The Book of Paul -- A Paranormal Thriller (36 page)

Only he knew the Truth. That knowledge was gained with the price of his great sin. He had transgressed the will of the
Intelligence
, betraying his son, his Clan and worst of all, himself, all for his selfish need to survive. To remember. To be the One.

Selfishness. Arrogance. Pride. Without even making a conscious decision he had succumbed to the most corrupting temptation. And what had he discovered? That his sin didn’t matter! The Wheel still turned. He grew ever stronger. His lust for vengeance was slaked time and time again without the slightest repercussions. As for the
Intelligence,
he didn’t give a shit. The
Intelligence
was in him. It was
his
will that mattered. He had been made for this purpose and this purpose alone. He of all people of all time had been chosen. He was still chosen. Regardless of his betrayal, the interventions that followed, regardless of the Christ, whose failure to set the course straight they would celebrate tomorrow, he had been chosen, as he had chosen Martin. Together they would triumph.

He was so close to the end. The world was a stinking pile of shit. Humans were devolving. Science and its fair-haired son Technology were accelerating exponentially, barreling onward like a runaway train to the Singularity. He was the last man standing. The last true son of Light and Life. Darkness and Death. There would be no more cycles after this. Martin had proven his resilience. The vessel would endure until the prophecy was fulfilled in them. Everything would occur according to the plan—
his
plan—once the girl and Johnny had been defeated. His will
would
be done. His Kingdom come. On Earth as it is in Heaven!

But if…

A tendril of doubt crept into his heart and he felt a surge of apprehension he’d never experienced in his very long life. He crushed it like a cockroach and exploded with another booming laugh. “Just another game of chess. Black defeats white in the end.”

With that he went back to work, sorting through every detail, considering how all these loose ends might be straightened out with the right amount of cunning and foresight. It took him less than an hour to concoct the perfect scenario, full of fun and surprises. After the final piece of the puzzle snapped into place, his mind went back to Martin. He pictured the two of them together in the early days. How good it had been. For him. He was surprised by the depth of his feelings.

“He’s just a boy, like all the rest,” he told himself, like he had so many times before, trying to keep his emotions at bay. But no, this time he wanted them to come. He needed them. His heart would take him exactly where he wanted to go.

His chest rose and fell with the pain of those indelible memories. And in the deep, dark fringes of Paul’s black heart, the feelings grew. A little layer cake of sunshine. He could no longer deny it. There was someone in this world he actually loved. He was surprised, maybe even a little shocked, but another part of him had known it all along. Love. Sweet love. He savored the feeling with each big drumbeat in his chest and swirled it like a brandy snifter. It made him feel warm inside. It made him feel happy.

It made him want to kill.

Martin was still awake, thinking about luck. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed that their escape could be attributed to simple good fortune. He had seen Paul battle countless adversaries. No one had ever raised a finger against him, much less a loaded weapon, and escaped unharmed. How was it possible he was still alive? That
they
were still alive, he corrected himself, watching Rose’s sleeping body curled up next to him, making tiny snoring sounds.

He went into the bathroom and put on the complimentary terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door. He nodded approvingly when he examined the label. “One hundred percent Egyptian combed cotton,” he read aloud. It felt so nice when he put it on that he forgot all about Paul for twenty-two seconds.

Where is he right now?
Martin wondered, easing himself into the comfortable chair overlooking the dark forests of Central Park. The streetlights sparkled like diamonds between the blue-green-blackness of the trees. It was so beautiful. And they were still alive. But why?

“Come back,” Paul said. “Come back and make the world the way it used to be.”

Martin nodded, the cobwebs of self-deception slowly clearing away. There could only be one reason why Paul showed up today and why they were still alive. Unfortunately, it didn’t have anything to do with luck. He was alive because Paul wanted him back…to finish what they started. But what was that? All he could remember were the endless duels, the clan rivalries, the treasure hunts, the planning. But he couldn’t remember
why
.

