Weary Traveler

The Helo touched down atop the crumbled, brick quad at the center of the Twilight District, dispersing the horde of nomads like a colony of synthetic ants caught in the early stage of a rainstorm.

Mitch lowered his head and stepped out of the side opening, ducking beneath the whirling propellers as he crouched into a low trot away from the vehicle, scurried towards the base of skyscrapers towering high overhead.

A strange concoction of stinking odors wafted through the cement sky, stirred up old memories of his former life as a bum scrounging for booze and bonzos inside of dumpsters and in the brown muck of the gutters. The pungent stench of stale urine seeped into the brick down dark alleys; clouds of steam floated over food carts from fire-burning stoves and ovens; and the ever-lingering reek of booze and bonzos squeezing out of the pores of bums and nomads slogging by, hunting their next fix.

Mitch froze, closed his eyes, steadied his breath… trying… failing to repel the vertigo that turned his reality upside down and inside out. He fought against a kink in his neck as his neurotransmitters fired, ignited his brain with a flash of an image of his bony face staring back at him in the ripples of a puddle of mud. He shook his head, rubbed his eyeballs with the bony part of his palm, and then pulled down the top of his face like it was melting off of his skull.

That muddy puddle haunted his waking life and nightmares. Crawled into his frightening vision of conscious awareness and dragged him down into the depths of his unconscious. A thought? A memory? A premonition? Past, present, and future converged on that point. That slice of eternity within infinity. That infinitesimal sliver where worlds collide and universes burst into existence.

He inhaled through his nostrils, exhaled through a tiny circle in his parted lips, calmed his fiery nerves and frantic mind. And then, he opened his eyes, and kicked forward down the street.

Bums writhed on the ground in the fetal position, wrapped in tattered, mud-crusted sleeping bags in the black shadows underneath the base of the buildings on the side of the road. Others scrounged for scraps of synthetic grub down dark alleys, tossed out from rundown restaurants and bars for the mechanical rats and vagrants to fight over.

Nomads glared at Mitch, looked him up and down, sneered at him with sharp lips and scowling faces. They hurried out of his path like he wore a repellant on his tailored suit.

“Fucking corpo,” they whispered.

A filthy man wearing a bulging, black, leather vest decorated with patches and loose-fitting, red pants stormed across the road and blocked the path a few feet ahead. He wrapped his metallic arms over his chest and glared at Mitch with his chrome eyes.

Mitch tensed beneath his suit, strong arms stiff at his sides while his hygienic, hospital hands balled into fists.

“This ain’t your district,” the nomad said. “Go back to Rotech where you belong, rich scum!” he shouted, spitting on the ground in front of Mitch as if to throw down a gauntlet.

Mitch marched past him, undeterred by the weak threat. Now a stranger in his own home. Unwelcome on the streets that raised him and the rest of the booze and bonzo addicts, tech-junkies and synthetic freaks. A corpo player in their eyes, a bum in his soul. A walking contradiction of flesh and bone, lost amongst the class hierarchy. A wandering soul without a position in Rosenfell’s socioeconomic structure. The one place sure to define him as the city saw fit. Uninterested in the struggles of his past, nor the success of his present. Forever a whipping post in the eyes of strangers judging him by his external appearance and relegating him into a pyramid of his own creation, outside the reach of society’s meaningless labels and suffocating categories.

He peered through the mob of nomads, smiled at his destination. Then stretched his gait, quickened his pace up to the front window of Elle’s Kitchen. It was open, but hanging from a hook above the opening was a white, CLOSED, sign handwritten in black letters. No pleasant aroma of steam wafted out of the top vents, but there was movement at the back of the cart.

“Closed up for the morning,” Eleanor said, “heading to church.”

“How about some company with an old friend?”

Eleanor turned, lowered her head so that her eyes were level with the front window, and peeked at Mitch from over her glasses resting on her slender nose.

“My apologies,” she said, shuffling over to the window, “but I don’t believe that we have met.”

Mitch gazed down his torso at his fitted suit and glossy dress shoes sprinkled with mud.

“Maybe if I was carrying your groceries in my old bum rags,” Mitch said, smiling up at Eleanor.

