The Mark of Cain

by A D Seeley

  “If they’re so big, how come nobody’s heard of them?” a girl in the front row asked.

  “That’s a good question. The difference is that they are so ultra-exclusive and secretive, nobody knows much about them other than the fact that their symbol appears long before any other society,” he said as the picture on the screen at the front of the room changed to show the sect’s symbol: a mostly naked, well-built warrior with a bloody sword in one hand connected to what looked like a heavily tattooed arm, and then one of his feet perched on the chest of a disemboweled man. All around him were both alive and dead men—all obviously kings from the various crowns they wore—the living ones supplicating themselves in worship of him as though he was a god, offering their crowns to him. It was quite disturbing.

  Before she could concentrate on it for long, her professor continued, saying, “What is known is that they have been in the background of many historically significant events, from the argued death of Jesus of Nazareth to World War II. They are so powerful, in fact, that it’s said that the most important world leaders of both yesterday and today must be a part of it. Some figures I know you’ve heard of are said to have even once been in charge. People like Alexander the Great, Vlad the Impaler, and Genghis Khan are a few of them,” he said, looking Hara directly in the eye. He seemed to be warning her with his gaze. Of what, though, she didn’t know. “And those great conquerors who weren’t leaders of the Mokolios were said to answer to them….”

  The society must have been evil if Vlad the Impaler had been in charge once. Him, she’d studied a little bit. She’d even written a paper on him for last semester’s history class.

  When the bell rang a few minutes later, interrupting the lecture, she still couldn’t get it out of her head that her professor was somehow warning her. As she stood to gather her things, contemplating it, she once again felt eyes on her. The professor was busy shuffling papers on his desk, so it wasn’t coming from him….

  She glanced around until she noticed a familiar face in the crowd. Out of nervousness upon seeing it, she looked down at her lavender book bag. When she looked back up, the face was gone. She was certain where she’d seen that face before. It just didn’t make sense here, for it belonged to Mr. Adamson from the club. What on Earth was the rock star doing here? And, more importantly than that, why had seeing him loosed nauseous little butterflies in her stomach?

  ***

  Inac peeked around the corner, watching for her. He didn’t have to wait long before he saw a head of hair in that impossible color of hers. It was magnificent…and entirely natural. It looked like silver and gold spun together to make a mass of thick, loose waves more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen. Really, he had to admit that she was more beautiful than anything he had ever seen. Not that he’d do anything about that, though.

  “Hara! Wait up!” a young kid with ordinary sun-highlighted blonde spikes called. Really he wasn’t that young—he was about Hara’s age—but both were infants compared to him. Inac might appear around thirty, but he was much older than that.

  Hara turned, her face lighting up from her laughter when the slightly scrawny boy tripped over his own feet—it probably didn’t help that his pants were too baggy for him. From the googly smile on his face, and the way he flushed when he tripped, it was obvious that the kid was smitten with her. Like that little punk had a chance with her. In fact, why was she even friends with someone so below her…? With her looks, she could be Hollywood royalty, yet here she was slumming with this kid….

  Inac got behind them, far enough away that she wouldn’t realize he was tailing them though, with her innocence, she probably wouldn’t notice if he was holding onto the straps of her backpack, yanking and pulling her back. Still, he wouldn’t take any chances that anybody else might be watching and notice him before he got a chance to rip the life from her. They had to be here somewhere….

  He watched as the girl hugged the boy when she got to her cheap, rusted navy coupe that Inac had made sure to park his black and silver bullet bike near this morning. Then, just as she had done yesterday, she drove to her dumpy apartment building and climbed the stairs to the top floor. He didn’t follow her up. Because she was already predictable after watching her for a couple of days, instead he drove back home. Tomorrow, when she got home from school, he’d strike. He’d wait in the shadows upstairs in her apartment. He’d then kill her and trash the place to make it look like she’d walked in to find herself being robbed. And, with her last breath, all of his problems would melt away.

  ***

  Inac opened Hara’s rickety apartment door. Pocketing the tools he’d used to pick the lock, he crept inside, closing and relocking it behind him. He didn’t think Hara’s roommate was home, but he wanted to make sure first. If she was, then he’d just have to kill her too. And quick; before she could notice him and call the police.

  It wouldn’t matter if he went to jail—he owned the government higher than the city and county police departments—but one bad thing about the twenty-first century was the readily-available publicity. And he really didn’t want to have to explain to the world why he never aged. He’d done so well at this by faking history and having other people painted and described in his stead for each life he’d lived since the one of his youth, and he didn’t want to ruin that now.

  He tiptoed down the short hall and slowly opened the first door he came to. This bedroom was empty of people…and messy, smelling thickly of some overly musky perfume that screamed of sex. Nothing in here spoke of Hara; it must be the other girl’s. The girl who didn’t seem to come home that often. And, from the looks of the thick layer of dust on her laptop perched precariously on her cluttered desk, she probably didn’t go to class that often either.

