by Curtis Houck
THE ASSASSINATION OF LUCIFER
COPYRIGHT 2018
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ONE
I pretty much thought no one would recognize me once summer vacation was over. Gone was the girl my classmates had known a few short months before, that shy sophomore with blonde pigtails and pastel jumpers who had already won a scholarship to study computer science. See, I chopped off my pigtails, dyed my hair, and replaced my jumper with tight leather pants. Oh well, at least I tried to meet my stepfather halfway. Thing is the huge inverted cross on the wall behind the dinner table creeped me out, and despite the scent of rosemary permeating our clay bungalow, part of me wondered if that was hamburger in the spaghetti and not human flesh. But it was all part of Allen’s plan. I guess that made it okay—if releasing Lucifer from hell was okay.
“Querida, would you like to say grace?”
“Sure, Mom,” I said, tugging at the strings of my hoodie. “Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name—”
My family gasped, as if I’d done the most offensive thing in history. So not the response I had hoped for. No, reciting the Lord’s Prayer wasn’t defiance on my part. Not really. It was more like a manifestation of the confusion buried in my subconscious mind. Sure, I was glad my stepfather included me in his plan. Yet I was uncomfortable with the idea of releasing Lucifer from hell. Who wouldn’t be? The saving grace was that it would take time for Allen’s plan to come into fruition. I clung to the hope there’d be some way I could change his mind. Really, I was just happy my family was working together instead of arguing all the time like they were before my parents divorced.
My mother exhaled a deep breath, and poured herself a glass of wine before brushing aside a lock of salt-and-pepper hair to expose her prune-like face. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you, Querida?”
“Come now, Maria. Things are going as planned.” With his gray ponytail and tie-dye shirt, my stepfather resembled an overweight hippie. But stroking the head of that creepy albino raven perched on his shoulder gave away his true intentions. “However, she brings up a good point. We need to discuss my lifestyle.”
I exhaled a deep breath of my own. “Look, Allen, this whole Satanic thing is evil. There’s nothing to discuss.”
“At least he’s around.” My brother, decked out in a flannel and cargo shorts, ran his fingers through his long, greasy hair. “Unlike Dad.”
“Fine. Sorry, Allen. You’ve been good to us. I just can’t accept that Lucifer’s path is the right path. Not yet, anyway. Now, will you please pass the breadsticks?”
An awkward silence fell over the dinner table. Allen went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. “No hard feelings, Querida. Old programming can’t be changed overnight. Still, we must give thanks to Lucifer before we eat. Eddie, care to do the honors?”
“Absolutely.” Again, my brother ran his fingers through his hair. “Our Creator who art in hell, sacred is thy eternal name. Bringer of daily indulgences, thy infernal kingdom awaits your will on Earth as it is in hell. Deliver us from ignorance, and lead us toward Armageddon. For thine is the glory, the power, and the empire forever and ever. Hail Lucifer!”
As I listened to Eddie recite the Satanic Prayer, I imagined how life would be if Armageddon started because if Lucifer was released from hell that’s what would happen, right? Fire demons whipped the children building sand castles at Sundown Beach, while the sparkling aquamarine waves the surfers rode turned to waves of smoldering lava in my mind’s eye. The groves of palm trees were reduced to radioactive ash, and thick columns of smoke filtered out the abundant sunshine. What disturbed me the most, though, was to think it wouldn’t only happen in Southern California. The whole world would be enslaved by Lucifer’s army if Armageddon started.
So, why did I agree to go along with Allen’s plan, then? I mean, it’s not like I really thought I could change his mind. Well, I kept remembering this story Allen told me when we first moved in with him—actually, I overhead him telling it to Eddie. Anyway, the story said that Lucifer confronted God about being too powerful. It was this confrontation that led God to imprison Lucifer in hell to begin with, implying God’s followers were power hungry assholes intent on taking over the world and Armageddon must occur to rid the world of these evil people. Plus, would a compassionate God allow so much suffering? And what about the innocent people slaughtered in those wars fought in God’s name?
