The Author

By E.H. Gates

Ezekiel Gates is a brilliant young writer, haunted by dreams of ghosts, daytime darkness, mysterious poetry, and numbers. Destiny, choice, sin, and redemption interweave with one another as Ezekiel struggles to explain an impossible series of paradoxical coincidences before time runs out. The eclipse is coming...

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.H. Gates
• Release date: Oct 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215998069

Book preview

E.H. Gates I.

...For I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me, declaring the end from the beginning, and from ancient times things not yet done, saying, 'My counsel shall stand, and I will accomplish all my purpose...’

—Isaiah 46: 9-10

03/16/2014

Darkness.

The poem, followed by the Bible verse slowly materializes, appearing in white on a wall. Eventually, the words are replaced by the date.

The text suddenly disappears, plunging the room into blackness. The voices of EZEKIEL GATES and his sister HANNAH ring out, cutting through the dark.

EZEKIEL AND HANNAH: It begins!

Overhead light bulbs gradually illuminate two siblings seated across from one another at a patio table, each holding a large ceramic coffee cup. EZEKIEL (25) is bespectacled with dark, disheveled hair, and wears a black zip-up hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. HANNAH (24) looks pulled-together by comparison in her casual dark gray dress and sandals. The family resemblance is clear despite her softer features and lighter, meticulously arranged hair.

HANNAH: Cheers! To a new chapter in sibling communication.

EZEKIEL and HANNAH clink coffee cups. Strands of lights fight the descending evening darkness, stretched between branches of live oak trees growing through openings in the wooden patio decking. The faded logo for Milton’s Coffee is faintly visible on the white painted brick wall where the quote and date were projected behind them.

EZEKIEL: I’m just glad I thought of it.

HANNAH: Very funny. I was honestly afraid I’d grow senile waiting for a Sunday evening coffee invite from my brother if I didn’t extend it myself.

EZEKIEL: Actually, it’s funny that you called me when you did. Because the thought of doing precisely this had occurred to me— not two days before in fact.

HANNAH (squints): Mmmmm doubtful. What kept you from calling?

EZEKIEL: I hadn’t quite worked up the courage yet. I know I haven’t been... excellent at staying in touch lately, and— I wondered if you might ghost me.

HANNAH (shrugs): But here I am.

EZEKIEL: Here you are.

Silence.

HANNAH: Soooo, how should we begin after nearly... what? Nine months? A year?

EZEKIEL shifts uncomfortably in his seat under his sister’s friendly but piercing gaze. The silence becomes awkward, and he finally answers.

EZEKIEL: I could start with my thrilling professional life? But only if you’re prepared to go straight from zero to sixty. 

HANNAH (grips her chair): I’ll hold on tight.

EZEKIEL: Well, I still lead the Bio-waste Engineering Division at the Subspecialty Surgery Center. I wield the mop and Clorox spray— with distinction. Once I finish, you could eat your dinner off the floor of operating room three.

HANNAH (smiles and shakes her head): Not sure I’d have the courage. I wonder how many ex-Notre Dame students clean O.R.’s for a living?

EZEKIEL: Can’t answer you there. But for some reason, employers are never very impressed by my credentials. They tend to get hung up on that whole graduation thing. The degree thing.

HANNAH: Overrated.

EZEKIEL: Absolutely.

HANNAH: But in all seriousness, Zeke— degree or no degree, don’t you get bored there? You’re too smart for it. You can’t actually enjoy cleaning up bloody messes every day of your life.

EZEKIEL: First of all, it’s good to hear someone call me Zeke. I insist on Ezekiel from everyone else these days. But it would sound all wrong if you said it. And secondly, there’s a certain satisfaction one gets from cleaning a filthy place— so in that sense I enjoy my job. Obviously, mopping and Clorox are not intellectually stimulating, but that’s the whole reason I chose the job.

HANNAH: Wait— what’s the reason?

EZEKIEL: I don’t have to think about mopping while I do it, so my mind’s free to think about more important things. It’s a strategy I learned from Ulrich.

HANNAH: Ulrich? As in Friend-from-elementary-school Ulrich?

