The Voice: Part One

[[Author's note: This story isn't set in the same universe as my others, and has quite a different (darker?) tone.]]

"Ho, ho, ho, Reverend Amos. You've done it this time."

"What do you mean, me? You did this."

"Let's not split hairs, Amos. I offered advice."

"And I ... took the advice on board."

"That's right. You understand me now."

"I'm a scapegoat."

"Of course not."

"I'm not?"

"You're nothing more than a mouthpiece."

"And what does that make you?"

"That makes me the voice."

---[youwilllistentome]---

"'Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou hast redeemed: thou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy holy habitation.'" read the Reverend Amos. "And that's the crux of the whole thing. Moses couldn't have achieved any of this by himself. Everything he achieved was the work of God. Without God, he wouldn't even have dreamed of approaching Pharaoh. An ordinary man! Tending to his flock, with no visions of grandeur whatsoever." He closed his Bible. "We'll consider this further next week. Let's sing hymn number four hundred and eight."

---[followmylead]---

"Wonderful sermon, Bill," said Mrs Allaway.

"Thanks, Mrs Allaway," replied Bill Amos, shaking her hand. "How's the leg?"

"Still causing me no end of grief," she replied. "But it gets no better from my moaning."

"Wise words indeed! Ah, Mr Pugh." Bill raised his voice. "Did Michelle's exam results come through?"

"Sh-she got t-two As and a B," stammered Mr Pugh.

"Oh, I am pleased," said Bill. "Send her my regards."

"Will d-do, Reverend, will do."

"And Phillip," Bill greeted warmly. "Did you enjoy today?"

"Very enjoyable," said Phillip – at twenty-five, the youngest member of the church. "An interesting take on old Moses. Looking forward to hearing more."

"Right, yes," said Bill joyfully. "I was wondering whether you'd be interested in coming to a prayer meeting later this week?"

"Sounds good," said Phillip. "I work nights, though, so I can't make it after nine."

"No problem," said Bill. "We meet Thursdays at five, here in the vestry."

"I'll see you there!"

---[iamonmyway]---

Bill Amos entered his cottage, taking off his heavy coat on his way in. He entered his living room, and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Excuse me," he said. "I didn't expect to see anyone in my house."

The man in the armchair stood up. He was about six foot tall, clean shaven, with jet-black hair. He wore a blue suit and smart shoes. Bill noticed that he was wearing a wedding ring.

"Hia," said the man. "How are you, Bill?"

"Do I know you?" asked Bill reproachfully.

"Nah," said the man. "Although, I'd better warn you, my arrival here means that your life is about to get a little bit complicated." He had a trace of an accent – what was it? South African?

"Complicated," said Bill. "Why don't we start with how you got into my house?"

"See?" said the man, grinning broadly. "Even that question doesn't have a simple answer." Seeing Bill's look of confusion, he continued. "Alright. I wasn't here until you were. I came in when you did."

"But ... I'd have seen you."

"I didn't use the door."

"Then how did you get in?"

"Gracious, didn't you ever play riddles as a child?" asked the man. "So boring. I see I'm going to have to spell it out to you."

"Spell it out to me, then."

"Come with me," said the man, walking out of the cottege.

Bill followed, with some trepidation.

"You can't walk out on me. You were breaking and entering."

"I definately didn't break," said the man. "And I technically didn't enter, either. Here we are."

He'd stopped in the middle of a country lane.

"What are you doing?" asked Bill.

"Enigmatically demonstrating the extent of my abilities whilst simultaneously getting into your thick skull some details about myself that I COULD simply tell you, but which you wouldn't believe unless I did something of this magnitude anyway."

A car sped round the corner. Bill barely had a chance to react before the car went straight into the man. Bill began to run forwards, but when the car had passed, the man was still standing in the road, without a mark on him.

"How did you ..."

"Haven't you seen ANY films?" asked the man. "Come on. Tell me three things I could be."

"That's imposs-"

"Shut up, and don't waste my time." The man suddenly smiled again. "Come on. Three things. What could I be? What would explain what you've just seen? And if you say 'nothing', I'll be forced to tell you. And trust me. You don't want to force me to do that."

"You're a ghost?"

"Ooh, not the best answer you could have given, but I'll accept it."

"A figment of my imagination."

"Better! Good. I like that one."

"Is that what you are?"

"One! More! Answer!" he called. "Please!"

"I don't know!"

"Yes you do! Come on. You must be brimming with ideas!"

"But it's insane-"

"And until you embrace the supposed insanity, we won't be getting anywhere, will we?" The man strided confidently back towards the cottege, stopping inches from Bill's face. "Ghost. Figment. What's your third?"

"I'm going mad?"

"That's the same as answer two. Give me another."

"You're a magician," said Bill. "A conjuror."

"Rubbish answer," said the man. "But I'll accept it. Back inside!"

He took Bill's arm and led him back indoors. Closing the door behind him, he sat Bill down in the airmchair, and sat on the sofa opposite.

"Now that we've got that bit out of the way, let's talk about the future."

"Wait." Bill's head was spinning. "I still don't know who you are."

