Ah, yes. The enemy.
Noam's hands itched to wrap themselves around Laphelle's throat and squeeze.
"Don't worry about them, Max," Gidyon said. "They think we're staying in a church. And they don't dare desecrate the sacred buildings. Besides, that's not Malynko's way. He'd rather we come to him out in the open. He likes setting traps to get us to fight him on his turf." His eyes grew distant. "Malynko is a true, conniving warrior. That's why he's an Elitist."
"Grand." Max's sarcasm made Noam's mouth break into a small grin. "Why don't we all go back to my home and get a bit of rest? It's been a very long night."
Noam stood up and walked down the stairs. He stopped by Max who seemed as if he wanted to hug him. The angel gave him a pat on the shoulder. Gidyon nodded.
"Let's get some rest," Max said. "Do you rest?"
"We can," Gidyon said, "though it's certainly not required like it is for humans and animals. Sometimes we do so to gather more energy, or to clear our minds and regain calm focus."
"Do you dream?"
"Yes. We dream of the past. We dream of the future. Sometimes, if we're lucky, the Almighty speaks to us in dreams. Or, if another angel is sleeping somewhere across the universe at the same moment, the two of us can converse in that mystical dimension. I've done it before. Sometimes it's tricky trying to find one another, but if we're connected enough, it's easy. I wish I could explain it in simpler terms. Even some of you humans have managed to figure it out. I suppose I could put it this way: simply be open."
"Fascinating," said Max. "I remember some of my dreams. Of lost loved ones who spoke to me, as if they were really right there with me."
Gidyon smiled. "Maybe they were."
"There is just too much I'd like to know." Max raised a hand and made it into a C, bringing the tips of his fingers across his eyes to rub his temples. "And I, on the other hand, do need rest or my old mind will forget everything you're telling me, and I don't want to do that. Please allow me to fetch my car. I've left it back where the interview took place. I'll meet you back at my home."
Max went to his vehicle.
"I'm sorry," Gidyon said once he was gone.
Noam knew Gidyon was sorry. He'd known that since the trip to Hell happened. And as much as he hated to admit it, he had forgiven him a long time ago. Gidyon was his closest friend. The Thanatakran nodded, brushing a few strands of soft brown hair from his eyes. Then the two angels walked to Mannsway, quiet; not so much as a telepathic word passed between them. They reached the old road and stepped upon its stones then strode by the people of the market who readied their carts for another day of business.
***
Adam
Adam sang aloud with his beat-up black '75 Mustang's car radio. It blasted rock music through speakers that miraculously had not blown out yet. His voice carried through his open windows, imitating Aerosmith's Steven Tyler with impressive accuracy. He stopped at a red light, still singing, his stereo vibrating everything glass for a block. A vicious-looking old woman in a neighboring car stared a hole in him. Critics. Everywhere there were critics. Only one thing to do about 'em. He flashed a toothy grin. The old lady shot him and his stereo a demeaning eyebrow raise. Laughing inside, he did a double take and mouthed Me? The old woman pursed her lips into the shape of a tight flower bud. Adam smiled. As the traffic light turned green, he blew her a kiss and turned right.
He cranked up the music as he turned onto his street.
Ever since he had installed the speakers, he made sure everyone in the neighborhood knew how well they worked. Pressing the gas pedal a little harder, he jammed to the song until he came to a decent-looking, white three-bedroom house with a chain-link fence around the back. He pulled into the driveway and let his car slide up until the nose touched the dented garage door. Though he switched off the ignition, he kept on singing as the song continued to play in his head.
He gathered the camera in one hand, and with the other, he opened the trunk of his car. The cheesy aroma of two fresh pepperoni pizzas warmed his nostrils and inspired his mouth to water. He grabbed the hot cardboard boxes with his free hand and used his elbow to shut the trunk. Still singing, he walked to the porch and then tapped on the base of the white door with his foot. A skinny young man who looked barely of age and still half asleep answered.
"What are you doin', man?" he asked in a drowsy voice, stepping back for Adam to enter. "It's like eight in the mornin'."
