The Gospel of the Font

Chapter 11

It took roughly ten minutes to tell Tim about everything that had happened in my dream. It has now taken two hours of retelling him to try to help him understand it. He's still asking the same questions over and over. I understand that this is some heavy shit but, damn; give it a rest.

I do hit a small bit of luck in that my apartment building isn't badly damaged. The carpet of the units on the bottom floor will likely need to be ripped out, but my space is on the third floor, well out of reach of the floodwaters on this side of town.

The helicopter dropped us off on dry land and, after a check-up at a waiting ambulance to make sure we were healthy and shit, it was only a few blocks walk to my building. It was nice to be walking on dry land and in warm sunshine except for the damage and destruction all around us and Tim repeating the same questions constantly.

"So, you're sure this wasn't just a dream?" he asks while we climb the metal stairs on the outside of the building. The sunbaked steel is like walking on frying pans when you don't have shoes on, but our feet were already scorched from the roof of the dormitory.

"Yes, Tim, I'm absolutely sure it wasn't just a dream." This is probably the ninth or tenth time I've responded to that question. I reach the door to my apartment and raise my hands high above my head. My fingers search the lip of the door frame, causing a rain of dust to fall on my head.

Ah, success! My hidden key is still here. My keys are still in the pocket of the pants I took off at the dorm which are probably floating out to sea by this point, that and my cell phone I must bid farewell to, along with all the shit in my purse that was left in Tim's mangled car.

I pull the small, silver key from its hiding place and wipe the dust off. I stick it into the gold doorknob and give it a turn. I hear the click of the lock retracting and the knob moves freely. A quick turn and a push and I'm back in my own space again.

The apartment is a mess, but it's a mess I've never been happier to see. There's a green blanket tossed over my chocolate brown couch with an empty Pizza Hut box sitting open on the coffee table. The kitchen sink has a pile of dishes in it with a few more sitting on the counters to the left and right. There's a pile of DVDs next to a pile of empty DVD boxes where I need to put them back on my shelf. There are also a few empty Pepsi cans on said shelf since there aren't many DVD boxes there.

"Home sweet mess," I say as I walk in. The feeling of old carpet against my bare feet is much better than scorching metal and asphalt. I take two steps forward and fall face-first onto the couch. Every muscle in my body relaxes as I sink into the soft cushions that are in desperate need of some Febreeze.

I turn my head to the side just as Tim walks across my field of view. He reaches down onto the recliner and picks up a pair of my panties with the very tips of his thumb and index finger. Extending them as far from his body as possible, he lets them fall to the floor before sitting down. I laugh at him. He's always had a problem with how messy I am. His apartment looks like it was cleaned by hotel maids.

"And you said that this woman was Lucifer?"

"Yes," I groan. I'm getting sick of the broken record.

"Like... the Lucifer?"

"Yes!" I shout as I flip over onto my back. "How many times do I have to answer the same questions for you?!"

"Well, it's kind of really weird, hon!" he shouts, more out of exhaustion than anger. "Three days ago, you didn't believe in God and now you're telling me that you're the actual Antichrist and..."

"The Font," I say in the middle of his sentence.

"The what?" he asks.

I pop up to a sitting position and lean my elbows against my thighs. My hands fold together while I stare into Tim's worried face. I wish I could just show him what I saw, help him to feel what I feel. I want him to understand how big this is, how important.