"Oh, I am certain you aren't feeling all too well, Miranda," said David, his voice icier as he went on. "You see, truth serum works just as well on an angel made wholly human as it does any other man. Your father...he revealed many things before I was through with him. One of which was how great emotional disruption might cause things to progress much faster within you. To quicken your becoming. The things you could do. The things you could see! Some of it wasn't all that clear. After all, he was in and out of consciousness near the end. But something had just occurred to me. Something I hadn't thought of before. I thought that I had thought of everything. And then...I touched you."
Miranda swung herself around quickly, coming face to face with David. The knife was pulled out of her jacket, and with a quick flick of her thumb, the blade was open and held at her side.
"Let's not be too rash now, shall we, dear niece," said David, pointing a handgun with a long barrel at Miranda. She had recognized the extended barrel of the weapon as a silencer on the gun from many of the police dramas her father watched on television when she was very young.
"You are Enoch. Aren't you?" said Miranda, with more hatred than fear now in her voice.
"I am David Gale. I am the rightful heir to the Gale legacy, and I will be the one to make sure that the prophecy is fulfilled. You will release Lucifer, and I will be rewarded for returning the lightbringer to his freedom!" said David. Even now, after all the years away from her, Miranda could see the contempt and anger he had for her. Now, she may have been just a tool to get what he desired, but it sickened his ego still that she was the key to unlocking the rewards he felt he was entitled to.
"Why? Why would I possibly help you? You are NOTHING but a murderer! You killed my family! You may as well shoot me now. I will never help you!" Miranda fired back at him.
"Oh, you will," David said.
Miranda heard the large oak door latch click, and turned to see Jake walking in, followed by Deacon. David gave a nod to Deacon, who in turn nodded back and walked out the door, securing its lock as he exited.
"What the hell is going on?" Jake asked, eyeing the gun in David's hand that was pointed at Miranda.
"Jake, glad you could join us. Maybe you can talk some sense into your good friend Miranda. All I've asked is a little favor of her, and she seems unwilling to grant me this request. Please. Do convince her to make better choices," said David, lowering his gun to his side.
"What is he talking about? What is going on, Miranda?" asked Jake, still keeping one eye on David's gun. David kept a serious, almost pleading look on his face.
"It was him, Jake, it was all him! He had my parents killed. He murdered his own men just to try and convince me that I could trust him!"
Jake flashed his eyes to David, who could not repress the smirk that came to his lips.
"You son-of-a-bitch!" Jake exclaimed, starting towards David as David raised his gun back up from his side, stopping Jake in his tracks. Jake positioned himself between David and Miranda, just as they all heard a door open from the upper level above the office. Footsteps started down the spiral steps that led up to the apartment above.
The sound of the steps was steady and even. Miranda felt a rush of anxiety and joy simultaneously as Aimsley came into view, followed closely by Deacon. Deacon was holding a gun in his hand now, pointed from his hip at Aimsley's back. Aimsley was wearing the same slacks and blouse that she was wearing when Miranda last saw her.
"Aimsley!" said Miranda, "Are you alright? I'm so sorry, I never meant for any of this to happen."
"I know, sweetie. It's not your fault. I should have just left you alone. I'm the one who's sorry, Miranda..." said Aimsley, tears starting to run down her face.
"This is all so touching," said David, smugly.
"Just leave her alone!" growled Miranda, the anger welling more inside her now.
"Or what?" replied David. "Or you won't do what I've asked of you? You already told me that you won't, so..."
David raised the gun squarely at Aimsley and fired. The bullet flew perfectly through the center of her chest, leaving her standing for a moment, wide-eyed, and glancing towards Miranda before falling to the floor.
"NO!" screamed Miranda, pushing past Jake and lunging at David, who simply, yet quickly, re-directed the gun at Miranda's forehead, mere inches away from it where she stood now. Jake froze, looking at Miranda and David, and then back to Deacon standing with his gun still in hand. Miranda stared at David as if she were a wild animal ready to strike and tear him to pieces.
