by Poppet
Striding past the open doors, everyone on this level has been punished for their sins, finding the peace only death can deliver. But what of their souls, James? You denied them salvation.
Did they declare Christ as their lord and savior? Did they rebuke satan and accept god before they perished?
Snuffing the candle, I sprint up to the control room, to the direct line to God's ear. Dropping the bucket, my heart racing, I'm about to lift the receiver when the phone bleeps at me.
Falling to my knees, I answer, “Yes Father?”
“Anoki, John. I feel your distress, what ails you?”
“I... oh Alpha forgive me. I beseeched James help me, to tend to my wounds, to help me care for the flock, but he has delivered them. I do not know if he waited for them to turn to you before cutting them down.”
“I know James is there, I know everything, within and without. Be careful when you give your authority to another. Do you remember when I sent Moses to pharaoh, and on his way there god tried to kill him? Do you think I would try to kill my own servant when I'd worked so hard to prepare him for the task?”
“No Alpha, I... I hadn't reflected on the anomaly, I do not question your methods father.”
“I gave my authority to the angels, but not all angels have my mercy. James is the angel of chaos, do you really think any good could come of giving him free reign in a parish so full of sinners? It is his nature, he took the opportunity to undo God's work, the work I do through you.”
“Father? Did you try to kill Moses?”
“I did not. It was one of my angels who rebelled, one with an alliance to the Egyptian scum. When they wrote the stories down they called all of us god, making God plural because they can't tell us apart. John, you have toiled to prepare your flock, because patience is your strength. You work in a unique way, you do not have the impatience of some of the angels under my wing. You have Victor's patience, and that is why I love you.”
“What did you do to the angel who defied you?” I whisper, belatedly remembering to bow down on the floor.
“I declared war on him.”
“But I invited James into my temple, I trusted him Alpha.”
“Let me test James. Change the code on every level but the first floor. He left the keys in the collection basket. Keep them with you so he only has access to numbers 18 through 30. I will watch him, and the rest of your flock will be protected. Deliver them to me, John. I expect you to convert them.”
“Yes father.”
“Wear the cloak of the first chosen disciple. That is your right, it shows your authority over the ones who came after you. I made you my own son when you became a man, at the ceremony we held when you were twelve. The cloak will bless your wounds and help you heal. Cover your nakedness before James, and if he defies my will again, cut out his tongue,” he commands.
“I gave him permission to do his worst father. It helped me to exorcise the satan in 72. It was miraculous father, but I did not expect him to reap the herd with such eagerness.”
“He tries to please me, but he is like Saul-Paul. He had to be corrected many times before the holy spirit stayed in him. Now go, secure your flock, you have few minutes left.”
“Yes father,” I nod, tension twisting my gut.
This day it seems there will be a war in heaven. The angels will fight the way Michael and Gabriel had to fight the guardian angel of Persia.
“Wait three hours, then return to me. Go hide in the holy of holies and wait the allotted time. For three hours God turned his face away when they slaughtered my son. I will turn away again today.”
“Yes father.”
The line goes dead, and I fly into action, panic and my need for manna trilling my heart. Pausing to scowl at every light on, except the one where I was with Julie. James thinks I belong in the dark? How he has strayed!
Toggling the switch on, I look up at the screen, my heart bursting to see her wrapped up in the fleece blanket I forgot behind. She snuggles her nose into it, inhaling me.
She treasures our time together, the way the son treasures his time with his father in heaven.
I understand God's love now, because I think I love her the way he loves me.
•
James:
Stalking back up the stairs, I sit in front of the screens, choosing my victims.
The beautiful resemble Eve. She of original sin, she who communes with the serpent, she who ruined mankind for eternity. Stupid cow. Women are so fucking impulsive.
Cell 31 houses a busty beauty, her long hair matted, rocking herself with the endless keening of a heathen. She'll do.
