10

Michael Thomason was never an extremist, but he realized, soon enough, that you could wind up with the wrong crowd for a while, if you weren’t careful. At age twenty, he was still struggling to find himself, when he came across a group, not too much older than he was, at Hill College, in Cleburne. He stayed there for a while to get some extra studies done.

They seemed like a nice group: early twenties, long hair, looking like hippies, out for a new adventure. Just past the hill near the school, one day, he met one of the girls who urged him to come along with her. Clarice, her name was, she claimed. Long, black hair, light green eyes, around five-foot-three, and very thin. Beautiful, he remembered thinking. What the hell? he concluded. It was a warm day, the sun was hiding, and he didn’t have more to do for the moment.

The walk was a little longer than he expected. He never expected the hill to go down so deep. His knees were shaking, while Clarice seemed to run all the way. She told him she had been down there “many times” over the semester, so she was used to the workout. The grass felt like needles to his calves, and after a few more minutes, his eyes became blurry from sweat. Praying for a glass of water, he nearly collapsed by the time they reached the shade.

There was a little creek where the rest of the people were standing. The water was refreshingly cold, a lot colder than he would have guessed. As he cooled his face off, the rest of the group slowly circled around him. For the first few minutes, they simply stared at him. It was like he was on another planet, and they might have been studying him. “What will he do next?” “Watch his a*s so he doesn’t trick us!” The next thing he knew, all he could see was darkness.

#

His feet were off the ground, he was sure of it. Michael didn’t feel any gravel, or softness, or anything of the sort. Am I flying?... No, that’s not it! Someone is holding me up! He could feel fingers digging into his hips, as pressure slightly pushed him down and back up, in a rhythm. Someone is taking me somewhere. He didn’t know how long he had been down near the stream and didn’t have any idea who was doing what. He did recognize one voice, though.

“We have to do this.” Clarice. “He can’t be trusted around other people. If we don’t do this, we are responsible for him in the eyes of Him. Do you realize what consequences will come?!” The beautiful young woman who lured him in, like Eve luring Adam to the forbidden fruit. Michael felt her hands on the back of his head, gently removing the blindfold. The place was dark, with dim blue light and a musty smell. He could hear moisture slowly dripping to the ground.

The eyes of whom? Michael thought. What’s going on? A sudden wave of new smell entered his nostrils and he instinctively began to plug them. It smelled like rotting meat, and it was moving closer to him. Someone must have had a plateful of material. Must be old beef.

“Are you insane?!” a male voice screamed. When the blindfold was completely off, he saw them. Blue light was shining on their faces, making their skin look like fresh whipped cream, mixed with a hint of blueberry. Clarice’s hands looked a deep purple in the light. When she noticed him staring, he thought she would snap at him. Instead she turned herself and the man she was talking to, so that their backs were facing him.

Other than the blueness, the place was completely dark. It wasn’t a cave, Michael knew that for sure. No caves here in Texas, as far as I know… So, where the hell am I?! All that was useful for the moment was his hearing. Whispering seemed to flood all around his head, as he struggled to moves his hands free from what felt like rope. It wasn’t put around him until after the blindfold covered his eyes, so he couldn’t be sure. But it felt like the same rope that is usually used for a tire swing.

Black figures drifted around him as he continued staring at nothing. Some came a little close to him for comfort, and then quickly, moved away. He could feel and smell their warm breath and heard their anxious backward steps. Maybe I really am on another planet, he concluded. The steps started becoming louder and faster. Shaking his head violently, Michael noticed that his breathing was intensifying. Keep it together. You don’t know what this is, yet…

“I can’t let you do this!” the same male voice from earlier shouted. “If you do, I can’t be a part of it!” It was loud and clear. Michael couldn’t take it anymore.

“Do what?” he demanded, irritated.

A fire lit up the whole area. It surround the place in a circle quickly and perfectly. As Michael looked, he realized it was because the fires were held in torches. No mess, no hazard. It circled the entire, what he guessed, room around them. Like the flip of a switch, he assumed. The ground was cold, but dry, and there had to be at least thirty people in the room. Men, women, and even children of all ages moved in a circle toward him. The walls were made of bark from old trees and cockroaches were crawling up and down them. What he smelled, he found out, was in fact old beef. A cow’s head was on his right side, in the corner of the room.

Clarice and the man she was arguing with sat next to him on each side. The man couldn’t have been more than forty years old. Dark hair, light skin and bright eyes were all Michael saw in him. The lighting made it difficult to tell the exact colors for his features. He glared at Clarice with a frustrated scowl. She shook her head and scoffed at his posture. Taking a deep breath, Michael could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully.

