Ryan's Suffering

by Lloyd Paulson

  Sarah’s eyes were closed as she scrubbed her scalp, still vigorously washing her hair. Paul was utterly nonplussed; there was no way in hell a girl that was this drop dead gorgeous was fucking his dumb ass son. Rational thought left Paul’s mind and he just stared, mouth open as he nearly drooled. With her arms over her head, and the benefit of youth, her very ample breasts were still very firm, and were jiggling very fetchingly as she scrubbed her hair.

  Like any Midwestern farm girl, she was not rail-thin, but built with solid muscle and yet not sculpted. She had some weight on her but was not overweight, which meant you couldn’t count her ribs, which made her into a soft and voluptuous young woman that you didn’t feel like she was going to blow away in the faintest of breezes. Paul was mesmerized, but that’s not why he was here.

  Tantalizing as she was, he was not here to stare at a young, naked woman in the shower. Paul had to shake his head to clear it.

  "Psst."

  Sarah’s eyes flew open in shock, and her hands fluttered to her face as she skittered backwards and nearly fell in the tub with a squawk. "Oh!" She gasped, confused, and turned around suddenly, trying to cover herself with the shower curtain. Whirling, she found herself face to face within inches of the four-legged monstrosity, which hissed.

  Sarah finally screamed in terror, and lunged through the shower curtain, tearing it completely off the curtain rod as she scrambled to get away from it. Paul wrapped her in a bear hug; put the knife to her throat as she continued to shriek in terror. Sarah pedaled her legs in frenzy, which just slipped on the wet tiles as though she were trying to run on ice.

  Paul talked loudly and firmly into her ear as he put the blade up to her throat. "Stop screaming."

  In her sheer panic, she didn't understand a goddamned thing, and Paul realized this was going to require measures that are more drastic. He tightened his grip into a stranglehold, and her scream became a strangled wheeze. She could barely utter a sound, and her hands started battering against his forearm.

  "I said stop screaming, but you wouldn’t fucking listen."

  She continued to batter at his arm, but the strength was leaving her. "I…..I…..I’ll…listen," she croaked.

  Paul tightened his grip. "Too late. I don’t have time to fuck around. Lights out, for now, you spoiled little bitch."

