Issue Three of Eight

Episode 3:
================================
The Touch of Divinity
================================

Late January, 2112
"Come here, Query. Come now... come.." the voice echoes in the hallway as Ms. Turin, the landlady, inches her way about while searching for her missing cat. "Come here my little dumpling. I got some lovely tuna chunks for you."

Dr. Ruth Isthet rises from her chair, one hand brushing off invisible dust from her suit while the other lights a cigarette, and begins to walk towards the inner room in her office. Although many patients have come and gone in her office, none have actually noticed the concealed doorway just behind the plant placed in front of the seemingly empty wall. Lifting a cellular phone out of her pocket, the good psychologist dials a pre-programmed number and waits for a reply.

"This is Ruth Isthet," she mutters upon hearing a reply. "I hope I did not call at an inopportune moment. How are you both doing?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Shemmick did give me the number. He was quite excited to hear that the two of you got married."

"No, I do not normally make house calls. Yes, yes... of course." Ruth smiles while answering. She walks to the concealed door, then touches the nigh invisible switch to open it. With a hushed sound, the portal opens, and she steps inside.

"And how is Gabe? That's very nice to hear. Perhaps the two of you would like to come by for a final session then?"

The inner room is no larger than a one car garage. The walls are all covered with clippings from various newspapers and articles about numerous events in the city. There are writings about the police. The movements in the world. The different religious beliefs. On other places are pictures of numerous personalities, military people, entertainers, and even humans gifted with great abilities and powers. In the center is a single pedestal on which sits a large, glass case. Inside the case is a small velvet box, big enough to contain a small child.

"When are you both coming back to Fresno? I heard that Shaver Lake is a beautiful place, but I am sure you can't wait to get back here. I see. And what about Gabe?"

Ruth slowly begins to peel off her clothes. Her dress falls off and lands on the ground without a sound. Then her blouse. Her underwear. Until finally she stands naked and pale before the pedestal. Her right hand holds the phone close to her ear while the left hand begins to slide on the top portion of the glass case. A shimmer appears from the case, and the glass suddenly shifts in hue. Ruth's hand passes through the glass and reaches for the velvet box.

"Beautiful. Then I shall expect you early next month. Congratulations again on your marriage. I am very happy for you both."

The cellular phone is clicked off, dropped onto the ground, and given no heed. Ruth Isthet opens the velvet box and reaches inside it with both hands. The hands rise to reveal a strikingly transparent body stocking.

Dr. Ruth Isthet.

Wearing a body stocking of naked clarity.

Isthet, Ruth is the Truth.

"Hon-" Kirsten asks as she steps out of the house into the lawn where Gabriel was sitting. She walks towards him, barefoot and wrapped in her comforter, and looks at his face with worry in her heart. "Is there something wrong? What is the matter?"

"I think... I think..."

"Yes?" Kirsten sees the cigarettes all around him. She glances at the half-empty pack of cigarettes on the ground and pushes it away with her foot. "Honey? Since when did you-"

"I think I know the answer now.."

"What answer?" Kirsten looks at him, more puzzled than before, then bends to her knees and places her hands on his, trying to pry his hands away from his face. "What are you talking about?"

"Victor Lamont... Roger Cliff... Victoria Yes..."

"Hon-" Kirsten pauses as she hears the phone ring inside the apartment they rented for the honeymoon. She glances back at Gabe and places both of her hands on his face. His eyes shift, look at hers, then close. "Go answer the phone... I'll wait for you here."

Kirsten fights the urge to stay and stands up, walking into the apartment and reaching for the phone. Only now in the warm confines of the room does she realize how cold it is outside. On the phone is Dr. Ruth Isthet.

"Dr. Ruth! How nice of you to call. No, you did not catch us at a bad time. Actually, we were just... enjoying the scenic view outside. Fine, fine.. we're very fine thank you. This is so great. Let me guess, you probably got the number from my editor?"

"Well, actually, I believe he is quite jealous. He has been making moves on me ever since I got him as an editor. I still can't believe you called! What, are you into house calls as well? Many doctors tend to simply treat patients as credit-creating trees. You know, come back when you're sick so I can suck more creds out of you. Nice to see you aren't like them."