The story’s argument made sense, although I also remembered another story, one Papa told me when I was a little girl about how God opened a gateway to heaven here in Acreditar. Yes, to the droves of tourists that packed Acreditar each year it was just another beautiful beach town in Southern California. But to the locals who knew the truth Acreditar was literally God’s paradise on Earth. Nevertheless, even God couldn’t alter the dual nature of the universe. So, when He opened the gateway to heaven He also accidentally opened a gateway to hell. According to Papa, the gateway to hell needed to stay protected at all costs, and even if God’s methods seemed cruel, He did everything to help mankind reach their full potential. Here’s the thing. Wouldn’t God have known the gateway to hell would open, too, since He’s supposed to be omniscient and omnipresent?
Maybe God thought the benefits of humans having a direct link to His kingdom outweighed the risks. Even so, I couldn’t help but question if God was really trying to help humanity. I also questioned if Lucifer had mankind’s best interest. He probably just wanted to stop burning in hell, like the other demons and lost souls there.
“Are you sure you’re not having second thoughts, Querida?”
“I’m not, Mom. It’s just—”
“Hey, we might not share the same beliefs,” Allen said, digging into his spaghetti. “Be that as it may, we’re family. You can tell us anything.”
Allen’s raven let loose a high-pitch squawk. Eddie tossed the impish bird a chunk of his breadstick. “Even Corvo agrees. The plan is sound. Really, Sis, you can trust us.”
“Never mind.” I tugged at the strings of my hoodie once more. “Can I go lay down?”
My mother poured another glass of wine. “By all means. Join me for tea later. Maybe we can work through what’s bothering you together.”
“Right. Sure thing, Mom.”
I ran upstairs, plopped down on my bed, and analyzed my poster of God arm wrestling Lucifer, hoping to gain more insight into the moral war plaguing my soul. The knowing look in God’s eyes. Or was that fear? The strain of Lucifer’s bicep. Or was that strength? Growing up, I had no doubt God would win this epic encounter. Now, for the first time in my life I wasn’t so sure. And who was the true bad guy? Of course, it was Lucifer. Except was this whole Satanic thing really evil? Satanism was just what Allen believed, after all. How was that different than Islam? Or Hinduism? Or Buddhism? Or...Christianity?
This couldn’t be happening. But it was. And there was only one thing to do, something I always did when life got rough. I called my best friend, Rafaela, who picked up on the first ring. Nothing new there. Stuff like this happened all the time. Ever since Rafaela started at Acreditar Middle School towards the end of the seventh grade, we could guess numbers in each other’s minds and sense each other’s emotional states. That sort of thing. Honestly, it was like we were telepathic sisters, rather than mere friends. For example, the other girls decided it would be a good idea to make fun of Rafaela because of
her size. True, she towered over us by a foot or more. Yet I picked up something from her out of the ether, an invisible vibe warning everyone not to mess with her. Thankfully, I listened. The other girls? Not so much, until Rafaela broke Sasha Sanchez’s nose...and her wrist...and her collar bone.
“You’ve got to help me,” I screamed into the phone. “I’m turning to the dark side!”
“Magic Bench,” Rafaela screamed back, almost as hysterically as me. “Now!”
Guess that tea would have to wait. Hopefully, my mother would understand. Either way, I wasn’t about to go back downstairs. Instead, I opened the window, shimmied down the drainpipe, and dropped onto the manicured lawn.
TWO
Finding a grocery store in Acreditar was next to impossible. However, there were hundreds of psychic shops intertwined within the bungalows and skyscrapers. Palm readers, crystals, numerology, aura readers, and astrology. You name it, Acreditar had it. The shops were secondary, though. Tourists flocked from all around the world for Acreditar’s beaches, mainly Sundown Beach, a sprawling oasis of aquamarine water and white sand surrounded by the mountainous hills hugging Acreditar.
