The Resurrectionist

by Michael Gesellchen

  "Fool, you're already dead. Welcome to hell.” One of the guards called off the dogs and clasped his fingers around my choker. A band of dark spirits rushed out of a nearby building and dragged us inside, throwing us down several flights of stairs. We landed in a cellar basement, the chain wrapping tight and our twisted body's. No rest for the wicked. The spirits ran around the room like a whirlwind, fighting over knives, daggers, and an assortment of instruments of pain. “That’s mine!” “No, give it here!” They fought, like hungry wolves over a scrap of meat, spilling their own blood against the dingy basement walls. “There's no end to our torment! You are worthless! You are garbage!” The mocking reduced me to a puddle of helplessness. We were forced to drink acid which scorched our insides. The acid had a purpose beyond torture. It drained our energy, like a black hole, hope burned from our being. Any shred of hope I had about leaving this place was gone. To be abandoned by God is the worst experience a man can have.

  “Stop! Everyone stop! The doctor. He’s coming.” A voice called out. The melee stopped. My consciousness faded in and out. I looked into the stare of a man who knew no sympathy. Cold yellow eyes examined me from head to toe. His teeth were like razors and his burnt skin was covered in boils. Pus dripped from flesh wounds and slowly pooled on the floor.

  “What do you want?” I asked. The man looked down while writing notes into a book. He seemed to be keeping some sort of record.

  “What do you think doc?” Asked one of the men who tortured me.

  “There's evil in him, but I can’t trace it. You men can do what you want with him. He's of no use to me.”

  “Trace what?” I mumbled in an attempt to delay the torments I knew where coming.

  The doctor looked up from his notebook and paused for a moment before speaking. “The origin of your power, why your soul is so much blacker than ours.”

  "I knew it Stark. I knew you were different from the others. I was right to keep Allison from you."

  "What about the preacher, Doc?"

  "A fine trophy indeed. Go, prepare the operating table. I have much to learn."

  I glanced over toward the Reverend. His body shook and convulsed, seemingly knowing the torments that awaited him. A piece of me trembled with him. Had I been wrong to seek revenge. Was this the path Dr. Z. warned me about?

  Time moved quickly. The dark spirits rolled in a rickety stretcher, unbuckling the belt like straps that would confine the doomed Reverend.

  "Grab him. Strap him to the operating table." The doctor commanded.

  It took several spirits to subdue the Reverend. Channing wasn't a willing participant. I was pulled along with him. Horrified to await what was coming. I never wished for this. My hatred for Reverend Channing ran deep, but this was madness, evil run rampant.

  "What are you doing to him. Stop!" I screamed, barely above Channing's cries. The doctor looked at me without speaking, then reached down and grabbed his scalpel. I closed my eyes and faded my mind out of awareness.

  After some time had passed, I don’t know how long, time is merely a concept in the spirit world, I opened my eyes and looked into the Reverend's. His arms and legs were missing. A hole had been carved where is heart used to be. We were alone in a holding cell.

  "I know what you're thinking. No, I'm not dead and Yes, it does hurt." The Reverend said.

  "Listen. We're going to have to work together if we're going to get out of here. I know what I've done. The mistake I've made has cost us dearly. Let me help you, help us both. Trust me, I won't leave you here. Give me a chance to earn your forgiveness, please Reverend Channing."

  "It's not your fault William. I too know what I've done. I've known for a long time. It's the reason I'm here. It's not because of you. I'm the reason I lost my family, my church, my life."

  "What do you mean you knew?"

  "You always know. Deep down, you always know. You can fight and deny it, push it away, but it always comes back. The truth can never be hidden. It always haunts."

  "I'm sorry."

  "When I lost my wife I lost my sanity. Allison deserved a father who was there for her, not a self-righteous half crazed preacher. It was the only way I could feel any type of control. The truth was I was losing more control each day. Allison knew it all along. That's why she rejected me. Why she turned her back on the church. I truly loved Allison, I just didn't know the right way to show it."

