Chapter 15

On the Rocks

The address that Olivia gave him yesterday leads Idris on a 30 minute commute through Florence on foot, but luckily it’s to a bar. On the way there, he passes by the bistro from his initial conversation with Olivia, but it’s hardly recognizable with the amount of people pouring out of the front door, waiting to be seated. It was good food and it’s a cute place, but Idris hadn’t considered it that good. He taps someone’s shoulder standing outside, “Hey, is there a special today or something?”
The man gives Idris an apologetic stare before responding, “Mi dispiace, non parlo inglese.”
“Right, sorry.” Idris looks around and listens until he catches a conversation in English –a couple of young men with American accents– so he approaches them. “Hey guys, sorry, can you tell me what’s happening here? I was here yesterday and it was dead!”
The shorter of the two responds, “I don’t know, man, we just heard this was the place to be!”
“And you don’t care to know why? You’ll just follow whatever is trending?”
The boys laugh, the taller answering this time, “Okay old man, what’re you gonna ask next? If we’d jump off a bridge because our friends did? Yeah, probably! It wouldn’t be hot if it wasn’t worth it.”
Idris furrows his brow a hair’s breadth and then shrugs, “Whatever, enjoy, guys. Ciao.”
The two guys quickly return to their conversation as Idris continues on his way. The bar isn’t too many blocks further. Idris turns down a quiet side alley, looking for the bar. They’re just opening their doors as the sun peaks in the sky. Neon lights flicker on above the entrance: “Maybe Tomorrow.”
A tall man, hair slicked back and pin-striped suit accentuating his height, stands just inside the doorway, hands clasped behind his back. Glancing past him, Idris can’t see anybody else inside, aside from another sleek man behind the bar, polishing glasses.
“Benvenuto. Password?” The man betrays no emotion as he speaks.
“Password?” Idris digs the scrap of paper from his pocket and scans it, but it’s just the address and time.
“This is a speakeasy.”
Idris flips the paper over, but nothing miraculous appears. “I’m supposed to be meeting someone, she didn’t tell me that I’d need a password. I can just wait for her.” He shoves the paper back in his pocket and steps outside to wait, casually leaning against the brick wall.
Five minutes pass, and then ten more, and still nobody arrives. While the alley is mostly shaded, the heat of the day doesn’t relent. He wipes the sweat from his forehead and slinks back inside the speakeasy, where the man stands still and straight as a statue.
“Stood up?” The statue speaks.
Idris runs his hand across his buzzed head, “I guess so.”
“Pity makes a good password, come on in.”
Idris coughs out a laugh, “I could use a drink, grazie.”
The man nods and steps aside to allow Idris to enter. He goes straight to the bar counter and stashes his pack under the stool as he sits. “Old fashioned, per favore.”
The bartender, in an identical pin-striped suit but with darker hair and a thin mustache, smirks and begins mixing the cocktail. His English is broken and accent thick, but the man tries to make conversation with his only patron, “Woman left? Was it uhhh the first uh date?”
Idris laughs, “No, no date, it was a work meeting.”
“Work meeting? Here?”
Idris shrugs, “Wasn’t my choice.”
“Ahh.” He slides a glass of the liquor over, topping it with an orange slice. “What work?”
Idris sips the drink and leans onto the bar counter, getting comfortable now that he has nowhere to be. “Journalist, she was helping me with a lead.”
“Lead?”
“Yeah, I’m looking for a missing person, the Russian ballerina from the Treaty performance. The woman I was meeting, Olivia, said she could help, said she knew the missing ballerina.”
“Olivia?” The bartender’s eyes light up and he lets out a good laugh. He hollers something in Italian to the doorman, who also laughs. “Pretty brunette, blonde highlights?”
“Oh, yeah! You guys know her?”
The bartender is still laughing, “Sí sí, she comes here occasionally, during our busy hours. She’s uhh…” he asks the doorman something from across the room.
The doorman responds in their native tongue and then in English yells back to Idris, “She’s fickle. We’re not surprised you’ve been stood up!”