Still looking for another, I'm short on choice. Hmm, no, no, no, what number are you? 27. Rhymes with heaven. You'll never see it, you bitch of nox. Why does no one recall that nox is night, it's black, it's dark, it's evil. And these women are noxious; as in they are saturated from their soul out, in the darkness of satan. They worship the devil because they have been his since they trusted a serpent over the lord their God.
Standing, ready, I go back to the front doors, hefting the glass cage housing the serpent. This one must be related to leviathan because it's one heavy fucker.
Reaching the door to 27, I put it down with difficulty. I'm sweating, but am eager to see how Simon's methods work. It's good to embrace the strengths of my brethren, using their trades as my own, expanding my scope as an angel of deliverance.
But he is such a dour bastard. He's got no sense of humor, old Simon the sour.
Panting, I spin the lock, opening the metal door to the swarthy model. Her details were beneath her screen in the control room. She is dark as the desert tents of Kedar, but beautiful as Solomon's palace; her hair braided. She is a living effigy of she of the Song of Songs. And she said to the king, her lover, I wish that you were my brother, that my mother nursed you at her breast.
This one cares not who lays with her, she is so drunk on sin, on vanity. A sultry temptress preserved by Satan.
“Are you lonely?” I ask the swine, sitting on her mat like a regal queen. Pride is her downfall.
“Very,” murmurs, soft and demure. Wrapping seduction around my dick with just one word.
Holy fuck, satan is potent in her.
If only she knew that there are black jews, a whole tribe of them, keeping the book of Jubilees safe, and rumor even has it they have the ark of the covenant. They would be so ashamed of her, this woman and her impenetrable pride, her willowy graceful conceit.
You could have been one of his chosen people, but here you are, submitting to Westerner's sin. Turning your soul away from redemption's door because you are too proud to accept you might have been wrong.
“I brought you company. Would you like a companion, Twenty-seven?”
Finally meeting my eyes, hers are silky brown, soft and gentle, belying the sin within. “I would be grateful. Thank you for your mercy.”
Laughing, I stalk back out, shunting the glass terrarium into her room, lifting the lid and taking it with me. Standing safely in her doorway, I want to spit on her, to shame her, but the armor of a disciple doesn't have the freedom to do that.
“You commune with devils, you have the ear of Satan. The serpent was your friend. Charm him again, woman. Reveal the power of your god, before I reveal the power of mine.”
Closing the door, spinning the lock, I head up to 31. Using the combination, the door refuses to open.
God denies me access to this one.
How fucking peculiar.
“Why are you protecting sinners, God?” I yell to heaven. I know he's listening.
Annoyed, I go randomly trying doors, relieved when the door to 29 opens. Staring at the black haired woman with her piercing green eyes, I demand, “What is your sin?”
“I am a thief and a liar,” she whispers, looking down at the ground in shame.
“You'll do,” I snap, going back to my treasure, and returning, shunting the other python into her cell.
She shrieks, doing
the banshee dance up against the wall.
Laughing, I point at the beautiful serpent, as beautiful as the woman who lures others to fall from grace, “You want a hug? This guy will hug you so tight. He'll remind you why you chose him over God. Didn't god hug you enough when you were newly formed? Did you think he had a favorite? He did! His name was man! Until you repent God doesn't see you. Only He can save you from your father the devil. Rest in your father's arms, he was a thief and liar too. And he lied from the very beginning!”
Laughing, holding two terrarium lids, I slam her door closed, spinning the lock.
Her scream is celestial jubilation, following me as I go back to room 18. I will sanctify my whore, and then I will purify this temple with her.
I will leave my mark. God will know that his angel was here, and he will see that it is good.
Very good indeed.
Unzipping the hood, I leave it outside the door to 18, wanting her to see my face when I purify her.
I couldn't find the keys, so use the master key this time. The innuendo isn't lost on me. Opening the door to my lady of dark delights, I smile, purring softly as I panther toward her, “And he shall sprinkle of the blood of the sin offering upon the side of the altar; and the rest of the blood shall be wrung out at the bottom of the altar: it is a sin offering. Leviticus 5:9.”
