by Evie Rhodes
Today, Micah Jordan-Wells had fulfilled a prophecy that had been long ago written, destined, and etched into history. War had been declared.
Quentin smoked a cigarette. He stared at Evelyn’s prized and precious Victorian. He pulled on the cigarette. He watched the stillness of the house. His mark had been put on it long ago.
He smiled as he recalled the moment he had arrived at the supreme plan. He had created the perfect womb. By implanting his seed in Evelyn’s womb, he had assured himself of continuous longevity in the form of a man. Instead of constantly recruiting new spirits, he had gained the power of reproduction.
The most awesome thing about it was that instead of merely inhabiting different bodies, he had gained the opportunity to live in them, again and again, while still possessing the powers of the spirit.
Once the twinning took place and the two powers merged into one, he would gain the ultimate status. The twinning would create a power structure the likes of which mankind had never experienced here on earth.
He would be ruler of another great kingdom, without anyone being the wiser. In Shaughn, he would have the ability to fight the war on earth when the time came. Ultimately, he would rule on earth once the chosen ones had been defeated.
He would be the ruler of earth. He took another drag from the cigarette. He laughed at the simplicity of man’s mind.
He knew that most men who believed at all thought the ultimate war would be fought in heaven. They thought only certain prophecies would be fulfilled on earth. They had never imagined that earth would become a domain, and whoever ruled, would rule the world.
Right now there was a split. Between his people and those of Christ. But soon he would rule it all, because as he destroyed their faith, he destroyed their weapons. If they didn’t believe, they wouldn’t obtain salvation. If they didn’t have salvation, they wouldn’t be under the protection of Jesus Christ.
Oh, what a wonderful world it was. He couldn’t wait. Once the twinning took place, it wouldn’t take long for him to scare the belief right out of most of them. All that would be left would be him. He was killing off the marked ones before they could produce a warrior, who would find favor with God to defeat him.
He stubbed out the cigarette. He was disturbed as he thought about the curve ball he had been thrown. That curve ball was Micah Jordan-Wells.
When Evelyn had produced twins instead of one son, it had thrown him for a loop. At first he was deliriously happy. He thought he had been granted a great gift beyond what he had contemplated in the form of not one but two sons.
It hadn’t taken him long to realize, however, that he was wrong. He observed things in Micah not to his liking. Micah was different from Shaughn.
Upon inspecting Micah’s DNA, he realized Micah was of a different structure, not born of him but of a different man and yet he had inhabited the same womb as Shaughn and emerged with identical traits.
Upon discovering this information, Quentin had been incensed when he learned he had also been rendered powerless to do anything about this development. Micah Jordan-Wells had become off limits to his powers. Although, not off limits to his tricks.
That was why he had allowed Evelyn to place Shaughn in an institution. He knew he would have to work twice as hard to ready Shaughn for the upcoming battle.
The ultimate power had been divided between them. Only through twinning could the power be contained in one body. He intended to make sure that body belonged to Shaughn.
It had been the highest level of treachery. But he would prevail. He was well prepared.
Evelyn had never known about the deceit that had taken place in her womb. As Quentin watched Micah grow, the deceit had become more and more apparent.
Micah’s father had been a stranger in the night. Quentin shook his head at the audacity of Evelyn. To think she pulled this off without his knowledge. She hadn’t.
However, she had unknowingly accomplished, in her quest for purification from him, the superceding of his sperm. Once the egg divided in her womb. Micah had been fathered by sperm other than his.
Micah Jordan-Wells was a common man’s son.
Evelyn possessed a double edge that he hadn’t counted on originally. The man was a mere beggar who had shown up at her door for a handout, a one-night stand that altered the course of history.
Quentin shook his fist in a rage at the remembrance of it. But now he would prevail. All he had to do was to wrest the other half of the power from Micah Jordan-Wells. Then he could be made whole.
Chapter 39
Evelyn was in her kitchen. She felt better than she had in a long time. She had awakened from her blackout thinking she would be dead and in hell. However, she was still here. So, she had decided to cook.
