was open. From what he could see, it was nicer than the outer room and likely meant to be his own. He caught a glimpse of somebody moving about, so he called out, “Hello? Anybody here?”
In response, a young woman bustled out and, seeing him, gave a little gasp and took up a hasty position behind the reception desk. “Dr. Omega…, sir!” she said, struggling to sound business-like and hide her excitement. “I'm Anna Dawn Hamlyn, your secretary.”
Omega discreetly looked her over and liked what he saw. She was a petite young woman, with long hair the color of burnished copper plaited into a braid behind her slender neck. She cocked her head at him as she awaited his reply, her blue eyes bright behind a pair of square, wire-rimmed eyeglasses.
Perky, intelligent, orderly, and a redhead—what more could I ask for? “How nice to meet you,” Omega said, extending a hand. “There is no need to ‘sir’ me. You will find I am not much on formalities. I gather I am where I am supposed to be?”
“You certainly are. Did you have trouble finding it?”
“Not too much.”
“I'm new here myself. Don't ask me where anywhere else is or I might get you lost!”
“You are new at CSU, then... a freshman?”
“No, I’m a junior. I just transferred here with an Associate’s degree from out of state. Well, anyway ... welcome!”
Omega received a most enthusiastic handshake from across the desk. “I've been trying to get things ready for you,” she went on. “I wanted everything to be perfect. I was just now dusting your office and cleaning off your shelves. I hope you'll be satisfied with my work, sir ... I mean … what would you like me to call you?”
“James?”
“That's a bit of a stretch for me.” Anna Dawn said, shaking her head. “After all, you are famous, as well as my boss.”
“Dr. Omega will do then, until you feel more comfortable around me.” He grinned. “Trust me. The famous part will wear off right away.”
She seemed to relax a little. “Well, Dr. Omega, this...” she turned and gestured to the back room, "this is your office, in here."
He followed her inside. “Very nice,” he said. “Quite cozy.” Omega entered the small space and looked around.
“I'm sorry it's so small. I'm to tell you a larger office is being painted and will be available for you within a week or two in another building. They’re making a metal plate with your name on it for the door....”
“No, no. This is fine, really. I like it,” Omega said, walking to the back of the desk. He settled into the brown leather swivel chair. “Very compact. And exceptionally neat, thanks to you. You have done a great job in getting it ready for me, Miss Hamlyn.”
His secretary cleared her throat. “Actually, I prefer Ms. Hamlyn to Miss Hamlyn. But I'm not much on formalities either. Why don't you just call me Anna Dawn?”
She’s not afraid to clarify what she wants, a useful trait in a secretary, Omega thought approvingly. “Certainly, Anna Dawn. I am sure we will get along just fine.”
“Well, then,” the young woman said, backing toward the door, “I'll be at my desk if you need anything.”
He watched her leave, shutting the door behind her. In a few moments, sounds of vigorous typing commenced. Anna Dawn. Lovely girl. No doubt we will soon be friends.
Omega put his briefcase on the floor, leaned back in the chair, hands behind his back, and slowly appraised his new quarters. Spartanly furnished with a desk, swivel chair, one floor to ceiling bookcase, two guest chairs and a work bench, the office had little to offer except for the required window. But that was all right. It was a welcome relief from the flashy, over-dressed suite he gratefully left behind in Chicago. All he really wanted, what he hungered for, was privacy; some time and space to concentrate on the great task before him, the purpose that compelled him to come to Colorado State University.
Yes, he liked his new office very much. It was perfect. Unconsciously, he began humming a little of the tune, “Be it ever so humble...,” a contented smile spreading on his face.
He thought back to the interview with the Selection Committee. His fore knowledge of the committee’s decision was based on much experience and insight into the minds of professional educators. In the winding labyrinth of his many paths, he had changed jobs frequently and been interviewed by people much like these. He liked Derk Long and Juliet Marsh, and Annie Groff was a special pleasure. Frank Curnow, however, would be one to keep his eyes on. It wasn't difficult to see shrewdness in the man, nor sense his distrust. Omega had learned from experience to tread lightly around such people. Snakes like this had bitten him before.
For the past seven years, the world had beaten a path to James Omega's door; and the University of Chicago wanted the world to go away impressed. But here, he hoped, it would be different. He had his fill of show and trivialities. Here, in this little Colorado town, in this office, in this simple space, was more than enough room for his needs. Besides, he had his window.
Omega rose and went over to look out. It provided a bird’s-eye view of the busy ramblings of students below. Better still, above the campus rooftops stretched a big, bright sky, uncluttered with smog and skyscrapers; and, in the distance off to the west was a line of low mountains. Yes, it would do. It would do nicely.
He wasn't planning to spend much time in his office, anyway. He would be out in nature as always and, when he was on campus, most of his attention would be centered on his students—one, in particular, although he did not yet know who that one was.
The old biologist rose and, leaning his elbows on the windowsill, looked down upon the campus. Students filed along both sides of the sidewalks, moving in opposite directions.
Busy as ants on a scent trail, he mused, touching the window glass with his finger, as if tracing their movements. But it is I who must find the trail now—-I who am the seeker. The Shepherd must be found and quickly! All my labors depend on it.
4
ITS TIME HAD COME
The spirit slept. But its sleep brought no repose, only darkness and pain. In Hell, sleep offers no rest. No peace is found there. No comfort. No relief. No escape. Waking or sleeping, the spirit knew only its hellish cage, hanging like a dark cocoon in a sunless cavern filled with unbearable stench, smothering despair, and screams—-the lullaby of the damned.
Still mannish in shape, even after its long absence from a body of flesh, bone, and blood, the spirit’s body was ethereal as smoke; little more than a shadow of the splendid physical being it had once been in mortality. Hell is, after all, a spiritual realm where things of corporal nature exist only in memory. Even the web-like shackles that held the spirit bound for centuries were of no mortal make. They were forged not of iron, nor steel, but of something far stronger—-a total domination of will. In Hell, all is relinquished at the Gates. There are no choices, only submission to the One True Lord.
Other than the mad wailing of fellow inmates, the spirit had no sense of anything or anyone outside of itself. It never spoke to nor saw any other being. Regret was its only food,