"Miranda! Don't!" pleaded Jake. "Please...I can't lose you again."
Miranda closed her eyes and breathed in deep, trying to calm the fury within her. She stepped backwards toward Jake, never taking her eyes off of David. She moved back until she could feel Jake behind her, and continued to go back, nudging Jake along. Deacon started to aim his gun in their direction, but David, with a subtle gesture, waved him off. Deacon lowered his gun.
"Jake," said Miranda, loud enough for both he and David to hear, "Stay behind me. He won't shoot me. He needs me. We are going to walk out of here, and then we are going to disappear." Jake continued on, following her direction, glancing back and forth between Deacon and David, finding it hard not to catch glimpses of the slain woman he watched David murder in cold blood right before his eyes moments before.
David once more lowered his gun, slightly.
"Miranda," he said, shaking his head side to side while looking down. "You are such a smart, strong girl."
He stepped forward in her direction, looking her in the eye. She stopped, and pulled the Delica to her own throat.
"Stop. Not another step," she told David. Jake stayed silent, not knowing what he should do in that moment, but it didn't matter at that point any longer. It was fate that took over from that second on.
"Miranda," David said once more. The twisted grin returned to his face. "Do you really think that if I could actually truly harm you, you would be of any use to me?"
David raised the gun in his hand and fired a shot directly through Miranda's midsection, just below her sternum.
Miranda gasped and dropped the knife from her hand. She felt a rush of hot and cold through her body all at once. There was the sudden onset of pain, but just as soon as the pain would come, so would the hot and cold, flaring through her like electrical impulses.
She looked down, and for a moment, she saw the gush of blood flow from the hole in her body. The breath was gone from within her, but in mere seconds she found herself able to draw in air again.
Miranda was breathing. She was aware of her heart rate, rising to a rapid pace, then slowing down to almost nothing, now steady and constant again. Never in these moments did she ever lose her footing. She was standing still, looking down at the bloody hole in her shirt. The fingers that had held the knife found their way to the hole in her shirt, but there was no hole in her body. There was no pain. There was nothing.
She turned around to see Jake's eyes, wide and glassy. He dropped to his knees in front of her, and then Miranda saw the blood gushing from the right side of his abdomen. The bullet that had gone into Miranda's body had exited and lodged itself deep inside of Jake's, tearing through the area near his liver. The blood was coming fast, and the only thing Miranda could think to do was put pressure on the wound, but the blood was running fast through her fingers.
"Jake! Oh my God, Jake...please Jake...please...stay with me..." cried Miranda, desperate and feeling helpless. She tore off a piece of his shirt and pressed it into the wound.
"There's only one thing you can do now to save him, Miranda," said David, softly, standing just behind her now. "Release Lord Lucifer, and he will grant you a boon for his freedom. He can save Jake, Miranda. All you have to do is want him to be free. It is your destiny, Miranda. Pre-ordained by God. It is in your hands now. It is your choice."
Rage washed over Miranda like a tsunami. She could feel it like fire filling her every cell. She clenched her fists as her tears ev
aporated from her face, and rising to her feet she turned towards David, who took several steps back from her. Her eyelids were shut tightly as the room began to shake, first with the subtlest of vibrations, then rising into the intensity of a small earthquake. She opened her eyes and looked upon him, and for the first time since she laid eyes upon him, she could see fear in his expression. In fact, she could almost taste it.
Her pupils appeared to have dilated to a point that completely eclipsed the tranquil blue beauty that she had inherited from her mother. Now, there was only blackness in its place, and that blackness was staring right through the broken and dark soul of David Gale.
A hot lead round from a gunshot flew past Miranda's face, missing only by inches; but it was not a miss. Miranda could feel the bullet coming and changed its path in mid-air so it would crash through the glass encasement of a golden Egyptian cat statue. The thick glass shattered into several large shards; Miranda looked to Deacon, who had fired the shot. The broken shards all took flight at once from where they laid, darting across the room, piercing through several different places in Deacon's face and neck. One large fragment severed his carotid artery, causing him to bleed out quickly. He dropped to the floor, shuddering before going motionless in the pooling blood.
