In a frenzy, the Rottweiler lunges up. Its fangs snag into and rip through the sleeve of Sik’s leather jacket, just missing the flesh of his forearm. The dog lands on its hind legs and stands on the ground, with its front paws against the fence. It begins to gnash away at the jacket, yanking Sik’s arm and body down.
Gasping in fright, Sik frantically pulls back his arm with, all his might. The leather sleeve tears, releasing him from the dog’s rabid fury.
Calmly, L’girra asks again, “Where’s my brother?” He starts to tilt and rotate Sik’s body slowly, inch-by-inch, over the fence.
The dogs, seeing Sik coming closer, jump and snipe up at him, brandishing their snarling teeth.
Sik is frightened, and his face turns flushed. With a strong undercurrent of deep anger against L’girra, Sik answers the question, crying out, “I don’t know! But I know where he hangs out. At an old building. He took me there once!”
As the dogs continue to growl and bark, Sik reveals the location of the condemned six-story building.
Finishing hurriedly, Sik exclaims, “He’s at the fifth floor! And there are freakin’ weird things there you’re not gonna be able to handle, and I hope they mess with you! So, pull me the hell up!”
Gradually, L’girra tilts Sik’s body away from the dogs. As he walks away, he states flatly, “I’d send you to jail myself, but Gemini’s just gonna spring you out.” L’girra stops and turns to face Sik.
The dogs strangely stop barking.
Pointing down one street, L’girra informs Sik, “The FBI’s a block down that way, and they’re headed here.” Then, he adds inquisitively, “How fast can you really run?”
Sik, hearing a deep-throated growl below him, darts his eyes down.
At the bottom of the fence, diagonally to the side of Sik’s feet, an opening, the right size for the Rottweiler to crawl through, has just appeared. Through it, the head of the large, angry dog protrudes, looking up at Sik, with snarling sharp teeth.
Then, L’girra says with a smirk, “I’ll give ya a head start.” With that, he makes Sik disappear, and then reappear, in the middle of the street, about ten strides from the dogs.
Immediately, Sik frantically sprints away, and as he does, he yells in defiance, “Go to hell!”
One after the other, the dogs wriggle through the opening in the fence and begin to angrily chase Sik down.
With a stolid face, L’girra watches as Sik disappears from view. The rain strikes his face, but he does not seem to notice. With both hands, he combs and pulls back his long, wet hair. A moment later, he leaves.
* * * * * * *
That same day, the ringtone of a phone plays a sentimental melody of dreams and hope: it is Hawaiian-born Israel “Iz” Kamakawiwo’ole’s version of the song Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Standing within the garage of a small, one-story house, in the island of Maui, is a man in his mid-fifties, with salt and pepper hair. At almost six and a half feet tall, he is a bit overweight. Reaching into the pocket of his oversized, loose pants, he retrieves his phone.
He reserves the ringtone for one, and only one, person, but he glances at the name displayed nonetheless. With his eyes brightening and a large smile appearing on his face, he greets his daughter, “Hey, lemon cakes! What-cha doin’?” He turns to face the door to enter the house, and his dark brown, tanned hand reaches for the knob. But then, he stops and listens for the voice on the line to answer.
Changing his mind, he releases the doorknob and turns to face the concrete driveway. He replies to her question, saying, “Well, everything’s good here. Momma’s still at work, but she’ll be home soon. I just opened the garage door for her.”
His eyes pan around to see the old, wooden garage door raised open, with a noticeable bow at its center. Inside the mostly empty garage are various toolboxes, two tall, gray, metal cabinets, and an old gasoline lawnmower.
He takes a few aimless paces to one side, passing two old, slightly rusted, but cleanly sharpened machetes, hanging from the wall. They cross each other to form an “X”. Many years ago, when he was much younger, he used to wield them, when working on the sugarcane fields. But now, they are mere mementos of the vigor of his former youth, occasionally swung to trim the overgrown shrubs in his backyard.
Aiming his strides toward the opening of the garage, he asks, “You gonna be moving soon? Need my help?”
The voice answers with a giggle.