Her kitchen was the ultimate of any cook’s dream. Copper and stainless steel pans hung from the rafters. The smell of fresh vegetables permeated the kitchen with a warm aroma from the soup Evelyn was cooking.
She was baking warm fresh bread as well as homemade cookies. Cooking sometimes provided therapy for her soul. She enjoyed baking from scratch.
There were four range tops and three ovens as well as a modernized counter, which sat in the middle of the kitchen. A stone hearth fireplace was situated in the corner.
In front of the fireplace was a couch piled high with downy soft pillows that faced a three-hundred-year-old chintz-covered table. The table was littered with magazines of every sort.
The kitchen was the only room in the house that had been modernized. Although Evelyn didn’t entertain, she was a great fan of atmosphere. Plants hung around the kitchen, each in their own little ornate holders. And Evelyn loved to cook.
In her kitchen, Evelyn pretended many times that her life was normal. Everything looked and smelled normal, just like any other ordinary family kitchen. Out of her longing, she had created a mirage, nothing more nor less.
It was simply her instinct for survival. For her, it was retribution in the form of a mere room and some cooking utensils.
The futility of her life washed over her in great waves as she stirred the soup. A teardrop fell in the broth. A memory she had long ago tucked in the back of her mind rose up in front of her. About the night Quentin took her to implant his seed.
That same night a beggar had showed up at her door. She had taken him into her bed. He had been her denial against an insanity she couldn’t believe. Against an event her mind refused to accept. A way to wash herself clean of the vileness that was Quentin Curry.
It wasn’t plausible. She couldn’t believe she had done such a thing. The raw fear of it was written inside her soul. Yet for a moment in time, yes, just one moment in time, a man who was homeless and begging had restored normalcy to her life and some peace to her soul in the process.
She had never seen or heard from him again. He had passed like a ship in the night. Then he was gone. Like a dream you awake from, unsure that you even really had it.
To make matters worse, Quentin had achieved what he wanted. He had implanted his vile seed in her, and she became pregnant. She had tried to talk to the reverend. She tried to explain why she couldn’t have the baby but he had told her she couldn’t abort. He said, “God had a way of working things out, in His time and in His way.”
She stirred the pot more vigorously as the memories flooded the forefront of her mind, swamping her with emotion. Over thirty years had passed. She was still waiting for things to work out.
Every night she had prayed to be released. She had prayed to let it pass her by. She prayed for answers on how something like this could have happened. All she had received in return was silence, a deafening silence. And now Quentin was in full form.
He was stamping out lives and leaving his mark and, through her womb, he had gained a life force through which he would gain eternal life on earth.
“My Lord.” She had been uttering that phrase for years. Evelyn sipped from her cup of coffee.
She looked up as she heard the front door in the foyer cre
ak open. Micah. She went to the living room. Shaughn was standing there.
She smiled, glad to see him. “Micah.”
Upon her arrival, Shaughn’s alter excitedly pushed to the forefront and came out to greet Evelyn. “Hi, Mommy. It’s me. You remember me, Vaughn.”
Shaughn grabbed Vaughn. He pushed him back to the deep dark place. As Evelyn watched, a strange war took place in Shaughn’s body.
“Yeah, Evelyn,” Shaughn, who was back in control, said viciously. “You remember me, right?”
A gripping shock poured through Evelyn’s body like ice water running through her veins. She took a step back from Shaughn. “Shaughn? No,” she mumbled.
Shaughn took a step forward. “Oh yeah, Mommy dearest,” he sneered.
Evelyn shut her eyes. She had known this day would come. It was unavoidable. The reverend had warned her. She had not wanted to believe him.
The day had arrived with what now seemed like the speed of a roller coaster. Here he was in the flesh. Standing before her very eyes. Her head ached as though she had been struck by a two-by-four. Her past stared at her hauntingly.
She sighed deeply, taking in his full appearance before asking, “Why are you dressed like that? You’re not Micah. Why are you trying to be Micah?”
