A feeling of deep sadness seeped into his lost soul. He often felt alone now. He knew that all of them did. But under the sadness was the constant, burning rage: rage at Lucifer for excluding him.
As Balaam glared at the angels who stood at Lucifer’s side, one of the favored spirits turned around and looked back at him. Her arms were so thin that he could see every bone, and a mat of long hair fell in a rat’s nest at her back. Her yellow eyes were wild and burning, her crooked smile fanged with rotting teeth. She smiled smugly, as if she had read his mind. “Get used to it,” she seemed to say with her smile. Balaam nodded and turned away.
Why they all had turned so loathsome, he didn’t understand. But they had and they knew it; they were ugly, raging souls. Without the Light, they were nothing but dreadful, deadly cores.
Balaam considered the angel, staring at her mat of hair. She had once been a beautiful woman with blue eyes and dark hair, and a face so fine and beautiful she could get anything she wanted with just a wink and a smile, which had been one of her problems, Balaam thought with a smirk. But now she was nothing but a loathsome, lying soul. She had no beauty. She was not happy. There was no light in her eyes. The only thing that she wanted was to make others share her pain, to cast her darkness on them, making them as unhappy and miserable as she was.
As Balaam’s mind raced, his lips cracked into a thin smile. He didn’t have a sense of humor—that had been lost long ago—but he had a bitter sense of irony that was sharp as a knife. And the irony was so obvious it simply could not be ignored.
In fighting to destroy the mortals we have only destroyed ourselves!
But the mortals didn’t understand that. They couldn’t see into his black soul. So they listened to Lucifer and his minions, always believing their lies. And the mortals would never understand how much the dark ones hated them—until the mortals had joined them in hell.
TEN
Washington, D.C.
Ammon Brighton walked out onto the porch and saw his twin brother sitting on the front steps in the dark. Ammon stood there a few seconds. Luke looked up and grunted wearily but didn’t say anything. He had turned off the porch lights, and the lights of the city hung over them like a soft, fuzzy bowl. Rain was in the air, flat layers of low clouds that reflected the bright city lights, causing a hazy, white glow. Their old Victorian house was built at the end of a narrow cobblestone street lined with huge oak and sycamore trees growing in old cement planters, and the soft wind blew now through the enormous branches. Some creaked as they moved, and their leaves fluttered lightly, creating a soft, rustling sound.
Ammon studied the clouds. “Think it will rain?” he asked.
“Supposed to,” Luke answered as he lifted his eyes to the wet sky.
“Going to be cool tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Luke spit. “You know what the temperature was in Baghdad today?”
Ammon shook his head. “No. But it should be cooling down by now.”
“Hundred and seven. Will drop to forty-nine in the desert tonight.”
“SWA’s a lousy place to be, ain’t it, bro.” SWA, short for Southwest Asia, was only one of the dozens of military acronyms the brothers had picked from their father. It was the military designation, and a more accurate geographical description for what most people called the Middle East.
“Got a short E-mail from Sam,” Luke continued as he peered into the dark. “He said he’s done some very cool missions the past couple weeks. Said he met a girl. Said it broke his heart, she was so beautiful, seeing how she lives and all.”
“Hmm,” Ammon hummed. “That’s kind of funny. Doesn’t sound like him. Think he’s falling in love?”
“Who knows. It’s a strange world. Maybe he’ll come home with a wife.”
The brothers looked at each other and started to laugh. Yeah, right! They were both thinking.
After a minute they settled down and were quiet. “You couldn’t sleep?” Ammon finally asked.
“I woke up a little after two. I’ve been kind of, you know, waiting for Dad.”
Ammon glanced at the driveway. His dad’s car was there, but that didn’t tell him anything since he was always chauffeured. “You check his bedroom?” he asked.
“Yeah. Mom’s in bed alone.”
Ammon nodded. He went into the house, walked to the refrigerator for a couple of sodas, over to the pantry for a bag of chips and salsa, then back outside to the porch. Sitting down, he heard three soft chimes and glanced through the glass and oak door to the old grandfather’s clock that sat on the marble floor. Three a.m. A pretty good time to eat.
He pushed one of the sodas toward his brother. Luke nodded thanks, popped it open, and grabbed a handful of chips. Dipping into the salsa, he grunted and stood, disappeared into the house, and returned with a miniature bottle of Tijuana Fire Sauce. The bottle was lime green, with a Spanish label featuring warning signs with skull and crossbones. He took the bowl of salsa and, like a chemist mixing a dangerous concoction, let the drops fall slowly. “How many?” he asked, counting each drop by the light of the street lamp.
Ammon felt his stomach. “It’s pretty late. I would like to sleep at least a couple hours. Better keep it to five.”
Luke huffed. “O ye of little gastrointestinal capability. I scoff at your five.” He counted ten drops, added one more for good measure, and then began to stir the Tijuana Fire into the salsa with his finger.
“Nice,” Ammon said, nodding at Luke’s index finger that was dipped in his sauce.
Luke hunched his shoulders, pulled out his finger and stuck it in his mouth. “Don’t worry, brother, this stuff is more powerful than alcohol. They used to use it to clean the open wounds of rebel soldiers during the Civil War. There isn’t a germ alive that can survive contact with this Tijuana Green.”
