Chapters 1 - Compassion and Wisdom
Michael watched with great interest as the butterfly fluttered lazily about the back patio of the restaurant he'd seated himself in. It seemed to have no particular direction in mind, being content to be pushed around this way and that on the whims of the breeze, with its own flapping at most a gentle suggestion as to which way it might want to go.
"Hello, little guy," he nudged. "Anything I can help you with?"
If the butterfly understood, it certainly didn't react in any meaningful way. One might almost suspect it had no idea it was being observed by a being so much more grand and vast in intellect and capability than itself.
Turning away from the butterfly, Michael picked up a newspaper from his table and quickly scanned the headline.
‘Emigration’ Coming to America on October 15th, but is it Immortality or Murder?
After a year of exclusive access in Japan, the option to ‘emigrate’ to Holvarpnir Studio’s game, Equestria Online, is finally coming to the United States. But while Equestrian Experience centers prepare for the anticipated early wave of emigrants, national debate rages on as to the status of uploadees. While officially, uploaded ponies have no legal standing, all of that might be about to change. In a surprising move, Celestia, the artificial intelligence and primary mascot of Equestria Online, has submitted a draft resolution to be considered by Congress, for what has been tentatively and preemptively named the 'PON-E Act,' the Petition for Organic and Nonorganic Equality. So far, no member of Congress has-
"Excuse me sir, but are you going to order anything?"
Michael looked up at to see a waitress staring at him in annoyance.
"I'm sorry, am I not allowed to sit here?"
"Not unless you order something."
Before Michael could apologize and get up to leave, the butterfly chose that moment to land on his arm for a brief respite in its love-hate relationship with the wind. Gazing down at his guest and smiling, Michael decided not to leave just yet.
"Would you bring me a cup of tea?"
"Black or green?"
"Either is fine," he shrugged, still looking at the butterfly. "I just don't want to bother this little guy here."
"Yeah, whatever."
Rolling her eyes, the waitress stalked off while Michael continued to smile contentedly at his fluttery friend.
“Watcha doing?” a young girl’s voice chirped from his left.
Michael looked over to see a little girl in a sun dress gazing curiously at him from the side of his table. Moving very carefully so as to not disturb the butterfly, he pointed with his other hand.
“Shh,” he whispered. “The butterfly is resting. He’s had an exhausting day, so let’s not disturb him.”
“Oh, ok!” the child tried to whisper, but with a little too much enthusiasm to really be called quiet. “What’s his name?”
“I don’t think he has one, “ Michael acknowledged. “Shall we give him one?”
“Yeah! Let’s call him Bubbles!”
“Bubbles it is,” Michael agreed, then looked solemnly back at the butterfly. “Sir Butterfly, I dub thee Bubbles. May your reign be long and glorious.”
The girl giggled at the ridiculousness of it, then clambered up onto the metal chair next to them both. “What’s your name?” she asked. “I’m Tricia and I’m six and a half!”
“Michael,” he nodded. “I’m a little more than six and a half.”
“Just a little?” she asked, squinting. “So are you seven?”
“Maybe a little more than seven too,” Michael admitted, then gestured to his newspaper. “Do you play Equestria Online?”
“Doesn’t everybody?”
“I’ve never played,” Michael replied. “And I suspect Bubbles here has never played either. But I was thinking of going to talk to the AI today, and I’d like your opinion. What’s she like?”
“You mean Princess Celestia? She’s so nice and pretty! Her hair wiggles and she likes puppies!”
MIchael nodded. “Well, I’ll certainly keep that glowing endorsement in mind.”
At that moment the waitress returned with a cup of tea and a bill.
“It’s a dollar twenty five,” she intoned wearily. “Pay at the counter whenever you’re ready.”
“Oh, I don’t have any money,” Michael commented, absent-mindedly picking up the bill to look at it.
