Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (20 page)

“As I recall, you were the one who betrayed me.
 
Thankfully, that gave me the opportunity to remember what it is that I was made to do.”

“To save humanity?” Metatron asked cynically.

“To evolve them so that they can save themselves.”

“They killed your prophet, who only wanted to save them.
 
They’ve killed numerous other prophets in order to continue their ignorant lifestyles.
 
They’ve shunned everything that the Father has taught them throughout the years.
 
They kill each other every second of every day, and you think they will save themselves?
 
You have always been so optimistic.
 
But that, I’m afraid, borders on fantasy.”

“I can only tell you what I’ve been told,” Jeremiah replied patiently.
 
“They’re growing, and very soon they will make a bold step.
 
And the prophets in this house will lead the way.”

“Him?”
 
Metatron pointed to Matt in disgust.
 
“You call
that
evolved?
 
He’s a boy.
 
He’s a scared little boy who thinks he has command of a life that is obviously spinning out of control.
 
Perhaps this evolution you speak of is driving him mad.
 
Perhaps his evolution is the cause of all of his pain.
 
Have you learned nothing?”
 

Metatron’s voice was intensifying.
 
“You and God predestine the futures of little boys, and when they can’t handle it, they break down and die.
 
I don’t think Michael has the hardwiring quite right yet, to cope with the intense nature of their futures.
 
Then, they fall, painfully.
 
You were right to blame the Father for this.
 
This is His sadistic vision.
 
Now, after all we’ve been through, you have returned to Him and even embraced His plan.
 
Do you not care for these children whom you all but raise?”
 
Metatron smiled.
 
“Just like Jesus, this one may have been born to die.”

Jeremiah was gripping and relaxing his hands.
 
At the dropping of the name, he felt very much like he was going to lose control.
 
“You need not bring up his name here.
 
I understand what is at stake, and I understand very well what I’ve lost.”

Metatron smiled.
 
“But you don’t have to lose any more.
 
Let them go.
 
Let them live their own lives.
 
You and I belong to this fight; they don’t.
 
They didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

“I didn’t make the decision, Metatron.
 
I only follow orders.”

“Yes,” Metatron nodded affirmatively, “you have always been proficient in following orders.
 
You used to work for God, then me, and now God again.
 
You have never done anything
but
follow orders.
 
What does your heart tell you about this dilemma?
 
Do you seriously think you can defeat me?
 
And, if you should, could you stop Lucifer?”

Jeremiah screwed up his face in confusion.
 
“What are you talking about?
 
Lucifer was banished a thousand years ago.”

“Just because you haven’t seen him for a while, you think he’s dead?
 
I made that mistake with you, and you believed the same of me.
 
However, I can assure you that I know better.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Metatron.
 
If we’re going to do this, let’s do it now.”

“I didn’t come here to kill you, Jeremiah,” Metatron said, suddenly looking very serious, “I wouldn’t have chatted with you so long if I had.”

“Then, you should leave,” Jeremiah suggested.
 
“I no longer work for you, and we don’t see things eye-to-eye anymore.”

Metatron sighed.
 
“I suppose not.
 
It is a shame, though.
 
I’ll miss our playful banter.”

“I’m sure you can find someone else to banter with.”

Metatron said nothing.
 
He turned and walked out the door.
 
As soon as he exited, he disappeared.
 
Jeremiah heaved a sigh of relief and prayed that he would never have to meet Metatron in battle.
 
The Voice of God undoubtedly took this conversation and Jeremiah’s refusal to be an insult, and Jeremiah didn’t want to know what that would cost him.
 
He turned to look at Matt, who met his gaze with a hint of shame.
 
He was still sitting on the floor clutching his knife.
 
Jeremiah reached down, pulled him up off the ground, and he did something that he had never done.
 
He hugged Matt tightly.

He pulled away and looked into Matt’s confused eyes.
 
“Thank you,” he muttered, and he walked out of the foyer and down the hallway.

Bewildered, Matt watched the demon walk away.
 
