Seeing Myself
I’m not sure what response he hopes to elicit from me by telling me that he is Satan. My reaction probably is not what he expects, though. At least, in my mind, my reaction is not what he expects, and that gives me a moment of satisfaction. This creature, this thing, has dictated our entire meeting and all of my responses. At least this once, I offer my own controlled response.
He may as well have told me he is Zeus or Hercules. I have long considered God, Satan, angels, and the stories of the Bible to be fiction, make-believe. They are just stories that have been passed from generation to generation. I am too educated, too intelligent to believe such nonsense. I am more inclined to believe this is a government conspiracy than a spiritual conflict.
Ah, yes, my brain begins to churn from his miscalculation. I have written a number of scathing articles recently about the insidious nature of the CIA and the Pentagon. The government has infiltrated our lives. The NSA’s reach is beyond our imaginations. Even the news stories of late don’t come close to the full extent of their spying. We are all enemies of the state. They will stop at nothing to subvert any ideological rebellion from the intellectual community. They are trying to stop me. They must have slipped me an experimental drug. They are desperate for me to stop challenging them. That is why I am naked. Embarrassment is one of their key tools in coercion and torture. I must be close to exposing some great truth. But the drug must be wearing off, which is why I am starting to think more clearly. The drug probably made me see that creature and feel sadness upon the presence of the voice. I have to be careful, though. Even though I have a strong following and am connected in high places, the government has a way of making a person’s life disappear.
“If you want me to stop writing the articles, I will. Look, nobody believes that conspiracy nonsense I write. You have nothing to worry about. I won’t pursue it. I promise. Just let me go home,” I respond.
“Fool!” His voice booms throughout the cavern. Immediately I see hundreds of hideous creatures move from the darkness toward me. Some fly, others slither, many hop from one spot to another. Still others crawl along the walls and ceiling. None of them are recognizable as any creature on earth. They are as monstrous and grotesque as the first creature I saw. They make horrible sounds as they move about me. They are all around me. I have no place to run. The flying creatures pull at the hair on my head. Several slither up my leg, causing me to fall back to the ground. Soon I am covered in them, including my face and head. I feel disgusting tongues going into my ears and on my eyes and mouth. I try to yank them off, but as soon as one is off, another takes its place. I think this is how I will die. It crosses my mind that I am already dead and I will soon be one of these creatures.
As quickly as they are on me, they are off. They scurry back to the black holes from which they came. Lucifer, as he calls himself, stands over me again.
“Do not ever make the mistake of associating me with human trash,” he tells me over and over in my head until my nose bleeds.
“Please,” I say. “I don’t deserve this. Why are you doing this to me?”
Lucifer responds, “What do you think you deserve? From where I sit, you deserve much more than this, and I will certainly make that accusation when the time comes. Do you smell that stench? That is you. That is how we angels see and smell you. Rotten from the day you were born. Why God pours out his love on you is beyond me. Come, look at yourself, and see what I see.”
With that, he creates a pool of water in the middle of the room. Pinching me by the neck muscles, he holds me over the water. “This is what you really look like. This is who you really are,” he says.
The ripples in the water stop, and I see my reflection. Vomit spews out of my mouth and I try to turn away.
“Look at yourself!” he commands, piercing his fingers into my neck.
I see myself, but I am horribly disfigured. In my left cheek is a hole about half its size; maggots, roaches, and flies crawl out of it. My lips are dried, swollen blubber, and when I open my mouth, I see my tongue, which is forked, swollen and covered with large sores, where bugs also crawl. My eyes are black as night, and my skin is covered in disease. My ears are no more than charred flesh, and my head is covered with scabs.
“So I am dead,” I say.
“Yes, but not in the way you understand it,” he replies. “As you know it, you are as alive as you have ever been.” He then quotes a verse from the Bible: “‘For the wages of sin is death.’” When he speaks the passage, a hideous roar rises up from the creatures and from him, as if these spoken words hurt them.