“Ouch.” Idris allows himself a good laugh as well and then lifts his drink in a cheer, “to dead ends and fickle women.” He downs the drink and signals for another.
The bartender has another glass in front of Idris in no time.
“You gentlemen mind if I write in here?”
The bartender waves his hand through the air, “No problem. News article?”
“Grazie.” He digs his laptop from his pack and opens it on the counter in front of him. “Yes, but not about the missing ballerina.”

Nov. 9, 2092
Idris Rafiq
Behind Cathedral Doors
I’ve had an interesting weekend, nosing around Florence. I have no updates on the case with our missing Dimitri, but I spent some time communing with God yesterday and this morning. While visiting a cathedral yesterday, I was invited to join for Sunday mass with an English translator. Despite dressing professionally for church, I still stood out in the beige congregation, but nobody cared as I sat in the back corner and listened to my interpreter.
I knew faith was being heavily commercialized already, I mean look around! For the past several years, every other commercial and ad you see is selling religious paraphernalia: clothing, jewelry, hats, stickers, you name it! I had assumed it was just the result of corporations capitalizing off of rising rates of church attendance. What I didn’t realize until now, was that pastors and priests have been preaching about materialism during their biblical sermons! My apologies to any of my readers who reached out to inform me of this, I guess I couldn’t take it seriously until I experienced it myself.
The Father at this Catholic church (which I won’t name for the privacy of innocent patrons) spent the last half hour of his Sunday sermon proselytizing about the importance of “expressing one’s faith outwardly” as well as financially supporting these religious businesses on top of the church. Of course, the tithing plate was soon passed around.
Greed and gluttony have always been major contributors in the current state of the world’s climate, and here I thought that we were supposed to preserve God’s Green Earth! Coastal cities are underwater while the rest of the world is on fire, and the most highly followed religion in the world is promoting consumption at rates that will put humankind under 6 feet of rubble. However, the priest seemed to think that was okay, which brings me to my bigger concern in regards to what I heard this morning.
Remember how I said the commercial was just the ending of his sermon? Well the bulk of it was about what it means to be “virtuous” and harshly judging whether one belongs in God’s Kingdom. Specifically, the Father’s message was for one to decide if they’re worthy of “[facing] God ourselves or turning away from his grace to live in Hell on Earth.”
We’ve already made a hellscape of our planet, and this priest (and possibly others) seems to be suggesting that believers must take initiative when the time of the Rapture arrives. Sounds like a ‘drink the Kool-Aid’ situation to me…
Is this normal in churches around the world? What else is being preached? Please let me know.

Idris closes his laptop upon posting the article to his website. His glass has been long empty and he pulls out several bills to accompany it on the table before packing his belongings. “Well gentlemen, thanks for the company this afternoon,” they all bid adieu as Idris exits the air conditioned, dimly-lit speakeasy into the sweltering, cigarette-smelling alleyway. The sounds of cars and crowds bounces down the alley from the nearby street and Idris follows it to its source until he’s in a cab on his way back to the hotel.
A local radio station plays music that Idris can’t understand as he sits in the back of the cab, staring out the window. The sounds don’t seem to be coming through clearly despite being in the middle of the city. Static chops up the music and a woman’s voice echoes behind it all. He can only catch snippets of her words and doesn’t bother trying to put any of it together.
The cab driver grumbles and changes the channel, “All day someone has been messing with the radio frequencies. This voice is infiltrating every station! ‘Testing, testing, testing’ she needs to test on her own radio frequency!”
Idris grunts a response and continues studying the hundreds of people they pass by on the drive across Florence, the new radio station playing a blues-y tune to backdrop the scene. The music goes uninterrupted for the rest of the ride.
Inside the hotel, Idris takes the elevator several floors up. The soft hum of music in the lift is interrupted by that same voice he heard in the cab. It’s easier to understand this time and he can pick out the shadow of a Russian accent in the woman’s voice.
Idris gets a strange feeling as he eavesdrops on one half of a conversation, “Coooool, I think I can isolate it too… yeah, you think so?… I doubt he’s a radio listener, I’ll try his phone later… sure it’ll be fine!… Oh right, oops.”