He stops underneath the spring-loaded garage door and searches for a particular car. But instead of his wife’s car, an unfamiliar one turns the corner and stops directly across the street from his house.
Laughing heartily, he replies, “Oh, you know I’m serious when I say I’d take a plane right now if you needed me, baby girl.”
As his conversation continues, a shapely young woman exits the car, wearing a sleeveless top with Hawaiian print and a dark wrap-around skirt. She begins to walk across the street. As a breeze blows her long, dark flowing hair across her face, her hand brushes the strands away, and she puts on a friendly, sheepish smile.
A large dog starts a deep-throated bark.
The man says into the phone, “Yeah, that’s Uku barking. Old Ukulele is just telling me what I already know. Someone just drove up and is walking this way. Looks like she’s lost, maybe.” He continues, “Ok, tiny baby cakes, I’ll call you back in a bit. Love you.”
As he slides the phone back into his pant pocket, he greets the young woman, “Hi, little miss, nice day isn’t it? You’re not lost are you?”
“I’m so sorry,” she responds sweetly, as she walks up the driveway and stops a short distance in front of him. “Yes, I am lost. It seems like I’ve just been going around in circles. Could you help me find a place?”
“Sure, I’d be happy to.”
The dog’s bark becomes louder and more constant.
“I’m trying to meet my friend…she’s at this hotel.” She hands him a piece of paper torn from a hotel notepad. The name of the hotel is scribbled on it in black ink.
He reads it. Becoming annoyed by the sound of his barking dog, he turns his head and calls out, “Uku! Quiet!” Turning back to the woman, he shakes his head and says with a chuckle, “I’m sorry about my dog.”
She daintily waves a hand and says smiling, “Oh, that doesn’t bother me.”
He gazes back down, at the name of the hotel, and then tells her, “Well, that’s gonna be real easy to get to, little miss. All you have to do,” he extends his hand out to point down the road, “is keep going straight on this road, after two cross streets, turn left, then you’ll hit Highway 30. Turn right, and the hotel is probably five miles down.”
“Oh, good! That seems so straight forward.” She laughs, “I must have no sense of direction. I just kept turning and turning and didn’t get anywhere.”
“Well, you’ll definitely be able to find it now.”
The sound of the dog’s bark takes on a more urgent tone.
“You’ve been so nice and so helpful,” she says warmly, smiling.
She extends a friendly hand and introduces herself, with her sweet southern accented voice, “My name is Crystal, by the way.”
As Crystal touches and grasps the man’s hand in hers, her senses detect the rare Nephilim blood in his veins.
It is this unique Nephilim blood that she seeks: the blood that gives her power, and the blood that transforms the pale entity.
In an instant, she realizes how close her designs are to completion. In earnest, her mind focuses on a faraway place, in a distant galaxy, in an enigmatic realm, a place of wonder and a place in magnificent turmoil.
It is the place from which she plans to summon forth the being of fiery, red, agitated light, the being named the Essence.
There, on an enormous planet the size of the Earth’s sun, a being - a loyal subject of the Essence - uses its will to harness a colossal and massive object above the surface of the planet. Then, with a word, the being transforms the object into pure energy, resulting i
n an explosion that thunders throughout the upper atmosphere and releasing energy of immeasurably destructive power. Under the shock of the explosion, the planetary crust splits and shatters, like broken glass, producing cavernous cracks deep into the planet’s mantel.
The being’s language is the language of transformation: transforming the energy of light into matter and back to light. When spoken softly, the language turns bits of matter into the wondrous beauty of elegantly sparkling light, and brilliant wafting auras. These gentle words are like colors in a breeze. It is a language of colorful expressive romance, and of graceful twinkling eloquence.
However, when spoken in the harsh, powerful, and angry words of war, the language transforms matter in massive scales, capable of awesome destruction that manifest in intense light and heat, like that of flaring, molten plasma of gigantic solar storms.
A word is both the power to create and the power to annihilate.
With another word the being propels another salvo of destruction into the planetary field of battle. The planet quakes and mourns with the sounds of grinding and splitting rocks, and heaving mountains and valleys.
