Unlocked

by Kevin Solomon Missal

  Sadness filled him as Lucifer told him his story. He wasn’t sure as to why he was feeling the way he felt. Even though he was the one who’d created evil, Lucifer had a dark past, one he was afraid to reveal. A past he wanted to keep inside and never let go from the confines of his heart. Lucifer had a soul. He was just a child trying to seek the love of his father. In his heart, he just a small child.

  “I got angry at my father, at the parasites, and I took an oath. I shall have my revenge by destroying the creation my father made. I made demons out of myself and they bore offspring’s. The rest is history.”

  He paused and with pain showing in his eyes, he said in his saddest tone, “I wasn’t bad. I wasn’t evil. I never was. I just wanted, for once, that our father appreciate that we gave them our souls and bodies. And in return, we wanted something. Think about it, Caspar. He was the one who created evil.” He pointed to himself, angrily and grievously. “If he hadn’t thrown me down in the first place, I wouldn’t have become what I am now – The Devil.”

  “If you were so good, in the first place, why did you sin against your father?” “What sin have I committed?”

  “Greed,” Caspar replied succinctly. “Your father created Heaven for the angels so they could live there without thirst, without hunger, without darkness. You had a perfect life, but you ruined it because you were greedy. You wanted Heaven and you wanted Earth. So you tested your father’s patience by going against Him, by betraying Him, by not being loyal to Him, after you collected a group of angels for yourself. You stabbed Him in the back.”

  He turned to look at the fallen angel, his gaze level and firm, locked with a dispassionate anger and intrigue. “All the while, Lucifer Morningstar, you’ve blamed someone else, when you should have blamed yourself.” He approached Lucifer, standing eye to eye, nose to nose. “BECAUSE LUCIFER, YOU WERE EVIL FROM THE BEGINNING. NO ONE BUT YOU CREATED EVIL!” He yelled so loudly that the two demons grew alarmed. “You blamed others because you were filled with pride. You can’t stand the idea that you were the first one who sinned. Not Adam, or Eve, but you. You!”

  Lucifer was stunned, though it didn’t show upon his face. His face was rigid, his jaw tight. He coughed and clutched the glass tightly. He looked back at the

  demons and said, “Escort Mr. Socrates outside.” He looked at Caspar’s angry face. “I hope you have second thoughts about my proposal.”

  Caspar refused to answer. He strode past the demons and encountered no resistance. All the while, his cane tapped and clanged upon the floor. He disappeared without a backward glance in their direction.

  Confused, one of the demons said, “Master, why did you let him go?” “Because I need him, Torch,” he replied and stepped forward. “When you

  need something, you have to let it go.”

  ***

  Caspar found himself once more within the dinger. The chef pulled out a long barrel shotgun with a double-hinged handle. Suddenly alert, he aimed it at Caspar who stepped back with his hands up, his lips tightening in confusion as he saw a pale man on the ground. His pupils were dilated and white. The pregnant waitress and the other customers were yelling and shrieking in fright. The only ones left in the diner were a corporate man with jet black hair, a family with a teenage daughter around Caspar’s age, and a sheriff with a long, round hat upon his head.

  The sheriff pulled his magnum free and ordered the chef to put down his shotgun. “I am taking over from here. Y – You just put that thing down, Mister! I am here and the authorities will be soon, as well.”

  The chef lowered his gun with hesitation, his hand shaking.

  “Now, you son of a bitch,” he said, his deep, burning eyes trained upon Caspar. “Put the cuffs on.” He pushed a pair of metallic round handcuffs across the floor.

  Caspar remained quite and stared at the handcuffs. His face was severely pale, as if every fluid, every color, and everything else had been sucked out of his body. He didn’t react. He was too stunned as he tried to figure out what was going on.

  “PUT THEM ON!” the sheriff yelled.

  “O – Okay!” Caspar pushed his hands forward and slowly knelt to pull the cuffs to him. He circled the metal about his wrists and found a painful numbness that hadn’t been there before. “Done. I – It’s done. See?” He lifted his hands to show that they were tied together.

