The Battle Begins

by Bill Myers

  THE ELI DIARIES

  THE BATTLE BEGINS

  by

  Bill Myers

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are either a work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2017 Bill Myers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means without the written consent of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  INTRODUCTION

  I hate God.

  Same goes for His kid.

  The very name of His boy makes my scales crawl. That’s why I convinced the inhabitants of this parallel world to call him by his middle name. Granted, Eli is almost as obnoxious. But at least I can hear it without retching. I do miss the joy of people using his other name when they’re mad or cussing over something—nothing gives me as much pleasure as hearing my Enemy’s name associated with hate and pain. But losing that bit of happiness is a small price to pay. After all, compromise is the name of the game.

  At least my game.

  And don’t get me started on his followers which I hate almost as much as I do him. True, there are plenty of them who serve me better than my own street team—especially the ones who use religion to get into your face. I love the fact that every generation has its Pharisees—the ones who know their Book backwards and forwards and use it to spew judgement on anyone who disagrees. Yes sir, nobody helps my PR campaign against the Enemy like the devout. Not the ones He’s transformed; I’d destroy them in a nanosecond if I could. Seriously, they’re such a pain. No, I’m talking about the ones who quote the words of the Book, but are clueless of its Author. Who follow His every letter, but know nothing of His friendship. Those who try to change people from the outside with His rules, instead of from the inside with His love.

  Okay, enough chatter. If you haven’t guessed my name by now, you’re an idiot and not worth telling. In the future, you’ll hear plenty from his misguided minions. Each will have their own diaries talking about their times with him. Not that I’m worried. They’re all losers. If you don’t believe me, check their bios:

  —Maggie, the all-school sleep around,

  —Pete, a jock with a bad case of foot-in-mouth disease,

  —Tommy, the downer,

  —Martha, the servaholic,

  —Judas, who I personally have the highest hopes for.

  And the list goes on. But this first diary is mine so pay attention because there will be a test at the end. And, trust me, the results will go on your very permanent record.

  I won’t bore you how the Enemy brought Eli into this particular world. It’s pretty much the same as He’s done in all the others—pregnant virgin, born in a barn, worshipped by migrant workers who claimed to see angels, and finally three foreign dignitaries who drop by to kick start everything with weird gifts.

  Forget all that. Ancient history.

  Today is a new day with new opportunities…

  Chapter One

  Ahhh, the first day of school. One of my favorite times. Such fear. Such anxiety. A virtual playground for someone with my skills. If I’ve failed to ruin your summer, I can at least get inside your head and steal some of your peace. One of my specialties.

  Eli’s no exception. The kid’s got issues. Maybe not your garden variety of: “Seriously, a zit, now? There!” or, “I can’t believe I got Mr. Preston for Advanced Algebra, he’s such a Nazi.” But Eli’s definitely under pressure. So I figured why not amp it up a little by getting the jump on him while he’s still asleep.

  Dreams. The Enemy doesn’t let me do much with them. Just your occasional nightmare or sleep paralysis thing. But if I plant just the right suggestion and let you take it from there, well, sometimes I get lucky and can really mess up your morning.

  I leaned into his subconscious and whispered, ever so quietly, “Better keep a low profile this year. You really can’t stop jerks from being jerks. Don’t want any blowback to bite the family. Remember what happened to your dad?”

  The last thought was totally unrelated but, as you’ve experienced, there’s plenty of artistic freedom in dreams.

  The good news was he took the bait. He began remembering his dad in bed at the hospital from a few weeks back. Little sister, Tabitha sat next to the man. Eli and his younger brother, Jimmy, stood beside their mom who held the fussing baby and looked a couple decades older than she was. I’d really put her through the ringer. And, believe me, I’d barely started.

  “You gave us quite a scare,” she was saying to her husband.

