by Poppet
“A surgeon.”
“Wow!” She smiles, properly this time. Reaching out to hold my hand in hers, she says, “So how do we do this?”
“Give me a fortnight to set this up. I’ll get Steve to arrange your airfare from his side, that way the grandparents won’t have a clue what’s going on. Harry watches my every move, they might call him my driver, but he’s their spy, keeping tabs on my every inhalation. Then come meet me again, or give me your phone number. Let me call you from a pay phone from the library, they’ll never question me being there, and I’ll have Steve pick you up and drive you home, teach you to drive, buy you a car, and he’ll look after you in my absence.”
“Who’s Steve?”
“He’s like my uncle, but more than that he’s my best friend. I trust him with my life. He’s older, by a lot, and he has an amazing wife, Marie. You won’t be alone. And because you’re going to Idaho I have a reason to come over every chance I get. Until the grandparents are dead, then I’ll move back permanently. Even if I have to complete my degree there.”
“Thank you, Chris. I promise I’ll be a good wife to you, and a fantastic mum.”
“Good to hear,” I nod, patting her knee. “We’ll get this sorted, luv, I swear it.”
“Thanks for not abandoning us. I’m so afraid. I was going mental with worry.”
“I know we’ll have our tribulations, but we will give this child the best. He deserves the best. Nothing but the best for my boy.”
It’s destiny. God has a son, it’s already written. And I refuse to fail him the way my parents failed me.
And that’s how I came to be a father at the age of seventeen. I wasn’t even old enough to legally drink alcohol when I sired a son.
The Holy Spirit started shouting at me again, and then two months later the cruise ship the grandparents were on went under in a terrible storm. I inherited an empire and more money than I knew was printed. Without hesitation I left the upkeep of the estates to the lawyers Primrose and Keeft. They manage my money and my affairs, and I headed State side to be with Eve, to be there for the birth of my son, and to continue medical school at Idaho State University.
Life was hard, it was harder than hard, it was shit, for a good long while.
When Victor turned seven I’d had enough of Eve. We never married, I couldn’t stand her verbal abuse.
The problem with Adam and Eve was that Eve never listened to Adam. God said don’t eat the fruit. (I said don’t eat the fruit). But Eve didn’t listen, she disparaged Adam, and did what the fuck she wanted regardless. Eve started that shit with me when Victor was three.
So I honed my surgeon’s skills on her by cutting her vocal cords. I silenced that shit in double time. There was no way I was going to let her vicious tongue cut into my son. I knew what it felt like to hear a parent say awful things to a developing mind.
I had no choice but to hide my life again, hiding from prying eyes, so I commissioned a huge compound in Utah. It’s so close to Idaho, but it’s far away from prying eyes.
Plus I had money, obscene amounts of it, so I hired ex military guys to guard the compound, to guard Victor from Eve. We installed state of the art cameras, monitoring her every move, raising Victor to believe she was his nanny.
Money can buy you anything, trust me, I know. Money in the right hands allowed me to do two years of study in every one year of medical school. I’m intelligent enough and I worked my ass off to do it, but I completed my degree in half the time it takes a mere mortal. I became the surgeon and doctor Christ. A Ward at the age of 24. I’m the youngest doctor in the country and I managed to graduate Magna Cum Laude. That pushed a lot of noses out of joint, but this isn’t about them, it’s about me.
I employed the best, had men scouring the Earth for me for religious relics, all the ancient texts and scrolls, and had access to the information that was missing from my education. How God is powerful. How sigils work. The true writings I left behind before the Romans decided to compile a faulty version of my legacy.
I raised Victor with one objective. He’s an angel, he’s divine, he’s my son, and he cannot fail me. Death is mercy. Women are pain, I know that from Amy and Evelyn. I know how sex led them both astray, I know evil possession is possible and went on to get my degree in psychology because I needed to understand how multiple personality disorder develops and progresses.
