Chapter 15 #2
Luciano nudged Aida under the table with his knee. She pressed back, knowing her thoughts echoed his. This woman might not
have all her faculties.
Sophie picked up the menu and glanced through it. “No, I’m not with MODA. I’m not with anyone. But I think it would be prudent
if you explained to me what MODA is. Let’s start there.”
“We can’t do that,” Luciano said.
“I told you no one will overhear us,” she said.
“We still can’t tell you about MODA.”
“Why not? Why ask if I am with MODA and then refuse to tell me about them? What binds your tongues?”
Aside from the archaic language, Aida marveled at how Sophie’s expression didn’t change. She was perfectly measured, her features neutral, not a speck of irritation or emotion to be seen. For a moment, Aida was reminded of Disa and her often unreadable expression.
“We’ve each signed an agreement swearing that we will not discuss the nature of our work,” Aida explained.
The woman was unwavering. “I give you my aegis.”
They stared at her. Aida tried to make sense of her strange proclamation. Finally, Luciano responded, “I don’t think your
protection trumps a legal contract.”
Sophie nodded. “A legal agreement. Well, that’s something.” She waved a hand, and suddenly the waitress was there with a bottle
of Chenin Blanc. After pouring the wine, she readied her notepad to take their orders.
“Chor muang, please, for the table. I’ll have the green curry.” Sophie gestured to Luciano. “He’ll have the lamb shank.” A
glance at Aida. “And for her, the lobster tail pad Thai. Thank you.”
Aida watched the waitress depart, dumbfounded. She likely would have ordered that—if she’d looked at the menu.
Sophie gave them a measured smile. “I suspect I’ve determined your likes well enough. Now then, since you won’t tell me about
MODA, let’s discuss the disappearances. You’ve noticed them, and you’ve managed to not entirely forget. That makes you somewhat
different from every other person I’ve met. These are places that slide from the memory, but you are aware of this slippage.
Why?”
Aida took a large sip of her wine, hoping it would calm her nerves. Luciano said nothing.
“I see. You don’t trust me. I suspect it has to do with whatever MODA is. There was fear in your voice when you mentioned
it.” Sophie stretched her hands across the table. “Fine. I am loath to do this, but time is short, and I need to know. Each
of you put a palm on mine. I’ll prove that your trust is not misplaced.”
“What will that do?” Luciano asked, his voice on edge.
“Just give me your hand. All will become clear, I swear.”
Aida gritted her teeth. She could have been having a nice evening alone with Luciano but instead she was here with this New
Age weirdo. She reached out a hand, hoping to hasten along the evening so the woman would leave.
Sophie’s hand was warm, her skin softer than Aida expected. She had braced for a firm grip, but Sophie didn’t curl her fingers
around hers—just let their palms press together. She jutted her chin at Luciano, who sighed and extended his hand.
The moment his skin met Sophie’s, warmth surged through Aida—not just heat, but something deeper, something alive. It settled
in her bones, humming with a quiet resonance, as if she had tapped into something vast and ancient. A presence older than
memory itself. The world around her softened. Doubt unraveled. A quiet certainty took its place.
Sophie’s hand seemed to glow beneath hers. Aida parted her lips to speak, but before she could form a word, the warmth unfurled
into something else—a flood of understanding crashing over her like a breaking wave.
And then, just as suddenly, Sophie let go.
“You’re . . .” Luciano breathed.
“A goddess,” Aida finished. Her hand tingled. “But how can that be?”
“Now then,” Sophie continued, “do you trust me?”
“Do we have a choice?” Aida asked, an automatic retort that she immediately regretted.
Sophie rolled her eyes. In an elegant gesture, she turned her palm toward the door. “Yes, of course, you have a choice. Get
up, go, leave here. Then neither of us will be any further along in our understanding of why the fabric of the world is thinning.”
“I trust you,” Aida said. “Sophrosyne.” She marveled at the deity sitting across from her. “You’re the goddess of temperance
and restraint.”
“You know your myths, I see.”
“I devoured the stories when I was young,” Aida explained. “And studied Greek and Roman mythology as part of my literature
degree.”
Sophie gave her a small smile. “Few remember me. Few remember any of us save those whose voices were the loudest, those who
are mostly no longer of the earth, who fled this world with Zeus in the Age of Stars.”
“Age of Stars?” This was mythology Aida didn’t know.