"It is not, dude," Adam answered. "It's freakin' twelve in the afternoon. I brought you guys some food. You can thank me later."
He let the pizzas slide from his hand and onto the kitchen table that was littered with old mail and dirty dishes.
"I'm not thankin' nobody," said the lanky guy, sitting down by the table.
"Yeah, yeah. I slave and slave over a hot stove and what thanks do I get? Nothing! A big nothing!"
Adam opened one of the pizza boxes. Beautiful. He grabbed a piece, not caring that it burned his hand. He then smiled and gave his roommate's shoulder a tough shove.
"Hey, Clark, when are you gonna get a job, man?" he said before taking a bite of his scrumptious lunch.
"I'm tryin'," Clark said, shoving back. "Nobody wants a dropout."
"Get your GED, man."
"I will, I will."
Adam headed through the living room.
"Yeah," he mumbled, "sure you will."
Stepping over several tangled videogame systems and kicking aside the clean laundry that found its way to the floor again, he inhaled the rest of his pizza and licked his greasy fingers. Then he took off his sunglasses and hooked them into the top of his white T-shirt. He set down his camera in front of the coffee table that was invisible from the newspapers, ashtrays, and half-empty coke cans that littered its surface. One of these days he'd clean. Really would. Like vacuum and everything. Just not right now. After throwing his jacket on the couch to join the jumbled mess that already lay upon it, he cleared his throat and walked to one of the three bedrooms in the back. He stopped in front of the closed door and knocked gently.
"I'm awake," said a voice from within.
Adam turned the knob and pushed the door open halfway. The room was pitch black; thick, dark curtains hung over the window. He put his arm against the doorframe and leaned his body against it, leisurely, the light from the hallway casting a beam on the room's immaculate floor.
"I saw your dad today," Adam said.
The central heat came on, slowly revving up before it gushed warm currents through the house. Adam tried again:
"He asked about you."
This time the voice wasn't so calm. "And what did you tell him?"
"I didn't tell him anything, dude. Calm down."
He tapped his foot, waiting. An idea came to mind. He hesitated, but then decided to bring up the much-argued subject.
"You know, Harry, we don't have to keep living in secret like this. I could find you a doctor. You don't have to suffer Hep C in your dark cave back here. We could make you more comfortable."
"We've been through this. Dad would find me if I went to any hospital."
It was true. They'd gotten really damn lucky with Adam's friend at First Regional who tested Harry, but she didn't work there anymore.
"Look, I know we've been through it, but I'm not givin' up. I believe you can get better."
Harry laughed. "You're not the one living with it. I'm tired all the time."
"I know." Adam braced himself for what was predictably coming. "I know, but maybe it'd be different than you think if you went—"
Harry shot his friend a cruel glare. "Dad can't know, Adam. It'd kill him." The mattress of his bed creaked as he shifted his weakened body. "I would rather have him live with the hope that I could come home any day now than have him watch me fade away on some hospital bed. I'd bring him nothing but shame, especially if he found out how I got it. Just stick with the plan and let me die in peace, please."
"Can you hear yourself, man?" Adam cackled.
"You sound so damn dramatic." He refused to let the mood turn dismal. "'Let me die in peace.' Ha-ha! A true performer to the last." He shook his head. "Listen, I'm here for ya, whatever you decide. I told ya I'd pay for the doctor if you wanted. Lotta people live with Hepatitis for years."
"Neither of us can afford treatment, and you know it."
Adam shifted, feeling nothing but frustrated. It was time to change the subject.
"So Clark says he's going to get his GED."
"Hah! I'll believe it when I see it." Harry's tone was softer than Adam's, more tired.
"Hey." Adam pulled his arm back into the hall, having noticed the growing weakness in Harry's voice. "I'm gonna go mess with my camera. Work's a bitch."
"Kay."
"There's some pizza in there if that dumb shit hasn't eaten it all, if you want me to bring you some."
"I'm fine." He rolled onto his side. "Not hungry."
