by J F Cain
Dr. Wilson was waiting for him further down the corridor so that no one would hear their conversation. Abaddon stopped in front of him, ready for the grilling he knew would follow.
“You said you were out of miracles,” the doctor said, his tone betraying his turmoil.
Abaddon regarded his friend compassionately.
“Calm down, John, there’s a logical reason for everything. What we refer to as miracles are just nature’s ways that humans don’t know about yet.”
“I don’t think methodological naturalism can help us explain this particular case. But if you can give me an explanation about what really happened in there, then I’m all ears,” the doctor said and folded his arms, waiting for an answer.
“I can’t tell you anything more than I’ve already said.”
His words and expressions told Dr. Wilson that he knew what was responsible for his wife’s sudden recovery but couldn’t reveal it.
“Alex, you owe me an explanation. Please, tell me what’s going on. All the unexplainable things that have happened to you are driving me crazy.”
“I’m sorry, John, but I can’t explain,” Abaddon replied softly.
The doctor unfolded his arms and released a heavy sigh.
“Your wife’s unexpected recovery will be the main topic of discussion at the hospital and in medical circles tomorrow,” he said in a low voice, his tone warning yet also pleading. “What am I going to tell my colleagues who ask me about this unbelievable development?”
“I would be grateful if this event remained between us,” Abaddon requested, his polite tone carrying a commanding edge.
“But how will I cover it up?” the doctor protested, his arms spread wide. “There are doctors who saw your wife’s state and her inexplicable recovery, and the sample we took from her lungs is being analyzed in the lab.” He shook his head agitatedly, as if wanting to chase away the unpleasant possibility that had just occurred to him. “I don’t even want to think about what they could find there.”
“They won’t find a thing,” Abaddon reassured him, certain that Lucifer wouldn’t leave any traces of his supernatural origins in his odious poison. The Rule that forbade them from revealing the existence of Ethereals served his purposes, which was why he upheld it.
Dr. Wilson sighed heavily.
“What you’re asking isn’t easy. Last time I had a rough time of it trying to explain the strange surgeries I don’t know who performed on you. Since then, many colleagues have been giving me suspicious looks.”
“Tell your colleagues that my wife had an allergic shock or something like that and that the research program I’m funding, and which you’re heading, will study the case. That way you’ll get rid of the busybodies until the whole thing is forgotten. If the other doctors who examined my wife insist on asking questions, remind them politely that I’m most likely the hospital’s biggest benefactor.”
The doctor had shoved his hands in the pockets of his white coat and was staring at the floor absentmindedly. He had already set aside the matter of the unexplainable recovery—he had no choice but to do that—and was contemplating a single question. It had nothing to do with Alex’s unusual medical history, which his wife was adding to magnificently. It had to do with his appearance. Something had changed about him. John Wilson sensed a strange power. Whether it was coming from inside, outside, or around the businessman, he didn’t know. But he could feel it. He emanated that deep unfathomable power that evokes fear and awe due to its unknown origins.
“Is there something beyond us? Beyond the world we see and live in?” he asked suddenly, as he lifted his gaze to look at him. He hoped to get a negative answer that wouldn’t bring the whole edifice of his convictions tumbling to the ground.
Abaddon had heard the man’s thoughts and wasn’t surprised by the question. Even so, he remained silent, wondering how he should answer. He respected and trusted John Wilson. But should he reveal the truth to him? It would definitely upset him. On the other hand, he might need his help again. That selfish thought made him feel guilty, and the guilt grew when he remembered that he had troubled the doctor repeatedly with his unbelievable medical situations. He owed him some explanation for all the psychological torment he had subjected him to.
“Please, Alex, tell me,” Dr. Wilson insisted before the Dark Angel could reply. “You know I’m an atheist, and each time you pitch up with an unexplainable case I go through the spiritual wringer.”
Abaddon gestured to show he understood.
“What exists has nothing to do with gods and men,” he answered enigmatically.
Dr. Wilson took a deep breath in and exhaled loudly, marshaling some inner reserves of calm and strength. The revelation was earthshaking. And going contrary to his rationalism, which always sought proof or at the very least convincing answers, he didn’t doubt for even a moment that what his friend was telling him was the truth.
“What exactly is it?” he asked with interest. “Is it an alien lifeform, an existence beyond the boundaries of our known dimensions, or is it something even stranger that scientists, maybe even those delving into the philosophical and theoretical side of the subject, would never imagine?”
“All of that together,” Abaddon replied, again avoiding giving a clear answer.
Dr. Wilson realized that the being standing in front of him in human form had serious reasons not to reveal the nature of his world. So he moved on to an easier question—one of the many he had—and of course it was scientific in nature.
“Is your anatomy the same as ours?” he asked, all the while searching Abaddon’s face for any differences from the human race.
“No, we aren’t even physical in the sense that humans mean when they speak of matter. Our existence is composed of highly concentrated energy. We just assume any form we need to appear in your world.”
“And what are you doing here?”
“We’re helping the human race to evolve and grow spiritually.”
