Post by Alice Wilde on Jul 8, 2006 12:38:17 GMT -5
Part Six-Beatrice
“Hello, Linda.”
Her voice was calm, as always, and Linda could hear the music of the ballroom in the background, though it was more muted now. Her breathing was shaky, but that could be the result of anything.
Akbar watched Linda lean against the wall. She took the phone away from her ear and pressed a button. The next words flowed from the phone, audible to anyone in the stairwell.
‘Speaker phone’, Linda mouthed.
Akbar nodded.
“Have you got more information for me?”
“Dante and Antenora are both murderers and will kill everyone tonight at the request of Tragedy.”
A long silence followed. “What...what made you think this?”
Akbar licked his lips and grabbed the phone. “I don’t think that is important now, miss. We need your help. We don’t know when they will attempt to...well...but there were canisters in the room we observed and-”
“Who is that?” Anger raced into the mysterious woman’s voice.
"My associate, Akbar. I recruited him...” Linda said.
“I chose you for this and you only.” The voice on the phone snarled. “Now tell me how you found out about Dante and Antenora. I will deal with your associate later.”
Linda looked at Akbar. Tears welled in her eyes. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, swallowing. “I...we... snuck up to their hotel room.” Misery soaked her tone. “Dante confessed slaughtering a priest to Antenora, and she responded by saying that she was a murderer as well. Then, I grew afraid and we ran away.” She added. “Please...please don’t do anything to Akbar, he is trust-worthy, I swear...
“How do you know they will drop the canisters your associate mentioned on the ball?”
“Antenora said something about killing the members, and we assumed the canisters were filled with some sort of poisonous gas...”
Beatrice mulled this over. Linda mouthed various versions of ‘I’m sorry’ to Akbar and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. Akbar’s hands shook around the communications device.
Both jumped when Beatrice spoke.
“You must get rid of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.”
“What?” Linda blew her nose. “You told me they were comrades.”
“I believe that they are the reason that Tragedy wants everyone dead. Therefore, if they are gone, everyone will live.”
“Nonsense, Tragedy invited Jon and Stephen to the ball tonight.”
“Nothing I say is nonsense, Linda. If Mr. Le Grey wants to prove himself, he will help you. If not, inform me and he will be dealt with. Good night. Call me if you encounter any problems. I will be in the hotel room of another for a short time, but after that...”
The line went dead.
Linda sobbed. “She’ll kill you if you don’t help, Akbar. I’m so sorry I got you involved. I...I didn’t know that she would mind. Oh, what are we going to do? I don’t want to murder anyone!”
Akbar stood, still shaking. Dial tone echoed. He closed the phone and his eyes. Think, Akbar. How to handle this in a rational way. How to handle two newsmen bent on murdering a man who wants everyone murdered without murdering them. Murder, murder, murder...Where did all this murder business come from?
‘Get rid of...’
He grinned, opened his eyes. “Wait. We don’t have to murder anyone.”
Linda stared at him.
“I have a plan.” Akbar said.
- - - - -
Tap. Tap.
PJ grimaced, awakening. He dug his head into the pillow. Cold air surrounded him though he didn’t want to move the blanket. Pandora stirred, next to him.
Tap. Tap.
“What...?” She asked, blearily. PJ stretched and placed a foot on the floor, frowning with headache and the appearance of his crumpled suit. Each tap was a blow to the head. He stumbled to the door, unlatching and opening it.
A woman stood in the hall, dressed in a strange gray gown, a similar color cape hanging from her shoulders. Her hair was pulled back and a mask, half-black, half-white, yin yang, covered her face. She was close to PJ in age, a member of the forum, though PJ could not imagine who.
“Hi.” PJ ran a hand through his hair, eyes half-shut and dilating from the light of the hallway. The woman did not respond, blank behind her mask. She held a knife in her hands. He hadn’t noticed that before, but upon seeing it, his heart began to race.
“You.” He managed, throat closing. The woman nodded. Slow. Dangerous. He slammed the door, latched it. Sweat coagulated at his forehead, in spite of the air conditioning.
Pandora sat up. “Who was that?”
“You need to hide.” He clutched her wrists and heaved her to her feet.
“What? Why?” Pandora yawned. The room tilted for a moment, alcohol still in her blood. She wanted a drink of water.