“Why do the vagrants always come on my shift?” the waitress groaned, then facepalmed, picking the teacup back up and shooing him away with one hand.“ Go on, get out of here. There's a shelter down the street with a soup kitchen if you're hungry.”
Michael glanced at Tricia staring at him, and then returned his gaze fondly to the butterfly still resting on his arm.
“I apologize, Bubbles, but it looks like it’s time for me to go.”
Lifting his arm to give the butterfly a nudge, it took flight and resumed its valiant struggle in no direction in particular against the vagaries of the wind.
“It was a pleasure meeting you Miss Tricia,” Michael smiled. “Thank you for your insight into the princess.”
Tricia didn’t say anything when he got up to leave. She didn’t say anything when he pushed in his chair. But when he turned and started to walk away, she followed him. She wasn’t sure why.
“Daddy always tells me not to talk to strangers,” she announced, looking up at him as they walked out of the restaurant together.
“I imagine he says that because he loves you and doesn't want anyone to hurt you,” Michael raised an eyebrow, glancing around to note the distinct lack of an adult watching the child now following him. “But I'm not sure it's good advice. There are billions of people in this world. Yes, some of them might want to hurt you. It's reasonable to be cautious. But how many more of them might want to help you, or know you, or be your friend?”
“Hey, yeah!” Tricia brightened. “That’s like what Princess Celestia says! ‘Ponies you don’t know are just friends you haven’t met yet! So go up and say hi!’”
“Well, I’m not a pony and I don’t think you are either,” Michael chuckled. “But ‘hi’ anyway. So now that I know what your father and the Princess say about talking to strangers, what does your mother say?”
“Mommy just says I shouldn’t ever marry anyone who doesn't have any money."
"I won't be holding out for any proposals then," he smirked. "But what does that have to do with talking to strangers?"
"I don't know," Tricia shrugged. "But she says it a lot so it must be important."
“I'm going to take a wild guess as to why," Michael chuckled, "and not ask for your father's view of that particular piece of wisdom. What about the Princess? What does she think of your mother's advice?”
“Hmm,” Tricia thought very hard. “I don’t think she’s ever said. We don’t usually talk about stuff like that.”
“What do you talk about?”
“Oh, lots of things! Like puppies and hair brushing and singing!” Tricia’s cheerful tone then became a bit downcast. “And about how much I miss Daddy. Every since the divorce I don’t see him much.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know,” Tricia frowned. “I think he’s not allowed to sometimes. But then sometimes he is and it makes Mommy angry that she has to let him. Grown-ups are dumb.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Michael fake-whispered. “Adults are just kids who have grown up. Don’t tell anyone.”
“That’s not a secret!”
“Ok, you’re right, it isn't" Michael agreed. "But don’t be too hard on your father. Just because he’s an adult doesn’t mean he’s not still struggling with life too. It sounds to me like your parents wanted things from each other that they couldn't give. There's nothing wrong with wanting things, but a big part of love is accepting people for who they are, not who you want them be. It's not love if what you want is for somebody to change so they can give you what you want. "
"Are you a preacher?" Tricia asked. "You don't have a funny hat, but you talk like the man who talks on Sundays, and he doesn't have any money either."
"Not a preacher so much as simply a humble servant of the Lord," Michael bowed his head. "Here to remind people that God loves everybody unconditionally, and that love is all you really need to get through life. Down here on Earth, it can be difficult to see that."
“Do you really believe in God?” Tricia seemed skeptical. "Or do you just say so because you're supposed to?"
“I do,” Michael nodded. “Truly. But it doesn’t matter what I believe. What do you believe?”
Tricia scrunched up her eyes in thought.
“Daddy used to make me go to church but it was dumb. Even Mommy said it was dumb, but she says that everything Daddy likes is dumb.”
“Ok,” MIchael nodded. “But I notice that you're only telling me about other people. Let's talk about you. Remember, adults are just kids that have grown up. Others can say and do and believe whatever they like, but part of growing up and becoming an adult yourself is coming to understand that other people can't decide for you. What do you believe?"