Eleanor leaned her head out of the window, squinted, studied Mitch’s costume.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…” she whispered. “Mitch Henderson, look at you…”

“When someone’s hit the bottom of the deepest pit of hell, there’s only one place left to climb,” Mitch said.

“I don’t have anything for you to carry,” she said, “but how would you like to come to church with me?”

“I would like that very much,” Mitch said, flashing his pristine teeth.

“Scoot around to the side and help these old bones.”

Mitch hustled to the door, held out his right arm, and guided Eleanor down the steps until she was on solid ground.

“It’s great to see you again,” he said, wrapping his arms around Eleanor, embracing her in a warm, gentle hug.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again,” she said, releasing Mitch.

“I just had to get away... confront the pain and trauma that was destroying me.”

“I knew there was something special about you. I could see the spark of life burning, deep within those eyes.”

“Thanks to you, Eleanor.”

They turned and strolled down the main road, walking shoulder-to-shoulder.

“So tell me, Mitch Henderson…” she said, “where have you been?”

Mitch chuckled nervously.

“Well... actually,” Mitch said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I was just released from the hospital. I was stuck in a coma for over a month. They tell me something is abnormal with my brain… unique, something they haven’t encountered before.”

“And who is they?”

“Rotech Hospital.”

“What are you doing on that side of the river?”

“I’ve have been working there these past few months. I started out as a low-level financial auditor, but they promoted me soon after that for-”

“Got promoted by whom?”

“By the CEO, Vincent Walker.”

Eleanor’s body froze for an instant like a hiccup jolted her body. Then she continued shuffling at an aching pace.

“You stay away from him, Mitch Henderson. He’s dangerous.”

“He saved my life.”

“By gracing you with a fancy corpo job?”

“He stood up for me against the other members of the executive board while I was in the coma. They wanted to take me off life support, but Vincent stopped them from going through with it.”

“Leave it, leave Rotech. It is not a place for someone with your past. They experiment on and kill bums for their sadistic pleasure.”

“But I’m not a bum anymore.”

“And corpos are not human. They will rob your soul and lock you into a devilish den of sin and corruption. No one escapes alive with their consciousness intact.”

“For the first time in my entire life, I don’t have to struggle and suffer daily just to survive.”

“To survive is to live, Mitch Henderson. You and I know this well,” Eleanor said. “I’ve been surviving my entire life and still manage to hold on to my soul. Though it wasn’t without a fight against corpos and the evil that they represent.”

Mitch trudged forward in silence, body heavy beneath the burden of his raw heart and conflicted brain.

“I have a big presentation at the Corpo Convention in a few weeks. I’m unveiling some new tech that I helped curate. After that, I will step down from my role on the board, if you think that is best for me.”

“Do not do what I think is best. It must be for yourself. All decisions in life must be for your best interest. If you believe that remaining at Rotech as a member of the executive board, or even just a a lowly employee, is best for your life, then stay. If not, then leave. What I am saying is this... do what you must, but protect yourself.”

“I understand.”

“Very good,” Eleanor said.

She picked up her pace, quick feet pattering against the crumbled pavement. They turned a corner and hustled down a street ending at a mystical cathedral of black basalt and ashen brick.

Mitch froze like one of the stone statues erected in the surrounding garden. He awed at the structure, face paralyzed with wide eyes and a slack jaw.

A gothic fortress adorned with stained glass windows and pointed steeple towers capped with crosses tickling low fog. Beams of white light shined up from the ground, illuminated each tower in a radiant blanket of fluorescence. Synthetic vines climbed up the brick, spread out like veins along the walls. Artificial grass covered the vibrant, green courtyard, traced by winding, cobbled pathways and short hedges that led to prayer benches and enormous, evergreen trees.

“I’ve never seen this building before,” Mitch said.

“Maybe you weren’t looking.”

“How long’s it been here?”

“Two-hundred years, I believe. Possibly older.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“God’s grace is good, Mitch Henderson. A beacon of light, hope, and warmth in a wicked world that has abandoned Him. But He is always there,” Eleanor said, patting over her heart, “ready to lend a hand and save those that have lost themselves to the devil’s cunning trickery and lies.”

