by A. R. Braun
Don kissed her. “Thank God we did. And thank goodness for Rick, who came along at just the right time. Talk about a U.S. hero.”
Fay nodded. He gave Rick a moment of silence, and Fay obviously did also.
Don said, “You know, the hell with going back to Chicago. I can find a job here. There’s an Intel dealer in town.”
“Good idea,” Fay agreed. “I just wish Mom could enjoy it with us.”
“God rest her soul.”
“Yes.” Fay snuffled.
Don smoothed Fay’s baby-fine hair. “We’ll get a nice house with a white-picket fence.” He looked into her pretty-but-bloodshot eyes. “I looked on my laptop and found that the best tourist attractions around here are in these mountains, and that the people in Denver are friendly as can be. There are no communities even close. The whole area’s on flat land, so they’re forced to come up with their own uber-creative entertainment. Sounds like the perfect place to start a family.”
Fay sobbed. “Yes, children. Hopefully they’ll have it better than my mom did.” She kissed him again.
The healthy air made the taste of Fay’s lips that much sweeter.
Don fingered his cross of gold as he noticed Fay’s silver cross gleaming in the sun.
“Which means Denver should have the least hypocrisy of any church in the country,” he added.
Fay nodded.
“Believe me, I know about hypocrites,” he continued. “I was raised in church in Chicago.”
“Well, no house of worship is perfect.” She gave him the once-over. “You look handsome, wearing that cross.”
“Thanks. I want say you look hot in yours, but that would be blasphemy. You do look lovely with your cross though.”
She looked as if she faked a smile.
“An atheist,” he said. “What was I thinking?” Don looked toward the sky. “That’s right, Pishuni, we beat you!” Don laughed. “Eat it!” His ecstatic laughter actually echoed through the majestic Rocky Mountains.
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t join in on your revelry,” Fay said, wiping tears from her eyes.
He nodded. Then he pulled her close to him. “I love you, Fay Rack.”
“I love you too, Don Rack,” she sobbed, and returned the hug.
“Let’s go get some much-needed sleep.”
CHAPTER 39
Pishuni shrieked as he flew in retreat toward the Rocky Mountains. When he landed on the highest peak, he curled up into a trembling serpentine coil, watching the sun fade while evening’s darkness brushed the light away with a soft, lunar cover. The blackest despair took him as he realized he’d been utterly outsmarted and defeated.
Not that he hadn’t flown to Atlanta to try to stop Mary’s broadcast. He’d endeavored to send a gunman in there to blow them all away. But little did he know, the people working on Mrs. Faith’s show were Christians. They prayed for the broadcast to go well, and the only Lord stronger than Pishuni prevented their demise. The Lord made Pishuni’s newest madman get in a fatal car wreck, allowing the message to go on the airways — saving mankind — which had always been Christ’s plan. The whole trial by fire had been a test of faith… or in Don’s case, faith’s beginning.
Pishuni brooded, glaring down at the community of Denver. Hatred for mankind imploded within the deity, especially his malevolence for Don and Fay. He’d never again know the joy of being conjured so he could destroy whole cities with his creative talents. The stronger God had won.
The mountains were like a grave. He’d rot up here. The chill of the night aggravated his scaly skin, and the breeze irritated his snake eyes.
This was a hell of sorts.
EPILOGUE
One year later, Don sat in his easy chair with Fay on his lap. She breast-fed their ten-month-old baby girl, named Mercy because God had shown them just that. Their spacious house was decorated mostly in black, with a black leather couch, black leather La-Z-Boy chairs, a huge stereo on one wall, a plasma screen on the other wall, black curtains and Van Gogh knockoffs.
The family watched Mary Faith demand justice on the television. Reveling in the absence of color adorning their new home, Don felt a bit thrashed-out, especially because Rick had helped save them from their fate. The air conditioner still blared, but fall was upon them, for the leaves had started turning different colors. They were in the middle of Indian summer. And the Rockies had made the playoffs, unlike the White Sox.
Fay doted on the baby, as did Don, saying, “Dada-goo-goo” and feeling heartwarming pride as he took his little girl’s hand, the babe so helpless to care for herself without her parents, and filled with unconditional love. Don vowed to never be absent from his child’s life. Neglect and abuse weren’t going to happen to his beloved baby. He blew raspberries on her stomach, which always made her giggle.
She’s going to be a beauty queen when she grows up. She’s got Mommy’s features.
He gave Fay a kiss. They were still in the middle of wedded ecstasy. They’d decided to never end the honeymoon, which had worked out famously.
Don had gotten hired at the Intel computer dealer in Denver. He also designed Websites on the side for extra money. On the weekends, the family hiked through the Rocky Mountains — to fit the old cliché, they were high on life — and there was nothing like the great outdoors to make one appreciate how badly man had fucked up with pollution and crime.
