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“In retrospect, Mrs. Lipton’s penchant for parties is very Dionysian.” I grab the knot of my necktie and straighten my spine, earning a little sprite glare from Halen. “I said in retrospect.” I smile, giving her a pop of dimple to distract her, because I know it melts her a little. “And I don’t know, Dr. Markus, the folk music playing around this town might give us some indication as to the level of involvement.”
He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand, Professor Locke.”
“Nietzsche associated folk music with Dionysus, saying every period rich in folk songs has been most violently stirred by Dionysian currents.”
While all eyes slowly shift to the jukebox, Halen’s gaze remains trained on me, a charged current snapping between us. I send her a wink before I glance over at Pal to give him a small nod.
Then I drain the last dregs of my bourbon and set the glass down with finality, having made peace with my disdainful relationship with Nietzsche.
Halen once asked me whether or not I believed the man truly went mad. I can’t claim to have deciphered any shattering insight from his works, but it was there in his personal letters, the ones he sent to his friends, family, colleagues. The coded message of his life, and his quest.
In a letter, the troubled philosopher once wrote:Unless I discover the alchemists’ trick of turning this filth into gold, I am lost.
I do believe Nietzsche sought the philosopher’s stone, and I do believe he lost his mind in the process. In the end, what ultimately drove him past the brink wasn’t his descent into his depths. It was his isolation, his loneliness. If he’d had some sort of touchstone, he might have been able to pull himself out.
That is our human condition, our great wound, our need to be connected. Even the greatest minds suffer this affliction.
A chiming ringtone sounds from a phone, and Halen retrieves the device from her back pocket and taps the screen. “My lift to the airport is here.” With a wan smile, she stands and says her goodbyes. I watch her, spinning my ring, my chest on fire until she turns my way.
“Goodbye, Professor Locke.”
“Safe travels, Dr. St. James.”
As Halen retreats toward the exit, Rana follows after her, stopping her at the door. The agent speaks to Halen in private, setting my senses on alert. With a groan, I reach over and offer my hand to Hernandez.
He looks at it with a raised eyebrow before he accepts the gesture.
“Thoreau said, the language of friendship is not words, but meanings,” I say to him, able to produce a tight-lipped smile. “Actually, I just don’t have shit to say.”
“What-the-fuck ever, that’s a first.” He grips my hand tighter. “You better take care of her, Locke.”
I nod once with sincerity before I turn to my lawyer. “Call my FBI escorts. You can meet me out front.”
Crosby audibly sighs. “About fucking time.”
Passing Rana, I push through the door in chase after Halen, finding her standing with her suitcase on the sidewalk, wearing an expectant expression as she looks straight at me. Then a beautiful smile curls her lips.
I touch my bandaged side, then drive a hand through my hair. “What did Rana say?”
Halen shakes her head. “Nothing important.” The SUV idles behind her, and I swear to god, watching her take that small step toward the vehicle feels like she’s being severed from my sternum.
“Halen, wait?—”
She turns my way again. “I will be. For three months.”
I let a smoldering, lopsided smile grace my mouth.
A feverish blush sweeps through her skin as she tucks her notebook under her arm. I look pointedly at the journal before I eat the remaining steps between us and feather the defiant streak of white behind her ear.
History repeats itself. Before I walked off the ritual ground, after Halen began to recover her memory, I told her I’d wait for her. What I didn’t tell her was for how long I’d already been waiting, and that I’d never stop.
As I trace her delicate jawline, I let the pad of my thumb taste her lips. “You’ll be there.”
“I’ll be there,” she says, then she disappears into the depths of the SUV.
It’s the connection of the twin flame. Once your other half is found, if divided, it will consume and devour everything in its path like the fires of hell to be reunited.
It’s the course.
