Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (25 page)

She rolled her eyes.
 
“Maybe, but I doubt it.”

“You’re right,” he agreed.
 
“Your room is too girly, though.”

“Ha!
 
If by
girly
, you mean clean, I will take that as a compliment.”

“Whatever.”
 
Matt stood, too.
 
“It’s not worth it to argue with you.”

“That’s true.”

On their way to Elizabeth’s room, Matt asked, “Did you talk to Alex?”

Elizabeth only nodded.

“What did he say?”

She sighed.
 
“He said he’d try harder to be nice in the future.
 
Let’s not talk about him.”

“Okay.”

***

Alex read until the alarm clock next to his bed told him it was eight o’clock in the evening.
 
He was exhausted, and his eyes were burning.
 
For the last hour his stomach had been begging to be filled.
 
He thought it was probably safe to leave his room now, and he went into the dining hall.
 
He sat down at the table he and Marla had been at earlier that day.
 
Within minutes a man in a white waiter’s outfit with an apron approached him.

“May I help you, sir?”

Alex nodded and asked, “What are you serving?”

Martin looked confused.
 
“Anything you would like.”

The first thing that came to Alex’s mind was a cheeseburger and fries, so that’s what he told Martin, who wrote it down in a book and asked if Alex would like anything else.

“No, thank you,” he answered.
 
“Oh,” Alex corrected, “I guess I’d like a root beer, too.”

The waiter told him he would be right back with the root beer, and it would be about ten minutes on the food.
 
Then, he left.
 
Alex looked around to the other tables, and it startled him to notice that many people were staring at him.
 
Of course, as soon as he started looking around, they all quickly went back to their meals.

After ten minutes, the waiter brought out Alex’s meal.
 
The burger was thick, and the fries were piled high.
 
Alex wondered if he was getting special treatment.
 
It was nice to think that he was getting respect somewhere, even if it was only from the kitchen staff.
 
He asked the waiter if it would be possible to get breakfast in his room in the morning.

“Certainly,” Martin replied, making a note of it in his little book.
 
“What time would you like it?”

Alex thought on that for a moment.
 
Matt had told him to be ready by eight, so he told Martin that he needed it by no later than a quarter after seven.
 
He wanted time for his food to settle before he engaged in whatever Matt had planned for him.
 
The waiter said that he’d make sure of it himself and left Alex to his meal.

He ate his food and, uncertain of etiquette, left his dishes on the table as he had done earlier this morning with Marla.
 
He went back to his room and picked up the Bible again.
 
He had been trudging his way through Leviticus when he’d left.
 
He decided that the Bible could wait, and he went over to the CDs that had been brought in for him.
 
He picked up the CD titled
BeLIEve
, and he put it in the machine.
 
There was a soft spinning as the CD player read the disk and began to play the music.

He lay on his bed and let the music take him away to a better place.
 
Lonny told him, “Pain is a tool that gives us strength.”
 
Alex would usually agree, except that today it did little more than hurt him.
 
He set his alarm clock for six-thirty and drifted off as Nisus comforted him.

I get sad when I remember all of the friends I’ve left behind.
 
When one lives as long as I have, she begins to wonder what purpose there is in fighting.
 
Certainly, most of the people for whom I have fought are now dead and buried.
 
Then, I realize it’s not for them that I fought, rather it is the principle of the fight that has kept me going so long.
 
As long as there is evil and pain in the world, I fear that I will always have something to fight for and something to fight against.
 
I have not known a new friendship in a very long time; I have since given up on the prospect for fear of yet another loss.
 
But I do envy those who revel in new relationships.
 
The Good Book tells us that a person can have no greater love than to lay down his life for a friend.
 
I counter that it is far more important to live for another in such a way that honors not only both friends but the relationship itself.

--Abigail Martin,
Through the Eyes of a Martyr

Alex woke to the sound of his alarm clock going off.
 
He felt around for the button to terminate the offensive noise.
 
The ringing fell to silence, and he was about to drift back into his pleasant slumber when the events of the previous day came rushing in on him.
 
No.
 
He had to get up now and face Matt.
 
Whatever he had done, inadvertently, would have to be rectified today.
 
He walked across the room toward the bathroom.
 

Again, Alex became entranced by the shower, but he didn’t spend hardly as long in it this time.
 