~ Chapter 16 ~
Yes, there will be a bloody slaughter of everyone left
~ Isaiah 15:9
29:
I'm so constricted I have no air to scream, to howl the agony, bolts of napalm bombing my sanity with every pop as my bones break. I try to push back, dizziness washing me futile, my strength gone now that I'm a crushed amoeba, scales writhing against my bare skin, searing and branding my neurons with a horror so diabolical it terrorizes my soul.
I want to scream, Satan must be so proud of you! but I can't.
I'm incapacitated when my chest bursts, imploding inward, destroying reason with excruciating suffering. Blubbering, snot blocking my nose, I can't breathe anyhow.
Broken, awareness flitting in and out in my final moments, I recall they only eat live prey. Every second is infinite, flowing in a tsunami of numbed terror, warping my senses, making knowing how long this torment has lasted immeasurable. I float in and out of anguish, riddled with volcanic seizures.
It goes dark, a hood closing over my head, blocking out the wavering light, and I realize I'm inside, the constriction against my head as it squeezes me, ridges compressing my head with violent force. I want to scream, I'm in horror, I'm in agony, I'm beyond hell, I am inside the very womb of evil.
My nose crushes, crunching into my face, my eye squeezing, eyeball popping out, the optic nerve burning with raw acid, the sulfur of digestion biting into me, the fire and pain crushing my skull in, the black peace a blessing.
Stasis cradles my spirit, the pain eased, but I still hear the popping of sockets and bone, ground to a pulp.
I don't understand why I am aware, but I feel nothing, I'm lost in the dark, where my torment is listening to my body being consumed by the serpent.
•
67: Jeremiah:
The sounds of an animal being brutalized infiltrates my pocket of seclusion.
It curdles my stomach, and I don't know why but I'm crying listening to such suffering. It debilitates me, and I snatch the book up, clutching it tight, understanding.
I will say everything he needs to hear, I will repent and accept his religion, and I will play along as long as I need.
I have to survive this.
Jesus Christ I can't take it!
Closing my hands over my ears, shaking with terror, violated by the agony inflicted on another, I want to scream too. Without warning the water and bread rise up, spewing out of me in cathartic enthusiasm, and I'm vomiting next to my bed, retching again and again. It's so evil here, the trauma unparalleled, that I stay on my knees, whispering through the bile and drool, “Please forgive me. I repent. I repent!”
•
18: Sarah:
He’s back!
Oh god, oh fuck, he’s here!
He’s reciting some scripture to me I never heard before, and I don’t know how to answer.
I just went to one of those new mega-churches, you know? The kind where they don’t give a fuck what you do, as long as you show up with the thousands on Sunday, throw them a bit of your paycheck, and sing like all the rest. Plus, a big church like that is a great place to meet men. Not that any of those pious fucks will look twice at me now.
The only scriptures we heard were parts of the gospels. You know, how God is love, Jesus loves you, and Amazing Grace. I don’t know where he gets all this murder and hate from. That’s not the bible I know, but then I don’t know much.
“And he shall sprinkle of the blood of the sin offering upon the side of the altar; and the rest of the blood shall be wrung out at the bottom of the altar: it is a sin offering. Leviticus 5:9.”
What does that mean? What do I say? Am I the fucking sacrifice?
“Umm, who?” I stammer.
“Who what?” he pauses, anger and puzzlement mingling in his expression.
“Who is he? Who will sprinkle the blood?”
“The priest of the Most High God!” The back of his hand strikes my face and I spin to the floor.
Dizziness gyrates the world and I shut my eyes, waiting for the earth to right itself.
Maybe he’ll kill me. Death has to be better than this, right? Besides, those nice folks at church told me since I believe in Jesus I’m going to heaven.
No more tears.
No more pain.
No more sorrow.