Martin stared out the hotel window at the dark swaying trees and thought about the other questions Rose had asked him in the taxi. He wanted to tell her, he really did, but he knew what would happen if he ever talked about Paul. What would he say the next time she asked?

“I can’t tell you,” he said, rehearsing. It would have to do. Even if Paul didn’t do all those terrible things to him for telling her, he would do all those things to Rose. “He’ll do all those things anyway,” a wiser part of him whispered. So why not tell her everything he knew?

“If she knows what you’ve done, she won’t like you anymore,” Martin answered. That was one good reason. There was another one too. He couldn’t tell her everything, because he still didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t understand why Paul was so insistent on keeping him away from Rose…or why Paul had turned on him.

“What on earth do you want with her?” he whispered, hearing the echo of Paul’s sneering voice. He hadn’t known then. He did now. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to stay. Could they run away together? Could he turn his back on Paul forever, escape to a place where he could never, ever find them? No, there wasn’t any place like that. If Paul wanted to find them, he would. He watched Rose’s chest rise and fall with each tiny breath. He saw her legs twitching in her dreams. Was she running too?

There has to be another way to stop him.
Could he kill him? Actually kill him? How many had tried and failed? Warriors much stronger and more adept. Could he even be killed at all?

“The Book. The answer is in the Book,” Martin said, not sure where the notion came from or why it sounded so convincing. He breathed in and out, emptying his mind of fear, comforted by the fact that they had managed to flee and Paul didn’t seem to want him dead. Not yet, anyway.

“Yes, the Book.” Martin nodded, more sure than ever. But what was the connection? He looked out the window and forced his mind to relax. “All I have to do is remember.”

“Please, Daddy, tell me what happened to the boy and the angel. Tell me what happened when they went to the Maelstrom!” he cried to Paul in the wheat field.

“That’s a secret,” Paul whispered, cupping his hand at Martin’s tiny ear.

“Please, Daddy, please! I promise I’ll never tell anyone ever!” Martin pleaded, grinning widely. He knew Paul would tell him, it was part of their ritual. But only after he promised.

“That’s a serious promise,” Paul said with a fake frown. “Forever is a long, long time. Are you sure I can trust you with such an important secret, no matter what happens, for as long as either of us shall live?”

“Yes, Daddy, you can trust me! I promise! I promise! Just like the boy in the story!”

Daddy smiled and rubbed Martin’s head. Then he resumed the story.

“The angel took the boy deeper and deeper into the Maelstrom, but as they approached the swirling core of light and darkness at the heart of the Axis, the boy began to scream in agony. It felt like the flesh was being ripped from his bones. Like his body was disintegrating into dust. But the pain ended as suddenly as it had begun and when he could see again, he was in a completely different place, a temple with a round stone altar. There was a huge golden bowl embedded in the center, with a great wooden staff running through ring handles on opposite sides of the great cauldron. Two people, wearing robes with hoods that concealed their faces, stood across from each other, gripping the pole and chanting words he didn’t understand.”

Paul made him repeat the words in the other language, over and over and over until he pronounced them perfectly before continuing the story.

“As they continued chanting, they pushed the pole in a counter-clockwise direction.…”

“And the whole altar moved with them, like they were turning a wheel!” Martin cried.

“Yes, just like a wheel,” Paul nodded happily. “And when the wheel turned, two secret chambers opened up. One of them had a sword inside with strange marks carved into the blade. The other one had a large, square, red crystal. One of them took the sword and the other took the crystal and they went back to the altar. There was a small metal square at the bottom of the cauldron. The red crystal fit inside it perfectly. They held the sword together over the cauldron, the tip almost touching the crystal. They held it by the blade, not the handle, right where the marks were carved and began chanting the words inscribed in the steel, repeating them as they squeezed the sword. They gripped it so hard their blood ran down the blade, mixing together and flowing onto the red crystal. As their blood covered the crystal it began to glow and soften, almost as if it were made of flesh. Then they drove the sword through the crystal and the caldron, burying it deep into the stone altar.

