Short Fiction: The Visitor

 

Paolo poured himself another shot of vodka and stretched out on the chaise lounge that was placed alongside his in-ground swimming pool.  He slowly sipped from the glass, never once taking his eyes off the unexpected visitor on the far side of the pool, just next to his black Weber charcoal grill.  For a moment he thought that he was hallucinating, that he had poured himself one too many shots. Or maybe it was the heat of the day, the latest in a long-running heatwave that had gripped the entirety of the west coast. Lord knows the stifling heat was getting to him after he had suffered in its grip for so many days. It was the reason why he had finally surrendered his dislike of getting wet and took refuge in the pool that he installed strictly to ‘keep up with the Joneses.’

He hadn’t spotted it for some time. Or perhaps it just wasn’t there…before it was.  All he knew is that after taking a few laps in the pool, he emerged from the shimmering, chlorine-scented water to towel off in the summer sun while he laid on the lounge.  It was then that he spotted it.  At first he thought it was just some piece of equipment that his pool service had left behind, like a pool vac.  But, no, that could not be it, he realized. To begin with, he couldn’t ever recall seeing such an oddly-shaped piece of pool equipment - blue or white boxy things were typical in Paolo’s experience, definitely not golden pyramids. But even stranger than that was the realization that the object was slowly rotating… well, the lower portion of the smooth-sided pyramid was rotating while the top portion remained fixed in place. And none of this was as impressive as the fact that it was also hovering about two feet off the ground with no clear means of accomplishing such a feat.  No. This was not errant pool equipment.

Paolo was not one to panic in the face of an unexpected situation - his years as a day trader taught him that if nothing else.  So, he decided that as with any other peculiar situation, the best course of action was to acquire more information before acting.  WIth that in mind, he poured himself another shot of vodka and continued to study his visitor.  

It was odd, but Paolo had the distinct impression that the object was gathering information as well. Specifically, it was the top portion of the pyramid that gave him that idea. The entire thing was hard to scrutinize because it seemed to shimmer, like currents of heat given off by a road baked in the hot sun. But the shimmers around the object weren’t steady - they seemed to emanate in waves tuned to some rhythm Paulo could not discern.  The only part that seemed free of this distortion was the top portion, but there Paulo encountered another enigma: a smudge-like charcoal-colored blemish on the otherwise featureless cap of the pyramid, one that reminded Paulo of nothing so much as an eye.  If so, the object seemed to be as interested in him as he was in it.

Paolo jumped as his smartphone began to chirp with an incoming call.  Instinctively his eyes darted to the phone on the small, white PVC table to his right, but then he remembered The Visitor and his eyes shot back the other way.  The Visitor hadn’t reacted at all.  It sat there unperturbed like a Buddha.  Paolo shrugged, grabbed his phone and accepted the call.  Despite intermittent bursts of static - nothing seemed to work well these days, including California’s vaunted telecom network - Paolo could make out the voice of his friend, Sal.  “What’s that?  You’re breaking up…” Paolo pulled the phone away from his face to check his bars - the signal was fine; the problem was on Sal’s end. He put the phone to his ear again. “Sal! Sal! Can you hear me? Listen! Just come to the house.  I can’t hear you through all this damn static.  Come. To. The. House.” He hit the “end call” button and threw the phone back on the table. He eyed The Visitor. “I hope you don’t mind company.”  He didn’t get a response.

Sal arrived sputtering, as usual.  “A frickin’ hour to cover seven miles! An hour!”  He pulled the short, wrought iron gate closed behind him and, without so much as an ‘by your leave,’ headed over to the outdoor bar that was just beside the double french doors that led to the interior of Paolo’s trendy Beverly Hills home. He grabbed a tumbler and poured himself a double of bourbon, downed it in a single gulp, and poured himself another before ambling over to Paolo’s chaise lounge, a bar stool dragging behind him.  After steadying the stool, he plopped his chunky frame onto it.   “I barely made it here alive,” he mumbled without explanation. Sal’s red polo shirt was darkened by patches of perspiration. “Fires everywhere,” he mumbled again.

Paolo and he had been close friends for a long time.  They had found each other as struggling entrepreneurs in a world infested by fat cats and sharks who did everything they could to rig the game against “newbs”.  In a sense, Paolo and Sal were combat buddies.  Paolo stretched on the lounge - he had fallen asleep waiting for Sal to arrive.  Sleeping with The Visitor nearby did not perturb Paolo in the least. As Paolo figured it, if The Visitor wanted to harm him, it would have done that already.  And even if it was waiting for some moment of vulnerability, frankly, Paolo didn’t care.  

Just out of idle curiosity, Paolo glanced over to where he had last seen The Visitor. Sure enough, the shimmering and slowly rotating golden pyramid was still there. Unchanged, as far as he could tell.  With a wry smile, Paolo wondered how long before Sal would notice it.  “How's that, Sal?”

“It took me a frickin’ hour to get here!” he answered.  “There are wildfires everywhere!  I nearly roasted in my car near Franklin Mountains.  The entire area was in flames!”  Damn heatwave. Damned ‘climate change!’”  Sal took another gulp of bourbon, and then asked, “Speaking of wildfires, how’s the divorce going?”