  Her legs still pedaled uselessly, as she gagged, struggling for breath, and her eye rolled wildly, clouding in confusion. It took nearly half a minute. Her eyelids fluttered as her struggles weakened, and finally her eyes rolled upwards as she went limp, out cold.

  ~~~~~~ *LP* ~~~~~~

  Ryan felt searing pain as the gator beast released its grip, but Ryan tightened his grip. They were in the darkness, in an alien forest he didn’t recognize. The beast howled, and Ryan could feel hot blood gushing down his leg, which did nothing to abate his fury. He had only the vaguest idea of where he was at, but he knew he hadn’t taken the beast up into the light yet; he wanted to make this beast pay.

  Intuitively, though, he knew he first had to go down. If he wanted to take this beast high enough in the levels to hurt it badly, he was going to have to slingshot through, much like bouncing on a diving board. That meant jumping down hard, going very deep first.

  He closed his eyes, and felt a sickening band of pain settle heavily around his forehead, and the ground literally fell away as he forced them both downward.

  "Taking you on the grand tour. Welcome home, bitch!"

  He could see the blackness pressing in around him, shapes shifting in the darkness, reaching for him, trying to pull him in. The pain in his head was unbearable, like steel spikes driven through his temples, but he didn’t care. Ryan focused on the rage, and the writhing beast under him as he felt the sickening wrench inside his head as they pistoned upward, rocketing into searing brightness.

  The beast roared and shrieked, literally growing hot, nearly smoldering under Ryan’s hands.

  Ryan released the beast, and the pain subsided as he fell backwards, in a free fall.

  The light was still blinding, shapes moving that he couldn’t understand, and the beast burst into flames, ash flying off its carcass as it writhed and shrieked.

  Ryan continued to fall, blinking furiously, as his vision greyed and swirled.

  He hit the floor, hard, and his breath left him in a great whoosh.

  Ryan gasped, struggling but not able to breath, his legs kicking wildly as he felt searing pain throughout his back. His vision continued to grey out, and he could barely see under the bed as he felt his bladder let go. He finally could take a small breath of air, and let it out, and sipped another small breath of air.

  On the far side of the bed, he saw his sister’s knees, and his father’s boots. He saw his sister hauled to her feet, screaming.

  Ryan’s eyes lost focus.

  He could barely see the outline of the cat under the bed, hissing at his father.

  Ryan’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he was out cold.

  The Covenant

  "Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall."—William Shakespeare, "Measure for Measure", 1604

  Ryan was still lying on the floor, with a searing headache that settled into his skull between his temples. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He could feel the stiff and unforgiving hardwood floor underneath him, the cool feel of the polished floor sapping heat through his hands and through his cheek. He knew he was still in his parents’ bedroom. Ryan forced his eyes open. He was still facing his parents’ bed. He could see clear through to the other side, but he didn’t see his sister’s legs or his father’s feet. Ryan listened carefully, but he could hear nothing, not a sound from anywhere within the darkened house.

  He lifted his head, groaning as his headache ratcheted upward a few excruciating notches, making his eyesight waver slightly. He felt lightheaded and nauseous, but he forced himself into an upright sitting position anyway, peering carefully around the gloom of the bedroom, bracing himself for the unexpected. Still, it was hauntingly quiet, the fog swirling outside the bedroom window. The gun lay on the floor next to him, and Ryan snatched it up. Ryan checked to see if it was loaded, but it was empty as he suspected. Ryan climbed to his feet unsteadily, grasping at the comforter to haul himself up, and tottered over to the nightstand.

  Ryan yanked open the drawer, and swapped in the spare gun clip and chambered a live round. Pocketing the small automatic, he stumbled out of the bedroom towards the stairway, wondering what his father did with his sister.

  Ryan stopped at the top of the stairs, resting for a moment, listening for any sound of movement in the house. He could hear nothing, and was feeling steadier on his feet. His headache was lessening, the tension slowly bleeding off and offering him a respite. Ryan crept quietly down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spots from years of experience of sneaking around the house. At the base of the stairs, he turned, and walked down the hallway towards the kitchen. The back door was standing open, the fog swirling silently, a blanket of grey that swirled and obscured everything beyond the porch. Ryan stopped at the closet by the back door, and was about to open the closet door to retrieve the shotgun when a voice stopped him cold.

  "Ryan. Come join us in the dining room for a moment."

  Ryan turned towards the sound of the voice, feeling his heart beating hard at the sudden shock. He didn’t recognize the voice, and could barely see anything in the murky gloom of the kitchen, but no one was there. The darkness of the dining room beyond could be hiding nearly anyone or anything.

