Under-Heaven

by Tim Greaton

  His voice quavering, Zachary said, “You too scared to fight me alone, Billy?”

  Billy’s gaze settled on Zachary’s bruised cheek and lip, and he gave a cruel smile.

  “I already beat you pretty good yesterday, snot top. Today, I think I’ll share. Why should I be the only one to have fun?”

  Zachary forced breath in and out of his leaden lungs and shifted his gaze to the tallest boy. He lifted his arms and made two awkward fists.

  “Come on, Jason. Just you and me then.”

  “Good try, grass head,” Billy said, “but now we’re all mad.”

  In unison all four boys moved down one step.

  Zachary backed down one.

  Jason Kelly was punching one hand with the other, surely not a sign of someone who intended to hang back from the fight. The two skinny boys didn’t look quite as ready, but even if they only held Zachary down, it would be bad. To lose a fight against one person would hurt. To lose a fight against two people would probably hurt twice as much. But, Zachary figured, losing against four people might cripple him for life. The brave voice in his head had long since disappeared. Given half a chance, he would happily have bolted for safety.

  He backed down three more steps and grabbed the railing with both hands.

  The wall of boys descended one stair closer.

  He waited. They descended another stair.

  One more, he told himself.

  The bullies took another step down, and just as they did Zachary leapt over the railing. Sailing down, he landed painfully on the concrete floor. Nothing seemed broken so he stood and sprinted toward the doors to the gym.

  Just as he had feared, they wouldn’t budge.

  3) No Way Out

  Coach Winton had started locking the gym doors a couple of months before because someone had spray-painted “YOUR BALLS ARE GETTING OLD” all across the basketball court floor. Zachary pulled at the doors again, but neither of them would budge. He was trapped.

  “You’re not getting away, Pill!” Billy hollered.

  He rushed down the stairs, careened around the lower landing and lunged his heavy body straight at Zachary. Zachary dodged to one side and managed to knock the bigger boy’s first punch with his elbow. Not surprisingly, Jason also rushed down to join the battle. The blond boy tried to grab his shirt, but Zachary had a new plan. He took three huge steps and jumped as hard as he could. As though there were springs under his shoes, he flew twice his height into the air and grabbed the steel railing halfway up the stairway.

  “See that!” someone hollered. “He really is a freak!”

  Seeing both Billy and Jason grasping for his legs below, Zachary swung his feet up over the railing. Unfortunately, one of the skinny boys was already there, and even though bangs covered both his eyes he didn’t have any problem seeing Zachary’s feet and shoving them back out into the open air. At the same time, the other skinny boy began prying Zachary’s fingers from the railing.

  Zachary gritted his teeth and held on for as long as he could, but his grip finally failed.

  Four voices laughed as he fell downward.

  Twisting to land on his feet facing his adversaries, Zachary accidentally kneed Jason in the face on the way down. The tall blond boy screamed, but Zachary had no attention to spare for him because as he hit the floor, Billy’s large boot arced straight for his chest. He scrambled sideways and barely avoided getting his ribs broken. Billy tried to kick him a second time, but Zachary was better prepared and dodged the attack more easily. He looked up to see if there was any way he could get a better jump and get around the two high level guards, but one skinny boy had already moved to the top of the stairway while the other stayed in the middle. He was trapped.

  “Get down here, you cowards,” Billy called up to two boys on the stairs, but neither of them moved.

  Damn!

  Zachary dodged another of Billy’s awkward kicks but wasn’t quite able to duck the follow-up punch. The bigger boy’s knuckles slammed into the side of his nose. White hot pain exploded behind his eyes!

  Trying to imitate his Uncle Ned, Zackary took a ragged breath and tried to shake off the pain. No single punch would ever have stopped his uncle; it would only have made him angrier. Zachary made two fists and ducked another of Billy’s jabs, one aimed at the side of his head. Though Zachary didn’t know the first thing about karate, he did know how to kick. Ignoring the blood running from his nose down into his mouth, Zachary leapt up on one foot and kicked out with the other. His sneaker caught Billy solidly in the chest. Like air from a bottle rocket, the breath whooshed from Billy’s lungs as the heavyset boy fell back into the concrete wall.

