“Do you know why we’re talking today?” Dr. Clarke Sevier asked over round, rimmed glasses that frequently slid down her nose. A shrug. The criminal forensic psychiatrist folded her thin arms and nodded. Speaking with deliberate caution, she allowed herself a short time to settle in with a subject before attempting to access parts of the mind that could be volatile. The patient in the chair opposite sat calm and relaxed. But she knew appearances could be devastatingly deceptive. Sevier held the silence. She had not expected much out of this first meeting but an opening foray. A chance to assess the immediate behavior of the patient. She noted the way the patient stared at her face. Blinking her green eyes, she looked down at her notepad. The notepad served a few purposes. It provided a written record of impressions not picked up by the camera on the wall, it allowed for short pauses to better steer the conversation and it was a place she could turn to if the patient needed a break. “Why don’t you tell me why we’re here?” Sevier asked. The patient’s features conveyed a supple youthness in the smooth lineless face and quizzical eyes. A small fan hummed in the corner and she glanced at it. “Are you cold?” Without looking up, the patient shrugged again. “We’re here because of what happened. Do you remember what happened?” “I remember all of it.” The patient said while looking over Sevier’s head and outside at the city. “Good. We can start there.” There was something almost soothing in the patient’s casual tone and only a detailed record of the violence enacted put down Sevier’s immediate relaxation. It was partly due to the bloody photographs New Los Angeles police had sent as part of the case file. The crimes had been horrific. As if the very act of killing had been some holy hobby. She smiled and clasped her hands in front of her. When the patient did not respond, Sevier asked: “How were you feeling before all this happened?” Was there certain stresses as you acclimated here?” She had participated in many interviews with refugees and immigrants from other countries but this was something entirely different. The Descendents hadn’t fled some war torn country or come here to seek a better life. They had ‘woke up’ here. Gods without grace. Very little was known about exactly how many reside within the city limits or perhaps more importantly, why they vacated the Heavens. The trouble was they appear as human as anybody else. The only way to tell is by small residual miracles or moments of bewildered ecstasy when they’re around. For the most part they stayed in hiding. “I felt fine before it all happened. I felt fine as it was happening too.” Was this a testing moment?To see how she’d react. “So you’re current symptoms did not occur prior to the episode.” “No they did not.” “I was under the impression that you came from outside the city.” Sevier said. The patient scowled. “You mean originally? Yes, in that case I’m not originally from ‘here’.” “And the symptoms did not occur immediately but progressed after?” The patient reflected on Sevier’s query. “Yes, that’s right.” Looking at the deity in front of her, Sevier felt chills rise on her arms. She had established a line of communication. The Descendent would answer her questions. But there was something eerie indeed frightening about getting into the mind of one of these beings. What if she was given some prescient knowledge of her own death or that of mankind? As far as she knew, this was an unprecedented event. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes. The patient stared into ther eyes. “The symptoms began shortly after I arrived. There were periods where I would feel normal and there were moments when I didn’t. And that’s when I- when the events occurred.” Sevier hesitated. “Do you still experience the symptoms now? After the fact?” The patient shivered. “Yes, sometimes.” Sevier glanced down at her notebook. The light from outside her window making a streak across the paper. She could sense that the patient was watching her but felt at ease enough to pause throughout the session. This was all new information. Her initial reactions needed to be preserved. In the notebook, she wrote: Patient is lucid. Willing to talk. No sign of impairment. Remarkable. “So your illness came on shortly before the Basement attack?” The patient nodded. “About then, yes.” Sevier felt queasy. She had read the entire police report and knew the Basement murder had been the third homicide in a string of at least six. Why lie now? She put down the pen and smiled. “I think we can stop there today.”

Hank’s face reddened when he realized he’d been unabashedly gawking at Sadie and Freya as the float passed him by. Pulling himself out of what seemed like a dream, he jumped onto the float and was met with a delighted Sadie. He’d never caught her joyous and felt ashamed. He knew that it wasn’t his fault that she’d been attacked but his ruse at the morgue had been a low blow. He wanted to offer something, anything as a peace offering but could only shake his head stupidly. Sadie smiled warmly. “It’s OK. I forgive you Hank.” Hank nodded. “Very carnivalesque Sadie.”

“I’m feeling very festive, yes.”

“You look better.”

“Gettin. Surprised to find you here. Or maybe not. Must be strange given your...hobby.”