He exited refreshed and changed into another set of clothes and hoped that someone had more clothes or that they’d wash one of the other outfits.
 
One thing he hated very much was to walk around in clothes that weren’t clean.
 
He’d had to do it for several of the last few days, and now that he was somewhere that likely had a washer and dryer, Alex felt no need for it to happen again.

He slipped on his shoes and looked at the clock; it was seven.
 
He had a few minutes before his breakfast would be arriving and nearly an hour before he was expected to meet with Matt.
 
He looked at the Bible on the desk and thought it best to delve into God’s word a little more before he went to face a very challenging task.
 
He only wished that Leviticus wasn’t where he’d left off.
 
He thought he might be able to pull a little more from a different book.
 
The laws of Moses weren’t altogether that interesting or thought-provoking.
 
In fact, many of them seemed outdated and irrelevant.
 
Some of them even seemed horribly flawed and vile.

He opened the book and just stared at it for minutes.
 
The words wouldn’t coalesce into thought for him.
 
He closed his eyes, and, for the first time in a very long time, he found himself praying for guidance.
 
Instantly, Alex found himself in another place.

Alex’s father stood there, and the boy could feel warmth emanate from him.
 
“You have sought me, and I am here,” the image said.

“I didn’t mean to hurt Matt,” Alex began.
 
“How do I make him see that I meant no offense?”

James Tanner sat on a chair that Alex hadn’t seen there a second ago.
 
He motioned for the boy to come over.
 
As he did, Alex saw that there was another chair across from his father.
 
He sat down.

“Truth will be your salvation,” his father stated.
 
“Matt is good; he just isn’t at peace.
 
Many fears drive his life right now.
 
Show him no cause to be afraid, and he will listen.”

“Elizabeth hates me too,” Alex explained.

His father smiled.
 
“Hate can never be strong if the one wielding it has more love than hate in her heart.
 
Trust that love will win out.”

Alex thought on this for a moment.
 
Though he didn’t know what he was going to do to smooth things over, he suddenly felt encouraged.
 
He changed the subject.
 
“So what is it that you want from me?”

“I simply want you to unite your brothers and sisters under a banner of goodness and love.
 
Then, I want you to lead them in uniting the world.”

“Why can’t you just make everyone love each other?
 
Why do you need my help?”

“Free will is vital,” his father replied.
 
“It’s every bit as important as the growth it will take for mankind to achieve a lasting happiness.
 
People must make up their own minds as to what they want and how far they’re willing to go to get it.
 
All choices and actions must be their own.”

“What if they don’t believe or trust me?”

His father took his hand.
 
“I told you, Alex, truth will be your salvation.
 
You will be surprised how easily people listen when truth is staring them in the face.
 
Don’t stray from the truth, and your path will be much easier.”

Alex decided it was time to ask a question that had been haunting him for days.
 
“Will I ever get to see my parents again?”

“Yes.”

“Will I put them in danger?”

His father suddenly looked grim.
 
“It depends on when and how you see them.”

Alex contemplated this.
 
“I’m scared,” he admitted.

“I know.”
 
Alex’s father-image still had him by the hand.
 
He squeezed, and Alex could feel something pass into him.
 
He felt more at ease than he had been in a long time.
 
This, he realized, was pure faith.
 
He no longer felt afraid.
 
“It’s time for you to be getting back now,” his father told him, “but I will always be watching you, and you should not go so long without talking to me.”

Alex smiled and nodded.
 
He looked down in his lap, and when he looked up again, he saw that he was sitting in front of his desk, staring at Leviticus.
 
Someone was knocking.
 
He remembered that his breakfast was coming, and this was probably room service.
 
He opened the door and found that he was right.
 
The man at the door presented him with a tray very similar to the one he had seen on the previous morning.
 
He was relieved because last night it had occurred to him that he hadn’t told anyone
what
he wanted for breakfast, only that he wanted it brought to him in the morning.
 
The man delivering his meal told Alex that if he’d leave his room unlocked when he leaves in the morning, the house servants would clean up and deliver fresh clothes—along with anything else he might need.

Alex assured him that he would and thanked him for the service.
 
The waiter nodded his acknowledgement, gave the tray to him, and left.
 
Alex devoured his breakfast, and, after doing so, he looked at the clock.
 
He still had thirty minutes before he needed to be out on the lawn, and that was probably ample time to let his food settle.
 