From the time Victor was old enough to hold a scalpel I gave him my knowledge, all of it. I never ever wanted him to know the helplessness I had as a child. Unable to save the woman I loved. Unable to defend myself against my father. I armed him with knowledge and skill, raised him with martial arts and intelligent conversation.
He’d only been out of medical school for three years when he met Shauna, but by then he was the best cosmetic surgeon in the country. He takes after me, and in my son I am very pleased. But like my father before me, that earthly substitute who named himself after the first man I made, Adam kept a terrible secret from me. He only disclosed it at his death. Well my secret is the true scrolls of my time on Earth before, it happened again. No one knows, the bible doesn’t tell you, only the Hebrew version does.
Kain and Abel are my children, brothers. And they are both twins. But this time the script deviated. Instead of a girl and boy being born, instead of one son, I got two.
I knew if I raised them together one day one would kill the other. History loves to repeat itself. So I sent Niel to Steve. Marie has raised him, and I visited often. He knows I’m his father.
Now I’m sixty, and Victor, my firstborn, the one I gave everything to, comes to kill me. He hunts me like a criminal.
And so the wheel of fortune turns, because now I must pit one son against the other. Twin brothers, identical in every way, but in order to save myself Niel has to kill Victor, before Victor kills me.
I’m tired, but I’m still God. I only stopped growing when I was 28. I’m six foot seven, covered in tattoos and holy symbols, and still pump iron every day. I’ve never let my guard down, not once in all my life.
Just once I wish I could.
There’s one place Victor won’t look for me. Idaho. In the Sinnergog. I’m a doctor, no one thought twice when I bought a mental asylum. It’s filled to splitting with sinners, those possessed by Satan, and it’s there that I intend to finally perfect the ridding of possession. I’ve done a lot of preparation for this moment.
A woman who murders is an abomination. Polina, the Russian, will be my final test.
So now I bid you adieu. Victor can tell you the rest.
This was why I did what I did, how I became who I am, and why I am without a shred of doubt, God.
I’ve raised the dead, and I’ll do it again.
If Niel murders Victor, I’ll raise him up.
The element of surprise is always the greatest weapon.
Victor can’t possibly anticipate this.
And laughing, staring at the cameras that still watch, I see that it is good.
You are the children of your father the devil,
and you want to follow your father’s desires.
From the very beginning he was a murderer.
~ John 8:44
Part II
This is NOW
Victor
I’M THE SON of god. You know what that makes me? Formidable with a capital F.
A therapist would have a field day with me. I sound like I have a god complex, or at the very least a healthy case of narcissism, but the fact remains: I was raised as his first son, the firstborn son, the one to carry a legacy. The son of god is supposed to be the bringer of light, not me, I’m the bringer of darkness. I am pain, I am wrath, I am vengeance. I’m the right hand sent to crush you, to judge you, to make you suffer. And I will. I do. I am.
I was mad, now I’m sane.
The issue for me is there is a very fine pinstripe between madness and sanity, and the madness is winning. They forget that his favourite is known as Lucifer. Lucifer means ‘bringer of l
ight’.
Oh yes, I am Lucifer. He cast me out of heaven, now I’m thirsting for blood. The world cowers before Lucifer, fearing his name, fearing his power, because I have the power to devour a kingdom based on lies. They erroneously call Lucifer, Satan.
Those who do not fear me are fools. I’m a trained assassin and it’s time for the hordes to die. There is no way to the father but through his son. I died not for your sins, but for his.
Now I am risen. The apocalypse has begun.
The son is coming for the father because I’m the only one who can. This mantle is mine.
~ Chapter 11 ~
The Lord sees what happens everywhere; he is watching us, whether we do good or evil
~ Proverbs: 15:3
Victor:
AVOIDING THE PUDDLE I step over the woman bleeding out on the tiled floor. Staring at my image in the bathroom mirror, it’s instinct to turn the water on and rinse the blood from my gloved hands.