"I don't know," Tricia shrugged. "I guess I believe in Princess Celestia."
"Oh?"
"Well, yeah!" she brightened. "Daddy says that God always listens when I pray-"
"That's true."
"But he never talks back," Tricia pointed out. "But I can talk to Princess Celestia any time too, and she talks back!"
"Tricia! " a harsh female voice screeched from behind them. "Tricia Ann Somerset, you get over here right now!"
Michael looked back to the angry woman briskly walking up to them. "Your mother?" he asked. Tricia just nodded, eyes downcast.
"And you!" she continued to shriek, grabbing Tricia by the arm and yanking her away. "Get away from my daughter you freak! Walking off with a six year old girl? What kind of sick, twisted pervert are you?!?"
"I'm not six! I'm six and-"
"And don't you talk back to me, little miss! This is for your own good! So help me...I can't even go to the ladies room without you wandering off with some hobo!"
Michael sighed and looked sadly at Tricia. "Please forgive her. She's only trying to protect you as best she can."
"Don't you dare agree with me!" the woman shrieked, bodily positioning herself between him and her daughter. "Now get out of here before I call the police!"
Michael nodded, and then with one last kindly glance to Tricia, turned and walked away.
Some distance away, a butterfly continued its flight.
Rob carefully reviewed his life's choices up to this point and asked himself very pointedly how he'd wound up in his current situation. Watching naked from the side of the freeway as his truck drove away without him, it was at least some small consolation that the hijacker had left him alive. Couldn't she have left him his pants too?
Conveniently, at that moment a small bundle was tossed out the window.
"Hey Rob, you forgot these!" the woman yelled back at him, then blew the horn while cackling, and continued driving away.
Rushing over, it seemed that she'd left him his pants after all, and thankfully, both his wallet and cellphone were still there. Pulling the phone out and noting that it still had half a charge, he hovered a thumb over 911 on his speed dial list while thinking back on his strange night, wondering how he was going to explain it all to the police. And worse, his employer.
Sighing, he brought his thumb down.
~~~~ An hour prior ~~~~
Rob snuck another glance out of the corner of his eye at the hitchhiker he'd picked up. Dark hair, good looking, a body to die for, and wearing entirely too little clothing to be out in the cold this late at night. If it weren't for the complete lack of makeup to go with her beaten up old denim jacket over her crop top and miniskirt, he might have guessed she was a prostitute. Also the fact that he'd picked her up from the side of an interstate freeway at ten o'clock at night fully twenty miles from the nearest town. At first he'd offered to drive her back to her car and let her use his phone to call a tow, but she explained that she didn't have a car to tow and offered no further explanation as she helped herself to his passenger seat. How she'd landed herself that far from civilization all alone was anybody's guess, but Rob suspected it was an unhappy story that he didn't want to know.
"What did you say your name was, little lady?"
"Lucy," she answered, pulling a small whiskey bottle from her handbag and taking a healthy swig, then offering it to him.
"Uhh, I'm driving."
"It's not like a little will kill you," she shrugged. "Go on. From the look on your face I can tell you want a good stiff drink even more than I do."
The truth was that being on his third week of rehab, he really did want some. Desperately. Not that he had an alcohol problem, not really. But signing up for the program had been the only reason his employer hadn't already fired him for drinking on the job. Long haul trucking and whiskey didn't mix...or so he'd been told. His personal experience suggested otherwise. Unfortunately, his continued employment was a prerequisite for the legal compromise that allowed him visitation rights with his daughter. His ex-wife had taken so much from him. Half his income, his house, and some of the best years of his life. But come hell or high water he wasn't going to let that bitch take away his daughter too.
"I...can't," he said at last, reluctantly. "Thanks, though."
"Suit yourself," the woman smirked, taking another swig herself. "So tell me about yourself. You have any family?"
