Something to Prove

Darrin stared at his typewriter. Twenty five years of researching and writing for journals and school suddenly seemed pointless and empty. So, he sat searching for something different, something black and white, something to prove. Darrin searched his mind like a scientist looking for a microscopic miracle. Yet, all he saw was empty paths and blank walls.

He rubbed his face with his hands, gulped down the cold coffee and began pacing through the house.

The fourth time Darrin brushed against the couch, Sarah snapped, "What the devil is wrong with you?"

"Why must people use terms like that? There is no devil." He shot back.

"Are you sure?"

"Of course. There is no such thing as a devil." Darrin stood straight up. "Of course, that’s it."

"What’s it?" She laughed as he pulled her to stand and placed an excited kiss on surprised lips.

"What I will prove, don’t you understand?" Darrin was gleeful, already lost in his own world.

"What?"

"That there is no devil, of course."

"Darrin, you know I’m not superstitious, but isn’t that peeking in the wrong door?"

"Nonsense, it’s a tremendous task, but it will be my crowning glory." Darrin felt a fire inside him that had been in embers for too long.

Sarah wanted to argue, but seeing her husband so alive she let him have his glory. "Well, go for it."

* * *

As the sun rose and set the walls of his office melted from beige paint and store bought paintings to parchment maps smelling of ancient tales, while the desk bowed under the weight of uneven stacks of magazines and papers. Sarah picked up crumpled sheets from the floor, trying to ignore the pentangles appearing here and there in deep black ink. She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. "Do you smell something strange?"

"Huh, what?" Darrin looked up as if wakened from a trance.

"Do you smell something odd, sort of like burnt rubber?"

Darrin sniffed the air, "No, I don’t smell a thing."

"I guess it’s just my imagination." Sarah dropped it vocally, but felt eerie. "What time did you go to bed last night?"

"I don't know, two or three I guess." He didn’t even look up.

"Darrin stop working, for just a minute, please." She pleaded.

Darrin stopped, reluctantly. "What?"

"You’ve hardly spoken to me in three weeks, its getting lonely here. Why not take a day off. Let’s go for a ride, you have no deadline to meet. Take a break, even if it’s just for a couple of hours."

The words passed through him like a summer breeze.

"I can’t take a break. There is so much here. I can’t stop until I’m done. Please, be patient." His tone softened.

"You can’t blame me for trying." She gave him a disappointed smile.

"Thank you. Now be a good girl and make me a cup of coffee."

"Right." She did as bade, grateful that he would at least finish the coffee as most of his meals still occupied his plate long after the dinner hour was done.

A tiny film layered the coffee in the cup that sat on a desk by the vacant chair. He had left again.

* * *

Ignoring the mass of people on the train he mumbled to himself. Finally he arrived at the huge marble structure which had become his second home. Silence broken by the barest of whispers wove through the stacks of books. He found his favorite table unoccupied and received a disdainful glance from the woman with tiny glasses sitting at the information desk. He ignored her and went on to his work as she whispered to a coworker. She shook her head and turned her attention to another patron.

Darrin thumbed through a thick volume with yellow pages, feverishly making notes and then shoving the book aside for another. He continued until some other librarian reminded him that the building was about to close.

Books were but the beginning.

* * *

"Can I help you?" The man smiled with a practiced yet genuine kindness.

Darrin looked around, the surroundings were plain and without color, much like the man in the hallway.

"Yes, I’d like to ask a few questions about your religion." Despite his best efforts, Darrin’s tone carried the layer of atheism that created this quest.

"Come to my office, I would be happy to answer any questions that I can." The man led the way to a small neat room and then offered Darrin some tea as they sat.

"What is it that you’d like to know?"

"I am doing research on the Devil and would like to know your religion’s perspective on the matter." Darrin’s pen moved in his fingers like an uneven pendulum.

The minister sat back and heaved a sigh. "Satan is the embodiment of evil and only through Christ can we be saved from his temptations."