Paolo grimaced at the reminder of the contentious fight between himself and his soon-to-be ‘ex’. “She’s still a bitch.”

Sal laughed. “I tried to warn you but you didn’t listen!”  

Paolo waved away his friend’s remark. “I know. I know.”  Paolo couldn’t decide if it was the discussion about the divorce or the unrelenting heat of the summer day, but he started to sweat again. He grabbed for the vodka bottle but it was empty.  Damn.  “We all make mistakes,” he muttered, throwing the bottle in the pool, where it slowly filled with crystalline water and sank to the bottom.

“Not with the daughter of Bank of America’s CEO,” Sal shot back, laughing. “You don’t marry that type of girl!  You either buy her or she buys you!” he added, laughing hysterically.  The bourbon at work, Paolo thought.

“Well, she certainly is trying to buy everything out from under me, including this house,” he replied.  “I might be crashing with you this time next year, “ he said.  “Bitch.”

Sal took another gulp of bourbon.  “That sucks, man. I’ve been there.  You know that.”  Paolo heard the tinkle of ice as Sal took another draught of bourbon.  Then the question finally arrived. “Hey.  What is that?  Did you get another one of your tech toys?” he asked, while gesturing to The Visitor.

Paolo swung his legs over the side of the chaise so he could look Sal in the face. He grabbed the beach towel that hung over the back of the lounge and toweled the sweat from his chest.  “I don’t know what the hell it is.  It just sort of appeared there.” Paolo shrugged.  “It doesn’t seem dangerous,” he added.  

Emotions played over Sal’s jowly face: mirth, incredulity, doubt…fear.  “You’re…kidding, right?”  He began to laugh, but stopped when Paolo didn’t join in but just shrugged.  He narrowed his eyes as he examined The Visitor.  “What do you mean, ‘it just appeared’?”

“Just that,” Paolo answered. “It wasn’t there. And then it was.”  

Sal grimaced. “Should we…should we call someone? Like the police?”

“And tell them what?  A miniature version of the Pyramid of Giza has materialized next to my pool?  Oh, we’ll get a response, all right. But it won’t be the cops.  It’ll be the MHSD!” 

Sal pondered that for a few moments. “Yeah, you don’t want those Mental Health Services Division types around.  They are a pain in the backside.”  Paolo raised an eyebrow.  Sal just shrugged.  “I’ve been around the head-shrinker block a few times.”  After a few moments, Sal asked, “So, what do we do? We have to do something!”

The conversation died as both Paolo and Sal considered the question. In the silence that followed, the hum of the pool’s pump and the rippling of the pool’s silvery water was all that could be heard. It was very Zen, thought Paolo.  “I think it was Hippocrates who once said that to do nothing was also a solution.”  

Sal looked incredulous.  “You have that thing hovering…hovering!...over there and you intend to do nothing?” Paolo shrugged. “Really?” asked Sal. 

“Why not? asked Paolo.  “It’s not bothering us.  And, honestly, I find it interesting.  Why bother it if it’s not bothering us?”

“Well…well…you just should!” sputtered Sal. “Hey! What about Homeland Security?  They’ll know what to do, I bet.”

Paolo rolled his eyes with annoyance. “Yeah, I always wanted the feds crawling around my property.  No thanks.”

Paolo laid back on the chaise again, the plastic weave squeaking as he did so.  “You know what I heard on the TV today before I came out here and found our friend?” asked Paolo.  Sal just stared.  “It was a story about a patch of trees that was found in…I think the Amazon rainforest.”

Sal shifted uncomfortably on the stool.  Whenever he intuited he was at a disadvantage, he would fidget in his chair.  Paolo smiled inwardly at the emotional tell.  “What about it? What does this have to do with that thing over there?”

“You’ll see,” he replied with a wink.  “As the BBC told it, these trees were growing upside down,” Paolo continued.  “They even showed them.  The darn things,” Paolo laughed in the telling, “had their leaves under the soil and their roots sprouting out from the top!  Have you ever heard of such a thing?”  he asked with a laugh. “The botanist, or was it an arborist?, was mystified by the discovery.  He had never seen anything like it and couldn’t explain it.”

Sal squinted his eyes. “So…so, what’s your point?” he asked, annoyed.  He didn’t care to feel like an ignoramus.  “What does any of this have to do with that?”he asked, pointing at The Visitor.

“My point, dear Salvatore, is that we live in a world that is so screwed up that even trees are choosing to bury their heads in the ground.” he concluded with wry humor in his eyes. “At this point, our friend over there doesn’t surprise me in the least. Why the hell should it?”