  The sheriff came closer, wiping the sweat off of his brow. He examined Caspar’s cuffs to make sure he hadn’t tricked them. Satisfied that the cuffs were fine and that he was tied, he clutched Caspar’s collar and pushed him toward the nearest chair. “Now, you sit down. You sit right here and don’t fucking move. You fucking understand that? Eh? You understand that right? If you move, I will blow off your fucking head.”

  Caspar remained rooted in place as numerous expressions crossed his face. “Ronald,” the sheriff said as he turned toward the chef. “Watch him.” Ronald drew forth his shotgun. The sheriff wiped more of the sweat off of his

  forehead as he moved along. He pulled his hat down and wiped his bald head, the scent of a thick, fungal yeast permeating through the air. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number, his eyes focused on Caspar.

  “Hello? Yeah. Listen, we have a problem here. It’s a murder. I know. I know it should have been just a fucking breakfast, but... Look, wait...Come to...Hello...Hello?”

  He thumped his phone across the palm of his hand, but the receiver’s tone droned on, like hundreds of ants moving together. He kept saying ‘hello’ until he heard someone say, “You can hear me?” before the phone died. “No connection.”

  “T – Try the landline,” the waitress suggest as she composed herself.

  The sheriff grabbed the landline and dialed the number, only to realize that the line was out of service. He asked everyone to check their phones, but they found the service wasn’t available.

  “Something’s wrong,” the sheriff said as he looked at Caspar. “You did something, right? It’s your fault, isn’t it? You did some voodoo trick here and our phones aren’t working.”

  “I didn’t do anything, but I know who did it,” Caspar replied with confidence. “Oh, yeah? Your imaginary friend?”

  “I need you to trust me on this. I know who did this...who did all of this.” The sheriff pointed his finger at him in order to get him to shut up. He walked

  over the family and the corporate ma. “You need to go. Miss?” He turned to the waitress. “I think you should as well. Ronald . . .” His gaze clashed with the other man. “If you can stay with me until the authorities arrive, I’ll be grateful.”

  “Don’t worry, Falcon. I am here as long as you want me to be,” he said, a crooked smile darting across his lips.

  Ronald stood on alert beside Caspar, shoving the tip of his gun into his ribs every now and then. Falcon walked outside with the scared customers. The waitress, cradling her swollen belly, exited the establishment without another thought. The family hopped into a big van. Falcon requested that they take the waitress with them, which they readily agreed to. The corporate man huddled in his car nearby and

  promised to tell the authorities once he reached the city. He waved at them as they turned the ignition key. To their surprise, the cars weren’t working, either.

  Falcon rushed toward the van and asked, “What happened? Why is it not working?”

  “Some engine problem, I think,” the father replied.

  Falcon had him pop the hood open to check the engine, but to the best of his knowledge, the engine was perfectly stable. He didn’t know what was going on. The corporate employee’s answer was the same. His car wouldn’t start, either. He quietly assured them he’d do something about it.

  Across the horizon, the earth rose. Caspar and Ronald forgot about the gun. Everyone stared at the enormity of the situation. A still deathliness surrounded the entire desert.

  Caspar had forgotten about it. These sandstorms came often in the deserts; frequent visits which weren’t friendly at all. Th
ey wipe everything out in the open. If you are out and are not strong enough to bear it, you are dead. Falcon immediately seized the teenaged girl and gently pushed her toward the diner. Everyone started to come to their senses as the imminent threat became apparent.

  “Run! To the diner!” Falcon shouted. “B – But, why now?” someone cried. “We will be safe inside. Come fast!”

  Pulling everyone inside, Falcon and the others watched as the mammoth sandstorm hurtled toward them.

  Te

  nsion

  The last thing he wanted to meet was a burly, orange-haired boy with freckles all over his face, large and ominous eyes, wearing thick spectacles that he kept pushing back across the bridge of his nose in nervousness. He never wanted such a character within his mansion, but there he was. Apparently, he was Ivy Demetrius’ best friend.

