15

The idea was purely simple. Reading the message on the wood, he would, theoretically, have no trouble fulfilling his duty. Killing Joseph had given him strength, but he was running out of time. Stephen’s body would run out before he had his chance, if he didn’t hurry. He wanted those people alive, but for one reason only: to spread his word. Paul did it for Jesus, but nobody did Him. Why was that? Had they really been consumed with so much fear and hatred to not speak a word?

He figured as much when his own mother kicked him out. She was brave, he had to give her that. He was her own flesh and blood, but he wasn’t just hers. Living on the raw meats of random creatures was not the world he had in mind. Not when he was told, and certainly not now. Told of a different type of identity, told of a different type of future.

Stephen’s fingernails were caked with dry blood, but not as much was seeping out, now. Scaring people also fueled him with the power he needed to be strong. Who were they trying to fool? If they needed some random prophet, they needed him. The bitter taste of their sweat and cries sustained him for a while longer.

Oh, but that damn girl and witch doctor! And still, what was the boy for?! He had a purpose for that new woman, and she had done the deed she was supposed to do. Then again, that was simple human nature; when a traumatic event occurs, the witness, or witnesses, to the event have to tell someone. And now, she did. He didn’t need her anymore. So he would be rid of her when the time came. But not now. She needed to witness one more thing.

His blood was soiled so many years ago. Killing one of the culprits was a lesson to be taught to the family. It was a long time coming, that was for sure. But his father’s reign was still going on for a while. There would have been no point in committing those actions when he would have nothing to gain. But now he does. He has what he needed, but he had to wait for the moon to fully show. Just two hours away.

He could feel the spirit of Stephen withering away. As much as he struggled in the beginning, Stephen was getting weaker by the minute. That certainly helped with this situation, but it wasn’t enough. Not enough to satisfy him, anyway. Father had to be there. He had to help him before it was too late. He knew that His Majesty would keep to his word. If not, what was the point?

He stomped out the leftover smoke from the message. The words never left, though. It was magical to him. It was like the help was carved into his skin. A wonderful message for all the world to know. The idea of that made him wince at the same time. A special form of protection was burned into that witch doctor’s chest, as well, so one gives, and one takes away.

He could have had that man. That vile pissant who stepped where he didn’t belong. If it weren’t for that dumbass prophet, none of this would have happened. But he had to make do with what he was given. It would all be for the best. He knew that.

He sniffed the air, looking for the leftover spiders. Eggs in the corner were hatching, but the previous fighters were all dead. He couldn’t believe that. All the soldiers, and here he thought they were stronger than they looked. Looks can be deceiving, though. That’s what Stephen had learned about him. One person is smart, many are foolish. Just like the spiders; one can be threatening, many turn into an un-necessary frenzy.

That’s why he would have preferred this Kailie Hartman alone. She was the last of her bloodline and she needed to be executed. But of course, she had to bring others into the mix. All they had to offer were crazy theories. Oh sure, he would have eliminated one of them a couple days ago, but Stephen was still weak. Not to mention, he hated to admit this, but he underestimated Kailie. She stopped him from ending her friend. He was useless, he was a tag-along. Nothing more. S**t, he would have thought James would have learned something from his mother’s death: stay away from what you don’t understand.

But fate is the way it is. He could fix it, he knew he could.

The baby wolf spiders crawled between the cracks of the wood, seeming to hesitate near the words. He saw that they wouldn’t go any further. Sensitive to fire? Well, no, s**t! Sensitive to smoke? He doubted it. They moved back and forth in the same steps, never touching the words. It was like they were outlining the phrase, putting more emphasis into it.

“She will get what’s coming to her and her group,” he whispered.

A few new tarantulas climbed through one of the open windows and attacked the babies. Perhaps trying to confirm his point. Squeals pitched through his ears as they began eating the babies. Another representation of the future, he figured.

“Two hours to go,” he said. “Time to make preparations.”

The wind had finally stopped, but the sky was black. Luckily, the moon was beginning to creep out of the clouds, lighting his new path. Toward the cemetery was where he should be. That’s where He’ll be waiting. It was where his mother conceived him and it was where the calling should take place.

You will have a child, here, on Bethesda Cemetery.

She told him what he told her so many years ago. Had it really been more than a century? It felt shorter than that. Of course, being kicked out of your own home can take a lot out of someone, particularly time. And since what was about to happen involved stopping time, his mother’s words were, if nothing else, more of a joke to him.

Jokes. Like the one Hartman’s whelp tried to pull. She clearly didn’t think he could slip by in a typical safe place. People treat those areas like their personal force fields. No one can get by them, they assume. But at the same time, there were some old superstitions that he couldn’t rule out. If those were also false, Thomason would be dead by now.

“S**t should have killed him decades ago.”