Kirsten glanced back and saw Gabe lighting another cigarette. "Gabe is fine. Very fine, in fact. He's been... getting a lot of sleep lately, but of course, only when we aren't having a great time together if you know what I mean."

"A final session? I'm not so sure. Gabe isn't really thrilled about going back or having therapy."

Kirsten glances around inside the house to find a mess scattered through out the kitchen. Bacon lies scattered about the floor. A jar of milk is nearly empty, its contents turning the sink and drain a sticky white. Numerous napkins are scattered on the floor, a number of them in front of the Holo-tube. She can barely make out the markings on them from her position beside the phone. "Back to Fresno? Hmmm, not any time soon, I think. Oh, yes, Shaver Lake is such a lovely place. I might even consider buying some land here maybe to set up a house when the kids start coming in. Gabe? What does he think about all this? Well, I haven't really brought it up with him, you know. But we've been going around the county for quite some time and there hasn't really been a peep of a complaint from Gabe. But.. we.. tell you what, I'll talk to Gabe, and maybe we can still have that final appointment. Maybe I can even convince Gabe to get a few acres of land here during that session. I'll tell him we'll meet you again soon."

Due to another gust of wind, a pen drops from the table. When Kirsten bends to pick it up, one of the napkins with markings is seen closer than the rest, just close enough for her to reach. She bends forward and extends her fore and middle finger to reach the napkin, "Thank you, and we'll see you next month. Bye!"

Kirsten stands up, the napkin held in her left hand with her fingers and the phone returned to its cradle, looking at the napkin with greater attention. She finds small scribbles, made with a black pen, that seem to make so sense at all. She turns it around to see three small words on the back.

"The Truth Hurts"

"Since when did you start smoking?" Kirsten asks, acting as if it had never bothered her.

"Hmmm?"

"I said, since when did you start smoking?"

Gabe turns his head to face Kirsten, then smiles a weak smile. He then searches his pockets for a match, takes it out, lights the stick, then tosses the lit burning inch of wood onto the road. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Well," Kirsten says, very unamused, "That was why I asked."

"Why He wears a mask?"

"What?"

"Him. A Mask. Why He wears it."

"Gabe, you are talking nonsense again. Just sit tight, relax, and we'll be there soon enough."

"It's to fulfill fantasies, you see. Yours. Mine. Ours. Theirs. Anyone with a bit of flesh that goes red with lust and sex when properly motivated. The Mask allows you... or me... or whoever is fucking with the damn Enigma to be whoever he or she wants."

Kirsten steps harder onto the gas pedal and grips the steering wheel tightly.

"Fact: You are already nearing your Fiftieth year and yet none have proposed to you. None whatsoever."

Benana pushes the knife deeper into her arm. It was very hard to do so considering it was a butter knife.

"Fact: You believe the playing cards shall reveal secrets to you. You are worshipping those laminated pieces of kings and queens hoping one day to see a King find you, the waiting queen."

The sound of Benana's gasps and moans scare Query, who now begins to scratch against the door, hoping it would open. Query is used to the routine that developed with Benana Turin, you see. She'd scratch the door, creating these itty bitty krik-crick noises and Benana would rise from her chair or her bed, walk to the door and open it for her. Such was their relationship with each other. Many envied the fact that the two had grown so close. Many wondered if they would ever have such a pet. Some even thought Query made up for Benana's loneliness, providing the comfort and companionship she deserved. Today though, no Benana rises to help the little feline.

"Fact: Your lusts and cravings continue to feast on your aging veins. You have, on numerous hideous occasions, copulated in one way or another with the pet you call Query. On one instance, you even used Query as an excuse to get to Mr. Deinedes, whom you passionately nicknamed Copper. You visited the recluse man, seduced him, then had him play with himself while you stroked your cat and sucked on its tail."

Benana moans a painful and anguished cry for help. Then her face is popped open like some gigantic pimple, blood pouring out of her wounds like some macabre fountain of crimson. The Truth smiles at her handiwork and wets her lips.

