The Prophecy

8

After shaking Ashley’s hand, Jones led the way to the front entrance of Heinz Chapel. The massive front doors, each weighing over 800 pounds, were made of oak and attached with wroughtiron fixtures. As the three of them approached, one of the doors inched open as an elderly black janitor tried to push his way outside. He was wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt underneath a khaki work jacket stitched with his name: Sam. In his left hand, he had a metal snow shovel. In his right, a bucket filled with rock salt.

Jones saw him struggling and rushed forward to help. ‘Let me get that for you, sir.’

‘Thank you. Thank you indeed. Awfully nice of you.’

‘Not a problem.’

Sam hobbled outside and set down his bucket with a clang. ‘Can I help you guys?’

Jones nodded. ‘We were wondering if the chapel was open.’

Sam studied Jones in his tuxedo, then noticed Payne in his. ‘Sorry, fellas, you’ll have to go somewhere else. Gay marriage ain’t legal in Pennsylvania.’ He burst out laughing, a loud mix between a cackle and a wheezing cough. The type of sound someone makes after fifty years of smoking. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just playin’ with you. I hope you ain’t offended.’

‘Not at all.’

‘You see,’ Sam explained, ‘I don’t got much time left, so I like to joke around.’

‘Don’t worry about it, sir. I’m not the least bit offended.’

‘Good!’ he said, patting Jones on his shoulder. ‘You’re proud of your gayness. That’s good to hear. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed about.’

‘No, sir, that’s not what I meant. I’m not gay.’

Sam shook his head. ‘I guess you ain’t black, neither.’

Once again, he laughed — even louder than before. Jones humoured him with a smile, but realized their conversation was going to be pretty one-sided.

‘Anyway,’ Jones said, ‘it was nice talking to you. The three of us are pretty cold, so we’re heading inside. Make sure you stay warm out here.’

‘Oh, I will,’ he said as he grabbed a handful of salt and scattered it on the stone steps. ‘Don’t worry about me none. The cold ain’t gonna kill ol’ Sam. I can promise you that!’

‘Nice meeting you,’ said Payne as he followed the others inside.

The lobby, known as the narthex, was surprisingly dark. What little light there was came from deeper inside the chapel. The middle section, known as the nave, extended from the edge of the entryway to the railing in front of the altar and was filled with several rows of oak pews. Wroughtiron lanterns, dangling on chains from the arches above, scattered soft beams of light in every direction, but they went virtually unnoticed because of the transept window on the left side of the nave. Four vertical rows of stained glass, each 73 feet tall, showcased important figures from secular history, representing politics, science, music, and literature. People like George Washington, Leonardo da Vinci, Beethoven, and Edgar Allan Poe.

‘Wow,’ Ashley whispered as she stared at the rainbow of colours projected inside the chapel by its exterior spotlights. ‘The windows are beautiful.’

‘If you look closely,’ Jones explained, ‘there’s an equal number of men and women. For every Shakespeare, there’s a Pocahontas. That level of equality is pretty rare in older art.’

Ashley scanned the stained glass, searching for examples of famous women. In a matter of seconds, she’d spotted Emily Dickinson, Florence Nightingale, and several others. ‘Thanks for pointing it out. I definitely would have missed that.’

‘Glad I could be of service.’

‘Speaking of which,’ Payne said as he settled into a nearby pew, ‘I get the sense you are looking for our help.’

Ashley turned towards him and nodded. But before she was willing to sit down and explain, she glanced up and down the rows, making sure they were alone. Once she was satisfied, she took off her coat and sat to Payne’s left, one row behind Jones.

‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I’d like to apologize to both of you. I really shouldn’t have ambushed you like this. Earlier today, it seemed like a great idea. You know, bumping into you in a public forum. But once I got to your party, I realized I was out of my league.’

‘Hardly,’ Payne said with a reassuring smile. ‘Your appearance brought some excitement to an otherwise boring night. Feel free to crash all my parties.’

‘No,’ she assured him, ‘this will be my last. I’ve embarrassed myself enough.’