The voice cuts off and the music continues as if nothing ever happened. A ‘ding’ signals to Idris that he’s arrived at his floor. He trudges down the hall, fighting his pocket for the room key so that he can let himself in. Room service has clearly been through for the day, as the bed is freshly made and bathroom restocked. A couple of new mint candies sit on the little table at the far end of the room, by a window that overlooks a dirty alley. Idris pops one of the candies in his mouth and takes a seat to get back to work. It doesn’t take long for him to forget about the voice echoing across the city’s radio towers.
There’s a few dozen new messages in regards to the recent article, none of which tell him anything interesting aside from people having similar experiences as Idris during church– all of which seem to agree that the fear mongering has been getting exponentially worse in recent weeks.
Idris scrolls down to read older messages. He hadn’t forgotten about his brother’s issues with the school system, albeit he’s left them in his peripheral, but there’s a message from another teacher in the district. It’s a few days old, but Idris opens it.

Mr. Idris Rafiq,
Thank you for addressing the issues with the Bay Area school system! I have been teaching Earth sciences for just over a decade and have always felt the same, but it has truly gotten worse this year. Multiple segments have been removed from my curriculum this school year, including theories on the origins of the universe and evolution. However, while this is concerning on its own, I am more frustrated with the silencing of topics on history and current conflicts. My grandparents immigrated to the United States nearly a century ago from China in search of new opportunities, which they found here in California and has allowed me to pursue my passion in teaching the younger generations.
Unfortunately though, I was recently reported and my teaching license threatened for trying to teach my class about the recent bombing of Eastern Russia and its impacts on the environment as well as the neighboring communities. I still have family in northeast China that I keep in touch with, and they’ve been directly affected. Multiple uranium mines and two nuclear reactors were destroyed near the Russian-Chinese border, east of Mongolia. The radiation and nuclear waste from this tragic event has left many citizens sick and without clean water. I am forbidden from speaking on this to my students and have yet to see any international news coverage.
I’d be happy to get you in contact with my cousins in China or meet up to talk when you are back in the Bay Area.
Take care,

Before even responding to the email, Idris immediately dives into research. Sure enough, hardly any reporters are on the scene and the only information that Idris can gather is the bare minimum; Northern China and Mongolia suffering from contaminated water sources and residual radiation exposure since the purging of the infected Russian cities.
This is too much, Idris decides. Too much happening in the world all at once. Maybe this is hell on Earth and all those crazy religious zealots are right to call on the Rapture. Idris presses his palms to his temples as if he can squeeze his disbelief out through his eyes to see all new headlines. He’s never been a religious man and, if anything, this is making him all the more steadfast in his lack of faith. If God ever was real, the nun was right in saying that he abandoned humanity long ago.
Idris collects himself and responds to the email, informing the teacher that he’ll be returning to San Francisco as soon as possible and that he’d love to meet up. He hits the send button and proceeds to book the soonest flight home tomorrow morning. Moving to his phone, Idris also texts his supervisor and brother of his updated flight. Then, before he can open the group chat with his roommates to say the same, his phone begins to vibrate. The screen lights up with an ‘Unknown Caller.’ He declines, assuming it’s spam, and continues to text Anais and Kate. He barely sends them the update when the screen changes again to show an incoming call.
This time he answers, “Hello?”
“Hiiiii! Is this Idris Rafiq?” A young woman’s voice. It’s familiar and gives Idris pause.
“This is him, can I help you?”
“You can, actually! By hearing me out about a new product I’m-”
Idris hangs up. He opens the recent call and tries to find the corresponding number so that he can block it, but there’s nothing there. He could swear her voice sounded just like the one he’s been hearing all day.
Another incoming call.
He sighs and answers again, “Listen, I don’t wanna buy whatever it is you’re selling and I don’t know how you got this number but-”
He’s cut off, “So sorry, I didn’t think you’d hang up on me like that! My name is Dimitri Tsovetsky, you’ve been looking for me?”