This particular battle is one among countless, within a war spanning several of earth’s millennia. It is a classic battle for power and control - a primordial battle of good against evil. The prize for this battle is for passage through the seemingly inconsequential spatial tear that Crystal attempts to create. Those who hold to what is good seek to obstruct and to seal the tear. Those who hold to what is evil seek to cross its miraculous threshold. The billions of light years between their realm and the Earth would be bridged, within an instant.
Crystal allows her hand to softly nestle within the larger Hawaiian man’s hand.
“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she says sweetly, with twinkling eyes. She smiles her warm smile.
* * * * * * *
The damp air swirls within the fifth floor of the six-story condemned building. Small shallow puddles form just under each shattered window, as the rain ceaselessly streams through. At the center of the floor, the spinning, glowing sphere, composed of the communing dark entity and pale entity, hovers in the air. A few steps away from the sphere, Gemini waits with the hood of his coat shadowing his face.
A moment later, his brother appears, a short distance away. The wooden floor creaks as L’girra stands, with his long black coat dripping water from the rain outside.
Slowly turning his head, Gemini quietly acknowledges his presence, “Lugalgirra. Brother. I’ve been waiting for you.”
L’girra takes a step closer.
The spinning sphere begins to cautiously retreat from the two brothers.
“Gem,” L’girra nods in return. “Then, you know what I’m here for.”
Gemini notices the sphere as it retreats. “It seems your presence is causing some concern.”
“I know I can burn the heck out of one of your buddies. I’d be happy to see if I can stir fry that globe.”
“Hmm,” Gemini responds curiously. “So, He’s given you the fire. Congratulations.”
With disdain, L’girra asks, “Why do you keep company with those beings? Over the centuries, it’s with these losers you concoct your mischief, isn’t it?”
Calmly detached, Gemini replies, “I do conduct my activities in coordination with them, yes. But actually, brother, the mischief I’ve concocted has been mainly with one of them. You may see it if it decides to leave. It’s the darker one, the dark entity. It is full of promises and hope, dreams and power, prosperity and abundance. What you need, it will provide.”
Gemini pauses to glance at the sphere, and then back at L’girra, saying, “With its tempting knock on your door, it offers you wealth or power or whatever your heart desires. And when you accept, the dark entity allows me an opportunity to come into your life. I step in and move the pieces, the people, the hordes, and the armies at your disposal - however powerful or powerless you are - I will move them for you, to achieve your desires. When you attain all that you wish, I have the sheer satisfaction of one by one, of one painful piece after another, taking them away from you. That is what I receive in return. I receive the thrill in manipulating you, making you believe that you are in control, making you believe that you have the power. But it is a wondrous facade I create, and in fact it is I who controls you.”
For a moment, Gemini stops. He knows the words he is about to say are a true image of what lies within his heart, and he wants to reveal it to his brother. “I relish seeing your pain, as your world crumbles. I delight in the smell of your fears, as the things you most hold dear are either gently coaxed or systematically ripped away from you.” Gemini smiles under the shadow of his hood, “Manipulation, brother. Control over another, either by sublime suggestion or by heavy hand. It is this power I seek, the sweet, succulent thing I desire.”
L’girra responds, “Flatly, that’s just a completely evil way to live your life. But maybe I’ll cut you some slack, because I know the power we’ve been given can make the human in us completely lose control. I know. I’ve felt it. But through all these centuries, haven’t you ever realized that what you’re doing is just pure evil?”
“The human heart wants what it wants,” Gemini answers, knowing that he has tried to stop, but he cannot stop. It is a craving that fills him with cold desire and consumes his whole being with blazing unquenchable heat of obsession.
“Then use your freakin’ brain, Gem!” L’girra retorts. “You’re not a friggin’ animal.”
“So kind of you to say so, brother,” Gemini replies, in calm sarcasm. “But I assure you, my mind is always engaged.” Even though Gemini speaks openly, he is unwilling to disclose to his brother the conflict, pain, and guilt he has long felt, deep within, arising from the multitude of his past black deeds. Because having his brother believe that he is nothing other than evil, aligns with one of the designed outcomes of his game, and with his plan for both of them to deceive the dark entity.
