His face is unreadable this time. It’s hard to reconcile it with the twisted and bitter snarls I last saw at the bottom of the crater. He looks entirely at ease with himself and his surroundings. His tone when speaking to Angela wasn’t aggressive but it’s clear that he is used to people obeying him. This alone gives me reason enough to do otherwise.
I head straight for the table, not saying a word, and take a seat there without asking. He watches me patiently whilst I do this, and as he says nothing I match him. Instead I reach over for an apple from the bowl and take a healthy bite out of it. It is crisp, sweet and fresh.
He smiles at this, for some reason. Maybe, now that he doesn’t need my help, he is amused by my impertinence, as he calls it? I’m thinking of ways to demonstrate my disrespect physically, leaving him to speak first.
‘As ever, there is a resonance to all things. I am aware of your predilection for bananas so I do wonder why you chose an apple.’
He’s right, I do prefer bananas; but he’s also played this card already so he doesn’t knock me off balance this time. Instead I toss the apple in the air and catch it again, hopefully insinuating that the reason I chose it is that it is a better projectile.
‘Hmm, of course. Well let us not delay. You have questions and I have requests. Between these two elements lies this conversation. It is of no matter to me how we proceed so what is your preference? Would you rather begin with myself or with Angela?’
I’m tempted to belt the apple at him for that alone but I get the impression that I’m going to have to accept how he talks at some point, even if he is clearly such an arrogant prick. I cast my eyes back to Angela, who is sitting in a corner with her feet drawn up beneath her.
‘Of course. You must understand first of all that until we met my knowledge was complete. This is not the case now. Now we share many things and to ignore this would be folly.
‘Like you I have certain desires and wants, although they are not expressed in your physical manner. Simply, Terrence, Angela is beautiful; I believe you are aware of this now more than you ever have been before.
‘Where Grace is denied to us it is a natural tendency of life to seek it out. It is its own reward for by virtue of being it insulates us from the brutal elements of existence.’
I can feel a growl beginning in me, low and feral; beauty won’t shield him from my thoughts. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t keep her here.’
‘Of course not. She stays here of her own volition. You may be assured that I have not touched her either. I desire her presence only.’
‘She’s leaving with me.’
'My apologies, but she will not. If you wish to stay with her you will need to remain with me as well; which brings us to the rest of your questions. I wonder which has troubled you more, my presence or my deeds?’
‘Tell me how you knew he was going to die, and why you didn’t do anything about it.’
Phaneul lets loose an immense booming laugh at this. He throws his head back and spreads his arms so that the sound is projected outwards and upwards. ‘Oh the glory of surprise, thank you, Terrence! I was most certain you were concerned by the manner of our meeting and your situation. Yet now I discover you can discard the curious in favour of the fundamental. Come, I will explain everything my perceptive friend.’
He gestures at the door to the balcony with this. He catches my suspicious glance and gives me what I assume should be a reassuring smile. I figure that it doesn’t matter where I have this conversation with him so I raise myself up to follow him out in to the sunshine. Angela steps forwards as we go but without looking around Phanuel raises an arm to usher her back.
As I make my way there he begins to speak and he allows no pause, no interlude for me to interject. I can wait to see what happens, how much he gives away. That’s not a problem.
‘I suspect that you have deduced much of what I could tell you. In that respect alone you will leave this place knowing more than your friend, Gavin, did. His focus on himself and minutiae will prove useful for me, but limit his life considerably. Yet all of this you know.
‘Terrence, my inception and knowledge are not of this plane. The principles, if not the details, of what you have been taught are true; there is indeed a greater authority than man. Recompense is a very real prospect for you and a proportion – one I suspect you would find frightening – of your fellows. I now share that prospect with you.
‘The manner of our meeting was no doubt ordained by that which cast me out for I do not share your mortal prepossession with coincidence. If you were aware of the knowledge I previously held for just one second you would discard that conceit most rapidly.
‘The fact remains that I was punished, and you are an element of this decision. Were I to ignore you what you call fate would bring us back together. We, dearest comrade, are bound.’
I’m leaning on the balcony railings, looking out over the town. I can see church steeples dotted around, incongruously dark and curling in on themselves amongst the incessant hard corners of more modern architecture. He pauses his speech and seems distracted himself, looking on the same spires as I do.
I light a cigarette, conjuring my private illusion of Angela in the cherry once more. She’s forgiven me so there’s hope for me. I wonder if there is any for him.
I ask him, ‘What did you do?’
He replies as much to the town as me: ‘I had considered, perhaps, to measure the palaces and altars above. I sought to comprehend the intricacy of that realm, not realising that this would be construed as an attempt to dissect and analyse its ruler.