Ammon scooted over, took a chip, dipped it, and shoved it in his mouth. “Not bad,” he mumbled through his mouthful of food.
“Want another couple drops?” Luke asked.
The delayed reaction of the peppers or whatever was in the sauce began to kick in. Ammon started sweating, his mouth on fire, and he grabbed a mouthful of chips, knowing he had to suffocate the flames with something dry; the soda would only wash the burn down his throat. Luke, having destroyed most of his taste buds already, watched him and laughed, then dipped another chip.
“Good,” Ammon said after his mouth had cooled down.
Luke laughed. “You can’t fake it with me, bro.”
“No, really. I would have stopped at eight drops, but this is OK. Just kind of caught me off guard is all.”
Luke laughed again.
Looking at the two brothers, one wouldn’t have known they were twins. Ammon, blond and tall, cut his hair short and combed it back. Luke was shorter but thicker, his arms dark and tan. Luke acted fast. Ammon acted slowly. Luke was always looking for something exciting, and he loved having friends around. In fact, it almost seemed he hated being alone. Ammon, on the other hand, sometimes would lock his bedroom door and just sit by himself. He just had to get away, even if only for a few minutes.
Luke eyed the driveway, then leaned forward and looked down the empty street.
Ammon watched him, reading his mind. “Dad must not be coming home tonight. Mom didn’t even wait up for him, so you know what that means. I’m sure he called and said he got stuck at some meeting or ended up having to fly off somewhere.”
Luke nodded as he sipped his soda.
Ammon thought of his father. He used to think it was so cool, the fact that his father worked for the president. The first time the White House sent a military helicopter to land in the intersection at the end of their street to pick up his dad for some emergency meeting, it had nearly blown his mind. He remembered watching from the corner, the police escorts stopping traffic to let the helicopter land, his dad ducking under the blades and then turning around to wave good-bye. He had nearly dropped dead with pride.
But the glamour of his father working for t
he White House had worn off a long time ago. His dad was gone so much now. He worked all the time. And even when he was home, he was still far away. How many times had Ammon been talking to him, only to see that far-off look in his eye?
His dad tried his best to compensate. But he was crushed with responsibility and it was very hard.
It was just starting to rain, more a mist than anything serious, and Ammon watched the sidewalk grow wet. “Dad’s got it tough right now,” he said.
“Yeah,” Luke answered. There wasn’t much more to say.
“It’s hard on Mom, too. She wants to help him, but she can’t. And it’s hard on her, being alone all the time.”
Ammon gazed at his brother in the darkness, knowing it was hard on him, too. Luke needed their father more than Ammon did. It had always been that way, even when they were young.
When they were little boys, Luke would wake up in the night and want to sleep with his mom and dad. They let him for a night or two, but soon had quite enough of that. “You’ve got to stay in your own bed,” his mother had explained. “No more sleeping with Mommy and Daddy. You’re a big boy now, Luke. You need to sleep in your own bed.”
Next night, Luke had tried slipping into bed with them again. No good. They brought him back. He claimed to have had a nightmare. His mom had handed him his favorite stuffed toy, turned on the night-light, and told him to stay in his bed. Ten nights in a row he had tried to slip in bed with his mom and dad. Ammon had watched, enjoying the marathon contest of wills, though he never said anything. After it became obvious they were not going to give in, Luke had taken to slipping into the hall in the middle of the night, curling up by their door with his blanket, and sleeping there. That went on for a long time.
Ammon didn’t think his parents ever knew.
The older twin smiled at the memory, but it made him kind of sad. Sitting there on the front porch in the middle of the night, he realized that some things hadn’t changed. The front porch, the hall near their bedroom door, it was pretty much the same: Luke was missing his dad.
Luke took a final drink of soda. “I read something today. Really pissed me off,” he said.
“What’s that?” Ammon asked.
The clouds broke, a thin line of clear sky showing above the streetlight before falling behind the low clouds again. Luke kicked his legs out, extending them to the bottom stair. “OK, there’s this agency in Pakistan,” he began. “They work with refugees, orphans, that sort of thing. They’re trying to get food to this refugee camp. Have to haul it out there in these old, beat-up trucks, the only vehicles the Pakistani government will let them use. Yesterday, after a couple aid workers had taken a load of food to the camp, the bread and water ran out before everyone had a chance to get some. I guess a riot broke out. Here you have all these starving, dying people. No food. No water. So what do they do? They riot. Attack the relief trucks. Both of the aid workers were killed. One of them was trampled; the other one was dragged from under the truck and beaten to death.
“Now, I don’t know, Ammon, call me stupid, but I just don’t get it. Those aid workers were there to help them. It wasn’t their fault that they ran out of food. Yet the refugees went so crazy, they trampled and beat them to death.”
Ammon studied his empty soda can. “I guess people have to be pretty desperate for them to act that way,” he said.
“Desperate or crazy.”
“I don’t think you can say they were crazy. Have you ever been really hungry, Luke? I mean really, seriously hungry? Either of us misses a single meal and we act like we hadn’t eaten in weeks. We skip two meals and think we’re dying. But lots of people in the world, maybe most of the people in the world, miss one or two meals every day.”