“You have been selected, Michael Thomason,” she started. Her eyes were wide and her hands still looked a little purple. But she was also smiling.

Breathing more quickly, Michael looked around at his audience. They simply stared at him, sharing Clarice’s joy. Joy for what, he didn’t have a clue. They had the eyes of a curious, new puppy being welcomed into its new home. Only, he was the puppy in this case. One other thing he noticed was that every single one of them, including the children, were wearing rags. Filthy, dusty rags covering their shoulders for shirts, and dirty jeans.

Very funny, he thought. The man, who Michael thought was the alpha male in this situation, looked more closely at him, like he was trying to read something on him. Oh great. A mind-reader. Of everything else, he’s a damn mind-reader! The man slowly shook his head.

“I’m getting you out of here, sir,” he replied. “I’m so sorry for this… confusion.” Clarice pulled at his hand, then, trying to stop him. Her eyebrows furrowed down her forehead, the look of annoyance.

“Not yet, Joseph,” she insisted. “He probably would want to know, first, why he’s here at all… It’s the very least we can do.” Her grin was small and innocent, like a fiver year-old promising they’ll be good if they could go to a friend’s house. It was pathetic.

With that, the man (Joseph) glanced back at Michael, raising an eyebrow. “Do you want to know, sir?”

Michael could only shrug. How did they expect him to answer this question from complete strangers? This is what happens when you put little trust in people you barely know at all: they hunt you, gain your trust, then, they leave you to the wolves! As much as the curiosity was killing him, he’d be worried if that was exactly what these people would do to him. For his own safe keeping, he guarded himself, as best as possible, with his knees. His eyes were wide, and he couldn’t help the thought of at least looking for a weapon. The way these people stared at him, smelled, him, eyed him, it was as though they had never been to Earth before. “Who is this man? What does he have to offer for us?”

Clarice sighed. While she argued with the man, Michael’s eyes wandered around the place. A little boy, probably around ten, walked near her and sat on Clarice’s lap. She gladly welcomed the boy and slowly stroked his hair. Michael could see that he had brown hair, but wasn’t sure of his eyes. His skin color was a warm, milky white, and his arms reminded him of a sponge: so fragile, but somehow, absorbent, like he didn’t have bones in them. His cheeks were chubby and a bright pink. A woman, around forty, ran to them and quickly grabbed the boy away from Clarice as her hand gently moved away from his hair.

His mother, I guess.

“Who are you?” the woman demanded. Turning to the boy, she snapped for him to leave. “Go find your daddy, Stephen. No talking to strangers.”

The boy nodded, smiling at Michael as he walked away. He politely nodded, returning the smile. The boy was wearing rags and looked like he hadn’t bathed in at least a month. Michael didn’t say anything about it, but it was difficult to get the boy’s scent out of his own nose. Torn jeans and a tank top, to be specific. Filthy as hell! The mother wasn’t a prize cleaner, either. She had bruises all over her legs and her elbow had a healing wound across it. It was hard not to notice.

“Lovely boy, ma’am,” Michael said.

She shot a glare at him. He had never seen eyes look so fierce… and empty. Somehow, through outward emotion, she looked drained of anything but fear and anger. As Michael moved closer in the light to her, he saw dark circles around her eyelids and a little scar on her nose.

“What’s it to you?” she asked. Her voice was raspy, low and harsh.

Michael shook his head. “Nothing, really… If you don’t mind my asking, what is this place? Why are we here?” There was a hum of chatter around the room, and Michael wasn’t too sure if she understood him. It sounded like the hum of an engine, only less fierce. Still, it was fairly loud. They gathered closer together, holding hands as they spoke. Many wouldn’t take their eyes off of him. It was a bit disturbing, he thought, but it was impossible to look the other way. Their eyes were big and hopeful, longing for something to happen. He just wasn’t sure what it was. In the end, though, his eyes returned to Clarice and Joseph. Their heads were shaking violently as the arguing continued. Above the hum of others chatting, he couldn’t be sure of exactly what they were saying, but he caught a few words.

“…can’t think I’m going to let you do this!” Joseph protested.

“We don’t have a choice,” Clarice insisted. “He’s the one, I’m sure of it.”

Joseph shook his head. “Even if he was, this is no way to persuade him! You’re crazy for thinking so!”

That remark earned him a quick slap across the face. It was loud enough to make Michael wince, thinking, I hope I never piss her off! To his left, he happened to notice a pot over one of the torches, hanging in the air. He smelled something boiling in it, but couldn’t figure out what it was exactly. A type of metal most likely, but not iron. Definitely not iron.

A couple minutes later, Clarice grabbed him and pulled him to another corner. Her look was full of disappointment. Her grip was tight, almost painful, her nails digging into his skin. She must have seen me with that woman, he figured. But when she stopped, her face was as calm as the minute they first met.

