Chapter Seven

           

The darkness hugs me like a warm blanket as I sit in the old, but soft, arm chair in the corner of the room. The only light in the room is the red numbers on the alarm clock on the bedside table that display the time of 2:36 AM.

            I sit, enjoying the comfy arm chair, so contrary to the straight lines and hard stone of my tombstones.

            The only sound in the room is his soft breathing as he sleeps. I wonder what thoughts are drifting through his head, what dreams are playing for his eyes only.

I’m silent in my own thoughts. My baby brother is now five years older than I, and I have missed the last nineteen years of his life; and mine.

I do not wish to wake him up and disturb his peaceful slumber.

How am I supposed to tell him about all my lies? How am I to tell him about all the truths? Will he believe my tales?

What am I supposed to say?

I start speaking to my sleeping brother, to the empty room, “Do you believe? Believe in heaven and hell, God and the Devil? Or rather the Horned God… do you? Do you believe in spirits and daemons? Believe. Believe in them as you believe in life and death, as day and night.

“Like the newborn dawn and the suffocating dusk, do not believe, but know. Know that at night they infest the darkness like a million cockroaches in a small cave. Know they hear like bats and see like hawks; and they are watching you.

“As some are merely there, merely harmless, know that there are some that have orders. They have orders that you could not fathom if you knew the very worst, for your mind could not conjure up the horrors of their orders.”

I paused, my eyes rimmed with tears. The cold metal of my knife blade pressed against my thigh under its leather sheath. My fingers fondled the black lace of my dress as I pondered whether to unsheathe my knife and get it over with as quickly as possible.

“Do you believe, dear brother? Do you believe? Oh, please believe me. I cannot help you if you deny my truths.” I spoke softly, working hard to hold back my tears.

Silence filled the room again, except for his soft, comforting breathing.

“Ad te levávi ánimam méam:

Déus méus in te confide,

Non erubéscam:

Neque irrideant me inimíci meí:

Étenim univérsi qui te exspéctant,

Non confundéntur.”

The warm air shattered like thin glass to the sound of my soft voice. I paused, listening for his breathing; but the room was silent.

“Abbie?” The groggy voice mumbled from across the room.

I dared not reply.

The bed sheets rustled noisily across the room and my bones stiffened. With a sudden flash the room was illuminated by the lamp on his bedside table.

There he sat on the edge of his bed, in his boxers and a t-shirt, his dark hair all over the place. His eyes squinted in the sudden bright light as his newly awakened mind tried to comprehend what was happening.

“Sabelle… why are you here? How did you get in my apartment…?”

I looked at him, my eyes watering. What was I to say?

“Sabelle…?” he placed his head in his palms in confusion and exhaustion. “F**k, you scared me. Was that you singing? You sounded just like Abbie. How did you get in my apartment?”

I hesitated a moment before lying. “The door was unlocked.”

He shook his head, still holding it in his hands, as he paused, “How did you know where I live?”

I sighed. “Look, Noah, the door was locked.”

I paused as he finally lifted his eyes to look at me suspiciously.  

“I owe you some explanations.” I continued. “My name is not Sabelle. I am Abbie. I am Abigail Aldurn, and that little wooden cross, I carved that for myself.”

He rested his chin on his hands and examined at me critically. “My sister was older than me.”

I placed my face in my hands and sighed. How could I explain this? Would he believe me?

How do I start? “Remember how when you were really young we went to church every Sunday?”

He nodded, but the critical expression on his face did not disappear.

I paused, maybe I should just leave. The cold metal of my knife under the tough leather strap hug my thigh. Maybe I should get this over with and save him the confusion and pain. But that would only cause me more pain.

I took a breath and prepared myself. “Do you believe? Do you believe in Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil?”

I found my eyes following the cracks in the hardwood floor and brought them up to meet his eyes once more.

“Sabelle, I mean, Abbie, or whoever you are, I don’t know. I mean, that part of my life was so long ago. When I did go to church with you, I was too young to understand why we even went every Sunday or who God was. After I was taken away I was not raised in a religious family. The only thing I noticed was that I didn’t get to go see my church friends every Sunday anymore.”

I paused, “You don’t believe.” My voice sounded quiet and broken.

He met my eyes for a moment before looking at the floor. “No, I was just raised differently, ok? I was never given a chance to explore that. And by the time I was old enough to explore it myself, I just, honestly, had no drive to. I understand you were raised on it, and had a reason to stick with it, because it’s all you’d ever known, but that’s not the case with me.”

I paused, “I’m not asking if you’re religious, I’m asking if you believe in God and the Devil. Do you even remotely suppose that it could exist?”

He shrugged and avoided my eyes with his exasperated expression. “Yeah, there is that possibility that it could be out there.”

            “That’s all I need to know.” I said, a little bit relieved.

            “How do I know that you are who you say you are? I don’t know your real identity, or how you found my house or go in. Mind answering those?” He asked, his voice a little bit on edge.

            “I’m getting there.” I said softly, trying to think where to go next.

            “Just answer my questions.” He snapped, burying his face in his hands again. “I’m tired and want to go back to sleep.”

            I sigh. I don’t know how to prove anything to him.