  He pulled the gun from his pocket, thumbed off the safety, and aimed it in the general direction of the dining room as he inched forward into the kitchen towards the dining room beyond. He didn’t dare fire the gun though; Ryan had no idea if his sister was in there. "Who’s there?"

  The voice spoke again, and was clearly coming from the dining room. "Oh, you don’t know me, but I know all about you. We haven’t been properly introduced yet. Why don’t you come in here and join me?"

  R
yan still couldn’t see anything. "I’m fine in the kitchen. Why don’t you show yourself?" Ryan stopped by the microwave, and quietly opened the kitchen drawer underneath the microwave.

  "Does the darkness bother you? You’re going to need to learn to embrace the darkness, my friend, as I’m afraid you’re not going to have much choice in the matter."

  Ryan carefully rummaged through the drawer, looking for a flashlight, while still keeping his eyes and the gun trained over the counter into the dining room beyond. "I prefer to see who I’m talking to, that’s all. You’ll have to forgive me; it’s been a strange and dangerous night. I’m not taking any chances."

  Ryan found a flashlight, and picked it up. He tried to turn it on, but it didn’t work. Ryan heard a snicker.

  "Well, instead of wasting your time with that, why don’t you just look and see?"

  Ryan peered into the darkness, but still saw nothing. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

  "You can see in the darkness just fine. Just choose to see. We have certain gifts. You are an Elohim. Same as me. You're an Elioud."

  "I am not an Elioud; I am not a goddamned abomination!"

  Every candle in the dining room burst into flame like blowtorch, with a flaring flame three inches in diameter and ten inches high. The flames were noisy, like fabric tearing, and the room was lit in a harsh bright glow. The centerpiece on the table held four large round candles, and resembled an inverted rocket engine. The stranger stood up from a chair, throwing his arm up to protect his eyes, squinting, and Ryan stared, in shock at the scene before him. The candle in sconces on the wall had flames that nearly reached the ceiling. The bright flames rapidly died down, flaring, and settling to normal.

  The stranger put down his arm, and regained his composure. "Temper, temper, Ryan."

  Ryan stared in disbelief as he walked into the dining room. "Are you saying I did that?"

  The stranger pulled his chair back up to the table, and sat down. "Well, are you proposing a different explanation?" A look of unease passed over his face, but was gone just as quickly.

  "Come join us for some pizza. There’s plenty to go around." He gestured at the pizza boxes on the table.

  Ryan stared at the candles around the room, but then the key word, "us", cut through his daze. He looked to the right side of the table. He stared, uncomprehendingly, refusing to register what he saw. His mother was sitting in the chair to the right of him.

  Ryan shook his head in denial. "No…"

  "Well, before you go off half-cocked, in my defense, I would like to point out that I found her in this state. I had nothing to do with what you see here."

  Ryan stared at her for several long seconds. Ryan leveled the gun at the stranger. "You did this to her."

  The stranger appeared unconcerned. "No. I told you I had nothing to do with this little tableau you see before you here. I found her this way. I believe she was left for you to find by your father. Although technically, as I understand it, she did a lot of that herself." He shrugged, and sat back down.

  Ryan pulled out a chair next to his mother, and sat down heavily, tears coursing down his face. His mouth worked soundlessly, as his lips trembled and his brow knotted in complete lack of understanding.

  His mother’s legs and torso had been duct taped to the chair; there was no way she could have stood up from the chair. Her arms had been taped to the arms of the chair, but her hands had been left free. Deliberately. Her left hand had been taped to a shotgun, and the barrel of the shotgun had been duct taped underneath her chin, like a bizarre and oversized necklace. From the nostrils down, her face looked normal, but the entire top half of her head was missing and her head resembled a crater of wet red and grey goo with chunks of whit bone mixed in. Ryan simultaneously wanted to cradle his mothers head and vomit. However, the horror didn’t stop there.

  Her right hand was also free. From a six-inch incision in the duct tape that bound her stomach, intestines had been pulled out, and draped over arm and hand. She had died, clutching her own intestines.

  Ryan glared at man across from him, who was busy chewing his nails. Ryan picked up the gun, pointed it at him, and pulled the trigger. Much to his surprise, nothing happened.

  The stranger yawned, sat up, and looked at Ryan.

  Ryan checked the safety, ejected the round, and tried again. Still nothing happened.

  The stranger smiled. "You’re not the only one with tricks up his sleeve here."

  Ryan kept the gun pointed at him. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

  "I go by many names. Some are much older than others. But to keep things simple, let’s just say my name is Tanner, for now. As for what I’m doing here, well, you and I have a common problem. That problem is called fate."