Harry hadn't been eating, but Adam couldn't force-feed him. Instead Adam did the only thing he could do, and that was to remain the only good friend Harry had left in the world. He placed one hand on the doorknob and the other in a fist before his mouth then spoke in a gravelly, mock astronaut voice:
"Krrrk! He's refusing the food, Krrrk. Oh well, that leaves more for me and the rest of the mother fu—Krrrk!—ship. Over and out!"
He made a spaceship noise as he pulled the door shut and went back into the living room to get his jacket and camcorder. With both in his hands, he looked up at Clark and the empty pizza box before him.
"Damn!" he cried. "I'm glad I got a piece!"
"Sorry," Clark said. "I didn't eat dinner last night. And don't freak out. There's another box."
"Oh, how kind of you." He looked down at his cheap-but-efficient digital watch. "Dave's gonna be here in about thirty minutes, so don't eat the rest. He actually works for his food."
"Psh. If you call selling papers at the market work."
"Don't bash the realm of employment, man. A job's a job."
"Well, I'm gonna—"
"Yeah, I know. Be a famous guitarist. I see your sad excuse for a guitar out in the garage every time I go play on my drums. It just sits there and begs me to take it away from you."
"Whatever! Alice said my skills are improving."
"What, like that tone-deaf girlfriend of yours has any sense of what's good."
Clark grabbed the closest thing to him—a napkin—and threw it at Adam. It floated to the ground about a foot away from the kitchen table. Both watched the lightweight piece of cloth until it landed on the ground. Adam grinned and clenched his teeth, squeezing his stomach so as not to laugh.
"You're such an idiot, dude," he said. "Get a job or we're kicking you out."
Clark snickered and muttered something about that being an empty threat as Adam walked to his bedroom and closed the door.
He set his camera on his unmade twin bed and tossed his sunglasses onto his CD rack that was full to the brim with rock albums ranging from The Beatles to Metallica.
"Sorry I had to lie to ya, Max," he said and sat down on the mattress to turn on the camera. "I just couldn't let this thing go."
He closed one eye and peered with the other down inside the viewer and watched. The video went blurry under a quick, jerking movement. Then the picture came into focus once more. There—he could just barely see it—were two winged figures fading into the dark sky, one holding what looked to be like a struggling person. His mouth went dry, and his heart palpitated.
Actors, huh? Well, he'd never seen an actor fly like that with no harness. There wasn't even a building over them to suspend a wire. It was like that glowing UFO he'd caught on camera a couple years ago that nobody could ever seem to explain. He had that tape locked away in a safe should the government find out and come a-knocking.
He had arrived at the angel scene just when the news had spread. His cell phone had gone off in the middle of the night, meaning it was something serious. When the man on the line said "fighting guys with wings" Adam's eyes shot open and it had taken him five minutes to throw on some clothes and get there.
He'd never been much for religion. The church thing had lost its appeal when he realized there were other places to meet people, places that didn't look at you strangely if you accidentally said a curse word, places that didn't freak out if you snapped a girl's bra. No, church and all associated seemed pointless, something foolish, something associated with petty adolescence, a nursery for goodie two-shoes.
He stared into the eyepiece.
But this…
This was interesting.
***
Noam
"Wait for me here," Gidyon spoke as he entered the room where the Elitist awaited. "I'll be as quick as I can. Don't look at the demons. They'll bewitch you, you know. Just—just keep your eyes on the door."
Noam gave a loyal nod. As the massive stone door shut, it sent an ear-piercing scrape as it ran along the hard ground. The Thanatakran waited alone. Standing like a soldier on post, his eyes did not leave the door.
A slow, moaning wind gave an eerie cry from the darkness that swirled around him. He stood there, dead set that the creatures of Hell wouldn't even get a chance with him. Waiting. Waiting. Hours seemed to pass, and the wind's mesmerizing groans threatened to pull him into a trance. Still he stood firm, staring at the barrier that divided him and Gidyon.
He felt something, tiny pinprick legs crawling up his leg. His heart jumped, but his body remained as firm as a rock. He glanced down and saw what seemed to be a mutated spider the size of his head creeping on a dozen legs that pierced like sharp needles as it made its way to his knee. He didn't move. The giant bug reached his thigh, clicking the razor teeth in its dripping, open mouth, and the angel brushed it from his body with a quick wave of his hand. It flew off. He couldn't hear where or if it landed. But a few moments later, he heard it gnashing its razor teeth.