"Such is the Truth, oh tragic one! Painful. Revealing. Harsh. Yet utterly necessary..."

Query rushes to hide beneath the bed. The Truth turns ever more slowly towards the bed. The cat whimpers a weak sound as some force causes her forehead to pop open, too, a small pencil hole where her blood begins to flow. Two feet clad in translucent material approach. The cat hisses angrily as a pair of bloodied hands, wrapped in some sort of translucent leotard-like garb, reach for the poor feline's bleeding head.

"Uh, wait.." Kirsten mutters as she regains her composure and glances at the rear view mirror to see if she could gradually make for the freeway exit. "Is there something-" Kirsten adds as she drives the car into the exit, "You want to-" and mutters just before shifting gear and getting back into a good speed, "talk about?"

"Hmmmph.."

"Okay, where do you want to talk?" Gabe points to a nearby park; the place is filled with people of all ages. The orange slide stands towering above everyone else and everything in the park except for the trees. A few adults sit in the shade by the benches, avoiding the afternoon sun. Lovers sit in the darker spots, hiding their clasped hands and locked lips behind the shadow of trees.

Kirsten parks the car, then turns off the engine. She checks the time, then pulls out a brush from the glove compartment. "Now you're sure you want to talk now? I mean, we do have an appointment with Dr. Isthet, and you might maybe want to talk with her around. I mean, she is quite well trained in this field."

"No," Gabe tells Kirsten, "I have a few confessions to make, you see. Confessions that only you should hear."

"Oh? Why is it I feel like I'd rather not hear them?'

Although the paint palette is on the nearby table, the canvas to hold the lovers' image remains untouched, and the other tools including oils, cutter, spatula and rags are all set in a small corner nearby, their existence suddenly unimportant to the straight but very curious Noel.

At Harry's guidance, Noel learned to explore the colorful wheel of human sexuality and began to practice the baritone lectured lessons given to him. Elma, whose hands now hold a camera, takes pictures of the two men locked in a dizzying embrace.

It is Elma who first notices something. Like a tingle in the air. Or perhaps a spark of curiosity that is not gorged with libidinal impulses. She calls out to Harry, asking him if he notices anything.

Harry grunts a no before feeling Noel spasm above him. Then he feels the shower of coolness strike him. At first, he thinks it is the artist's sweat falling on him like a light drizzle. But when the thick droplets strike his tongue, extended to receive a less salty dish, Harry opens his eyes to see blood instead splashed over Noel and himself.

"Fact: She hated this part of your practices. She hated it. She'd rather die than let you do it in front of her. A three year old promise. One I fulfill for her now."

Noel struggles to move above Harry to escape the presence of the skin-tight clad stranger whose face is barely visible. Only the skin on her nose, forehead, lips, and cheeks are uncovered, being in the area where a letter T formed on the suit. But the rest of the body is covered with the glaringly naked body suit... a suit that seems to call Harry's attention and freezes Noel in his squatting pose.

"Fact: He had always wanted to do this. He painted naked men when alone and would feast on their Michelangelo-esque forms. He would run the brush between his thighs and dab colors on the skin where the sun rarely shone. Days before he entered this room, he had already discovered the secret joy that follows when the brush's handle touches deep inside him."

Noel begins to wail for her to shut up. He tries again to rise and turn to face her. Instead, he finds himself covering his face with both of his hands. He bites his tongue aggressively until it bleeds and does not stop biting until the organ falls on to Harry's chest.

Harry screams for Noel to stop, then glances at the ground to see Elma's dead body. He pushes the bleeding man off of his waist and struggles to stand. But his knees loses strength, and his arms grow heavy as lead.

"Fact: You had always wished you were a woman. You believed that you were trapped in this man's body, yet you persist in being the one who enters and not the one entered. You dream of a chance to become a woman, yet fear the time when it comes to decide if you shall lose the pleasures brought by the phallus or the chance to be a 'whole' woman."