‘Seriously, don’t worry about it. We’re not the least bit mad.’

‘Curious,’ Jones interjected, ‘but not mad.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So,’ she wondered, ‘where should I start?’

Payne shrugged. ‘The floor is all yours. Start wherever you’d like.’

Ashley paused for a moment, trying to remember what she had rehearsed on her journey to the Pitt campus. Without practising it first, she knew she might get flustered and screw up her explanation, which was something she couldn’t afford to do. With men like Payne and Jones, it was a one-shot deal. If she didn’t pique their interest now, there wouldn’t be a second chance.

‘I’m a nobody,’ she assured them. ‘I’m a gradeschool teacher from a nice suburb in Philadelphia. I was raised by a single mom, who died of cancer a few years back. I have no siblings, I’ve never been married, and, despite today’s events, I normally try to avoid drama. My idea of a good day is sleeping late, walking my dog in the park, and renting a romantic comedy.’

‘Hold up,’ Jones joked. ‘I think I saw your ad on a dating site.’

Payne rolled his eyes. ‘Just ignore him. He’s been drinking.’

‘Actually,’ she admitted, ‘I’m not offended. He managed to sum up my life in a single punch line. I know I’m a walking stereotype, and I’m not the least bit embarrassed. The truth is, I like my life. It’s a good, solid life. And other than my mom’s passing, I wouldn’t change a thing about it.’

‘So,’ Payne wondered, ‘what’s happened?’

She looked at him, confused. ‘Why would you ask me that?’

‘Why? Because something compelled you to abandon your life, hop in your car, and drive across the state to talk to two strangers.’

‘Don’t forget the snow,’ Jones added.

‘Excuse me?’ Payne asked.

‘She drove through a blizzard to meet us. To me, that screams of desperation.’

‘Good point. Something compelled you to wake up early on your day off and drive through a major snowstorm. Therefore, it must be something big. Or, at the very least, pressing.’

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘the word I would use is puzzling.’

‘Puzzling?’

She nodded. ‘Puzzling.’

‘Go on.’

‘On Monday, I came home from school and grabbed my mail like I always do. Inside my mailbox, there was a stack of letters, mostly bills. The lone exception was a cream-coloured envelope. My name and address were written on it, but no return address. In the right-hand corner, there were several foreign stamps and a strange postmark.’

‘What do you mean by strange?’ Jones wondered.

‘Asian, I think. I simply couldn’t read it.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve been a teacher for ten years now, so I’ve had plenty of students. Sometimes one of them goes on a trip and sends me a postcard. You know: “I’m seeing the sights and having fun.” Nothing more complex than that. But this thing? It was completely different.’

‘How so?’ Payne wondered.

‘First of all, it was written in calligraphy on real fancy paper. You know, the kind that feels old and expensive but isn’t brittle.’

‘Parchment?’ Jones guessed.

‘Yeah, parchment. Like an old Bible or something. Definitely not normal paper.’

‘That’s because parchment is made out of animal skin, not trees.’

‘Really?’

Jones nodded. ‘Depending on its age and country of origin, it could be goatskin, calfskin, or even human.’

‘Excuse me?’ she said.

Payne shook his head. That wasn’t the type of thing she needed to hear. ‘Don’t worry, he’s kidding. Sometime he likes to joke around in serious situations. Just ignore him and continue.’

Jones stared at him and mouthed the words: I wasn’t joking.

Thankfully, Ashley was looking at Payne when that occurred.

‘Wait,’ she said, trying to recall her place in the story, ‘where was I?’

‘You were telling us about the letter.’

She nodded slowly, as if remembering. ‘That’s right, the letter. Not only was the paper different, but so was the language.’

‘In what way?’

‘The letter wasn’t written in English. It was written in French.’

‘French?’ Jones asked, getting more intrigued. ‘The postmark was Asian, but the letter was French. I have to admit, that’s a weird combination.’

‘Trust me,’ she assured them, ‘it gets even weirder.’