Inside Lucifer's War

by Smith, Byron J.

  “Is that it?” I ask.

  “That’s all you need to know,” he says. “Good-bye, Thomas.”

  He is absorbed into the light. The peace that fills him flows over to me, and I feel at ease in that moment. I feel no sadness for Mike, only joy.

  It doesn’t last, though. Once Mike is gone, the light begins to fade, and darkness engulfs me. It reminds me of the caves near Austin. There is not a shred of light. The peace I felt is now replaced with anxiety and fear. Like the darkness, it surrounds me, penetrates me. In the darkness I can feel Lucifer coming toward me, though from where I can’t tell. I can hear his legion moving, but I can’t see them through the darkness. I hear his voice.

  “You’ve been accused and found guilty. You belong to me. Was this day not foretold?”

  I weep uncontrollably.

  “Why do you cry?” he asks. “I told you that I would make your life comfortable if you served me well. Do you cry because you know you have failed me and thus should reap the consequences?”

  I say nothing. An incredible depression has taken hold of me. A depression so deep, unlike anything I’ve experienced in the past.

  “Speak, I say!” he bellows as he slashes at the right side of my forehead.

  “I am weak,” I respond, not knowing why, though it is the truth. I feel very weak.

  “Yes, you are weak. That’s the smartest thing you’ve said since we met. You are weak, and you need me for strength.” He continues, “You disobeyed me, and the consequences were death. I told you I would punish your friend, and I have. You have questioned my authority, and that I will not tolerate.”

  His words hit me, and the truth finally sinks deep into my heart. Mike is dead. I must be dead too. Our fates have been sealed by Josephine. What a fool I was! I thought I could control it all. I thought I could handle Lucifer and the Principal. I thought I could protect the people I love.

  “In my goodness I have decided to give you a second chance,” he says, allowing some light to fill the area. I can see him now. His back is to me. “Tell me, do you think you can do better for me this time, or should I have my disciples destroy you now? I know one, in particular, is anxious to destroy you.”

  “No, please give me a second chance,” I reply.

  “Please, Master!” he says.

  “Master, please give me a second chance,” I ask.

  “On your knees. Say it again,” he says.

  Kneeling before him, I ask again. It is difficult to look at him without anger, fear, and sadness welling up. I try to contain it, though. I want to be strong, but it’s easier said than done.

  He lifts me up with cold arms. He tells me of the wonderful things he still has planned for me. He tells me of the gifts he will give me and the life I will live if I serve only him. He also reminds me of the pain he will put me through if I don’t obey him. Worse, he reminds me of the pain and death he will wreak upon my friends if I disobey him. When he tells me this, I think of Mike and how happy he was. It was unlike any happiness I’ve ever seen. That happiness is hard to recollect, though, in the presence of Lucifer. It slips from my mind, and I begin to think of Therese and the twins. I feel sadness penetrate me again.

  Lucifer continues, “I’m going to leave you now. Understand this, I will not give you another chance. I will soon be in touch with you again.”

  As I watch him fade away from me, I remember Mike’s question to ask. I yell to him, “Master, could you allow me to speak to my father? Please, while I’m here, may I speak to him?” I hear his legion scurry at the request.

  He stops but does not look back at me. “Do as I tell you, and then maybe I will grant you that. Though, I must warn you. You may not be able to take his condition. He is gruesome to behold.”

  “Please, Master. I wish to tell him good-bye. I never had that opportunity.”

  “Do not press your wishes upon me, boy! I’ve heard your request and will take note of it. Do as I ask and I may grant you this. Do not do what I ask, and you will be food for the wretched.” With those words, he kisses the back of my head, sending a shooting pain through my skull. I cover my head. When I remove my hands, he is gone, and so is his legion.

  The room becomes brighter. Too bright. I hear people moving around me, not the legion, but people. I can feel pain in my side and my head aches bitterly. I blink and try to open my eyes. Someone comes close to me and moves some things around. I gradually open my eyes, but the room is too bright, so I shut them again. I hear others come near me. I try to place where I am, but I can’t. I hear voices, but I don’t recognize any of them. The happiness I felt with Mike and the dread I felt with Lucifer are all gone. Now I feel only confusion and pain.