"You do not question his existence?"

"If you mean do I believe that he exists, absolutely. The Bible has given us verse upon verse about him. It is the reason Christ was born." The minister stared at Darrin as if he had asked if air was a necessity for breathing.

"Have you ever seen the Devil, Satan?" Darrin’s monotone more than the question alarmed this quiet man.

"Do you seek proof of his existence?"

"Yes." So simple and unemotional a reply made the minister shift in his seat.

"Look around you my son, does not every street corner offer proof, a homeless child, drug-addicted teenagers, abused women, all works of the Devil." The minister refrained from Darrin’s own obvious lack of faith as a point.

"I see a society that has been marred by its own excess. There is no outside influence here."

"And what about God? Does he have any influence here?" Accusation laced the minister’s voice.

"God does not exist any more than the Devil does."

"My son what is it that you really seek?"

"I only have a theory to prove. Thank you for your time."

Darrin left the minister who took a moment to pray for his soul.

His next stop that afternoon was only a few blocks away.

Darrin observed as people passed through massive doors, walking through the hallway guarded by stained glass windows telling tales of days long gone.

After talking with the priest, a conversation mimicking his other with the minister he passed by the sanctuary where a few pious folks prayed. Darrin felt something brush past; offer itself to him, but his well-built armor shielded him.

Within a month he had visited with most every clergyman he could find.

* * *

He finished his morning coffee while half his English muffin sat on the small plate. Without a word he pulled the old manual typewriter towards him and began transposing his notes from swirls of the pen to the clean strokes of the metal keys.

"I see you’ve run out of space in your office." Sarah’s sarcasm had more bite than usual.

"Research takes space." Darrin didn’t bother looking up as he answered.

"And time." Her disgust displayed itself.

Darrin ignored her and went on with his work.

By nightfall his fingers ached but he was pleased.

That night he drove far, taking the twisty back roads everyone avoided.

Ragged edges creating the outline of a house was Darrin’s first view. As he approached he saw the irregular shadows of the stone building protected by the mass of trees and growth nearby.

The door opened as he approached and closed gently behind him.

While waiting he jotted down observations. Incense not quite pleasant to the nose permeated the air and the black hooded cloaks hanging from the pegs by the door.

Distant footsteps moved in and the lights in the hallway gained strength.

He followed a silent man, noting the carvings of beast, man and creature telling a tale on the walls ceiling and floor of the hallway. As he entered the office the echo of a wail reached his ears.

Tobor sat behind the large black desk, silver pentangle hypnotically swaying from his neck. "Why are you here?" Tobor accused.

Darrin ignored the tone and explained his research.

Tobor sat back and puffed on a long thick cigar. "Are you looking for physical proof of his existence?"

"Yes."

Tobor pursed and twisted his lips as smoke clouded the view between them. "One cannot call upon the master for an appearance like pulling a rabbit out of a hat."

"Hmm. Then I would like to watch some of your ceremonies." Darrin caught sight of a scantily clad young woman kneeling by Tobor, scars faintly peeking above her low backed shirt.

Tobor pushed her away. "I don’t know who you are but we are not here to amuse or entertain."

Darrin made notes and stared at the man, whose cigar now lay in an ashtray, slowly losing life.

His voice didn’t raise as he responded. "I do not seek to be amused. I wish to learn.

"We are believers in the pleasures of the flesh, we are human and should follow those needs and desires. We satiate or satisfy with pleasure or pain and the master rewards us. Unlike those who worship that other being we are not interested in sharing. You either watch because you wish to join or you simply join us." Tobor stood, his hands leaning on the desk, heavy red robe covering all but a forefinger that bore a black serpent ring.

Darrin stood, nonplussed. "Thank you for your time."

As he walked the hallway he noted the whispers and scraping emanating from the walls.

The house lights dimmed when his car started.