Idris is speechless.
“Hello? Idris? You still there? Helloooooo?”
He coughs out the frog in his throat, “Um, yes, sorry. I’m still here. Dimitri Tsovetsky? The ballerina?”
“The one and only! Sorry it took me so long to reach out, I didn’t want to.”
“I, uh–”
“No need. I’m just calling to say heyyyy,” She drags out the greeting before continuing, “and to request that you no longer try to reach me!”
“Wait, what?” Idris searches desperately for his next words, “Stop trying to reach you? You’ve been missing! May I ask why?”
“Missing was a big conclusion to jump to, can you blame me for wanting to stay on the down low after becoming the world’s symbol of tragedy? Anyway, I’m alive and well, so no need to keep searching for me or perpetuating those embarrassing conspiracy theories.”
“Hang on, I didn’t start those theories, I was trying to dispel them, in my defense, and if you were willing to give me some answers, I could dispel them altogether!”
“Here’s your answer: I’m no angel, I’m no horseman of death, I’m just trying to move on and live my life.”
Idris takes a moment to think about it before responding, “While I’m disappointed not to hear your side of the story, I can respect your privacy. How do I know you’re the real Dimitri, though?”
“Oh, good point. Here, I’ll text you a picture.”
The line goes quiet for a moment and then a text comes through with a selfie of the young Russian girl with Olivia.
Idris almost says something but is cut off when Dimitri returns to the line. “That help?”
Idris scoffs, “I- wha- wait! You’re with Olivia? She bailed on me just earlier today!”
“Well, yeah, because I reached out to her so she no longer needed your help to find me.”
“And she didn’t think to give me a heads up herself?”
“I’m calling you now, aren’t I?”
Idris grumbles. “Sure, whatever. Do you have anything else or am I to be left high and dry after all of this bullshit?”
“Actually, Liv says to tell you that you should drop your silly investigation into the church. I won’t go into it, but it’s out of your control and you’re only putting yourself at risk poking around too much. I know that saying this will just make you more curious, but seriously, quit now.”
“The fuck?”
“Just trust me on this. There are plenty more tragedies happening around the world that would make better stories than the snore-fest that is the corruption of the church, so why don’t you focus on those? At this point, your readers either believe it or they don’t, so stop beating a dead horse and move on. The people love reading about a juicy tragedy, not worn out conspiracies.”
“It’s all connected, though! I’ll continue writing what I think the people should know, whether that involves nuclear disparity or cult influence is up to me. I’m glad to hear that you’re not missing, but I think I’ve heard enough.”
“Okay! It’s not really my job to convince you otherwise. Do svidaniya.”
She hangs up, leaving Idris alone with his thoughts in the now-silent hotel room. He stands from his seat and leans into the table, gripping its edge with white knuckles as he takes several breaths to calm down. Finally, he releases and steps away to pace for a minute before dialing his brother.
Idris quickly summarizes his weekend.
Amir is quiet on the other end for several long seconds.
“Well?”
“Well, Idris, I think it’ll be good for you to come home and reorganize. I’ll tell you what, I’ll pick you up from the airport tomorrow afternoon and you can fill me in more on the ride home.” Amir’s voice is forever calm and reassuring.
Idris agrees and, after hanging up, packs his luggage for the morning flight and passes out on top of the fresh sheets.
The next morning, Idris arrives at the airport earlier than necessary, prepared for long security lines. Sure enough, the airport is packed by dawn with travelers, rushing from city to city for work, family, and sightseeing. Oil prices dropped after the bombing of eastern Russia, surprisingly, but Idris had an inkling it was just market manipulation. That on top of a sudden push from the media for people to experience the world before more of it becomes inaccessible has resulted in this surge in travel and over-packed airports. Regardless, Idris works his way through the lines until he’s seated uncomfortably towards the back of the large aircraft.
The seats are tight and while he had planned on trying to write during the long flight, Idris decides against doing so, with his elbows invading the space of the strangers on either side of him. Instead, he browses the movies on the small monitor on the seat in front of him. Not one to watch much television on his own, Idris uses the long flight to play one of the many cult classic franchises that everyone bullies him for when they find out he’s never seen it. He falls asleep halfway through the first movie.
