Persecution: God's Other Children. Book 2

by Rob Mclean

  “No, she would never let me go.”

  Michelle’s face screwed up. “What sort of hold does she have over you?”

  Ling shook her head. “None that concerns you,” she snapped, but then added more gently, “but we were talking about you, weren’t we?”

  “So what about my friends?”

  “I’m sure they will have the same choices. It is in the government’s best interests to show the galactic community that we are civilised, rather than just shooting the lot of you and burying you in a shallow grave. But I doubt they will want to go to America.”

  “I can’t go without my parents.”

  “Your parents?” A malicious grin came to Ling’s lips. “Didn’t your other visitor tell you that they’re fine?”

  “Which ‘other visitor’?”

  “You had a divine visitation last time you were down here, didn’t you?” Ling asked. “At least, that’s how your friends described it.” She tried to sound sceptical and slightly bored, hoping her interest wouldn’t show.

  “It was real,” Michelle said too sharply. It sounded as though she was equally trying to convince herself.

  “Really?” Then, theatrically looking about the cell, Ling asked, “Is it still here?”

  “No.”

  “Is it because of me? Is it shy?”

  The American girl turned away and was quiet for a while. Ling was sure she had pushed her too far with her mocking, but eventually a small voice said “You don’t understand…”

  “Try me. I was once a Christian, briefly.”

  “They are not of this world…”

  “So how…?”

  “She didn’t come here, so much as I went there.”

  “In the spirit,” Ling said flatly, not trying to hide her disappointment. It was as she had suspected. The pinyin had lost her mind and had imagined the whole thing.

  Ling got up to go, but Michelle turned and spoke again. “She told me you would be tempted.”

  “Who? Me? What could your ‘so-called’ angel know about me?”

  Michelle slowly climbed to her feet. She stood on bony, frail legs and leaned on the small wooden table. “That you are still loved by God.”

  “That’s rubbish.” Hot tears welled up in her eyes. No-one loved her, not properly, not for real. She was nothing.

  “And to forgive,” Michelle added, taking a rice cake from the table.

  “Yes, well…” Ling stammered while she fought back her emotions, “That’s another good Christian virtue I forgot to mention.”

  “If you embrace Christ, you can come away with us,” Michelle broke a rice cake and put a piece in her mouth.

  Ling knew that the Captain would never authorise her transfer. The influence she had gained by her close and intimate association with the Captain was the very thing that would now prevent her from leaving.

  ‘Unless the Captain were to die,’ a wicked voice spoke in her mind. Ling looked about the cell. She half expected to see one of the demons from her own time in the cell, crouched in the corner, but there was nothing. It was all in her mind. The demons were in her mind. Ling smiled ruefully.

  “But would Christ want to embrace me?” Ling voiced her thoughts.

  “There’s no sin that He wouldn’t forgive…”

  “Look at you,” a nearly hysterical laugh escaped. Crazy, murderous thoughts mingled uncontrollably in Ling’s mind alongside fresh-born dreams of freedom. “You are so sure, so certain…”

  “Come pray with me now,” Michelle reached for Ling’s hand.

  Instead, Ling grabbed the American girl’s arm and dragged her back to the wall. The prisoner didn’t resist as she clapped the manacles around her ankles.

  “I don’t understand,” the American girl said as Ling dragged the wooden table with the water and rice cakes close enough for her to reach, “I thought you were ready to receive Christ.”

  “Not just yet.” The corner of Ling’s lip curled upwards before she turned to leave. “I have some more sinning to do.”

  Chapter 37

  Clarice let the curtain fall. She stood up from her chair by the front window and went to pick up the cordless phone.

  “Your security man is out front,” Clarice said, stopping Angela’s piano playing mid note.

  Angela knew that John would come. On one level she was glad he came. It showed he cared. He could have written her off as a religious fanatic and walked away, but he was here. It was sweet, but she had thought this through and she was certain that it could never work between them. The gulf was too great. Unless one of them changed their fundamental beliefs, it could never work.

  She did feel bad about having dumped him over the phone. It was wrong, she would hate to have it done to her. ‘Do unto others…’ and all that stuff. All good in theory, but here it was in real life.

  “Maybe you should wake your father?”

  “You don’t think he’ll have to shoot anyone this time, do you?”

  “You never can be too careful. You don’t know what this man could do.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine, mom.” Angela had no fears that John would go crazy like Zeke did. She was more worried about hurting him anymore than she had already done.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” her mother asked. She carried the phone like a weapon.

  “I owe him an explanation.”

  “You owe him nothing.”

  Angela tilted her head and gave her mother a level stare.

  Clarice continued on as if talking to herself as she made her way to the front door. “You could have at least waited until Zeke had come to his senses.” She frowned as she tisked her disapproval.

  “He won’t. He thinks I’m soiled goods.”

  “But he knows about your chastity vow. Chelsea would have told him.”

  “Oh, he knows, but I don’t think any of their family believe it for a minute.”

  “That’s what comes from giving it away for so long,” Clarice muttered to herself, as she put her eye to the spy-hole in the front door, but it was loud enough for Angela to hear.