“There’s a universe beyond ours that one of our most ancient gods, Uranus, created after the Olympians overthrew him. Tired
of things on Earth, Zeus went after him, and many of us followed. Few are left here now. The world is changing. Our influence—and
our power—has waned.” She paused for the delivery of their food. “Let’s eat while you tell me what you know about the disappearances
in the world. And of this MODA.”
Aida didn’t feel much like eating. She was too overwhelmed by their situation. The beautiful purple flower dumplings on the
table would have normally brought her great delight, but they paled in comparison to the situation at hand. Besides, who could
eat in front of a god? Yet Sophie ate and seemed to revel in the flavors on the plate.
Aida pulled out her notebook with its shorthand scrawls and explained the situation the best she could.
“Which places do both of you remember?” Sophie asked.
Aida looked at the list and named a few, and Luciano chimed in on what he could recall.
Sophie nodded her head. “The places you remember were all destroyed dramatically or publicly. An earthquake, a terrorist attack, a fire.” She reached out her hand and Aida relinquished her notebook.
“Shorthand. How interesting.” She perused the list. “Yes, that must be it. My guess is the places you don’t remember, such as this here, the turtle fountain in Piazza Mattei, were quietly closed or dismantled without public fanfare.
But the question is why?” She handed the notebook back to Aida.
“I think these events are connected to a deeper shift I’m sensing in the world. It began in the ’80s.”
“What shift?” Luciano asked.
Sophie sipped her wine. “Some things are subtle. For example, muted—and often boring—color palettes for furniture, cars, beauty,
fashion. There’s a rise in music with gritty, rude lyrics or dark moody undertones.”
“And auto-tune,” Aida joked.
To her surprise, Sophie agreed. “That’s an excellent example. People no longer rely on talent or their own voices. Instead,
they distort and mask it. But those are small things. Dark times are upon the world. It’s a laundry list of awfulness that
the media loves to cover, because humans have always fed themselves on a diet of fear. And there’s a lot to fear in recent
years: online trolls, the dark web, crushing economic debt, disinformation, the rise of incompetent and corrupt world leaders,
and climate change to name a few. Those things give rise to the widening gap between the rich and the poor, gun massacres,
the threat of nuclear war, Christian nationalism, blatant racism, authoritarianism, fascism, Nazism, antisemitism, and on,
and on, and on. These are not random events.
“There has always been war, oppression, suffering. The world has never been without darkness. But before, there was balance.
No matter how brutal the times, there was still beauty. People still found wonder in art, in nature, in each other. They fell
in love, they celebrated, they dreamed. Joy and sorrow coexisted, each keeping the other in check. Now, something has changed.
The happiness that once rose to meet the hardship is thinning. People feel it slipping through their fingers, but they don’t
know why. And in its absence, the weight of everything else grows heavier.” She exhaled, her voice lower now. “The world is
tilting further out of alignment, and I’m finding it harder and harder to restore equilibrium.”
“Madonna,” Luciano cursed. “Aida, maybe it has something to do with us collecting happiness?”
Sophie leaned in. Her voice was sharp, and her once placid brow lined with concern. “What do you mean? Collecting happiness?”
“We work for a company called MODA. And up until recently, we thought we were singular employees fulfilling the wishes of
an eccentric billionaire. We shouldn’t even be here together,” Aida began. She looked at Luciano, and he gave her a nod to
continue. “But it’s more complicated than that.”
Sophie’s gaze darted between them. “What do you actually collect?”
Luciano stepped in. “It’s not physical happiness. It’s more . . . moments. Experiences. MODA sends us to different places,
and we observe—people, events, interactions. The idea is to catalog what happiness looks like and feels like in all its forms.
At least, that’s what we’ve been told.”
Aida nodded, adding, “The goal was never fully clear to us though. We gather details about what makes people feel joy—whether
it’s a child laughing at a puppet show, or a couple seeing a famous place for the first time. We report back on the nuances
of these moments—what we observe and how happiness manifests in these different locations. But recently, we’ve started piecing
together that we’re not the only ones doing this.”
Sophie raised one eyebrow. “There are others?”
“We think there may be more than two hundred Happiness Collectors, each assigned to a different country or region.”
“We just observe and report back,” Luciano added. “But as we’ve discovered the existence of other Collectors, it’s raised
more questions. What’s MODA doing with all this data? What’s the endgame?”
Sophie stared at her plate for a moment, then took another long sip of her wine. Finally, she spoke. “I believe that this