gaze was once again pulled to the landscape outside his window. As he gaped at the magnificent view he wondered where all these fantastic events were occurring and what was compelling everyone to be so drawn into events that could only be reached by telephone.