  A man says, “So, our patient is waking up.”

  “He’s trying,” a woman responds.

  The man says, “Hello, Dr. Fields. I’m Dr. Gunthry. You’re in the Brackenridge Hospital trauma center. You were in a shooting and have been asleep for several days. Can you speak?”

  I lie motionless, trying to process the question. He repeats the question. I move my lips, but they are very dry. I try to generate some saliva with my tongue, but very little materializes. “Water,” I manage to croak aloud.

  “Certainly. It’s great to have you awake. Can you tell me your full name?” he asks as a nurse lifts my head and gives me a sip of water. “Sipping water, that’s a great sign. It may not mean much to you, but for as long as you were out, it’s a very positive sign. Back to your name.”

  “Thomas Fields. I am a professor,” I say quietly.

  “Outstanding!” the doctor replies. “How do you feel?”

  “I have a horrible headache and my side aches,” I respond.

  “We’ll give you something for the pain.” He barks out some instructions. “I’ll come back in just a bit to check on you. Don’t rush this. You have been through a lot. If you feel sleepy, it’s okay to sleep.” I feel him tap my leg, and then I hear him walk out of the room.

  I slowly blink my eyes, trying to fight through the brightness. “Can you shut the curtains or turn off the lights?” I ask no one in particular. A moment later the room is darker. I open my eyes and look around. It’s a fairly large room. There is a chair next to the bed. There are instruments to my left. Some tubes hang down from above me. The window is to my left, and the door is to the right. Under the window is a brown faux leather couch. I see a television near the ceiling in that corner.

  A nurse enters the room. She has a clipboard and some syringes. A short brunette, she has a pleasant face. She smiles at me. My eyes follow her and watch her inject the syringes into the tubes running into my arm.

  “The pain should subside shortly, but you might feel sleepy. Do you understand, Thomas?” she asks.

  I nod but don’t say anything.

  “I’m going to leave for a minute, but I’ll be right outside. We’re monitoring you at the nurses’ station, so you’re being well looked after. My name is Mary. Do you want some more water before I leave?”

  I nod.

  She comes around me and takes the water from the nightstand. She puts her left hand under my head and lifts it. I can smell her perfume. She smells nice, as if she’s just stepped out of the shower. It is a mild, sweet smell. She places the cup to my lips and I sip some more. A little water pours out the side of my mouth, and she wipes it away with a napkin.

  “Do you need anything else?” she asks.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” I mumble.

  “You rest now. When you have your strength back, the doctor will tell you everything. The important thing is that you focus on getting better.” With that, she smiles and leaves the room.

  She is right. Soon I feel no pain and, just as quickly, I fall asleep.

  I’m not sure how long I sleep, but it seems like a while. The room is darker than before, but I can see some light coming through the curtain. I blink a few times and then look around the room. Nothing has changed. I was hoping to see someone, but there is no one
here.

  I hear the door open and a different nurse walks in. This one is younger than Mary. She is thinner, more athletic. A sandy blonde, she wears stylish librarian glasses. “Good morning, Thomas. It’s nice to see you awake. My name is Sabrina, and I’ll be your nurse this morning. You’ve been in and out for several days since the accident. You’re quite the fighter. I hope you have more of that spirit for the rehab work ahead. We’re going to get you moving today.”

  She has a scratchy voice. “I paged the doctor, and he’ll be here shortly. Here, let’s prop you up.” She presses a button, and my bed begins to adjust. The upper half raises, and where my butt rests, the bed seems to adjust lower and back. She reaches under my back and lifts up my torso, which causes some discomfort to my left side.

  I pull my top sheet down and lift up my gown. I see the bandages. I press on the bandage and feel a sharp pain that stretches through my back. She pulls my gown back down and pulls the sheet up. I strain to remember why I have a bandage on the side of my abdomen and why I’ve been in and out of consciousness for several days. She gives me a glass of water and tells me that she’ll be back shortly with the doctor.

