INTERFERENCE (A Short Novel)

VIII. The Code

VIII. The Code

            Jeremy’s eyes widened. “Aliens?!”

            Clifford scoffed. “No shit like that. I don’t believe in aliens. Who knows? We might be communicating with a satellite computer. Or a nearby spaceprobe. It’s also possible that a spacelab somewhere’s trying to mess with us. Whatever the source is, it’s outside our atmosphere,” he explained.

            Clifford swivelled his chair. “There’s one more twist.”

            “Just when I thought that it couldn’t get any weirder,” Jeremy said, shaking his head.

            “The number, Jer. It’s some sort of a code. Here, take a look.” Clifford faced his computer and then typed a series of numbers and letters on the computer’s notepad. “If you’d look at the last five digits after the hyphen, it’s non-sense. But the first eight digits here, 85122514, if you change it to its alphabetical equivalent, you’ll get…”

            “HEAVEN,” Jeremy said, reading one of the words on the screen. The believer inside Jeremy made him giddy with excitement. The skeptic in him made him think.

            “This can’t be right…” he mumbled.

            “The kid on the phone repeatedly said ‘This is heaven,’” Clifford reminded his skinny friend.

            “But the numbers don’t have spaces between them. It could be 8-5-1-2-2-5-1-4…”

            “I mentally tried all of it already. That would be HEABBED. If you change the number pairing, it could be HELBED. Other combinations will spell HELYN, HEAVEAD, HEBYN… look, Jer. HEAVEN is a standout. And it can’t be a coincidence., that’s why I noticed it in the first place. 8-5-1-22-5-14. Heaven. Asterisk, heaven, hyphen, 03012.”

            Jeremy fell silent for a minute.

            “That… that is impossible,” he finally blurted out. “What? So we’re actually talking to an angel? Is that even possible, Cliff?”

            Jeremy made a call to the number. The ringback plays.

            “Once you get past the idea that you’re talking to an angel, the lyrics of that song actually makes sense,” Clifford said.

            “What do you mean? Another code?”

            “It’s some sort of a praise song. Listen.”

            Jeremy pressed the CALL button on the phone’s screen.

 “From the Silver City, the Son shall rise,

The heavenly chorus will shout in jouyous cries.”

 

            “I think it’s referring to the Second coming of Jesus Christ,” Cliff whispered.

“…the children of Adam will be taken by surprise,

Everything shall be fine when he brings down the paradise.”

 

            “This one’s about the end of the world,” Cliff continued.

 

                                                                        “To the promised land,

To the home of the banished ones.”

 

            “America?” Jeremy mouthed at Clifford.

            Clifford shook his head. “Earth. Humans are the banished ones.”

 

“At the end of all time.”

 

            “The end of mankind,” Cliff declared.

            “So… they’re all real? I mean, God, heaven, angels?” Jeremy asked, trying to make sense to what is happening. “So we’re actually in contact with a cellphone wielding angel from heaven? Do you buy this shit, Cliff?”

            “I don’t know, man. I was never a believer of that sort of stuff. I’m more of a scientific person, but this is something, man. This could be the ‘real deal’. And I do accept that some things are way beyond our scientific way of understanding.” Clifford shrugged. “There might be a God after all.”

            Jeremy pressed the CALL button.

            “You didn’t answer my question, Cliff,” the insurance man said. “Do you actually believe that we’re breaking the barrier between heaven and Earth?”

            Clifford chortled. “We don’t always have to choose between a ‘Yes’ and a ‘No’. There’s always a third option.”

            Unconvinced, Jeremy asked. “What’s your third option, then?”

            “The ‘Maybe’, Mr. Jeremy Sanders. I stick to my beliefs while at the same time, I’m opening myself to new perspectives. We can always stay in between sides.”

            “I’ve read somewhere that the lowest parts of hell are for those who chose to remain neutral in a crisis,” Jeremy quipped.

            “Heh. What are you trying to say? If hell is real, then I’m fucked, is that it?” Cliff challenged.

            “I dunno, Cliff. I dunno. All of these… they’re new to me. I hope she calls again.”

           

            Jeremy called the number for five more times. Clifford popped a Doublemint in his mouth as he searched the internet for articles about heaven, angels, and such. The clock inside the backroom ticked to 10:13 but none of them seemed to care.

           

The phone rang.