Navigator – Chapter 11 – A Sunday Short Story

Posted bySuzette BenjaminPosted inSunday Short Story
Image credit: © lovepik.com

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

Chapter 11

“What’s taking her so bloody long just for some salt? Has she (Isabella) time-traveled back to Hallstatt mines in the Neolithic age or some ridiculousness like that for original salt?”

Mumbled, self-righteous in his own mind, Maatu (aka Mr. Tracer as he likes to be called) as he paced nervously back and forth in the Emergency stairwell at Jumeirah Al Naseem Southeby hotel.

Self-righteous because the three-hundred-year-old tracer for hire consoled his gnawing conscience daily, that he had never murdered anyone…directly. In his thinking, he merely found fellow human beings through his gift of tracking anyone on the planet by their DNA.

And then he delivered them up to whoever hired him. Of course, his client’s intentions, which he well knew, were the demise or the abuse of the person(s) he delivered in exchange for his steep fee.

As he stood in the Emergency stairwell at the Jumeirah Al Naseem Southeby hotel, Mr. Tracer (Maatu) had no illusions, however.

His gut informed him that Isabella would see through to his real agenda.

Suddenly…

The Door that Isabella had opened with the forbidden incantation opened in the Jumeirah Al Naseem Southeby hotel’s stairwell directly in front of Mr. Tracer (Maatu)!

It was like the sound of Formula I engines at the pole position as the five red lights go out, signally the start of a Grand Prix race.

The floor, the steps, the iron railing the solid concrete wall shook violently. Bits of mortar lept from the bricks onto the floor spraying white sand and concrete chards in plumes of debris. The entire floor lurched violently as The Door materialized.

Mr. Tracer (Maatu) jumped backward, bracing his fall with his arms as his head hit the railing on the stairs with a discernable thud. Blood gushed from the gash on the back of his skull.

He rubbed his head gingerly wincing in pain. Quickly he applied all of the costly Frankincense and spikenard ointment he carried in the ampule around his neck, an ancient accelerated healing balm for his wounds.

Out of this microcosm of mayhem, The Door appeared as a massive ten-meter-in-diameter flaming circle around a dark chasm. Adding to the effects, a flaming hand typed repeatedly, around the circle’s circumference, letter by letter, in ancient Aramaic the incantation Isabella had spoken to “Open The Door!”

Then… out of The Door,

…stepped Legion, dressed this time in the cloak of Death’s sidekick Duat —the afterlife. Legion held his severed head tenderly in his left hand. He spoke:

“Where is she? I hold you to your word, Tracer. You deliver, and you get your fee to pay for your precious forbidden ointment.”

“Umm…Your Lordship, err umm…” said Mr. Tracer (Maatu) stumbling to his wobbly feet and tripping over his words. The eggshells in his mind crunched as he treaded his mental thesaurus, clawing for an acceptable reply.

“She is close by. I expect her shortly. But…eh there is a problem…”

“What kind of problem, Mr. Tracer?”

“By now most likely…she has salt!”

“What, how could you allow that to happen?”

With that Legion disappeared angrily as suddenly as he had appeared.

As a parting shot, always ready to accuse humanity, Legion’s severed head spoke as it moved backward in the circular flaming door as it closed:-

“By the way, Mr. Tracer, did you inform Ms. Navigator (Isabella) about your part in her dearly departed grandmother Clemora’s sudden passing…hmmm?”

As the circle closed behind Legion’s form and his severed head…

Everything in the stairwell reverted back to its wholeness before The Door opened…a restorative after-effect of the side of The Door facing humanity’s reality on Earth.

For, as much as The Door kept the Dark Realm at bay on one side, it protected humanity on the other.

A few minutes Earlier…

Isabella left the opulence of the Private Ladies’ Ensuite bathroom made for single-person use.

Quietly, she closed its door and tiptoed softly, with the box of salt in hand, to the nearest wall to the hotel’s Emergency Exit door.

She carefully poured from the box’s metal spout, a few granules of the now anointed salt (anointed because the divine flaming sword she normally carried in her bloodstream, had hidden inside the box of salt.)

Isabella tossed the few salt granules in her hand in the air around her and…she disappeared.

She reappeared invisibly on the other side of the wall inside the hotel stairwell where Mr. Tracer (Maatu) awaited her return!

She saw Mr. Tracer (Maatu) pacing. She heard him voice his concerns about her tardiness.

But, he was unaware of her presence. He could neither see nor hear Isabella in her invisible nature.