Hank recoiled as if she’d struck him. For a moment, he wondered if she referred to his taking sometimes lewd pictures for clients.

“Yeah, well I don’t miss a Carnivale. Did you know that aside from the encouraging unacceptable behavior, Carnivale was meant to bring unlikely people together?”

Sadie sized him up.

“What are you getting at?”

“Oh not that.” He replied. “Just that good and bad, heaven and hell, and perhaps mortal and immortal. Seems it worked.” He nodded towards Freya. Freya noticed that their eyes were on her and stopped dancing.

“She’s with me.” Sadie murmured.

“Of course she is.” Hank replied. “So I thought you should know...we caught one.”

Sadie looked away. “The young woman?”

“We think so. She matched the description that you and Eli provided. But no rain slick.”

Sadie’s eyes drifted up towards the cloudless sky. “How do you know it’s her? Did she say anything?”

“Not much. Just sits there and stares in front of her.”

“Then how do you know?” She exclaimed with a trace of urgency.

“Because she asked for you. She said to bring her the carcass.”

Sadie flinched. Her mind flashing back to that night. She could still hear the puppy whimpering and that horrible whisper.

“Wh-what?”

“She says she wants to see you.”

“What about Eli? Did she ask for him too?”

Hank shook his head. “Not as of yet. But then again, ****no spoilers******

The jab had its desired effect. Sadie shrunk and started rubbing her hands. Hank continued. “ I think it might be a good idea. It won’t take long. Just go in there and we’ll be watching the whole time. She can’t hurt you. She’ll be shackled.”

“Sure asshole. Have you forgotten there’s one more? And what do I do when I get home and little sis is waiting for me?”

“I will personally ensure your safety. I don’t sleep these days. I can watch over your apartment myself.”

“I’m not reassured.”

“Nope.” Freya chimed in.

“It’s important Sadie.”

She took out her phone. As she texted Eli’s number, she wondered how she was going to explain this when they got face to face.   

Dionysus gave only slight regard to the murmurings around him. City Hall was a small building, its hallways cramped. Outside, a small conclave of curious passersby stood in silent vigil, all wondering if or when a mysterious Descendant would come to register. There had been a myriad of hoaxes. Today’s venture had included at least one that Dionysus had witnessed. A man claiming to be Zeus was indelicately expelled when his fingerprints proved him to be not only human born but wanted in several states for fraud. No doubt any fingerprints at all would yield a similar result. Dionysus knew that Descended did not, in fact, have fingerprints. Their fingers were smooth and bare. Silenus assumed it was a peculiar byproduct of having Descended. Dionysus had to agree.

“Just look at the hands.” Silenus explained. “They’ll be smooth as porcelain and featureless.” Featureless. Dionysus wished he could be so inconspicuous. Putting aside his misgivings, he approached a government officer.

“I’ve come to register.” Dionysus said.

“Oh really? Which one are you?” The officer replied without looking up from his desk.

I see. They’re in disbelief. Has nobody came?

Dionysus stooped and laid his bare palms in front of the man’s nose. Beneath the desk, Dionysus heard the man’s knee strike wood as he jumped to his feet. “Come with me.” He said in a mixture of fear and awe.

In another room, a vintage camera took a series of pictures. Dionysus smelled the jarring odors of disinfectants and bleach. The smell put his mind on sterilization which led it inevitably to Sadie.

She doesn’t stand a chance if one us is hunting her.  

Dionysus was led to another room and then another. He had his suspicions about the registry. He knew the process wasn’t for his benefit. But he also knew his memories and insights were of value. But to whom? What possible discernment could I provide in this place? That would be the jurisdiction of Apollo or Dike.

As he stepped into the foyer, onlookers filled the room. Word had gotten out that a Descendant had came. Dionysus missed his footing and grabbed onto the security officer for support. The man’s shoulders tightened and he instinctively pulled away. Dionysus quietly scanned the room. He did not know whether he was terrified or relieved that he didn’t recognize any of their faces.

“Will you be needing a ride home?” The officer asked.

“Yes as soon as possible.” Dionysus said.

The man nodded and walked back the way they’d came. “Wait here.” Dionysus turned and faced the wall. Voices called out for him to say something., cameras began clicking. He put his hood up and peered at a corner television displaying ‘breaking news’ at New Los Angeles City Hall. Dionysus shuddered and retreated further into the corner. A voice echoed from his side. “Perhaps it’s best if you didn’t cajole your heritage.” The speaker, moved deftly facing him. “I promised nothing.” Dionysus shot back.

