"I can't tell any difference," Harold said. He glanced away from his goddess and looked out at the dark sky and the light-streaked city below it. "Want me to check the weather?"
"See if you can find an hourly accumulation rate."
Harold picked up his digital tablet and turned it on. The hospital's wi-fi signal was strong and, he was relieved to see, didn't require a password. He searched for data on the storm and found a raw data file to download, opening it in Excel. It took a moment to correct the formatting and make legible graphs.
"When did we, uh, head down to the Repository this morning?" Harold felt uncomfortable referencing what had happened to his goddess. Just thinking about it made his heart rate quicken again.
"I don't know. Eleven-thirty, maybe."
Harold nodded. That sounded about right. He found the time on the graphs.
"Wow, okay, so look at this," he turned the tablet so they could both see the graphs, and he pointed to a brown line.
Wendy read the label for the brown line aloud, "Precipitation Potential. It's at zero percent, then jumps to seventy-five percent at about quarter to twelve, then one hundred percent at noon. That's insane. Sky cover goes up, wind speed--" Wendy's voice faded away as she stared at the graphs.
"That's the poem and the phallus and-- and us. We did that," Harold said.
"And here it dips, everything dips down somewhat." Wendy pointed to the right side of the graph, closer to the present.
"Not enough."
"No, but I know what that's tied to."
"That's about the time we had orgasms."
"Orgasms with each other, not the phallus. Obviously we just need to fuck until the rain stops," Wendy said, her eyes lighting up at the idea, "take the power of sex back into ourselves so Satis can't use it."
"I had two orgasms when-- when it happened," Harold said, "Maybe we only need to have another orgasm each?"
Wendy's face changed from one of excitement to one of concern.
"I came each time I pushed that thing into me."
"Wow," said Harold, looking up from the tablet to meet her gaze. "I, um," he cleared his throat, "I don't have much experience helping women with-- with having orgasms."
"But surely you've watched--," Wendy said, but Harold was shaking his head.
"I wasn't really into sex before that poem got into my head. I just-- I honestly don't know what to do."
"You did fine an hour ago," Wendy said, trying to sound soothing, "I honestly enjoyed myself and appreciated how you responded to me and my body. You're a good slave, Harold, getting me what I need and want, listening, helping."
There was a light knock at the door and a doctor let himself in, his eyes already down on his own digital tablet.
"So, Ms Freeman," the doctor said in a loud voice, still looking at his digital tablet, "The nurse said you'd like to be discharged."
"Yes. I'm feeling better now."
"That was a lot of fluid you lost, but the chart I'm looking at says the infusion rate has declined significantly in the past hour or so. It might indicate you're on the mend. Just wish we could figure out why you needed so much fluid in the first place. The ER said no drugs, no alcohol, no 10k runs. Have you had to urinate at anytime since you were admitted?"
"No, I haven't."
"They hook you up to a catheter?"
"No."
"And the sheets on your bed are dry."
"Yes. I'd rather continue my recovery at home, please. I can call your office or come in again if I start to feel dehydrated again."
"I'm tempted to keep you here just so I can figure out the mystery," the doctor said. He still hadn't looked at Wendy.
"She's a person, not a puzzle," Harold said, unable to remain quiet. The doctor finally looked up from his tablet at Harold, as if seeing him for the first time.
"And you are?"
"He's my boyfriend," Wendy said. Harold swallowed hard at her words. He'd never been anyone's boyfriend since his half-hearted attempts at romance back in eighth grade. Her declaration sounded weird to him; he considered himself her slave, not her boyfriend.
"I see," said the doctor. He made another note in his tablet before turning it off and holding it loosely by his side. He smiled at Wendy. "I'm discharging you. The paperwork you'll be sent home with includes a few recommendations: drink water, drink an occasional electrolyte liquid like Gatorade, no heavy lifting, no very hot shower or baths for the next few days, no trips to the salon to get your hair done, and no sauna until we give you the green light. You'll be given a sterilized cup to collect a sample the next time you urinate. Bring that by at your earliest convenience. We'll test it for a few things, make sure your electrolyte levels are holding steady, et cetera. Any questions?"
Wendy shook her head, said, "Sounds fine."
"Good. The nurse will be back soon with the paperwork and then you can get out of here. You two have a good evening."
* * * *
As Harold wheeled her out of her room he asked, "So where do you want to go?"
"To the mouth of the river," Wendy said, "But getting there's going to suck."
Harold was silent, thinking about how to get to the Riverwalk. The Oriental Institute was South of downtown Chicago by quite a bit. Before he had bought the Kenguru, he usually took the the train, enjoying the view of Lake Michigan.
"The train can get us all the way to Millennium Station," he said, "and it's another, what, four or five blocks from there to the water. I can drive us to the orange line in the Kenguru, if you don't mind being a little squished, and I can call ahead for a taxi to meet us on the other end. There's also the bus. I never liked it as much as the train, but it's a shorter walk, just at the corner, so we wouldn't have to take the risk that my car can't make it. But the ride is twice as long."