Mitch followed Eleanor through the winding, garden pathway, up a set of stone steps to a pair of wooden, double doors. A man wearing a flowing white robe with ornate, gold patterns on the chest and frill on the shoulders stood at the front entrance, beamed a smile as they approached.

“Good morning, Eleanor,” the man said in a soft, soothing voice.

“Good morning, Father Lewis,” Eleanor said, reaching out her right hand to shake his.

He turned his full attention to Mitch, smiled.

“And who is your friend?”

“Father Lewis, this is Mitch Henderson. Mitch, I’d like you to meet Father Lewis.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Father Lewis,” Mitch said, shaking his warm hand.

“The pleasure is mine, Mitch Henderson. It is always a wonderful day when a new worshipper joins us here. Welcome to Rosenfell Church, the final, true sanctuary in this city. Please…” he said, swinging his arm out from his chest into the vast hall, “find a seat and we will begin our service.”

Mitch followed Eleanor through the double doors. They emerged into a grand cathedral filled with empty pews on either side that arched outwards like ripples from the main altar at the front of the room. Yellow lights dripped from the rafters of the high ceiling, illuminated the pews underneath an aura of warm luminescence.

A scent of old, dried wood crawled through Mitch’s nostrils, filled his lungs with sweet peace that flowed through his veins and swaddled his body and soul within a strong veil of protection and comfort.

The central walking path was covered by an ornate, brown and tan carpet with gold accents. It reflected the spectrum of colorful light shining through the stained glass windows that wrapped around the entire top half of the church’s mahogany walls, creating a mystical mosaic of an ancient religious story, long abandoned and forgotten in the godforsaken city.

Built into the wooden wall just behind the altar, was a strange contraption with steel pipes like rows of metallic teeth. A mini cathedral of its own. It glistened above flickering candlelight rising from hundreds of candlesticks spread across an arched platform, surrounding a figure of a bony man nailed to a wooden cross. A crown of thorns wrapped around the bloody scalp of his drooping head, but his eyes stared out over the church with a strong, ferocious intensity.

Eleanor turned down the first row on the right and sat in the corner seat, Mitch to her right.

Father Lewis shuffled down the aisle and mounted the steps on the left side of the altar. He ambled towards the center of the stage and stood behind a carved, wooden podium, directly beneath the man on the cross. Then peered out across the church in silence, a wide grin spread across his face.

Mitch tilted his head over his left shoulder.

“Where is everyone else?” he whispered.

“This will be all.”

“Greetings, members of Rosenfell Church,” Father Lewis said, voice echoing through the cathedral. “I wish to take this moment to thank, you, Eleanor, for bringing another member into our small community. Mitch Henderson,” he said, spreading his arms wide, “we welcome you with open arms and commend you for your decision to join us here on this blessed Sunday. Our service here is less formal than those of the past. Being that it is your first time with us, Mitch, what would you like to discuss? Are there any problems that haunt your heart and mind?”

Mitch flicked a glance at Eleanor whose head still aimed up at the Father. He gulped the tightness stuck in his throat, nodded slowly to himself.

“Redemption,” he said, voice rippling through the hall, taunting him.

“Ah, yes... redemption. A very wise choice for your first sermon. Now, I must ask you, Mitch Henderson... have you sinned?”

Mitch was silent, looked down, averting Father Lewis’s searching gaze, twiddled his fingers in his lap.

“Well, Father Lewis, I…”

“It’s quite alright, Mitch. No strict judgement nor condemnation here. Just a conversation between new friends.”

Mitch gritted his teeth behind clenched lips, nodded.

“Then yes, Father, I have sinned. I have sinned much in my life.”

“Haven’t we all?” Father Lewis said in a loud whisper, leaning over the podium. “The issue is not that we have sinned. What matters most is that we recognize and admit our sins. That we confront them so that they do not haunt our conscious, waking life, nor rule over our unconscious mind through our dreams. The important thing to remember is… God saves… God saves… God saves those who help themselves. The warmth, love, and light of God is great and shines upon any and all that accept him into their life. Just ask our good friend, Eleanor,” Father Lewis said, motioning towards her. “How has your life improved since stumbling into this church those many years ago?”

