The Second Seal

by Sean Deville

  “What are you?”

  Well, aren’t you the curious one? the voice had answered. All will be revealed shortly.

  Rupert’s terror had grown as he watched himself go about the usual morning routine. Whatever this was, it had taken complete control of his life, driving his car for him, to a job he despised. For a teacher, this was a pretty good gig, a private school which was spared much of the violence that was endemic in many of the state-run schools. The pupils were from wealthy families, the school clean and well managed.

  And yet Rupert was unhappy with his lot.

  The kids he taught were ungrateful, impudent brats, many of them spoilt by parents who earned vastly more than Rupert did. Year after year, the arrogance infected his classes. He felt he deserved more recognition for his unwavering dedication, which grew a bubbling resentment inside him. None of this was helped by the disdain the other teachers seemed to have for him. Clearly the world had something against Rupert. He wasn’t aware that this was often the thoughts of an individual who couldn’t accept themselves as being the cause of their own misery.

  He wasn’t a great teacher, but neither was he terrible and he did enough to keep the job he had. The students he taught were a blessing compared to some of the schools he could have found himself in. And the disdain he felt from his fellow teachers was mainly a projection of his own sense of inadequacy. Still, the resentment, created by his own flawed thinking, grew.

  That resentment is what the demon presently possessing him had tapped into. Sometimes such a break in the psyche allowed a demon to slip through the body’s defences. It had taken a few tries, the nightmares Rupert experienced leaving him ragged and sleep deprived. But Rupert had relented and said yes, not realising what he was saying yes to.

  Now Rupert saw his class through another’s eyes. Walking into the classroom, his students grew quiet which was a rarity. Their teenage minds seemed to detect something was different today. The demon rode the body differently, carrying the shoulders back and putting a slight swing in the arm carrying the briefcase. The contents of the briefcase terrified Rupert because he knew beyond any doubt what it would be used for.

  That had been what most of his nightmares had been about.

  “Good morning, class,” Rupert’s mouth said without his permission. There were some responses, but most were inaudible.

  “No, no,” Rupert silently cried.

  Don’t worry, the voice said to him. I will make sure you get to hear their screams.

  “I have a special lesson for you today, class. Today we will be covering the finer points of how fear impacts the human mind.” The students looked back at him totally perplexed. Rupert was a maths teacher. If any of them realised the peril they were in, they didn’t show it.

  “Don’t do this,” Rupert screamed inside.

  Relax, the voice replied. I’m only doing what you would have done in time.

  “No, that’s a lie,” Rupert protested. Was he trying to convince the phantom voice or himself?

  Oh, then why did you buy the gun?

  Rupert watched as his fingers opened the briefcase which had been strategically placed on his desk. Now that’s a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, the voice insisted.

  “Please tell me who you are.”

  A demon of course, you silly goose. Now be quiet, Daddy has work to do.

  “Many of you here are living a life of privilege,” the voice said to Rupert’s class. There were some curious glances returned, one or two muffled comments that were denied Rupert. “None of you understand hardship, not on the global scale. You get three meals a day, you have clean water and your parents are willing to pay for you to get a good education.” Rupert could already see the newspaper headlines that would result from this, and he tried to push himself back into control. For a second, he nearly managed it, but then a pain exploded in the centre of his being as the demon slapped him back to where he now belonged.

  Hey. Behave yourself.

  “What has this got to do with mathematics?” one of the students demanded. That was one of the brighter kids, a spoilt child.

  “Well, it’s a matter of percentages,” the voice said, lifting the gun so that everyone could now see it. That got their attention. “For those who don’t know, this is a Smith and Wesson M&P 40. It has a 15 round magazine and there are twenty of you in this class. Assuming I’m an excellent shot, how many of you will survive?”

  The students panicked. Some threw themselves out of their chairs and bolted for the door, Rupert’s hand firing several rounds off at them. He had barely ever fired the gun before, buying it on a whim nearly a year back, and his muscle memory wasn’t attuned to the gun’s use. This caused the gun to buck when he fired, the first shot going wide. The others hit. Even he couldn’t help but hit such a grouping of human bodies.

  One of the male students rushed him. The jock, the sports star, wanting nothing more than to be the hero. Rupert’s next bullet took the attacker in the left shoulder, and then another round into the stomach.

  I could have done with this gun seven hundred years ago, the demon said.

  By the time the magazine was empty, eight students were lying either dead or injured. Three had managed to escape, the rest having fled to the back of the room. This gave the demon time to figure out how to remove the magazine and replace it with the second one he had brought. It didn’t take him long. The gun fired, fifteen more rounds finding flesh, bone and the occasional chunk of wall due to poor aim. But at the end, with all the ammunition used up, there were twelve students dead and five severely wounded.

  “Why, why have you done this?” Rupert begged.

  Come on, admit it, deep down you enjoyed it.

  “No, that’s a lie.”

  I’m inside your head. I can read your thoughts. You are the one lying, to yourself. Was that true? Was this why Rupert had bought the gun? He had told himself it was for home defence, but he’d barely taken it out of its case since the first time he had test fired it on the range.