Noel falls to the bed, turning pale as his blood continues to pour from his cut tongue. Harry finds himself reaching for the dead artist, then mounting him once more. A thrust. Another. And the pounding begins once more, as before. Then, Harry finds himself reaching for the small cutter Noel had in his stuff. He extends the blade, extracts himself a bit from the corpse of the dead man, and braces himself for the pain.

Gabriel remains silent. His eyes focus on the kids playing in the park, then shift to the lovers beneath the shade. He and Kirsten are sitting on a lone bench partially covered by the tree's shadow.

"Well, answer me, damn it!" Kirsten yelps in impatience. She walks a step away from Gabe, turning her back to him, then wipes away the first sign of possible tears. She sees the kids playing. Their little faces abright with smiles and laughter. She silently yearns to have one of her own.

"No..."

Kirsten turns to look at Gabe and instead finds him huddled like a child afraid to put his feet past the bench due to imaginary monsters. As if the bench is some raft lost at sea and past its cement edges is the hunting ground of sharks.

"No, I am not gay," Gabe slowly says, each word given emphasis and pronounced in full clarity.

A sigh of relief is all that Kirsten can manage. She hears a kid yell out "Bitch!", then turns to glance again at the deceptively innocent looking children. Some things, so it seemed, are not as they seem to be. "What else then? What are you... what did you want to tell me?"

"I'm not gay..."

"But?"

"But I have done it with a man..."

Kirsten shakes her head in confusion. "What in the world are you talking about? You ARE Gay! You had sex with another guy! You fucking had sex with a guy! You.. you... YOU BASTARD!" Her hands begin to flail at Gabriel, striking him on the arms, the shoulders, the face. Gabriel, on the other hand, remains silent and simply parries each blow. "You faggot! You fucking faggot! You proposed to me, you son of a bitch! You said you wanted to father my kids, but you're actually... you actually.."

Gabriel continues to parry off her blows, remaining silent even as some get past his broad arms. Kirsten soon weakens with exhaustion and drops her arms on Gabe. Gabe catches both arms, holds them close to his chest, then embraces her. He begins, "Shhhh..." in her ear stroking her hair, patting her occasionally on the back. "Shhh... relax... please let me explain first... shh..."

For days He/She ponders on this new form; testing it, exploring it, studying it. Although his/her intellect is great and not even the sum of hundreds of people's IQs would ever match his/hers, He/She finds that the female form has many secrets. And has many stories locked within.

By noon of the next day, He has returned to his original form and is lying on the ground with his mask on the floor. Sweat dots his lips and forehead. His eyes seem to pulse with newfound knowledge. He has already viewed, through psychometric means it seems, the first ten years of the life of Kirsten.

The curiosity begins to rise once more. He feels for his mask, then puts it on, feeling the sweat gather from where the mask touches his skin and slide down the curve of his cheek. By the next week, He has already viewed the whole life of Kirsten and wonders at the feeling that seems to stir deep inside. Has he found someone to love again? But the new person is a woman. Isn't he not into women?

A lizard suddenly drops to the ground, dead. He rises from the ground, levitating the lizard to his grasp, then studying it with his bare hands. He kisses it on the forehead and mumbles something into its ear. It never stirred.

He mumbles, "Someone has died... someone connected to me..." and drops the lizard from his hand.

Before the lizard hits the ground, He is gone.

But the Truth is not through with him.

She bends down, then touches him on the forehead. A small and yet intricate letter T forms on the skin. And even in the afterlife, as Mr. Deinedes gratefully hugs peace and release, the facts which Truth only knows continue to haunt him, hounding him past death.

"Fact: You sold your daughter to buy drugs when you were 24!"

"Fact: You did what Ms. Turin asked of you simply because you wanted her to be too distracted to ask for the next month's bill."

"Fact: You had drilled a hole into the Wenackins' room to spy on them and fondle yourself when they had their partners sleep over."

"Fact: You never ever have gone to Catholic mass with the intention of listening to the sermon or praying to God."

The spirit in the afterlife howls in anger. He continues to pray for release, but his God has not replied. Perhaps God does not listen to his prayers anymore.