He remembered Gidyon's warning not to look away from the door and heeded the advice.
The spider approached once more, this time having grown in size, now with two mouths, and legs twice the length of before. They cut into his flesh as they climbed. Noam gave a firm shake of his leg, knocking it off into the darkness. A brief moment passed. Then it clicked its teeth like the warning of a rattlesnake, readying itself for the next attempt. The Thanatakran listened as the sound came closer. Closer. Like lightning, he pulled a sai from the pocket of his long duster jacket and turned to meet the spider head on.
He saw only a void of blackness.
He froze for a moment, listening for any sound. None. The air was dead. He spun his weapon around and sheathed it, turning back to the door.
The door was gone.
His spirits sank to the bottom of his feet. He looked left and right, turning his whole body around. Nothing. Only blackness. A sudden wave of dizziness hit him. Deep, gravelly whispers raced around his body, carried by the sulfuric, demonic wind. What was happening? Facing where the door should have been, he reached out a hand in dire hopes that maybe it was still there, just cloaked in the darkness. He felt only the dead air. His heart was a mallet against his fearful chest. He breathed deeply to clear his head, but a raunchy stench filled his nostrils, tying his stomach into tight knots. It was the smell of burned blood and fresh death.
He walked forward several steps, forcing himself to stay calm, refusing to let the screaming panic in his brain take over his composure. His steps echoed as if he walked through the grand ballroom of a massive castle. Stay calm, he told himself. Just as he slowed the fierce pounding of his heart, a shrill cry resounded through the atmosphere.
He jumped and turned, trying to find the origin of the noise. Slow fires rose like thick, undulating cobras in pits around him. He could see that he was indeed in a large room, and the surface that he walked upon was glass. The flames flickered in dragon-like shapes. A low, husky laugh, far too deep for any angel of light or human to muster, echoed through the room as if jumping from flame to flame. The lau
ghter sent chills down his already terrified spine.
"Down," said a voice. "Look down."
He didn't want to. But he found himself unable not to.
Underneath the glass floor slithered worms a yard in length. They were flesh colored. Eyeless. Their heads were open, bloody mouths. He had heard of such creatures, but never desired to behold them. Too late now. Within their mouths were dozens of triangular, razor teeth in twisted rows. And underneath the worms were people, human beings trapped in an eternity of torture as the worms bore through their limbs, eating on their bodies that would not die. They cried out, their wails muffled by the pane of glass and stifled by worms entering or exiting their mouths. Noam felt the pain, the utter horror in their eyes, and he knew they would never experience death's sweet release, because they were in fact, already dead. He tried to look away, but the eyes of the tortured begged him to stay. They pleaded with him to save them. He took a step back, his wide, appalled gaze unable to leave the floor. Then, the glass began to melt.
His foot slid through the soft glass and onto the face of a human woman, her midsection half eaten, her limbs severed. He gasped and jumped to a piece of glass that looked firm. His boot sank through again. A worm wrapped tightly around his leg. Panicking, he reached for his sai, but the weapons melted in his palms.
Looking at his empty hands in growing terror, listening to the flame demons' guttural laughter mingle with the slick, slithering of the worms and the pained moans of the humans, he turned around, ready to run out of the room as fast as he could.
Then, the sounds ceased.
Noam found himself on a beach. An endless ocean of black waves crashed against the shore of gray sand.
"Where am I?" he asked, panic growing.
Confused, he did not remember he was in Hell.
He walked down to the edge of the waters. The black clouds above him sporadically flashed with silent purple lightning. His breathing quickened to sharp, shallow breaths. Turning back to walk up shore, he felt the ground start to quake under his feet. He looked ahead to a large hill of sand, and in the middle of it emerged an enormous mouth. He watched, truly mesmerized with horror, as the mouth closed and the sands covered the hill once more. Then the ground quaked more violently under his feet. He looked down and saw the sands sliding into a growing hole. The mouth was underneath him.
Wings of the Divided: The Divided Book 1 Page 12