Okay, maybe I didn’t believe then, but if there was anything behind that shit, I believe it now, when death would be a mercy, unconsciousness a gift.
“You dare to question me?” His spit splatters across my face, and the iron-rich smell of blood is on his breath. “You dare to question the Priest of the Most High?”
He lifts me, and I’m flying through the air again. My shoulder strikes the wall, and something gives way inside. My right arm and hand go numb.
Two pounding steps later, and I'm in the air again, slammed back against the wall. His muscular body is tight against mine, which in a different context would be a turn on. Crimson clouds my vision, and for a moment he has ridiculous horns and a red tail. He shakes me and the image disappears.
He’s not Satan, not even the devil. Just some sick, brainwashed fuck with a hard-on for beating women. I have to do something. It might be small, but I know the truth now.
I’m going to die here.
He shakes me again. “Answer me witch! Dare you to tempt the priest of the Lord?”
I gather all the saliva and blood I have in my mouth. It isn’t much, but it’ll have to do. I draw in the deepest breath my bruised ribs and ruined throat allow, and mumble, hoping he’ll lean closer.
His eyes are inches from mine, searching for answers. He turns his ear to my mouth. “What’s that? What did you say?”
The gathered mucous exits my mouth with much less force than I hoped for, but he’s close enough that it strikes the side of his cheek and starts to slide.
Time slows. One hand releases my arm, wiping his cheek. He holds the fluid I expelled up to his eyes, and they change in an instant. They widen.
The pupils dilate with hate.
Those eyes could have been enchanting, far from here, eyeing me over a cocktail, or across the room in a small group bible study, or over a latté in a corner booth of Starbucks.
The lines around the sockets disappear. The brows above them thicken and furrow. The forehead wrinkles, like waves washing over the broken glass on a deserted beach.
His hand grasps my upper arm, harder, biting to the bone, tourniquetting circulation, and a roar of rage escapes his throat, filling the stale air, stealing my breath, raiding my nose with the stench of his rotting soul, his voice the only sound.
I hope it is the last sound I hea
r, but there is no such mercy. For there to be such mercy, god would have to be merciful.
It’s a lie. God is not love. God is wrath, pain, shame.
His priest throws me across the room, onto my thin mattress, in my final home.
Landing with the air expressing brutally out of my lungs, I look up into the smiteful face of god.
And he’s coming for me.
•
James:
Pulling out the hunting knife, I catch her wrist, slicing up her arm, flinging it back at her to repeat the bloodletting of evil on her right arm.
Sprinkling her limb as I go, dragging her across the room, I wipe down her cell with the blood gushing out in thick bursts, sanctifying the altar with the first sacrifice out of Egypt. Blood wells every time her heart pumps, laboring to get oxygen to depraved organs.
With her going into shock, I smile at the constricted pupils, dropping to my haunches to hold her face, whispering, “For the wages of sin is death. Romans 6:23.”
Flipping the swine onto her knees, I unzip, sliding in while it's still warm and alive, and able to experience shame and absolution. Riding her dead, watching myself slip in and out, coated with a sinner's lust, happiness burns in my bones, giving me the smile I find only when I'm doing God's work.
At least she left with the holy spirit of God inside her.
That's my charity work for the day, done.
~ Chapter 17 ~
They were destroyed by the Angel of Death.
~ 1 Corinthians 10:10
Preacher John:
Sitting in the priest's hole, waiting my allotted time, it's given me endless opportunity to seethe over the radical events of the last twenty-four hours.
I was without blemish, I was making my lord happy and it was fulfilling, until I reached seventy-two inmates. It is not my fault that the sanctuary is filled with impious and spiritually defunct bodies. If the world was not so saturated in sin, with evil raising evil, encouraging lust and greed, for flesh and money, for sex and inebriation, finding violence and debauchery suitable entertainment, renting movies and sitcoms of diabolical swill, and choosing it over a life of humble gratitude to the Alpha, then I'd not be in this deplorable position!