The Man in the Tower

This is the next-to-last chapter in The ShambElla Saga.

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The Man in the Tower

The double doors opened, and a man walked out.

He didn’t look like much. He might have been an accountant, or a clerk, or some stuffy bureaucrat.

He wore a suit, but it wasn’t fancy, like those of the man and woman that guarded the tower. It was even a little shabby, well-worn, but perfectly tailored, as if the fastidious fellow didn't see much point in wasting resources on another when this one was just fine.

He had an unmistakable know-it-all air about him. He would tell you he took care of things, thankless job though it might be! He would tell you that the fate of the world rested in his hands alone, and remind you that he saved it many times over, though you were unaware.

How odd it is that the most courageous and dastardly, the most virtuous and vicious souls who toil in opposition against each other for scraps of dirt and coin, or hierarchal power, often do so at the behest of entities with none of these traits, like the man who emerged from the tower.

One might suspect that such a one exerts an unseen influence, manipulating from beyond the stage with a hidden hand, shaping events with unfathomable, cold, deep acuity.

But one could only ever suspect.

Ella took the lead with David by her side and they all walked up to him.

“So… you met my son, Damien.”

“You’re… the devil?” Ella said.

“I suppose so. I’ve always hated that designation. Before the concentration of poly into monotheism I went by many names, in many guises. Loki, Prometheus, Set, Mara, just to name a few. I’ve always kind of resented the monotheists for relegating me to this ambiguous state. But I have never, despite the many stories to the contrary, hated God.”

“But what kind of God does this?”

“Here’s the deal: what many call God is everything, all existence, all powerful. Omnipotent. We are the expression of that power compartmentalized into individual experience. The sum total of these experiences is omniscience. It would be wrong to say “God” caused Armageddon, as God is not the knower.

We are the knowers, and we should have known better. Damien was supposed to initiate a sort of Apocalypse that would separate the quick from the dead, the damned from the saved, but, ultimately, he betrayed his true purpose.

But there was a failsafe. The Philosopher’s Stone, it was often called, though I still can’t remember why we named it that, whether it was always a box, or even what exactly it would do. There are a lot of things I honestly can’t remember. I suspect that sometimes not only does the future change, but also the past and the present.”

“Who pressed the button?”

“One of my own, sorry to say, and sorry for your losses.”

“But who? I’d at least like a name. Just a name.”

“It’s not really important, is it?”

“It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” He stepped back, raising his hands, as Ella raised her guns. “Look! Look! I didn’t know, okay? I thought I was saving the world!”

Ella’s lips trembled and one tear ran down her right cheek. Sam had said the very same, recounting war stories.

Sometimes we are evil but most times you’re just watching good folks mishandle bad situations.

Nevertheless, she was ready to fire the shots, and disintegrate the alarmed look right off this twerp's face, along with the head from his shoulders; but she could feel his mind inside her own now, struggling with her will, keeping her from following through, though it was the barest thread that held her back.

“And this is where I butt in,” said a voice from everywhere and nowhere.

“Oh, no,” the Narrator, otherwise known as the devil, moaned. “Can’t you please just let her shoot me?”

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