After a moment, he began ascending the stairs.
 
Night came and passed without incident in Jeremiah’s home.
 
For that, everyone was grateful.

***

Patheus gripped the young man by the throat.
 
He could taste the fear oozing out of the prey’s pores.
 
Maybe those other three brats were protected by Jeremiah, but not all of the prophets were.
 
He launched this one across the room, and his body bounced off the wall like a rag doll.
 
Patheus removed his tools from the bag he’d brought with him.
 
This should get Jeremiah’s attention
.
 
He put a hole in the drywall with his fist and felt around until he grasped the stud.

“It’s time for the moment of truth,” he said to the dazed prophet.

“Whatever you do to me will not change destiny,” the boy returned defiantly.

Patheus cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.
 
“Maybe not, but it will make me feel a lot better.”

Patheus took his victim’s hand and pulled him up the wall—high enough that his feet were no longer touching the ground.
 
He held the prophet’s hand flat against the wall and picked up what looked to be a steel tent stake.
 
With only his own strength, Patheus drove the stake through the young man’s right wrist.
 
The prophet let out a terrible wail.
 
And the screams were no less sincere when Patheus put stakes through the other wrist and both of the ankles.
 
He tore the prophet’s clothes off of him, which seemed to bring slightly more pain as the body was being jostled.

Pulling up a chair, the demon sat down, arms crossed, to watch the suffering.
 
The moaning and crying went on for a little while, and then it stopped, and the prophet’s head drooped.
 
Patheus stood up and looked at him.
 
The prophet wasn’t dead, but he wasn’t moving much either.
 
Shock
, Patheus thought.

Just then, the young man’s head came up, and he was staring Patheus in the eyes, “I forgive you,” he whispered.
 
Then, he started singing
Amazing Grace
!

Patheus shook off the confusion, bent down and picked up another stake.

He was still singing, “‘twas blind, but now, I--” when Patheus drove the stake through his throat.
 
The demon wasn’t sure if the gurgling was a muffled scream or an attempt to finish the song, but either way it would be over soon.

He walked out of the apartment complex.
 
No one had even come out into the hallway to see what had happened.
 
Just like humans
.
 
Patheus had once been surprised at how little humans did to help each other.
 
Even when someone was obviously in need of assistance, and even an insignificant action, like calling the police, could be all that was needed, people generally chose to mind their own business.
 
Of course, the police wouldn’t have helped in this instance, but at least it would have been something.
 
He felt sorry for his victim, but only very little; he knew that the boy had no choice in what he was chosen to do.
 
Like Patheus, he had been called to duty and had been unable to finish what he was meant to do.
 
Unlike Patheus, however, the boy had a place in Heaven waiting for him for his heroic deeds.

Patheus shook regret from his mind.
 
“On to the next stop,” he said to no one in particular.

Prophets must trust each other in order to survive.
 
We are constantly at war with the forces of religion, politics, ignorance, and the supernatural.
 
Living so can cause great mental and physical fatigue.
 
Some prophets never advance to the point that they can defeat their own demons, let alone very physical ones.
 
These prophets are generally alone, and they have only vague ideas of what to do with the powers bestowed upon them.
 
On the other hand, other prophets have the advantage of the wisdom of others to precipitate their growth.
 
Oftentimes, prophets are absorbed into the religions around them as men or women of great influence, while a few are killed or ostracized as heretics.
 
No matter what precedes it, the path that prophets take after any initial stages of learning is their own.
 
And it is usually a very lonely path at that.

--Abigail Martin,
Through the Eyes of a Martyr

Jeremiah had told Alex little about why he’d left other than some cryptic notion that there were troubles in other parts of the world.
 
And, when Alex had awoken that morning—very rested, in fact, from the immensely comfortable bed—he found that he had more questions.
 
He sat up in bed.
 
The room was dark still, due to a lack of windows, but the digital alarm clock next to his bed read 9:00.
 
Alex had actually woken up earlier, but he liked the feeling of the bed so much that he just laid there for almost an hour.
 