Eleanor closed her eyes, inhaled a long breath of air through her nostrils, filled her lungs, exhaled a thin stream out of her mouth.

“It’s been almost forty years since the first time I stepped through those doors. Thirty years since I decided to flee, forever, from a life of sin, hedonism, and misery.”

“What led you here?” Father Lewis asked.

“I reached the bottom of the demonic, hell world,” she said, gazing into the distance. “I’d fallen into the deepest, darkest pits. I committed unspeakable acts with people who used, abused, and manipulated me for their own personal gain. I had nowhere else to go for help. No one left to beg for forgiveness. No one around to plead to for the sin and crime I had committed while building an empire. One that would eventually led to the destruction of this city and hell on earth.”

“Since that day you stepped into the light of God’s grace, how has your life changed?” Father Lewis asked.

“I am no longer haunted by the actions and misdeeds of my past. I am at peace with myself and no longer suffer for the transgressions I had committed when I was young and stupid.”

“This here, Mitch Henderson, is the key to redemption. Eleanor admitted the wrongs of her past, confronted them, overcame them, and moved beyond. Transcended, if you will. Reaching higher levels of consciousness not corrupted by the pain and suffering associated with a life of sin. Do you understand?”

Mitch nodded slowly. His quiet mind slowly processing the wise words flowing through his ears.

“Now, as I said, it is not the act of sin that God punishes. Rather, the total rejection of the Lord God Almighty’s grace without asking for redemption. This is what most people misinterpret and forget altogether, which discourages them from entering those doors that you bravely stepped through today…” Father Lewis said. “The key to everlasting life- eternal and infinite beyond this temporal reality here on this Earth- is simply asking for forgiveness. Opening your heart and mind to the love of God, the world, and all those souls around you. If I may ask, Mitch Henderson… do you come here today seeking forgiveness?”

“I do,” Mitch said, meeting Father Lewis’s focused gaze.

“You are courageous for this admittance,” Father Lewis said, staring deep into Mitch’s eyes for a long moment, prodding the depths of his soul, buried beneath the protective layers surrounding his heart and mind. “Know this, Mitch... God gives and the Devil takes. It is the push and pull of life. The good and bad. The light and dark. The yin and yang. Many that live a life of sin become disillusioned with this truth because, while they are trapped in this material reality, they may receive anything that they wish for, lust for, desire for. They may receive any sort of material wealth and power that they could ask for. It is a trick, a spell cast over the minds of all that mistake this temporary human experience for everlasting life. This is the Devil’s ultimate trick, convincing half the human population that he does not exist… manipulating the other half into believing that Satan is God himself.”

“What is it that goes beyond this temporary human experience?” Mitch asked.

Father Lewis’s smile widened at the question.

“It is love,” he said, eyes sparkling like rays of dazzling light radiated from the center of his mind. “Love surpasses any material possession that could possibly manifest on this planet… Love is the fundamental force of the Universe… Love is what unites each and every one of us... Love is what connects us and binds us to one another… Love… is an everlasting bridge. A tether connecting unreachable dimensions that permeate the universal fabric. Love is what brings us back to this place even though it has been taken over by demons. For love… is a walk with angels through the stars on the eternal path into the arms of the Almighty God in Heaven, beyond this dimension, in the realm of infinity.”

“Are those realms and dimensions accessible from this one?”

“Those realms and dimensions exist around us at all times. Always influencing the actions we take and the decisions we make in this dimension here, and vice versa,” Father Lewis said. “All that is required is a sacrifice, a death, if you will, of an individual’s old self and the total birth and adoption of the person that they were always meant to be. Think of it as an evolution or a metamorphosis into a higher being. A greater form of conscious awareness.”

“Death isn’t the end?” Mitch asked.

Father Lewis’s lips peeled apart to reveal a beaming, white-toothed smile.

“Far from it, Mitch Henderson,” he whispered in a voice that echoed through the cathedral, reverberated through Mitch’s ears. “Far from it.”

