Forbidden Fruit

"I'm not telling him," Angelo breathed, his voice low and firm.

Archbishop Ferdinand took a long, deep sigh. "Fine," he said, straightening his back and opening the ornate wooden door to the Pope's private study. He stepped in solemnly then made his way across the room, his robes flowing behind him leaving a wake of invisible turbulent air. Fitting, Angelo thought. Just because we can't see it, it doesn't mean it's not there. I'll have to use that in a sermon sometime. If we survive this.

The archbishop had hunched over by the Pope and Angelo could only just barely hear the soft hiss of whispering for a moment before his old friend Ferdinand slowly erected himself with dignity and turned to leave.

At the door Angelo whispered, "he seems to have taken the news well."

"No, he did not." Ferdinand said. "He is outraged, and he insists we handle this with discretion and abundant caution."

"I shall alert the Vatican police at once and..."

"Absolutely not," he barked softly. "This must not be handled internally."

***

"Forbidden fruit?" Hank repeated, his eyebrow cocked.

The two men in obviously Catholic clerical garb nodded solemnly.

"And you say it was... stolen?" He was on the verge of dismissing the entire case as a hoax. He wondered how much it would cost to get outfits like that online.

"Yesterday," one of them said. "And we have reason to believe it was brought here to the United States."

"And you want me to find it for you?"

"We've exhausted our resources. The trail goes cold here, at this address." The man slid a piece of paper across Hank's desk.

He picked it up and raised his eyebrows.

"This address isn't even in my state. Why are you coming to me?"

"You are known for your efficiency and discretion," the taller man said. "We will cover all travel expenses and reward you handsomely should you recover the fruit. But you must take great care not to reveal any of the details we have shared with you."

"And," the other added with haste, "you must not let anyone know that you are working for us."

"How do you guys know your thief didn't just eat this fruit of yours?"

The two men looked at each other for a moment and one of them let out a sigh before addressing Hank. "We can't tell you that," he said. "But find our thief and bring us to their residence and you will be able to retire early."

"Yes," the other said, smiling, "this could be your very last case, should you so desire."

Hank eyed them suspiciously. Something huge was going on here and they obviously wanted him to know as little as possible. But he had several ideas already congregating in his mind about how to track down this thief. And a vacation to Miami didn't sound so bad after the devastating snowstorms he'd been enduring in Michigan.

"Alright," he said. "I'll take your case."

"Good," they said together, their quiet sense of urgency suddenly exploding as they quickly stood to leave.

"We have a private jet waiting for you at the airport. See you there in ten minutes."

***

Ester took a big, juicy bite of her apple and ran her fingers over the ancient, worn leather bound book resting on her kitchen counter. She knew this wasn't its original binding, or even its original form. Still, she could almost feel its power vibrating between the ancient pages. Carefully she opened the book to the first page, amazed at the condition of the paper inside.

She laughed to herself and shook her head. "Impossible," she sighed, chuckling. "Some of these pages must be thousands of years old." How they weren't disintegrating before her eyes was surely a miracle. And the ink! It was in pristine condition, almost as though it had been written yesterday. The characters were flowing and decorated, with vibrant drolleries adorning the margins. She sat up in her chair and set the apple aside, pulling her notebook closer. She'd seen similar text before, but she knew it was going to take some time, and work, to get a good translation started. Picking up her pencil she looked back to the page and froze.

She clenched her eyes shut and rubbed them, blinking several times before looking again. "Impossible," she muttered, staring intently at the textured parchment before her. The lettering was no longer foreign. She could read the text perfectly, each letter and word as clear to her mind as the apple on the table. Ester sat upright and looked around, her chest pounding. "Impossible," she breathed again, fighting the urge to gasp for air.

Her mind was reeling, the floor spinning while a whirlwind of thoughts bombarded her brain. She got up and paced around in a tight circle briefly then sat down again, manic energy trembling throughout her core. Unable to see through the mental debris kicked up by the storm, the only thought she could grasp and make sense of was to read the book. So, she nervously scooted in close to the edge of the table, leaned over, and began to read.

Immediately her whole body was filled with a sensation unlike anything she'd ever felt before. Her brain felt as though it were in a relaxing hot tub, gentle swirling currents tickling its underbelly while powerful jets deep in the pool sent thousands of tiny bubbles up to softly kiss her cerebellum. Each word she consumed expanded the experience, slowly enveloping her whole sense of self, wrapping her in a new reality filled with clarity, light, and profound, absolute darkness.