Mike and Shelly Boroughs have it worse. While Mike is dressed in a Priest's outfit, struggling to capture the character of a priest, Shelly is typing a petition to have Mr. Copper thrown out of the building. The very moment Shelly's finger presses down on the last letter, Mike hears the cries of the Wenackins and of Noel.

Mike offers Shelly the choice of escape. Shelly tells him to shut up, to quit seeing her as the damsel-in-distress, and to go call 911.

With the phone beneath his ear, Mike contacts 911, asks for advice on what to do, then annoys Shelly again, telling her to escape whoever is killing or hurting people out there.

Before the 911 operator can say good-bye, the door slams open and the Truth grabs them by the neck.

Kirsten rushes to him, pounding her cupped hand lightly on his back, "Shit.. you okay?"

"Ahem.." Gabe coughs one last cough, then tosses the cigarette to the ground. It hits the gravel with a small shower of sparks. "They fooled us really well, I must say. Turns out, the hookers, big breasts and silken legs and all that, were men! And boy was it a nasty treat to find out. I was practically sucking tongue with one of them drags while Joshua, my buddy, was busy with the other on the back seat. But when my hand grazed past her stockings, fingers walking and sliding toward her sex... well, that's when I noticed something amiss."

Kirsten stares at him open-mouthed. She clears her throat in an attempt to speak but still no voice rises.

"Yup, he was huge," Gabe laughs, then shakes his head. His fingers unconsciously draw another cigarette from the pack. "Made me wonder why he'd go off and dress up like a woman! I mean, he's even bigger than-"

"Gabe," Kirsten stops him, then pulls him close. They kiss. Amidst the chirping of the birds, the cold breeze, and the laughter of the children playing nearby, they kiss.

"Hon-" Gabe attempts to speak, but instead finds Kirsten shutting him up with another kiss. This time, he returns the passion, closes his eyes, and savors the moment.

It is as if some weight has been lifted from his chest. As if everything is suddenly going to be alright. Perhaps, that's why he's been having these dreams lately, Gabe thinks. Guilt? Over a past never spoken? Maybe that's why he suddenly recalled the Enigma. Well, that was years ago, right? A long enough time to forget about him.

"Poor. That is not the fact" are the words Julie suddenly hears in her earphones. She has been listening to Gattica ever since she was in high school and she knows the lyrics at heart. Those words are definitely not in the song.

"Fact: You have been spoiled since birth, offered everything including the moon-"

Julie yanks the phones off and rises from her bed, her face slamming into the Truth's chin. The Truth recoils. With a burst of adrenaline, Julie rushes for the door, screaming so loud, hoping to get help from her neighbors. Upon opening the door, however, she realizes why they are of no use to her. The trails of blood are signs enough.

The Truth catches up with her, its claw-like hands grabbing deep inside her and tearing her open. After all, as they say, the Truth hurts.

She gasps, turning to see her assailant's face, but instead sees blood as the Truth pulls out her heart and holds it before her to see.

"Fact: You hated living," is all she hears before the darkness of death claims her.

The building stands at the corner of Abad and Mellington Avenues, quiet and dark. Some windows remain lit. Others darkened with shutters. The rest, black as shadows, relish the lightless chambers. The streets are a bit damp with the slight drizzle. The benches nearby are empty. The buildings are all silhouetted by the brighter lights of the road.

On the top of the building is the caped figure of the Enigma.

On the bottom of the building, with the engine shutting off, is the car of the Brendans.

And inside, to be brutally unleashed, is the Truth.

--------
Enigma was originally published by Vertigo,a trademark of DC Comics. Others, if any, are not mentioned as a challenge to the said owners nor as an insult. The artwork and text found in this site are all original by the owner of the site. The author of this fanfiction assumes NO ownership over the comic character ENIGMA. All other characters are created by Tobie Abad. This page is not intended to challenge or claim ownership of the character ENIGMA which is copyright of DC Comics.

Written by Tobie Abad [email protected] Read the next issues of The Engima Grows .