A distrustful fear swept through John Wilson. Why were these evolved beings interested in humans if they weren’t getting anything out of it?
“Do we need this help? I mean … can’t we evolve on our own?” he added hurriedly with a nervous gesture of his hand so as not to seem ungrateful if he was wrong.
“Since some are doing everything they can to prevent you, no,” Abaddon replied.
Dr. Wilson became incensed.
“Are these beings your kind or ours?”
“Both. They work together to serve their mutual interests. Their goal is to control humanity.”
Dr. Wilson’s serious face, with its fine features and gray sideburns, stiffened and paled slightly.
“So the battle between good and evil isn’t just an inner conflict between a person’s nobler and inferior qualities; it really exists,” he noted unhappily.
“Yes, but it all depends on humans. Nothing happens without their will or, at the very least, their tolerance.”
“I hope we’ll be able to bear up against the scheming,” the doctor said without much confidence. “I wouldn’t want my life to be determined by outside forces.”
Abaddon glanced at Aranes’ room without turning around. He wanted to go to her, but he couldn’t leave the man alone with his ignorance. That was the source of all sorts of misery for the earthly race.
“I’ll tell you one truth, John, and I really hope it helps you,” he began with a grave tone of voice. “It is humans themselves who surrender their lives and consciousness to the will of selfish beings. The ability to determine your life is a privilege only the strong have, John. But even among them, very few possess true strength, the strength you get from knowing yourself. That is why their motives and decisions are for the most part wrong. Because those who possess self-knowledge don’t care about imposing their will on their fellow human beings,” Abaddon concluded with a frown.
Life’s harsh reality and his knowledge of psychology didn’t permit Dr. Wilson to question the truth of what
his strange friend had told him.
The most recent financial crisis was a clear sign of humanity’s psychological state. Even without the specialized knowledge to grasp that a deregulated global economy was the worst weapon against the world’s nations and democracy, who wouldn’t be able to see that it was the citizens that had carried the burden of saving private companies? Yet they didn’t protest. They simply paid the extra taxes without complaint, giving even more money to those who were preying on countries and their citizens.
“Unfortunately, you’re right,” he admitted, the disappointment clear in his voice. “I often wonder, how can they not see the truth?”
A shadow passed over Abaddon’s deep blue eyes and his expression turned melancholic.
“It’s not so strange, John. People are trapped in an age-old dangerous illusion created by those who control them. Those who rule have always found a way to prevail, but now they use more sophisticated methods. In recent decades, they’ve been doing mass experiments in manipulation to cultivate a new type of individual who is so indolent, hooked on false needs, and removed from his fellow human beings that there is no unity to speak of that threatens any form of power. And, I’m sorry to say, the experiment has succeeded.”
Dr. Wilson’s eyes were pools of worry.
“Is there any way we can free ourselves from these bonds?”
“Of course, if you change how you think,” Abaddon replied. “If you take responsibility for your actions and fight all together for true freedom, you’ll be able to free yourselves from those who manipulate your power. It is societies that have real power and not the minorities that govern them.”
Dr. Wilson gazed thoughtfully at the embodiment of reason standing in front of him. It was crystal clear that he cared about humanity’s decline. He wondered what was the nature of this being, which until a short while ago he had thought was human? He glanced around him. Other than the two of them, there was no one else in the corridor and the doors to the rooms were closed.
“Does your race have a name?” he asked even more softly than before.
“I’m sorry, John, but I can’t tell you anything more,” Abaddon responded.
His tone made it clear to the doctor that he would get no more information.
“I’m off. I’m going home to get some rest and calm down,” he said, his voice betraying the turmoil inside him. “I feel like I need it more than ever. Tomorrow morning I’ll discharge your wife. I’m sure she’ll have fully recovered by then. Until then, please make sure than nothing else happens that I won’t be able to explain,” he requested.
Abaddon smiled at him with compassion.
“Alright, John. Goodnight. Thank you for your understanding and help.”
Dr. Wilson stood there awkwardly. Not knowing how to say goodbye to a being like him, he tilted his head forward in a motion that was more like a stretching exercise for the vertebrae in the neck than a bow. Then he turned and left with his shoulders hunched and his hands in the pockets of his white coat. Discovering that supernatural entities existed and what events defined the course of humanity was unbearable for an atheist. Questions flitted through his mind one after the other. He hoped that he would sometime learn the answers from the transcendental being he still considered his friend. Suddenly he remembered something. He stopped walking and turned to Abaddon.
“We also took blood from her to run some tests. Will there be some problem with that? I mean, is there a chance they’ll find something strange?” he asked worriedly.
“I’ve already taken care of it,” Abaddon reassured him.
Dr. Wilson let out a relieved sigh.
“Alright, goodnight.”
Abaddon raised his hand in farewell and turned toward Aranes’ room. Before he passed through the door, he made sure to wipe all signs of concern from his face and then entered with a serious air. He glanced at the Guardians flanking the bed and then looked at his partner with a sparkle in his eyes that betrayed his joy at her recovery.
“I spoke to the doctor. Everything seems alright,” he announced with a contained look.