Then, Isabella saw the room transform suddenly…

She discovered to her dismay, that already The Door was being used at will by The Dark Realm. Her worst nightmare had come true. They had the gall to use The Door to come and go as they pleased like rush hour at Picadilly Circus.

As the stairwell began to shake and rumble, Isabella held on to the railing praying that her invisibility shield of salt would hold long enough to determine The Dark Realm’s plan for The Door.

She lept invisibly away from the railing just before Mr. Tracer (Maatu)’s body flung backward, his head making contact with the railing that she had just released.

She watched as Mr. Tracer (Maatu) applied the contents of an ampule carried around his neck to his wound. From its concentrated and incredibly beautiful oil-based instead of alcohol-based aroma, Isabella assumed that it was something very rare and ancient.

She watched and listened to the aforementioned conversation between Legion with his severed head in hand and Mr. Tracer (Maatu). Her gut wrenched as she felt justified in her decision not to trust Mr. Tracer.

Still invisible, Isabella smiled at their (Maatu and Legion’s) alarm about her possession of salt, while she confidentially strutted around Mr. Tracer (Maatu) cowering before Legion.

As Legion, departed in a huff and his severed head goaded Mr. Tracer about his role in the death of her grandmother, Isabella heard the gut-wrenching words that Legion’s severed head spoke:

‘By the way, Mr. Tracer, did you inform Ms. Navigator (Isabella) about your part in her dearly departed grandmother Clemora’s sudden passing…hmmm?‘

Isabella held her mouth as her eyes welled up and poured out her grief in torrents of tears.

She sobbed into her hands for fear that her sounds would give her position away.

She then slipped out of the Emergency Exit still invisible, and moments before the stairwell environment reverted back to normal.

Isabella rushed into the Private Ladies’ Ensuite. She sobbed uncontrollably.

Then, she took a deep breath and exhaled, giving herself a moment to regroup and acknowledge her soul’s pain. Grieving on the job in the spy business is a luxury few if any agents can afford.

Isabella left the Private Ladies’ Ensuite for the last time and made her way the short distance to the hotel’s Emergency Exit stairwell where Mr. Tracer (Maatu) waited. She put on her best performance as she entered the stairwell.

“So, I got the salt. Anything to report so far Mr. Tracer. Anything at all?”

“No, no, nothing to report Ms. Navigator. All’s quiet.” Replied Mr. Tracer (Maatu) smiling convincingly, looking her dead in the eyes, all the while resisting the urge to tend to his still-throbbing head wound.

“All righty then, let’s pour some of this salt to protect us. You first, Mr. Tracer. Here, pour the salt in a circle around the outside of both your feet.”

As soon as Mr. Tracer (Maatu) had encircled his feet in the anointed salt, Isabella grabbed the box from his hand and hugged it tightly.

An eerie silence followed for several minutes, and then…

Mr. Tracer (Maatu) suddenly screamed as the salt around his feet erupted in flames. He tried to move but it was futile.

He shrieked as he watched parts of his limbs disintegrate at the cellular level, into piles of dust on the stairwell floor—as the salt flames began to break the “unbreakable spell” that had kept the three-hundred-year-old complicit assassin alive.

Suddenly the stairway began to rattle like before. The walls shook violently as if they were about to topple…

Then, inexplicably, The Door opened again…its fiery hand still writing letter by letter the incantation Isabella had spoken last night to open it.

Without warning… amid the deep boom of The Door’s powerful sound…

…a pair of magma-dripping talons reached out of The Door and grabbed the still-screaming Mr. Tracer (Maatu) and pulled him from the flames…

“****To Be Continued Next Sunday****

Published by Suzette Benjamin

Positive thinker, inspirational, writer, faith

64 thoughts on “Navigator – Chapter 11 – A Sunday Short Story”

  4. 🧂And then he delivered them up to whoever hired him. Of course, his client’s intentions, which he well knew, were the demise or the abuse of the person(s) he delivered in exchange for his steep fee.🧂

    Which he well knew, begs the question
    Why so self-righteous, when it is not the ocassional sinking of prey.

    🧂His gut informed him that Isabella would see through to his real agenda.🧂

    With his gut, obviously he must know.

