No1 - The Psycho Surrealist

Chapter 17 - In Oculo Dei

March 31st, 2011

You know, Doq, you don't have to go through with this.

Doq unzipped his brown leather bomber coat and approached the immense threshold of St. Vincent de Paul Cathedral.

There's no other way, though.

His feet stayed firm on the marble stairs. No beating feet.

Even if he shivered and sweated with incredible fear, backing down was not an option.

Frozen where he was, Doq stared through the threshold to a darkened nave empty of its congregation. Two men with beards on either side of the door, surrounded by Corinthian columns. Wise men, Doq supposed, unlike him.

As he stood, an elderly man in a black frock approached the door, charging toward Doq with a mission to convert him. A reverend with a large heart, Doq was familiar with the balding Herschel Armstrong, originally from London. If there was one thing Reverend Armstrong was, it was forgiving. He welcomed his godson with open arms. "It is good to see you, my son."

The moment flesh contacted flesh in a human gesture that emulated friendship, Armstrong's icy blue eyes enlightened with joy. Armstrong was particularly close with Doq; he was Doq's godfather. To know that his godson was actually committing himself, after six long years, to hear the Lord's word again, God's word, even slightly, was, probably to Armstrong, a tremendous step forward in restoring God's faith. (Some parable about lost sheep finding their way home was likely filtering through Armstrong's mind, but Doq wouldn't bother to dwell on it.) Of course, there would be a long road ahead for Doq to travel before his faith would no longer be challenged in the eyes of God.

"You know there is never a time in life when God doesn't want his children back," Reverend Armstrong had told him another lifetime ago.

"Return to what," Doq stubbornly replied to his godfather. "A life that is long dead to me? A life that was in large part someone else's life."

He said those words three days after Rena's funeral. He hadn't attended church since.

"You speak as though you've forgotten who you truly are, a man without a future," the internal Armstrong remarked as the reverend's hand wrapped firmly around Doq's. Armstrong's smile didn't dim. "You're here because of Sandra Janesko, aren't you?"

"Yes," Doq affirmed. "How'd you guess?"

"He came to me in a dream. My Lord...Our Lord warned me you're in danger."

Armstrong paused, his icy blue eyes shifting towards the form approaching Doq from behind. Doq had not come alone; Sergeant Takerian insisted on joining.

Armstrong's smile faded as the sergeant trudged up the steps, hat in his hands.

Armstrong let go of Doq's shoulders, turned, and walked into the shadows beyond.

#

The three of them gathered in Armstrong's office, Takerian having taken a seat. Doq remained standing, pacing about the small room. A magnificent stained-glass window of the Last Judgment framed the desk where Armstrong had sat. The reverend was brewing a pot of Earl Gray from a small burner on a table. He served both men, providing Takerian with copious amounts of honey. Making the two men as comfortable as he could, Armstrong took his own tea and sat before the Last Judgment, its hidden symbolism quite obvious to Doq.

Inside that room, the air had cooled to an unseasonable cold as the late afternoon sun poured radiant light through the stained glass window. Thick cement walls, mahogany wood panels, and a nearby apartment complex blocked most of the afternoon noises, creating a bubble of silence in that room. Only a slight, heavenly hum filtered through the silence like a low-tuned celestial radio. A light, high-pitched, harmonious hum.