  “I didn’t want this,” Rupert said, only to discover he was speaking out loud. From outside in the corridor, he could hear people running. The school had their own armed security, and the police would be arriving soon.

  I’ve done my bit, the voice said. Wow, I really enjoyed that. Good to get out and stretch my legs after so long. The demon gave a long, satisfied sigh. Well I guess I’ll be leaving you then. No point me hanging around. To think you could do such a thing.

  “But it was you,” Rupert protested.

  And I’m sure everyone will believe you. Enjoy the rest of your life. Rupert felt the control returning to his body and he dropped the gun on the desk, the smell of cordite irritating his nostrils.

  A teacher killing his students, an event to rock the foundations of the country. The barrier separating Hell weakened a little bit more.

  34.

  London, UK

  Baal had expected his host’s wife to detect a change in the man to whom she was married, only to find the two people barely spoke to each other. They occupied the same house, but slept in separate rooms. For appearance sake, they would be seen together in public, but it was obvious the marriage was not long for this world.

  By the time Baal finally returned to the house he occupied, the lights were off, the wife undoubtedly asleep upstairs. She searched the borrowed memories. This was a woman who had gone from being warm and affectionate to arctic and cutting in her comments. Really, the wife should be making the most of these final months, because when the gates were slung wide, the punishment exacted on the world would be relentless.

  It was late in the evening, the tiresome demands of state wearing on Baal. How any human could find any enjoyment in this was beyond her. This wasn’t power, she was occupying the body of a lackey who was driven by the cravings of the public and the invested interests that liked to shape how the public reacted. The great bureaucracy of Hell was nothing to what she was faced with here and she was looking forward to se
eing this whole city flattened by the power of Satan’s hand.

  At least the alcohol was good, much better than she remembered. The pesky monkeys had at least got that right, and she poured herself a stiff measure. Before she could get the glass to her lips though, the phone uttered its shrill cry. Several times she had almost thrown the bastard thing against the wall. She had to have it with her constantly, a reminder that she was to have no peace. It could go off at any time of day demanding her attention, the role she was playing demanding a response.

  The caller ID told her who it was. Not someone she could ignore.

  “Prime Minister?”

  “Ah, I’m glad I caught you. Didn’t wake you up, I hope?”

  “No Prime Minister, I just got in.”

  “Good, good,” the Prime Minister delayed. “Look, the reason I’m calling is, I’ve had some pretty disturbing news.”

  “It comes with the job, Prime Minister.”

  “Yes, doesn’t it just. Unfortunately, the news is about you.” Baal put the glass to her lips and took a healthy swig.

  “What about me?” Had she somehow revealed herself to the world? That couldn’t be the case. She knew that there were some who could see her demonic aura, so Baal had made a point of staying away from TV cameras except for the first instance the morning after taking control of the host.

  She didn’t realise that was how the Order of Tyron had learnt of her presence here, and was indirectly why the leader of the government her host represented was now calling.

  “Well, it seems you’ve been a bit of a bad boy, Kenneth.” Kenneth, the name her host used. She could feel the host mind trying to batter its way through, but Baal was still too strong for that to happen. She searched his memories, looking for the foolishness she suspected was now to undo her. There was a lot there.

  The Home Secretary came across as a man of virtue and moderation, but he was anything but.

  “I think you will need to be a little bit more specific, Prime Minister.”

  “The rent boys, Kenneth. Seriously, what were you thinking?”

  “A man has his needs,” Baal said. She cursed this host, cursed the body she was forced to wear. Then the thought occurred to her through the madness of the itch that was now raging across her back and shoulders.

  This was a good thing.

  “If it was a few hookers we could probably overlook it, but I’ve got the pictures in front of me. They don’t paint you in a flattering light.” Pictures?

  “What can I say?” She knew what was coming.

  “I think we can keep it out of the papers, but I have no choice but to ask for your resignation.” Baal could feel the Prime Minister gloating. Was it coincidence that this misdeed had come to light now of all times?

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then I will be forced, when these pictures find their way into the public eye, to state that I have every confidence in you.” It took her a moment to decipher the human nuances of that. It was basically the same as throwing somebody under the bus and then walking over and pissing on their corpse.

  “I see,” Baal said. “I am dealing with an important matter of national security. Can it wait a day?” She could still buy time, but at least now she had an excuse to abandon the body. If her host was removed from his position, the meat would become useless to Baal. Without her borrowed position as Home Secretary, there would be no reason for her to remain. She could finally free herself of the nagging mind and the failing body.

  “I would prefer that letter be on my desk tomorrow.”

  “I will sleep on it,” Baal said and hung up the phone. She downed the rest of her drink. In her mind she could hear her host cursing.

  “You just couldn’t behave, could you?” Baal said to him. She heard him try and say something, but she had him on mute as best she could. As it was, he was constantly there, never tiring, always in her thoughts. Never before had Baal experienced anything so irritating.