“Conceded then.” The man responded. Dionysus looked up into dark, flaring eyes. Of African descent, the man wore a bulbous hat over short cropped hair. A thin frame, his arms seemed too long for his body making the suit he wore appear ill fitted. He leaned close to Dionysus’ ear: “You shouldn’t have come here.”

Dionysus studied the stranger. “You’re one of us. You’re an Other.”

“I am only Seth.” The man said.

“Ah, yes. I know that name. You’re far from home Egyptian.” Dionysus stared at the man. There was no way to be sure without checking his hands. Seth smiled and put his hands in his pockets.

“You error in speaking to me Greek. You must never recognize another of us. Do you offer fealty?”

“Fealty?”

“If the Greek man has usurped the god that it  once was, you may offer allegiance to Egypt and she’ll have you.”

“You have not told me why you’re here.”

“Asylum then? We can hide you from Apollonian dissent or his twin.”

“I think not.”

“Ah right, you have chosen asylum with them.” He nodded toward the crowd that stood fidgeting a few feet away separated by a small barrier.

Seth pursed his lips and took off his bulbous hat.

“You speak to me like a Man when our kind should be in shadows…”

Dionysus brushed his hair back from his face. “Yet you’re here. Registering. If we should be invisible to them, why are you here Seth?”

“Ahhhhhh that.” Seth sneered. “I gave my word to an...associate.”

Dionysus felt a twinge in his temple. Descendant logic was a peculiar thing. Motives were at play. But which ones? Part of him wanted to know whom the mysterious associate was. The other part didn’t care and simply wanted to strike at the Egyptian.

“You’ve put a target on your back. They’ll never see you. And you’ll never be free of them. How do you like your new migrant status?”

“As opposed to what? A status of senility in your shadows?

“It was us! The gods that inspired them. We gave them fire. We gave them passion!”

“We gave them a reason to kill one another.”

“We gave them the stars and to the stars they went. They looked up and saw us in Nut’s design. In her, they imagined constellations of ideas! And now, the fire is nowhere to be found. No original ideas. Without us, they are impotent. And yet they stay terrified not of us but of what they could become.

“Lost?”

“Irrelevant.”

In this moment, Dionysus envied humanity. Perhaps it was better never having known grace. “Ignorance and bliss.”

“Ah yes. Bliss. The ecstasy of stupidity.”

“No, of salvation.”

“Salvation? What are they being saved from? Evil? Sin?”

“Of suffering. We are their redemption from suffering.”

“No, we are cursed mortals. Nothing else. We are cautionary tales.”

“You speak of hubris. Of pride. Was it not pride that inspired your fratricide? You speak of cautionary tales. Were we not more accurately stories of existence? They learned from our mistakes. They learned from our successes. Our joys and sorrows. Maybe they are learning still.”

“Our lost children.” Seth sneered. “You do know that our children want to devour their creators. You’ve put a target on your back. Your asylum here will end in defeat.”

“I’m just acceding to their wishes. I’m making a go of it. You’re here to see who slithers out of the woodwork.”

Seth shuddered deeply. He swiveled his body and leered out the window. It was an imposing view. One in which he could see the layout of the building. Anybody who entered or exited would be in his line of sight.

“As if anybody will come.”

“It’s a spectacle now. The press is here. But they’ll get bored as time goes on. And they’ll leave. Then ours will come. Pious has offered alms.”

Seth laughed. “Soon there’ll be thousands of us lined up around the block. The Descended will fill the city! I don’t have to tell you what Eleos means in your Greek. Your ‘alms.’”

“Pity.”

“Yes, pity. You see Dionysus, we are the pitiful. But they’ll feed us for life.”

“Our existence no longer depends on them.”

“I wasn’t talking about us.”

Dionysus stared outside at the picket signs and absorbed Seth’s remark. An unspoken appeal to faith? He knew that Seth was dangerous. Maybe the most dangerous of all but couldn’t permit himself the thought that he’d killed the Christian god. Dionysus had read the many stories of the Egyptian god of disorder and storms. Violence was certainly in his disposition. The use of guns seemed an aberration though. He’d use knives. Again his mind was brought to Sadie. The attackers had been knife wielders. He sensed Seth gazing at him and turned his head away. The effort contorted his usually mild mannerisms making it seem like he’d been struck. His eyes fell on Seth’s face and the god was expressionless. His face blank as a fearsome mask. Dionysus tried to think. Before he could find the words, Seth leaned in close and whispered: “Yes, my handmaidens nearly got her.”