  A few minutes pass before Dr. Gunthry and Sabrina return. “Good morning, Thomas.” Dr. Gunthry says. “You’re looking very well.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” I reply cautiously.

  “I think it’s time we get you moving and into some rehab work,” he says.

  “Sabrina mentioned something along those lines,” I say without enthusiasm.

  “Sabrina, would you mind leaving us?” he asks as he pulls the chair up next to me and sits down.

  “Thomas, how much do you remember?” he asks.

  “Not much. I was leaving my apartment building when something happened,” I say, trying to picture the day.

  “There was a shooting,” he says. “Do you remember the shooting?”

  “Yes, that’s right! Somebody fired a gun in the lobby,” I say as the memory begins to rush back. Then reality sets in. “Oh, my God. There was a shooting! Josephine! What happened?”

  He puts his hand around my forearm and stands up, leaning over me. “I need for you to be calm. I can fill in many of the blanks for you, but I need for you to calm down. I need to make sure you can handle this. It’s hard, especially when there has been a traumatic accident like this.”

  I lean back into my bed. “I’m calm,” I say. The truth is I’m anything but calm. However, I need to know what happened, so I pretend as best I can to be calm. The truth is I’m riddled with anxiety and fear.

  “The police can explain more, but I’ve told them not to talk with you until I think you have the strength. You were shot in the lower left abdomen. He lifts my gown and shows me the bandage I previously discovered. The bullet went through you, which in this case, was a good thing. You lost a lot of blood, though. By the time the paramedics got to you, they thought you were going to die. In fact, they said they lost you for a moment. You were immediately brought here and taken into surgery. Your heart has gone through an enormous strain, so we induced a medical coma. After a day, we raised your body temperature, and you fought back. Here we are now.”

  “I don’t care about me,” I yell, grabbing Dr. Gunthry by the arm. “What happened to my friends? Stacie? Mike? Please tell me they are okay! This is all my fault!”

  Sabrina bursts into the room with a male nurse. They ease me off Dr. Gunthry. He makes eye contact with Sabrina, and she gives me an injection in my arm.

  “What are you doing?” I scream.

  “I’m sorry, Thomas. But I can’t have you getting excited,” Dr. Gunthry says as my eyelids get heavy and I slowly lose consciousness.

  The shot they gave me must have been powerful, because it is after noon when I finally wake up. I can feel some of my strength returning. Sabrina enters the room. “Feeling better?” she asks.

  “If I answer no, are you going to give me another shot?” I ask.

  “Sorry. Doctor’s orders,” she says.

  Calmly I say, “I need to know what happened that morning. I need to know about my friends. Please. Can you tell me?”

  “I really wish I could,” she answers. “Let me get Dr. Gunthry. I think he is still at the hospital.”

  I am left alone to my thoughts. Thoughts that I wish were different. Stacie’s screams pierce my mind. I try to remember her face that day I had barbeque at Mike’s house, but all I can picture is her face filled with terror that morning. My grip on the sheet tightens, causing it to curl into a ball in my fist. I relax it when I see Dr. Gunthry enter.

  “Good afternoon, Dr. Fields. Can I approach you, or should I stay over by the door?” he asks.

  “I think you’re safe,” I tell him. “I need to know what happened to my friends.”

  “If you think you’re strong enough, I can have the police come talk with you. It’s protocol that they go over the events with you first. And when I ask if you’re strong enough, what I specifically mean is, can you remain calm?” he asks.

  “I can,” I reply. “I have to talk with them.”

  “Okay. I’ll let them know,” he says, leaving the room. I hear him talking to what I can only assume is a security detail outside my room.

  It takes longer than I expect, but a man knocks on my door later in the afternoon. “Dr. Fields, may I come in?” he asks.

  “Please,” I respond.

