ASCENSION (2 page)

              Jake nodded and put his hands in his pockets. If Calvin wanted to run the show, he was fine with that. Jake would just be a silent observer. That's when he saw shadows at the end of the alleyway.

              “About time,” Calvin said, slapping Jake on the chest. “See, told you to chill. Now come on, I smell Benjamins.”

              There were three of them, all in black hoodies. Except Mark, his had a red pentagram on the front with a guitar running through it. He held his pants up as he walked, as if he had a limp. It made Jake's chest tighten.

              “What's goin’ on, Calvinnn.” Mark said, letting down his hood and holding out his hand.

              Calvin scoffed. “Whatever, man. What's with the cronies?” he asked, nodding to the two guys at Mark's side. “What do you need them for?”

              Mark shrugged. “Can't ever be too careful. Isn't that right, Jakey poo?” Mark said, pinching Jake's cheek.

              “Don't touch me!” Jake snarled, batting his hand away.

              “What!” Mark sneered. “Hey, yo Calvin, what's wrong with your boy here? Does he have a problem?” he asked, leaning in close to Jake. Jake could smell his hot breath; the stench was like rotting flesh.

              Calvin shrugged. “No problem, man. Just doesn't like to be touched. Now are you here to do business or not? I've got other offers, you know.”

              Mark laughed. “We both know that's a lie. Otherwise you wouldn't have came to me. I ain't stupid, Calvin. The streets got ears. I know what they say about me, what you say about me.”

              Calvin's face flushed. “Listen, Mark, I don't know what you're talking about, man, I'm just trying to get rid of this stuff. To feed my people. Now do you want it or not?”

              Mark looked at Calvin, then to Jake, his eyes wild. “Do you believe it? What they're saying about me?” Mark asked.

              Calvin scoffed. “Man, forget it. Let’s go, Jake. This is a waste of time. This man ain't about nothing.” Calvin turned to walk away. That's when Mark reached down his pants, and Jake saw the gray glint of a pistol.

              “Oh, I'm not about nothing? Huh?” Mark said, shoving the gun in Calvin's face.

              Calvin froze. The alleyway went deathly silent.

              “Say it,” Mark demanded. “Tell me what they've been saying about me.”

              Tears were streaming down Calvin's face now. “Man, I don't know, Mark. I don't care. It's none of my business.”

              “Say it!” Mark barked.

              Calvin hesitated, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the mouth of the pistol swayed only inches from his own. “That- that, you killed Mrs. Henderson, shot her dead.” Calvin forced the words out, as if each one was more painful to say than the last.

              “Do you believe them?” Mark asked. His acne-pocked face was covered in sweat now.

              “No,” Calvin said, shaking his head. “I told them you would never do that. That you had no reason to.”

              Mark paused for a moment, then laughed and lowered the gun. Calvin sighed, the tension loosening enough for him to breathe again.

              “Well, you want to know a secret, Calvin?” Mark asked, grinning menacingly.

              Calvin shook his head. “No.”

              “I did. I shot her dead. And you know what? I liked it. So much I might do it again.”

              “Here man! Just take the stuff, man. Just leave, I won't say nothin’, man!” Calvin said, throwing the baggie at Mark. Mark didn't even give it a second glance.

              “I don't want your baggie, never did.” Mark said.

              “Please, let me go,” Calvin whimpered.

              “No,” Mark whispered.

              It all happened in a flash. Calvin swung, hitting Mark in the jaw. A gun shot echoed through the alleyway. Calvin was running now, full sprint out of the alleyway. Mark raised the pistol and fired once, then again. Bits of gravel erupted around Calvin's foot, and a chunk of brick from the building. Another shot rang out, and Jake's heart seized up. Calvin's body went limp, falling onto the snow-dusted concrete below.

              “Got him!” Mark howled, laughing. Jake was frozen, both mind and body. He couldn't think, couldn't process what happened. Couldn't even will himself to run. All he felt was fear, petrifying fear.

              Mark jogged up to Calvin, who was sprawled out on the concrete, twitching. His breath was shallow and raspy.

              “Help me,” Calvin whispered.