  He chuckled. “But I’m back.” He tousled Tabitha’s short, sandy-colored hair. “Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Tabby looked up at him and grinned. I hate it when she does that. The kid worships her parents. Not to worry. She’ll be a teen soon enough.

  The brothers were more serious. Jimmy is thirteen and a real looker. Blue eyes, thick, black hair. In the next few months he’ll realize what a babe magnet he is, which I’ll obviously use to my advantage. The fact that he’s jealous over Eli is a definite plus.

  And finally, the star of our show…Eli Shepherd.

  As far as physical descriptions, I’m happy to say there isn’t much to look at. Average this, average that. Truth of the matter is, besides his lean, six-foot frame, you couldn’t get any blander. Something he and the Enemy dreamed up before he was born. Said they didn’t want to distract from their message. But they are distracting. Big time. Maybe not with his looks, but with that sickeningly big heart of his. Seems he’s always looking out for the underdog. And not all Boy Scout-ish. I’ve seen him throw a punch or two—if not physical, then verbal—but never for himself, always for some poor mouth breather.

  And fun? The dude loves to laugh. No matter how serious someone takes themselves, he uses that great irony of his to get them to see the big picture. Unless the big picture is serious. Or tragic. Then he’ll just sit beside them, keep his mouth shut, and quietly ache with them.

  Yeah, the wrapping paper ain’t much to look at, but inside, he draws people like flies. Another reason I hate him.

  Mom continued her lecture. “The doctor said no stress and absolutely no work for the next six weeks.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ll give him two.” Dad chuckled again and turned to the brothers. “You boys are going to have to take over the shop for a bit. You good with that? Might get crazy with surfing finals coming up.”

  Perfect. More worries. School…parents…and now, work. The more the merrier. Which made it a good time to switch topics.

  “How ‘bout the chicks this year?” I whispered. “As a junior you can start hitting on those cute, naive underclassmen. Especially the ones that hung around the shop this summer. Don’t deny it. You know why they were there. Everyone thinks you’re adorable. Why let all that charm go to waste?”

  Images of the girls flickered in his head. Unfortunately, they were all sweet and smiley. Definitely not the ones I wanted.

  Note to self: Work harder to get him onto those porn sites.

  I tried another approach…

  “What about Morgan? You know she’s got the hots for you. Been trying to get alone with you for months. You managed to shine her on this summer, but now you’ll see her every day. Talk about opportunities. With all the pressure you’re under, you deserve some sort of release.”

  A scowl crossed his face.

  “You can’t stay a virgin forever. Just imagine those lips against yours, her firm body pressed against—”

  His scowl deepened and he turned his head.

  Alright, too much, too soon. We’ll get to that another time. After all, sex is another one of my specialties. Not the heart-giving-to-heart version; that’s the Enemy’
s invention. Mine’s the selfish, if-it-feels-good-do-it variety.

  I focused back on his pressures and responsibilities. That always works on the conscientious type. “Your Father, your real One, says you have to be perfect. One slip up, the tiniest infraction, and it’s game over for the whole flippin’ world, for all the people you supposedly love.”

  Was that a groan I heard? Excellent. I went after it:

  “No one can be perfect? Especially these days. The burden’s too great. Save the world? One person to pay for everybody’s failures? Nobody can bear that responsibility. Give it up. Give it up now and enjoy. I’ll provide you with unspeakable pleasures if you just—”

  That’s when the car horn blared and Eli’s eyes popped open.

  I hate it when the Enemy interferes like that. When it comes to those He loves, He never plays fair. But that’s okay, I’ll wait. The day is young and, as you’ll see, there’ll be plenty more opportunities.

  Eli threw off the covers and staggered out of bed.

  More honking.

  He had no time for a shower, and one look in the mirror said a brush would be useless. So he slipped on some pants and searched the floor for a tee-shirt—‘til he remembered Mom had been through the room on a search and rescue mission the night before. He finally found one, in a drawer of all places, threw it on, and stumbled down the steps to the kitchen.