Wendy was silent for a moment, her lips pursed together.
"I just--" she started, then tried again, "Is it stupid to think we need to be in the rain to do this? By our own river? Maybe we just need to go to my place and have comfortable, normal sex."
"Maybe," Harold said, "It wasn't like we were in any particularly special place when we set this whole thing off."
"Only, it was special, in a way, wasn't it? To us, it was special."
"Is the river special to you?" Harold asked. Wendy shrugged.
"The Repository is more special to me, to be honest," she said.
"Then maybe we should go there."
"I'm-- I'm a little afraid. Trying to get to the river sounds daunting, but going back to the Repository sounds scary."
"I'm with you there," he said, "But here's what I think: you are channeling the goddess--you are, in fact, my goddess--so whatever you decide will be the right thing. That's our ace in this hand we've been dealt." He looked down at the back of her head, willing her to believe him. He noticed the way her fingers rested on the edge of his courier bag as it sat in her lap. He imagined her stroking a royal Egyptian cat, wearing the headdress of the Lower Nile.
"The train, then," she said, "If we're going to do this, let's do it right; we'll have the rain, the river, and the sex."
"And the phallus."
"I want to throw it in the river." Wendy sounded vicious for a moment.
"Me, too."
Harold raised his eyes and saw Peter coming running through the sliding glass doors to the parking garage. He stopped for a moment, peering around, and Harold noticed the taller man's wild hair and wild eyes. The moment their coworker saw them, he ran his fingers through his hair and tried to straighten his tie. He slouched toward them, trying to look nonchalant.
"Hey," he said, tipping his head back in greeting, his hands in his pockets.
"What are you doing here, Peter," Wendy asked, sounding suspicious.
"You guys are headed out to make it stop raining, right?" He didn't wait for an answer, "Listen, I need to be there in order for it to work."
"Why?" Harold asked. For the first time, he felt a touch of jealousy. He didn't want Peter to hurt Wendy, nor did he want Wendy to give him any of her attention.
"Coupla reasons. First, I was there when you did-- whatever you did. Kinda makes sense that I'd need to be there to end it. Symmetry or whatever. Second, I spent some time on the amphorae images and found glyphs around the lips of 'em and the rough translation is kind of a description of the ritual. You guys got some things wrong, of course."
"Considering we weren't in control--" Wendy started but Peter interrupted her.
"Listen, the sacrifice was supposed to embody Isis. You know that story about Satis collecting a single tear from Isis, she pours it into the Nile, the Nile floods, whatever. But the amphorae texts say Satis isn't collecting a tear but girl juice." Peter took a hand out a pocket to gesture at his crotch. "There was supposed to be a second woman, to embody Satis. Satis uses the dildo on Isis."
Peter looked at Harold, a leer on his face, "So, were you Satis?"
Harold blinked, his face flushing.
"Evidently I played Satis' and Isis' roles," Wendy said, "And, as your goddess, I'm telling you to stop being an asshole."
Peter stared at her a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Fuck you," he said.
"And yet you still deciphered this information for me and brought it to me," Wendy said, sounding calm and cool.
Peter looked at the floor of the hallway and nodded. "I couldn't not help." He seemed to shrink in size, to deflate, as if he was embarrassed by caring about her.
"So how do you figure into the ritual?" Wendy asked.
"The men in the ritual. Okay, wait, let me back up. So, you've got earth, air, fire and water, right? Isis is the water, she's the source of the water. Satis is the air, the air warms up, melts the snow in the mountains, sweeps the rain in. Then you've got the masculine roles. Earth witnesses and supports the water and holds the seed. That was me, I think, since I was the "stone that waits," right? And Harold brands himself. The fire is, like, the end of everything, the branding ends the ritual. You need all those representations of elements again."
Wendy and Harold were silent for a moment. Peter looked from one to the other, his expression both defiant and uncertain, as if he really wanted them to believe him but he wasn't going to show his disappointment if they didn't.
"I'm not sure I agree with that interpretation," Harold said, feeling for a moment like he was back on solid ground. "Usually the earth is considered feminine, not masculine. Did you bring any images of the glyphs?"
Peter gave him a angry look, opened his mouth to say something.
"Did you drive here?" Wendy asked. Peter blinked, confused for a moment, then nodded.
"Yeah."
"How are the roads?" Harold asked.
"Virtually empty," Peter said, looking from Wendy to him. "Everything's flooded. They've declared a weather emergency. No one's supposed to go out except for emergency vehicles."
"Trains still running?"
Peter shrugged. Wendy fumbled with Harold's bag until she found his phone.
"I'll look it up while we head to your car," she said, "We'll take a chance on the streets if the trains aren't running."
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