              “Sure,” Mark said, and fired the gun into his back again, and again, and again, until the entire clip was empty. The gun clicked over and over as Mark continued to pull the trigger. Calvin's body stopped moving.

              Finally Mark looked up, as if waking from a dream. He looked at Jake, and the fire in his eyes made Jake's stomach turn. Then, Mark sprinted out into the street, disappearing in a veil of fog.

              As soon as he was gone, Jake could move again. He dashed to Calvin and rolled him over. Calvin's face was ghostly white, and his hoodie was drenched in blood. Jake pulled it off of him. He could feel a faint pulse, but it was fading fast. Jake felt strangely serene, lucid. He put his palm over his friend’s heart, and felt something deep inside of him. It wasn't the beat of his heart that he felt, but his soul. He could feel it lingering in Calvin's body, connecting to his own. Then Jake felt a white light spark into his chest and spread out into his fingertips. He felt tendrils of the light latch onto Calvin's spirit, and suddenly Calvin's flesh grew warm. Jake watched as the bullets in Calvin's back crawled out of the flesh and fell on to the pavement below. Then, Calvin's eyes opened, and he gasped, jerking upright.

              Jake could hardly believe his eyes. “Calvin! You're alive!”

              “God?” Calvin asked.

              “What?” Jake looked down. His hands were glowing with the white light, and it pulsated warmth all around him. They were veiled by it. The snow parted around the bubble of light. Mark's friends gawked at Jake as he held Calvin. When Jake looked at them, he could see past their flesh to something more. Their souls were dirty, but not black, not like Mark's. Then, the two ran off, and the bubble of light faded, letting the snow swirl in around them once more. That's when Jake heard the sirens wailing in the distance.

***

              “So let me get this straight,” a police officer said. He was a big man, with a wide mid-section and a triple chin. He seemed honest, though, Jake thought, but wasn't sure if that was good or bad for him. “You're saying that your friend just magically got up after being shot seven times? This is your story? Are you sure this is the one you want to stick with?”

              Jake sighed. “It's not a story, it's the truth. He just... I don't know, got healed. It was… was… a miracle.” The word sounded weird on Jake's tongue, but he couldn't think of any other way to describe what had happened.

              “Divine intervention, huh? Have you talked to that attorney, Munson? Is this part of an attempt at an insanity plea? That ambulance chaser has been nothing but trouble for the Chicago Metro,” the officer growled.

              Jake was growing tired of this routine. “Listen, that's what happened. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth. How else do you explain the blood on Calvin's shirt, and on the street, and how he has no wounds, no scars?”

              The officer examined Jake for a moment. Not to see if he was lying; the officer seemed certain he was. He wanted to see if Jake actually believed his own story. “Who’s to say it's Calvin's blood?” the officer retorted. “I believe the part about the drug deal, son, but this whole act of divinity thing is getting old fast. Even if it was true, no one on Earth would believe you. So tell me, Jake, what happened? You get in a scrape over some money? Did your customer short change you? If so, what did Calvin do to him? Where's the gun, Jake?”

              Jake couldn't take it anymore. His heart felt as though it was going to explode in his chest. “I told you! Mark Swanson had it. He shot my friend Calvin with it, and I healed him, okay? I don't know how, but I did. And now I wish I hadn't!”

              The officer sighed, a look of pity on his face. He leaned close to Jake. “Listen, son. I've seen your record. Other than a few vagrancy charges, you're pretty clean. This Calvin kid, I know you think he's your friend, but he's got a track record a mile long. Now if you cooperate, I can cut you a deal, maybe get you out of this with a slap on the wrist and some probation. All you have to do is tell me what really happened. Don't ruin your life, kid, especially for someone like Calvin, who you better believe would throw you under the bus to save his own skin. Tell me what happened, Jake. I want to help you, but first, you have to help me.” The officer looked at Jake with pleading eyes.

              Jake sat back and sighed. “I already told you what happened.”