Off to the side, away from the crowds and vendors, sat this limestone bench partially enclosed by palm trees. Since Sundown Beach was such a popular tourist attraction, Rafaela and I never understood why the moss-covered bench always remained empty—maybe it was a lingering effect of the gateways to heaven and hell. Who knows? We didn’t question our good fortune, either. We called it the Magic Bench and left it at that. Over the years, the bench became our rendezvous point, a central location where we could talk and make plans. Sure enough, Rafaela’s motorcycle was already there, and when I burst through the palm trees, I spied her scribbling away in her journal. But when she noticed my new look, her eyes widened to the size of large coins and her journal fell out of her lap.
“Oh, my God, girl. What did you do?” The salt-tinged breeze blew Rafaela’s chocolate brown curls behind her, like strands of seaweed, while she caressed the lizard sleeping on her knee. “It’s so—”
“Goth?”
“Nah.”
“Satanic?”
“Bingo.” Rafaela stopped caressing the lizard, and picked up her journal. “Take it Judge Santos ruled in Allen’s favor? Of course, a big-shot music producer like Allen can afford to keep Judge Santos in his back pocket.”
It wasn’t a secret Judge Santos and the other members of Acreditar’s City Council were corrupt Satanists. In fact, phase one of Allen’s plan was to use the fortune he made from the music industry to buy the influence of the City Council, bribing them until he had enough power to lead Lucifer’s army, the Asmodeum, in their ongoing battle with God’s much stronger army, the Shaddai. At first, this battle went unnoticed for over a thousand years. Then, as the Asmodeum became more brash, the sightings of the masked Shaddai increased to the point where the battle could no longer remain a secret. A small victory for the Asmodeum. Yet the Shaddai were still too powerful for the Asmodeum to be a true threat.
I sat down next to Rafaela. “It’s not like that.”
“Why are you defending him?”
“Really, it’s not like that. Papa never showed for the custody hearing. Judge Santos had no choice but to rule in Allen’s favor. And I’m not defending Allen. I’m trying to find some common ground with him.”
“Whatever.”
“So, what are you writing, anyway?”
“Some story.”
“What’s it about?”
“There’s this teenage girl. She’s starting her junior year in high school soon. With me so far?”
“Um, yeah.”
“She used to be a Christian and wanted to study computer science. Then her mother married this evil, manipulative bastard—”
“Let me guess,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Now, she dresses like some punk wannabe and sacrifices virgins.”
“Got the punk wannabe part right. But she’s way more into sacrificing newborn babies.”
“I suppose she drinks blood instead of coffee, too.”
“Exactly. It’s like you’re inside this character’s head.” Rafaela chased away the lizard, chewed on the cap of her pen, and scribbled something in her journal. “Think I’ll call her—”
“You’ve made your point.”
“Don’t interrupt. I’ve reached the epiphany barrier.”
“The what?”
“It’s when an author finally gets it. That ah-ha moment. Feel me? Think I’ll call her...Querida. That’s the perfect name. You’re a lifesaver, girl.”
I dug into the pocket of my pants, and yanked out one of the few remaining remnants of my life before my mother married Allen—my ivory crucifix. “Hello! Would a Satanist have this? I only want to give Allen a chance before passing judgment on him.”
“I still don’t understand why.”
“Mom and Eddie are happier now. Plus, it’s nice having dinner with my family every night.”
“Newsflash! Your father is never around because he’s a Shaddai and is following God’s orders. Think about it. Who is God’s sworn enemy? That’d be Satan.”
“Lucifer.”
“Satan. Lucifer. What’s the difference? A Satanist’s goal is what?” I tried to steer the course of the conversation back to Rafaela’s writing. Unfortunately, she refused to be swayed. “Huh? What’s their goal? It’s to start Armageddon, isn’t it?”
“Trust me. I know Armageddon isn’t cool. But—”
“What’s your excuse now?”
“See, there’s this story from the Satanic Bible,” I said, pocketing my crucifix. “It got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, God’s path isn’t the right path. Then again, maybe it is. Never mind. The story is pretty long.”
“Pitch it to me, then.”