“Who?” Dionysus squeaked.

The god groaned but recovered quickly. “These things happen. Mortals die. Gods die. And all the heavens are in abeyance.”

“You’re hunting her. Why?”

Seth smiled. The movement made him ghastly. Dionysus felt a tightness in his throat. He forced himself to be calm. The girl was important in some way. He had little doubt that his deduction was correct but important in  what way? What could be so threatening that it brought down the wrath of a god?

Suddenly, claps of thunder peeled outside and Dionysus felt something whiz past his face.

Hank Dolan exited a cab to find himself in the seedy back alleys of No Quarter. Overhead, a generator humming accompanied the buzzing of flies and stench of trash that littered the street. He stepped further in and knew the hostel was a few hundred yards ahead. Ten O’clock. Still early but you never really knew in this part of town.

Would Sadie flee here for refuge? He wondered. **************no spoilers***************** He felt unsure as to whether Sadie had even been there. The thought that she’d at least seek out help from someone she knew weighed heavily on him. Something didn’t add up.

Hank had seen much of No Quarter through the years, negotiated its shady areas and interacted with its inhabitants. It really was a different social ecosystem the further downtown one ventured. The closer one got to Hell in the south-east corner of the district, the rougher it got. At three to five am, no reasonable person would find themselves here unless stupid or desperate. When Pious McNally had built the hostel as part of a large network of retail spaces, it had been the hope that travelling tourists would inspire the city to invest in No Quarter. What actually occurred was a spike in robbery and other violent crime.

Hank paused at the doorway snuffing out a cigarette and loosened the grip on his sidearm. A decayed sign indicating the accommodations rested inert on the door. Ten dollars a night for a bunk and shared bathroom with god know’s who else.

Very unlikely. He thought.

Even on her best day, Sadie had an aversion to public bathrooms. Given her phobias, the likelihood of her sharing a bathroom here was doubtful and sleeping would be out of the question. Still, it was worth a look. He had seen what fear can do to somebody’s normal, everyday behaviors. Often, the pieces of their former self were shattered into tiny bits and left to be swept about in a breeze. If Sadie had come here it was also likely somebody would remember her or her eccentricities at the very least. No Quarter’s natives had a way of remembering the passerby who realized too late that the hostel was maybe not worth saving a few dollars in the budget.

Hank pushed open the door and stepped in. He heard loud chatter and the desk clerk admonish some poor addict. “I said no needles here!” Well this was a piss poor idea. He turned and made his way to the woman careful not to step on anything that might pierce his sneakers. He took out a photograph of Sadie and held it in front of the clerk’s spectacled eyes. Her rosy cheeks and round waist made her seem odd amongst the emaciated, drug-addled occupants that laid curled up and facing the wall on their bunks.

“You seen this girl in the last few days?”

The woman squinted. No doubt she was blind as a bat and the glasses virtually useless. “Can’t say I have.”

“She’d have maybe been here the night before last or yesterday evening.” Hank said.

“Alone?” The clerk stepped from behind the desk and crossed to Hank, her eyes focused on the photograph.

“It’s likely, yes.”

The woman picked up a clipboard and squinted some more. A heavy thumping and somebody yelling could be heard somewhere in the back. Hank stared at the kitchen, expecting someone to burst out with knives at any second.

“One moment.” The clerk said.

Turning around, the woman strode into the kitchen. “What is all this goddamn ruckus!” The violence in her outburst startled Hank, his body tensed ready to run.

“Sorry about that.” She said nonchalantly as she reentered the room. “Can’t let them walk all over you or that’s all they’ll do.” She folded a small switchblade and placed it on the desk. Hank closed his eyes and for a moment entertained the possibility of asking her where she was the night after last. In a low voice, he asked: “She didn’t stay here then?”

“Depends. You got a name?” The clerk said quickly. “We get a lot of one nighters and weekend guests.”

Guests? The woman made it sound like a resort.

“She probably would have skipped the spa and gym and just found a place to sleep.” Hank said drily.

“You are unbecoming sir.” The clerk responded.

“Sadie Fuller.”