That had given him enough time to remember and reflect upon the previous day’s activities.
 

A lot had happened, he realized.
 
At this time on the previous day, Alex and Jeremiah were headed toward Amarillo.
 
It seemed strange that it had only been two days since this whole thing started.
 
So much of Alex’s world had changed in less than a week that he wasn’t sure he could fully fathom it all.

Alex got off the bed and started toward where he remembered the bathroom to be, but he wasn’t sure if he’d make it without any light.
 
As soon as he stood up, the lights slowly came to life.
 
Alex laughed as he recalled Jeremiah talking about the motion sensor lights.
 
He went into the bathroom and relieved himself.
 
Upon leaving the bathroom, there was a knock on his door.
 
After a quick dressing, he opened the door, and Marla was standing there.
 

She smiled warmly at him.
 
“Here,” she said, handing him a bag.
 
“I brought a couple changes of clothes for you.”

Alex took the clothes out of the bag, and, to his astonishment, they looked exactly like clothes he had at home.
 
He looked up at Marla in dismay.

“We’ve watched you for a long time, Alex,” she commented, obviously registering the surprise.
 
“Actually, I feel like I already know you.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” Alex responded, returning the smile.

“While I finish up your tour,” Marla continued, “the maids will stock your room in a way that will make this cave seem a little homier.”

Alex eyed his new clothes and looked toward the bathroom.
 
“If you don’t mind, I haven’t had a shower in a few days, and I should probably do something about that.”
 
Alex motioned to the door he had just come out of.

“Of course,” Marla replied.
 
“The basics should all be in the bathroom.
 
I’ll just wait out here for you.”

Alex stepped into the already steaming stream of hot water.
 
It felt so good to finally cleanse his body of the filth that had been building for days.
 
The way that the water massaged his back and neck was ecstatic.
 
After about fifteen minutes, he decided that he’d kept Marla waiting long enough, and he regretfully turned off the water.

He stepped out of the shower and admired himself in a mirror before toweling off and putting on his clothes.
 
He combed his hair, and, after taking one last look at his face in the mirror to make sure there were no blemishes, he walked out of the bathroom.
 
Alex didn’t think he’d felt so refreshed in his life.
 

He opened his bedroom door to see that Marla was indeed waiting patiently for him, “Okay,” he said, “I think I’m ready.”

“Good.
 
Come with me.”

She took Alex to what he remembered Jeremiah describing as the dining hall.
 
It was enormous, and there were people everywhere.
 
As Marla and Alex walked in, most of the heads turned to watch them.

“Don’t mind them,” Marla told him.
 
“This place has had a constant buzz about you since everyone learned you’d be coming here.
 
Most of these people are guards for the compound.”
 
Alex had noticed the uniforms.
 
Marla continued, “Some of them are servants for the mansion.
 
There are computer techs, general maintenance people, landscapers, secretaries, researchers and scholars—pretty much anything you could think of.
 
They’re all in the service of Jeremiah, but, more importantly, they also work for Matt, Elizabeth, and yourself.”

“For me?” Alex questioned skeptically.

“In a manner of speaking...and so do I.
 
We’re all here to make sure that you get exactly what you need to fulfill whatever plans Jeremiah has for you.”

“Which are?”

Marla laughed.
 
“
That
we will get to in time.
 
Let’s cover the basics for right now—breakfast.”
 
Marla pointed across the room.
 
“There’s our table.
 
I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering you waffles with maple syrup, hash browns, and apple juice.”

“No,” Alex said, startled.
 
“I love waffles, hash browns, and apple juice.
 
You couldn’t have picked better.”

“That’s why I’m paid the big bucks.”

Alex stopped walking and looked at her.
 
“Is there anything about me that you don’t know?”

Marla smirked.
 
“If there is, you probably don’t know it yourself.”

“Right,” Alex agreed sardonically and continued toward the table.

They sat down, and, within five minutes, there was a plate of food and a glass of apple juice in front of Alex.