EZEKIEL: I’m not sure I technically have friends, although I would call Ulrich a worthy sparring partner. But to answer your question, yes. We met in third grade.

HANNAH: He taught you to take mindless jobs so you can think about other things all day?

EZEKIEL: Precisely. It’s what Einstein did at the Swiss patent office so he could think about relativity.

HANNAH (annoyed): You’re grouping yourself and Ulrich with Albert Einstein?

EZEKIEL: No. Only myself. But Ulrich is a worthy sparring partner, as I mentioned. We’ve actually taken to intellectual sparring on the internet lately.

HANNAH: How?

EZEKIEL: Ulrich has a YouTube channel. He’s a tech guy.

HANNAH: People actually watch the two of you pontificate back and forth on YouTube?

EZEKIEL: We have a number of followers, yes.

HANNAH (suspicious): How many followers?

EZEKIEL: The number is immaterial, really.

HANNAH (whistles): That many.

EZEKIEL: You’ll regret your sarcasm when I achieve internet celebrity status.

HANNAH: Forgive me. I pray you’ll still take my calls. So then, what do you spend your time thinking about while mopping?

EZEKIEL: Writing, at the moment. I’ve started working on a book.

HANNAH: Really?

EZEKIEL: Really. Although for now it’s mostly mental work— planning. The book is actually one of the main things I want to talk to you about.

HANNAH: What’s it about?

EZEKIEL: We’ll get to that, right after your career update. How are the eager sixth-grade minds of Eisenhower Middle School?

HANNAH (sighs): Sore subject. I think I can maybe handle them for the rest of the semester, and then I’m out.

EZEKIEL: Out? As in, out of sixth grade? Or out of that school?

HANNAH: Like, maybe out of teaching altogether. And honestly, I don’t want to talk details. Suffice it to say that every day at noon, I have a little cry under my desk. Right before I eat my sandwich.

EZEKIEL: Because the kids are difficult?

HANNAH (nods): Yeah.

EZEKIEL (furrows brow): I’m sorry. I doubt the job description included pre-sandwich lamenting.

He brightens suddenly and raises an index finger.

It may encourage you to learn that we’re hiring in the Bio-waste Division.

HANNAH (smiles weakly): As appealing as that sounds, I enjoy human company too much. I just can’t handle twenty-five little humans all at once. I envy my therapist. She only has to deal with one full-grown human at a time.

EZEKIEL: You like the therapist? Good therapeutics?

HANNAH: Yeah, she’s good— her name’s Kate. We’re talking about Mom and Dad right now, and—

EZEKIEL (interrupts): Wait, let me guess: they’re the source of all your problems.

HANNAH: Our problems (smiles). No, Kate isn’t quite so superficial. Right now she’s actually having me make lists of John and Claire’s best qualities.

EZEKIEL: Okay— don’t tell me, don’t tell me. John’s list contains the phrase straight forward, or plain spoken, or equivalent.

HANNAH: Bingo.

EZEKIEL: And Claire’s contains the word wise, or perhaps zen, or some reference to Yoda.

HANNAH: Two for two. It’s almost like you know these people.

EZEKIEL: Almost. A best-parent-quality list would be fun to make. Maybe I too should seek therapeutics.

HANNAH: You really should.

EZEKIEL: I resent that.

HANNAH (smiles): I’ve actually thought about talking with Kate about the therapist career path.

EZEKIEL: How hard could it be? I think you just send off for a Shrink Kit.

HANNAH: There’s a bit more to it than that. The diploma on her wall is from a seminary of all places.

EZEKIEL: A Seminary Shrink? You’re a church-going woman, maybe you’d enjoy attending Seminary Shrink School.

HANNAH: Maybe.

EZEKIEL: What’s the name of your church again?

HANNAH: Redeemer.

EZEKIEL: Right, near the Galleria.

HANNAH: Aww, you still remember after your one and only visit four years ago.

EZEKIEL: I do remember. A nice place. Nice people.

HANNAH: Clearly you loved it.

EZEKIEL: Sorry I haven’t been back. I’m not exactly a believer— although I find Christianity fascinating. And I read the Bible every day.