  The midforties man has dark blond hair that is turning gray, especially along the sideburns. Even in a dress shirt, slacks, and tie, you can tell he is fit. He has a relaxed demeanor as he enters the room and introduces himself. “My name is Jason Smith, I’m a detective with the Austin Police Department,” he says, showing me his badge.

  “You have to tell me what happened,” I immediately say. “The doctor. The nurses. They won’t tell me anything. I need to know what happened to my friends.”

  Remaining relaxed, the detective responds, “I know you want answers, but I need to get some answers from you first.”

  Agitated, I yell, “Why can’t any of you people give me an answer!”

  With a more terse tone he says, “Dr. Fields, I want to help you, but I need for you to help us both by remaining calm. There’s only one way this is going to go, and that’s my getting some answers from you first. Are you good with that?”

  “Fine,” I say.

  “Mike and Stacie visited you that morning. Did you have any other visitors?” he asks.

  “No. Only Josephine, who obviously wasn’t a guest,” I respond.

  With that answer, Detective Smith goes deep into questioning me about my relationship with Josephine and our circle of friends and acquaintances. It’s more exhausting than I anticipated. I can tell he’s validating facts, as he flips through a notebook full of documents and written notes. I can tell he’s done his homework, though none of the questions surprise me until he asks me about Thursday night. “You missed your meeting with her Thursday night. Why?”

  “Thursday night?” I ask.

  “Leslie Donovan told me you were supposed to meet Josephine and her counselor that evening. Where were you?” he questions.

  Thursday evening rushes back to me. The trip to the Fischers. The demon encounter. The missed appointment. If I had just made that appointment, none of this would have happened, I tell myself.

  “I screwed up,” I say. “I went to say good-bye to the Fischers instead of meeting with Josephine and her counselor. I completely forgot about our meeting.”

  “Ah, yes, you are taking a new job with a charity . . . let’s see, I have the name of it right here,” he begins.

  “First Orchard,” I respond.

  “That’s it. Never heard of them, but there doesn’t seem to be any connection here. One more question,” he says. “If you said good-bye to the Fischers on Thursday, why were they at your house on Saturday?”

  I don’t immediately answer. Instead I stare off into space. Finally I look up slowly at the detective and answer, “I had a revelat
ion from God that I wanted to share with them. I know, it must sound ridiculous.”

  “I’ve heard stranger,” he responds. “I appreciate your answering those questions. I know this has been hard for you. What I have to tell you may be harder.”

  “Please. I need to know,” I say.

  “Josephine fired three shots that morning. The first two we believe were intended for you, and the last one was intended for herself. The first bullet hit you in the side. That’s the wound you have. The second bullet hit Mike, and the third bullet ended Josephine’s own life,” he says.

  “Mike! What happened to Mike? I remember now, I felt a shove. He must have pushed me out of the way. Please tell me he’s fine,” I beg, but I know that’s not the case.

  “I wish I could, Dr. Fields,” he says. “When Mike pushed you out of the way, that left him in direct line of the next shot. It hit him in the heart. I doubt he felt anything.”

  My heart sinks in my chest. He may not have felt anything, but his family will most certainly feel the pain, I think to myself.

  Almost too afraid, I ask, “What about Stacie?”

  “Stacie is fine. She’s obviously really shaken up over all this, but she wasn’t injured in the shooting. According to our security detail, she’s visited you a few times,” he tells me.

  I’m relieved to hear about Stacie, but my heart aches for Mike.

  “I’m going to pull the security detail now. I don’t think you are in any more danger. Do you have any reason for me to think otherwise?” he asks.

  “No,” I simply say.

  “That twenty-five thousand dollars in your pocket that morning is nothing I should know about, now is it?” he asks as he opens the door to leave.

  “No,” I respond.

  “I’m sorry about your friend, Dr. Fields,” he says as he exits.

  Sabrina immediately enters the room. “I’m so very sorry for everything you’ve been through and for the death of your friend,” she tells me. “I wanted to tell you, but they told us we couldn’t say anything until the police spoke with you. Can I get you anything?”