She turned her attention back towards David, who foolishly aimed his gun in her direction again. The gun snapped backwards in his hand, breaking three of his fingers before flying across the room, far from his reach.
David let out a scream of pain, grasping at his now feeble hand with his good one, which did nothing to ease his agony.
The room continued to tremble violently as Miranda walked slowly, one determined step after another, in the direction of David, who found himself tripping and stammering in his pain. The flames from the fireplace erupted into a wave of fire that engulfed the furniture that they had sat in earlier in the evening. Several books started flying from the shelves at the end of the room near the fireplace. Some of them passing through the flames and igniting into blazing projectiles hurtling across the room in David's direction, who desperately tried to dodge them as they came at him with incredible force. One struck him hard in the arm, knocking him to the floor on the steps leading up to the desk. He let out a wail from the pain before he had even realized his sleeve had caught fire, and patted it down with his opposite hand, extinguishing the flames.
Miranda turned her head to the other side of the room and looked upon the artifacts in their museum-like casings. The glass shattered simultaneously in all of the cases. A carved jade Buddha bust launched in David's direction. David threw himself to one side, the bust missing him by inches as it shattered into the windowed wall behind his desk. An Aztec wooden chest, adorned with golden plates on every side, became the next flying weapon, grazing his cheek as it shot past, smashing and bursting as it hit the mighty glass pyramid windows.
"Miranda," David pleaded. "Stop! You don't know what you are doing! You need my help...he will reward us both! You can still help Jake!" She could feel the desperation in his shaken words. It meant nothing to her.
"I've seen your soul, David. I've seen your heart. All you desire is your own glorification. You care for nothing but glory and power! You don't know what true suffering is, because nothing has even meant enough to you to feel real loss. Not until now!"
All of the individual pieces of a Mongol warrior's armor came at David, one at a time; sleeves of leather and an iron helmet and plating striking him from one side and then the other as he dragged his way to his desk. The flaming furniture propelled through the air like catapult missiles across the large room just over the top of the desk, once more causing David to drop to the marble floor. The fire spread across the room of antiquities, engulfing everything in the room that could burn.
David watched the pieces of history as they began to crumble to dust, fearing ever so much more for his own life.
"You must STOP this!" cried David. He was far past the point of the realization that he had no true idea of what he had released within her. She was rage and power. He could see the hatred in her eyes. The darker part of him was smiling, somewhere deep inside, but it was the rest of him now, almost frozen with both fear and pain, that faced the monster before him.
"We can change the world, Miranda. We can stop the pain. I'm sorry Miranda. I'm so sorry...I was scared...I didn't know any other way. Spare me, my niece. We are all the family that we have left."
Miranda stopped just feet from David. The books and other small artifacts and pieces of glass stopped swirling in the air around the room and dropped to the ground. The only sound was the crackle of the flames burning throughout the room. She crouched low on the ground in front of David, staring into his face. Her eyes were still as black as the night; she leaned in closer to her uncle. Impulsively, he lurched backwards, pressing himself against the desk.
"I have no family," she said, her tone dark and contemptuous. "You saw to that. They were good people. They loved me for who I was. They loved me unconditionally. They gave me a home and a name. A name I was never deserving of!"
The desk instantly split in two pieces as if it were no more than a toothpick, each half flying to opposite ends of the room and smashing into splinters. David fell flat on his back before pulling and pushing himself backwards toward the glass outer wall, but Miranda helped him along with that. He felt his body rise up off the floor and slam into the glass with such force that he could hear the snapping of ribs in his chest as the pain pulsed through him. David could only gasp as the strength to make sound escaped him. He was sure at least one, if not both of his lungs, had been punctured by fragments of his broken ribs.
Miranda stepped closer to him, stopping a few short feet away.