He reaches into a backpack at his feet and withdraws a small, weathered, red leather-bound Bible, showing it to HANNAH.

HANNAH (shakes her head): Remarkable. Why would you waste your time every day reading a religious book you don’t believe?

EZEKIEL: That question could stir up all kinds of interesting conversation. But first— are you sure we’ve taken care of all preliminary superficialities?

HANNAH: Ummm...

EZEKIEL: We’ve covered jobs, and it sounds like neither of us wants to go into any more detail there.

HANNAH: Nope.

EZEKIEL: What else? You dating anyone these days?

HANNAH: The online dating world is a wasteland. Though it does produce some funny stories.

EZEKIEL: I like those. Tell me one.

HANNAH: Let’s see... well, I went on a date with a guy last weekend who took me to a high-stakes poker game.

EZEKIEL: Highly unusual first date venue.

HANNAH: Tell me about it. We sat next to someone who claimed to be Matthew McConaughey’s brother.

EZEKIEL: You don’t say.

HANNAH (nods): His name was Rooster.

EZEKIEL (eyes wide): I think I’ve always known somehow that if Matthew McConaughey had a brother, his name would be Rooster. Did you believe him? Did he at all resemble the Alrightness himself?

HANNAH: Kind of. Enough to make it borderline plausible. Rooster was a pretty chatty poker player, and eventually we learned that he has a son named Miller.

EZEKIEL: A sensible name.

HANNAH: Whose middle name is Lyte.

EZEKIEL: Wow. Outstanding. Was Rooster good at poker? Did he beat what’s-his-name that you went out with?

HANNAH: Evan?

EZEKIEL: Yeah, Evan.

HANNAH: Rooster crushed him. Cleaned him out rapidly. Evan was so mad that he drove me straight home without stopping for dinner, so I ate a peanut butter sandwich alone in the kitchen while pondering my amazing life.

EZEKIEL: Downright un-gentlemanly.

HANNAH: I don’t envision a bright future with Evan.

EZEKIEL: Doesn’t sound like a keeper, but at least you walked away with a good story. More than I can say about my dating life.

HANNAH: You’re dating?

EZEKIEL: No. If I ever succeed in my quest to find Ann Harris online somehow, I’ll give her a call. Otherwise I’ll stick to a life of lonely contemplation.

HANNAH: Ann Harris... from high school? Does she still live in San Antonio?

EZEKIEL: I heard she moved to Houston.

HANNAH: I didn’t realize you still had a thing for her.

EZEKIEL shrugs.

She was interested in you. Why didn’t you ever ask her out?

EZEKIEL: Because I’m too brilliant to make wise decisions where love’s concerned. And more importantly, regret makes for quality art, right? It’ll help with the writing.

HANNAH: Ann Harris always reminded me of someone. An actress maybe?

EZEKIEL: Audrey Hepburn.

HANNAH: You think?

He nods, raises his coffee cup to his lips briefly, then points at it, perplexed.

EZEKIEL: Question: why does Milton’s paint the little silver bell on all the coffee cups?

HANNAH: It’s their insignia. Not sure why.

EZEKIEL (ponders): Bells and coffee. Bells and coffee.

HANNAH: Things that wake up sleepy people?

EZEKIEL: That’s it! Mystery solved.

HANNAH (wipes her brow): Relief. What were we talking about?

EZEKIEL: Nothing important.

HANNAH: I think we’d just finished the preliminary superficialities.

EZEKIEL: Of course, that’s what people do. Must be done.

HANNAH: I suppose so.

EZEKIEL: But now that they’re done, I think we can have a real conversation. Right?

HANNAH: Absolutely.

EZEKIEL: Stellar. So, let’s talk about about the Bible.

HANNAH: But why would you—

EZEKIEL (interrupts): Not as a religious book, mind you. As an instruction manual on authorship.

HANNAH: Sounds riveting.

EZEKIEL (waving off her sarcasm): But here’s my disclaimer: if we have this conversation, you’ll quickly realize— in fact you’ll realize right now— that I tend to speak about the biblical god as a character in a book and not as an actual, real, personal being. Will that upset you?