“You are being eaten away from the inside. The nature of sin is born into you from the day you are conceived. The rottenness you see is the sin that leads to your death, which leads to me. I own the sting of death. Yes, your physical body will someday rot as well, but that is not what I relish. I relish seeing your very nature cause you to decompose from within. I enjoy accusing you in front of him in your full shamefulness. His love for you is unbearable.”
The pool of water disappears and his hold on me releases. I fall flat against the hard rock. I scream out as I feel a shock of pain shoot through my left forearm and into my shoulder. During the fall, my left arm curled under my body, and it absorbed the blow against the ground. I quickly grasp it with my right hand and pull it close to me. I can tell that it is broken. Instead of having a straight line from my elbow to my wrist, my arm has an L curve in it. It makes me weak in my legs, so I drop to one knee.
“Hold it out to me,” he says.
I reluctantly hold out my broken arm to him, supporting it with my right hand. It is too weak and painful to hold it up by itself. He grabs it, yet it doesn’t hurt. When he removes his hand, it is healed.
“I, too, can perform miracles,” he says, smiling, moments before he disappears again.
I am left in the room with my thoughts and the hideous creatures. Every few moments, I hear one of them whisper or see one shoot across the room. For the moment, they leave me alone. Thinking on the last few moments, I realize my government conspiracy idea was a desperate thought from a desperate man. I have no way of making sense of this place. I realize at that moment that my intellectual theories and philosophical proclamations are shells. No amount of logic is going to save me. They offer me no comfort or understanding in this dark place. I have no faith, and what principles I had at one time, do not apply.
Once again darkness fills my heart, and the hope I felt moments ago is completely gone. I realize I have to throw away what I thought I knew. I have to be prepared to open my mind to something on a different level. I have been through and seen too much to hold tight to my beliefs that nothing exists outside of our earthly lives. I begin to cry again, believing this may be my prison.
As I think about the things I have seen, including my hideous reflection, so many questions run through my head again. Why was I rotting if I were not dead? What did the verse mean about the wages of sin being death? We all die, right? Even those who are good will die. Were the creatures skittering about really dead persons? What about my father? If Lucifer owned the sting of death, did he put my father through what I am going through? Why am I here? If I am not dead, why did he bring me here?
My mind searches for answers from an unlikely place: the Bible. Since I know he quoted a verse, my mind gravitates to that book. In many of my philosophical arguments, I attempted to discredit the Bible and on some occasions used it to advance my own arguments, so I am familiar with it. My dad tried to teach it to me when I was young, but I didn’t follow his guidance. To help me get grounded, I try now to recall what I know. Some of those stories may have had a hint of truth or at least should give me some basic understanding. As with all mythology, there is some hint of truth to it, I tell myself.
He returns as quickly and as silently as he left.
“Am I in hell, then?” I ask.
“Hell? You people have no understanding of hell. No. We’re in your apartment,” he says
.
I stand stunned and confused.
Several creatures approach him and discuss something, but I can’t understand what is said. They speak in a language that sounds like Hebrew, but it is not. When he turns, the creatures dissolve into the cave walls. He looks at me again.
“I have big plans for you, Thomas.”
CHAPTER 3
A Reflection
In a gentle voice, he says, “I chose you for a reason, Dr. Thomas Fields. You have great intellectual potential—greater than any other present-day writer or philosopher. That may come as a surprise to you, but you have been given an extraordinary talent, and I plan to cultivate that talent to your ends and to mine.”
Physically and mentally exhausted, I strain to look up at him. I see his shape is changing. He is taking on the form of a man. He turns into a handsome man, slightly over six feet tall. He has dark, smooth hair with a hint of gray in the sideburns. His skin is tan, with only slight wrinkles in his face. His eyes are piercing blue, and he has strong facial features. His smile seems genuinely appealing.