It takes tedious moments to meticulously swab the spatter from my leathers. My pupils are so wide in this dim lighting that my eyes seem black behind the slits in the full-head mask, the red horns on the top of it reinforcing my motivation.
This is my calling. I am the angel of vengeance, trained to be this since the day I was born. The itch to rectify a sinner’s despicable blasphemy became too much and I succumbed. Now, finally, I feel normal again.
The last image they see is me, an image veneered with their destination. Hell.
Fallen angels, Satan is one, and that’s who they’re going to.
Glancing down at the woman whose eyes have finally glazed in the mercy of death, I am fulfilled, leaving the dilapidated apartment with a spry gait.
I’m so well clad that none of my DNA will be left behind. Even my breath is caught within my armour. It’s a fantastic disguise because the second I swing my leg onto my Ducati motorbike I’ll simply look like a biker in full leathers.
An eye witness can’t give a description because there’s nothing to see but black leather. She’ll be labelled a kinky bottom, I’ll be called a biker with a dom penchant, whatever … come hell or high water I’ll get away with it. I always do.
Like a shadow I move down the metal stairwell into the street below. Reaching my wheels hidden by a moonless world, as black as my armour and as speedy as my temper; I straddle her, pulling on the pitch helmet and dropping the tinted visor.
With the freedom of darkness in my veins I hit the road, the whine of the engine the only signal that I was here at all. The only thing I hate about my secret is that I have to sacrifice it for a wife with angel issues.
She hates me, I’m almost certain of it.
~ Chapter 12 ~
Slothfulness casteth into a deep sleep;
and an idle soul shall suffer hunger.
~ Proverbs 19:15
Victor:
CAREFULLY STOWING AWAY my head mask in the trunk under my workbench, I head indoors. I’ve been gone for a fortnight and simply couldn’t delay my return, no matter how much it fills me with irritation. Shauna has become increasingly hostile and I don’t know how much longer I can suppress the instinct to correct her attitude.
Stepping into the house via the garage, it strikes me as odd that there are no lights on. Instantly my veins surge with confrontation, my hormones spiking for battle. Caution and supreme awareness govern my instincts, my Glock in my palm without conscious thought, the safety disengaged because I’m still wearing gloves and it can’t ID my fingerprints.
The softest sounds reach my subconscious and I tread the darkness like a moonbeam, slipping between pockets of intense shadow to reach the only room with flickering light.
The stench hits me before assimilation does.
I’m in the lounge, staring at my wife with her hand deep inside a Cheetos packet, chewing with her mouth open while watching mindless drivel on the television – the only source of illumination. The curtains haven’t been drawn, nor the house aired, and the disarray surrounding her tells me she’s been slothful since my departure. I’m appalled.
I’m sick of the ‘depression’ bullshit she’s using as an excuse to be idle and useless. She assaults my religious compass and antagonizes the angel within me. God hates laziness, he hates fat and useless. She can’t be bothered to get off her lard-arse and clean her own house. She has no pride in herself or her home.
I can’t live with someone I can’t respect.
The attraction died long ago, the passion went with it.
“What are you doing?” I demand, surreptitiously hiding my Glock back in its holster.
She doesn’t even flinch, she just continues to stare at the flat-screen awash with mindless tripe, wiping her hand on stained leggings, the dimples of her cellulite deep-etched in this unflattering light. “Watching telly.”
“I can see that, Shauna. Why haven’t you turned on a light? Cleaned up? Gone for a run or something?”
This time the bulbous face angles my way and she shrugs up a padded shoulder. “Not in the mood.”
“Shauna, I have words for you.”
“Save it ’til after. Only fifteen minutes left and then we’ll catch up.”
Outraged at her addiction to inane mindlessness I step between her and the television screen, glowering at her, repulsed by the entity masquerading as human. I purified her but it would seem that the decay within her heart was in remission deep within, because I’m staring directly into the eyes of a blatant sinner. “Sodom’s sins were pride, gluttony, and laziness.” (Ezekiel 16:49)
“Don’t fuck with me, Vic. Seriously, I’m not in the mood for your religious jokes.”