A rumbling tremor traveled up her spine as she developed a healthy, palpable fear of the pure, unlit obscurity. She turned away from it and let the warmth of the light caress her soul while she took bite after bite from this ancient treasure trove of forbidden words.

She turned the page and continued, a rich feeling of satisfaction growing out from her heart, slowly rushing toward her tingling fingers. Something in her was swelling while a churning, swirling sensation of pureness and peace settled in her mind. The whirlwind of chaos was gone. Every thought she'd ever had was now as clear as the grooves in her fingerprints when she stopped to notice them. Even moments in her past when she had felt that there were important realizations hovering just outside of her grasp were now fully within reach, like ripe fruit hanging from the lowest branches of a tree. She felt full and content, securely rooted to the universe and reality. As she read she felt as though she stood in a long hallway lined with locked doors that were slowly unlocking and opening for her, one by one, their light flooding the hall and filling her with joy.

Again she turned the page, eagerly lapping up the contents. She was salivating, her eyes unblinking as they scanned across the pages. At her current rate she would finish reading the book in a matter of hours. Hours that Hank didn't realize he should be counting.

***

The two men stood outside their nondescript, black SUV and waited while Hank approached the address they'd given him. Their insistence on escorting him no longer surprised him. He'd seen the way they were sweating and fidgeting. When he'd asked if they could stop for some coffee they'd erupted with panic, insisting that there simply wasn't time.

Hank glanced over his shoulder at the men, his fist hovering over the door. They shifted their weight uncomfortably while he wondered why they hadn't just gone straight to the address themselves.

He knocked sharply and waited. The car doors behind him suddenly slammed shut and he turned to see the Vatican men gone and their car rocking gently on its suspension just as the house door opened and a shotgun barrel was pressed into his abdomen.

"What do you want," a man growled, shoving the gun deeper into his gut.

Hank slowly turned his head to face the man and raised his hands. "I'm investigating a theft," he said cautiously. "But I can leave if you're in the middle of something."

The man glared at Hank, maintaining angry eye contact. He was older, perhaps in his sixties or seventies, with weathered skin and dwindling white hairs. He jerked the gun forward, jabbing it painfully into his spine from the front. "I didn't steal nothin'," he growled through clenched teeth.

"I'm just following up on a lead," Hank said. "You don't know of anyone who may have visited Italy or the Vatican in the last week or so, do you?"

Hank could feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the man peered at him through narrow slits.

"Ain't nothin' was stolen," he said at last. "Nothin' that belonged to those crooks anyway. You workin' for them?"

Hank quickly shook his head, remembering with gratitude that he wasn't even allowed to broadcast his affiliation with them.

"What's yer interest in it then?" he asked, backing the shotgun off hardly an inch.

"Just looking to see if I can track it down for a reward," he lied, sort of.

"You know what it is?" the man asked, sneering through a wicked grin.

"Fruit?" Hank asked, shrugging.

The man laughed, fully retracting the gun. "Wait here," he cried, wheezing as he disappeared around the corner.

Hank's eyes slowly adjusted to the darker interior of the home while the harsh noonday sunlight around him blasted out the periphery of his vision. Inside he saw a quaint, simple setup. He had a sleek, modern television opposite a clean couch with equally modern stylings and simple throw pillows. Nothing ornate, nothing even... old.

The man returned shortly. "Hold out yer hand," he said.

Hank held out his palm with a stiff grin.

The man slapped an orange into Hank's hand and burst out laughing. "There you go," he said. "You got yer fruit. Now git goin' before I blow yer brains out."

"Alright," Hank said, pursing his lips. "Look, I get that it's not really fruit."

"It is, and you've got it," the man said, still chuckling. "Go on now." He leveled the shotgun at Hank again and took a step forward.

Hank's eyes locked onto something behind the man briefly and he smiled, taking a step back. "Alright," he said. "But you can keep the fruit." He tossed it at the man who nearly fumbled the shotgun trying to catch the orange as it sailed past his head into the living room.

His chest pounded and he grinned as he walked away. Climbing into the driver's seat of the SUV he pulled out his phone and searched for the address in his private lookup database system.