“This appearance should be more comfortable for you,” he says, noticing my apparent confusion at his transformation. “You will find approval in these as well.” Suddenly I am clothed in khaki slacks, oxford shoes, and a polo shirt.
When he sees that I am beginning to relax, he gives me a stern warning, “Let’s be very clear, Thomas. Do you now understand who I am and the pain that I can mete out to you? You might be protected from death now, but I still have many latitudes on your health. That’s not what I want for you, but I can’t have you thinking you are not bound by me.”
“I understand the power you have over me,” I say sheepishly. “Please don’t hurt me again. I’m still very confused, but I know you can do terrible things to me. Please, Prince.”
My arrogance and pride are gone. I have felt little more than pain and agony the last few hours with him, and all I know is, I don’t want it to continue. I choose the name Prince though, as something inside me prevented me from allowing him to lord anything over me with the name Master, and the idea that he is my teacher is revolting. Besides, I believe he will like me addressing him as Prince.
“Good,” he says. “That’s a start. I am Lucifer. As difficult as it is for you to believe, you will serve yourself well by understanding that sooner rather than later. There are spiritual beings throughout the world and beyond. We are superior to humans in every possible way. I am his greatest creation.”
“His?” I ask. “Then there is a God? Is he the God of the Bible?”
“The God of Abraham, Jacob, and David,” he replies with annoyance. “Look at yourself, though. You are not worthy of him. You are a shame to him. Disgusting and revolting, as you are to me. However, I can find a purpose in you. A redemption, if you will. Elijah could not look upon God’s glory. What do you think he would do to something like you? Not only have you abused yourself, you have destroyed his other creations. Look…”
At this, he holds up his index finger, which has a long fingernail, and splits apart the cave wall. The wall seems to be nothing but a curtain being drawn open, and before my eyes, a play unfolds. However, it is no play. As the image becomes clearer to me, I can tell the scene is real life. A young woman sits still in a bathtub. I don’t recognize her at first, but her face gradually grows clearer. It is Josephine.
She was a brilliant student who last spring asked me to be her thesis adviser. She was overly impressed and infatuated with me and my work. She hung on my every word and every speech and paper I had written. I allowed her to accompany me to New York for an awards ceremony and interview. She handled the details of the trip. During the trip, our relationship went from professional to personal—and sexual. She was certainly attractive, but I was not in love with her. As with so many other women, our relationship for me was one of convenience. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time—after I had knocked back some drinks and was filled with pride with my many accomplishments. I should have ended it after the trip, but I didn’t. It, she, was too convenient, so I allowed it to go on for a while. At some point she fell in love, but of course I never did. Ultimately, I crushed her. I ruined her life in a matter of months.
She didn’t look like herself in the bathtub. I recalled her as vibrant. Excitement poured out of her. I recalled an attractive smile and dimpled cheeks. She had short, curly auburn hair that bounced as she moved. She was fit and strong. But the woman I saw in the tub, though definitely Josephine, was not the same woman. Her face was pale. Her hair was longer, and her curls were relaxed. She had been crying. Her face and eyes were puffy.
“Do you remember how it ended with the two of you?” Lucifer asks.
“Yes,” I told him.
“No,” he quickly replies. “You think you know how it ended, but you don’t know how it really ended. You were having dinner with some colleagues and Cynthia Davis, your new romantic interest, when she confronted you. She tried to get you to step outside to talk, but you preferred to embarrass her in front of an audience. A brilliant close tactic I might add. To your guests you described her as ‘an infatuated student looking for a quality paper in the bedroom instead of the library.’ You mocked her in front of everyone. When her temper flared, you asked the maître d’ to escort her out, telling her that she needed to get affection from her father. She begged you, “Why are you doing this? Please don’t do this. This isn’t you.” People laughed at her. Do you remember that? The father angle was perfect, especially since she confided in you that her father had been abusive.”
