The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 11: Rebirth (Parts 1 & 2 of 9)

Horus scratched his way through the New York Times' Sunday Crossword. The reading glasses weighed heavy on his nose. He hadn't worn glasses in years. It was funny the habits the body forgot. His back kept falling into a hunch over the page no matter how many times he straightened up. In the old day, he always leaned back against the chair while he worked on a puzzle. So many things to relearn. Some easy, some difficult.

He bit into a slice of bacon to find it cold and the grease congealed. A week ago he would have found it an unimaginable delicacy, but already he was getting used to fresh, warm food. It didn't stop him from finishing it off, but he had to wash it down with a sip of orange juice.

The door opened and Wiley came in. He had been stopping by regularly enough that the entrance didn't warrant a greeting.

Maxwell poured himself a coffee from the carafe on the table and settled down across from Horus.

"How's it coming?" he asked gesturing at the newspaper.

It was a roundabout attempt to start a conversation. Maxwell could clearly see that it was less than half solved. Horus could get the easy questions and the throwaways. There were the words like alee and oleo that popped up in almost every puzzle because the designers fell back on these vowel heavy crutches. But the meatier questions, the ones with double meanings and the ones looking for people's names or geographic places, eluded him. And he hadn't even begun to decipher the general theme yet.

"Slow," Horus said. "The old brain doesn't work the way it used to."

"I know what you mean." Wiley smiled. "To be young again."

"Age isn't the problem." He didn't really want to say what the problem was. Living in this luxury hotel room, it was easy and comforting to lock the problem away, keep the memories out of mind, where they did nothing but fester. "I guess I'm just out of practice."

The lying bastard nodded like of course that's all it was. Horus slid the paper away and dropped the pencil. It rolled along the table until it came to a rest against the vase of tropical blooms. The colorful flowers reminded him of his peaceful days in Hawaii. Was that why they had been placed there? To remind him of who he once was? Perhaps believing it was a way to keep him calm?

Horus asked, "Is it actually Sunday?"

"What other day would it be?" Wiley said.

"Don't play that game with me. I know that one only too well." He had practically built his career on turning patient's questions back at them to probe. "Answer the damn question."

"The temper is still short. But that's not something I mind. It just shows you still have fight in you, which is good considering the battle ahead. But in reply to your query, it is Sunday and that's today's paper. I have no reason to conceal anything from you."

"Sorry. Stuck in this room, under your care, I'm starting to feel like that girl." He couldn't bring himself to say her name. Fate had seen him go from warden to prisoner, and although her jail was a paradise compared to what his had been, the flattening he received from the karmic hammer was still raw and the guilt at how he watched over her impassively, boundless.

The role of prisoner was now ingrained in him. Even here, in this pleasant suite of rooms, he felt jailed. "When can I get out of here?"

"Soon." Maxwell must have seen in Horus's expression the irritation with the vagueness. "Look, I can't give you a better answer right now. Things are explosive at the moment. The Agency is still trying to assess the threat that Kyle Silver poses to both you and the country."

Yes, the Domestic Threat Assessment Agency, Horus thought. What the hell else would they be doing?

"Are you worried about them? Is that the reason you haven't been sleeping?" Horus asked.