"You don't need-"

"Don't start," he interrupted. "Arrogance and a cheap trick can only get you so far, but now I want answers."

"Ooh, Bill, I'm impressed." The man smiled. "What's the question?"

"What's your name?" asked Bill.

"Can't tell you."

"Why not?"

"You might get it wrong. And it's such a beautiful name."

"I'm not having that," said Bill. "I'm not having you talking like this without knowing your name."

"Fine," said the man. "Call me Silas."

"A Biblical name," noted Bill.

"Is it really? I got it from the Da Vinci Code."

"And why are you here, 'Silas'?"

"Oh, you'll love this bit," he said. "You see, I'm here with a message. You, Reverend William Amos, will lead your people to salvation."

Bill stared. "My people."

"Shush, don't say anything for a bit," said Silas.

"Why not?"

"My 'salvation' speech. That's known in the trade as a Big Reveal. If this was TV, we'd go to the credits now. If it was a film, there'd be triumphant music."

"But ... it's my cottege."

"Yes."

"So I get to ask you what you actually mean."

"An unfortunate side-effect."

"And what do you actually mean?"

"You don't half go on, do you?" Silas crossed his arms. "Alright, here it is. The world's going wrong. Wars and that. And you're going to fix it."

"I'm going to bring about world peace."

"Don't say it like that!"

"There have always been wars, Silas," said Bill. "And I agree it's an awful thing, but I can't fix it."

"And why not?"

"Because nobody can!"

"What about God?" asked Silas.

"Apart from God, obviously, but I'm guessing you're not here to announce Judgement Day ..."

"Tell you what," said Silas. "Test me."

"Pardon?"

"Test me. Prove to yourself what I can do."

"And how should I do that?" sighed Bill.

"Your sermon next week. Whatever it's about, put in a bit about the situation today, the world as it is, the government going wrong, blah blah blah ... and that if things continue as they are, you can see a time when the British economy crashes down around us."

"And what will that prove?"

"Oh, you'll see."

"Silas," said Bill, and this time there was an edge to his voice. "I'm a man of God. When I preach, I preach the word of God. I don't insert subliminal advertising, I don't use it as a platform for some lunatic's political agenda, and I'm certainly not going to use my sermon as a test of anything."

"That's your view, then," said Silas. "'Tempt me not Satan,' that sort of thing."

"Yes. That sort of thing."

"Fine."

"Good."

"I'll be leaving then."

"I think you'd better."

---[ineverpromisednottocheat]---

A week and a half later, the United Kingdom experienced a real estate crash, with devastating effects on the British economy. After a steady rise over a hundred and fifty years, the economy suddenly plummeted, causing a nationwide depression. On the streets, people could be seen taking carrier bags full of money to buy basic food rations, while no vehicles could be seen on the road – nobody could afford the fuel.

The Reverend William Amos's phone was ringing.

"Hello?"

"Hi, there, is that the Reverend Amos?"

"Speaking."

"Hia, it's Claire Rushmoor speaking, from the Telegraph. I understand you sent us a letter last week ..."

"I'm afraid there must be a mistake," said Bill. "I didn't send you a letter."

"Alright, sorry to bother you."

Bill hung up the phone, and immediately, it started to ring again.

"Hello, William Amos?"

"Speaking."

"Geoff Harries, Financial Times. Wanted to talk about your letter."

"I didn't send a letter," said Bill. "And how did you get my number?"

"You ... included it," said Harries.

"Pardon me?" Bill frowned. "What's this letter about?"

"It referred to your parish mostly," replied Harries. "And it predicted the economic crash. I was hoping for an insight into ..."

Bill looked up, and saw a reflection in the mirror.

"I'll phone you back."

He hung up the phone, and turned around.

"Silas."

"Hope you'll forgive me," said Silas. "You wouldn't be convinced to make the prediction in the sermon, so I took the liberty of posting the Telegraph a letter on your behalf."

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"You might not have remembered my little prediction," said Silas. "But look! Soon you'll be famous."

"I don't want to be famous," said Bill. "And it wasn't my prediction – how am I going to explain this to the papers? Nobody predicted this crash."

"Nobody except me," said Silas. A grin spread across his face. "Don't you want to know the secret?"

"You impersonated me," said Bill. "Took advantage of me. I'll be telling the papers the truth – that I didn't send that letter."

"And what will that achieve? Who'd believe you?"

"It doesn't matter – they can't catch me out if I'm telling the truth."

Silas's smile faded.

"You're not playing along, Amos," he said. "I'm giving you one chance to play by my rules, or I'm taking this to the next level."

"I don't like this," said Bill. "I'm not playing by your rules."

"Alright," said Silas. "Fine by me. Here's my next prediction."

"Oh, no, you don't."

"At this time next week, there will be an explosion at Mrs Allaway's house." He grinned. "I'm not going to impersonate you this time. Either you get the message out there yourself, or poor old Mrs Allaway will have more problems than just her leg."

He skipped towards the door, and paused only to take a look over his shoulder, and grin once more.

"And that's what we call a Big Reveal."