  It was the usual morning mayhem…

  —Mom holding the crying baby on her hip while running the blender and scrambling eggs,

  —Little Tabitha spinning pirouettes in the center of the room,

  —Jimmy inhaling his third bowl of sugar coated somethings,

  —and Dad staring down at his plate of dry toast and pitted prunes.

  As Eli swept into the room, Dad looked up. “Son, you’ve gotta save me from this.”

  “Doctor’s orders,” Mom said as she turned off the blender and poured her husband a nice big glass of broccoli and celery juice.

  More horn honking.

  “That Judas?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, his parents bought him a decked-out Mustang for his birthday. He’s picking me up.”

  “Not until you eat something.”

  “Mom?”

  Jude kept right on honking.

  “Even the horn sounds expensive,” Dad said.

  “He’s waiting.”

  “Sit,” Mom ordered.

  “But—”

  “Sit. Cereal or scrambled eggs?”

  “Or juice.” Dad motioned to his glass. “Always willing to share.”

  Eli sank into his chair. “Eggs, please.”

  He felt his phone vibrate. No question who it was. Jude had money which meant he pretty much got what he wanted whenever he wanted it. A major plus for me. The rich ones are the easiest targets. But Eli wouldn’t pick up. Some family rule about no phones at the table. Talk about backwards.

  I leaned into his mind. “C’mon,” I whispered. “One quick text under the table. Tell him to chill. No one will notice. You’d be doing the neighbors a favor, giving them some peace and quiet.”

  Okay, I’ll admit, as far as temptations, that was pretty lame—which explains why he swatted it away like a fly. But I wasn’t worried. Like I said, the day had barely started and I was just warming up.

  So, as the horn kept honking, the baby kept crying, and Tabitha kept twirling, Eli gave a weary sigh and waited patiently at the table. Being sixteen wasn’t easy no matter whose son you were.

  Chapter Two

  Eli raced across the lawn, more weeds than grass, to Jude’s rumbling convertible—a fire-red beast with all the trimmings.

  “Well look who decided to join us,” Jude shouted over the pounding sound system.

  “Sorry, guys.”

  Because Pete, an All-American jock, rode shotgun, Eli threw his backpack into the back and climbed in next to Tommy and some new kid.

  Jude dropped the car into gear and shouted over his shoulder, “Eli, meet Brent. Brent, Eli.”

  “Hey,” Eli said.

  The new kid, a major stoner who’d already medicated himself to face the day, somehow managed a nod.

  Eli returned it and leaned over to Tommy, “How’s it going?”

  “Awful.” Tommy managed to cough and sniff at the same time.

  “Allergies acting up?” (Tommy’s allergic to everything).

  He gave another sniff. “If I’m lucky.”

  “If you’re lucky?”

  “I think I’m developing a new strain of cancer.” (Tommy’s also a hypochondriac).

  “Tough break,” Pete said. “Course, everybody needs a hobby.”

  The guys laughed. No one ever believed Tommy. If pessimists saw the glass half empty, Tommy didn’t even see the glass.

  “How’s football?” Eli called to Pete. “Ready for next week’s game?”

  “Coach suspended me for a couple days,” Pete said.

  “What for this time?”

  “I punched out some kid.”

  “Again?” Jude said.

  “Hey, he’s the one who made a crack about my haircut.”

  Eli just shook his head.

  Pete continued. “Didn’t hit him hard. But I guess I kinda busted his nose.” He shrugged, then changed subjects. “So, did you guys get any this summer?”

  Of course, no one did, but that didn’t stop everyone from lying. Well everyone but Eli. Try as I might, I could never get him to join in those conversations. He never sounded superior or judgmental, but he never participated, either.

  Fortunately, that didn’t stop the others from taking jabs at him. After they’d gone the rounds, Jude called back to him. “So, Eli, you telling me you went all summer without getting anything?”

  “What about Morgan?” Tommy gave a longer than usual sniff.