“Not what. Where.” PJ looked around. The knocking at the door began again. Grunting, PJ guided Pandora into the bathroom, telling her to sit in the shower and pulled the curtains. He ran out, locking the door behind him.
Tap. Ta-
“Beatrice,” PJ caught the woman’s hand, mid-knock. She brought the knife to his side, missing as he jumped away. “Beatrice, stop.”
“You know too much.” Beatrice said. The dagger gleamed so that PJ could see his own terrified reflection in it. He felt behind him, hands clenching around something. Not caring what it was, he drove it into Beatrice’s shoulder. She brushed his hand away with her knife, cutting across his knuckles.
PJ ignored his wound, seeing what he had stabbed his attacker with. A ballpoint pen. Great.
She plucked it from her skin and threw it to the floor. “Where is Pandora?”
“I would rather kill you than doom her,” PJ lunged at Beatrice. She ducked. Inertia brought him crashing into the wall.
“Why does everyone assume that death is the only option?” Beatrice knelt next to him, the knife freezing against the back of his neck. She lowered it, traveling down his spine to his legs, stopping at his ankles. “If I were to cut you here, you would never walk again. But...if you called quickly, you would live.”
She lifted the weapon from his skin. “I won’t. You would squeal like a piglet if I were to give such a gift. As I said, you know too much. However...I know a way to not murder you whilst making sure you won’t tell. Now, where is she?”
PJ hit her with a bloody fist. She fell limp, dropping the knife and curling on the floor. He got up, blew on his cut.
“I don’t enjoy hitting women,” He glared at her. “But, in your case, madame...”
Beatrice placed a hand to her face and uttered a pitiful sound. The mask fell. PJ’s eyes grew large. He flew to her, not believing who lay there.
“Antenora?”
- - - - - -
Stephen cursed, gun pointed into the crowd. The ballroom gaped at him. The music played on, giving the scene an eerie feel. Shruti took hold of the weapon and yelled something into the crowd, Stephen didn’t care what. He had failed.
The descendant had been there the entire night. Had danced with him, nonetheless. Nearly seduced him, for God’s sake.
Literally for God’s sake...
“Stephen, what the hell was that?” Jon asked, hushed. J and Shruti discussed something in the background. Sora and the rest of the ballroom continued to stare at the pair in disbelief. Stephen began to feel more and more self-conscious.
“That woman...Cinderella...is the Guest. The descendant.” He said, bristling under the whispers of the members.
“But...I thought the descendant is a man.”
“Cinderella is a man.”
“I think I saw a porno like that once,” Jon commented, uncertain of how to react. The entire room seemed uncertain of how to react. Not to the fact that Cinderella...Tragedy...was a man, but to the fact the man that said transvestite had been seducing all night nearly busted a cap in his presumably lacy ass.
The doors of the ballroom opened. The crowd turned to them. A young man and woman parted the crowd, excusing themselves. The woman looked familiar...
“It’s the eavesdroppess.” Jon said. “The woman who was listening to our conversation...”
It took them several seconds to reach the newsmen. When they did, J stepped in front of them.
“Hi, Akbar, Linda Can we help you?” She asked, in honeyed tones. Shruti moved toward the newsmen, gun in hand. Linda and Akbar stared at it. J motioned for her to put it away. Shruti raised her hands, as though to say ‘where?’
Stephen wrapped his hand around the weapon and pocketed it. Shruti blushed as her fingers brushed his. J smiled at Linda and Akbar, ignoring the people behind her.
“Mr. Colbert and Mr. Stewart need to come with us.” Akbar said. “Please.”
“Dr. Colbert.” Stephen corrected.
“Honorary.” Linda said. Shruti glared at her. Stephen frowned.
“Why?” J asked.
Akbar shrugged. “Superior’s orders.”
Jon and Stephen shared a glance. They were trapped, unable to proceed with their self-imposed assignment, being asked to leave. What to do.
Stephen sucked his teeth. “Where...would you be taking us?”
“Just down the hall.” Akbar replied, then leaned in. “Um...it would be in your best interest. Certain people are looking for you both.”
Jon hesitated. “These people...”
“...have the same motives for being here as you had for the ‘descendant’.” Linda finished, as quiet as she could, putting air quotes around the word ‘descendant’. J and Shruti looked confused but Stephen’s jaw dropped.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed Jon, nodding for them to lead.