HANNAH: I don’t think—

EZEKIEL (interrupts): Because we can continue with superficialities indefinitely. In my experience, most conversations never progress beyond that stage anyway, so I’d be perfectly happy with more dating stories.

HANNAH (folds her arms): You interrupt too much. And you should know by now that I’m not easily offended.

EZEKIEL: Apologies. In that case...

He taps his chin for a moment, thinking.

So— in the Bible, there’s this strange god. Calls himself by that strange name: Yahweh, which means I AM. But I’ll call him the biblical god, or maybe after you start catching my drift, the author god.

EZEKIEL holds up his red Bible and points to it.

This is the book that tells the very long story of that god. He’s the main character. But as you read the Bible repeatedly— and I’ve read it maybe... ten times over the past three years...

He pauses for effect, with a sideways glance.

HANNAH (bows in mock acknowledgement): Well, aren’t you impressive?

EZEKIEL (smirks): I am. (Sets red Bible on table.) As you read it over and over, you start to realize that in addition to being the main character, the god is also an author. He’s written a book, sometimes called The Book of Life, or The Book of the Living. You’re familiar with this?

HANNAH: Spoiler alert, Zeke—  I read the Bible too.

EZEKIEL: More than ten times in the past three years?

HANNAH: Less than that, Mr. Showoff.

EZEKIEL (with quick excitement): Splendid. So, it isn’t entirely clear what’s written in this god book. At times it’s said that the book contains names, other times that it chronicles past and present events, other times that it speaks in detail about the future. But again, the important point is that the god is an author. You're with me?

HANNAH: Uh huh.

EZEKIEL: Excellent. Now, writers and characters of the Bible— people like Isaiah and Paul and Peter, and even Christ— speak about this god as if he’s the true author of the Bible itself. As if the god holds some kind of... Master Pen, which commands the pens of the lesser human writers. So the author concept enlarges with this suggestion that the god writes stories on multiple planes.

HANNAH (shakes her head): Slow down. You’re giving me a headache.

EZEKIEL: I have Motrin.

HANNAH: Good to know— I’ll need it later. You were saying?

EZEKIEL: I was about to say that if you pull the lens back even further, the broader idea is that Bible history is real history— that the biblical god is the author of this world of ours.

HANNAH (points to the ground): This one?

EZEKIEL: Correct— the god writes not only events of the ancient past, but also the present. In short, the biblical god claims to be the author of us.

He points back and forth from HANNAH to himself.

You and I, our friends and neighbors, Barak Obama, George Washington, William Shakespeare, Genghis Khan— we’re all characters. And in the strangest twist of all, the god has also written himself into the story— initially in the Old Testament as the main character, I AM. And then again later, for a brief cameo as the Christ character. The God Man.

HANNAH (after a hesitant pause): Am I good to speak at this point?

EZEKIEL (ponders): I think I’m done... yes.

HANNAH: Take it easy on the coffee. You’re getting jittery and over-excited.

EZEKIEL (pushes his cup away): Noted.

HANNAH: Just to clarify, you’re into this author idea not because you believe God is real, or because the Bible is true in some way. It just appeals to you... why, exactly? Aesthetically?

EZEKIEL: Aesthetically. Yes, precisely.

HANNAH: And that’s why you read the Bible so much? And gloat about it?

EZEKIEL (smiles proudly): Yes.

HANNAH: No offense, but the whole thing seems kind of... pointless.

EZEKIEL: The point, Hannah, is that I’m an author now. And I’ve concluded that the key to authorship lies right here, in this ancient book about the author god.

He taps the red Bible with a finger.

In the history of storytelling, nothing can compare with this book in terms of enduring impact on human life. I want it to influence me. I want to create something great, something that will endure. And why should I approach my work with anything less than the highest possible influences and ambitions?

He leans forward now, speaking quietly and emphatically.

I want to tap into the power of this ancient book, Hannah. I want to make it the animating force behind my own writing.

A long silence follows as EZEKIEL looks expectantly at HANNAH, who is lost in thought, her expression solemn.

HANNAH: I have a variety of thoughts and questions about what you just said. I’m... debating how to respond. Maybe for