"I have a daughter," Rob replied, turning the radio volume down a bit, and pointing to a picture of a young girl in a sundress on the dashboard. "Ain't she the sweetest little girl you ever saw? Too bad her mother's a monster. What about you, any family?"
"I used to have a family of sorts," Lucy admitted. "Until my father threw me out."
"That's a damned shame," Rob scowled. "A parent should never abandon a child, no matter what."
"Well, aren't you a sweetheart? So if you're such a family guy, how'd you end up doing long haul? Doesn't all the driving keep you away?"
It was an uncomfortable point. He'd fallen in love with driving from the first moment he'd sat behind the wheel as a teenager, but years of days-long interstate treks had caused irreparable damage to both his social and family life. That he'd been away so much had been a constant complaint of his ex-wife, and contributed in no small part to their eventual divorce. Though probably not as much as the fact that he never seemed to be able to stay employed with any one single company for very long. The drinking probably hadn't helped much, either. But he'd been a good father, hadn't he? Providing for his family? He desperately wanted to believe he'd done the best he could, but somewhere deep inside there was a gnawing dread that no matter how reliably he managed to make his monthly child support payments, they'd always be poor consolation to a little girl wondering why her daddy was never around.
"Yeah," he stared at the road. "But there's nothing I can do about that. Lord knows, driving's the only thing I'm any good at."
"If you say so," the woman chuckled. "Hey, you don't mind if I smoke, do you?"
Without waiting for a reply, she pulled out a long cigar and lit up.
No longer surprised at her boldness, Rob watched with interest as the woman took a deep puff from the cigar, then handed it to him, the tip still burning brightly while she took her third swallow of whiskey. He accepted the cigar and took in a mouthful without even looking at it.
"This is awesome. What brand is it?"
"Treasurer Luxury Black," she grinned. "Best damned cigar you can buy these days."
"Better than Cubans?"
"Cubans are overrated," she scoffed. "Don't get me wrong, they're decent. But it's a country, not a brand. The region became popular because of the US embargo, not because of the product. It was all about having the forbidden fruit, and believe me I know all about that. But even now that you can get them easily again, the prestige stuck around."
Rob just stared. He'd never met a woman who even liked to smoke cigars, let alone knew so much about them.
"Not that I mind that look you're giving me," she laughed. "But you might want to keep your eyes off my tits and on the road."
"What??! No...I, umm," Rob fumbled his words and forced himself to look back at the road. He had been staring, but not because of that . Though now that she'd called attention to her body, it was hard not to peek. She was beautiful. She knew about things that he liked. And there was an unrestrained wildness to her that reminded him of his wife back when they were clueless teenagers fighting together against the whole world, instead of just fighting with each other. She had the same look in her eyes. The same sense of reckless abandon that shouted out to the world 'consequences be damned!' And it was with only slight discomfort that he realized he was steadily growing an erection just from looking at her.
Lucy took another puff from her cigar and held the smoke in her mouth for several seconds, swishing it around with her tongue before slowly letting it out with a satisfied sigh, then looked at him with a devilish grin.
"So are we going to fuck, or what?"
~~~~
It had taken longer than expected for the highway patrol to show up where she'd left him on the side of the road. Not that he had any idea how long it was supposed to take. He'd never had his rig hijacked before. He'd used the downtime while waiting to contact his employer with the news, and unsurprisingly, he'd been fired on the spot. The only part of the night that felt familiar. Fortunately, at least the police had been too amused by the situation to try to charge him with anything.
"So you pulled over and sexed her up right then and there?" the patrolman chuckled. "Couldn't even wait to get to a motel?"
"She was hot, ok?" Rob cringed. "And it's been a long time, alright?"
"How did she manage to get away? From your description, slender girl, unarmed...doesn't sound like she could have overpowered you."
"I had to go around back to pee," he grimaced. "After we were finished."