Linda did, parting the people with the ease in which she came. Akbar followed. The doors shut behind them.
Sora emerged from the mob.
“Where are they going?” He asked.
- - - - - -
Dante pressed the up arrow in the elevator. Antenora had disappeared, scouring the hotel for the person who had heard his confession. Guilt bubbled underneath his calm exterior. The elevator stopped. Top floor.
“Where is your partner?” Tragedy asked, scrubbing his face over the penthouse sink. Dante handed him a towel.
Tragedy dried himself, draped in a pinstripe suit, wig and earrings gone. He walked into a different part of the enormous suite, leaving Dante in the kitchen. Bottles of soda and liquor which generally would have been placed in a mini-refrigerator lined the counter. A box of what appeared to be sinus pills sat next to the sink.
Tragedy came back with a cold glare and a manilla file.
“Where is your partner?” He repeated.
“Preparing.” Dante lied. Antenora begged him not to drop the canisters until she got back.
“Perhaps that is what she told you.” The administrator muttered. He threw the folder down, shoving a few sheets of notes into Dante’s hands. “She’s been plotting against me the entire time. Been plotting against us.”
Dante held the papers. They seemed to be transcripts of cell phone conversations. He didn’t bother to read, blinked in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“She was the one who told the fake newsmen downstairs where we were. She wants you killed!”
“What?”
“She believes that your death will cease the fighting. Like the very theologians who have been plaguing you since your birth. She grew curious about the mark on your neck and looked into it. Then, when she observed the ‘birthmark’ I duplicated on my knuckle, she was unsure which of us was the real descendant.” He shook his head and poured himself a drink. “Do you want one?”
Dante nodded.
“But she couldn’t do it herself.” Tragedy turned, pulling a glass from the cupboards. “After all, she is not Jewish. In her research, however, she located the bloodline of Peter’s fledgling...Stephen Colbert. And his Jewish friend, Jonathan Stuart Leibowitz.” He paused then poured, drink fizzing. “Several members of the forum worship them...it would be suspicious if they were not let in to the ball. I can’t imagine the scene if I had turned them away...”
“She’s clever, your friend.” He continued, offering the glass. “Oh, yes...but she made one mistake...”
“Jon and Stephen were sent to murder me.” Dante took it.
“She gave them an amalgam description of both of us. As I said, she was uncertain which of us was the actual descendant. So she told them to look for a marking on the neck and that the ‘traitor’s brethren’ would be called the Guest.”
Dante gulped the liquid, wiped his mouth, and said. “You are lying. Antenora would never do this.”
“I am not. This is why we must rid ourselves of the forum. I am not sure who she informed but as long as there is someone who knows, there will be someone hoping to kill us...”
“No, no, no...” Dante downed the rest.
“Yes.” Tragedy touched the side of his face. “Go. Drop the gas. You ordered enormous amount...we’ll lock them in and keep dropping until they asphyxiate. I was concerned when you misheard my order but no matter...”
“Tragedy, I can’t.”
“Antenora is in the ballroom right now. I got a call from a person saying he had stashed her there. Go.”
“No-”
“It is you or her. I suggest her. She’s the real traitor...not like your ancestor. Poor Judas. Everyone knows it was just a conspiracy.”
“She’s not a traitor.”
“Oh, all right. I thought I wouldn’t convince you...” Tragedy sipped. Dante felt his eyelids droop.
“So you’re going to take a nap, while I handle this myself.”
- - - - - - -
The hallway remained poorly lit as Linda and Akbar led the newsmen down it, to the very room Linda had listened to them earlier. Akbar walked to the center, then faced Jon and Stephen, forgetting to shut the door in his haste.
“You’re in danger here. You need to leave.” He said.
Stephen looked at Jon and shook his head, lips curling in a false smile. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone found out about your aim to murder Tragedy.” Linda shivered, as though the mention of it frightened her.
“Who?” Jon asked.
“Cinderella.” She said and was met with blank stares. “The Guest.”
“Oh, him.” Stephen held his hands up. “But, you must understand. Your Guest is the cause of all religious turmoil for the past two millennia.”
A voice floated into the room, one shrill noise. “What?”
The four stopped, mid-breath. Linda began to tremble. Akbar took her hand.
“Who said that?” Stephen demanded.
“They did.” Sora said from the doorway, pointing to J and Shruti.