Sal grumbled. With effort he managed a “Bah!” before suddenly standing and striding over to the bar again, glancing over his shoulder at The Visitor along the way.  He grabbed the bottle of bourbon, hesitated, put it down, and then grabbed the gin. He poured himself a double, put the bottle down, picked it up again, and came back to sit beside Paolo.  “Give me your glass,” he demanded. Paolo handed him the shot glass. “You a teetotaler now?” asked Sal. He grabbed the shot glass, threw it in the pool, stalked over to the bar, grabbed a tumbler, came back and poured Paolo a “healthy” portion of gin.  “To upside down trees!!” exclaimed Sal, hefting his glass towards The Visitor, and then took a big gulp.  Paolo did the same.  After a few moments of silence, Sal cleared his throat.  “You know, I did hear something odd the other day.  Have you ever heard of, what the heck was it called, something like ‘Lalande Two-One-something-something?” 

Paolo swallowed some gin and gazed into the glass. It was remarkable how similar gin and pool water looked, he thought.  He shook his head., “I have not,” he answered.

“Neither have I,” responded Sal.  “But it doesn’t exist anymore.  I mean, the star. That’s what it is… was, I mean. A star. One of the nearest to us, from what I understood.  It’s just gone.  No one knows why.” Sal lifted the glass to his lips, but decided against another pull and put it back down. “Even the stars are giving up.”  He glanced at The Visitor. It hadn’t changed or moved since he arrived. “What do you know about it?” Sal asked.  “What the hell do you know about it?” 

The Visitor was unmoved by the pointed question.  

“Now, now,” chided Paolo.  “No need to be rude.  We have no idea what our friend has to do with anything.”  

Sal sat on the bar stool in silence for a few moments. He shrugged his shoulders, and swirled the gin in his glass. He began to speak, stopped, and then tried again. “I’m…I’m out of business, Paolo. I filed the bankruptcy papers today.” He took a slug of gin.  

Paolo didn’t know what to say. He had known things were going hard for his friend in the wake of the pandemic and the subsequent global recession, but he didn’t realize how hard. “Uh, um, that bad? Really?”

Sal’s face flushed, whether from the alcohol, the heat, or embarrassment, it wasn’t clear. “Chapter 7. The whole shebang. I just couldn’t hold on any more.”  

“I…I don’t know what to say.  I’m…sorry.”

Sal shrugged again. “It is what it is.” He drained his glass in silence.  After a few moments of gazing into the bottom of the empty glass, he swiveled on the stool to look at The Visitor again. Bewilderment spread across his face.

Paolo saw his friend’s expression and turned quickly to look. The Visitor was gone.  “Where did it go?”  Paolo looked around frantically, as if he had lost his most prized possession.

“What are you asking me for?  He was your guest!” replied Sal.

Paolo quickly stood and nearly fell over. “Damn booze,” he snarled, as he stumbled over to where The Visitor was last seen. When he got close to the location, he paused.

“Careful now, Paolo.  We really don’t know what it is capable of.  It might have gone invisible or something,” he cautioned.

Paolo nodded. Gingerly, he inched closer to the spot, feeling with his hands and toes as he went forward. But there was nothing there.  No trace of The Visitor could be found.  

The surprise at The Visitor’s disappearance and subsequent search for it had left Paolo perspiring. He wiped sweat from his forehead with his forearm, and looked around helplessly.  “It’s gone,” was all he could say. The murmur of the water and the hum of the pool pump were the only immediate responses. 

Sal slowly stood and came over to him. “So it is. Probably for the best,” he added.  “That thing just didn’t belong here. I wonder where it came from?” 

Paolo shrugged. “Maybe it was an angel. From heaven.”

“You’re kidding, right?” was the incredulous reply from Sal.

“Have you ever read the biblical description of angels?” asked Paolo.

Sal shifted his weight from one foot to another. “Nah. I’m not one of those folks.”

Paolo turned from Sal and approached the white aluminum coping that defined the limits of his swimming pool’s watery domain.  “Take a look at it once. There is a reason why every time an angel makes an appearance its first words are ‘Be not afraid!’  They weren’t the winged super-models that are the usual artistic representation. They were something quite different.”  

Paolo dove into the pool.  He felt the cool water stream over his body, washing away the heat and sweat of this peculiar day.  When he neared the pool’s bottom, he stopped swimming and just floated. With his eyes closed, he could imagine that he was in another dimension, one free from the cares and concerns and uncomfortable realities of the real world.  Now he was The Visitor. He stayed like that until his lungs, burning from lack of oxygen, forced him to the surface.  

He broke the shimmering surface of the water with a gasp for air.  He rubbed the water from his face and opened his eyes. For a moment he thought he had actually traveled to another dimension as the sunny day was now dusky.  “What the hell happened? Where did the sun go?” He felt goose pimples form on his skin; the air had become chilly. He pulled himself from the water and trotted over to the chaise to grab his towel.

Sal was back by the bar, pouring himself another tumbler of booze. “It just faded.”

“A summer t-storm.  We better get inside,” said Paolo.

“If it is a thunderstorm, where are the clouds?” asked Sal as he added some ice to his glass.

Paolo stopped toweling off and looked up. He was right. The sky was dark but not clouded over.  Just dark. “‘He unleashed against them his hot anger, his wrath, indignation and hostility— a band of destroying angels.’”

“What’s that,” asked Paolo.

“I said we better get inside. A storm is coming.”