Daimones - Book 1 of the Daimones Trilogy. Booktrope Publishing Edition

The News

The Old World

I left the site for the first time in years without any of those technology gadgets that made sure 'leaving' became a word devoid of its original meaning. We had to be always in touch with the organization and reachable 24/7. I went through the last moments in an aseptic mental state; the germs of anger, frustration, revenge, and disdain had yet to get hold of my emotions. All considered, was it not for the best? Weren't anger, frustration and disdain exactly the feelings I'd fought daily for months?

I was used to waking up almost every night—or should I say morning—around 4 a.m., my brain boiling with mixed up thoughts of work, one after the other. I revisited all details, all discussions, all options over and over again. Worn out and stressed, I might have ended up with a bleeding ulcer before much longer. Now, the cause of all that had disappeared from my immediate future.

With these thoughts still lingering, I searched for an area to safely pull over the car and call my wife. She needed to know; no reason to wait to announce that later today. I repeated to myself that I had nothing for which to be blamed. I had accomplished my tasks and carried out my duties with diligence and professionalism. I didn't need to hide anything. Unfortunately, in today's business environment, that didn't enhance your job security.

I signaled a left turn, and entered the parking lot of the nearby golf course. It was one of the most exclusive and expensive clubs in the region, but I never played on its old, majestic course. 'Private. Members Only' the sign read. I had been for business lunches a few times at their restaurant. Once, I thought I had a chance of getting close enough to one of the members to be invited to play a round. Now those chances rapidly spiraled down to zero.

Stopping the car, I listened to the radio still providing local items of interest, soon to be replaced by national news. World News Geneva, the only English-speaking channel in town, broadcast hourly bulletins directly from London. The program listed the crude violence of recent days.

In Libya, word came of an alleged systematic purge of pro-Gaddafi loyalists as entire villages emptied and all inhabitants disappeared. Street fights increasing in Athens between civilians and police and army forces; the government announced tougher measures. Italy, on the brink of economic collapse, became the stage for rough protests with anarchist connotations.

In Syria, the city of Homs was still under bombardment from the loyalist forces committing atrocities against their own people. President Assad denying the allegations; world news and the Arab League supporting them. The Arab Spring seemed on the verge of turning into a rather Hot Summer of violence and death. In the U.S., the run for the Presidency inflamed hearts and captured all comments and attention. After a moment of hesitation, I pulled out the iPhone from my jacket and dialed home.

"Hello?"

"Mary, it's me..." I hesitated, unsure how to continue.

"Hi, love. I'm about to leave for school. What's going on?"

I decided to be blunt. "I've been fired. They will pay me three months' salary but they don't want me in the game anymore."

Silence. I expected a reaction, a gasping sound, a 'gosh', anything. Not total silence.

"Are you there?"

"Yes. Catching my breath. What are you going to do? What are we going to do?"

Heard that question before, hadn't I? "I'm coming home. Will I find you?"

"No, I'm going to school for my lesson. I'll come home when I finish."