Evelyn had never, not even when they were small boys and she still had custody of Shaughn, ever tried to dress them identically.
In fact she had done everything in her power to make them different. The one thing she had realized from the beginning was that Micah was different. They looked identical. But on close inspection she could tell them apart. Shaughn’s eyes were simply a dark black void, nothing else.
She wondered why he had called himself Vaughn. She had been startled as she watched two distinct personalities greet her in the same body. In a flash, everything about the physicality of the body had changed.
Shaughn watched her careful evaluation. He was a patient man. He had waited for a long time. There was no need to rush things. Shaughn mimicked her, “You’re not Micah.” He laughed. “No, I’m not Micah, and Micah won’t be Micah for very much longer.” Shaughn looked smug. He relished the very idea of no more Micah.
Vaughn was choking in the dark place. He couldn’t handle being there. He could hear Evelyn’s voice. Hers was a voice he had been craving to hear for a very long time. He wanted her to hold him.
Maybe she had his favorite raspberry sherbet and some books he could color in. He smelled something good coming from the kitchen. He couldn’t stay in the dark place. He wanted his mommy. He wanted her to hold him, to play with him.
Vaughn concentrated very hard.
He focused on Shaughn’s hands. They were around his neck trying to keep him at bay. If he focused hard enough he could break the grip. He just had to want to, like when he wanted to color. Focus, focus—slowly Shaughn’s hands loosened, and at the first opening, Vaughn broke through to the surface.
Shaughn’s body, his stance, and his demeanor changed to that of a six-year-old boy and Vaughn reached out to touch her. Tears welled up in his eyes. “Mommy.”
Something inside Evelyn snapped as she realized what had happened. She recognized Vaughn. He was Shaughn, when Shaughn was six years old, the day she gave him away.
The knowledge that his personality must have split in two on his separation from her broke her down. A physical pain sliced through her chest. Her eyes glittered with bright, shining tears like jewels in a showcase.
Her chest felt as though someone had physically severed it with a knife. “Oh, God, Shaughn. Oh, God.” For a moment in time, she was simply a mother who had lost a child. She had lost a child to a horrible and wretched evil.
Vaughn reached out and she took him in her arms. She held him tightly. Vaughn asked, “Do you have any raspberry sherbet? I like raspberry sherbet.” She remembered that as a boy, it had been Shaughn’s favorite. She took his hand and led him to the kitchen.
Vaughn sat at the center counter like a typical six-year-old while Evelyn rummaged in the freezer for the sherbet. Actually, it was one of her favorites as well. She found the sherbet and scooped it into a bowl for Vaughn.
She placed the dish in front of him. She sipped her coffee while watching him dig in gleefully. Between mouthfuls he said, “Do you have any coloring books? I like to color.”
Evelyn watched him for a moment. “No, but I do have some color markers and paper. Would you like to sketch?” Vaughn nodded vigorously.
Evelyn retrieved the items. She set them in front of Vaughn on the counter. She took a seat across the counter island from him.
Vaughn drew stick figures on the paper. He hummed a little tune to himself. He swung his legs to the beat. He looked up at her and giggled. He was so happy just being with her. This was where he had belonged all along.
Guilt splashed all over Evelyn reminding her of her abandonment of him. “I’ve always loved you, Shaughn.” To an extent it was true. Even though his conception was under cruel and unusual circumstances.
As she watched the little boy, she was caught up in the moment. She forgot about the circumstances. Vaughn piped up, “I love you too, Mommy.” He grinned in her direction.
He couldn’t remember when he had been so content. This was nice. “Can I have some soup, too?” Evelyn smiled her answer.
Inside the dark place Shaughn had had enough. He was ripping. He couldn’t believe this witch had the nerve to say she loved him. She had tossed him away like so much garbage without a backward glance. For that she would pay.
Dark rage assaulted Shaughn. It rippled through his entire body. He snatched Vaughn back so hard that Vaughn’s neck snapped in the process. Vaughn didn’t have a chance to mutter even the slightest protest.