  "If you truly loved Allison then that love will get you out of here."

  "William, I'm begging you not to leave me. Don't leave me alone in this place."

  "Couldn't find anything." The doctor said walking into the cell, pointing at the hole in the Reverend's chest. "In time his arms and legs will grow back. I will resume my search."

  "Wait, there must be something I can do to change your mind, please, I beg of you."

  "You wanna take his place?"

  I could only look at my feet, cringing at the lines of blood running from Channing's torn body.

  "Recruit." The doctor said.

  "Recruit?"

  "Bring me subjects. Ten to replace one. Then he shall have his freedom."

  "I promise to come back for you no matter the cost." I called out to Reverend Channing. "I'll never leave you here. Trust me. I won't abandon you. Have faith!"

  I made a deal with the devil, but I couldn't willingly give up the reverend to unrestrained brutality. I needed to earn his forgiveness. I owed him redemption.

  "Hold still." The doctor commanded pulling out an axe stained with blood.

  "No!" I screamed as he swung towards my head. It struck hard against the iron choker causing sparks to spray against the discolored wall. The choker fell to the ground clanging against the stone floor.

  I was no longer restrained and didn’t wait around to analyze it. A door at the top of the cellar stairs lead into the city. The architecture reminded me of ancient biblical city, except this city was foul and depraved. The stench in the air was a constant and unrelenting mixture of rotting flesh, decaying dog, and death itself. Streets were stained with blood and grime. Rotting wood and crumbling stone hung from every building, looking as if they had been neglected for centuries.

  I proceeded with caution down the narrow streets. My eyes never stopped scanning, always on the lookout. I reached up to scratch my forehead and jabbed myself in the eye. Blood dripped from the jagged talons growing out of the ends of my fingers. I had become like the dark spirits that dragged me down. The anger within was far more acute than it had been on earth. I remembered Monika saying that emotions were experienced much stronger in the spiritual realms. What little control I had over my anger was annihilated, made worse with the thought of her and what I had thrown away. I craved revenge on the doctor and the guards who tortured me. Maybe then I could know peace.

  “Get him!” Out of the corner of my vision a figure rushed me, knocking me against a cracked flower pot filled with worms. Within seconds I was engulfed in a violent whirlwind of fury.

  “Don’t mutilate the flesh. I want it for my drapes.” A voice sounded.

  “Screw you! I want a new dress. I deserve a new dress to wear. I’m much prettier than you and my dress is much more important than your stupid drapes.” Sounded a second voice.

  These people, well they somewhat resembled people but looked more like appalling wretches, were on top of me fighting over scraps of skin that still hadn't healed. The attack lasted for hours until they grew tired of their torment and left. Anger and hatred grew tenfold, fueled by pain and mistreatment. I continued along the street until I came upon a man standing on the corner. This time I was ready. Charged by a blinding rage, I knocked him down and dug my talons into his eye sockets. I picked up his head and bashed it down on a raised cobblestone. He screamed with misery which made me hurt him more. He wore a knife which I quickly grabbed. I grasped his wrist and pinned it to the ground. Holding the blade gave me power. I pressed it against each one of his fingers until I severed them from the hand.

  I wand
ered aimlessly around the streets of the forsaken city. I was attacked often. Sometimes I was able to fight off my attackers and sometimes not. I would have given anything for a second of rest, but rest meant unending torment at the hands of the city's tortured inhabitants. I longed for home but swiftly put out the fire. That type of thinking leads to weakness, weakness that would land me chained in the basement of some sick bastard’s idea of fun.