"This building can withstand any impact?" asked Miranda. David could say nothing; blood was sputtering from his mouth.
Miranda closed her eyes as a low rumbling came from outside of the building. The once clear night sky grew darker still as black clouds seemed to appear out of the darkness itself, eclipsing the moon and the stars in every direction. David tried to turn his head to the glass behind him, but the pain was too great and more blood coughed from his mouth. He dropped to the floor from the glass as lightning flashed from the sky all around. A bolt of lightning roared into the glass, creating a fracture about one hundred feet across. The sound was almost deafening. Miranda opened her eyes and watched as two more blasts from the sky struck the same spot near David, causing the great glass wall to drop to pieces all around him where he lie. A rush of wind filled the room, flaring up the fires to even greater ferocity.
David rose by an invisible force from the floor again, hovering just inches from its surface. The winds that came from the spontaneous storm subsided, and Miranda brought her face within inches of David's. She took his chin in her hand, much like he himself had done to her father, beaten and broken, as she had seen in the vision.
"If you want to meet the devil so bad, you can go to hell and meet him yourself."
David flew back from her hand and out into the night sky. He fell, story after story, plummeting silently, unable to yell or scream or even whisper, until the final twist of fate came upon him. As his back fell toward the earth, the uplifted sword of the polished stone angel in front of the main entrance to the building pierced his spine and on through his chest; the force of the fall pushed him deeper still, almost splitting him in two.
Miranda could hear the screams from the street below, although it was too far away for any human ear to hear. She hadn't noticed if she had been breathing or not, and then she could feel her chest moving and air coming in and out of her lungs. Her eyes were no longer black, taking on the blue hue she had seen in the mirror all of her life. The fires around the room had subsided some, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Aimsley, lifeless on the floor, and she felt an ache in her chest. She turned quickly toward Jake, and she could see something odd around him. There was a faint, dimming glow about his body, and Miranda somehow knew from tha
t distance that he was still alive, if only barely.
She ran across the room to him and could still feel a pulse in his neck.
"Jake! Jake! Can you hear me? We have to get you to a doctor..." she said, but as she was looking at his face, she could see the glow dimming more and more quickly.
Somehow, Miranda knew. Somehow, she had become aware of almost all of the power inside of her. She acted on instinct, placing her hand over the spot where the bullet had entered and lodged itself within Jake's lower torso.
Miranda concentrated, closing her eyes again as the blackness returned, and a warm, white glow came from beneath the surface of her palm as she held it to Jake. Jake writhed and gasped, and Miranda reached out with her opposite hand to hold him still, calming him. She closed her hand, and the glow dissipated. For a moment, she held her hand in place, until she turned it over and opened her palm, revealing the spent bullet, still and whole.
Jake started to move, barely opening his eyes to see the shadowy silhouette of Miranda before him, only for a moment, and then all he could see was darkness.
EPILOGUE
The days had been unseasonably hot for the middle of June in northern Michigan. Some days had already reached temperatures in the lower 90s, while others, after a cool drenching rain, had only peaked in the upper 60s.
Jake awoke early on a Sunday morning, around 7:30 a.m., and the temps were already that day in the upper 60s. It was going to be another hot June day. His radio alarm cranked out loudly the song “Tired” by Stone Sour.
Like any other morning, he rolled out of his bed, made himself a milk chocolate protein shake and wheat toast for breakfast, and then headed for the shower. And like every other morning, standing before the mirror after his shower, he would stare at the odd mark on the surface of the right side of his abdomen, and he would try and remember what happened on that night almost eight months earlier.
It would come to him, in flashes and in shadows, but whenever he tried to make any sense of it, it would seem like one of those picture puzzles where one slides the pieces from side to side and up and down until the picture was complete and whole. But this puzzle wasn't comprised of the far simpler nine or sixteen squares to move. This one appeared in his mind’s eye to have dozens of pieces, and the more he tried to concentrate and remember what had happened, the more pieces appeared to form and make it even more difficult.
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