              The officer's face quickly deteriorated into a grimace. “Fine, have it your-” The officer was interrupted by several men abruptly bursting in through the front door of the police station. There were three of them, all clad in long black pea coats. The man in front had long black hair and pale skin. He had high cheekbones and a delicate jaw. His eyes were a golden amber. When they fell on Jake, they sent a shiver down his spine. The girl to the strange man's right had fiery red hair to match her fierce eyes, which were the same shade as the others’. Her skin was just as pallid, but her full lips were a rosy red. The third one was another male, taller and thicker than the other two, a mountain of muscle. He had mahogany skin and a shaved head. They were all hauntingly attractive. Jake found it hard to stop staring at the redhead.

              The three strode forward in perfect unison, a graceful sight. The man with the long dark hair was out in front. He walked so seamlessly it seemed as if he were gliding. He walked past the clerk at the front desk without so much as a passing glance. Before the clerk had time to protest, however, the hulking one flashed what looked like a badge. The remaining two were making a beeline directly for Jake. His heartbeat quickened.

              “Hey!” the officer barked. “You can't be back here! Just what do you think you're doing!”

              The long-haired stranger looked at the officer as if he had just noticed him for the first time. He did it the way one would notice a cockroach in the cupboard. The stranger's eyes glinted dangerously. He looked to the red-headed girl, who shook her head. The stranger sighed, curled his lip, then reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a leather-bound badge. “CIA,” he said, sounding almost bored.

              The officer took the badge and scratched his head. “CIA? What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked, vexed.

              “We need to speak with the boy,” the stranger said, nodding to Jake. Jake's face flushed a ghostly white.

              The officer's eyes went wide. “You mean him?” he asked, stupefied. “I think there's been some kind of mistake.”

              “Yes, you are the mistake,” the stranger hissed, his amber eyes sparkling like rubies.

              “Ras' Guul!” the redhead snapped. “Sorry,” she told the officer. “He has a bit of a temperament.”              The stranger cleared his throat and breathed deeply. “I need to speak with the boy, alone.”

              The officer cocked his eyebrow. “For what?”

              “My colleague will fill you in with the details. But this is a time-sensitive issue, and we are wasting it. Do you have an interrogation room?” the stranger asked.

              The officer nodded sluggishly. “Of course, in the back.” He jabbed a meaty thumb behind him. “Help yourself.”

              The stranger smiled. It was a thin smile, almost predatory. It reminded Jake of Mark's smile in the alleyway. “Very good. Now, Jake, is it?”

              Jake nodded warily. “How did you know my name?”

              “I know a great deal about you, Jake. Now come with me, and everything will be made clear.”

              Jake obeyed. What choice did he have? The interrogation room was cold, clinical. The harsh fluorescent light beat on Jake's back like a spotlight. The seat he was in was metal. The cold steel bit into his flesh as he sat; it was not designed for comfort.

              “Listen. I already told the officer everything I know. Can I just go home now?” Jake asked, not attempting to mask his irritation.

              The stranger smirked. It was a good smile: he had pearl-white teeth that were flawlessly straight. Something behind it seemed empty, though, sinister. “I don't care about your friend, Jake. Or should I say, Ezekiel?”

              “What?” the name meant nothing to Jake, but why then did it invoke a dread in the pit of his stomach?

              The stranger cocked his head. His amber eyes were vertical slits, like those of a snake. “Or is it Ragnarok?” he asked.

              Fear, a frigid fear assailed Jake's insides. He could barely breathe. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Jake said.

              The stranger considered this for a moment, than smirked once more. “You truly don't know. Remarkable.”

              From the corner of Jake's eye, he caught it: a brief flash of light- no, fire. A small jet of flames erupted from the redhead's hand through the chest of the officer outside. The officer collapsed into a heap, and Jake jumped to his feet. Waves of nausea bombarded him now. The stranger moved closer, cornering Jake. “Stay away from me!”

              The stranger shook his head. “Do not weep for the mortals. They are feeble and petty. Weak,” the stranger hissed.

              “You're crazy!” Jake choked.

              The stranger laughed. “No, I am Ras' Guul, spawn of Zerath, from the pits of the inferno. Lich of the fire lake, and you, Jake, are my brother.”

              Jake stumbled backwards, recoiling from the man's touch. “What are you?” he asked.