Amir is waiting for Idris when the plane touches ground at the Bay area’s newest inland airport. It’s the third international airport built in the last 50 years since ocean levels started to rise.
It takes some time for Idris to make his way through customs and into his brother’s old SUV. He gets comfortable in the passenger seat for the hour’s commute through traffic. It’s plenty of time for Amir to get fully caught up.
Idris had given Amir a basic synopsis on the phone last night, but now he goes into depth– Giulia and the Sunday sermon, Olivia and the bistro that got popular overnight, and the non-existent phone number that turned out to be the fated Russian ballerina.
“You’ve had a busy week.” Amir comments once Idris finishes the long-winded anecdote.
“To say the least!” Idris is still catching his breath and turns up the air conditioning.
“So, what are you thinking? How’s it all connected?”
“How’s it all connected?” Exasperated, Idris looks at Amir– eyes straight ahead on the road. “I don’t know, man. Fuck! Who are these people?”
“Do you believe that was actually Dimitri?”
Idris is back to watching their surroundings pass by, “She had a Russian accent and sent that picture, but people do weird shit with AI. Do you think someone is pranking me?”
Amir shrugs.
“But if it really is her, that’s insane! Surely they’re connected to the weird church messages if that was real. Otherwise what would they gain from telling me to move on?”
Amir nods along, “And what do you think about the nun?”
“Giulia?” He runs his hand across the stubble on his chin, “Is it crazy to say she seemed genuine? I mean she genuinely had her congregation’s best interests in mind, I can’t say I believed her whole story about being a new nun or whatever.”
Amir flicks the blinker and merges onto an exit, descending into Idris’ borough. “What are you going to do, then?” The car straightens out on a new road, scorched palm trees lined up down the center median.
“I sit on it for a week and work on something else. I had a teacher reach out to me about the article I wrote before this whole mess. We’re meeting in a few days.”
Amir takes a moment to respond, “I think it’s good for you to clear your head a bit, but isn’t it easier to forget details or miss something important if your attention is split?”
“I mean sure,” he huffs, “but it’s all connected! So I’m not really splitting my attention, I’m expanding it.”
Amir side-eyes his brother and then turns down the final street to his apartment. “Right, well, keep me updated.”
“Will do.” They park and Idris collects his luggage from the trunk of the car and hollers through the open window, “Thanks for the ride! I’ll see you soon!”
Amir waves and makes a u-turn to depart the way they came.
Idris allows the elevator to do the heavy lifting of his suitcase until he reaches his floor and can roll it to his flat. Remembering his keys are buried in his pack, he knocks in hopes that his roommates are home.
He hears a muffled “door’s unlocked!” from the other side and lets himself inside. Anais and Kate are in the kitchen, cooking.
“Welcome home, Rizzy!” Anais yells over her shoulder from the stove top.
Kate is leaning against the counter in the corner and shifts to retrieve a glass from the cupboard behind her head, “Hey, Idris. We made lemonade, you want some?”
“Let me put my shit down in my room and then yes, definitely.” He does as he says and yells from around the corner, “Have you guys fed my fish today?”
Both women yell “No!” not quite in sync.
Idris proceeds to pinch fish food into the tank and then sit on his bed for a moment, observing the fish frenzy as the flakes drift into the water. Half a dozen small, neon fish are first on the scene, eating the little pieces that float on the surface while a couple of larger, pale fish gulp up the pieces below.
“Doing alright, Rizzy?” Anais’ voice nearly startles him as she appears in the doorway.
He glances at her but then returns his gaze to the fish, “I’m getting all these little scraps at the surface and feel like I’m missing something big.”
“Just like the tetras.” She nods towards the tank and Idris nods. “Why can’t you just go deeper?”
“Because it seems like someone big is preventing me.”
“Well then, figure something out. For now, come get some dinner.”
She disappears from the doorframe and Idris stays behind a moment longer to watch the fish finish their meal before going to his.