"Well," one of the Vatican men said. "Did you find the fruit?"

"Oh," Hank muttered absently. "I gave it back."

"What?" the other exclaimed. "What do you mean?"

"He gave me an orange but I wasn't hungry. I gave it back." He smiled. There you are, you old fart, he thought to himself, copying the name to his notes. Then he performed additional searches for the name within a geographic range of only a few miles. She's got to be close, he thought.

"So that's it?" one of them asked. "You got nothing?"

"Oh I got something," Hank said, smiling. He put the gear and pulled away, taking the next left.

"Where are we going?" one of the men asked impatiently.

"We're going to get your book," Hank said.

"Book?" the taller one asked innocently.

"Spare me," Hank said. "If this isn't about a book then I'm a monkey's uncle."

"Well where are we going?"

"His daughter's house."

"How did you..."

"He didn't decorate that place, and from the photos on the wall his wife has been dead a long time. His daughter visits often and lives just around the corner. Look, we're here."

***

There was a knock at the door but Ester didn't care. She'd known the three men were coming for the past several minutes but nothing was going to stop her from finishing the book. Her whole being was fueled by it now, a wealth of power soaking into the spaces between her atoms, her mind expanding to contain the universe and all of its secrets. She could feel the cosmic background radiation pricking at her flesh, sense the movements of ants burrowing beneath the foundation of her house. Every atom in the chair supporting her danced and vibrated to a tune that she now knew, a tune she would soon be able to sing.

The knock rang out again, as did the doorbell. She focused intensely, her eyes scanning more and more quickly as she felt the tension rising outside her house. The men were desperate. They would do desperate things. She only had a few more pages to go. Just a few more pages and it would all be hers.

There was a loud crash as wood splintered and the door flew off its hinges. Pounding feet signaled the end of her time with the book. She grabbed it, snapping out of a trance but retaining the intense focus and clarity bestowed by the pages she'd already consumed. She felt full and satiated, as though she'd never need another meal, another glass of water. She clutched the book to her chest and moved to the other side of her kitchen table just as the men raced into the room.

"Hand the book over," ordered a tall man with a clerical shirt on.

"No," Ester said firmly and calmly. "I'm almost done. Just let me read the last couple pages and it's all yours."

"We can't let you do that," said the other religious man. "Give it to us now. It's very important."

Ester shook her head. "It's more important that I finish it. I know everything," she said. "If I finish this book... I'll... I'll..."

"You'll be like God," whispered a man wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt. His eyes were wide with sudden understanding.

The religious men glanced at the other man with frustration in their eyes, but quickly turned back to Ester. "Hand it over," they said. "If you finish reading it you'll destroy humanity."

"Our entire reality could cease to exist," the other added, pleading with her.

Ester stared at them, glanced down at the book, then looked back to them quickly. "No," she said again, turning to run. She rushed toward a back door and threw it opened, dashing out into her back yard.

In a flash Hank was over the table and through the door after her. He caught her quickly and tackled her to the ground. The book tumbled from her arms and landed a few feet away in the grass.

The other men stumbled and slid to a halt around the book. One of them pulled out a black velvet bag while the other gingerly placed the book inside.

Ester began to cry. "I was so close," she sobbed. "I could feel the immense power of its knowledge. I could see the truth."

Hank helped her to her feet, putting an arm around her shoulders. But she shook him off and turned angrily toward the men. "You!" she cried, pointing at them. "You are liars! You aren't men of god, you are wicked, deceiving devils pretending to speak for god!" Rage poured from her voice, scratching her throat on the way out as she screamed. "Liars! Liars!"

Hank dragged her back into her house while the other men went back to their car.

"It's fading!" she sobbed, burying her face in her hands. "All of the knowledge, I can feel it fading away!"

Hank tried consoling her, putting his hand on her back, but she shook it off and disappeared into the house wailing like a spoiled teenager.

Back in the car the men handed Hank a fat envelope full of cash.

"Thank you," they said, smiling. "You've averted a galactic, apocalyptic catastrophe."

Hank eyed the cash and glanced at the book. After a few moments he handed them the envelope and got back out of the car. "No I haven't," he said solemnly. "Keep your damn money."

"Wait," one of them called after him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to see what she remembers," he said, slamming the door shut.