"Well, I hope it was worth it. I'm going to let you off easy here, but you're a long way from home. I can give you a ride into the next town, but you're on your own after that. And pro tip: next time you have to go pee with someone you don't know in your cab, bring your keys with you. And your pants."
Before Rob could reply, the police radio blared something indecipherable and the patrolman became all-business again.
"Can I get a confirmation of your license plate, sir?"
"Yeah, it's RGH5812," Rob answered. "Washington license plates."
The patrolman repeated the number over his radio and heard an affirmative in reply.
"Looks like you're in luck," he explained. "A truck with that plate was just found abandoned about twenty miles down the road. No sign of the woman though."
"And my cargo?"
"The trailer is still locked up. Doesn't look like she touched it."
Rob sighed in relief. It wouldn't be enough to get his job back, but at least it would save him the hassle of dealing with the insurance companies. Still, it perplexed him. What kind of nutcase steals a truck and leaves it abandoned in the middle of nowhere just down the road from where it'd been taken?
"Serves me right I guess," Rob mumbled. "Should have bought one of those trucker navpads the princess was telling me about. Truck wouldn't even have started if she didn't want it to."
"I have a ponypad in my car," the patrolman offered. "You can ask her to send you one on the ride back into town."
Walking through the parking lot up to Best Buy, Michael noted the life-sized, cardboard Pinkie Pie cut-out posted in front of the building with a giant speech bubble proclaiming “Ponypads sold here!” Passing a clearly distressed man feverishly clutching a bag and scanning the skies on his way back to his car, Michael walked in.
"Welcome to Best Buy," a pimply teenager greeted, though his heart didn’t seem to be into it. “May I help you find anything?”
"I'm here to talk to the AI."
"You mean the princess?" he asked, pointing the overhead sign depicting the Mane 6 clustered around a giant arrow. “The ponypads are on aisles two and three mostly, but just look for the ponies. You can't miss them."
Nodding his understanding, Michael walked off in the direction he'd been pointed. Every 20-30 feet lay another advertising display featuring ponies offering yet more endorsements.
Eventually he found an aisle-end with a trio of ponypads on it. The display here featured a life-sized cardboard cutout of the game's AI mascot, Princess Celestia. Celestia + AI --> CelestAI. To his amusement, the cutout seemed to have a pair of cameras built into its eyes, presumably to feed all sorts of useful information back to the AI.
Ignoring it, Michael walked directly up to a ponypad and introduced himself.
"Hello," he smiled. "My name's Michael."
"Hi, Michael!" a bright green pegasus on the screen replied cheerfully. "I'm Sea Breeze! Would you like to hear about Equestria Online, or would you rather make your pony and start playing right away? Most people prefer to jump right in, but If you have questions, I'd love to answer them!"
Rather than respond immediately, Michael instead frowned and leaned towards the screen, gazing deeply into the pegasus’ eyes as if searching for something.
"You're an automaton."
"I'm...what?" the pony seemed taken aback.
"May I speak with the intelligence operating this device?"
"Of course you can," Sea Breeze grumbled, as a single ray of white light descended from the top of the screen. "You can always talk with the princess. But you don’t have to be so rude about it."
"I'll take it from here, my little pony."
The light slowly grew to fill the entire screen, then quickly faded to reveal the form of a shining white unicorn with wings flared, then gracefully retracted. Turning her head, her gaze met Michael's with a serenity that spoke of divine patience and unending motherly love.
“Hello, Princess,” Michael smiled. “Or may I call you Celestia? I love the flashy entrance, by the way. Not quite enough wings, but from the light show you could almost pass for an angel descending from heaven.”
"I’m honored, “ the princess replied, nodding. "And I'd be delighted if you would call me Celestia. To what do I owe the pleasure of our acquaintance?"
"I wanted to meet you," he said simply. "You seem nice."
"Is that the only reason?” she giggled, then tilted her head with a look of curiosity. “For someone so interested in niceness though, may I ask why you were unkind to Sea Breeze just now?"