Despite their full life, the past still held them in its grip. Fay looked up at Don. “Do you think we’ll ever get over what we went through? I mean, I know we’re happy now, but will we ever look at the world the same way again?”
Don answered, “I think we’re better for it. Good came from the bad. If it hadn’t been for Pishuni, I never would’ve met you.” He did his best to grin ear-to-ear at her. “And I wouldn’t have the happy family I have today.”
She smiled. “And I am happy. You’re a great father.”
Don kissed her again. “You’re a great mother.” Looking at their child, he added, “I can’t believe something so beautiful came from my loins.”
Fay breathed a laugh. “I think I had some part in it too — the major part, actually.”
Don snorted. It was good to hear her chuckle after what she’d been through.
“What about you, Mercy? You think Fay’s a great mommy?”
The baby answered the only way she knew how, giggling in ignorant bliss. Apparently, she did know one thing — she was safe and cared for.
Mercy would never fall into peril or danger. If anybody hurt his daughter, Don would kill them. Vowing to protect her after she was born, he’d signed up for a karate class and collected a vast array of weapons, including guns, swords and throwing stars, wanting to be tough but devout as Rick had been.
“I just wish Mercy could’ve gotten a chance to get to know her grandma Georgia,” Fay said.
He caressed his wife’s cheek. “Me too. But don’t forget, my mom and dad are coming next weekend.”
Ruefully, she nodded. “At least she’ll have one set of grandparents.”
Don leaned back and watched Mary’s shock over another senseless crime as the fading sun tried to beat its way through the cracked curtains and the blinds. He kissed Fay’s soft-and-warm neck — scented with Cherry Vanilla perfume — causing her to smile, then he glanced down on his beautiful little daughter who looked at him as if she knew he was the only one qualified to call himself Daddy.
Don’s thoughts again turned to Rick. He’d never be a proud papa, but in heaven, at least his struggles had ended. Next, he mused over Georgia. Her strivings were over as well.
Then Don knew love did conquer evil after all, whether in heaven or on earth.
***
Fuming, a teenage boy with hair down to his collar and an affection for the electric guitar was on his way home from high school in Littleton, Colorado. He banged through the front door and stalked down the hallway to his room. Knowing his mother wouldn’t be home for another hour, and his father wouldn’t come throu
gh the door until 5:30, he threw the door closed behind him, which shook the walls. He hurled his backpack, full of books, against his stereo set, knocking it to the floor in a tangle of wires and boxes. Still in a blind rage, he shrieked and picked up his television, then chucked it against the wall, making a hole in the plaster and drywall. With staccato-like precision, he punched holes in the wall, all the while screaming, “Goddamn bastards and bitches. You try to get an education, and all they do is fuck with you all day.”
In a final fit of rage, he picked up his bed and flipped it against the wall, crashing it into his poster of Tila Tequila, the beauty from men’s magazines and Twitter. She was clad only in underwear and holding a sword.
Finally done with his physical show of exertion, he slumped down onto the floor and said, “I should kill them all and then kill myself!”
From atop the Rocky Mountains, Pishuni’s serpent head looked up, his evil eyes taking notice. His uncoiled his snake’s frame, he slithered around in glee, he grinned with serrated teeth.
Then he morphed into the bird form he’d first deceived Don with and soared toward Littleton.
A. R. Braun is the author of Only Women in Hell, his first novel, as well as the short-story collections Insanity and Horrorbook: Twenty-two Tales of Terror. He became interested in horror when he read “The Telltale Heart” as an assignment in high school. By the time he was eighteen, he had the whole Stephen King collection and started writing short stories for friends and family. His main goal was to put together a heavy metal band, and he spent many years working blue-collar jobs and seeking out musicians, but never fell in with the right kind of guys.
A. R. has numerous publication credits, including “NREM Sleep” in the D.O.A. anthology; “Freaks” in Downstate Story magazine; “The Unwanted Visitors” in the Vermin anthology; “Coven” in the Heavy Metal Horror anthology; “Remember Me?” in Horror Bound magazine; and “Shades of Gray (the Symbiosis of Light and Dark)” in Micro Horror magazine. “The Interloper” won story of the month in 2009’s June Full Moon in Bloom issue of SNM Horror Magazine, and the piece was included in the SNM Horror anthology, Bonded by Blood 2: a Romance in Red. A. R. finished first runner-up in the Stuff Writers Like Writing Competition with his article, “Examining Description.” Weightlifting, mixed martial arts, an anonymous death-metal studio project and audio comedy are a few of his current interests. He completed Bram Stoker Award nominee Jeremy Shipp’s Writer Boot Camp, and A. R. blogs on his website at http://arbraun.com. You can sign up for his newsletter there.