Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  "There is nothing to worry about. In all my years as a physician, I am sure we'll find a medical explanation," Doctor Stokes said.

  Kyle put the newspaper down and stared out the window.

  "What's the matter?" Chantress asked.

  Kyle remained silent and trance-like. Chantress went over to him and brought her face close to his.

  "Are you ok?" she asked.

  His eyes were threatening, empty, and cold. A chill ran through her like an icy river. She had seen this look before in some of the Satanists, especially in the Magus and it frightened her. It was as if a blackness was seeping into him, taking control of his inner being.

  Kyle did not respond and then suddenly jumped up shouting as if a bolt of lightning had struck him.

  "That's it! That's it! Hannibal will love it! This is so great!"

  Chantress' frowned and her eyes grew darker.

  "Where did you hear that name?" she said coldly.

  "What name?"

  "Hannibal," she replied, her eyes burning with anger.

  "Ah...one of the devil worshippers told me it was the Magus' name," he said weakly.

  "Don't lie to me. You went to one of their meetings without me, didn't you? The only time his name would be mentioned is when they are going to appoint a new high priest. Who is the candidate?" she asked furiously.

  Kyle hesitated. The fear swirled around inside of him like a wind-blown smoke, and then it was whisked away and replaced with anger.

  "I am," he said defiantly.

  "You?" she shouted. Her eyes were white hot. "You? What kind of person are you? I thought you and me...I thought we had something special together. Those people are dangerous...evil! Get out! You disgust me!"

  Kyle's cold stare pierced Chantress like a bullet. The blackness she had seen earlier intensified and penetrated into her soul with icy precision.

  "I need one more thing before I leave," Kyle said in a tone she had never heard before.

  He moved closer and she backed away.

  "I said get out!" she screamed.

  She slowly moved her hand towards the wooden spoon on the counter. When he reached for her and she grabbed the spoon and brought it down hard catching his wrist.

  "Ahhhhhh! You bitch!" he screamed.

  "I'm sorry! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to!" she yelled.

  Kyle looked up at her his eyes on fire and the muscles in his face twisted in pain and anger. Chantress turned and ran up the stairs to her bedroom. She slammed the door in his face, but his foot caught the door and he wedged his way in. He pushed her down on her bed and slapped her face several times. Then he grabbed her breasts and pulled her close to him forcing his lips on to hers. She tried to push him away, but the pain in her chest was too much. His eyes were filled with hatred. He released his grip slightly and pulled her shirt upward. Buttons popped off in all directions and her sore, red breasts were exposed. She raised her hand and swung it hard hitting him on the side of the face. His eyes widened. She pushed him off and he rolled off the side of the bed hitting his head on wall as he fell. She darted toward the door, but he lurched out and caught her ankle. He moved his hands up her leg, pulling her towards him like a hungry animal. She kicked striking him on the bridge of his nose and he let go. She grabbed the cordless phone in the living and ran into the kitchen towards the back door. She dialed 911. It seemed to take hours before she heard a ring, but it was only a few seconds. She heard Kyle leap down the stairs and then there was a loud crash. She heard two rings, and then the phone went dead. Kyle entered with the base of cordless phone in his hand, wires dangling ominously. She threw the receiver at him, watching it hit him in the forehead and bounce off as if his head were made of rubber. She watched it all in slow motion. He grabbed her, pinned his arms around hers, and dragged her into the living room. He threw her down on the sofa, reached down and tore her panties off, then pushed her legs apart. She stopped struggling for a moment as she remembered her chances of survival were better if she didn’t resist, but then her anger rose when he pulled his underwear off and attempted to penetrate her. She thrashed and fought to keep moving so that he could not get into her, but she felt him slide partially into her vagina. She was shocked to realize that her vagina was soaked. Maybe, it was blood; maybe she was cut there. Maybe, he had a knife she didn’t see. Her wild thoughts vanished like a dust cloud on a windy day when the room filled with the chimes of the doorbell. Kyle froze for a split second and Chantress pulled back her arm and slammed her fist into his nose with all the anger and fury that grew from the thoughts she had just had. It was like a great burden being released from her because she wasn’t comfortable with those thoughts. Blood poured from his nose and splattered on her breasts making large red sickening blotches. She looked into his eyes and saw that the blackness had been replaced with fear, disillusionment and mostly surprise. She pushed him off and watched as he rolled and hit his head into the side of the coffee table moving it a few inches. She ran to the door and started to unlock the deadbolt, but suddenly something was holding her back - a fear spread throughout her body like black smoke filling a room. Kyle, still dazed, pulled her away from the door. The doorbell rang again, and Chantress' adrenaline peaked. She used the new energy to free one arm, swing it around landing her clawed hand on Kyle's left cheek. She pulled down hard ripping his flesh like paper. She could feel some of his skin bunching up under her long nails. His grip fell off and she saw him grab his face in agony. She ran into the kitchen, opened a drawer and pulled out a metal ladle. Kyle rushed in behind her and she swung it horizontally striking him in the ear.

  "Ahhhhhhhhh!" he yelled. "I'll kill you, bitch!"

