Agnus Day

Agnus found Him sitting alone, His suit jacket wrinkled and torn at the shoulder, the unkempt mess of His curly hair peeking over His stooped neck.

She pulled up a stool beside Him, placing her purse on the mahogany bar, and gestured with an elegant finger for the barkeep.

“Madam?” The barkeep was a young man, Scott King Pruitt, 23, handsome, fated for a painless but young death from a rare cardiac disorder at 36. Agnus liked the cut of his jib.

“A King’s Giblit for me, and another Glenlevet, straight, for my friend.”

A King’s Giblit consisted of a minute pour of each of the most expensive liquors in the bar – the most expensive vodka, most expensive tequila, most expensive sambuca, etc, etc – all placed in a pint glass, topped with a spritz of club soda and a Marino cherry.

Agnus didn’t drink. She just didn’t want to be bothered and a King’s Giblit took a hell of a long time to make.

Without turning towards Him, Agnus spoke. “You look awful.”

He was staring into His empty glass, as if He might find more time there. Turning to face Agnus, she saw the desperation in His eyes and all at once, Agnus remembered the vibrant young God who had come to her so long ago, with great and majestic plans.

“I know it sounds crazy, but I think we can do better.” He was so energetic then, so sure of goodness. “I know it won’t be easy, but I’m up to the task. I know I am.”

Agnus had not been convinced. But what was the harm? Throw the kid a bone, maybe He does something incredible.

If not… well…here they both were.

He opened his mouth to speak and Agnus could smell the sorry scent of whiskey. “You come to gloat?”

That hurt. Agnus would never show it, of course – it would be unprofessional – but that really stung. She wasn’t happy about this. She had been rooting for Him, Him and his little playthings. And now, to throw that in her face. It hurt.

Agnus put her hand on His shoulder, and felt His muscles relax under her touch. He started to cry, just a little, real quietly. The man sitting across from them saw and awkwardly moved farther down the bar.

When the wave of remorse passed, He looked up, rubbing his red, fluffy eyes. “I really tried Agnus. Really, I tried. It’s just so hard to be everywhere, all the time. They can’t seem to do anything on their own. You either make them too stupid to survive or too smart for their own good.” His look was pleading. “I could never find balance. Where’s balance?”

If Agnus knew the answer to that question, she would build a universe herself. Instead she was only a time broker. Seeing Him in this state, Agnus was glad for that.

Agnus looked down at her wristwatch. Only a minute or so left. Normally, when repo time came, Agnus was all business. Get in, wipe, get out. Don’t get attached to the clients – that was rule number one. Time wasn’t unlimited after all – it was a valuable resource, and having it locked up in failed experiments didn’t do anyone any good.

Yet looking at Him, crying again into his beard, empty of all the Grace He once brought to the process of creation, Agnus couldn’t help but be moved. It wouldn’t do Him any good, it wouldn’t change a damn thing. But Agnus would have to bear this one on her conscience, and perhaps that was a kind of victory.

20 seconds. The bartender returned, a small glass of scotch in his left hand and King’s Giblit, an absurdly tall purplish concoction, in his right. “Your drinks.”

Agnus reached into her pocket and manifested a wad of hundred dollar bills, about $40,000, and placed it on the bar. “Keep the change.” She said, nonchalantly. Might as well let Scott enjoy his final moments.The barkeep stared and began counting the money, muttering astounded thank yous.

Agnus reached out her hand and touched Him on the chin, gently turning His head to face her. When their eyes met, she kissed him softly on the forehead.

10 seconds left.

Picking up her outrageous drink, Agnus raised the glass in the air and made a toast. “To a valiant, beautiful effort.”

Hesitantly, He did the same. Their glasses touched. He smiled, just a little, before emptying his in a single gulp.

Agnus took a tiny sip. The King’s Giblit was disgusting, but for his sake, she kept her face resolute.

Then, eyeing her watch, she waited three more seconds and snapped her finger.

Nothing.

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