  Eli shook his head.

  Brent mumbled, “Not a single chick?”

  “What about guys?” Pete asked.

  More laughing which, for the record, I loved. Any time I can get you people to dishonor another, I’m in—well, not Heaven, since I’ve been forbidden access, but, at least a nice, time-share in Maui.

  They were just coming up to the school when Pete pointed to a car full of girls waiting at the light. “Check it out,” he said. “There’s Stacey!”

  Jude nodded, revved the engine for a little growl, and glided in beside them. “Hey, hey, hey,” he shouted. “What’s up, Stacey?”

  Stacey Miller, a Kardashian wannabe, sat in the front passenger seat with the window rolled down.

  “Lookin’ hot, babe!” Jude called.

  The hens in back cackled and giggled which Jude mistook for his uber-coolness. Jude thought everything was about his uber-coolness. Encouraged, he continued. “What say this year me and you get to know each other better, if you know what I mean?”

  More giggling as the light turned green and the girls started off.

  Jude called after them. “Sound like a plan?”

  Stacey stuck her hand out the window, offering the universal, single-finger salute.

  “I’ll take that as a yes!” he shouted.

  Eli chuckled, “Still haven’t lost your touch, I see.”

  Jude shrugged. “Practice makes perfect.”

  Two minutes later, they rounded the corner and pulled into Kennedy High’s parking lot. They slowed to a crawl since no one felt a need to step aside and Jude felt no need to hurry pass potential gawkers. He found two spaces and straddled them so no one would ding his car…which, of course, meant I’d inspire someone to key it before the end of the day.

  The place swarmed with potential; nervous kids shouting, flirting, dissing—the Hanson boy taking his final hit of Johnny Walker (at least for the morning), the too-cool-for-school lung cancer crowd doing the same with their own brands of self-destruction, Paul and Becky holding hands making their declaration to the world, Jill and Jennifer doing the same, Gus Parker showing off his wrist-to-shoulder tatts (both arms), and Savannah Turner shouting a
t her German Shepherd for sneaking away from home and coming to school (while secretly wishing she could sneak away from school and come home).

  “Bad dog,” she shouted. “Go home, Bruce! Go home!”

  Bruce might have paid more attention if there weren’t so many smells to take in and tires to pee on.

  Yes sir, for me it was a virtual banquet…all that fear and insecurity packed into one place. Each and every one of them secretly afraid they don’t measure up. And how could they, with all the media images I throw at them? Perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect skin. And I’m not just talking about air-brushed bodies. I’m also talking air-brushed lives. All those so-called winners designed to make the rest of you feel like losers. It’s the perfect scam. The more I cram impossible standards into your little brains, the more I lower your self-esteem. And the lower your self-esteem, the more desperate you are to try and raise it by following other losers.

  Life’s little hamster wheel. Custom built for each one of you. Of course, the trick is to keep you dancing like puppets, filling your heads with so much false reality that you’ll never know the real thing. You’ll never know how much you’re loved by the Enemy. Yes, my pretties. Just keep dancing to my music. Just keep running the race that has no end. Because if you ever found out how much He adores you, I’d be doomed to failure.

  Chapter Three

  The first period bell hadn’t even rung and I was already enjoying success on an entirely different playing field. I’d gathered a sizeable crowd of fans to cheer on Julie Hanson, this year’s captain of the girls’ basketball team. But they weren’t cheering her on in a game. No. As a senior, who had the insecurities of a freshman, Julie was kicking the crap out of Maggie, one of my favorite victims.

  You see, underneath all that makeup, Maggie’s a real babe—just one of the reasons the girls hate her. But there’s so much more. The last few years I’ve beaten and scarred her up so badly, she doesn’t trust anyone. I hope you’ll appreciate the artistry involved in creating someone so broken—all the little touches, like sentencing her latest step dad to 30 years of prison for accidentally killing her mom with some bad heroine.