  "Go to hell, you bastard! Get the hell out!" Chantress screamed back, her voice like an explosion.

  Kyle smiled hauntingly. He grabbed her, swung her down onto the kitchen table, and spread her legs apart again. Chantress did not struggle as much this time. He held her hands down with one hand pressing all of his weight on them.

  "What's the matter? Tired? Bitch," he breathed into her face. His breath was like a blackness that swallowed her face.

  The long cuts on his cheek and the dark anger in his eyes turned him into a beast from hell. She looked away. She let him penetrate her and waited. Then she felt hotness inside of her and Kyle's weight on her hands eased up. She instantly pulled one hand free and her arm swam in the air like a wild snake with its tail caught. The wild snake coiled back and her hand formed a fist. The snake moved forward with all of her force and struck Kyle in his left eye. He fell backward and onto the floor. He covered his face with his hands and rocked and moaned. The second blow had reopened the cut in his nose and blood oozed out between his fingers and dripped onto the white tiled floor.

  Chantress bolted for the living room, rushed towards the fireplace, picked up the pointed andiron.

  "Now get out, you bastard!" she screamed holding the iron in a strike position.

  Kyle was silent as he moved slowly, gathering his clothes and his pride. He put them on just as slowly. He was dazed from Chantress' blow and his nose bled slightly. As he walked toward the front door, he turned and looked at Chantress still poised in the attack position by the fireplace.

  "Bye, bitch," he said. The blackness she had seen earlier had completely engulfed him and now there was a devil in her house. She shivered at his words. When he left, she rushed towards the door and locked it. Then she sat down on the sofa and thought about calling the police, but it didn't seem like a good idea since her parents would find out about Kyle spending the night there, she thought. Besides, many date rapes are thrown out of court since everyone sides with the accused. She battled with the decision over and over, and then finally decided to forget the entire horrible experience. Besides, she had her revenge - he probably had a black eye by now, she thought, and he was pretty beaten up, and that was good enough for her. Suddenly and without warning, her chest heaved and tears rolled down her face. She had gotten even with Kyle all right, but she had also l
ost what she thought was a special relationship. The pain in her chest and heart was more intense than the burning of her groin. She cried for quite a while, and then headed upstairs to shower and wash away her grief. In the shower, the thoughts she had during the struggle crept back into her mind and she couldn't understand why she would have liked any part of the ordeal. Maybe it was sexual, maybe emotional; maybe she could not accept how Kyle was acting and how he could treat her in such a way. Perhaps, she could not face being deceived and knowing that Kyle was capable of violence in a most horrendous and cruel way. She wanted to believe that whoever it was, it was not Kyle that he was not himself, and that he would have stopped at some point dazed and confused, and say he was sorry, very sorry. But in her heart of hearts she knew that what she experienced was Kyle's true self waiting just under the surface to erupt and declare itself to the world. She watched the silvery water run down her sore and bruised body along with her tears that melted into the water unnoticed.

  * * *

  Kyle had trouble seeing out of his blackened eye as it quickly swelled shutting out most of the light. The pain shot across his face and into the back of his head with a constant throbbing and pounding. When he arrived home, he wrapped a few ice cubes in a towel and placed it on the bruised eye. He put a large bandage on his raw cheek and fell onto the couch, closed his eyes and thought about the following Sunday. He clearly knew what he was going to do - his conscience no longer conflicted with his desires. His vision was clear.

  Destiny - Chapter 22

  The next meeting of the Daimon Seclorum was held the following week and Kyle arrived late. When he descended into the basement of the Magus' house, the room was half-filled unlike the Black Mass he attended weeks earlier. The Magus was at the makeshift altar waiting and Kyle took a seat in the front row next to the thin woman with red hair who was with the Magus when they visited his apartment. Her hair was not tied in a ponytail, but flowed down her back like a shimmering red waterfall. She looked at him and smiled. He half-smiled back not sure how to interpret her friendliness.

  "Tonight my friends, we experience a monumental event, an awakening to the power we seek, a new, more powerful path. Tonight we will rejoice!" shouted the Magus.

  The woman with the long red hair stood and walked around the Magus. He handed her a robe folded to the size of a hardcover book.

  "We have a new high priest...Hermes, lord of the darkness," he said.

  The Magus went over to Kyle, lifted his arm, and turned him towards the audience.

  "With this robe, I grant thee the power, Hermes," he said. "Do you accept?"

  "Yeah...yeah, sure," Kyle said.

  "Then let it be so," the Magus replied.

  "Let it be so," the audience repeated. "Let it be so."

  The Magus went back to the altar, opened a silver box, and took out a silver cup and two plastic hospital bags filled with blood.

  "Tonight, we taste the blood of humans to celebrate our new leader," the Magus said.

  The audience watched trance-like as the Magus poured the blood from the plastic bags into the large silver cup and then lifted the chalice over his head.

  "To the new high priest of the Daimon Seclorum!" he yelled and brought the cup to his lips.

