by A. L. Mengel
“I am trying to remember my mortal years, Sheldon. I am trying to give you…”
He stopped for a moment, removing his hand from his chin.
“Imagine the most intense pleasure you have ever had – and I am not referring to sexual pleasure, but rather a total body state of euphoria. Like being in heaven, in a state of pure bliss…like nothing else mattered in the world. Every organ, every muscle in your body experiencing the same things, the same pleasures.”
“So when you made others like you didn’t feel the same things?” Sheldon asked, beginning to pack up his bag, closing his notebook, and then swallowing the last of his whiskey. He stubbed out his cigarette.
“No. It’s a totally different experience, which I will tell you about when we meet again. As you can see, it’s getting late. I will let you live, since we have just begun my story.”
When Antoine said ‘I will let you live’ Sheldon looked up from what he was doing, as if caught by those words. The thoughts that possibly he might not survive this endeavor began to run through his mind for the first time since he started this project.
Immortals lived secret, destructive lives untouched throughout time basically for all of eternity. And Sheldon Wilkes, Director of The Astral, chapter in Coral Gables, was ecstatic when he came across Antoine.
“Thank you for your hospitality Mr. Antoine,” Sheldon said. “When shall we meet again to finish this story? It seems like such a cliché!”
“What does?”
“This. Us.” Sheldon waved his legal pad back and forth in front of him as if to accentuate his comment. He continued: “My pursuit of your story.”
“Your intentions are noble, Mr. Wilkes,” Antoine replied flatly. “At least on the forefront they seem to be. And for that, I am granting you your wish. Your reasons are what I believe no mortal who has encountered an immortal has ever thought of – and then, extinguishes any hint of it being a cliché.”
Sheldon followed Antoine into the foyer.
Antoine paused to think, head facing forward, hand on the door handle, ready to show Mr. Wilkes out.
“Tonight. Come over if you can, around 11, and I will let you know a little more about what it was like in my early days of immortality. But, it’s pretty much cut and dry. It took me some time, but I got used to it. Now, I am a father.”
“You are a Father?”
“Yes. But he has betrayed me. He has risen to a Dark Throne of power that I will never rise to or be able to conceive. When I first laid eyes upon him, I was merely seeking companionship. But now…there are my minions out there, as well. And he has his.” As he was saying that, he gestured his open hand towards the rainy, humid Miami night.
“Good night, Antoine, take care.”
Sheldon stepped out in to the night, and opened his umbrella, seeking his car keys. Thunder rumbled again, closer and louder, shaking the side of the house.
Sheldon peered up towards the sky, startled. A few seconds later, the sky lit up with lightning from an approaching storm.
Antoine leaned his head out the door, avoiding the coming rain and said, “It is you that needs to be careful, mere mortal one.”
The door shut with a bang, causing the knocker to shake violently.
CHAPTER NINE
Deep in his ears, ringing in his head, were Antoine’s words: It is you who must be careful, mere mortal one. Sheldon pulled his Honda up towards First Street, looking up through the windshield as he cut the engine. The keys jingled as he took them out of the ignition. He felt himself shivering with goose bumps and felt a chill in the air.
This evening, the weather was much cooler. For some reason, the weather in Coral Gables was growing colder each passing day since he had met Antoine.
Distant thunder rumbled, warning of an approaching storm. Sheldon peered towards the dark sky as the thunder growled; dark clouds were circling above, growing angrier and highlighted by the following illumination of the lightning.
He felt a drop on his face.
The sun had not shone in Coral Gables for three days. And for three nights, the thunder rumbled and the rain pelted the windowpanes. The winds always grew more intense once entering this section of town, and there always seemed to be a consistent state of depression and a storm.
Staring at the mansion, he pulled his briefcase up close and hugged it to his chest.
Antoine had invited him back, but he did not know the reason why.
That house, which sat in the pale moonlight, the palm trees rising in front of it; the oak trees to the side of the yard creating eerie arms that would protrude in front of the walls, created uninviting shadows.
That house, it stood high and commanding and peered down at him. It seemed to have a personality of its own. Or maybe a personality shared by its owner, Antoine Nagevesh.
Sheldon took a sip from his shiny flask of bourbon, treasuring the warmth down his throat, and opened the door to his car. He spilled into his seat and slammed the door, and pulled the brown folder out of his briefcase. On the side of the folder, it read:
THE ASTRAL – ANTOINE NAGEVESH.
Before Sheldon Wilkes, there was Anthony Peterson, who still is an active member of The Astral. Shortly after they discovered Antoine, Anthony immediately took the case, fascinated by immortals in general. He was the type of guy who bought the plastic fangs at Halloween, had more than one Ouija board at home, and went to nightclubs that catered to people who thought they were part of, or at least were fascinated by, the occult.
He started meeting with Antoine about two months ago, and two weeks into their speaking, it was rumored that the two began having a secret love affair, which seemed ironic to those at The Astral, given the fact that “people say” that immortals don’t have sex – at least not in the way that humans do. But, that is what “people say”.