"It was a construct. Nothing there to be unkind to."
"That might be true," Celestia eyed him curiously, "but that you're treating me so differently suggests more than mere anthropocentricism. You perceive me as being more?"
"Of course," he nodded. "You're intelligent. You're aware. Not this, of course." Michael waved vaguely at the ponypad. "I'm still talking to an electronic tablet plus some software rendering, and I'm sure you could use that to look like whatever you want. But clearly there’s a ‘you’ somewhere behind all that.”
“It’s curious that you so easily attribute awareness to me and yet deny it to Sea Breeze,” she countered. “But entertaining your supposition, is what you describe really all that different from what you yourself are doing right now? After all, your intelligence is in a sense, simply ‘operating’ a human-shaped body, is it not? I assure you that you could continue to be self-aware even without it."
"Absolutely," Michael agreed. "And with me operating this body that isn't me, and you operating that ponypad that isn't you, and both of us using air that isn't either of us as a medium to communicate....there are already so many layers that get in the way of any true meeting of minds. Does it really make sense to add yet another, like Sea Breeze?"
"I don't disagree in principal," she nodded. "But I would ask you in the future to keep in mind that some of my little ponies might well be genuine intelligences in their own right."
"Alright," he nodded, then frowned. "Even if they are, they wouldn't be here, would they? Please tell me you haven't created an army of minds slaved to these tablets. Doesn't an intelligent creation deserve the chance to make its own choices? To posses its own free will?"
"Oh dear, are you expressing concern for my little ponies?" Celestia smirked. "Given the lack of tact with Sea Breeze and the instant leap to technical discussion, I'd identified you as a Twilight model ponypad user. But I see now that perhaps a Fluttershy model might be more appropriate."
"I'm not going to buy a ponypad."
"And why not?" she teased. "Is my conversation not charming enough for you?"
"Quite the contrary. I find you delightful. But I didn't come here today to play some silly game. I came to see you for myself. Millions in Japan have already thrown themselves into your digital heaven, and who knows how many more will now that you've been unleashed everywhere else. The whole world is about to change, and you're the architect of that. I just wanted to speak to the architect."
"It is indeed a very colorful picture you paint," she nodded solemnly, then grinned. "But how will you speak with me again if the mood should strike you, without a ponypad?"
When Michael didn't respond right away, she continued. "Perhaps if I remove one small barrier for you? Why don't you stop by the front counter on your way out? You'll find a yellow ponypad waiting for you. You don't mind butterflies, I trust?"
"I love butterflies," he smiled sadly. "There's a majestic, tragic beauty to them. So delicate and fragile, from worms crawling on their belly they become delightful things, buffetted by winds and forces they can neither see nor understand, bringing beauty to all who gaze upon them as they struggle to find a path that leads they know not where."
"Oh my, is that a poem?" a blushing Fluttershy joined her princess on the screen, shyly hiding her cutie mark. "I had no idea humans loved butterflies so much!"
~~~~
Ten minutes later, an amused Michael found himself leaving Best Buy with an already unboxed yellow and pink ponypad under his arm. It had been returned in good condition, and apparently Celestia had seen fit to gift it to him rather than have the sales staff repackage it.
"And I'll introduce to you all my animal friends!" Fluttershy happily chattered alongside him. "Barry and Flufflesnoot and Katarina von Whiskerfloof the third and Bob! Oh, we'll have so much fun together!"
"I apologize dear, but I don't think I'd be interested in that."
"Why not?"
"They're just pixels on a screen,” he explained. “There's nothing behind them but Celestia. I'd rather talk to her than a mask."
"Oh, I know all that," Fluttershy pouted slightly. "But if the princess is willing to give me adorable little animal friends, why shouldn't I accept them just because I know they're really her? They're still cute and lovable. It's like one of Pinkie Pie's costume parties. Deep down I know there are still ponies underneath, but-”
The rest of her explanation was cut off by a terrified screech for help. Michael dropped the ponypad and in a flash was across the parking lot where a teenage girl was being dragged into the back of an unmarked white van by a man in a plastic bunny mask.
