On the subject of divinity

“Here you are Mr. George.” The waitress placed a steaming coffee mug on the table.

Henson George looked up from his newspaper and gave her a polite nod with an approving smile. He folded the crackling sheets of gray newspaper print and placed them to the side.

It was a Friday night, almost closing time, and the restaurant was nearly empty. He liked coming around this time because he could read the paper and enjoy a cup of coffee in peace. Many large companies were building their second headquarters in his town because the cost of living was so cheap. It made escaping the constant influx of construction workers and new transplant residents difficult. The formerly quiet, sleepy town of Newhaven, Maine, was now a caterpillar in a chrysalis, waiting to hatch and evolve into a thriving, hustle-and-bustle metropolis.

Surrounded by droves of people he didn’t know or trust, Henson's anxiety ballooned. He never really had any close friends, and he enjoyed his own company more than that of his family. This small diner had become his only escape from it all. Its 1980s vibe was an effective Millennial and Gen-Z deterrent and kept the transplant residents away. Better yet, it gave the restaurant's food a retro ambiance that reminded Henson of the glory days of rock and roll. The waitstaff and cooks all knew him by name and had his favorite meals committed to memory. They talked with him and asked about his day, his job, and his hobbies from time to time. They were kind to him, and not just because he tipped well.

Henson sighed a happy sigh. He opened his newspaper to the comic section and laughed at a panel about a dog chasing a mailman. His coffee was perfectly balanced with cream and sugar, lifting his spirits and his overall mood. A great end to a great day in his favorite diner.

“Henson George. An interesting choice...for a mortal alias.” A woman said sarcastically. Henson lowered his newspaper, looked up, and smiled.

Henson immediately recognized the woman, though she was clearly trying to bait a reaction out of him. Even after 200,000 years, his sister looked as brazen and extravagant as ever. After all, her brash sarcasm was one of her more...unforgettably human-like traits. The black silk dress she wore accentuated her figure, but the material and styling were old and reminiscent–like an echo of artisanship from some long-ago forgotten empire.

“Hello, Apocrypha.” Henson addressed the Hell-Goddess with genuine candor.

At the pronunciation of her true name, a kindled flame flickered in the woman’s dark eyes for a brief moment, revealing a fragment of her divinity.

“Careful, Raah, we wouldn’t want the mortals to overhear. Use my human name, Diana.” She said, glancing around at the few remaining patrons scattered throughout the restaurant. She climbed into the red booth opposite of Henson and folded her arms on the table.

Several cafe patrons turned and eyed them warily. Around the shop, hushed conversations that were clearly about the two of them murmured through the air.

Henson figured settling-down in a quiet, sleepy town like Newhaven would help him avoid the clamor of the other Gods and their god-politics. It’s not like he had plans to go on national television and tell the entire world he was one of The Seven Names of God. 

But wherever two gods congregated, mortal gossip followed. And now the entire cafe was whispering and murmuring about the oddness of their presence. It was as if even the mortals could sense the unsettling aura of divine power in the room...

So much for laying low. Henson thought.

“What brings you to Newhaven, Diana?” He asked, picking up his newspaper and opening it back up to the comic section. 

The steam from his coffee mug wafted over to Diana’s presence, as if its heat was instinctually gravitating to her form. 

“Does a sister need a reason to pay a visit to her little brother?” Diana said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

Henson glared at her incredulously from over the top of his newspaper.

“Mhm.” Henson rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Though she was the Goddess and creator of Hell, The Great Inferno, Diana's gaze on him was cold as ice. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked curtly.

Henson folded his newspaper and leaned forward in his seat.

"Diana, we're immortal. If you really wanted to visit, you could've come at any time. So why now?"

His sister scoffed, visible steam flaring from her nostrils.

"Since the ratification of The Pact, you've been such a recluse." She said matter-of-factly.

Henson laughed.

"The Pact of Divine Neutrality is exactly why I've laid low all these years." He replied with amusement.

Henson took a long sip of his piping-hot coffee.

“Really? Coffee? At 7:45pm?” He could feel Diana’s skeptical eyes on him.

Placing the cup back on the booth table, Henson returned her gaze with matched skepticism.

“What do you want from me, Diana?” He asked bluntly.

After a pause, Diana sighed in defeat.

“Fine. I need your help.” She replied quietly, leaning back against the booth and crossing her arms.

Henson's eyebrows shot to the roof of his balding scalp. His sister was famously known among the other gods for her pride, but Henson couldn’t recall a single instance in his thousands of lifetimes where she ever asked for his help.

“My help?” Henson said with an upward inflection.

He lifted his coffee mug again for another sip of bitter caffeine.

With a small flick of her wrist, Diana stopped time. Everything everywhere in the establishment froze in place like a still-life photograph.

Freezing time was a common godly practice within The Pact of Divine Neutrality that enabled gods and goddesses to converse about subjects too sensitive for mortal ears.

“I have a lead on something.” She said nervously, staring into his eyes. “Something...you’re not going to like.”

Henson crossed his arms.

“Really?” He replied coyly. “There are very few things in this universe I don’t like. Besides large crowds of people and cottage cheese, of course.”

Diana stared back at him with a solemn expression.

"Gods, it isn't about cottage cheese is it?" Henson said half-jokingly. 

He nervously drank from his coffee again, this time taking a large gulp of fluids.

“Another gate has been discovered.” Diana said calmly.

Henson’s mouth spewed coffee, showering the empty seat next to him with boiling, brown liquid.

He calmly placed his coffee cup back on the table and stared at his feet. Another gate. Another ticking time bomb waiting to unleash its horrors on their unsuspecting universe. 

Visions of dying angels and an endless, all-consuming force of darkness flashed through his mind. Never again did he want to see such loss of life, such terror, inflicted on anything in existence. 

“W-where?” Henson asked, visibly shaking. 

“Avalon.” Diana replied.

“Have you told the others?!” Henson asked, voice straining higher.

Looking away, Diana frowned, “No, but I have my reasons.”

“Reasons?!” Henson exclaimed. “It’s an Eldritch Gate, Apocrypha! A portal to a realm outside of our known existence. A realm we didn’t create!” 

“That’s why I need your help.” Diana said, looking intently into Henson’s eyes. “I need you to find your other selves and reform Elohim.”

Henson’s eyebrows hit the roof of his head.

“Reform? Are you mad?” Henson said shaking his head. “Do you remember how I was back in the days of the old testament? Why we split in the first place?”

“I do.” Diana admitted. “But we need every possible defense ready for when the gate opens.”

Henson gulped nervously and slumped into his seat.

“We need El’s firepower.” Diana affirmed, leaning forward.

"But...I haven't talked to the others in centuries." Henson admitted sadly. "The only one whose location I actually know is Sham, but he's..."

Diana leaned in and squeezed one of Henson's hands.

"I know, it's a difficult ask, but all of existence needs you." She said calmly.

"We need all of you."

Copyright © James Schleisman 2019 All Rights Reserved.