***Sneek Peek into Harvey Click’s THE BAD BOX***

Peter Bellman stared into his refrigerator. Not much there: he hadn’t been to the grocery store since his Awakening. Such details as grocery stores and gas bills were hard to focus on, once the big truths were before you.

Still, eating was important, he mused, and he was going to have to learn to attend to the mundane necessities. After the Pentecost had scorched them with tongues of flame, the disciples still must have needed to bother with their purses, their larders, the condition of their sandals. Revelation unfortunately didn’t do your laundry for you.

He found some cheese, salami, an onion, and a few pieces of bread. He sat at the kitchen table and began to eat, not bothering to make a sandwich. He would bite a hunk from the cheese, stick a piece of salami in his mouth, then a piece of bread, and chew. The salami had become slimy and the bread had green spots, but this didn’t bother him. The most complex and interesting flavors derived from aging and fermentation. Only fools would pay a premium for Stilton but throw away their moldy Swiss.

He wore nothing but a pair of dark glasses. He had hung blankets over the windows and the sliding glass doors to make the place as dark as possible. Now he knew light for what it was—a distraction from the truths that danced and walked through the dark for those with eyes to see.

He washed down his food with a mouthful of scotch, drinking straight from the bottle. Next to last bottle—tomorrow he needed to go to the liquor store. That was one detail he wouldn’t neglect.

When the sun went down he carried the bottle with him to the backyard and climbed into the hot tub. He sat in the tepid water in the deepening twilight with his sunglasses on and drank his scotch and meditated on the profound secrets of the shadows.

He thought of the Solitary One who hid in shadows. The Solitary One was a motionless dance of dark enigmas, a sleeping scripture of whispered riddles, the living dead who ruled the living, an inky blot of black fury locked away in a secret place, his anger crackling like midnight lightning in a frenzy to be free. Soon he would be, and then woe to all those who were not his friends!

Something floating on the water brushed up against him. Peter had to reach around and touch it before he remembered. Pocahontas had gotten on his nerves for the last time. He recalled with pleasure holding the cat beneath the water and watching its legs kick. Now it was as stiff as a board. He scratched the wet fur beneath the cat’s chin and felt himself getting an erection.

“What’s the matter, widdle puddy cat?” he murmured. “Do you miss Sarah? Don’t worry, we’ll go see her soon.”

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