Before Vaughn realized it, he was back in the dark place with no sherbet, no sketching paper and no soup. Distraught, Vaughn cried. He whined. He screamed. But he couldn’t break Shaughn’s iron grip this time. He’d have to wait for a soft spot to break through again. Shaughn didn’t have soft spots all that often.
Vaughn’s screaming was getting on Shaughn’s nerves. “Shut up, you little punk. I’m warning you, Vaughn,” he told him. “Shut up!”
Shaughn turned his attention to Evelyn. Pure venom dripped from his eyes. Without touching her, Shaughn’s hatred reached out and virtually shook Evelyn like a rag doll.
He swept his arm across the counter knocking the remaining sherbet, along with the markers and sketching paper, to the floor.
Evelyn screamed.
She jumped up from her chair. In the space of a second, her idyllic lapse in memory was snatched away. She ran down the hall and into the solarium, locking the door behind her.
A flash of the past rolled before her eyes. She had done this before with Quentin. Oh God! The past was about to repeat itself.
Trembling, she listened. She didn’t hear anything. She put her back to the door. Evelyn breathed in great gulps of air, trying to talk herself down, but it wasn’t working. She was seized with the feeling to look up at the glass roof, but she didn’t want to.
Unable to resist the force of the feeling, she looked up. The past stared straight at her. Shaughn Braswell lay splayed on the glass roof. He made eye-to-eye contact with Evelyn, touching her very soul.
In a shower of glass, Shaughn crashed through to land in front of Evelyn. He was lithe and agile on his feet. Shaughn was in her realm. The force of his gaze backed her away.
“Hello, Mother. Are you trying to get away from me?” Shaughn’s naked hatred of Evelyn raged across his face. He looked at her, remembering a long-ago ritual with his father. With startling clarity he recalled his initiation into power and manhood.
Shaughn had been twelve years old at the time. He stood before Quentin Curry in a circle of candles. Inside the circle was an “X” molten into the floor.
“Shaughn,” Quentin said.
Shaughn held out his right hand balled into a fist. Quentin branded an “X” directly into the skin. Quentin watched i
ntently as Shaughn bore the pain of the searing heat. Shaughn knew he must not cry out.
Shaughn’s face twitched in agony. His whole body quivered as a force moved inside him.
Quentin stared hypnotically into Shaughn’s eyes. “You now bear the mark of the ‘X.’ You are Criss Cross. My namesake. The name itself has great power. When the time comes, you will twin with your brother from whom you’ve been separated. You will be the victor in the twinning and emerge with all the power.
“Upon my death in this body, the greatest power on earth will pass to you. You will then defeat the ones with the mark of the six in the time of war. In order to be whole you must possess the other half of the power, which your brother, Micah Jordan-Wells, holds. You, Shaughn, are the chosen one. You are Criss Cross. Criss Cross embodies the mightiest power on earth. I am he. But now you will be. To you I pass the torch.”
Quentin doused the candles. He looked ferociously at the “X” under Shaughn’s feet. It became a blaze of burning fire, yet the fire did not burn Shaughn’s bare feet. Shaughn watched Quentin with adoration. He bowed deeply before him, worshipping him.
Quentin was pleased with how Shaughn had come through this important round. He then explained to him the mind-numbing piece, the part he must always remember.
“Everything must follow the pattern of the ‘X.’ Never deviate. It is sacred. Your mother broke the tie that binds when she gave you away. She banished you. Cut you out. But the ‘X’ ensures you can never ever be severed. It is binding. I have redeemed you.”
What Quentin hadn’t told Shaughn was one very important fact. Quentin would have to take the body that Shaughn was occupying when the time came. In the process, Shaughn would die, leaving Quentin the only victor.
He had managed to be able to reproduce himself in man’s world, but what he couldn’t overcome was the death of the body. Man’s body aged, man’s body became ill and eventually a man’s body died. Quentin would forever need a new body in order to survive on earth. Once Quentin took possession of Shaughn’s body, Shaughn would be extinguished forever.