The Prophet

The man was close now.  Ten more steps and he will pass me, Joshua guessed at the distance still keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.  Five more steps!  What if he kicks me out for trespassing?  Or takes me to jail?  Two more steps!  Cultural uneasiness swelled up inside him as he felt the eyes of the approaching stranger silently swoop down upon him like a hawk, snatching his gaze from the floor with its mighty talons.  Joshua stole a quick, uneasy glance upon passing, and their eyes met.

The man had dark brown eyes and his black wavy hair was messed up on the right side where it was trying to curl the wrong way.  His square jaw appeared to be clenched together in a stubborn, defiant look that seemed to indicate he had not left his work at the office but rather was lugging it home.  Through all this, the man was familiar looking, not someone he had ever met, but rather someone whose picture he had seen more than once.

I know him, the thought flashed through Joshua's mind.  Of course!  It’s . . .  “Curtis?  Curtis Reid?”

The man stopped and turned to face Joshua, and by the scowl pursed upon his lips he was obviously annoyed by the interruption.  “Yes?” he answered surveying the young man with his chocolate brown eyes.

“Ah ¼,” Joshua stammered as he walked closer to where the man had stopped.  He had not planned out exactly how this meeting would take place, nor had he planned what he would say when it did.  “¼ Ah ¼ you need to call M ¼ ah ¼ your wife.”

“How do you know my wife?” Curtis asked staring Joshua straight in the eyes.

“Trust me,” Joshua chuckled nervously.  “I know.”

“I don't want to trust you.  I don't even know you.  Now get out of my way.  I'm in no mood for this nonsense.”  Curtis stepped around Joshua to resume his path down the empty hallway.

“Mr. Reid, you don't understand ¼”

“No, but I'm beginning to.”  Curtis turned sharply and lifted the receiver of the red security phone mounted on the wall just a few steps away.

“Dad!  Wait, please!”  Joshua's face showed surprise and hurt.  He had imagined perhaps a long awaited hug and pat on the back or a smile of friendship.  Not to be cast in jail like some common criminal.

“What did you say?”

“I said, 'Please wait.'  I'm your son, Joshua.”

Without taking his eyes off Joshua, Curtis hung up the receiver on the wall.  My son?  Curtis thought through the possibilities.  “You're not my son,” he challenged.  “He's only two and a half years old.”

“I am your son, and I've come to warn you of danger.”

“You are serious, aren't you?”  Curtis looked at Joshua and his dark brown eyes seemed to drill into his soul to see if the tale was a lie.

“I'm totally serious.  Your life will be in danger this very evening,” Joshua began earnestly.

“Joshua, I don't understand how you know this about me, and I don't quite understand why you claim to be my son, but I feel that you believe it.  Let's find a place and talk.” Curtis motioned with a nod of his head for Joshua to follow as he turned toward the room from which he had just come.

From the pit of his stomach and deep within his heart, Joshua felt a stiffening thickness penetrate his body, crawling outward through his arms and legs until it reached the tip of each extremity.  Joshua tried to take a step forward but his leg would not respond.  What ¼ what is happening? He screamed out in his mind.