“After the sword was lodged in the stone, they clutched the wooden staff in their bloody hands and began pushing in a clockwise direction.” Paul paused. When he spoke again, his voice trembled with emotion as he closed his eyes and said, “And the Great Wheel turned.”

Paul paused again, inhaling deeply. Slowly, he opened his eyes and continued, “When the stone altar turned a second time, the temple was flooded with golden light. The light was so bright the boy couldn’t see anything, as if the temple, the people and the whole world had been swallowed up in it. The angel transported him to another place and another and another. He was showing him visions of the past, the present, and the future. The visions changed faster and faster while the angel spoke without opening his lips, telling him why he had been chosen and what he’d been chosen for. The angel took him far into the future and showed him something wonderful that was going to happen, something he was part of, something he would do. Then he showed him another future and another. In each of those futures, the wonderful thing didn’t happen. Terrible things happened instead. They were so terrible that the boy became very afraid, but the angel said he would live inside him for all the days of his life and together they would have the strength, wisdom and power to guide their destiny to that wonderful thing. All the boy had to do was make a sacred vow to protect and guide the
Intelligence
until they completed their goal…the
Becoming
.

“‘‘But how can I honor my vow for thousands of years?’ the boy asked.

“‘First you must make your oath,’ the angel commanded.

“The boy nodded. He was ready. Suddenly, they were transported again, to another temple in a faraway land. They were standing on top of an ancient stone altar covered with mysterious markings. The angel wrapped his arms around the boy, hugging him so tightly almost all the air in his lungs was squeezed out. With his last gasping breaths the boy made his vow and spoke the secret words the angel told him to repeat—the magic phrase that would unlock the Maelstrom and all of its secrets.

“When the Maelstrom opened for them, they ventured together to the Axis, where all was calm and beautiful and perfect. There the angel revealed to him the greatest secrets of all—the secrets of life and death, creation and destruction. The secrets were hidden in a story, in many stories that together formed the long, long story I’m telling you now,” Paul said, his face gravely serious. “The boy had to remember every word of it, in the same sacred language the people in the temple spoke. But he was a very special boy with a very good memory.”

“Like mine!” Martin shouted proudly.

“Aye, like yours.” Paul smiled, rubbing his bristly blond crew cut.

The story didn’t stop there. In fact, it had only just begun. The story seemed to go on forever. At every twist and turn, there was so much adventure! And better yet, treasure! They went on a quest to hunt it down. The things they found were incredible. So incredible he couldn’t believe treasures like that could exist without everybody knowing about them. “That’s why it’s a secret,” Paul told him.

Martin loved the secrecy, loved all the planning. And just as in any good story, there were plenty of bad guys to battle along the way. “Monsters,” Paul called them. The monsters were scary, just like monsters should be, but Martin didn’t mind. He liked the challenge. The monsters made everything more exciting because they were real. It felt like he was inside the story, acting it out. And winning every time! What could be more fun for a growing boy?

The treasure was real, too. Jewels. Rings. And best of all, gold! Martin loved the gold. He wasn’t sure why, but he loved it. When he was little, he loved it so much he wanted to eat it. He even tried once, on a really old coin. His teeth sunk in when he bit it. There were other treasures too, scrolls and statues, staffs, goblets and swords, really old stuff. And the Book. Paul liked the old stuff much more than the gold and he loved the Book more than anything. Martin knew why. The Book told the story. All of it. But why did he like the Book more than the gold when he already knew the story? Paul made fun of him when he asked. He called him stupid. Martin recoiled from the shame. It took him three minutes and eight seconds to remember what he’d been thinking about. Oh, yeah: the story. Martin thought the story was about the treasure, but Paul kept telling him no, he was missing the point.