“You are slovenly and disgusting! Look at you! Have you done anything since I’ve been gone other than feed your face, hips, thighs and debauchery?” I ask, my voice dropping to gruff because I’m so enraged I’m about to lose the slither of restraint I have remaining. She’s feeding her brain and body utter swill. She’s become trash, my very own rubbish bin.
“Go fuck yourself,” she snaps, trying to see past me to her precious soapie.
Her mouth has joined the trash party. I know a few folks who’d vote for them. Stroppy isn’t a good look on my babe, because it inches me three steps closer to marking her with bruises so black they’ll match her defunct soul.
I am reborn. Cliché, quite possibly, but it’s still the truth. I was destined for death by God’s decree, and because of one saintly disciple and his faith in me I am still breathing today. I’m alive, and not a day goes by that I am not excruciatingly aware that I’m living on borrowed time – that – or I’m destined for much greater things. I was saved for a reason. I was spared. She’s my wife. That’s the bottom line. I have to spare her, I have to try and reach her again.
Adam sinned by leaving his first wife Lilith, by trying to control her – instead of recognising that within her lies his redemption. I’m fighting every urge conditioned into my psyche and body, hanging onto the path of righteousness despite the abomination I’m married to. Vengeance is dormant most of the time, but some weeks fighting the urge to deliver correction depletes me.
As her husband it is my duty to guide her back to the pious path, to where she isn’t seduced by temptation, sacrificing herself to damnation. I am waging battle inside this body. Every instinct I have demands swift and unmerciful retribution to right this wrong, yet I also know the old ways I was so devout in following belong to a man as psychotic as a poltergeist.
Sitting to face her, tense and rigid, I breathe deeply, watching her now watching me. She can sense something is amiss. That’s my fault. I get to take all the credit for her paranoia. I stripped the skin off her body, peeled her fingernails back and lynched her up with hooks through her scalp; she can sense danger like an animal in the path of a python.
Looking at the woman who captured my deepest desires in the palms of her petite hands, I can see how the purpose to destroy my father has taken its toll. She is lonely, with nothing to do, no one to talk to, isolat
ed – for safety and security.
If he knows we breathe air we’re as good as dead. The element of surprise is all I have, but it takes time to recruit the army required to execute the operation. This isn’t a battle I’m readying to wage, it’s a war. If I don’t go after him with an army at my behest then I’ll be dead within hours of the charge horn, because it’s a fool’s errand to face my father without a significant offensive. It’s taken me away from her, and now I can see with unhindered sight that my wife has suffered. I failed her – again.
Swallowing thickly I rest my elbows on my knees, leaning toward her with clasped hands. “I am sorry.”
“For what?” she demands, her tone acerbic.
She’s in a pissy mood and clearly not pleased I have returned. She’s found a new comfort zone, one that doesn’t include me.
“Shauna, it was wrong of me to leave you for so long. I can see how lonely you’ve been. Your company is daytime television, it’s the only conversation you get because I’ve been distracted. I isolated us for safekeeping, but in so doing I left you abandoned. You have no friends, hobbies, interactions – that’s on me. I’m to blame for that. That’s why I’m sorry. You needed me and I wasn’t here for you.”
She scoffs. “I was a loner long before you, Victor. Vengeance made sure I couldn’t keep my friends. You can’t take the credit for something you didn’t do.”
She never speaks of Vengeance, this in itself is unprecedented. So if not for my absence, then why has my wife turned into something I struggle to even look at?
“Is this you letting yourself go?” I interrogate.
God damn it woman, I need you to give me a reason right now to prevent me from putting you out of your abject misery. You hate yourself, that much is patently clear. Those with self-respect and self-esteem do not punish their bodies with so much food that they struggle to bend over.