Not willing to waste any more time, L’girra takes another step closer and states, “Enough of being your psychiatrist. Now, where’s Paige? Better yet, give her to me.”
Seeing L’girra’s movement, the glowing sphere more quickly backs further away. Then, without warning, it morphs into two separate cloud-like forms: one black and one pale white. With a hiss of millions of colliding, black, sand-like particles, the dark entity speeds away, through a broken window. Behind it, the pale entity quickly follows like a fleeting wisp of mist.
Gemini pulls back the hood from his head. His pristinely skinned face reflects the dim light remaining from the cloudy early evening. Strands of his long blond hair float with the wind, in front of his clear blue eyes. “I’m keeping her for leverage,” Gemini states.
“You want something from me?” L’girra asks. “What is it?”
“Ah, yes. Well, what it is…I’m not quite willing to tell you. And what it does…I want to keep from you, like a very murky mystery. But I can tell you what contains it.”
L’girra keeps silent, waiting.
Gemini steps to his side and slowly paces, as he begins to explain. He says, “Do you remember a vial, L’girra? A small vial. About this small.” He measures out with his thumb and forefinger approximately three or four centimeters in length. “You carried it around your neck by a slim, leather band, when I once chased you across a desert in Israel. I chased you because of that vial. Do you remember?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, G.” L’girra keeps his face stern, but he remembers the vision of himself and a companion racing through the desert. It is the vision he received, when he fought Gemini at the waterspout. “You know we both lose the memories of our existence when we die.”
Gemini stops his pacing. As he gazes down to the floor, he slowly nods his head. A smile almost appears on his face, as he says, “Yes. It’s a shame isn’t it, L’girra? When we are reborn, we have to relearn. It is the human part of us, is it not?” Standing silent for a moment,
Gemini pauses. Then, he whispers, “And rebirth, spiritual rebirth, that too is human. Redemption…redemption and forgiveness, L’girra, are these things you and I can have?”
The sound of the rain outside seems muffled. Strangely, as L’girra focuses on Gemini’s words, the sound of water droplets falling, from the windowsills to the wooden floor, seem much louder, as Gemini’s soft voice floats through it, carrying a tone of sincerity.
Now lifting his head, Gemini faces his brother and adds, “But back to your memory…we nevertheless receive visions don’t we? Visions of the past, present, and what the French call l’avenir, correct? Well, I don’t anymore - I don’t have these visions. But I’m certain you do. Don’t you, L’girra? Has our Father given you a vision of this yet?”
L’girra responds, “Tell me more about this vial, and maybe it can clear up some of the foggy visions.”
Believing that L’girra is baiting him, Gemini lets out a short, yet quiet exhale of a laugh. Then, he asks, “How is He by the way? We haven’t spoken in a very long while.”
L’girra steps to his side. “I guess that’s your fault, being busy with your rampant genocide and all.”
Attempting to diminish L’girra’s comment, Gemini replies, “Even so…from birth, He does seem to always look at me with a jaundiced eye.”
L’girra decides to fling a verbal jab. “What can I say? You may be the pretty one. But I’m Dad’s favorite.”
The comment takes Gemini off balance. His otherwise cool heart is wounded by the acute truth of the remark of L’girra being the “favorite”. He flinches. Trying to hide it from his brother, he turns his head away.
L’girra reads his brother’s displeasure nonetheless. Content, he grins. After taking another two steps, he then stops and waits for his brother’s retort.
Again facing L’girra, Gemini coolly answers, “Favoritism is such an ugly precursor to sibling rivalry.”
L’girra replies disdainfully, “Favoritism? Rivalry? You believe humans are lowly scavenging creatures that exist for your amusement. You’re directly responsible for the killing of countless people, over hundreds and thousands of years, and you try to pin that on your pouting rivalry?” Unwilling to let his brother fault anyone else for his own actions, L’girra adds, “Our Father isn’t responsible for what you do, by your own choices, by your own hands. Don’t even try to blame your murderous treachery on anyone but yourself! You’re pathetic.”
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 64