- - - - - -
“Hello, Linda.”
Her voice was calm, as always, and Linda could hear the music of the ballroom in the background, though it was more muted now. Her breathing was shaky, but that could be the result of anything.
Akbar watched Linda lean against the wall. She took the phone away from her ear and pressed a button. The next words flowed from the phone, audible to anyone in the stairwell.
‘Speaker phone’, Linda mouthed.
Akbar nodded.
“Have you got more information for me?”
“Dante and Antenora are both murderers and will kill everyone tonight at the request of Tragedy.”
A long silence followed. “What...what made you think this?”
Akbar licked his lips and grabbed the phone. “I don’t think that is important now, miss. We need your help. We don’t know when they will attempt to...well...but there were canisters in the room we observed and-”
“Who is that?” Anger raced into the mysterious woman’s voice.
"My associate, Akbar. I recruited him...” Linda said.
“I chose you for this and you only.” The voice on the phone snarled. “Now tell me how you found out about Dante and Antenora. I will deal with your associate later.”
Linda looked at Akbar. Tears welled in her eyes. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, swallowing. “I...we... snuck up to their hotel room.” Misery soaked her tone. “Dante confessed slaughtering a priest to Antenora, and she responded by saying that she was a murderer as well. Then, I grew afraid and we ran away.” She added. “Please...please don’t do anything to Akbar, he is trust-worthy, I swear...
“How do you know they will drop the canisters your associate mentioned on the ball?”
“Antenora said something about killing the members, and we assumed the canisters were filled with some sort of poisonous gas...”
Beatrice mulled this over. Linda mouthed various versions of ‘I’m sorry’ to Akbar and wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. Akbar’s hands shook around the communications device.
Both jumped when Beatrice spoke.
“You must get rid of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.”
“What?” Linda blew her nose. “You told me they were comrades.”
“I believe that they are the reason that Tragedy wants everyone dead. Therefore, if they are gone, everyone will live.”
“Nonsense, Tragedy invited Jon and Stephen to the ball tonight.”
“Nothing I say is nonsense, Linda. If Mr. Le Grey wants to prove himself, he will help you. If not, inform me and he will be dealt with. Good night. Call me if you encounter any problems. I will be in the hotel room of another for a short time, but after that...”
The line went dead.
Linda sobbed. “She’ll kill you if you don’t help, Akbar. I’m so sorry I got you involved. I...I didn’t know that she would mind. Oh, what are we going to do? I don’t want to murder anyone!”
Akbar stood, still shaking. Dial tone echoed. He closed the phone and his eyes. Think, Akbar. How to handle this in a rational way. How to handle two newsmen bent on murdering a man who wants everyone murdered without murdering them. Murder, murder, murder...Where did all this murder business come from?
‘Get rid of...’
He grinned, opened his eyes. “Wait. We don’t have to murder anyone.”
Linda stared at him.
“I have a plan.” Akbar said.
- - - - -
Tap. Tap.
PJ grimaced, awakening. He dug his head into the pillow. Cold air surrounded him though he didn’t want to move the blanket. Pandora stirred, next to him.
Tap. Tap.
“What...?” She asked, blearily. PJ stretched and placed a foot on the floor, frowning with headache and the appearance of his crumpled suit. Each tap was a blow to the head. He stumbled to the door, unlatching and opening it.
A woman stood in the hall, dressed in a strange gray gown, a similar color cape hanging from her shoulders. Her hair was pulled back and a mask, half-black, half-white, yin yang, covered her face. She was close to PJ in age, a member of the forum, though PJ could not imagine who.
“Hi.” PJ ran a hand through his hair, eyes half-shut and dilating from the light of the hallway. The woman did not respond, blank behind her mask. She held a knife in her hands. He hadn’t noticed that before, but upon seeing it, his heart began to race.
“You.” He managed, throat closing. The woman nodded. Slow. Dangerous. He slammed the door, latched it. Sweat coagulated at his forehead, in spite of the air conditioning.
Pandora sat up. “Who was that?”
“You need to hide.” He clutched her wrists and heaved her to her feet.
“What? Why?” Pandora yawned. The room tilted for a moment, alcohol still in her blood. She wanted a drink of water.
“Not what. Where.” PJ looked around. The knocking at the door began again. Grunting, PJ guided Pandora into the bathroom, telling her to sit in the shower and pulled the curtains. He ran out, locking the door behind him.