  “Well the good news is you will be free of me soon. But you should have kept quiet. I warned you there would be consequences. Your political life is already ruined, and now I’m going to ruin the rest of your life.” Baal poured another drink. “And the best part of it is that you are going to watch every second of it.” The alcohol flowed easily, the heat settling into the pit of her stomach. It was a shame she couldn’t take a few bottles back down with her when she returned.

  Putting the glass down, Baal pulled a knife from the wooden block that held it. The knife was razor sharp, an ideal implement for what she was about to do.

  “Think on why I am doing this,” Baal said. “Your persistence has earned you nothing but the death of your wife. By the way, I wouldn’t be surprised if you also had cancer. I think I can feel it, growing inside you. Does it feel good knowing that? Does it feel joyous knowing what I have done to your body? I might do more when I’m done sticking this knife in your wife’s body. Maybe there are some bits of you I can remove?” Baal wouldn’t follow through with the last part, not tonight at least. She still needed the body, for there was still a chance of getting the information she needed from the Inquisitor.

  Knife in hand, Baal made for the stairs. She would kill the wife slowly, take her time, revel in the torture that she had been yearning to inflict on someone since she had arrived. And then she would leave the body for the world to eventually find. Mutilated and molested. By the time Baal was done, she would make the Home Secretary the most reviled man in the country.

  U.S. Department of Homeland Security

  Washington DC 20528

  To: The President of the United States

  Mr President

  As per my previous letter, I write to confirm we have finished our evaluation of the “Redeemer implant”, made by a subsidiary of Abaddon International Incorporated. We can confirm that is far and away the most advanced implantable microchip on the market, able to meet our most stringent security concerns.

  From what we have been able to determine, it meets all our requirements. Giles Horn, owner of Abaddon International Incorporated, has also assured us that his company will install the infrastructure required and implant all federal workers for free, thus meaning there will be no cost to the Federal government or the taxpayer. With nearly two million workers on the payroll, this is an opportunity that we feel cannot be missed. We would therefore like to recommend that this proposal be implemented as it will mean a considerable improvement in the security of the nation at a marked cost saving to the tax payer.

  This technology has such wide-ranging applications, that I would like to raise some further proposals for its implementation:

  1) The use of the Redeemer implant to replace all physical credit and debit. The banking security this would provide would be second to none. Mr Horn has stated that, as the owner of a considerable part of the country’s banking infrastructure, he can help with this implementation.

  2) Implantation of all convicted state and federal prisoners.

  3) Implantation of all civilian contractors working for the federal government.

  4) Immediate implantation of all military personnel both home and abroad.

  5) Negotiation with the country’s health insurance providers. As you may be aware, the largest provider of health insurance is owned by Abaddon International Incorporated, and they are already reducing policy payments by twenty-five percent for those customers who voluntarily take the Redeemer implant.

  This is a great American company, and I believe this administration should support it. Not only will it help with the security of the Homeland, it can also further entrench our country’s financial dominance on the global stage.

  Regards

  Herbert Walker

  Deputy Director, Department of Homeland Security

  August 11th

  35.

  Slough, UK

  Vicky had gone to bed early feeling exhausted.

  There was no visitation that night. Instead a nightmare came and it was all-consuming.
Whilst her father dozed in an arm chair to watch over her, Vicky began to thrash as the demon once again wormed its way into her sleeping mind. It had chosen her as a vessel and it would not relent until she freely gave herself in the mind of her dreams.

  Vicky found herself on the edge of woodland, undulating hills extending to the horizon. The sky above was filled with thick soot that clogged the lungs and made it difficult to breathe. The land around her was withered, the trees smouldering from the fire that had raged through the wooded area, even the grass at her feet crisp and charred. Vicky had escaped the conflagration, the distant land still burning.

  “Would you want to live in this world?” a voice asked. It was the same demonic voice that had haunted her the past few nights, the words seeming to swirl around her head. Occasionally a human shape would form in the smoke, but it would quickly be dissipated by the violent winds that threatened to flatten the landscape.

  “This is a dream,” Vicky protested.

  “No, this is your future. This is what is coming.”

  “I don’t believe you, damn you,” Vicky shouted, the wind grabbing her words and making them inaudible. And yet the one who spoke to her came through loud and precise.

  “I can save you from this.”

  “No, you can’t. You lie. That’s what you do. That’s all you do.”

  “Would you rather be like them?” The air settled, the smoke and debris forming into a looming male shape that pointed to an adjacent field. There, a crowd of refugees pulled themselves across the land, their skin blackened by the radiation burns inflicted. She caught the smell of them, the burnt and blistered flesh, the hair that had been singed to ash. Some walked unaided, helping those whose limbs were broken and malformed.

  “I know what you are,” Vicky insisted. Did she, though? In this dream world, the voice could be anything. A forgotten trauma trying to reassert itself. An anxiety that needed addressing. The symbolism was unique, but it could be caused by so many things. Or it could be the thing Damien had warned her about. But surely, that was absurd.