  The big boy recovered quickly, though, and charged. Zachary fended him off with a standing kick, but this time the Billy managed to get hold of his sneaker before it drove into his chest. Billy shoved upward just as Jason stooped down behind Zachary. The combined tag-team move sent Zachary pitching backwards. He tried to brace his arms behind him for the fall, which might have worked if Billy hadn’t chosen that exact moment to jump on top of him. The added weight drove against the already awkward angle of Zachary’s left arm. Pain and arm bones exploded simultaneously as Zachary’s head smashed against the concrete floor. The resulting crack echoed like a gunshot through his head.

  Dazed, he felt Jason crawl out from under him. He wanted to cry out as the movement jarred his shattered arm, but he refused to scream. He held it in! He would never give Billy the satisfaction. Never!

  He had trouble breathing and tried to roll Billy’s weight off from him, but the larger boy was like a train lying across his chest. The pain in his crushed arm was unbelievable and getting worse by the second. Red and white dots swam across his vision. He coughed and felt blood backing up from his nose into his throat. Gagging, he sensed consciousness slipping away.

  Is this how it feels to die?

  As Billy Timkin rolled off from his chest and got to his feet, the broken bones of Zachary’s arm grated against each other. The new waves of pain brought him back to full consciousness. He drew several gasping breaths and blinked tears away as Jason rushed up the stairs, blood raining from his nose. Billy stood wobbling at the foot of the stairs.

  “See you next time, snot hair,” he said. Then he rubbed the back of his head, and limped to join his three friends. In moments, all four disappeared from Zachary’s view. He could hear them hobbling through the hallway somewhere above him.

  As quickly as that, the fight was over.

  Zachary braced himself with his good right arm and tried to sit up. White hot agony shot from his broken arm straight to his throbbing skull. Gasping, he tried to imagine that his mother would meet him at the nurse’s office if only he could get to his feet. But not even pain could wash away the cruel facts: it had been two years.

  She was never coming back.

  Realizing he had become the butt of some cruel and terrible joke, Zachary slumped to the floor. Broken bones ground together as great wracking sobs reverberated off the concrete walls of the stairwell. Zachary Pill the Coward had just become…the World’s Biggest Crybaby.

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  Ancestor – Book 1

  CHAPTER ONE

  TENDRILS

  1

  Looking like Mary Shelley's Dr. Frankenstein—hair askew, sweat matting his platinum bangs to his forehead—Sedge heaved the bucket up and poured the pale yellow liquid into the pot he'd borrowed from Mrs. VanGasbeek on the first floor.

  "'Ain't used it since my kids stopped visiting me," the obese woman had explained when she pulled the heavy pan from the dark confines under her sink. Her face scrunched into a confused mixture of hurt and anger. She wheezed and handed him the kettle. "It's really something when your own kids won't visit..."

  Sedge listened and wished he knew how to comfort her, but the truth was he hadn't had a lot of experience
dealing with people. As she talked, he wrung his hands nervously, trying to be attentive and to nod occasionally with understanding.

  After a few more minutes of talking and searching, she found the lid in the drawer beneath the oven. Her cloud of unhappiness forgotten for the moment, she held up the cover, "It's nice to see you cooking something, young man. You're all skin and bones."

  "I know," he said, eyes directed shyly at her worn green linoleum. "I eat a little, but food doesn't really excite me."

  She bellowed out a great chuckle that sent jiggling waves up and down her corpulent body. "Sure wish I had that problem," she said. "Me and food, we hit it off pretty good."

  Sedge thanked her again and started out the door. Just before he closed it, he heard her say, "After that nice meal, you really should get some sleep. You're a handsome young man, but those rings under your eyes are a sight."