    🧂It was like the sound of Formula I engines at the pole position as the five red lights go out, signally the start of a Grand Prix race.🧂

    Oh see, look who loves F1.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. 🧂Mr. Tracer (Maatu) jumped backward, bracing his fall with his arms as his head hit the railing on the stairs with a discernable thud. Blood gushed from the gash on the back of his skull.🧂

    I’m so happy you put the other name in brackets. What I call effective writer’s communication. Besides it helps me to keep track. 😌 So first disadvantage for Mr. Tracer.

    🧂He rubbed his head gingerly wincing in pain. Quickly he applied all of the costly Frankincense and spikenard ointment he carried in the ampule around his neck, an ancient accelerated healing balm for his wounds.🧂

    Of course me jumping for joy too soon. Love the way; with balmy brevity you set the record straight.
    Frankincense spikenard, who can afford those 🪔

    Liked by 1 person

    1. My pleasure to include the other persona in brackets. Glad its is useful. The baseline in this story is that almost everyone in the story has more than one “name” or face so to speak👍

      Yes pretty expense balms in the real form to be sure.

      Liked by 1 person

  6. 🧂The Door appeared as a massive ten-meter-in-diameter flaming circle around a dark chasm🧂

    Look at me, it just dawned upon me that you capitalize The Door 🚪!!!!
    Damn

    🧂Death’s sidekick Duat🧂

    Although dark, I must laugh 😃

    🧂a flaming hand typed repeatedly, 🧂

    Movement felt!!! It shook me, how with one stroke you set the scene and articulated the action.

    🧂and you get your fee to pay for your precious forbidden ointment.”🧂

    Oh dear, Mr. Tracer’s own survivel is dependent on the precious balm.

    🧂The eggshells in his mind crunched as he treaded his mental thesaurus, clawing for an acceptable reply.🧂

    Klasse!!!!
    Ah my word, where did you fetch such vivid imagery to describe the current state of anxiety. Those eggshells….prima!!! 😂

    I’d love to own a mental thesaurus too.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes, more to come on Why The Door is different than other “doors”
      Well spotted, Mr Traces needs that ointment. Right you are.

      Glad you enjoyed “the eggshells” 😊

      And oh yes, I too would love a mental thesaurus ready to turn its imaginary pages for the next exquisite verb.😍

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Ah I tell you, my mental thesaurus is frozen. It takes ages to thaw before I can find the right word to manifest a feeling on paper.

        Lol, I think you are a walking thesaurus actually 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  7. 🧂As a parting shot, always ready to accuse humanity, Legion’s severed head spoke as it moved backward in the circular flaming door as it closed:-

    Comical and Cruel, you spell out Legion’s character so well.

    🧂By the way, Mr. Tracer, did you inform Ms. Navigator (Isabella) about your part in her dearly departed grandmother Clemora’s sudden passing…hmmm?”🧂

    Cunning and manipulative working the psyche of old Tracer.

    🧂Everything in the stairwell reverted back to its wholeness before The Door opened…a restorative after-effect of the side of The Door facing humanity’s reality on Earth.🧂

    Restorative after-effect?

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh yeah, I get the effect now. Thank you

        I have the feeling but I can’t find the word to explain the effects of Legion’s personality on me as a reader. Pervert and callous is the closest I can get. Also powerful with his severed head.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I think that whatever the reader’s response to Legion is, is correct. He is in no way good, as we would call good. In fact the more we see of him the more dark he appears. And of course, with his severed head, he can Never be “whole” as are we.

        Liked by 1 person

  8. 🧂A few minutes Earlier…Isabella left the opulence of the Private Ladies’ Ensuite bathroom made for single-person use.🧂

    Oh lovely how you introduce us to Isabella’s presence

    Liked by 1 person

  9. 🧂Isabella tossed the few salt granules in her hand in the air around her and…she disappeared.🧂

    Salt hold so much meaning in folk tale and biblical language.
    Thinking how Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt.

    🧂She reappeared invisibly on the other side of the wall inside the hotel stairwell where Mr. Tracer (Maatu) awaited her return!🧂

    She reappeared…
    Invisibly….
    Tooo savour, marvelous crafting of the seen and the unseen…or that is how I feel.

    🧂From its concentrated and incredibly beautiful oil-based instead of alcohol-based aroma, Isabella assumed that it was something very rare and ancient.🧂

    Ah, yes, I would’ve love to describe the balm in this way.
    I love oil-based perfumes.
    Such a soothing feel to the skin

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Regarding:
      “Salt hold so much meaning…”
      -absolutely. Spot on. Yes salt is more than meets the eye. Imagine it was worth more than money at one time. Hence the word “salary” from salt as I am sure you know. P.S. I love your salt shaker emoji…Perfect choice for this chapter!👍

      Oil based scents just never leave one’s mind I think they linger beautifully long long after. And indeed soothing to the skin. All the senses rejoice at the balm of oil based perfumes.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. More than meets the eye, – superb that’s what I really mean.