“Yeah, well, I still wonder what those people are thinking sometimes.”
“Have you ever been so thirsty that you thought you might die? Have you ever been so dehydrated that you couldn’t sweat or spit or swallow because your tongue was so thick? Have you ever slept out in the desert with only the clothes on your back? Have you ever looked at a tiny cloth sack and knew it contained everything that you owned? Absolutely everything! You had nothing else! Have you ever been so scared for your family’s safety that you would have done anything?
“Think about this, Luke. I’ll paint a picture for you. You’re a young father. You used to live in a small village that was taken over by the resurgent Taliban and now you’ve been chased from your home in Afghanistan because of another war. The same thing happened to your father. Same thing happened to your grandfather before. Your wife was killed by Taliban rebels because she dared to appear in public showing part of her hair. You flee with nothing but a bundle and your little girl. You sleep in the desert for three days until you get to the refugee camp. When you get there, there’s no food and no water. Your little girl is going to die unless you get some for her. She’s crying. She’s begging. Then she doesn’t cry anymore. She just kind of lies there. Sometimes she’ll reach for your hand. She squeezes your fingers, but she doesn’t focus her eyes on you anymore. She’s dying and she knows it. She needs water now! The trucks show up, but there’s not enough, and neither of you get anything. You’re wild-eyed crazy with hunger. And you love your little girl. You would die to protect her. That’s not an American thing, a Western thing, or anything else—that’s a human thing. A father thing. You would die to protect her. But they have run out of food. She’s dying. She needs water, or she won’t live through the night.
“Think about that, dude, and maybe it will make it a little easier to understand what happened over there.”
Luke scrunched his face. “That’s a pretty horrible picture.”
“It takes place every day.”
“I know. And it helps to remember the whole story. But it doesn’t explain everything.”
Silence returned for a moment. “I guess there are some things we may never understand,” Ammon said.
Luke crossed his feet. “There’s a lot I don’t understand.”
“Me too,” Ammon said. “But let me tell you something important, Luke. Something I do understand.
“I’ve been watching over your shoulder, and I know more about you than you may think. I mean, come on, dude, why am I out here with you tonight? You can’t sleep, and I feel that. You get a cold, I do too. I know your moods. I know what you’re thinking. I sometimes think I know you even better than you know yourself.
“And I want to tell you something I’ve been meaning to tell you for the past couple weeks. You have a destiny, Luke, a reason you’re here. Think about it, bro—do you think it was the outcome of blind fate that brought you to this time, to this place? No! There had to be a reason. But just as you can seek out and complete your mission, you can screw it up as well.
“And that cute little girl who likes to hang on your arm, she isn’t right for you. Play with fire, and it burns you; any fool knows that’s true. I don’t care how cute or good-looking or rich or cool they might seem, this young thing and her buddies, they are poison for you, man. She cares about two things. Money and showing it off. So ask yourself something; if it wasn’t for our dad, would she be that into you? Is she interested in you or the fact that your dad hangs with the president? Because she strikes me as the kind of person who’s really impressed with that kind of thing. That’s not right for you. She will burn you. I know that. And you know that. Now stand up and be a man!”
Ammon stopped talking and stared at his brother. Luke didn’t say anything. Ammon turned back toward the streetlamp, looking into the dark night. “Don’t you dare screw this up, Luke,” he threatened, “or I’ll kill you, my friend. Don’t screw your life up over a chick with a lot of money who’s going to burn you in the end.”
*******
For the next couple of days, Luke spent a lot of time in his bedroom and driving around in his car. He was sullen and moody, and he seemed to glare a lot. Then, on the third day, he woke up in a very good mood. He came downstairs, kissed his mother, and
made breakfast for them all.
Later that night he called her. “Alicia, I really like you,” he said in a determined voice. “But I can’t see you any longer. It’s not right. And it won’t work. I’m sorry, Alicia, I really am, but we’ve got to back off.”
She cried. She protested. She called him names and said he’d lied. She begged more than once, and then started crying again. She swore at him, and then said she loved him, but it seemed that he didn’t love her back.
Luke knew she was right. He liked her. He liked her friends. He liked her roommates. He certainly liked the Porsche she drove. They had a great time when they were together; they seemed to laugh all the time. She was interesting and sincere, and she listened to him. It seemed they could talk for hours. She would tease him. She would challenge him. And there was that smile. And that hair.
He caught his voice then answered slowly that he thought that she was right.
When they finally hung up, he was frazzled and frustrated. But he was not confused. He had done the right thing—not the easy thing, but the right thing—and inside he was calm.
It would be a very long time before he would see her again. The world would be very different. So would Luke. So would Alicia. Everything would have changed.
ELEVEN
The timing of the attacks had to be precisely coordinated. Like an enormous tsunami that would crash over the land, they had to be unexpected and devastating; with no chance of being repelled. The destruction had to be wide and deep, completely demoralizing and debilitating in every way. And they had to create a sense of passing, as if the old world was gone, leaving normal life shattered like broken glass on the floor.
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