Starting with the ‘solution’ word at the bottom she considered every letter, then scanned the crossword for every letter with a circle around it. As she jumped one letter, then one word to the next, she found it fairly easy to remember where she was when each clue was solved and written into the grid: in the car, sitting in the corner chair, in the cafeteria, that troublesome last word coming from the nurse—alembic. Her thoughts were fluid, one flowing into the next.
Then she remembered.
Flipping the pages toward the back she waited expectantly for the slip of white paper to fall out. Strangely, it didn’t. She tried again, fully confident that she had tucked it between pages. Nothing. She turned the book upside down and shook it—still nothing.
Alina had turned around in time to see Catherine engaged in her fruitless search of the book, and who was currently dissecting the contents of her purse. “Missing something?” she asked. Catherine replied without looking up. “That nurse gave me a note and I can’t find it!” Linda clearly heard the word “nurse” and immediately tossed out a name. “Becky?”
Cath looked up, apparently finished with the purse autopsy, her face tinged pink. “No, the other one.” She stood up to inspect the chair. Alina’s tone betrayed her confusion. “The nurse gave you a note and you didn’t read it?”
“I was a little excited about finishing the puzzle. I was preoccupied. So I thought I stuck it in the book but now I can’t find it.” Catherine paused to attempt some calm logic. They hadn’t left the room since the mystery nurse departed. The three of them had stood at the window gazing at the fireflies around the elm tree. She remembered picking the book off the floor.
Nothing appeared on the carpet around the chair, so she dropped to her knees to look. A stark patch of white under the chair instantly caught her eye. Firmly grasping it between thumb and forefinger she drew it out then spent a moment appreciating how neatly folded it was. Catherine bolted up and exclaimed with a huge smile “Got it!”
“What’s it say?” Alina asked.
Catherine held her palm upright. “Hold on already!” She treated the scrap as if it were a long lost historical document, unfolding the first half with almost painstaking care, then gently unfolding the remaining half. Mother, daughter, and nurse were focused as one, their expressions not of eager anticipation but of mild curiosity. The patriarch laid much more quietly, his tremors and shivers seemingly on the wane, and wife and daughter each holding a hand.
Catherine eyed the note, her eyes darting back and forth as if looking for some faded detail. Then, slowly, turned and picked up the puzzle book and leafed to the now intimately familiar crossword. She laid the note atop the page proximate to the solution, like a key prior to its insertion into a lock, or the thin slice of dawn as it overtakes night. She absorbed the moment, studied the objects before her, then allowed a warm smile to stretch across her lips. With an almost reverential demeanor, she stepped next to Alina at the bedside and laid the note respectfully upon the sheet between mother and daughter—directly upon the chest of a man she’d considered her nemesis.
Strong, elegant blue lines of near perfect penmanship graced the center of the small note. It read Misericordia = Mercy.
Author’s Note
Ever since the moment I fully embraced the title I knew the potential existed for discontent among some readers. “Where are the explosions? The calamity that swallows nations whole? You forgot the ultimate showdown between the powers of dark and light!” Well, not so fast— although those who perhaps had such a reaction cannot be blamed. The misnomer lies in the word “apocalypse”.
Many of us—perhaps even all of us—were raised with an understanding that the “apocalypse” was the raging final judgment of all mankind, the end of the world as we know it summed up in one beautifully descriptive word.
Truth is, that’s wrong. At least in terms of the construct we draw our emotional reaction from.
Apocalypse actually means to disclose, or refers to a disclosure: quite literally, a revelation. Ahh, now the gears are meshing: The Book of Revelations! The last book of the Bible! If you are Catholic you may remember this story better as the one used to scar your mind and soul for life when you were in catechism as a child. I’m certain that I don’t need to recount the allegory here.
Revelations—profoundly disturbing images and all—is in many respects John’s way (he being John of Patmos, the author of the book) of trying to help his readers (certainly of his time) to reach a deeper understanding of the nature of evil and the nature of hope. The original Greek word apokálypsis translates into English as “revelation,” a way of gaining some perspective or insight into a mystery.
And so it was with Hagren Roose: he was given a disclosure of sorts. On a personal level such a disclosure would undoubtedly be every bit as terrifying as it is to imagine in a wider sense. The same chilling images of death and loss—and equally of hope and redemption—are just as applicable to an individual as they would be to a collective.
The Apocalypse of Hagren Roose is not intended to be, in any way, shape, form, or fashion a pulpit-thumping expression of any particular slant or belief system. It is not meant to be an attempt at re-telling or re-creating a work as powerful, as poetic as Revelations. It’s far more humble purpose is to entertain. If it makes you think, perhaps evokes a moment of contemplation about one’s future, all the better.
I extend my most sincere gratitude to you for your purchase, and more importantly for your time. I truly hope you found this story to be worthy of both.
Cordially,
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