Angelo picked at his rice. He stared at it and he stared back. It was just about the easiest thing to make when he was on his own. He wasn't exactly in a good mood and the food reflected it in its sogginess. He hadn't checked whether all the water had evaporated before he'd turned off the cooker.
He stood up from the kitchen counter and tossed his food in the trash bin. It had been a distraction from his thoughts, a great one while it had lasted. Now deductions and reasoning would come to him even if he didn't want them to. He could jump to conclusions but at least it would somewhat soothe his mind, he hoped.
So he went on his laptop and looked up Ankh. It was a fruitless search that only brought up the definition of the word. He racked his brain for any more details from the three times he had encountered the symbol.
But the only detail that stood out was the color. Even when his mother had mentioned it she'd said bronze ankh. But why did the color matter so much?
Angelo couldn't take any chances so he half-heartedly looked up bronze ankh. The result was disappointing at first glance. Nothing but advertisements for bronze bracelets and necklaces that happened to be ankh shaped.
Having given up hope, he scrolled downwards aimlessly searching for something, anything that would interest him. And then he found it.
It was on some low key journalism website at the bottom of the search list. The headline read, "BRONZE ANKH CULT!"
Angelo wondered if the article had ever been opened by anyone before. Frankly, he should have dismissed it as nothing more than clickbait, but left with little option and a quick argument with himself he opened it. And he read it top to bottom three times.
Three sentences stuck out to him.
"A member of the cult is identified by an ankh tattoo. Not just any regular ankh tattoo, it is bronze in color with such a definitive hue that you would think the metal was burned into them."
"The cult is not short on resources, as you will find people from police officers to members of Congress brandishing the tattoo or items shaped in the same way e.g. cufflinks, earrings..."
Angelo was pulled from a vague dream by the sound of the doorbell ringing. It was rung again and again till he angrily stood up and shouted that he was on his way. His laptop must've turned itself off while he slept and his phone said it was three am. Who the hell would pay a visit at three am?
It was only when his grogginess was slightly worn away that the thought occurred to him.
The man had come early. He had somehow intercepted the call between Angelo and his mother and decided to cut the time roughly by half. Angelo was on the brink of tears. He tossed aside the Maasai sheet that he'd been covering himself with and walked as slowly as he could to the front door. Ignoring the loud pounding on the door and ceaseless ringing of the doorbell.
When he got to the door he was surprised it hadn't been pulled off its hinges already. He took his sweet time with the lock and as soon as it was done the door was forced open from the outside rocking Angelo backwards.
While he was on the ground, however momentarily, he recalled the man from the cinema's height. Angelo, being six foot three, could at least attempt to intimidate him, yeah? Well he had never been so wrong in his life.
The man's body seemed to go on forever. Even when Angelo stood he found himself forced to look up. He had to admit the feeling was new. He hadn't had to crane his neck upwards to look at someone since he was thirteen.
"You must be Angelo," came a deep rumble from somewhere deep in his throat, "I wish I could say it was a pleasure."
***
Davis stared at the portrait on the wall. He analyzed each crease and curve and appreciated its authenticity and quality. He had to admit, the artist who made this was good, it must have cost a fortune coupled with the solid gold frame...
Such were the benefits of money and power. Two things that Heralds Of Light have in abundance, Davis thought. All it required was a little bit of manipulation here and there, a few whispers, a few bribes and any lie could be sold.
And his sister was a master at it. That was why she wasn't sent off to fight in the front lines for thirty years like he had. It was why she had become the African representative at the table. And Davis couldn't have been happier for her. At least she didn't have to carry these scars with her if she had somehow survived. Davis himself was lucky to be standing here.
But those were old long forgotten memories. Memories that made him constantly itch at his chest.
"You came." said a voice from behind him.
It drew him from his reverie and he was once again aware of his surroundings, the door at the end of the hallway slammed itself shut as Marie approached. The hallway seemed to elongate as she struggled to make her way to him, constantly leaning on the white walls. He shortened the distance between them but was stopped when she lifted her left hand.
After a few more struggles, she plopped herself on the floor in her medical gown, straightened her legs and sat. Then she slapped her hand twice on the floor as if she had meant to do it and Davis couldn't help but smirk. He was wrong, she was definitely strong enough to have survived the frontlines.
He followed her command and sat down like the overprotective obedient dog he was around her. It was a universal big brother thing, he guessed.
"Marie," He said, "I will always come where you call."
"I appreciate that. Though I fear what I ask of you today may be too great." She said weakly. He would have worried about her weak state if he hadn't known for a fact that she was a servant of the Great Guide like himself. And that she had been merely been transported here to New York from Nairobi. She would be fine.
"What could possibly..."
"There is much I have not told you since you returned." She interrupted. But she was not finished. Davis wondered what he couldn't happened that she hadn't told him in the five years he had been back but did not speak. whatever it was she was clearly about to tell him
"Bawoba," She said her weakness completely unnoticeable in her voice.
And she had used that name, Bawoba, a nickname given to him by his grandmother ages ago. Baobab tree in Kinyarwanda, and she used only when she was afraid of what he might say.
"Brother, I must tell you that which I kept hidden. That which I should have said long ago but was afraid to. But now your nephew is in danger..."
"My nephew?" Davis said almost laughing. He didn't have a nephew. Did he?
"Marie," he said when she didn't tell him she was joking.
She merely regarded him gravely and disgraced, guiltily.
"Bawoba," She said but the effect of the nickname was long forgotten. "I have a son."
Even as she said it Davis had expected it. After all he had seen , all the friends he had seen almost literally torn apart, he no longer had the capacity to be surprised. It was almost impossible at this point for him to be impressed, but this...
"Davis," she pleaded as he began to stand.
This was simply too much.
"Davis please, he is in danger," she sobbed and grabbed his arm.
He resisted the urge to push it off, this was still his sister.
"They sent the Slav after him." She said.
And for once, Davis was terrified. Not of the man she was talking about, but of what he would do. Ivan Potocnik was a coward who hurt only those weaker than him.
"He wants to use Angelo against me."She sobbed once more.
Davis stared at the hand that gripped his. The grip was weak but the pleading was intense. This son of hers meant the world to his sister. This was a blow that was hard to take, and he had taken many.
"Who else knows of his existence?" He asked without looking her in the eye.
"I do." Came a male western accent that he would recognize no matter where he was.
"Mentor August," Davis said, as the man walked out of the recovery room where Marie had been. His anger bubbled out to the surface.
He was about to charge the five foot tall man but Marie stood in front of him and held him back.
"Davis, please. I need you to go to him. I need you to save my son. I need you to..." She stammered, "I need you to..."She said before succumbing to the weakness and falling.
Davis would've grabbed her but August was there first. The giant resisted the urge to throw him through the wall but didn't bother to hide the his contempt.
"Where is he?"
"What?" August asked.
"My sister's son you idiot."
"Right, he's in Nairobi, at her house. We kept him hidden for a reason Davis." He said lifting Marie off the ground.
"Whatever, i'll deal with this when I get back."
"If you get back. Ivan kissed the right asses a few years back. He's going to be the first of the next generation of telekinetics. Don't underestimate him."
"I'll deal with the slav, I've done it before, he's lucky to be alive in fact. "
"I hope you're right. Go back the haven, pack what you might need. Be here by oh-six hundred hours. You'll find money and a car waiting for you in Nairobi, my influence still exists enough that no one will ask questions."
"I simply asked where he was, i never mentioned I was going to do it." Davis said curtly.
"But you will because Marie asked you to, right?" August said smugly. A moment passed silently. "Right?" he asked less confidently.
Davis simply walked away.