Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

Agent 139 pulled himself back from his reverie and took his seat at
the table. “This is some damn fine turkey, if I do say so myself. It seems
so simple, more wholesome than any I’ve…,” he trailed off, looking at
the salt shakers. One black, one white. The pillars in my dream, the passage
into the underworld. His eyes remaining on Gabrael, he took the
shakers and slowly moved them to either side of his plate.
“You like my salt and pepper shakers?” Gabrael asked.
The Agent continued to stare at him. “I do, very much.” With a wink
at Jesus, Gabrael said, “They are very good shakers, you know.”
Jesus let out a snort and almost shot masticated yam through his nose.
The Agent turned his attention away from Gabrael, back to his plate,
and they continue eating in silence for a few more minutes.
Then Gabrael sat forward and said, “Those above me in the Order
would frown on me for saying this, but I’ll tell you this much—the real
order that doles out initiation, that creates the kind of synchronicities that
brought you here and will carry you on to the next step of your mission,
is the Universe itself.” He leaned back. “Sorry about the mess, by the
way. Would you like some sangria?”
They both accepted, and as Gabrael was filling a goblet for Jesus,
Agent 139 picked up his and held it up to the light, examining the room
through its crimson-colored lens.
“A toast,” Gabrael proclaimed, “to Love, Light, and Liberty.”
They clinked their glasses together, a high-pitched note that faded
over an eternity of moments, very much, the Agent fancied, like the ringing
of a bell.
Gabrael got up and lit a pair of candles, putting them on the table
before walking across the room to switch off the lights. “Incandescent
lights get to me, sometimes,” he explained.
He picked up a knife and carved off another slice of turkey for each of
them, the flesh peeling away like butter. “The tryptophanes in turkey
tend to make you sleepy, you know. Of course, most people find it can
be very relaxing, going down into that state. A few try to shake it off,
worrying about this and that and what will happen to them while they try
to resist in vain, but there’s no need to get really tired. It’s just pretend
drowsiness, so I’d like to suggest you can notice how your breathing is
already beginning to slow down, and simply relax.” Gabrael picked up
his wineglass and finished it off. “What did you find so interesting about
my salt and pepper shakers, by the way?”
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