Out of the Shadows
Page 37
Luke, 11:24.
His mind immediately raced back to the morning, when he had examined his horrific paintings, and the final painting – a white mass entangling itself in black bloody spikes with an intense golden beam illuminating them – had the numbers “11:24” scratched into the acrylic.
Remember my words, Micah’s voice haunted him.
His mind raced through all of his life’s events in the blink of an eye; he saw his family, and Patti, and Mr. Miyoto, and the Golden Gate Bridge, and his first kiss, and his precious cat, and Micah sitting by the pier with him earlier that day. He played through their entire conversation, Luke mere meters away now. His time had come.
Everyone must face judgment when the time comes, he heard Micah’s words ring through his ears.
He was in the air again, stuck in Luke’s clutches. A guttural sound of unbridled joy escaped the demon, a terrifying supernatural laugh that sent ripples of evil reverberating through the sanctuary. Luke threw him once more, this time toward the front of the church.
Trevor collapsed onto the stairs leading up to the pulpit, where the organ pipes lined the semi-circled wall. He looked up at the cathedral’s giant crucifix gazing down at him, the soft expression of the Lord putting him at ease.
Everyone must face judgment when the time comes.
He remembered his painting. The white, the black, the beam of golden light. They were intertwined with one another.
Everyone must face judgment…
As he stared at the face of Jesus Christ on the cross at the front of the church, an epiphany struck him. He knew what must be done.
He stared at the collapsed debris of the pyre, the fallen cross protruding dangerously into the air behind it. There was only one way to take down this abomination.
As Luke scrambled on all fours to attack, Trevor dodged to the side and scurried up what was left of the ashy broken pyre, now only a few flames licking the base where the gasoline had been. He glanced at the spike behind him from the demon cross and felt his heart leap into his throat. Luke turned to face him now, ready to dash up the small wooden hill and take down his prey.
As the beast charged, Trevor’s mind left the church and went back to the previous night. He stands on the Golden Gate Bridge once more. He looks down at the blackness below, knowing that the water exists but cannot be seen. He imagines the intense pain from the collision followed by the chill that would overtake him from the freezing water. There’s nothing between life and death except his hands holding onto the railing behind him.
His hands…
His focus back in the cathedral now, he looked down at his hands and thought of the conversation he’d had with Micah. He now knew that he would not get to do the things with his hands he had someday hoped to do. Their final act loomed on the horizon. Those hands that had flipped burgers at the diner, that had held the cold steel from the bridge railing, that had shook Micah’s hand for the first time, that had held his dying friend moments ago…
Even as Luke tore his way up the side of the pyre and leapt toward Trevor, his fierce claws ready to bite into flesh, Trevor remained staring at his hands. He turned them over, examining them thoroughly, and he smiled, pleased with the journey on which they had taken him.
Grinning with insatiable bloodlust, Luke’s talons penetrated Trevor’s torso, and as the pain wracked through his body, he flung his weak arms around Luke’s neck, pulling them closer together.
The demon’s grin faded as he became confused, trying to pull away but unable to do so. “What are you doing?” the monster growled.
A thin trail of blood ran from the corner of Trevor’s mouth as he uttered, “What was it you said about Micah?” He grunted weakly through the pain. “With everyone headed to the bridge,” he repeated the words, “there’s no one nearby for you to possess. Which means you’re gone.” Trevor pulled him even closer, digging the talons farther through his own body. “For good!”
Trevor pushed with all of his might, forcing them both off of the pyre. He felt the angled spike from the fallen cross pierce through him, pinning them both in place on the pike. He became woozy and knew his time was finished as he slumped forward on top of the prone beast, but as Luke struggled to free himself, he found that he was facing the holy crucifix at the front of the church. He became paralyzed with fear, eyes wide, staring into the face of Jesus Christ.
A brilliant beam of golden light shone through the windows above the cross, illuminating the amalgamation of Trevor and Luke. Trevor’s consciousness waned, but he felt Luke tremble and scream, the light of judgment coursing through his demonic form. He screeched in horror as bright beams of radiance were forced through splitting cracks across his disfigured body, and after a swift gust of wind swept through the sanctuary, he exploded in a flash of blinding light, the echo of his wail the only remnant of his existence.
All was quiet now, and Trevor was alone. As the final slivers of his consciousness dripped away, he felt his body being raised from the spike and turned to face the crucifix. The brilliant, golden beam shone once more, filling him with intense relief and joy. An incredible emotional catharsis flooded over him, and he felt more relaxed than he had ever felt before.
He floated inches above the floor as the light dimmed and became a glowing orb in front of him. “You have done well,” said a deep, soothing voice as the sphere pulsed with dazzling luminance.
“Is it finished?” Trevor asked, unsure if he was dreaming.
“Yes,” the orb pulsated. “It is finished.”
“Am I dead?”
“Your journey here is complete, Trevor. It is time to embark on a new one.”
The light floated toward him, entering his chest, an indescribable shiver of warmth flowing over him. Then, he saw his mother and brother, Patti, Mr. Miyoto, Bishop Andrews, Micah…
And he saw his father.
They all stood in front of him, smiling broadly, as if they couldn’t be more proud than they were in that moment of bliss. He approached, fiercely hugging his friends, never wanting to let go of them. Finally, his arms wrapped tightly around his loving father, and he knew that everything would be all right.
His greeters parted, and with open arms, they invited him to journey beyond on the glorious path of light. He walked forward, toward an abstract form of glowing brilliance, and as his world became engulfed in whiteness, his cherished hands reached up and touched the face of God.
The End.
The End
About the Author
Timothy Boyd was born and raised in southern Ohio, where he began focusing on entertainment in its various forms from a very young age. As he grew up, he cultivated his love of the arts, eventually receiving an AA degree in Theatre Performance before moving to Chicago in pursuit of a BA in Film and Video.
After moving to Los Angeles, Timothy decided to finish his educational journey with an MFA in Creative Writing for Entertainment.
Now writing screenplays and novels, he currently lives in Hollywood with his husband and his baby girl, Cricket (who is far too dependent for being a cat).
www.timothy-boyd.com