  He nodded, closed the door and with great effort had toted the huge pot up both flights of stairs and into his tiny apartment.

  Now he stood in front of his stove and watched the foul liquid dump from his pail into the already-hot kettle. He felt sorry for the kindly woman on the first floor and wondered how many untold others were forced to deal with similar loneliness every day.

  Momentarily, he considered whether it would be better to have a family like hers that ignored him or to, as he did, have none at all. He decided that to have someone there would be better, even if only from a distance.

  The steam that rose from the urine stank miserably and made him gag. He forced himself to pour the remaining liquid into the pan and then to get the lid on the disgusting brew. His abdomen roiled violently.

  Taking two steps back, he spun over the kitchen sink and let his stomach muscles wrench out what little they could find. Then, after several gagging coughs, he wiped the spittle from his lips and took a deep breath. Wet, trembling fingers nervously rubbed at the stubble of his unshaven neck.

  He picked up a book, fully expecting the haphazard mound of other books to collapse and fall from the table. But the stack miraculously remained. Dozens of volumes were strewn across the counters and the floors. Some had even made their way into his cupboards and drawers, for reasons he couldn't explain, much less understand. It was almost as if someone else took over his mind for short intervals and did bizarre things to his life.

  Flipping to page sixty-seven, where a spoon held his place, Sedge ran a quaking finger along the text:

  ...and so the possessed would be brought into the room where a brisk fire was already ablaze. Then, while a priest whispered words of prayer and sprinkled Holy Water over the victim's head, urine would be emptied into a heated pot. While the possessed slept, the urine would boil completely away. If fortunate, upon awakening the victim would be free of possession.

  Sedge read the paragraph three times before it finally got through to his sleep-deficient brain. He opened the cupboard above the sink—and flung another book out of his way. It slid like a snow plow, pushing mouse-droppings before it.

  Sedge fumbled around the shelf, panic building inside him. Finally his hand closed around a small square bottle of Holy Water he'd stashed away four days ago. Relief washed some of the tension away.

  The priest hadn't wanted to give him the water but had finally agreed when Sedge ripped the hymn books from their cradles on the back of the pews and began hurling them to the front of the assembly hall. "I don't have a choice!" Sedge wailed.

  "Please stop," the elderly priest begged.

  "I need the water!" Sedge said, holding one of the dark volumes above his head. The guilt was a thick mucus in his throat. But what else could he do?

  The old man sighed. His shoulders slumped in resignation. "Then you give me no choice."

  Sedge couldn't stand it any longer. He allowed the hymn book to fall back to waist level. Hot tears of pity for the old man and tears of guilt at his own actions rolled down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. This is wrong. I do need the water...but not like this. Please do whatever you feel is right."

  The priest stared at the pale, skeletal young man for a moment, then pursed his lips and nodded slightly. He turned and limped up the three stairs of the cathedral's stage and pushed the rich maroon curtain aside to reveal an archway to quarters behind. Reclaiming some of the majesty of his position, he stared sternly back at Sedge and said, "You will do no more damage and reverently await my return with the respect deserved by our Lord. Is that understood?"

  Sedge nodded. When the frail priest disappeared, the hymn book was returned to its cradle and Sedge moved to pick up the other books he'd thrown. The work was complete by the time the priest returned with a tiny vial in his hand.

  Now, four days later, holding the clear container a few inches from his eyes, Sedge wondered if the contents were indeed blessed. Was it possible that the elderly man had given him tap water? Either way, it was too late to do anything about it. He pulled the cork from the fragile mouth and placed the bottle on the counter. It was another tense moment as he threw two more books to the floor in search of the Bible his mother had given him on his sixth birthday—the only thing that he'd taken from his parents' house before running like a frightened hare five years ago.