Tap. Ta-
“Beatrice,” PJ caught the woman’s hand, mid-knock. She brought the knife to his side, missing as he jumped away. “Beatrice, stop.”
“You know too much.” Beatrice said. The dagger gleamed so that PJ could see his own terrified reflection in it. He felt behind him, hands clenching around something. Not caring what it was, he drove it into Beatrice’s shoulder. She brushed his hand away with her knife, cutting across his knuckles.
PJ ignored his wound, seeing what he had stabbed his attacker with. A ballpoint pen. Great.
She plucked it from her skin and threw it to the floor. “Where is Pandora?”
“I would rather kill you than doom her,” PJ lunged at Beatrice. She ducked. Inertia brought him crashing into the wall.
“Why does everyone assume that death is the only option?” Beatrice knelt next to him, the knife freezing against the back of his neck. She lowered it, traveling down his spine to his legs, stopping at his ankles. “If I were to cut you here, you would never walk again. But...if you called quickly, you would live.”
She lifted the weapon from his skin. “I won’t. You would squeal like a piglet if I were to give such a gift. As I said, you know too much. However...I know a way to not murder you whilst making sure you won’t tell. Now, where is she?”
PJ hit her with a bloody fist. She fell limp, dropping the knife and curling on the floor. He got up, blew on his cut.
“I don’t enjoy hitting women,” He glared at her. “But, in your case, madame...”
Beatrice placed a hand to her face and uttered a pitiful sound. The mask fell. PJ’s eyes grew large. He flew to her, not believing who lay there.
“Antenora?”
- - - - - -
Stephen cursed, gun pointed into the crowd. The ballroom gaped at him. The music played on, giving the scene an eerie feel. Shruti took hold of the weapon and yelled something into the crowd, Stephen didn’t care what. He had failed.
The descendant had been there the entire night. Had danced with him, nonetheless. Nearly seduced him, for God’s sake.
Literally for God’s sake...
“Stephen, what the hell was that?” Jon asked, hushed. J and Shruti discussed something in the background. Sora and the rest of the ballroom continued to stare at the pair in disbelief. Stephen began to feel more and more self-conscious.
“That woman...Cinderella...is the Guest. The descendant.” He said, bristling under the whispers of the members.
“But...I thought the descendant is a man.”
“Cinderella is a man.”
“I think I saw a porno like that once,” Jon commented, uncertain of how to react. The entire room seemed uncertain of how to react. Not to the fact that Cinderella...Tragedy...was a man, but to the fact the man that said transvestite had been seducing all night nearly busted a cap in his presumably lacy ass.
The doors of the ballroom opened. The crowd turned to them. A young man and woman parted the crowd, excusing themselves. The woman looked familiar...
“It’s the eavesdroppess.” Jon said. “The woman who was listening to our conversation...”
It took them several seconds to reach the newsmen. When they did, J stepped in front of them.
“Hi, Akbar, Linda Can we help you?” She asked, in honeyed tones. Shruti moved toward the newsmen, gun in hand. Linda and Akbar stared at it. J motioned for her to put it away. Shruti raised her hands, as though to say ‘where?’
Stephen wrapped his hand around the weapon and pocketed it. Shruti blushed as her fingers brushed his. J smiled at Linda and Akbar, ignoring the people behind her.
“Mr. Colbert and Mr. Stewart need to come with us.” Akbar said. “Please.”
“Dr. Colbert.” Stephen corrected.
“Honorary.” Linda said. Shruti glared at her. Stephen frowned.
“Why?” J asked.
Akbar shrugged. “Superior’s orders.”
Jon and Stephen shared a glance. They were trapped, unable to proceed with their self-imposed assignment, being asked to leave. What to do.
Stephen sucked his teeth. “Where...would you be taking us?”
“Just down the hall.” Akbar replied, then leaned in. “Um...it would be in your best interest. Certain people are looking for you both.”
Jon hesitated. “These people...”
“...have the same motives for being here as you had for the ‘descendant’.” Linda finished, as quiet as she could, putting air quotes around the word ‘descendant’. J and Shruti looked confused but Stephen’s jaw dropped.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed Jon, nodding for them to lead.
Linda did, parting the people with the ease in which she came. Akbar followed. The doors shut behind them.