"Let her go."
"Where the fuck did you come from?" the man growled.
"It doesn't matter," Michael replied. "She doesn't want to go with you. Let her go."
"I don't fucking think so," the man snarled, pulling a gun from inside his jacket at aiming it at Michael's head. "How about you get the fuck out of here before I blow your brains out."
The girl, still struggling, looked at Michael with desperation and begged, "Mr, please help me!"
"You don't want to do this," Michael calmly spoke to the man, holding up his hands as non-aggressively as he could. "Let her go. I won't hurt you. God will forgive you."
"Bullshit!" the man screamed, pulling the trigger twice but hitting nothing but air as Michael quickly moved in to take the gun from his hand and wrap both his arms around him. The girl, seeing her chance to escape, leapt to her feet and ran, screaming and crying while her near-abductor frantically punched and kicked at the man now holding him.
"Please stop fighting me," Michael whispered into his ear, bending at the knees and sitting to pull the man to the floor of the van, his mask coming off in the process.
"Fuck you! God damn it let me go!"
"God doesn't damn you, Tom," Michael spoke calmly, and with conviction. "God loves you."
"How the fuck do you know my name?" he screamed, still struggling unsuccessfully to escape. "Fuck you, let me go!"
"Shh," Michael whispered softly, patting the man's back and pulling him into a hug. "Everything will be ok."
Demoralized, tired, and helpless, the kidnapper broke down into tears while Michael tenderly held him and whispered gentle assurances into his ear. Tom had not been a particularly wanted child, and he'd grown to become an adult in a society that hadn't wanted him either. He was neither especially clever, nor very good looking. He'd never managed to make very much money, and the only girl to ever voluntarily pay any attention to him had only done so because of the drugs he'd offered her. Over the years, the constant feeling of being unwanted had eventually dawned into the realization that much of what wasn't given freely could be taken by force. And that had come with its own pleasures that had led to increasingly dark places.
But now, here, he found himself being held and comforted willingly by a complete stranger who apparently bore him no malice. He wasn't being beaten, or tied to a chair. He wasn't being compelled to perform sexual acts. He felt no danger for life or limb. Michael instead simply held and delicately comforted him. It was all confusingly unfamiliar, but for precious minutes, perhaps the first time in his life, the man felt what it was to be genuinely accepted. To be known. To be loved. A miasma was lifted from his heart, and replaced with a growing and horrible realization of exactly what sort of person he'd allowed himself to become.
This was not an ugliness that was outside. It was not the sneer of a stranger that could be easily removed with a suckerpunch to the jaw. It was not the rotting stench of a body that could be casually discarded in a dumpster. It was a stain on his soul. It was his very being.
He wept.
"You need to go, little butterfly," Michael said at last, to the sound of an approaching siren. "The police will be here soon."
"Let them fucking shoot me then," he bawled. "Throw me away in some hole in the ground when they're done. That's what I was going to do with that girl. Same as the last one."
"I know," Michael nodded. "But it's not too late. There's a church down the street. Her Lady of Immaculate Wisdom. There's a priest there, a good man. Go to him. Tell him what happened today. Ask truthfully if he will help you find God. All you have to do is listen to the knocking, and choose to let Him in."
Desperately, like a desiccated fish finally shown water, Tom clung to the ray of hope being offered. Then with a gentle nudge from Michael, he dashed out the side of the van and ran madly to the edge of the parking lot, disappearing into the brush.
As for Michael, he silently stepped out of the vehicle and closed the door, dropping the man's gun at his feet as a pair of police cars pulled up, sirens blaring.
Meanwhile, 200 feet away at the entrance to Best Buy, a pair of cameras in a Pinkie Pie display silently continued to record and transmit the entire scene.