I was drunk that night, so I did not recall the details. It was easier to be drunk and forget than to be sober and responsible for my actions. I knew that I had ended it that night, but I couldn’t recall my words. The details were painful to hear. He could tell from my body language that I didn’t like listening to it.
“Oh, it gets better.” He smiles at me as he continues, “It ended that night for you. You probably didn’t think any more about it. In fact, you were happy that it was over. No more Josephine and her love to cramp your style. My disciples helped you with that. She took it a bit harder, though. My disciples also have been helping with that. Coaxing it along like embers to a fire. She built up the courage to talk to her father tonight. I often find it strange that humans seek validation from the individuals who stripped it from them. She tried to speak with him, but he wanted nothing to do with her. You see, he is a self-absorbed drunk too. Sound familiar? The final straw broke for her with that phone call. Tonight should culminate in a victory for us. All of us. Including you, Thomas. Watch!”
I can see the picture clearly now. She is holding a razor blade and sobbing.
“Dear God. No!” I blurt out.
Suddenly I feel a terrible blow across my face, and I find myself looking up from the ground.
“You insolent fool!” he yells.
Josephine puts the razor to her wrist, presses it to her skin, then hesitates and throws it out of the bathroom. She holds her face in her hands and cries. She doesn’t cut herself. A sense of enormous relief comes over me. This is the first moment I recall that I saw and appreciated the destruction I have caused.
Lucifer looks angrily at me. He grabs my wrists, burning them with his hands as he pulls me up. “That is twice you have spoken out to him. The third time will be to your own destruction.”
He looks back at the scene and allows the cave to close over it. “No fear. She will be mine soon enough. She has no one else.”
He looks at someone in the darkness and gestures. Although I cannot see the individual, I can see a figure move out of sight.
He turns back to me. “Your destruction gets better though. Cynthia was married while you were involved with her. The marriage thing, though, wasn’t even a minor inconvenience for you. Of course, it’s not like that was the first time for you. Marriage. Who believes in that relic of an institution? It is written, is it not, ‘Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept p
ure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral.’”
At those words, more hissing echoed in the cave.
“Do you understand how foul you are now—the depth of your wretchedness? Do you understand the judgment you have incurred and the judgment you have placed on Cynthia? You haven’t only ruined your life, but so many other lives around you—lives that, for some reason, he cares about. You are fortunate I do not accuse you in front of him right now. I, however, don’t hold you to such high standards. I see your true nature and understand it. You are not made to worship, but to be worshiped,” he tells me.
I feel a pain in my chest. For my entire adult life, I hadn’t cared about anyone but myself. It has always been about me. I used people to get what I wanted and needed. I have never considered myself evil or bad, though, until this moment. After all, everyone is out for themselves, right? If you don’t take what is yours, then somebody else will take it. Everyone is looking to leverage everyone else. At least, this is what I believed or convinced myself to believe, beginning as a teenager. My parents were meek and mild mannered. They were content in life, too content. They should have wanted so much more. They should have demanded so much more. People often took advantage of their kindness and generosity. My dad could have been rich and powerful, but he never pursued it. In my mind, he was afraid, afraid to go after what was his.
I suddenly recall a Bible verse that my dad had read to me when I was younger: “If someone strikes you on one cheek, turn to him the other also. If someone takes your cloak, do not stop him from taking your tunic.”
The last time my dad told me that story, he had been passed over for a foreman position because a coworker lied and took credit for dad’s work. They had a discussion in my school parking lot. Dad had come to pick me up after baseball practice. The other man had come to pick up his son, who was also my age. I remember sitting in the back of the car and watching the whole thing. I had known what had happened at dad’s work, and I was waiting for this moment. Dad was a big man, and he could be very intimidating if you didn’t know him. He approached Bob Wickerman and said, “Bob, I want to talk with you about that promotion at work.” I could see Mr. Wickerman didn’t want to talk about it, and he turned to walk off. Dad yelled a little louder, “Bob!”
Inside Lucifer's War Page 2