‘Scale itself, however, seems less relevant now. I feel no guilt at my deeds, for they were honestly done. If I am to be punished, however, would it not be bolder instead to create new palaces and altars here, below?’
I tap ash to the winds and watch it gust away to defy the drop beneath it. I watch as it cartwheels away to complete its disintegration beyond my sight. It sounds like this guy got punished for being exactly what he is; a jumped-up arrogant shit who is waiting for the rest of creation to accept how wonderful he is.
I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. He says that he’s linked to me but elements of him are more like Gav. Even now where he’s the king of the castle playing amongst the children he seems on a fundamental level to care what I think.
I flick the butt of my cigarette into gravity’s care and turn around so my weight is resting on my elbows and I am looking at Angela. She is looking at me too and gives me a little smile as I wink at her. Phanuel has stopped talking so I figure now is the time to start feeding him. I ask, ‘Palaces and altars, eh? Don’t you think we have enough of those?’
‘Do not take me so literally. I am aware of your craven desires for metals and gems. What I refer to is something much grander. I wish to unify your species and help you overcome your base, animalistic instincts. This world could be a paradise if you could be lead on the right path beyond selfishness and solipsism.
‘I have already acquired money with ease. With the knowledge I have obtaining more will be simple. With this money I can begin to influence the correct people and, I estimate, within 100 years this planet will be proved a peaceful place unified under the single cause of enlightenment.’
He’s got his head held high, like he’s some kind of preacher or king. I’m finding it hard to take him seriously even though he’s given me every reason to do just that. The more pressing question for me is whether or not he should be left to do all of this. Sure he has all his humble intentions now, but what about later.
A growing sense of unease is rekindling the tumult of emotions I managed to drive out with Angela’s help. I’m starting to think beyond him and about myself again.
The sensation that I shouldn’t be a witness to any of this, let alone a confidant, is weighing heavy in my stomach. It feels as though the lump in my throat, the one that Angela freed, has dropped to sit in my bowels, waiting to drag me to the depths.
I find myself lighting another cigarette, hoping to make myself light-headed to lift the weight. Or something like that; shit, I don’t know. I take a deep drag and without meaning to find myself asking a question: ‘What about Roger Galveston?’
His head drops slightly but his eyes remain fixed on the horizon. ‘He would have perished anyway, Terrence. That I promise you.’
Again, I’m not thinking as I speak; the words pass directly from my subconscious to my tongue. ‘When?’
He turns quickly to look at me. His eyes have narrowed ever so slightly, which is the first sign of stress that I’ve seen from him. ‘Does it matter?’
I don’t need to think about this response: ‘Of course it fucking matters. What kind of paradise is built on corpses?’ I glance up at Angela long enough to see her concern then turn my head back to hear his response.
He speaks softly now, with a placating tone. I’ve had the trick used on me a thousand times by my parents, people at school, police, the lot. It doesn’t work; in fact it just makes me angry because it seems so transparent.
‘You must think beyond the import of one corrupted soul, Terrence. The life or death of Roger Galveston presented no opportunity to this world. The circumstance of his passing, however, was of considerably greater significance.’
‘So how many more are you planning on letting die then? I can see why they kicked your arse out now; you’re on the wrong side. You don’t want to build anything like paradise. You just want to have a go in the sandbox yourself.’
I’m shouting at him now, I can feel that my temper has flared, incandescent in the hot sun. The skulls on my knuckles are blanched because I am gripping the crutches tightly, holding on to my muscles before they whip out of my control.
Angela makes to come out and intervene but again Phanuel raises his arm and gestures for her to move back. Reluctantly she does so again.
‘You knew just what you were doing when we met, didn’t you. You knew precisely how I was going to react and what you did to me by saying that about Angela.’
I’ve turned towards him, leaning on the left crutch so I can use my right arm to point. The flames of the tattoo look more vibrant than they ever have, feeding off the sunlight and the heat from my blood. Spittle flies from my mouth as I spit out my revelations at him.
‘I’m not going to be any part of this fucking scheme of yours. You’re damn fucking straight I’m perceptive and I can see another prick who’s going to fuck things up as well as the next man. You, my friend - whether you can see it or not - are just another prick.’
He opens his palms towards me and again tries to calm me with a softer voice. Its previous lack of success has not revealed itself to his refined sensibilities. ‘Terrence, you can be a part of this. You can help make sure that this doesn’t happen again. In my presence you can live with Angela as a king-‘
He is cut short and I see the terror flash in his eyes instantaneously. It is a very mortal fear that screams out unspoken by the twitching of his face. I am not sure what has happened.
I am suddenly and acutely aware of the passage of time, and how much it has slowed to allow me to deliberate upon this moment. Within this ever expanding second I regain my surroundings and see the distant rush of traffic below, catch the reflected sunshine bright and forceful on the banister and suite windows.