The words made Stephen’s mouth spew up blood. Still, too much liquid to handle. Walking toward his mother’s grave, though, he felt senses of relief. The cool winds washed on his face like the waves in the Gulf of Mexico. The irony of that made him giggle until he cried. Mexico. The place he would have been born, if it weren’t for the cliché. Mexico’s dangers were no match for America’s. Not to him, anyway.

He knew that pondering over what he should have done, and where he should have been born wasn’t going to lead him to anything worthy. All that mattered was the present. His father needed this done now.

As he walked toward her grave, a red glow began to form around it. The sky was still pitch black, except for the friendly moonlight. A silver light with red splotches, or stains, looked more and more like blood. It was a good thing he had his own seclusion for this event. If anyone were to see him now, they would get wrong impressions.

The moonlight was becoming brighter as the redness expanded on the stone. Despite the sky’s color, it was a new light across the clouds. The winds had calmed, so except for the slight ringing in his ears, he didn’t hear a thing. The light dipped in the ground of the stone, spreading as the ground, itself, began to expand.

No one would be digging out of there, he figured. That’s just plain illogical. It was the pendent at work. Its color, in turn, matched the silver coating of the moon, growing bright. It was then that he realized the pendant’s illusion. Well, of course. He had done the same thing, had he not? Based on the connection it had in him, the pendent would mimic his past behavior with no trouble.

“Show me your will,” he commanded.

The redness grew brighter the more he stared at it. It blanketed around the stone moving like water in a lake. Seconds passed and the redness stayed where it was. He was about to look away toward them moon, when finally, it was slowly separating. Tiny droplets edged their way to the ground. Dripping like tears down the cement, staining it as they moved. It was blood, all right. It had to be.

As he stared on, the moonlight began to shrink. It was getting more difficult to see the red liquid moving. No smell came from it, but he was still convinced of its nature; red sticky, and warm.

The light was just a small bead against the stone, after a few more minutes. The wait for it to vanish was agonizing. He knew things would go according to plan, but his behavior was like a child waiting to buy a new toy. He was coming. That’s all he needed to know. He was coming, and the world would be set right in his eyes.

The light vanished entirely from the stone, leaving the red liquid to travel alone on the ground. Still, no smell rose into his nostrils, and a part of him found that too strange. Was it a necessary part of His plan? Shaking the thought away, he dared not question his Father’s motives. He had waited too long for this to go to ruin.

The pendent was turning a brighter blue, resting on Stephen’s chest. He was getting stronger, and he was proud. Stephen had been harder to break into than his past “contestants”: drunks and idiots who had their own ways of ruling an area. No booze, no cigarettes, no weird medications for ailments. Perfect.

The red liquid stained the grass, coming to a stop just shy of Stephen’s feet. Silver light had slowly returned, shining directly toward the pendent, nowhere else. It glowed with brightness that made him squint when looking toward it. The blue was becoming a vague white, not like the white earlier. It wasn’t a gray, in particular, but a white that would be unmistakable; a little creamy when looked at closely. Almost like it was---yes! ---blending into Stephen’s skin.

He was finally becoming whole with this new body. Nice and fresh, the oval dug into the skin, molding its shape into him. He winced at the tiny stings on his chest. Oh right, being human means he’s vulnerable to physical pain. It had been way too long! But only for a little while. Once preparations were made, he could take Stephen’s soul with him and be on his way.

Yes, once preparations are made.

The winds blowing in his face help take his mind off of the stinging. He had to get a hint of what dear Michael was feeling just an hour ago. But suddenly, the pain became too great. That didn’t seem normal. He clutched Stephen’s chest and crashed to his knees. The pain was blinding. He slowly let out a deep screech, closing his eyes. Liquid was slowly moving out of them.

“Is this right?!” he screamed. “Is it?!”

It had to be. It just had to! There was no other way around this plan!

The pain was burning, turning into blisters around the pendent, but they were never touching it. It created a small red ring on his chest, digging deeper. He had forgotten of specific pain, but this reminded him of mentions of men being stabbed. Was the pain this great? Worse?

No, no. Nothing was worse than this. Nothing at all.

With a sudden thump, the pain in his chest ceased. No trace of it was left, and no blisters were to be found. The burning slowly withered away, the blisters disappearing. He had his soul in place. It was only a matter of time before Stephen would be his, entirely. At the stroke of midnight, His will shall be done.

Consumed with his potential glory, he barely noticed in the corner of his eye four shadows moving near the cemetery. Their moves were quiet, so he hadn’t heard a thing. When he did see them, however, a giant grin spread across his face. The time had come, and they’re exactly who he needed.

Reviews

[Kelsey Schadt]

Hi! I just popped into this chapter. I must admit I haven't read any of the others, but I'm glad I picked this one. I get a real sense of the conflict here. This was easy to read, and I attribute that to your short paragraphs and formatting. That really worked in making a longer piece of writing manageable on a site like this. One suggestion I would have is with your dialogue formatting. I don't think you need both italics and quotations, it becomes an unneeded distraction. Well written!