  Angela had become inured to her mother’s direct observations over the years of growing up with her. Instead of engaging or challenging her about it – that only led to more hurtful justifications from her mother, and tears – Angela deflected the barb by changing the subject.

  “I’m sorry all us puppets don’t dance exactly how and when you want us to…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Clarice spun around to face Angela. “You’d be the last person I’d call a puppet.”

  “Sure doesn’t feel like it,” Angela said under her breath as she closed the piano lid and stood.

  “Huh?” Clarice screwed up her face as she strained to hear. “There’s no point saying things if no-one can hear them.”

  Angela smiled as she realised that she was behaving just like her mother. She had a long way to go though, before she had the softly spoken sting down to such a finely honed standard.

  “I was just saying who needs a boyfriend anyway?” Angela said it blithely, as if she didn’t care, but she knew she was pressing her mother’s buttons. It wasn’t exactly a Christian thing to do, but she felt annoyed by the way her life had been piloted for so long by her mother. By the horrified look on her mother’s face, Angela could see she was on the mark.

  “They’re hairy, smelly and really only good for making babies, killing spiders and putting out the trash.” Angela waved her hand dismissively. “I think I’ll give up having a family and become an aid worker in Somalia or somewhere.”

  Clarice clenched her jaw, pressing her lips into thin strips. “This is no game. This is your whole future. Not just in this life, but in the next life as well. A Christian marriage is a union of souls. Do you know what that means?”

  “I thought there would be no relationships in Heaven, no male or female… just…” Angela’s rebuttal faltered, she couldn’t picture what Heaven would really be like. She couldn’t imagine simply sitt
ing around on fluffy clouds all the time, playing harps or whatever. “I don’t know, just…”

  A knock on the door interrupted her theological thoughts.

  “I’ll see to this.” With a flick of her hand, her mother motioned for Angela to go upstairs.

  Angela felt she should stay and explain everything to John, to say how sorry she was. She was certain he’d understand, but also fearful that he would be hurt and angry. It shamed her to admit to him that they had used him for her own reasons and for that prideful reason alone, she wished to avoid him.

  While it irked her to be bossed around by her mother, like a five year old, Angela was also secretly relieved that her mother would handle the awkward situation.

  Moreover, she felt that if she were to see John again, to see his quick, cheeky smile and drink in his dazzling, blue eyes, her resolve would waiver. Despite what her heart wanted or what her fallible body yearned for, hearing his voice again might be enough to stop her from going through with what her head knew was the right thing to do for her immortal soul.

  Dragging her feet and with a conscious reminder that she was doing what was best, she turned away. Her chest thudded and the blood pounded in her ears as she climbed the stairs. It felt like her heart was punishing her. A form of retribution for the pain it was feeling from her decision, rendering her breathless.

  At the top of the stairs, she had to stop. Deep gulps for air turned into silent, shuddering sobs. Fighting for control, she staggered to her room, and once inside, shut the door. She slumped herself against it, not to stop anyone from coming in, but to keep herself from rushing out.

  She grabbed her bedspread as she slid to the floor and buried her face in it. She waited for her tears to come, but she was strangely calm.

  “Breathe,” she told herself, but her façade of poise threatened to crack like ice over a frozen river in spring. “This is silly. You only just met the guy. He shouldn’t mean this much to you.”

  “But he does,” a small but distinct voice said. “He shouldn’t, but he does.”

  Angela recognised the inner voice. It was the one that sometimes spoke to her in times of turmoil. Where it came from, she didn’t know. Maybe it was just part of her, or a voice of conscience. Being a Christian, she knew she was protected by God, so it couldn’t be anything bad, could it?

  Whatever it was, Angela felt the alluring truth of the words it spoke as they resonated deep within her heart. It was what she wanted. Similarly, her body ached for him, but on a more primal, visceral level.

  “Like an animal in heat,” it said. Angela was sure she could hear a sneer in the voice. Again she wondered where the voice was coming from. Was it just self-recrimination, or something worse? Images dredged up from nature documentaries she had watched long ago flashed across her mind.

  “No, it’s not like that,” she whispered to herself, but in the memories of her time spent in Zeke’s bedroom, she could see little difference.

  “You’re only human,” the small voice said with disdain. “Live with it.”

  Angela saw her life ahead, in a proper, Christian marriage to Zeke, but forever imagining what it might have been like with John.

  “No,” she reminded herself. “He’s not right. His mother’s horrible and the rest of his family are creepy…”

  “Not Maddie,” the voice cut across her litany.

  “Maddie’s adorable,” Angela had to agree. She could see herself getting to love little Maddie like the younger sister she never had.

  “Or a daughter…”

  The thought of having a family with John made her heart lurch. The knowing little voice in her head had hit the jackpot and Angela could almost feel its triumphant smile.

  “Then there’s his obsessed boss…”

  “Watch out for her…”

  “And his ex-girlfriend was in adult movies.” She tried to keep those images out of her head, but they merged with the ones of the animals mating. A picture of green skinned aliens watching a nature documentary on Earth’s wildlife, including humans, popped into her head.