Darrin stopped briefly as his front door closed behind him, feeling as if someone were with him. He looked around and saw not even a shadow. Darrin decided that exhaustion had finally set in, walked upstairs and crawled into bed. Sarah slept fitfully, but seemed to be so very warm, or was it that he was cold. Yet he didn’t move in for the warmth.

* * *

Darrin woke with the sun, still feeling cold. He headed straight for the typewriter, ignoring the desert that owned his mouth and skin that cried to be clear of the layer of sweat and dirt that grew from days without a shower. He sat by his typewriter and stared out the bay window of the kitchen, ignoring the children that waved as they rode past on their bicycles.

When Sarah came into the kitchen she avoided him, and didn’t even bother pouring his coffee. She sat quiet, frustrated, even her sense of humor eaten away by her husband’s obsession.

But the kitchen seemed cold. She considered saying something, but it would have been useless, he was buried in his work, again. So Sarah followed her routine. As she turned on the stove, flames jumped out of the burner and singed her hair. Although the flames died quickly as she shut off the stove, Sarah was frightened. Darrin hadn’t noticed.

She grabbed him. "Darrin, look at me, I could have burned to death."

Darrin looked up, but did not actually see. "Sarah, that stove is old, its bound to act up, I’ll check it later."

"Darrin," she pulled him out of the chair and close to her. "It’s not the stove, its this ominous and black theory you must prove. It’s wrong, stop it now, before…"

He cut her off, breaking away from her grip at the same time. "You’re being foolish. You just want more of my time." His answer was cold.

Sarah stood up straight and calm, she turned and walked. When she reached the doorway she spoke, as if to an uninvited stranger. "I’ll be at my sister’s house. When you come to your senses call me, until then, I don’t want to hear from you."

Darrin didn’t argue, he simply returned to his typewriter.

* * *

For the next three weeks he collated his data. The testimony of those that believed in either being and those that were agnostics all found their way into his papers. By early summer he was ready to prepare the final draft.

Sarah was still at her sister’s house and he looked like a man who had lived in the gutter, but he felt accomplished, almost.

The night before he typed the last pages of his work he slept peacefully and awakened as usual with the morning sun.

Darrin straightened the papers by the typewriter. His finger rested on a key. Then his hand brushed a fly that buzzed by his ear. His hand returned to the keys to begin typing.

The fly returned and seemed to bring company.

His neighbor nodded as she put the trash by the curb.

Darrin flailed his arms and turned in circles. His skin stung from the innumerable bites. Then suddenly they were gone and so was all light. Fear crept over him like an army of ants blanketing a slice of fruit.

The darkness breathed making waves like the heat of a summer day, while tiny sounds multiplied all around him. In the darkness the ground shook and split before him, spewing forth light and flame.

From the flame stretched forth a massive hand that lifted him up to a face as big as the sky. Orange flames danced around the mouth that bellowed, "Such a puny thing, you are barely worth my time."

Darrin stared, trying to catch his breath. No words could form in his mind or mouth.

"But you hurt my feelings puny thing. Tell me, now do you believe?" Wide eyes laughed and flames teased around Darrin’s hair singing the ends. The odor was familiar.

"Tch, tch, tch, not yet?" A mischievous grin painted the face as the fingers hung Darrin from a hook that suddenly appeared.

Darrin tried to speak but his mouth wouldn’t move and his tongue froze between his teeth.

Yet, silently he screamed words that searched every corner of his mind for an escape, the words "I believe, I believe."

And when his neighbor returned for those trash cans later that morning she couldn’t help but stare, before calling for help. Darrin stood frozen against the wall, eyes open and mouth shut. His screams of "I believe" still probing for a voice in the eternal darkness.

Andrea Sharkey is a full time sales executive and mother of three grown children. Writing is her passion and a shield from the insanity we all have to face.

E-mail: raphela@raalek.com

URL: http://www.raalek.com

Visit Aphelion's Lettercolumn and voice your opinion of this story.

Return to the Aphelion main page.