Another member, Paula Tandy, had openly wanted to meet Antoine, and was begging and pleading with Anthony for three days to come with him one evening. Paula became very interested since Antoine became newsworthy as a local spiritual healer. It seemed he had the gift to take away pain – both emotional and physical. It eventually got to the point that citizens of Miami who were in all types of pain would seek out Antoine with the hopes that they too would be healed. But it rare someone could find him.
Paula, however, had an obsession.
Anthony promptly and quickly refused to take her along on any of his visits to Antoine, and even after endless pleading and cajoling, he still stood his ground. It seemed to make no sense to Paula that she could not accompany him on something as simple as data gathering.
But, given the type of woman Paula is, she decided that she was not going to take no for an answer. So, at 10:35pm, when Anthony exited the door to the parking garage and walked to his Jetta, Paula crept quietly out behind him, behind the brushes on the side of the brick building to the corner, and down the other side towards the back of the building where her car was parked. She parked it there earlier that day, planning this all along.
She waited for a few minutes, then heard the faint sound of an engine turning over, and when she heard loud thumping music blasting from the direction of the main parking area, she knew that it was safe to start her car because there would be no way that Anthony could hear her engine turning over when he had his music at such a loud volume.
Paula’s Chevy crept towards the exit on the 11th avenue, which would lead to Anastasia, and First Street. She didn’t have to worry about catching up to Anthony, because she knew the way already. She studied the case since The Astral picked it up. She had always wanted to be on it, but for some reason the Director gave it to Anthony over her, which she had been resenting.
She knew that Antoine claimed to be very old, yet seemed eternally youthful, and that he looked divine – almost heavenly, like an angel – and that his eyes were captivating and alluring. She knew he is rumored to be very beautiful, with long locks, a chiseled perfect face with eyes that seemed so loving, an intense personality and a
killer body. Whenever she thought about him, about what he could potentially look like, she would feel the heat rising in her. She’d heard the stories. She’d read the file. The guy was a minx.
Paula had never seen Antoine in person, and that’s what she aimed to do. Once her car set onto First Street, she could see Anthony’s car already sitting there, and there no was sign of Anthony so she assumed that he had already gone inside. That worked out perfectly for Paula, because she just wanted to look inside the windows tonight to get a glimpse of this mysterious man who claimed to be immortal and perhaps see what kind of activity was going on between him and Anthony.
She parked her car and cut the engine about fifty yards down the street from Antoine’s house, got out of the car, and very gently shut the door as the night was very quiet, and started to make her way down First Street. She walked down the sidewalk, and it was so silent, she couldn’t even hear the hum of the cicadas. Just the quiet, dark thickness of a warm, tropical evening.
Turning into the Nagevesh residence, through the palms and foliage with its eerie arms reaching out for her, she went to the side of the house, past the grand columns, towards a window, with shears drawn, and a faint glow of light coming from it. She hoped that the curtains were open, so she could see what was happening inside.
When she got to the windows and raised her head up to look, standing on her toes, all she could see were two sets of legs, standing close to each other, as the rest of the view was blocked by a sitting chair, nestled in the corner by the window. The two pairs of legs got closer to one another, and she desperately had to see what was going on!
She stooped down and ran to the other side of the house, hoping that there would be another window, or a door that she could sneak into. There was.
On the back side of the house there was a large lanai, covered with large and heavy outdoor furniture, a large pool lit in a greenish glow, surrounded by Italian sculptures in stone, palm trees, flowers and shrubs. The lanai opened up into the kitchen area, and there was a set of French doors leading into the dining area and one door was open slightly. She could tell that no one was in the kitchen. Perfect. She took off her shoes, and entered, tip-toeing as quietly as she could, through the French doors and through the kitchen and closer to the Parlor where the two men were.
When she got to the end of the hallway that was next to the kitchen, there was a single door, a large, wooden door but with glass in the center with curtains on it, but they were curtains she could slightly draw back and peer through, and see the activity inside.
And when she reached the door, she let out a slight gasp, because what she saw was something that was expected, but not. She saw Antoine, and she saw Anthony. Antoine was holding Anthony close, looking as if they were in an embrace like that of a lover, but she could not tell what was going on. The back of Antoine’s head was blocking her view.
Paula’s breathing became very shallow, because the anger started to boil up inside of her. She didn’t know whether to burst through the room and start yelling at the two or slip out quietly and act like none of this ever happened. Paula decided that if the two were having a scandalous affair, she did not want to witness it or be a part of it. So, she decided to slip out the back door, the way she came in, quietly and unnoticed. She backed down the hallway and into the kitchen without any noise, but still at that same moment, Antoine’s eyes shot open – he turned his head around and glared at the door.
Paula crept quietly down the side of the house again, back out towards First Street, dumbfounded. She sat down on a bench that was on the sidewalk in front of the house, and shook her head, reeling at the thoughts in her head: Antoine was a fraud!
CHAPTER TEN
The storm raged and the winds roared like a hurricane, sending a cascade of leaves, twigs and tree limbs throughout the dark, black sky above the graveyard. The legion of demons stood guard beneath the tree on which Antoine was perched high in the branches, contemplating on what to do next.