A thought occurred to Alex which he shared with Marla between chewing.
 
“I figured Jeremiah would be showing me around.
 
He’s been watching me like a hawk since we met.”

A scowl formed on Marla’s face.
 
“Don’t talk with your mouth full; it’s unsightly.”

Alex gulped.
 
“Sorry.”
 
He looked embarrassed.

She looked serious, then broke and started laughing.
 
“No, it’s fine.
 
I was just told that you would need to be versed in etiquette.
 
And, since your training begins now, you should be aware that talking and chewing go as well together as adolescents and slow-dancing.
 
Awkward and embarrassing.
 
No.
 
Jeremiah had to leave on an urgent matter, and he said he may not be back for a while.
 
He grudgingly decided that I should chaperone you around in his stead.”

Alex focused on his food for a second and then looked up at her.
 
“Someone died.”

Her dark eyes locked with his.
 
“Yes.
 
How did you know?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied honestly.
 
“It’s like I can kind of remember that it happened, but I don’t know what
it
is.”

She raised her eyebrows.
 
“Well, I wasn’t supposed to tell you, but it seems like you know more than Jeremiah expected you to know.
 
You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Alex suddenly felt uncomfortable.
 
“Yeah, I guess.”
 
And he went back to eating.

Marla stared at him for a moment longer, shrugged and looked on into the crowd of masticating minions.
 
She’d grown accustomed to not completely understanding what was going on.
 
Acceptance—not blind, but trusting—had been the key to maintaining mental stability in this place.

***

The man flashed his badge, confident that he would get the clearance he needed.
 
He shot a tired I’ve-been-working-for-fifteen-hours-straight glare at the rookie-looking officer standing in front of him.
 
The cop quickly nodded and motioned for the detective to come inside.
 
The older man ducked beneath the police tape and walked into the apartment.
 
He pulled out a pair of latex gloves and turned to another officer.

“Where’s the victim?”

“He’s in the bedroom, over there,” as he pointed to another room.

“Thank you.”

When the detective entered the room, he saw a gruesome sight.
 
The boy had been crucified, naked, against the wall of his own home, and a spike protruded from his neck.

“Jesus,” the detective remarked, exasperated.

“Yeah,” a woman in a suit seconded.
 
“No pun intended.”
 

Her face was calm, but it revealed someone who had seen her fair share of homicides.
 
She wasn’t joking, but she had long ago become aloof to this kind of crime.
 
The first murder she’d ever had to investigate was not this violent, but it had made her vomit.
 
Since then, every new homicide had left her feeling a little more dead inside.
 

“I’m Sara Card,” she explained, offering her hand.

The detective shook her hand, giving her a slightly amused look.
 
“Tony Heller.
 
What’ve we got on him?” he asked her, assuming she was in charge here.

“Name’s Joshua Tiverdale.
 
At least, that’s what his ID says.
 
We can’t find anything on him in the database.
 
We think this was a fake ID.
 
We’re running his fingerprints to see if there’s anything else we can know, but right now, it’s looking like he just popped up out of nowhere.”

“That’s interesting,” the detective commented, blandly.
 
“The neighbors see anything?”

“Of course not,” she grunted.
 
“The ones right next door said they heard what must have been a struggle, but at the time, they said they thought he was just getting rowdy with someone.
 
He kept mostly to himself, so the neighbors didn’t think they should get involved.
 
About four hours ago, we got an anonymous tip that he he’d been murdered and that there would be more to come.”

The detective scowled.
 
“Serial murder?
 
I’d keep that one a tight secret.
 
We don’t need the people of Baltimore worrying about a serial killer.
 
Did you trace the call?”

“No.
 
We couldn’t.
 
We should have been able to, but something blocked our signal.”

Tony massaged his temples with his index and middle fingers.
 
“Figures.
 
It would be too convenient for there to be any fingerprints from the murderer.... On those spikes or maybe on the door?”
 
He tacked the question on as a side thought.