“You don’t need to be asking them why you’re here,” she said matter-of-factly. Joseph was slowly following her as she spoke. “We are all here for a different reason.”

Michael rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “Ok,” he answered impatiently. “Why am I here, then?”

Joseph shook his head. “Because she thinks you’re the one… to kill Kana.” At this, he rolled his eyes, rubbing his now-red cheek.

Michael stood back, looking at both of them. “Who’s Kana?”

The entire room fell silent. One could most likely hear a cat’s snoring, the silence was so definite. The people just stared at him, moving farther back away from him. What am I, toxic? For their reaction, he might, as well, have been. All but that one little boy had the looks of fear and confusion written all over their faces. But not Stephen. He had a look more of… curiosity, of hope.

When Clarice told Michael of Kana’s history, he kept looking to Joseph with begging eyes. You actually believe this?! You?! It seemed to be the only subject matter that he and Clarice agreed on: yes, there was a son of Satan, threatening to wreak havoc. No, you’re wrong about who should stop him!

“Only your blood can set us free,” Clarice concluded. Her voice was so calm and soothing. It was more like she was talking to a baby, rather than a grown man. Her eyes were calm and satisfied like she had just found the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle. At that point, he didn’t think he heard her correctly.

“My what?!” Michael shouted, raising his eyebrows.

“Only Kana knows where his bloodline should fall in this day and age. My family and their families”--- she pointed to the others--- “have been searching for someone to save us for one hundred years! With his or her blood, they could gain control of Kana, tell him what to do. They could tell him to go away, or they could kill him! Anything! It’s you, Michael!” Her smile was huge. It must have been hurting her face by now. All the while, Joseph was shaking his head.

Sighing patiently, Michael put his hands together. “And you think that cutting my wrist, or hell, even my throat, would help in this situation.”

When Clarice nodded, pointing to her wrist to indicate, Michael burst out laughing. He stared at all the people in the room, including the little boy (Stephen), his voice rising with the laughter. This had to be a joke. But if it was, why would it have been dragged out this long? When they didn’t reciprocate to his laughter, he toned it down a little, until there wasn’t any more to give. He noticed a look of confusion come across Clarice’s face. Her smile was gone and her eyebrows were lowered. Joseph’s right index finger was lightly, but nervously, tapping his right thigh.

“Listen, lady… I don’t know who the f**k you are, but you’re not taking anything of mine!” With that, he slowly walked in the other direction that he figured was the doorway. Joseph guided him so he could be sure. Right behind him, he heard someone hyperventilating. Turning around briefly, he saw it was Clarice. Her face was a tomato now, and she nervously scratched at her arms. She reminded Michael of someone from the movies who had a parasite trapped in their skin. Like the parasite, something from Clarice is about to burst, he concluded.

“YOU WILL GIVE US WHAT WE NEED!” she bellowed. Holding out a boiled crucifix, she ran in his direction. Joseph tried to protect him, but she pushed him aside. She punched Michael with her left hand, holding the cross in her right. “WE HAVEN’T SPENT A CENTURY SEARCHING, JUST TO BE REJECTED BY SPOILED SCUM!”

Blood dripping from his lips, Michael barely had time to notice Clarice putting the hot cross near his chest. Quietly, he could hear her mumbling some phrase. He could guess what it was, but didn’t understand the language.

“In nomine patri et fili spiritu sancte,” she chanted. Next, he felt a sharp, hot pain to his chest. In response, he screamed, trying to push her away. But it wasn’t a knife. Keeping the cross steady, she pushed her knee to one of his arms. That actually hurt worse. Groaning painfully, he searched for something to throw in her face. “In nomine patri et fili spiritu sancte. In nomine patri et fili spiritu sancte!” Any other time, it would have sounded like the beginning of a song to Michael.

As he began to black out from the pain, he saw Clarice suddenly fly back in midair. His chest and arm were free, at last. Odd enough, the biggest worry he had at the moment was of losing circulation. When he lifted his head and turned around, Joseph stood behind him.

“Backstabbing b***h!” he screamed. “I trusted her, and now look!”

When Michael did look, he couldn’t believe his eyes. When Clarice had been knocked away, all hell broke loose. People were fighting against each other; shouting, kicking, punching anywhere possible. The children backed into a corner, thankfully, so no traumatic harm done. The only one Michael could stare at, though, was Stephen. His mother was one of the ones fighting, but more trying to get, who Michael assumed was her husband, away from the mess. The shouting seemed to be getting louder. A torch was tipped over, and Michael knew they had to leave sooner, rather than later. The fire was reaching toward the kids, and Michael, at first, just stood in fear. He couldn’t let that happen. Yes, he needed to get away. But if anything happened to those kids, under his watch, he didn’t think he could ever forgive himself.