The woman bent down until she was nearly touching the paper in front of her. Her eyes narrowed into slits. “No. Nothing under that name.”

Hank heard but his mind was elsewhere. It was likely that Sadie wouldn’t use her real name. She may have even put on one of Freya’s wigs as disguise.

“She would have been wearing gloves.”

“Gloves?”

“Yes, gloves.”

“What sort of gloves? It ain’t snowed here ever.”

“Not the snow kind or the boxing kind. Just gloves. To cover her hands, she doesn’t like germs.”

The clerk frowned. “Well, I don’t know. We see so many…”

Hank stood throughout her whole performance resisting the urge to grab the ledger out of her hand. “She wouldn’t have ordered room service or a movie. Probably just stuck to herself.”

It was the wrong thing to say. The clerk looked up sharply and slammed the clipboard onto the desk. She quickly stood and went to the door.

“I think I’ve answered your questions.”

Hank stepped out and zipped up his jacket. “I won’t be giving this place a four star review.” He muttered.

“I should think not.” She relied curtly.

Pious found Seth waiting in the antechamber of the Tower and staring up at the ‘Glory Of Man’ mural on the ceiling. He paused a few feet away and studied the god. He really did look like an ass. The egyptians had gotten that much right.

They had entered the antechamber through a secret entrance in his office that led to a flight of stairs and finally to the large oval room. The room was adorned by accent lights brilliantly cascading light up and towards the ceiling. A chest high wire fence separated much from exploration and acted as a barrier for tourists who wandered in seeking to take a picture.

Seth stood murmuring, his bulbous hat in his hands, eyes glaring upwards. As Pious approached, rage contorted his features into a terrifying mask and for a second, the Reverend perceived the god who crushed the demon Apep every night ensuring sunrise.

“This mockery! Damn you and your cult!” He bellowed. It was a curse that Pious knew stemmed from Ancient Egypt. The god still thought he was in the sand churning desert. Poor fool. He ignored the insult and put a hand soothingly on Seth’s shoulder.

“Dear Seth. We all have a part to play in this new world. Don’t deny me mine.”

“Mortals.” The god whispered. He looked into Pious’s eyes. “Oh how you’ve fallen.”

“Indeed. We all have god. But at the very least we can work for mutual benefit.”

“Then you know why I’m here?”

Pious glanced up at the mural and back to the deity standing shrouded in darkness. He could smell exotic spices wafting from the god. An unpleasant mixture of balsamic and blue lotus oil. The perfume was used as currency and had been traded for other precious goods in the Egyptian empire. There were manuscripts showing priests extracting oils from herbs and plants dating back to 1500BC. Pious wrinkled his nose and nodded.

“Of course I know.”

“When Reverend?”

“Soon.”

Seth gave him a curt nod and his eyes drifted back to the ceiling. Pious noted his fascination with the art and swelled with pride. He had commissioned the piece to evoke a feeling of hieroglyphics, his instincts had been correct. The painting was otherworldly and raw. He would have to commission a second sometime in the near future. Perhaps something even more bold, a depiction of Man stomping the gods under his heel might be fitting.

“What you are going to do is dangerous.:” He said. “I don’t know that here is the right place for it.”

Seth turned until they stood face to face. Pious hadn’t meant for this meeting to turn into a battle but this Descendent was stubborn. He knew that leverage was going to be necessary to keep the deity corralled.

“Why are you holding your breath Reverend?” Seth’s voice was alien and terrifying. Before Pious could respond, he advanced and was within striking distance. Pious realized abruptly that the god had moved like a snake. A sudden chill made him quiver and he was sure he could hear his own heartbeat.

“Enough!” He snapped. Seth smiled and said in a sullen voice. “This Tower is the only place in the city fitting for what needs to be done.”

“It will probably fail.” Pious said. “Are you prepared for that outcome?”

Before Seth could answer, Pious continued shrilly: “Besides, what assurances do I have?”

“The Tower is an adequate vessel. “ Seth said slowly. “If the Descendence can be reversed somehow-”

“The idea is ludicrous.” Pious interrupted. Seth stood back and sized up the Reverend. His face blank and large eyes glittering. Pious knew that now he was in real danger. He had seen this look on predators right before they attacked. Such predators were unpredictable and quick to total and unexpected savagery.

“If the rite can re-ascend then perhaps there is a chance I can return to before.”

Return to before. Pious thought angrily. The only before is your total dissolution into nothingness. That is the only before worth speaking of.

