Conversations with the Light Bearer (Religious Satire)

CHAPTER XVI - Unexpected Visitors

CHAPTER XVI

UNEXPECTED VISITORS

It was three in the early morning when we returned, and Ritcher, my ever so well-mannered colleague, was still snoring like a pig on the couch. He had left the TV on, and it showed nothing but a vertical array of assorted colors slatted on the droning screen. Clearly it was a tad annoying, sending a steady, unrelenting pitch across the room.

Somehow it made me anxious.

Dani pulled on my sleeve. "I'm going down to the store."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Too late. Go down tomorrow."

"Look, there's a convenience store on the first floor. It's not like I'm going anywhere else."

I took a seat on the couch. "It's not you I'm worried about. It's—"

Her gaze pierced through me. "I know, I know. I just need . . . I just need some time to think, okay?"

I began surfing the channels. "Then think in the bedroom."

Little Jesus stood her ground. "Look, Vincent. I've been doing fine by myself long before you came, okay? I can pretty much handle myself, okay? Okay?!"

They grow up so fast. "Fine. Five minutes."

Dani shot straight to the door with a bang. Children, like women, can be so complicated. Looking to pass the time, I continued to search for an available show, hoping to catch an MTV, or if lucky, a late night Asian soft porn. Sadly, it was neither, for I was greeted by a late night commercial convincing people to dial a phone number to purchase an overpriced cooking stove, some odd-looking vacuum cleaner, and even a machine with the promising assurance of reducing one's belly fat. Honestly, the idea itself amused me, for I realized if one were to be exposed to a particular mistruth for a certain amount of prolonged duration, with the given facts of credibility, of course, then one would come to the inevitable conclusion that that particular mistruth must somehow be, regardless of doubt—the truth.

This is how easy it is to swindle people. This is good sales talk. This is business. Just like with political dogma and the tyranny of those in power to shove it down our throats.

In a while, Ritcher stretched, yawned, and sat up again, casting a beastly shadow behind him that stretched the room. "Did I miss anything?"

"Oh, nothing much," I said, staring at the lady endorser who had the vacuum tube close to her face. For some reason, despite promoting such a device, she was wearing a two-piece swimsuit. Sales talk, I kept saying to myself. Sales talk.

"I see. How about the girl?" Ritcher continued. "Where is she?"

I didn't answer.

"Where is she anyway?"

I yawned, long and satisfying. "At the store below."

"Okay... I'm just worried, you know." He sighed. "This mess you're getting into."

I mustered a smirk. "Worry not, my friend. I have my matters at hand. I have everything under control."

In a while though, I noticed something rather odd. Ritcher was a bit tense, evident by his constant finger tapping and restless eye movement, though strangely enough, it wasn't even the first thing I noticed. What stroke me as peculiar, and this has never happened before, was when he took the bottle of Heineken, and drank from it. It wouldn't have bothered me in any normal day, but the thing was, Ritcher picked up the bottle with his right hand.