Father Lewis looked around the church, held out his arms.

“This Universe, this reality, is always beginning and always ending. It is a perpetual cycle that goes on forever. We live in an eternal, present moment at a cosmic crossroads where universes, realms, dimensions, realities, and anything you could possibly imagine intersect and even collide. It is a great mystery of the cosmos and a miracle of the creative artistry of God that we exist at all. You, Eleanor, myself, every human being that has ever lived and ever will live, is a unique expression of a unified, universal consciousness. Through God, all things are possible. He is the way, the truth, and the light of consciousness. The breath of life and the beating of the heart pushing blood through your body.”

“I like the sound of that,” Mitch said.

“It is the ultimate truth. Upon recognizing it, you discover your one true, universal self. Human experience is truly a wondrous, magnificent blessing that grows from the cosmic tree of life,” Father Lewis said. “Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”

“Father Lewis,” Eleanor said, “what do you say about gracing our newest member of Rosenfell Church with a baptism?”

“What do you think about that, Mitch Henderson?” Father Lewis asked.

Mitch bounced the strange word around his brain.

“What do I have to do?”

“Follow me to the back of the church,” Father Lewis said, stepping out from behind the podium. He hustled down the steps and made his way down the middle path between the pews.

Mitch rose from his seat, sending a series of aged croaks and groans through the dry wood, held out his arm, and guided Eleanor onto her feet. They made their way down the aisle in Father Lewis’s trail. He was waiting at the back of the cathedral with his right hand clasped over his left. His focused eyes followed the two worshippers’ shuffle at a slow, easy pace.

The magnitude and spiritual power of the ancient church swirled around them. Its stained glass windows shined their colorful images and abstract patterns from above. Mixed with the strong aroma of authentic wood wafting through the ancient air, flowing through Mitch’s nostrils and filling his body and mind with a sense of peace and calm as if he had escaped from the ghostly gloom of Rosenfell and entered into a palace of Heaven on Earth.

“Mitch,” Father Lewis said as they approached, “you may step behind that curtain to my left and change into the robe hanging on the hook.”

“I can’t wear my suit?” Mitch asked.

“You may wear your suit. However, I must tell you that it will be soaking wet.”

“Why is that?”

“The baptism requires that you be immersed in water,” Eleanor said, motioning towards the basin in front of them.

“Why water?” Mitch asked.

“Water is a symbol for Jesus Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection. It binds you to the word of God. By submerging your old, sinful self beneath this holy water of life, you may rise again as your new self, fully conscious and aware of your place in the Universe. One who walks the path of Jesus Christ,” Father Lewis said. “Think of it as a fresh start, a clean slate. Your past sins, guilt, and transgressions, wiped clean by the forgiving nature of the Lord God Almighty, so long as you live your life in service to Him.”

Mitch released Eleanor’s arm and shuffled behind the curtain. He stepped out of his corpo skin and slipped the white robe over his head. Then stepped out from behind the curtain and into the light of the cathedral shining down from the rafters, reflecting off of the robe as if it glowed with its own source of luminescence. He brought his feet together, steadied himself, and stretched his arms out like wings.

“How’s this?”

“Wonderful,” Eleanor said.

“Suits you well,” Father Lewis said, spreading his left arm out towards Mitch. He rolled his fingers over his palm. “Join me here.”

Mitch glided to him, white robe brushing against his bare skin, blown in the cool, morning breeze flowing through the cathedral’s open door.

“Step right here, back towards the basin,” Father Lewis said, guiding Mitch into position. “I will place my hand on your back and lower you into the water. Hold your breath and plug your nose.”

Mitch closed his eyes, inhaled a long breath through his nostrils, filled his lungs with the breath of life.

“The Church of Rosenfell welcomes its newest member, Mitch Henderson, with his acceptance of the Lord into his heart and mind,” Father Lewis said. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen.”

The light of the cathedral swirled across Mitch’s transcendental vision as his body tipped backwards. His body submerged into the warm, holy water, erasing his old, sinful self.

He reemerged, gasped a lungful of air, water dripping from his white robe.

A new man. Resurrected.