Leap of Faith

Chapter 1

If revenge was sweet, then no medicine as bitter as forgiveness could cross the earth.

And betrayal sat on the upmost shelf.

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It was a warm summer evening in 1968 when Edward J. Miller, a tall man with chronic bad breath, took the fated final step that sent him flying into the dark, misty waters beneath the Golden Gate Bridge.

15 years later, Death took him by his pinstriped suspenders and flung him right back into the world that he had risked so much to escape. 

This story, however, is not about him, but of a man who received a poster of Edward J. Miller for his 5th birthday and let it hang on his bedroom wall for sixteen years, passing it by with a prayer ghosting over his lips with every coming night, right hand lifting to caress fingers with warm breath.

Angelo D. Torrov.

Angelo D. Torrov.

"Angelo D. Torrov," the voice was shockingly loud, characteristically nasal.  

Looking up from the pile of complaints left by the various anti-protestant protestants that littered his office like a pack of pesky ants every morning, he allowed himself to lean back as the man before him, unusually tall and cursed with a permanent case of heavy bags under his boring brown eyes, drawled out. 

"Jordan told me that he wants you in his office." Leaving Angelo with a heavy sigh brewing in his chest.

The man, Beckenford, was a boring figure that stood for absolutely nothing. It was well known around the office that, had they a boss with even a hint of humor, or some self-respect, a common vote for the greatest loser in the office would go to Beckenford B. Barnes, the only man on earth who would wear a tie to his son's birth. 

Great. Meetings with Jordan were often uncomfortable, tension unfurling between the two men like a deep, blue ocean of foreshadowing. The man had an eye for trouble and he seemed to see something in Angelo that nobody else seemed to see. 

Unfortunately, it was mandatory that Angelo continued working for him, as their line of work was low on employees and the next batch was only set to come out in a few months, not short enough of a time to make it without even a few workers, Angelo included.

Unless...

Taking one last look at the paper beneath him, "Dear Torrov, I have heard of your work beneath the ground and, quite frankly...," he crumpled it up and allowed it to fall onto the floor beneath him. It was most certainly not something that he would be able to crumple up so easily and toss away, however, with the unfolding events before him.

Stepping out of his office, he allowed himself the liberty of keeping an open door. Just as well, he needed a few doors open in his life at the time.

He had a strange feeling that he might not be coming back.