“Perhaps.” He whispered. “It will have to be after hours and completely secret. Dead of night.”

Pious’s eyes drifted into memory. “There will be things needed to carry out the ritual.”

“They can be procured.”

“I will need my handmaidens.”  

Pious swallowed. The witches of murder. Those three unnerved him whenever they entered a room. He supposed it was two now that one had met a dour end months back.

“Naturally.” He responded. “And if I allow access to my Tower for your experiment?”

Seth inhaled deeply noting the amusement in the Reverend’s tone of voice. “You will not be harassed in any way by the Descended. You may have your registry. You may have your political aspirations. It will not be a concern.”

I may have? “No it’s not just about a lack of interference. The first concern is safety, yes, but we both know that the registry will be difficult to implement.”

“We’re not going to line up.”

“No, you won’t.”

“So?”

“So, you’re a powerful ally. Some would follow your lead. Some would never act unless they saw you go in their stead. And that’s why you’ll be there.”

“Pious!”

“If someone such as yourself were there, others would, how do we say, come out of the woodwork.”

Pious smiled. “And so you’ll be registering at City Court. In full view of the cameras and press.”

Seth held his face in reposed while he considered the Reverend’s demand.

“You don’t know others will come.”

“You don’t know they won’t.” Pious countered.

Seth fell silent. “Is that all?”

“It’s not much but you may have your ceremony at the Tower. But be at the registry. Who knows? Maybe you’ll see family.”

April 19 2019 DAY 1 of The Fall. NEON GODS

April 19, 2019 The day the gods fell.....

DAY 1

Outside, the rain is relentless and bashes against the window. Booms reverberate through the walls of the dingy speakeasy motel. A single twelve inch television broadcasts snow as streams of yellow light spill in from half closed blinds at the window. On the bed, a man lays sleeping. Covered from head to toe in a bedsheet, sweat from his chest and forehead seeps into the cotton. As he gasps, the sheet rises gently off his face. Somewhere in the motel, a couple is arguing. Screams can be heard over angry thunder. The man jolts awake and sits up. “Father?” he grabs the sheet and pulls it off of him. Squinting and shaking his head, he hears the storm outside and it’s so loud. Unbearable. Covering his ears he falls out of bed. He stares in bewilderment at the chaos on television. A large bang outside the door makes him flinch. Father it hurts. Covering his head, he tries to block out the sounds but they consume him. He retreats to the corner of the room while tears stream down his face. A slow, guttural wail echoes through walls. Terrified, he crawls on hands and knees to the door. Clumsily, he turns the knob and on wobbling knees steps outside. A woman is standing outside the next room. She glances over and smirks. “Go put on some clothes bum.” The man blinks sweat out of his eyes. Lip trembling, he looks out in horror at the city street in front of him. As car horns blare and sirens sing past, the man stares at the scars on his wrists. Oh God no. He touches his face as if feeling it for the first time. Shivering, he wraps his arms close to his body and notices his teeth chattering. Father help me. The man notices a light emanating from above the street. Like a beacon, it blinks above as vehicles shoot past underneath. The light. In the light with Father.  The man steps into the road and stumbles in the direction of the lamp. His barefeet on the slick street, he slips and almost falls as a car narrowly misses him. Then he is blinded. Unable to see through tears and the headlights of traffic, he drops to his knees and begins to pray. Hands in front of him, eyes closed to the world, he cries out. “Father!” Suddenly, arms are pulling him out of the street. A beer bottle is thrown from a passing car and shatters in front of him. “Come on!” A woman hisses. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!” Uncomprehending, the man shakes his head. The pain like fire all over his body, he glances down at his feet and hands. Oh God, where am I? The woman shrugs. “I don’t understand your language. You speak English?” The man stares blankly at her. Tears returning, he slumps down to the ground. Sheol. I’m in Sheol. The woman puts a hand on his shoulder and he recoils violently. “Get away from me Shade! You are forbidden!” He lurches back and stumbles. “Hey asshole! I just saved your skinny ass from being road kill.” The man stumbles backward. His eyes wild with fear. “I don’t know what language that is but it sounds Jewish. Are you a tourist?” The man squints as if seeing her for the first time. “Yeshua.” He blurts and looks around him as if expecting something to come out of the darkness and consume him. “Yeshua.” He repeats. The woman nods. “I’m Sarah. Come on, let’s get you inside……..”