  He handed the cup to Kyle and Kyle tasted the blood in a similar fashion. The group let out low sighs and bowed before Kyle. He smiled back at the small gathering and then handed the cup back to the Magus. He filled it again and then gave it to a round, plump woman sitting in the first row. She sipped from the cup and handed it to a man sitting next to her. When the cup returned to the Magus, he nodded to the woman with the long red hair. She took Kyle by the hand and led him to a tiny room behind the altar. They slide past a cloth curtain into the tiny room, lit by red and black candles. A worn, green sofa sat against the naked cinder blocked walls like a lazy, sleeping dog. The women untied her robe and let it drop to the floor - revealing her body. Then she undressed Kyle and led him to the couch. Kyle was careful not to let her place him in a vulnerable position. When they began having sex, Kyle maneuvered so that he would be on top. The woman didn't speak a word - she only moaned. The old green sofa growled like an aggravated dog under their weight and Kyle was oblivious the moldy odor that puffed out of the dogged sofa.

  When they emerged from the small room, the crowd applauded. Kyle flinched as if a swarm of bats had attacked him. Then he smiled.

  "That officially makes you our newest high priest, Hermes. You are now one of us. Power to Hermes!" the Magus announced.

  "Power to Hermes!" the group repeated, and then they bowed to Kyle.

  "This is unbelievable!" Kyle said.

  "No it isn't. It is your destiny," the Magus said.

  The Media - Chapter 23

  Father Keith McDuffy knelt, made the sign of the cross, and went to the pulpit to the left of the altar. He opened a large missal and read a gospel from Saint John. His eyes were bloodshot and the bags under his eyes were larger than normal. Holy Mary's Roman Catholic Church was packed to capacity - the ushers had to patrol the aisles several times to make sure there were no empty spaces in the pews taken up by someone's purse or hat. Father McDuffy cleared his throat - the sound echoed throughout the church's public address system like an explosive noise. The parishioners fell silent.

  "It seems rare that we have standing room only on such a warm, beautiful day. But I know it is last week's events at the Methodist church that has everyone concerned. I can assure you that God has not abandoned us - those with strong faith and beliefs in the Almighty have nothing to worry about. God has not forsaken you if you believe," Father McDuffy said.

  A large part of the congregation moved uneasily in their seats. Many stared stone-faced. Father McDuffy knew he wasn't getting through to his followers.

  "Lies! All lies!" a voice boomed from the rear of the church.

  A figure dressed in a red, flowing robe stood silhouetted by the bright light as he held the rear doors open with both arms outstretched. The congregation gasped in unison.

  "Your god has forsaken you. I am the true leader of the true faith - the faith of Satan. Satan's way is the true way. The gates of heaven are closed," the dark figure said. "I am here to save you...to give you powers you had never dreamed possible in this world - the powers of Satan, the powers of yourselves to do what you want when you want to. We are not humble slaves to your god. We are gods unto ourselves!"

  Several women let out muffled screams. The dark figure moved forward, his head covered in a black hood. Others dressed in black robes followed the leader to the head of the altar. They too, wore hoods.

  "You and your kind are not welcomed here," said Father McDuffy shakily. "Leave now!"

  "We don't need a welcome. We are the way and you're not," the figure in red said. Father McDuffy backed away from the pulpit.

  "Power to Hermes," the hooded group chanted several times. "Power to Hermes."

  The priest was motionless. The figure in red stepped up to the pulpit and faced the audience.

  "Those who want to follow us can. You will be placed in high esteem in Satan's domain. Those who do not are doomed to horrible deaths! Save yourselves!" Hermes shouted his eyes ablaze and intense.

  "Get out!" Father McDuffy screamed. "Get out!"

  "SILENCE!" Hermes replied. He turned towards the congregation again. "You must come now or be lost forever."

  Hermes started to leave with his followers close behind in a procession of darkness. Some followed, moving silently and deliberately out from the pews. No one looked back. Those who remained watched intently. When the last person exited, Father McDuffy raced down the aisle and slammed the doors shut. Minutes later, the church was filled with a blinding burst of light as the doors swung open again. A small crowd rushed in.

  "Father McDuffy? My name is Wanda Jackson from Eyewitness News," a voice came out of the light. "I would like to ask you about what just happened here." There was a pause and then the woman spoke again.

 
; "Andy, make sure Fred gets those characters outside in the robes. Have him do an on-camera interview. Just let the guy babble on. We'll edit later. Now father, can you tell us what happened here?" the TV reporter pushed her way into the church and stuck a microphone in front of the harried priest.

  "That character or whatever you call him barged in here and disrupted our Mass. Scared a lot of the parishioners," the priest said.

  The interview was cut off as the camera crew was pushed forward as the inside of the church lit up. Wanda Jackson, an attractive brunette with large, puffy lips, was pushed into Father McDuffy and they were face to face with the microphone wedged between them. The crowd swelled.

  "Father McDuffy! Father McDuffy! We need a statement. I'm from Channel 4 News," a voice said from within the crowd.

  "You must all leave now!" Father McDuffy shouted as loud as his lungs would allow him. "We are in the middle of a holy Mass!"