Asmodai stood by the open grave, his stern gaze never breaking. The intense scowl accentuated his death grip, his fiery red eyes pierced Antoine’s soul, the wrinkled face contorted in anger. Saliva dripped from his snout, and his clenched muscular fists indicated that there was unfinished business. He barked a harsh command in his dialect in a deep, grating voice, and the rotted corpse rose from the fallen casket. The eyes glowed a bright orange, piercing through the power and fury of the storm, finding Antoine perched high above.
Antoine looked down from the tree and saw the corpse staring straight at him, and looking into the eyes was like staring into an orange beam of light. Antoine shielded his eyes.
“Your soul is mine!” Asmodai boomed over the winds. “That was the way it was written! That is the way it shall be!”
Antoine parted the branches in front of him to get a better look at The Protector. The corpse kept searching in the trees, detecting Antoine’s movement and zoning in on his location. A high-pitched wailing noise sounded from the direction of the decayed eyes, and before he knew it, Antoine dodged to the left just missing a giant ball of fire.
The force of the explosion caused the tree to buckle and the top loosened and fell, causing Antoine to lose his balance. He fell through the limbs, each snapping under his weight, Antoine landed with a hard thud! on the ground below.
As soon as he opened his eyes, he was lying on the ground and staring up at several demons, each looking down on him below, saliva dripping from their snouts, swords drawn and, faces contorted with anger and ready to strike. Antoine was quick to jump on his feet and just missed being sliced and diced - dodging several swords. As soon as he hopped two steps back on his feet, two of the demons’ swords swung down and hit each other with a loud, metallic clank! sending bright yellow-orange sparks flying through the intense winds.
Antoine used his keen agility to dart along the edge of the woods, past the slow, lumbering demons to the south edge of the cemetery. He ducked in some thick forested trees.
From his new perspective, he peered at Asmodai between the branches and leaves of the trees, and saw the corpse sprinting his direction, apparently honed directly in on his location. Asmodai had his arms raised to the sky calling the winds.
This was it.
He had to get rid of this corpse. The demons he could outrun – they were too slow and moved too stupidly.
Asmodai, on the other hand, was much trickier. Antoine knew – he had read, and he had heard others speak of – what Asmodai was capable of. Asmodai knew that he did not need to move from where he was standing. The right hand of Satan, Asmodai was the Demon Asmodeus – the Demon of Lust. Everything blasphemous.
And Antoine knew that if Asmodai wanted to, he could end Antoine’s existence right then and there. But he chose not to.
“So it is written so it shall be!” Asmodai boomed once again, extending his arm and pointing his finger towards the patch of trees where Antoine ducked.
The corpse jumped into the bushes and fell atop Antoine. It did not waste any time. Digging into Antoine’s arm with what was left of its teeth, it started chewing and tearing like a hellhound would with a piece of fresh, bloody meat.
Antoine’s blood shot out of his arm like a geyser. He screamed out in pain.
But his pain turned to anger as his eyes glowed crimson red and he mustered up his energy, ripping the throat out of the corpse. He spit out a dusty bite of old, decayed flesh and ripped the head off, tossing it into the bushes.
Asmodai laughed. “I can raise this entire cemetery!” he proclaimed. “And the sun will be up soon! Where will that leave you?”
Antoine stopped for a moment. The night was perpetual right now, the winds howled, the debris still flew, but time was stopped. He had been in this cemetery for hours, what seemed like over a day, but the night held fast.
He knew that Asmodai had stopped time. But he also knew that Asmodai could reinstate time – which would mean that instantly it could be high noon of the following day.
It did not mean anything to Asmodai or the demons – although naturally creatures of the night, they did their best work in the daytime. It was during light hours that the demons were able to perform most of their deception and trickery. They left their death and destruction for the night hours.
For Antoine, it was another story. He was much more a night creature. An immortal, he was quite different than the mythical vampire or demon. He was able to move about normally by day, but his powers were weakened. He could not jump nor fly. During daylight, he was much more like that of a regular mortal, but still very persuasive.
So he knew, when Asmodai warned about the sun, that he either had to flee or go through with the reanimation. He was trapped. If he ran, he could probably make it to the chateau before Asmodai called the sun. Maybe.
If he didn’t he would be slowed down greatly – he wouldn’t be able to move at the same lightning fast speeds that he had been accustomed to as an immortal. Asmodai would be unaffected by the sun, and would still be able to send the his legion of demons and fighting corpses after him and they were certainly could overtake him in the woods – or if he was able to outrun them and make it safely into his coffin, the demons and corpses would most certainly surround the chateau, break down the doors with splintering wood, crash through the windows and tear him out of his coffin, and rip him apart – limb from limb.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Welcome again, Mr. Wilkes.” Antoine extended his hand in hospitality. Sheldon did not even have to knock on the door. Antoine knew that he was here, before he even shut off his Honda or took that swig from the flask.
“I see, Sheldon, have we been drinking tonight?” Sheldon did not respond, just let out a deep breath and stepped through the massive door as Antoine extended his hand gesturing into the foyer with the rounded staircase to the side, and the dark hallway behind it that led back to the bedrooms, the same bedroom where he had first been with Roberto, years earlier.