        I’m telling you the mint was second best to many of these condiments, herbs and oil in the past. Priceless for bartering.
        🧂thank you🧂. I choose the emoji according to the feel of the chapter each week.
        And I must admit according to my mood as well.

        Those scents linger, especially if one is wearing wool or cotton.
        How they rejoice, so true.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Yes, “more than meets the eye,” is absolutely correct!
        Salt is probably still used in bartering in communities that preserve their meats for winter.

        Yes those scents linger in natural fabrics for…years and rejoice. I like your word “rejoice” here…perfect!!

        Liked by 1 person

  11. 🧂Her gut wrenched as she felt justified in her decision not to trust Mr. Tracer.🧂

    She still held a little bit onto the possibility that she was wrong. Ah, I felt that.

    🧂Isabella held her mouth as her eyes welled up and poured out her grief in torrents of tears.🧂

    What agony, having to hold back the sounds of her tears.

    🧂Grieving on the job in the spy business is a luxury few if any agents can afford.🧂

    It is so difficult to think myself into her mind right now. In other circumstances; one can probably do it in ordinary situations, but not into the mind of a secret agent
    Business as usual ✅

    🧂As soon as Mr. Tracer (Maatu) had encircled his feet in the anointed salt, Isabella grabbed the box from his hand and hugged it tightly.🧂

    🙂, love how she plays these actions through her mind

    🧂Mr. Tracer (Maatu) suddenly screamed as the salt around his feet erupted in flames. He tried to move but it was futile.🧂

    SALT!!! Ye!!! No way you getting away.

    🧂He shrieked as he watched parts of his limbs disintegrate at the cellular level, into piles of dust on the stairwell floor—as the salt flames began to break the “unbreakable spell” that had kept the three-hundred-year-old complicit assassin alive.🧂

    I see the reason for the SALT!!! It breaks SPELLS!!! Sea babies will understand this very well

    🧂a pair of magma-dripping talons reached out of The Door and grabbed the still-screaming Mr. Tracer (Maatu) and pulled him from the flames…🧂

    Mother to the rescue!!!!
    Hot hot dripping wings

    And here we are at point BLANK
    not knowing what is going to happen next
    Sweating till next week
    Bravo 👏 👏 👏

    Liked by 1 person

    1. ** Apologies for the late reply on this comment. I wrote the response earlier this morning, and then I did not hit send…sigh..🙃

      Regarding:
      “She still held a little bit onto the possibility that she was wrong. Ah, I felt that.” = it sometimes only hope that keeps on believing that there is still hope.

      Yes, the spy business is for those of stern stuff like our heroine, who can compartmentalize emotion to get the job done when something greater than themselves is at stake.

      Re: “I see the reason for the SALT!!! It breaks SPELLS!!! ” – Yes, spot on!

      Yes, Mother Setho Zang to the rescue! dripping talons and all.

      You made me smile with your reference to “Blank” Yes more to come to fill the void that follows the ellipsis (…) at the end of the chapter. And into the blank will come more of the story…👍

      Thank you so much for your endearing support, delightful and careful reading, and comments. Truly heartwarming to read your insight. Thank you so much.

      Happy Sunday. Blessings.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Oh no problem at all Poet.
        Forgetfulness is a vintage trait, lol. Im just at-fault, maybe to larger degree than you. So I refrain from harping on the issue…

        Sterner Stuff, a proud expression. I agree. It isn’t easy to just set aside emotion and complete the mission. It gets rough and only the well-trained can work in a steaming hot kitchen. Debriefing in her field helps alot, organizational cover is an imperative. With two ticks of a ducktail they are back in full swing. Still only a naturally strong gut can survive in her field of work. As you said, she is made of sterner stuff.

        Lol, yes, love how you describe Setho Zang…
        I enjoyed how you crafted her appearance in today’s chapter.

        Yes, there we were left standing, not knowing what to expect next
        I know the wait will be worth it.

        You are welcome and I delight.
        Happy Sunday.

        Liked by 1 person

  14. I love this line – ” The eggshells in his mind crunched as he treaded his mental thesaurus, clawing for an acceptable reply.” I’m looking forward to next week’s chapter.

    Liked by 1 person

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