“Like, what, baseball?”
It was Rafaela’s turn to roll her eyes. “Pretend I’m your agent, and pitch me the story. A short summary. Get it now?”
“Right. Here goes nothing. So, Lucifer used to be God’s favorite son, despite his grotesque, goat-like face. God even loved Lucifer more than Jesus. In fact, it was Jesus’s jealousy that forced Lucifer to confront God about being too powerful. This confrontation made God so angry He cast Lucifer from heaven and imprisoned him in the pits of hell for eternity. There. How’s that for a pitch?”
“Could use more showing and less telling. Not bad for an amateur, though. And you actually believe that bullshit?”
“Not really. Still—”
“Querida, all I’m saying is you need to talk to your father about this crisis of faith you’re having. Deal?”
“Deal,” I said, pumping fists with Rafaela. “I’ll do it tomorrow. I haven’t seen Papa in a few weeks—”
“You’re going now. And you’re not driving Allen’s BMW to H-Town. I’ll give you a ride.”
Rafaela was right. H-Town wasn’t the best place to be driving BMWs. With a bunch of corrupt Satanists running the show, even God’s paradise on Earth wasn’t safe from evil. As the City Council’s authority grew, so did Acreditar’s slum, H-Town, ran by K-Dawg and his heroin slinging gang, the Jacares. Rafaela was right about another thing. If I didn’t muster the courage to go then I’d never go see Papa. It was too weird being around him after the divorce. Yeah, it was a little strange at Allen’s. But at least I was getting used to it there.
THREE
Even before Mom and Eddie turned to Satanism, they failed to comprehend that Papa was doing his duty as a member of the Shaddai. Come to think of it, they probably felt like he abandoned them. I did, too. A little bit. However, I understood God had ordered him to accept an enormous responsibility. See, before things fell apart with him and Mom, Papa was the one who officially went public with the battle between the Shaddai and the Asmodeum. So, it wasn’t a surprise when God banished Papa to Gloria Church. Turned out this was a great honor, though, since Gloria Church was where the gateway to hell was located. Did that mean God was good? He rewarded
Papa for his courage, didn’t He? Yet His banishment was the reason Papa was never around, wasn’t it?
Soon, the beaches and psychic shops thinned out as Rafaela’s motorcycle entered H-Town, and a maze of shacks topped with rusty tin roofs replaced the bungalows and skyscrapers. Rap music blared from the jagged windows of the shacks, while heroin addicts sat on the porches, gaping at overturned trashcans. Like I did when I was younger, I thought about how cool it would be if God chose me to become a Shaddai someday, so I could wage war on the Jacares and clean up H-Town. Except phase two of Allen’s plan was for me to find a way to infiltrate the Shaddai. This was another aspect of the plan I was uncomfortable about. Again, I questioned myself for agreeing to go along with the plan. But there was this voice inside my head telling me Allen was right about everything. And the voice kept getting louder and louder.
The sun, a reddish-orange disc, played peek-a-boo with the emerald hills by the time Rafaela’s motorcycle skid to a stop across the street from a dilapidated church with a splintered cross nailed to the top of its sloping roof. Gloria Church. Acreditar’s unofficial city limits—the part the City Council wanted the tourists to be aware of, anyway. Of course, they conveniently forgot to include H-Town in their picturesque brochures.
Rafaela killed the motorcycle’s engine, and jabbed her thumb at the dirt road adjacent to Gloria Church, which meandered behind one of the hills. “I won’t be far away.”
“Hold on,” I said, hopping off the motorcycle. “You’re coming with me, aren’t you?”
“This is something you must do yourself, girl.” Rafaela held out her fist. “Like I said, I won’t be far away. Together—”
I pumped fists with Rafaela one more time. “Forever.”
I watched Rafaela push the motorcycle out of sight before deciding to cross the street, even though that voice inside my head was practically screaming Allen was right...and felt a knife slide against my throat.
“Who sent you?”
I tried to reply. But my lungs were as useless as deflated balloons.