Eiael smiled at the Superior and made a small bow.
“We’ll be outside if you need anything.”
She passed by Abaddon without looking at him and walked out of the room. The other two Guardians bowed too and followed their leader, discreetly giving the couple some time alone.
Abaddon didn’t pay any attention to Eiael’s cold stance. He walked to Aranes with a smile on his face, bent down, and kissed her gently on the lips.
“My love, how do you feel?”
“I feel a bit tired,” she admitted. “Fares told me what happened,” she added at once. “Although he couldn’t explain how I recovered from the coma.”
Abaddon sat down on the bed and clasped her hand between his two.
“I brought you back,” he said with a small proud smile.
Aranes took in his simple statement warily.
“And how did you know how to do it? We’ve never spoken about it before.”
Although Abaddon had decided to tell her the truth, his fear of how she would react to his choice to accept Lucifer’s help crumbled any resistance his conscience was putting up and decided not to mention the Demon’s involvement in saving her, at least for now.
“I experimented. Of course I didn’t succeed on the first try, but in the end, as you can see, I did,” he spoke half the truth. And to be more convincing, he held her gaze with his own smiling one.
Aranes’ gaze delved deep into his soul, searching for the truth.
“I’ve never seen such a thing before. Dark Angels are warriors. They don’t have healing abilities,” she retorted, hiding her suspicion behind a puzzled look.
Abaddon sensed her doubt, but remained calm. He lifted her hand and kissed it.
“You probably gave me them.”
“That could explain it,” Aranes replied. But is it the truth?
“Don’t worry your head about it now,” he said, seeing the concern on her face. “Try and get some sleep. Your body’s been through a lot, and so has the baby. You both need rest.” He reached out and caressed her belly. He saw the infant sleeping serenely and his heart flooded with tenderness for the little unborn being that he couldn’t wait to hold in his arms. Yes, his son and partner definitely deserved every sacrifice.
“I first want to know some things,” Aranes insisted. “Fares told me that the attack was led by the vampire leader’s right hand. Did you recognize him?”
Abaddon withdrew his hand from her belly and looked at her.
“Yes, it was the same creature that had attacked me in the forest, minus the hand I had cut off then.”
“Vampires are vengeful creatures, but I don’t think this particular one would have dared to attack us if he wasn’t supported by someone powerful,” Aranes said, and her expression made it clear who she meant.
“I also think so,” he agreed.
The Superior was regarding him with a gaze that was penetrating, but not suspicious. She would give no one the right to think that she doubted her partner’s sincerity, even if she did.
“It’s strange that he hasn’t appeared yet,” she remarked blankly.
“Yes, he usually makes an appearance at critical moments,” Abaddon replied indifferently.
For a few seconds Aranes said nothing, her gaze pinned on his.
“I would like to sleep a bit,” she then said, without any of her thoughts showing on her face. There was no reason to continue the discussion. She knew the temperaments of all involved and she had realized what had happened.
Abaddon released her hand on the white bedcovers and stood up. He took off his jacket, draped it on the back of the chair next to the bed, and sat at the top end of the bed.
“I’ll be here when you wake up.” He leaned his left hand on the bed above her head like a protective shield and with the other hand he stroked her hair tenderly.
Aranes closed her eyes but didn’t sleep; she
was thinking. Her partner’s attitude had upset her. Nevertheless, she had to acknowledge his ability to dodge her questions. His skillful evasion had some moral significance, compared to an outright lie that would diminish him in her eyes. And by remarking that Lucifer usually made an appearance at critical moments, he had indirectly told her the truth. His usual fear had pushed him to accept the Demon’s help, and although he hadn’t been able to openly admit it, he had in a way let her know. He knew Lucifer’s aspirations and, for many reasons, would never consciously assent to them. However, unfortunately, at the moment Abaddon wasn’t the shrewd commander of the Defenders who had the ability to counter the Dark Lord’s complex intellect. And she herself had to prepare to deal with the next moves Lucifer would make, since he was targeting her partner.
In the castle’s council chamber, Lucard stood on the low dais in front of his unofficial throne. The vampire leader was shaking with rage. His arms were hanging at his sides and his fingers with their long claws were twitching, unintentionally scratching the dark pants he was wearing under his long velvet jacket. His pale face was motionless, as if it had turned to stone, and his frightening eyes were pinned murderously on the wooden door across the chamber.
A sharp knock was heard on the other side of the door; it immediately opened and Vincent entered. With his customary arrogant air, he reached the dais and bowed.
“Master, you called me.”
“Approach!” the head of the vampires barked.
Vincent obeyed, puzzled by the odd tension in his master’s voice. As soon as he was near, Lucard raised his hand and slapped him hard.
“Master!” he stammered, shocked by the unexpected attack.
The oblivious expression on the traitor’s face angered the elder even more. He lifted his hand again and gave him another powerful slap. His sharp claws opened gashes in Vincent’s face and his head swung to the side with force, his hair coming out of his ponytail. It was then that the young vampire realized that someone had ratted him out.