  The horrific realization had come. In order to feel even one moment of rest I had to become more ruthless than they were. Only if I had the upper hand would I be safe. Souls in hell had lost their humanity and become animalistic, lower even. Animals fight to survive, souls in hell fight to hate. Survival of the fittest was the law of this land. I remembered the journal I found during my first tour in hell. Only cruelty and oppression survive here. Abandoned by God, I had no choice but to abandon him, abandon love. An evil will is the only thing that brought me a moment’s peace, even if those moments were fleeting. The education was fast, the learning curve simple. The darker I became the more I could control other souls that were damned to the city. I bowed my head, exhaled the last bit of humanity in my soul, and set out to stake my evil renown.

  Chapter 17

  Loud debaucherous laughter spilled into the street from a wooden two story building which seemed out of place next to the large crumbling stone architecture of the city. I pressed open two worn cafe doors. The laughter stopped, all eyes starred. Two spirits in the corner leaned into each other and whispered as I passed by. I made my way to the back where a circle of spirits had formed. Two men were locked in gladiator style fighting. A thick rope was tied to each other’s hand, ensuring there was no escape. I remained silent, faking interest in the fight. The ruckus laughter resumed when one of the men was blinded by a stab wound to the face.

  "Care for a drink mate?" A cup with some type of dirty liquid was handed to me. I took the cup and drank. As soon as the liquid touched my lips it was gone. Like it was never there.

  "What's this?" I asked the man who handed me the cup.

  "It's the strongest drink in the land. Go on. Drink!" He laughed, tipping his cup to his lip, completely unaware there was nothing in it. Maybe he had become so habitualized to the process of drinking that he simply didn't know anything else.

  "What's your wager?" He asked.

  "My wager?" I said.

  "The slaves, fighting in the arena," he pointed to the two spirits locked in battle.

  "The one who just lost his eyeball, that's mine, worthless piece of garbage! I hate losing, especially to the Duke." He nodded in the direction of a man across the circle who stood silent with a pleased look on his face. "I'm going to lose again! Lose another slave!" The man kicked the chair next to us.

  "Can you get another?" I said.

  "Oh, I suppose so." The man replied.

  "How?"

  "Just take them, like this." The man turned to a patron who was watching next to us and grabbed his neck. "Your next, slave!" The patron resisted, fighting off the attack, but was quickly overcome. The man next to me didn't physically overpower him, his mind was stronger. His willpower to control the slave gave him the strength to do so. "You don't have to hold back. No one will stop you! There are no rules, no police, and no laws. Go ahead, take control, take what's yours."

  I turned and looked him over from head to toe. "You mean like this." He dropped to his knees under the weight of my commands. My willpower held him down with the strength of a thousand hands.

  "No! Please! Stop!" He cried.

  Something inside me changed, became colder, grew darker. The coldness numbed me further, past the mental illness, past the point of caring. Justin was right about one thing, I had a spiritual energy that was on steroids. This time, I wasn't shy about using every ounce of it to my advantage. I no longer hid, I stalked. Savagely seeking out new arrivals who’s wills were weaker than mine. In no time they would break and I would place my chains around them.

  I made a commitment to the doctor. Ten souls for the Reverend's freedom. Edward was the name of the man who handed me that drink, and the first slave I captured. A puke of a man if you ask me and it gave me great pleasure to cause him great pain. In life he had been a swindler. He left his wife and two children for no reason other than he grew tired of them. They were left to fend for themselves while he drained the family’s life savings to spend on excess. Recklessness caught up with him swiftly. He fell in deep debt with the wrong people who saw fit to take him out, but not before he took one of them first. Murder is the sentence that damns the soul to this city of evil. He was guilty of it as much as me, as much as anybody. He argued that it was self-defense. I didn't give a rat’s ass what it was. He was mine now, forever. You can hold a man captive for as long as you have the willpower to do so. My thoughts and evil intentions created the chains that bound him. To him the chains were as real as you would experience them on earth, maybe even more so.

  Battles, more like wars, were constantly waged in this city. Soul against soul, groups of souls against groups of souls, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was trying to get ahead so that you didn’t become a slave to someone else and wind up the centerpiece in whatever demented plan they had for you. Groups would vie over territory or some building, much like the gangs of earth fought with one another, an endless cycle of violence. As my cruelty and malicious activities grew, the heavier and more grotesque my appearance became.