Sora emerged from the mob.
“Where are they going?” He asked.
- - - - - -
Dante pressed the up arrow in the elevator. Antenora had disappeared, scouring the hotel for the person who had heard his confession. Guilt bubbled underneath his calm exterior. The elevator stopped. Top floor.
“Where is your partner?” Tragedy asked, scrubbing his face over the penthouse sink. Dante handed him a towel.
Tragedy dried himself, draped in a pinstripe suit, wig and earrings gone. He walked into a different part of the enormous suite, leaving Dante in the kitchen. Bottles of soda and liquor which generally would have been placed in a mini-refrigerator lined the counter. A box of what appeared to be sinus pills sat next to the sink.
Tragedy came back with a cold glare and a manilla file.
“Where is your partner?” He repeated.
“Preparing.” Dante lied. Antenora begged him not to drop the canisters until she got back.
“Perhaps that is what she told you.” The administrator muttered. He threw the folder down, shoving a few sheets of notes into Dante’s hands. “She’s been plotting against me the entire time. Been plotting against us.”
Dante held the papers. They seemed to be transcripts of cell phone conversations. He didn’t bother to read, blinked in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”
“She was the one who told the fake newsmen downstairs where we were. She wants you killed!”
“What?”
“She believes that your death will cease the fighting. Like the very theologians who have been plaguing you since your birth. She grew curious about the mark on your neck and looked into it. Then, when she observed the ‘birthmark’ I duplicated on my knuckle, she was unsure which of us was the real descendant.” He shook his head and poured himself a drink. “Do you want one?”
Dante nodded.
“But she couldn’t do it herself.” Tragedy turned, pulling a glass from the cupboards. “After all, she is not Jewish. In her research, however, she located the bloodline of Peter’s fledgling...Stephen Colbert. And his Jewish friend, Jonathan Stuart Leibowitz.” He paused then poured, drink fizzing. “Several members of the forum worship them...it would be suspicious if they were not let in to the ball. I can’t imagine the scene if I had turned them away...”
“She’s clever, your friend.” He continued, offering the glass. “Oh, yes...but she made one mistake...”
“Jon and Stephen were sent to murder me.” Dante took it.
“She gave them an amalgam description of both of us. As I said, she was uncertain which of us was the actual descendant. So she told them to look for a marking on the neck and that the ‘traitor’s brethren’ would be called the Guest.”
Dante gulped the liquid, wiped his mouth, and said. “You are lying. Antenora would never do this.”
“I am not. This is why we must rid ourselves of the forum. I am not sure who she informed but as long as there is someone who knows, there will be someone hoping to kill us...”
“No, no, no...” Dante downed the rest.
“Yes.” Tragedy touched the side of his face. “Go. Drop the gas. You ordered enormous amount...we’ll lock them in and keep dropping until they asphyxiate. I was concerned when you misheard my order but no matter...”
“Tragedy, I can’t.”
“Antenora is in the ballroom right now. I got a call from a person saying he had stashed her there. Go.”
“No-”
“It is you or her. I suggest her. She’s the real traitor...not like your ancestor. Poor Judas. Everyone knows it was just a conspiracy.”
“She’s not a traitor.”
“Oh, all right. I thought I wouldn’t convince you...” Tragedy sipped. Dante felt his eyelids droop.
“So you’re going to take a nap, while I handle this myself.”
- - - - - - -
The hallway remained poorly lit as Linda and Akbar led the newsmen down it, to the very room Linda had listened to them earlier. Akbar walked to the center, then faced Jon and Stephen, forgetting to shut the door in his haste.
“You’re in danger here. You need to leave.” He said.
Stephen looked at Jon and shook his head, lips curling in a false smile. “What are you talking about?”
“Someone found out about your aim to murder Tragedy.” Linda shivered, as though the mention of it frightened her.
“Who?” Jon asked.
“Cinderella.” She said and was met with blank stares. “The Guest.”
“Oh, him.” Stephen held his hands up. “But, you must understand. Your Guest is the cause of all religious turmoil for the past two millennia.”
A voice floated into the room, one shrill noise. “What?”
The four stopped, mid-breath. Linda began to tremble. Akbar took her hand.
“Who said that?” Stephen demanded.
“They did.” Sora said from the doorway, pointing to J and Shruti.
- - - - - -