-memory 1-
Chapel gazed into the glass he'd palmed from the bar, the mysterious crystal still inside. Neither Smoke nor any of his employees would admit to having dropped it into his drink, so all he could do was take it with him. He'd never done this before, but it couldn't be that hard. Could it?
What the hell. He overturned the glass and dropped it into his palm.
Immediately, he got the impression that he was watching something on a monitor, except with really good picture--side to side, up and down. He could hear, too. But he couldn't feel his own body, or make use of any other sense. Still, it did seem like this was something he'd experienced for himself. He could tell it was a bright day out, the sunlight only partially held at bay by the sunglasses he wore.
"Hey, preacher man!" He was already turning toward the voice, and saw a trio of men on top of a bus, lifting some heavy luggage--was that a giant cross, all wrapped up in canvas and buckles? Scratch that--was that his cross? What the hell would he have a cross for? But it must have been his, because he caught it easily. Damn, it weighed a ton.
"Hey, thanks a lot," he heard himself reply jovially, even though he couldn't feel his mouth making out the words.
"Damn, that's heavy," one of the men said in wonderment.
"That, my friend, is because it's so full of mercy," he heard himself reply. Pretty cheesy line; it was something he'd say.
He turned around again, as if to say farewell to someone he'd been chatting with, but the memory faded then, leaving him sitting alone on his bed. He wanted to protest. Was that all he got? It wasn't fair! But the feeling of being slighted was outweighed by the surprise at what the brief memory had revealed. He still didn't know who he really was, but apparently he knew his profession.
He was a priest. Huh. How about that.
What the hell. He overturned the glass and dropped it into his palm.
Immediately, he got the impression that he was watching something on a monitor, except with really good picture--side to side, up and down. He could hear, too. But he couldn't feel his own body, or make use of any other sense. Still, it did seem like this was something he'd experienced for himself. He could tell it was a bright day out, the sunlight only partially held at bay by the sunglasses he wore.
"Hey, preacher man!" He was already turning toward the voice, and saw a trio of men on top of a bus, lifting some heavy luggage--was that a giant cross, all wrapped up in canvas and buckles? Scratch that--was that his cross? What the hell would he have a cross for? But it must have been his, because he caught it easily. Damn, it weighed a ton.
"Hey, thanks a lot," he heard himself reply jovially, even though he couldn't feel his mouth making out the words.
"Damn, that's heavy," one of the men said in wonderment.
"That, my friend, is because it's so full of mercy," he heard himself reply. Pretty cheesy line; it was something he'd say.
He turned around again, as if to say farewell to someone he'd been chatting with, but the memory faded then, leaving him sitting alone on his bed. He wanted to protest. Was that all he got? It wasn't fair! But the feeling of being slighted was outweighed by the surprise at what the brief memory had revealed. He still didn't know who he really was, but apparently he knew his profession.
He was a priest. Huh. How about that.