The palm of my hand is heating up to a scalding temperature and I take deep breaths and keep my face steady, trying not to flinch. I glance at my palm, and the permanent scar of the pentagram that is now oozing thick black blood. My Master is not pleased that I am explaining this to a mortal.

I hold my palm out, upwards, and raise my eyes to look at Noah. My hand shakes ever so slightly. “Tell me what you see.”

He looks up from his palm, squinting at me. He slowly raises his head from his hands and leans towards my thin, pale hand. His look of intrigue and confusion turns to one of shock and disgust.

“Is that oil on your hands? No, that can’t be oil. Where did that come from? What is it?” Noah looks at the floor beneath the arm chair, and searches everything around the chair.

Grabbing my wrist, he pulls me to my feet and drags me out of the small bedroom. He leads me through the light coloured hall, eloquently painted, and flicks on the light switch outside the door just to the right of his bedroom.

The bathroom is of average size, with a white tile floor, and blue painted walls. The bathroom fixtures are all white, with a light blue shower curtain.

Noah kicks the toilet lid down with his foot and pulls me over to sit on it.

Noah starts pulling layers of toilet paper off a roll and presses it against my hand. I sit patiently, waiting for him to figure out for himself that it wouldn’t help.

Kneeling in front of me, he gently pulls back the toilet paper to look at it. His eyebrows lower as he studies my hand.

“Is that… a pentagram?” he asks quietly.

I nod. “The Devil’s star; or rather, The Horned God.”

He looks up at me quizzically, “What?”

“I’ll explain it all, I promise.” I say quietly.

He looks back to my hand, “What is this stuff and why is it coming out of your hand?” he asked desperately, sounding slightly worried.

“It’s my blood. He’s not happy with me.” I said, my voice wavering apologetically.

“Who?” he asked, confused, as he piled more toilet paper on my hand. “Should I take you to the hospital?”

I shook my head. “The Horned God, my master, he is not pleased with me.”

“Should I take you to the hospital?” he almost shouted, sounding worried and scared.

I shook my head, “No. They can’t fix it, or even look at me for that matter.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “What?”

“No matter what they do to help me, my Master will make it worse. And they cannot look at me because whoever makes eye contact with me, I have to kill them for the Horned God.” I tried to explain.

He looked at my hand again, watching the tar-like blood covering my hand form the pentagram. He shook his head, trying to comprehend it all, “You work for the Devil…?”

His eyes were clouded as he looked at me. He shook his head, and his eyes scrunched up in bewilderment.

“But,” he paused, thinking, “We’ve made eye contact. If you have to kill anyone you make eye contact with…”

I looked at the white tiles on the ground and nodded.

He let go of my hand, standing to step away from me.

I clenched my fist, holding the toilet paper in it to keep my blood from staining his white floors.

“I have no choice.”

“That’s why you’re here. You’re not Abbie.” His voice was soft with disappointment.

“I’m not here to kill you.” I said.

“But you just told me that you have to kill anyone who makes eye contact with you.” He said.

I looked up at him, agitated. “But you’re my brother. I couldn’t kill you.”

The anguish in his eyes remained, but he moved closer and knelt once again, gently taking my hand in his.

“And you’ll tell me the truth if I ask you a question?” he said softly, examining my hand once more.

“I can never tell a lie.” I said, “Just as my Master cannot tell a lie, neither can I. I am created in his glorious image, and I am his blue print for the perfect woman.”

“Abbie, the Devil’s realm is built on lies.” His voice was falling apart with exhaustion and exasperation.

I sighed, “No, Noah, humans trust God out of fear of the Horned God. Centuries of fear passed down through generations has bred and engraved these preconceptions into our minds.”

Once more, he removed the now soaked tissue paper from my hand to look. “When will it stop? Does it hurt? We need to stop it, what if you bleed to death?”

I shrugged, “It won’t until my Master is not upset with me. It hurts, yes, but merely a burning sensation, nothing more. And I will not bleed to death, I am immortal.”

He reached for the toilet paper and bound it around my hand like a tensor bandage. Standing up, he pulled me gently by my hand out into the big open space that was his kitchen and living room, where he sat me down on a chair at the dining table.

“Coffee? Tea? When was the last time you ate?” he asked, his voice on edge.

“It is not often you cater to your death, is it?” I joked with a mocking smile, “Calm down. I’m not going to kill you. And no, I don’t need to eat.”

“Abbie, how did you get mixed up with the Devil? Are you a Satanist? They worship Satan only to break all guidelines God set out for us to achieve immortal life in a paradise.” He said, as he piled spoonfuls of coffee into the filter set in his coffee maker.

“Actually, Satanists have decent values.” I said, as I stood and walked to the bookshelf in the far corner of the room. I reached in and picked up the first random book.

I turned and walked back to the dining table. I threw the book down in front of him.

He looked at the book. “A book on Greece?” he asked sceptically.

Right across the table, I leaned over, and grabbed the book. As it faced him, I quickly flipped the pages beginning to end, watching them flip quickly before his eyes, and slammed it shut right in front of him.

And sitting on the table in front of him was, no longer a book about Greece, but The Satanic Bible.