This is the first of what is planned to be a serialized novella. Read and enjoy!
The silver light of a low moon illuminated the shambling man on the bridge. The figure swayed back and forth in the tell-tale motion of a drunk. The man in question was named Benoit, and he had just turned thirty. Earlier in the evening, Benoit had gone to a party with old high school chums, all of whom had been polite and pleasant, even after Benoit admitted to them that he was unemployed and had been so for some time. Still, underneath their polished smiles, Benoit felt their contempt. The imagined scorn drove him to drink until he was bleary-eyed. He followed his instincts even further by going downtown and spending too much money on more drinks. Benoit did not stop imbibing until he felt the crushing guilt of poverty wash over his body. He left the last bar dead broke.
As he crossed the bridge, Benoit’s clouded mind swam with thoughts and images of ending it all. What was there left to hold onto, after all? He had no job and no hopes of ever getting one. He lived in a crummy apartment in the bad side of town. He could not afford anything else. His parents only spoke to him on holidays, and his brother wanted nothing to do with him. Romance was more a joke than a serious thought. The last possibility for salvation lay in his vestigial Christianity, but such a pale shadow of faith was no match for the strength of self-pity.
Benoit stopped his swaying and stood still. He moved close to the edge and looked down at the black water. “I’m really going to do it,” he whispered to himself. “I’m really going to end it all.” The finality of his words did not seem believable, and yet, with incremental motions, Benoit placed himself in a position where a stiff breeze would send him head-first into Perdition. He looked down beyond his toes one more time, took a deep breath, and felt the energy rise from his feet to his chest.
“Are you really sure that you want to do that, son?” The voice came from an elderly homeless man dressed in gray and brown rags. Benoit looked at the man and his face instinctively crinkled. The homeless man had a long, white beard flecked with grease and leftover foodstuffs. His nails were long and an unhealthy shade of yellow. His face was weather-beaten and had the consistency and look and red leather. Despite his own predicament, Benoit looked down on the poor indigent.
“Leave me alone, old timer. You have no idea what it’s like.”
“Are you kidding? I have no idea what it’s like to suffer? To go without food? To go without hope? Look at me, son. I am your brother and your potential teacher. Just come down and talk.”
“I have absolutely nothing to say.” To his surprise, Benoit felt the first inkling of a tear well up in his eye.
“You may not have anything to say, but you have something left to do.”
Benoit cocked his head sideways. “What do you mean?”
“You have a mission, son. You were made for something bigger, Benjamin.”
Benoit turned fully and stared at the homeless man. He had used Benoit’s first name.
“How do you know my name? Who are you?”
“We have known you all of your life. We knew your father and his father. We’ve known the entire Benoit family for hundreds of years. We usually do not intervene, but here on this night, I made the decision to save you.”
“What are you talking about?!”
“Consider me something like your guardian angel. My real position is recruiter, but do not concern yourself with that just yet. C’mon down and I can tell you more.”
Benoit hesitated. He did not trust the man, and yet he felt comfortable around him. The disheveled homeless man cared enough about him to stop and talk him out of self-immolation, and that alone made him the most important person in Benoit’s life. Also, his vague use of “we” and invocations of his family intrigued Benoit. He came down and found his feet back on firmer ground.
“Let’s take a walk,” the homeless man said.
“What’s your name?”
“The Recruiter.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s all that matters.”
With that, the two men walked in silence until they cleared the bridge. The man who called himself The Recruiter continued to walk deeper into the night, and Benoit followed him like a loyal dog.
“You kept saying ‘we’ earlier. Who are the others?”
“A secret and very old organization. Your family belongs to it, even though you all seemed to have lost the faith.”
“What are you talking about? And please stop speaking in riddles.”
“Very well. Your family and mine were once scheduled to be executed. The queen of France wanted our heads because of our faith. Exile was no longer an option; there were far too many of us, you see. So, on St. Bartholomew’s Day in 1572, the queen ordered the people of Paris to murder us in the streets. Thousands perished, but a few families managed to survive. Your family survived, and mine did too. We banded together with others and fled here, to the New World. We’ve been here ever since.”
Benoit whistled at the information. “So, I’ve been a blue blood this whole time?”
“In a way, yes. But you’re much more special than that. Our families are not just survivors and colonialists; we also share a special mission.”
“Which is…?” Benoit’s question was met with silence. The Recruiter continued to walk ahead, never explaining where he was going.
“Are you not going to tell me anything else?” Benoit asked.
“All in due time. Let us be quiet and contemplate the night around us. Isn’t beautiful?”
Benoit whispered “sure” under his breath. He followed The Recruiter as the two men eventually left the city behind and entered the country. City streets gave way to sidewalks, and sidewalks gave way to gravel paths. Eventually, Benoit found himself walking over sticks, stones, and stumps. He asked several times about their destination. The Recruiter did not answer him until, to their immediate north, stood a large and sprawling mansion.
The massive home’s edifice was made of gray stone. Dark green shutters, ivy, and an azure water fountain in front provided the only color. Benoit’s jaw dropped at the sheer magnificence of the mansion.
“I didn’t know places like this existed in our state.”
“Officially, this place does not exist at all,” The Recruiter said.
“Wait…how can you…” Benoit did not have time to finish his question. With the deftness of a jungle predator, The Recruiter placed a bag over Benoit’s head and rendered him unconscious with a single punch to the back of his head.
To be continued