THE HIEROPHANT
A person sits regally on a throne, holding a triple scepter that symbolizes body, mind, and spirit.
Two keys lie crossed like bones on the lush carpet before them.
Upright: symbolic significance, mercy, goodness, inspiration
Reversed: bewilderment, overkindness, weakness
It is me and my dear Stella, you see. I am the lock and Stella is the key.
I’ve been the lock my whole life: trying to protect my younger sister, keep order. Control. Safety. Protection. Stubborn and stalwart—that’s me.
Stella has always been the opening, the receiving, the freedom. My Stella is the correct pitch of music. She unlocks the code, the map. She is the item that is essential and important. Key.
Stella found the hidden key in that book with no aid from Spirit; she simply listened to her friend, listened to her heart, listened to her friend’s heart. It is plain to see that she no longer needs me; I am the heavy burden that is a lock.
Such a bittersweet thing. I will have to leave soon.
(I hope after the deal I made that I still have the opportunity to leave.)
Ah, but the key. Apologies, Friend. That’s what you want to know. How did we get here, to a key? We must back up again. Let’s return to the plight of our friend Kiyoko, who has miraculously removed herself from the precarious situation of a building’s ledge, eleven stories in the sky.
After Kiyoko steps through the jagged shards of her second broken window of the evening, she winds down the flights of stairs, leaving bloody footprints behind.
She drapes her thick black hair over half her face and strides right past the crowd of zealots and paparazzi and police, barefoot and bleeding, up Centre Street.
She meets the two who were the policemen, who now wear white undershirts and thin linen pants, at the designated meetup spot: the Municipal Building. The building is crescent-shaped, and at 2 a.m. under a new moon they can easily hide in the crooks of the structure.
(And is there not something poetic, meeting in the shadow of a building owned by the city that let Max Blanck off scot-free?)
The fellow who played Sergeant Mullany smirks. “You’re late. You’re gonna get us caught. I don’t need another stint inside.”
But then he takes in her loose cotton clothing, her disheveled hair, her bare feet, her bleeding knuckles.
“You okay?”
No, she is NOT okay.
“I’m fine,” she says. She nods to the satchel they hold. It sags as if it contains the weight of a bowling ball. “Have you paid yourselves already?”
The duo breaks into a toothy grin. “Yeah.” They both rattle their pockets, and the sound of jewelry tinkles through the cold night air. “Some really fancy shit in there, sister.”
Kiyoko, at long last, grins. She takes the bag and turns to leave. But she stops.
The idea of trust has been top-of-mind lately.
“Why didn’t you run off with this haul? It must be worth a couple million dollars.”
Sergeant Mullany and Officer Hoogland scowl. The bigger one says, “Pax is like a brother to us. His folks and our folks came over on the boat together. You don’t screw over somebody like that.”
Kiyoko nods pensively. She doesn’t know a thing about Pax or Stella or Nirav, she realizes. Why do they trust HER not to run away with this haul?
Sergeant Mullany continues, “Plus Pax’s little sister, Julia?
We all loved that kid. Ever since my little brother was three years old, he’d say, ‘Daniel, that’s the girl I’m gonna marry.
’ I’d do anything to get even with that sonofabitch Blanck that murdered her.
” His voice catches. “I woulda done more than just steal some shit, that’s for sure. ”
He spits on the ground. His young friend spits, too.
Kiyoko spits on the ground as well. The two gentlemen guffaw and the guy apparently named Daniel pounds her on the back. (He shouldn’t have told her his real name. Why does everyone trust her so much? She has not worked hard enough to be seen as untrustworthy.)
Kiyoko lifts the satchel of jewels, tips her head in thanks, and says, “Much obliged.”