  "You see, you and I, we were not like the rest of humanity. We were cursed the day we were born. There’s no redemption. Heaven’s not in the cards for us. We don’t get the option of free will. No matter what, we get Hell. That’s it. You could say that’s going to be the running theme of the night. Hell."

  "What if I don’t believe in God, in Heaven, in Hell?"

  "Let me get this straight. Unlike your father, who only has a light psychic touch, you have powerful psychokinetic abilities. You have the ability to transition right into the underworld, possibly even to walk right up the gates of Heaven and Hell, and then you have the balls to tell me you don’t believe in them? What are you, fucking retarded?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "Wow." Tanner leaned back. "Ok, well, assume Heaven and Hell are real for the purposes of argument, since you're an idiot. Ok? And humanity has the option of free will. That’s the New Testament Covenant, right? Christ died for your sins, John 3:16, plastered all over the goddamned place. For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten son, Jesus Christ, and whosoever shall believe in him shall not perish, but shall have everlasting life? Ring a bell? Hello? Any-fucking-body home? Nod your head if you understand me, dumbass."

  Ryan nodded. He lowered the gun, since it was useless.

  "Yeah, but that’s a covenant with humanity. Which you and I are not a part of. I’ll explain this in a minute. First, remember Noah? As in the Ark? God on a kill-spree with a flood? Nod your head if this rings a fucking bell… Ok, good. Thank you. Angels, specifically, the Watcher Angels, or the Egregoroi, made a pact with each other on Mount Hebron, which they would take earth women as their wives. The half-breed children of Angels and earth women were known as Nephilim. The quarter-breed children of Nephilim were known as Elioud. These Fallen Angels, the Watchers, also spread forbidden knowledge such as weather, astronomy, botany, chemistry, and warfare. Sin also proliferated, including cannibalism, sodomy, and incest. Hence, God went on a warpath, and decided to hit the reset button with the flood and wiped out the whole mess."

  "The chief demon, Mastema, intervened and argued with God to spare one tenth of the wayward angels, Nephilim, and Elioud—collectively known as the Elohim—as tempters of mankind until judgment day. Hence the source of many of Hell’s demons. The rest of the poor assholes await destruction on Judgment day as prisoners of Hell suspended over the pit in God’s Crucible at Dudael."

  Ryan nodded. "What’s the Crucible at Dudael? I’ve heard that before."

  "Dudael was located in the land of ancient Canaan. Jesus' stomping grounds, actually, but the Book of Enoch was far before the Son of God’s time. God’s Crucible was essentially a bottomless pit there. God’s Crucible at Dudael is actually an obscure reference to the deepest, darkest pit of Hell, really."

  Ryan shrugged. "Okay, but what the fuck does that have to do with me?"

  "You are Elioud. As it said in the Book of Enoch, 'Destroy all the spirits of the reprobate and the children of the Watchers, because they have wronged mankind.' The kill order still stands. You have only two choices. You can either serve as a demon in hell, or wait judgment day as a prisoner of Hell in God’s Crucible at Dudael, which is actually how it’s referred to in the Book of Enoch
. There is no other available fate for you."

  "Wait. The Book of Enoch? That’s not in the Bible."

  "It’s a Jewish scroll. An Ethiopian Orthodox church includes it in their bible. Many texts are excluded from the bible itself—remember, men decided on the canon—anyway, a group of men decided what was and was not included in the Bible. That doesn’t mean there’s no value to other scrolls."

  Ryan stared at his mother’s body for a moment, uncomprehendingly. Tears were slowly leaking from his eyes. He looked back at Tanner. "Also, you’re telling me that I’m not human. That there’s no free will covenant for me. That means that either my mother or my father is a Nephilim…"

  "Your mother, god rest her soul, was human. You share your father’s fate."

  Ryan struggled with that information for a minute. "Which means my grandfather…he’s an angel?"

  "Yes, it’s a completely paternal bloodline. A fallen angel, but yes, your grandfather was an Egregoroi, a watcher."

  "Then how are you and I the same?"

  "We’re both Elohim. Lost children of god. We’re Sons of Darkness now. We can only face our fate, but we can do so on our terms, which are exactly what your father is trying to do."

  "But what happened to my mother?"

  "It’s just conjecture on my part at this point, but I think your father wanted her to join him."

  Ryan looked at his mother, perplexed. "Join him?"

  "Join him in fate."

  Ryan looked over at Tanner, his brow knitted. "I’m not following."

  Tanner looked at him with deadly patience. "I think you do, but I think you just refuse to see. You know your father’s fate now. There’s only one place for him in the afterlife. If your mother were to die, where would she have gone?" Tanner looked up, then down, then shrugged his shoulders theatrically.

  Then the picture crystallized for Ryan. Imagine someone pulling your intestines out slowly. You can feel them dragging right through your hand…and you have the power to make the pain stop. The shotgun is taped under your chin. Your hand is on taped to the trigger.