He picked up the Bible and continued to trudge through Leviticus.

***

About the time that Alex was getting his breakfast, Matt was being woken up by

Liz.
 
The two of them had passed out before the end of the movie, which was fine because the comedy had proven to not be quite as funny as they’d hoped.
 
Sore and queasy from his partying last night, he wasn’t sure he was up to sparring, but today, more than ever, he needed to put on a good show.
 
Matt reluctantly left Elizabeth’s room and walked to his own to dress for practice.

He put on his black, Jiu-Jitsu gi and trudged out to the lawn.
 
He never ate breakfast until after practice; it didn’t do any good to work out on a full stomach.
 
Actually, eating before he did strenuous training only served to make him tired and upset his stomach and bowels—no, thank you.
 
And he liked working on an empty stomach; it made him feel like he was earning his meal by the time he elected to take it, usually around noon.

As he passed guards, they saluted him.
 
He always found the tradition ironic.
 
Matt had never held any rank in any military branch, but money could buy him any rank he wanted.
 
On this property, he was a general.
 
He never saluted back.
 
It didn’t seem to matter.
 
He’d heard that Higgins once threatened any guard on the premises with an ass-kicking if they didn’t show Matt the respect of a commanding officer, and even Higgins followed that rule.
 
Every time Matt saw the retired colonel, he got saluted.

Upon a far hill, Matt spied his two newest recruits sparring.
 
They looked to be doing rather well for hired guns.
 
As much as Jeremiah had shelled out for them, they’d better have some martial prowess.
 
By the time the mercenaries got to him for training, they should have already spent years studying rudimentary combat.
 
Rudimentary
in that they knew how to fight in normal—even extraordinary—combat situations.
 
His job was to teach them tactics against the supernatural.
 
Though none of these guards had had the experience of fighting demons and, in the best of circumstances, never would, they had to be trained for the worst.

His own training had come directly from Jeremiah.
 
The demon had taught him how to fend off supernatural strength and speed in the best ways a human was capable of.
 
Matt had trained all day long for two years under the demon himself and the best martial arts masters in the country.
 
Since then, Matt had continued his training, going as far as to test his own speed against rubber bullets.
 
Needless to say, he’d taken many welts and bruises—and even some scars—from the many times he’d failed to be quite fast enough to dodge them.
 
But, when he was in full swing, he was much faster than any human should be, and all of his guards knew it.
 

Only once had he been forced to use that speed and his extensive knowledge of martial arts against one of his own, but that memory lived on as legend in all of them and gained him the respect that he needed to lead his small army.
 

The man had not liked Matt since he’d learned that Matt was gay.
 
He would mutter things he thought Matt either wouldn’t hear or wouldn’t respond to.
 
Eventually, after a particularly grueling session, he lost what little discretion he’d had and explained to Matt that he’d be damned if he was going to take orders from a fag.
 
As recompense, Matt informed the mercenary that he would be aiding the cleaning staff with the toilets for a month.
 
That, it seemed, was the final insult, and the guard lunged at him.
 

Those who were there whisper that they never even saw Matt move.
 
He had broken the man’s right arm in three places, dislocated his wrist, and given him a concussion before the guard had even completed his swing.
 
The prophet immediately had the guard taken to the infirmary.
 
He called Jeremiah to tell him what had happened, scared that there could be some serious repercussions.
 
Jeremiah returned to the compound that day, and the guard was never seen again.

Matt sometimes wondered what happened to the guard, but his intuition told him that Jeremiah had disposed of the disrespectful hired gun in his usual manner.
 
Further, judging by the way that Higgins had dealt with those who’d witnessed the event, he couldn’t be sure that the demon was the only one involved.

Higgins was a good man—completely capable of holding his own in Matt’s absence.
 
He had retired with the rank of colonel before going into the much more lucrative business of mercenary work.
 
He never trusted Jeremiah, but he loved Matt like a brother-in-arms.
 
In turn, Matt implicitly trusted him as his right-hand man.
 
The pair of them worked tirelessly to keep the retired special ops commandos trained and poised to strike.
 
There were always training missions for the troops to go on, and it seemed like each was more creative than the last.
 
Most of these were designed by Higgins, but every time Matt learned of a new technique that would aid in the battle against other demons, that took precedence over anything else.
 
Those, however, were few and far between, as there wasn’t just a whole lot known about the combat of the unholy.