  Two of my slaves came across a building that I wanted control of. There was no purpose to controlling it. I just learned to crave control and the power it gave me. “Edward, take these two wretches into that building. Make them prove themselves. Do not come out until you have cleared it. Understand?”

  "Yes, master. As you wish.”

  My slaves quickly took control, using unrestrained brutality against the former occupants. I entered the first floor. A man was trying to crawl behind a rotted couch and sneak out a broken window.

  "Where the hell are you going?” I said.

  “Please sir, I can’t take any more torture. I beg of you. Let me go.” He groveled. It made no difference to me. The last thing I really wanted was another pathetic soul hanging around, crying and whining about this or that, but I had a quota to meet.

  “You should have thought of that before you committed the heinous deeds that lead you to cross my path." He crawled to the window and pulled himself up. I imagined steel chains wrapped around him, and that's just what happened. The power of my will created chains that dragged him back across the floor. The pathetic fool began kissing my feet. “You’re a disgrace. Stand up before I break your neck!” I commanded. He rose to his knees.

  "Please sir. I'm begging you, show mercy."

  I placed my boot on his neck, and looked down to gloat over him. "Corey. Is that you?" The sight of Corey Fritz lying on the floor, groveling and crying, brought me back, back to when I was human.

  "Oh my God is that you Will? Will Stark? Oh thank God. We have to hurry. We have to get out of here."

  Conflicting emotions pulled at me in all directions. "Have you seen Allison?" I asked.

  "No. She could be anywhere. The realms of hell are so vast, so dark." Corey said.

  "You know this guy?" Edward asked.

  "Yeah, I do. He's my tenth."

  The power in my boot drove Corey's neck into the grimy, blood stained floor. The snapping of bone echoed throughout the room. My slaves scattered and cowered in fear of my devilish horror. Nobody dared challenge me. Pictures frames shattered and smashed on the ground. Darkness pumped through my veins as I cried for more, releasing a vibration of destruction and evil. I turned on my own slaves, unleashing even crueler torments on them. The building began to shake and crumble.

  “Please, let us go! We have to get out of here before it is too late.” One slave cried.

  “Silence! You're not getting off that easy.” I screamed.

  "I've come to collect." The doctor stood in the doorway holding a chain in
his hand, dragging Reverend Channing behind him like a dog on a leash.

  "Take it." The doctor said holding the end of the chain up as an offering. "I'll be taking what's mine."

  Reverend Channing dragged his broken body to my feet.

  "I knew you'd succeed William. I never should've doubted your honor. Allison could see things in you that I never could. You've opened my eyes and now I see."

  Channing and I sidestepped the doctor as he placed chains around my former captives. The terror in their eye's set the stage for revenge. I shivered at the thought, should they ever succeed in freeing themselves and coming after me.

  "What now William?" The Reverend asked.

  "While we were separated I met someone who can help, we must hurry."

  I guided the Reverend through the maze of city streets to meet with the one who could help.

  "I need to rest." The Reverend said.

  "We don't have time. We have to press forward." I said.

  "Please William, my body, it hasn't fully healed."

  We ducked into a building. There were spirits laying on the floor, passed out. They were former addicts, freshly new to the city, not fully detoxed from the poisons that still pumped through their bodies.

  "We can rest here. At least until they awaken." I said.

  "Thank you, William." The Reverend collapsed to the ground. "I owe you my life."

  "But I'm the one that got you into this mess."

  "I've seen the errors I've made only because you've opened my eyes to them, William. I let them push me around and control me. I wasn't strong enough to stop it. I wasn't strong enough to stand up for myself and my family." Reverend Channing sobbed. "There's power in you, William. Help me find forgiveness. I'm begging for it. Help me find my daughter." The Reverend reached out and squeezed my hand. I couldn't look him in the eye.