Set Voland--a homeless young man who attacked a child in the midst of hallucinations--has been caught by the police and sent to a psychiatric hospital. There, he's stricken by a meeting with a Shining White Being who will completely overturn his lif...
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In war, as in love, we must take a close look at each other.
Napoleon Bonaparte
SOUND: "Magnificat and Gloria Patri", Bach, Mormon Tabernacle Choir
Monday afternoon, Dee was on his way to the appointment with "The Oracle". The address he was given by message happened to be near his hotel, so he decided to indulge in a constitutional*. The air was sweet and warm springtime sunbeams lit the road. The lovely stroll brought him close to the alley he had visited the previous day.
He took a peek and noticed two rascals had chosen the place to get a little privacy and have a beer together. The young man sat on the ground, his clothes ragged and the word troublemaker written all over his face, while the lady stood. She was smoking hot, with dark short hair, sexy shorts and curves in all the right places. Although her tattoed back was turned to him, Dee recognized her as the waitress from Cafe Palermo—Vito's daughter—the one he was forbidden to talk to. He took notice of the scene with the intention to figure the young man's background as soon as possible.
The old beggar stood at the opposite corner, facing the main road. Something was off about him. To avoid being spotted, Dee kept walking on the curb on the other side and checked on him using his peripheral vision.
The self-proclaimed fortune-teller had big dark circles under his dead eyes. His face grey, his mouth twisted in a sour line, he pleaded nonsensical words, adding a touch of madness to his already miserable condition. Obviously, he was unable to attract any positive attention or possible clients.
Dee wondered how he could've even considered the possibility of such a charlatan being a reliable source. However, he excused himself by assuming that, to have certainty, one needed to consider and evaluate each possible lead. Nothing could be left to chance.
"...My Lord. Forgive me!" the old man pleaded on the verge of weeping. "You chose me to serve you and I was your Judas! You already knew! I beg of you, my Lord, don't leave me! Let me be your messenger again! Keep shining your divine light on me, don't...!"
As Dee kept going, the mortified voice was engulfed in the city's noise, and he was relieved to find he couldn't hear it anymore. That Bible-thumper couldn't have anything to do with Sybil Vain. Despite the rumors about The Oracle's mental instability, Vain needed to be cunning and reasonable to hide so well. He had to be calculating and scheming in the shadow, in other words, someone like him.
When he finally reached the Studio, at the third floor of an anonymous business building, Dee had to provide his personal information and show his face to a camera before hearing the metallic sound of the lock. Once he set foot inside, the door shut down automatically. The Doctor didn't like to be confined, and he liked even less the idea that, if the unpredictable were to occur, he wouldn't be able to get the door open.
