“Have a drink, Jack.”
“Who are you talking to?”
It seemed like it was dawning when I heard the voice and struggled to lift my head from the table.
It is the figure, the one I have thought might be Saint Stephan, sitting across from me, again.
“It was a young agent. He’s looking for… he’s trying to find… information on Gramps… Jeb Davies… the terrorist movement sprung up in his name. What’s at the heart of it, the prime moving cause? How could something like this happen? I guess he’s trying to dig to the root of the… of the… How could so many people suddenly be moved by one man and made to act in unison… at his word? And it’s not even at his word, because with this… Gramps… just his presence on a stage in an arena is enough. All those zombies, armed to the teeth, at his behest, on his command, and he hasn’t even said a word. He doesn’t even look at them – he looks past them, and they go crazy. They’re taking over the country. Moving this way – west. Ready to lay down their lives for him. There could be millions by now… millions…”
“Are you impressed and awed by huge numbers, Jack?”
“What do you mean by that? I was simply explaining –”
“I know what you were explaining, Jack. But what interest could you possibly have in someone you refer to as a young agent?”
“No, that’s not the point. I wasn’t interested. He just appeared. He was the one who started talking. Naturally, aside from being grateful for the company, of course I took an interest. I –”
“But how do you know what he told you is what he’s looking for? How do you know if any of what he told you was true?”
“What do you mean? Because he told me. It’s incontrovertible. It’s true – what’s happening, this phenomenon, this evil. It’s going to –”
“Jack, how do you know why this… young agent, as you call him, is doing what he’s doing, or is doing what he claims he’s doing?”
“Really… I mean, really… I don’t get you. I mean…”
“What’s this about evil, Jack? What’s this big concern regarding evil? How can you tell what is evil and what is not? How do you know? Don’t you think the day should be sufficient unto itself? That these things are taken care of? That a man should look first into his own heart before searching or claiming to understand the hearts of others, whether it’s a young man on a quest the nature of which he himself does not understand, or the teeming millions, whose numbers increase daily, taking up arms, ready to be taken to the very threshold of obliteration.”
“Are you calling me evil?”
“I’m calling on you to look into your own heart, Jack; I’m saying you should –”
“But what about all the people who don’t want this; all the people who are innocent and are going to die, needlessly, for no reason, who have already begun to die?”
“Jack, the sun shines and the rain falls on the evil equally with the good.”
“But, goddamn you, you… you… fucking ghost, how can you pass judgment on –”
“Have a drink, Jack.”
“What… what do you mean, have a drink? I don’t want a drink.”
“Sure you do. You’ve already had one, so have another…;” the ghost slowly sweeps his arm over the table and a tumbler of whisky appears; “and another…;” he continues the gesture and another full tumbler appears; “and another…;” and next to the tumblers stands a full bottle of Johnnie Walker.
“Why, you son of a bitch!” With a movement I clear the table of the tumblers and bottle, which crash to the floor, and pull out my gun, shooting all six rounds into the figure.
“Die, you miserable son of a bitch, die, die, die, die!!!”
I do not know how much time passes. I see my gun on the table. I look up and see I have unloaded all six rounds into the seat across from me.
I do not know what happened to the dawn. There is a strange light from outside, but it is not the sun of the dawn, though thanks to it, I can see the outside world as if it were day. But it is dark where I sit and now the light comes in through the window. It begins to illuminate the table and the floor beneath it and then the floor that surrounds it and then the floor covering the entire diner.
Bottles – empty bottles of Johnnie Walker – everywhere.
I look outside, and the amber waves of grain become amber waves of whisky. The tide rises out of the fields the other side of the road. The tide rises and rises and floods the world outside the diner. The flood presses in on the diner. The windows begin to crack. Very soon, the pressure will be too great and the flood will come pouring in.
Jack Step, August 22, 2014