  Sedge's fingers closed upon the heavy text. It occurred to him then, while trying to focus his blurred vision, that he hadn't slept in three nights. Soon, real soon, he told himself as he struggled to make sense of the finely printed words on the page:

  ...And if you desire to share in

  Satan's power you must—

  Sedge snapped the book shut and glared at the red-embossed letters on the black cover: EVIL INTENTIONS.

  Disgusted, he threw the book to join the others under the table. Finally, he fished out the correct black bound edition of the King James Bible. He glanced away and back several times to insure that it was, in fact, the Bible. Without regard to which page it was that he chose or even if it was from the Old Testament or the New, he began reading:

  "The righteous cry, and the Lord

  heareth, and delivereth them out of

  all of their troubles...

  And he read on for a full minute, ending with:

  ...The Lord redeemeth the soul of

  his servant: and none of them that

  trust in him shall be desolate."

  With finality he uttered the last sentence and sprinkled the contents of the small vial onto his own head.

  Whether fed by his belief that his ordeal was over, or caused by actual intervention from a power greater than himself, or maybe for no other reason than pure exhaustion, Sedge's frail body slumped to the floor.

  Like doors to an underground tomb, his eyelids slid shut, and for the first time in many months, Sedge fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

  2

  A tiny mouse scurried from behind the heating strip, under the table and over a discarded copy of Murder Or Justice: The Salem Trials. The grey rodent stopped briefly to lick a bead of sweat from Sedge's brow before continuing its journey into the living room and beneath the tattered couch. Meanwhile, the evaporating contents of the pot began to fill the apartment with a stench that landlord after landlord would try unsuccessfully to eliminate for years to come.

  3

  Danny Aldridge knelt on the hard, wooden floor of the tiny cabin and prayed fervently for an end to his ordeal. His knees were swollen and aching from six long hours of prayer.

  "Haven't I tried hard enough, God?" he pleaded. Tears rolled down his fourteen-year-old cheeks. "I've prayed and prayed for your help. I've begged for myself and for my family. Why can't you get us out of here? Why can't you make that bastard leave us alone? I don't know how can I keep believing in you when you've forgotten us like this. I don't want to hate you, God, but isn't it time for you to help?" He gripped his hands together. "If you've ever answered a prayer, please answer mine! I, we, need you. Please help us—"

  He heard a scraping sound as the brace was pulled away from the door to his wooden cell. Suddenly, a burs
t of bright South Carolina sun flooded the small space, blinding Danny. He blinked his eyes shut. When he opened them again the door was already closed and for the second time in twenty-four hours he was left in total blackness. But something was different this time.

  He felt hot breath on his cheek, which confirmed his fear and made his insides quiver like so much Jello. His stomach churned, and bile rose to the back of his throat.

  Danny forced himself to swallow the foul taste and fought his natural instincts. To vomit now, he knew, would mean horrors he preferred not to imagine. Over the last few months his young mind had learned to adapt and survive, and that meant keeping the contents of his stomach inside regardless of what his bucking abdominal and throat muscles wanted to do.

  His body stiffened as wave after wave of nausea threw itself upward at his throat. His adam's apple burned as though struck by battery acid. Though his vomit reflex finally lessened, the contents of his stomach continued to seethe like a witch's brew in the center of his gut. During the entire episode, Danny hadn't uttered a word. He only prayed that his exterior muscles hadn't given his inner struggle away.

  "I'm so very sorry, my lamb," the older man said to him. The voice was soft and caring but the tone condescending. Any emotion in that voice, Danny knew, was feigned. A rough, calloused hand stroked his cheek.

  No matter what, don't cringe. Don't—

  "I exist to serve you and the others, Daniel. You know this but still you fight me. When your Lord has need of you, you have no right to refuse. I should be the center of your existence, for is it not I who gave you all that you have? How would it have been if I had asked The Father to lift me into the heavens before my wrists and ankles were spiked to the cross? What if I had abandoned mankind at the time that he needed me most? Don't you see, Daniel, Holy Sacrifice is upon us all, and we must bow to the Holy Wisdom for those things we have trouble understanding."