I find myself suddenly captivated by the face beholding this terror in front of me. I notice his thick hair and how soft it seems. I wonder what it would be like to take a handful and caress it and whether it would be as soft as the lengths Angela used to wrap me up in.
As I draw down his face, which I now realise is honest and handsome, I find myself surprised to see a row of four skulls proceeding slowly underneath his chin. The skulls give way to a living pillar of fire and now the tattoo seems very real indeed. I am beginning to understand what I have done but I don’t remember doing it.
Like that terrible second only days ago when I found Angela lying in front of me, now I can feel the ache of an impact in my knuckles and the heat of a blaze on my arm. The second woe is past, behold the third comes quickly.
Sound rushes back. There is a scream, a gasp and a fragile choking. Angela, myself and Phanuel. As soon as I can I drag my arm back, screaming with the effort. It feels as though something is dragging it on but I pull back with all my strength, feeling the burning sensation intensify as I do.
It is too late though; as I clutch my arm close to me in pain I see Phanuel pivot backwards over the balcony. His immense frame causes the barrier intended to preserve him use his own weight to buckle his knees. He can do nothing anyway as the shock of his crushed windpipe presents the new concept of pain.
He is wide-eyed, so much like a child, as he slips over the edge. It is this innocence that captures me, so much so that I do not see his hand snake out to grasp my collar. I only realise what is happening when I feel the first tug.
I don’t know if he is trying to save himself or take me with him. It doesn’t matter, I guess. His momentum snatches me from my position.
I manage to grab on to the rail with my left hand, though it’s caught up in the crutch. I hold on long enough to see Angela running towards me. She is pure and beautiful, just like the day we met. I see the chandelier halo her head, twelve electric bulbs transcending their mundane nature, with the Luna hotel at her feet and the sun bathing her beauty.
Then she is gone, replaced by accelerating windows, rushing air and dread.
The next seconds are murderously quick, jealously demanding back the extension that their brothers gave me unwillingly before. I have time to gasp uselessly and run out of air, time to feel my brain refuse to acknowledge any response from my nerves as its animal elements take over in preparation for the inevitable.
I have the briefest instant to wonder if I will escape the condemnation promised to me before the puissant ground declares its claim. Perhaps salvation is not always earned? I will land face down, and more than that I see that I will land on Phanuel. His impact is brutal and I hope for his sake that his death is instantaneous.
Around the hotel are more railings, these lined with ornate spikes, wide arrowheads decorated with patterns of leaves. There is a most sickening sound as he hits these railings, his arms spread wide, his eyes still full of the total shock of sensation.
I see a row of flower heads erupt along his arms and chest, the petals wide and lively, spreading out in worshipful obeisance to the sun. Then I see only confused flurries as I fall onto him, our bodies mirroring each others’.
It seems that I did not run out of air as a final gasp escapes me with this impact so I am now truly gasping for every molecule of oxygen. Gravity snaps my body down so that our cheeks touch, a strangely intimate gesture. One that doesn’t last, however, as momentum disdainfully throws me back.
I try and compose the thought that maybe I have survived this as I am thrown clear of Phanuel. His landing has sapped most of the momentum from my own and I am thrown clear towards the hotel. If this second stretched out as the ones above did then I could hope that maybe I was an agent and that I will be spa-
The most intense of pressures lands on my head. The giant must have been dissatisfied with his previous efforts and returns for satisfaction. The compression passes into agony very quickly which drowns me.
I surface gradually from the singular sensation to discover it is far from unique. I fear I have broken a lot of bones and every heart beat is sending pulses down to ravaged fronts which can only return messages of suffering. My left leg feels wet. I know the stitches have been torn open and the wound fountains blood freshly.
My head feels the strangest of all. Behind the massive pain, although I am uncertain that there is such a place any more, I can feel a hungry maw with its jaws open wide to devour morsels. I can’t lift my arms to check but it feels as though the jagged teeth belong to me. My skull has woken from a lifelong slumber to roar and snap at passing secrets.
Every pulse gets weaker which means that the pain lessens. As the pain lessens so does the light of this bright summer day, so does my life. I am dying, I understand this.
I try to picture Angela’s face one last time. I want to see her as she is now, he cropped hair, her bruised face and her sad half smile. I am trying to scratch this picture out of my recollections but I cannot. Something is distracting me.
As each pulse weakens so do my senses. The slowing drumbeat of my heart recedes from my ears and as it does I feel my slip on life weaken. There, at the balance between life and death, I begin to hear something.
There is a voice underneath it all, speaking from inside me. I can make out snatches as I slip away: ‘done is done... part of something... Come.’
