INTERFERENCE (A Short Novel)

XIII. The Choice

XIII. The Choice

          Clifford pressed the ENTER button, officially publishing his new blog entry on a domain that he had hacked years ago for a free lifetime access. His blog, entitled THE FAULT IN OUR FARCE, surprisingly gained a great amount of audience (and a greater amount of hecklers) after he posted his ‘How Fucked Is The Human Race?’ thread a year ago – one month after the death of his friend, Jeremy Sanders. His blog discussed topics involving the ‘End of times’, Heaven and Hell, God, Angels, and a heap-load of well-researched theories, Clifford’s of course. Some of those who have read his entries have labelled him an ‘internet nut’; others think of him as a mere ‘internet troll’. A group of UFOlogists call him the ‘New Messiah’; worse, he realized that they weren’t being sarcastic.

Clifford didn’t care. He has stated his views and everything that he knew, minus the part of Jeremy’s encounter with an angel named Alizé.

Sitting on top of his computer’s desk is a black phone with a broken screen. Gently, he rubbed its surface with his forefinger as he remembered his late friend.

Clifford stretched his arms and then, with his left hand, scratched his sideburn. It’s time to work.

He opened a window in his monitor. He entered his code in the pop-up screen, giving him access to the control panel of a satellite transmitter at a nearby research facility located seventeen miles away from the Cliffhanger. He then overrode the pre-existing commands with that of his own, causing the massive satellite dish atop of the research facility’s roof to sway its tip to an upright position. Clifford entered a fourteen-digit sequence with an asterisk at the beginning – a number series that he knew by heart.

*855122514-03012

Clifford entered a message on the screen. He then pressed ENTER.

When the transmission ended, he immediately logged out to avoid being detected by the facility’s computers and staff.

He was about to resume playing his favorite online game when his cellphone rang.

Clifford’s eyes went wide after seeing the number on his screen. With shaking hands, he picked up the phone.

“Uhm… Alizé?” he mumbled.

“Hey, Cliff. It’s me.”

“Woah. Wait a sec: you’re not Alizé.  So… there are gay angels?” Clifford asked.

“What?! I still sound like a gay-guy to you?” the voice on the other line exclaimed defensively.

“That voice… that… fuck. I can’t be mistaken. Jesus…”

“I’m not Jesus, but I’ve seen Him already,” the voice said with a chuckle. “C’mon, Cliff. You know who I am.”

“Jeremy?”

“Who else, man? I still can’t believe that I sounded gay on the phone.”

“Dude. Where the hell are you?” Clifford asked.

“You mean ‘where the heaven am I?’ I’m in heaven.”

“No shit? I thought only the good guys go to heaven.”

“Well, no one actually goes to heaven, not until the ‘End of times’.”

“Ah. Yes. I forgot that that’s supposed to work that way. But hey. Why are you in there? Where’s Alizé?”

“She lent me her phone and then ran off to goof around. You should see these angels at play. They look… graceful. Amazing.”

“You haven’t answered my ‘other’ question, mister Sanders.”