  “Hello,” the boy greeted.

  Caspar mumbled to himself and ignored the newcomer. He was tired and leaned heavily upon his cane.

  Balthazar appeared out of thin air and shouted, “Eureka! Oberon is ready to tell us. He said he will say what needs to be said in front of you. We were all waiting. Let’s go!”

  “Who is he?” Caspar inquired pointed at the guy as he fidgeted nervously. “His name is Fibonacci. He’s also known as Fib. He is...um...He is Ivy’s

  friend.”

  Argh! Caspar growled inwardly.

  He stalked away toward his room. He reached for the door to find Ivy, Death, and Oberon with a cunning smile spreading across his face waiting for him.

  “Well there’s our party boy. You did it. You freed me and are granted a wish in return,” he said.

  “Where is the Prophet?” Caspar asked.

  “Oh, you want it straight away then. I thought we would talk for some time, until both of us grew tired.”

  Caspar’s eyes narrowed. He snapped at the fairy with impatience, “Where is the damn Prophet, Oberon? I don’t care if you are the King of Fairies, but know one thing, I am good at flogging and no matter what, I shall flog your ass if the next thing that comes out of your mouth isn’t the location of the Prophet.”

  The fairy chuckled. “Very well. East Valley High School,” he said. Balthazar frowned and scratched his head. “In a school?”

  “What else would East Valley High School be? An opera house!” Oberon grated. “Prophets aren’t what you think they’d be. They’re not old, poor, and living in Jerusalem. That’s not how they are. That’s a wrong picture of them in general. In reality, prophets tend to live a regular life. They do not know their own potential until someone comes up to them and reveals it. They are the oracles of truth and knowledge.

  “The only problem is, they have this wall within their minds which keeps them from going insane. Because they have so much stored in that little brain of theirs, the wall allows by a fraction of their potential to permeate within them. That’s just an FYI. What really matters is that prophets live the life of a human. The only difference is they can see things a human is not able to.”

  “So if we try to break the wall, would it give us the desired information we seek?” Ivy asked.

  Oberon nodded, gently tapping his cane across the floor. “Absolutely. Though, everything comes with a price. That’s what Death says to everyone, poor Death.” He winked at the glossy-haired emo boy. “You see, information can cast a shadow of limitations. If you break the wall, you may kill the Prophet and believe me, that’s worse than raising Lucifer.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, prophets aren’t born so easily. They are made. They are engineered by angels to keep a source of information on Earth. The Prophet is given every biological organism suitable for his job. They work hard to build a prophet. You don’t want to mess with the angels’ creation, do you? Killing a prophet can lead to the destruction of valuable information. The future the Prophet knows and perceives will become invisible if you kill him. You have to be careful. Why do you think an angel hovers near a prophet at all times? They offer him or her safety and protection. Don’t try to scratch the wall, Mr. Socrates. If you do, you will end up fighting a civil war and that’s not what you want right now.”

  Caspar agreed. “Very well. Where is this East Valley High School?” “In America,” the fairy exclaimed. “Carthage.”

  “That’s a bit far from London, don’t you think?” Balthazar said. “And why are the most important people in the most obvious locations?”

  “Because people never look at the most obvious places,” Caspar replied before Oberon said a word.

  A sly smile danced about Oberon’s lips as he walked around. “Now, I suppose you are happy with what you’ve been given. I have done my part, according to our little deal and I hope we never have a deal like this again. I hope you abolish Lucifer’s plan to wipe out the civilization, but then, I really don’t give a damn, do I?” As he prepared to depart, Caspar stopped him. “Now what, kid? You are testing my patience. Fairies always lack patience.”

  “I need to ask another question.” “All right. What do you want now?”