  “He’s been with her and God knows what they’ve done.”

  “God would know. He made you that way…”

  “Not like that. Not like animals. It is supposed to be special, between two loving people.

  “Love?”

  Rebellious tears filled her eyes and tumbled down her cheeks. She did love him, she realised, but at the same time she knew she could never have him, not the way the world is, not the way he is.

  “He’s not a Christian,” Angela repeated her lament. “He never will be.”

  “Doesn’t matter…”

  “It does. I don’t want my husband, the father of my children…”

  “Not if you love each other.”

  “John does love me,” Angela thought. It was something she knew, as certain and reliable as the sun rising. Or at least he did, more than she thought Zeke was ever capable of.

  A life spent in the light of God’s love was all Angela had ever wanted. To live, knowing His presence was everything to her, ever since she was a child. Now as an adult she also wanted a husband and a family as well, but to walk with God was still foremost.

  She could see that with Zeke, she could have both, albeit a life of subservience, spent in his shadow, supporting his goals and dreams. But isn’t that what a good Christian wife was supposed to do?

  “No!”

  “But a man should rule the house. It’s Biblical.”

  “You have your own dreams.”

  “Do I?” If someone had asked her, she would have told them that to be right with God and to be a loving wife and good mother was all she wanted, but beyond that she had always wanted to do something more.

  Ever since she was old enough to know about the world, she had wanted to do something about hunger, poverty, pollution, to fix all that was wrong with the world. An impossible fantasy, she had put those dreams away, telling herself that it was all too hard, that you had to get your own life in order first. Besides, it was all in God’s hands and you just had to have faith that everything is as He had planned it.

  An image of a powerful, capable, potent woman in vibrant, flowing yellow robes flashed into her mind. With god-like powers, she smote the evils and wrongs from the face of the Earth. The wicked cowered or fled from her magnificence.

  Despite her tears, Angela nodded and her lips lifted in an approving grin. It would be immensely satisfying she agreed, but total fantasy. She would love to have the power to make the world right, but no, that was God’s job. Hers was a life best spent with Zeke, doing what she knew was right.

  Another image appeared in her mind, one of people being segregated into two tribes. In this image, she was with the small group of people, surrounded by hostile, angry, wild people.

  “The righteous and the worldly,” she said to herself.

  “Selfless and the selfish,” her inner voice corrected.

  Angela couldn’t argue with that interpretation. She could easily see the believers having given themselves to God, with the worldly as the self-centred masses, only looking out for their own pleasures, oblivious to the needs of others and ignorant of their maker.

  “Love is selfless,” the inner voice continued.

  “Yeah, 1 Corinthians 13, ‘Love is patient and kind.’ Everyone knows that verse, it’s used so often at weddings, even amongst the worldly. So?”

  This time, amid Angela’s small group of people, John stood with her. Angela had the feeling she had just had something screamingly obvious spelt out to her by a smug and superior older sister.

  “No, that’s not right. He’s not… one of us.”

  Angela felt the frustration emanating from her inner voice. Again she questioned where this voice came from. It seemed determined to lead her astray.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am you.”

  “Part of my mind? Am I going as crazy as John thinks I am?”

  “We are one.”

&nbs
p; “One?” Angela tried to picture another entity inside her mind, but it gave her the horrors. She felt like slamming the doors to her mind shut, if only she knew how.

  “Are you a demon?” Angela asked. “Sent to tempt me?”

  Without waiting for an answer, Angela called on God for protection and started to recite the ‘Lord’s Prayer.’

  She caught a growl of rage, or was it impatience, mixed with frustration. There was a flash of bright, golden light and suddenly, she was alone. The voice was gone and in its place, only a blessed silence.

  Chapter 38

  The front door opened to reveal a pleasantly smiling Clarice White. At least it was supposed to be a pleasant smile, but John could see the wariness behind it.

  “Howdy, Mrs White. Is Angie in?”

  “She doesn’t want to speak with you.” Clarice raised her chin as if to challenge him. John took the tremble in her lips to be a forced bravado, or maybe she was just itching to unleash a torrent of abuse?

  “I don’t…”

  “So you best be on your way.” Clarice made to close the door.

  “I guess Zeke’s back in the picture then?” To his satisfaction the old lady was momentarily taken aback. She wasn’t the only one who could be blunt and tactless.

  “Actually, no.”

  “Really? Wasn’t that the plan all along?

  Clarice stiffened her stance and squared her shoulders.

  “You’ve always seemed nice enough and we have thanked you already for looking after our Angela that dreadful night the beast appeared in our skies, and we appreciate that you have kept your agreement…”

  “But my services are no longer required?”

  “As I said, you’ve been decent enough so far. Let’s not spoil that now.”

  John saw that she had her foot pushed up against the inside of the door, presumably to stop him from opening it. The thought that a frail old thing like her could stop him was laughable.

  “Relax, Mrs White.” John took half a step back. “I’m not about to go charging in. If you say she doesn’t want to see me, then well and good. I’d just like to hear it from her myself.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?”