  Now certain that the apartment was indeed empty, he confidently strode into the other bedroom. This room was all Hara. A pastel purple comforter with matching decorative pillows in a plum shade rested on the immaculately made twin bed that consisted of only a frame. She also had a second-hand dresser painted white with glass unicorn figurines resting on its top next to a pristine white desk with everything placed neatly into organizers.

  On a bookshelf, also painted white with the edges sponge-painted purple, she had a bevy of books in alphabetical order by author—mostly school books or ones that, upon reading the backs, he found to be chaste Christian novels that he’d never heard of—he didn’t read that propaganda-laden garbage. On the next shelf, between four scrapbooks full of pictures and a stuffed unicorn collection that must be overflow from the jam-packed shelf below, was a lavender-framed picture of a large group in front of a Christian orphanage—he knew this because of the nuns and priests in the picture. This must be where she had grown up after her family had been murdered. Desirous to learn more about her, he thumbed through the scrapbooks, bored to death at them. Everything was so innocent—even down to the light scent of vanilla and jasmine that clung to each and every part of the room. The room itself was so orderly that he felt like, had it been nicer, it could pass as a magazine spread for a little girl’s room.

  There was a point to all of his snooping. He’d wanted to see exactly why God had chosen her to fulfill the prophecy of centuries ago. And now he could. The girl was an absolute saint. He didn’t even need more evidence, though he got it when he found a cedar chest in the closet filled with thank you cards and letters. Apparently, she was already charitable enough to be considered for sainthood. And she hadn’t even fulfilled the prophecy yet.

  Done with the chest, he turned toward the rest of the closet’s contents. With everything looking the way it did, he had honestly expected it to be full of clothes fit for an Amish woman—despite the fact that he’d seen her wearing tank tops to school, not to mention the almost microscopic dress she wore to work. However, in it he found normal clothes. All dresses and skirts to go with her blouses, tanks, and tees—she didn’t seem to own any jeans or shorts—but normal. She definitely dressed feminine, though. She seemed to
be particular to flowers, ruffles, silk, satin, and lace.

  Her perfection was making him nauseous. He’d met saints before, but none had seemed as pure as her. She didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body. Not like him. He was nothing but bad.

  The thought made him laugh aloud, putting him back on more familiar ground.

  As he searched through her things, he came upon a diary with a purple velvet cover the same color as her decorative pillows. Eager to familiarize himself with her thought process, he flipped through it. It was pretty dull reading; too much perfection was irritating. Even her most private thoughts were G-rated. She talked about dates, never having kissed any of them, but mostly she talked about how amazing other people she met were, and what she had learned from each and every one of them.

  It didn’t get interesting until it came to last Monday’s entry.

  “Dear Diary,” it read, “I’m almost at a loss for words. I’m so confused right now. I’ve worked at the club long enough to know that people will say and do some pretty inappropriate things. Usually I try so hard to ignore them and not to let them bother me, but I can’t pretend like last night didn’t happen.

  “Vinnie wanted me to go upstairs to the VIP section because he thought some guy up there would fancy me, I guess. I’d noticed the guy the moment he came into the club. There was just something so different about him. He was so handsome and tall and just really, really bad. But I thought that was an act. That maybe he was just a rock star and that was part of his image. But now I don’t think it was. I walked upstairs, where Vinnie was sucking up to him so much more than I’ve ever seen him do. I liked that I got to see him up close, this rock star, but when Vinnie said my name, the guy, Mr. Adamson, turned on me and…I…it was scary. He loathed me! I’ve never even met him before and yet he already hates me more than I thought a person could even hate. Needless to say, he stood up and walked out of the club, giving some lame excuse about ‘Having to take care of a problem he thought was taken care of but just realized wasn’t,’ or something like that.

  “I’m so bothered by it. I don’t know why. I just…what could I have done to make someone hate me so much? Why would he treat me like that? What if he decides to buy the club like Vinnie’s trying to get him to do? Will I be out of a job? Surely he won’t want me working there when he despises me. I don’t even care about the money, though I’ll be sad I won’t be able to buy the kids at the orphanage toys and clothes. I just…I don’t understand….”

  Inac smiled at how upset his treatment of her made her. It was like she’d never before met anyone who didn’t like her. If that was good, then it was yesterday’s entry that brought a large grin to his face.

  “What is wrong with me? Why can’t I get him out of my head? All I can think about is Mr. Adamson. I’ve dated so much. Yes, I may have never actually liked a guy enough to kiss him, but I’ll give anyone a date. So what is it about him that’s so different from every other guy I’ve ever met? Is it because he doesn’t like me? Or is it something else?

  “I was in class a couple days ago, getting ready to leave, when I felt eyes on me. I looked over and saw him, though there’s no way he was actually there. And it wasn’t just the hallucination that worries me, but also the way it made me feel. My heart sped up and my stomach didn’t just have butterflies in it, it had creatures much larger and more violent flapping around. I’ve never had that kind of reaction about a man before. Never. So why is it that he gives them to me? What is it about him that has me feeling that way? And I wasn’t scared so it wasn’t that. It was something else. It was something that makes me wonder if that’s what true attraction is.”

  He let out a chuckle and kept reading. This was getting good.

