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I wanted to knock but something stopped me. He sounded really busy, the sound of his keyboard audible through the door. I didn’t want to disturb him. It might have seemed like a pathetic excuse but was true enough at the time. Before I left, my ear was caught by the song he was listening to.
He is/He’s the shining and the light without whom I cannot see. And he is, insurrection, he is spite, he’s the force that made me be.Chapter Twelve - AugustusI was okay. It was the first time in a long time that I hadn’t woken up screaming. It was a nice change really. Lifting my head, the keys that were on my pillow not wanting to let go and leaving their impression in my skin, I noticed the record player was still spinning. The needle was thumping in effectively against the label.
Rallying all my strength, I arose like Lazarus and limped on my snoozing right leg to the player. Putting it out of its misery.
Slipping the record back into its sleeve, returning the precious, vintage, vinyl to its alphabetical slow in the row, I selected my next outfit from the free-standing closet and headed for the bathroom.
I did a quick sweep of the common space, making sure Rachel wasn’t about. I would retreat and give her space. The coast was clear, and I booted it to the bathroom, suspending the hanger of fine, secondhand clothes on the hook set into the back of the bathroom door for this expressed purpose.
No sooner had I sat back down at the desk, showered, dressed, with breakfast in hand, then a message came through on my email system. An instant message, standing out against the white background in hues of pink. Close to red but not quite there.Rachel: You up?It was technically possible that I was still logged in from the day before. I decided to be nice.Me: Very much so. Just had a shower.My words came up in dark blue. The color and font selection were meant to be default as well as random, so I didn’t look too far into it.Rachel: I thought I heard you.Me: Who else might it be at this time of day?Rachel: Noon?Shit, it really was too. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept that long. Nearly nine hours in a row. There was definitely something different about Rachel. Something that managed to soothe my savage mind.Me: That’s late for me.Rachel: Figured, I mean, I usually hear you much earlier.Me: So you can avoid me?Rachel: At first.Me: And now?Rachel: Reconsidering.That was a surprise. Not that I wasn’t happy to hear it. If nothing else, everything would be a lot more pleasant for both of us if we didn’t act like we were walking through a minefield every time we left our rooms.Rachel: I was going to knock yesterday but you sounded busy. I heard your music.It was nice.Me: Ghost.Rachel: What?Me: The music. It was a Swedish Metal band called Ghost.Rachel: Metal? Like, Heavy Metal? It didn’t sound like it.Me: They do things differently in Europe ;)I could hear her giggling through the wall. It sounded really nice.Rache: It sounded fascinating. I loved the instrumentation, particularly
at the beginning. Oh, and the choral sections. It almost sounded
like something I would hear in church. Particularly with the Latin
in the chorus. Was it about God?It would have been the perfect time to lie. I don’t know what else I would have said but I knew that the worst possible thing would be to tell the truth. That the song was about Lucifer. Or at least the idea of Lucifer. Using it the way most LaVeyans, particularly in the later period, did, as a metaphor. A symbol of rebellion against absolute authority.
We could very well use someone like Voltaire, who did the same thing with the royalty of France and suffered for it. In the name of freedom and personal autonomy. Lucifer just had a bit more chutzpa.Me: The truth?
Rachel: If you don’t mind. :PMe: It’s actually about the devil. Or more accurately
Lucifer. How the idea of Luciferis portrayed in Pop
Culture taught the singer, Tobias Forge, to think for himself and be
independent. The light that helps me see? A reference to Lucifer as the bringer
of light. In this case meant metaphorically in terms of shedding light on the
truth in the darkness of lies.There was a long pause then and I could tell she was thinking. The ‘Rachel is typing….’ coming up several times at the bottom left of the messenger window. Finally a response.Rachel: Meet me in the living room?Me: Of course.It was like an old-school comedy skit, both of us coming out at once, nearly bumping into each other on the way to the couch. Rachel was the first to laugh at our silliness. Seeing her relax helped me to also.