“I’ll take care of them!” he heard Joseph shout. “You get out of here and head north! You’re not too far from Hill College! There’s a window camouflaged to your right.” He pointed in that direction. “Go north for about half a mile and then you’ll know where you’re at!”

The shouting continued as Michael signed “Thank you” to him. Joseph quickly responded before heading toward the children. They started screaming as they watched their families argue and fight. Clarice was on the ground, blood covering her face like a small blanket. Michael noticed that Stephen, alone, followed him as Joseph guarded the rest of them.

“My son!” the bruised woman from earlier screamed. Even from behind him, Michael knew that voice. Shrill, demanding, yet somehow, anxious. A man next to her followed her to look for the boy. All the while, in the corner of his eye, Michael didn’t see any fear in the boy’s eyes. At least, not of this situation. Looking at him, he barely had time to notice the man speeding up to punch him in the cheek. The pain was excruciating, but not enough to knock him over.

“You stay away from our boy, Devil lover!” he bellowed. His voice was low and deep. His eyes also had dark circles around them and his bottom lip was torn to shreds. It was red from blood stains, Michael noticed.

Looking at the blood on the lip made Michael suddenly think of the smell of iron. It wasn’t iron in the pot though, after all. He figured that. However, the smell of that particular metal wouldn’t leave his senses. As he headed out at Joseph’s instructions, he barely missed another hot pot on the ground, barely tripping over it. Red, warm liquid began to tip out of it, and the smell became stronger. It wasn’t just in your head, you fool! That b***h must have had other victims! The smell was terrible, but at the same time, intoxicating. When he stepped into it as he was leaving, a shriek erupted from Clarice’s voice. Her bloodstained face looked like something from a horror flick. Her nose must have been broken and tears were streaming down her face.

“ALL WHO STEP IN THE BLOOD OF HE, WILL WRITHE FOR ETERNITY!” Her shriek was long and deep. That didn’t stop Michael in his tracks, but he could feel the hairs on his neck crawl. As she screeched, more footprints began to appear in the blood. The other adults were scattering closer to them, including Joseph.

When he looked over to find Stephen, he saw that the family had gone. Probably following Joseph’s advice. Willing his legs to move faster, Michael climbed through the small opening Joseph mentioned, painfully nudging against the bark and a few old branches. The strange blue glow was back and he had to adjust his sight for a few seconds as he kept running. “Head north,” this Joseph had said. That’s all he cared about right now. It was dark but hearing the stream, he continued on north for the half mile or so that Joseph mentioned. He didn’t even know the man, but for now, he was all he had. Beggars can’t be choosers. His legs were burning and his feet ached, but he did not stop for anything. He prayed that the one child was all right. Somehow, the parents didn’t look trustworthy, but then, neither did anyone else in that group.

#

After what felt like hours, Michael moved back the last of the soil and twigs in his path, feeling a cool, refreshing breeze. The sky was clear, and the sun wasn’t as bright as it had been earlier in the day. Michael didn’t know what time it was, but judging on the sun’s position, he guessed around two thirty or three. The little stream was on his right, and in front of him, there was the hill to the college. From behind him, he could hear panting and whimpering. There was Joseph and the kids, fifteen he counted.

“Boy, you are a runner,” he breathed. He smiled in Michael’s direction. A few of the kids were coughing, begging for water.

“Where should we go?” Michael wondered.

Joseph nodded. “There’s a church maybe a mile from where I live, in Joshua. Lane Prairie Baptist Church. With someone to watch other them, it ought to be a decent shelter.” He stared at Michael hopefully. He knew he couldn’t refuse him, now. The man had saved his life, along with many others. But still, where was Stephen? When he asked Joseph, he shrugged.

“Last I saw him, he was with his parents heading out,” he answered. “They must be a few miles ahead of us, by the rate they were going. A couple families had cars brought here to wait. Maybe they took one and bolted. I hope I’ll find him, some day, just to be sure he’s all right. His parents, especially his father, aren’t really right in the head, if I may be so bold.”

Michael nodded. I noticed that right away. Out loud he said, “Well, we better get going. And don’t worry, Joseph. You just show me where the church is, I’ll take it from there. I have a car, and I assumed you did too.” When Joseph nodded, they headed toward the Hill College parking lot. These men were complete strangers to each other, but Michael knew Joseph had to be the sanest of the bunch.

As they drove, Michael mentioned that he wouldn’t mind working in the church since becoming a reverend was his goal all along. If Joseph would help him for a time being, he would do whatever he could to contribute.

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