  “How does someone acquire an Achilles’ heel without having been dipped into the River Styx?” Caspar glared at Death. Embarrassment coated his features as he

  buried his face within his hands. “You are a fairy. You shove your nose in uncertain places. Places you don’t belong to and you overhear things. I think you’d know this answer as well.”

  “What is an Achilles’ heel, Mr. Socrates?” Oberon countered. “Before I answer this question of yours, I need to know if you know what it is. We are not talking about the nonchalant Greek hero, Achilles, who wound up in the bosom of a dryad, either. That’s not an Achilles’ heel.

  “An Achilles’ heel is invulnerable, indestructible, powerful, mighty, and strong, with only one tiny spot allocated for its weakness. If that spot is hurt or broken or stabbed, you will lose all your power. Achilles had that spot on his heel. That spot is the only thing that makes you weak. But I should tell you one thing, Achilles didn’t acquire this power from River Styx. Oh, no, he didn’t. He acquired it himself. He acquired it by learning, by fighting, by practicing, by concentrating to let all of his weakness accumulate on one spot in the most uncertain of places.

  “Getting an Achilles’ heel by taking a dip in any river is just a false interpretation that has been recited so many times that it’s become a gospel truth. In truth, you acquire the heel yourself and not because of some river. It’s achieved through your soul, your spirit, and your anger. Everyone has an Achilles’ heel within them. You just need to know how to open it.”

  “Th – Th – Thank y . . .” He was having a hard time saying a word he not accustomed to say. He kept his head down and said, “T – Thank y – you!”

  “My pleasure,” Oberon replied. “Farewell, my lads!” With that, he vanished. Caspar approached Death as if getting ready to strike. His anger increased

  with such hatred and irritation that he found he couldn’t control himself. “When were you going to tell me about this Achilles’ heel?”

  He’d understood the King of Fairies’ explanation. Everyone had an Achilles’ heel within them. He’d activated his, somehow. Perhaps he’d done so during the time he was locked within the cell of his own heart. The question was, where was the heel located? Where was the spot that made him weak? Was it his heel just like Achilles, or was it perhaps on his calf or his knee? Truth be told, none of it mattered. What mattered was that Death had never told him about it and he felt a tad betrayed because of it.

  “I thought you knew,” Death responded meekly.

  “What’s going on?” Ivy inquired as she glanced between them. Fib pulled the door open and carefully peeked inside.

  “Death knew something about me. He knew I bore an Achilles’ heel. That’s the reason he made me his fixer, his executioner, because I cannot be killed. I never could be. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought you knew.”

  “All this time, I thought I had some potential in me.
I thought I was an ordinary boy doing some extraordinary things all this time. I had a power, greater than a warrior, within me.”

  “You earned it yourself. You heard Oberon. You were never dipped in the River Styx. You earned it by practicing with your soul. You earned respect, the same respect Achilles once had. You were an ordinary human doing extraordinary things.”

  Caspar waved his hand about. “Bah! Don’t try to do reverse psychology on me. I know you know secrets about me, more than you are supposed to know.”

  “You should be upfront with us, at this point,” Balthazar said as he raised his hand. “There’s something we need to get straight. How did Caspar know Manfred?”

  “Yeah, I remember Manfred saying something about there being some sort of history between them. What history was that?” Ivy prodded. “Is it because of Manfred that you’re like this?”

  It’s history, Caspar. History is repeating itself. I won, you lost. Our story – it’s just repeating. It’s just coming to an end and going back to the beginning. Our story hasn’t changed.

  Flashes of memories tumbled through Balthazar’s mind. “You lost before, to Manfred? He won. Something happened between you and him. You have a story between you two, mate. What is that story? If you think Death betrayed you by not telling you about your Achilles’ heel, you would be betraying us by not telling us about that mysterious angle between you and Manfred?

  “When he died, you were so sure that he wouldn’t die. It was as if you knew him and the depths of his heart, as if he was very close to you. Yet you wanted to kill him. You had a deep hatred for him, for what he had done to you in the past and that’s why you pierced the blade with him even though you were so sure he wouldn’t die.”