  “All I can think about is what his lips would feel like on mine. Are they soft? Would he taste good? I’ve never kissed a man on the lips before, but I would very much like to do so with him….”

  He snorted as he kept reading, somehow not even surprised that kissing him was the crudest her thoughts seemed to get. When he thought of a beautiful woman, kissing was the furthest thing from his mind….

  Reading her private thoughts answered his silent question of how, in this day and age, a girl as beautiful as she could be so naïve and clueless, much like he imagined his parents had been in the Garden before partaking of the apple. One would think that, working in a club full of sex and drugs, an innocent girl would realize the truth of the world. But it was as though, to preserve her innocence so that she could fulfill the prophecy, God had shut her eyes to the degradation of this particular generation. He could, too. God could do whatever He wanted to do, even if that was to keep one girl pure and unblemished no matter where her life choices took her.

  The more he learned who she really was in her own words, the more he felt an idea cementing itself in his mind. If he killed her now, then she would die untainted; God’s perfect daughter. But, if he tainted her first, then he would get the ultimate victory in his personal war with God. To ruin His daughter would be far better than anything he had ever achieved before. And he wouldn’t just taint her, he would own her. He didn’t even need ammo other than what God had given him. He was the perfect package to take advantage of naïve little Anahara, who was so innocent she wouldn’t even be able to imagine that he was being less than sincere. And then, once he had her, only then would she die. With her no longer a martyr, Inac would finally win the ultimate battle. He would only need to first open her eyes….

  Chapter Three

  ***

  Hara walked into her apartment to the feeling that someone was there.

  “Hello? Crystal?” she called, the fine hairs at the nape of her neck lifting as though they had been electrified. Her roommate had gone out of town for a few days with her boyfriend, so she didn’t see how it could be her.

  Only deathly silence answered her call.

  She let out her breath, chuckling at herself for being so ridiculous. Nobody was here.

  Walking down the short hall to her room, she hung her lavender backpack up on its peg and set her cute little violet laptop on her desk before turning her attention to her closet. Today she had worn a knee-length jeans skirt and a cream tank top to school. They were okay for school, but not really appropriate for her date tonight. She only had to sift through her things for a few moments before she picked out a nice blouse and skirt combination. She wasn’t attracted to Eric—a boy she knew from school—but she gave every guy a chance. And part of giving a guy a chance was that she would put in an effort to look as presentable as possible.

  It was as she was stepping into her blush pink, ruffled knee-length prairie skirt that she realized that her room had been disturbed. Everything looked in its place, but she just had the feeling that someone had been in here rummaging through her things. Maybe it was that her room smelled different. It had a faint masculine musk to it that didn’t belong….

  “Hello?” she called again as she walked into the hall, quickly buttoning up her cap-sleeved white eyelet blouse in case someone was watching her. She didn’t want someone to see her partially naked. That was supposed to wait for marriage.

  Again, nothing stirred. What was with her lately? First she’d thought that her teacher was warning her with his eyes, then she’d thought that she’d seen Mr. Adamson in her class, and now she thought someone was in her apartment going through her things? She must be going crazy. It’s not like she knew whether it ran in her family or not.

  Satisfied that she was just paranoid after she’d peeked into Crystal’s disgustingly filthy room, she made her way down to the bathroom to finish getting ready—she must just be imagining the smell because her mind had been on Mr. Adamson so much lately. She didn’t know what he smelled like because the club was full of scents she didn’t want to smell, but maybe it was another trick her mind was playing on her—lately, it certainly had been doing that plenty.

  After brushing her teeth, Hara pulled open her makeup drawer. She didn’t wear much makeup
outside of work—basically only for dates, which she still didn’t wear much for. Today she threw some charcoal eyeliner around her wisteria-colored eyes, mascara on her already long, thick black lashes, and a rose lip stain. She had perfect, dewy ivory skin with a natural flush so she didn’t need anything else. Now just for her hair….

  Sometimes her hair drove her insane. It was long—skimming her hips—and thick, its natural waves so perfect that people continually asked her to cut it to sell to them so they could use it for a weave. She wouldn’t ever do that but, days like today where it just drove her bonkers by getting in the way, she pondered donating it for cancer patients.

  Not having the patience to deal with it, she left it down to do whatever it pleased rather than attempt to tame it. Now finished, she ran to put on some shoes. She was taller than Eric by several inches, so she threw on some black ballet flats. She didn’t put on any jewelry; she didn’t have her ears pierced and never wore anything other than the cross necklace Father Carroll had given her when she’d left the orphanage.

  “Now remember, Hara,” he’d said that warm spring day, “people out there are not always honest and true. The world has its way of getting its claws into you until you’re a part of her. Don’t ever forget where you came from as well as God’s love for you and you’ll be all right. Anytime you feel the Beast working his charms on you, just hold tight to this and recite your prayers and he’ll be forced to leave. He won’t live where God’s presence is felt.”

  And since that day four years ago, she had never taken the necklace off. It was exquisite. A sterling silver cross with a gold image of Christ nailed to a smaller gold cross superimposed over it.