TF- C - 00.00 - THE FALLEN Dark Fantasy Series: A Dark Dystopian Fantasy (Books 1 - 3)

by Steve Windsor

  He never looks up or breaks stride, running his finger over words on the page. “Death…” he says in a slow, growling moan, “only ever cheats you.” When he does pause, the moaning stops and I figure he’s found his chapter and verse. “Except—”

  “Except what?” I ask. If this is it, I wanna…?

  When he reads now, I can hear the faintest crying. Like a little girl down the hall behind a heavy door. And the words caw from his lips, “And on his last day, the Angel of Light and the Chosen One shall each tempt The Fallen with their own desires.”

  I don’t get very far past the “last day” part, before my mind’s looking for the exit again. But then I realize something. “Tempt me with what?” I ask. “There isn’t a single thing I want from you.”

  He closes his report and peers at me like he’s deciding whether to credit-crack me or put a judgment on me. “Actually, there are a host of items you might like to acquire. However, there are two that you want most desperately. And fortuitously for me, today is your … lucky day, because, as fate would have it, I happen to possess one of them. And for a small fee…”

  Fortui— He’s as condescending as me, I’ll give him that. And “small fee.” Now he really sounds like a revenue agent. Once you add up all of their “small” fees… We were all idiots, holding out our hands to receive free everything and anything we could get our greedy gums on. We were drunk on the idea that the State would take care of everyone—keep us all drunk and happy. And the bartender kept pouring and the tab kept growing. By the time the bill came due, it was too late for anyone whose daughter wasn’t willing to screw a State politician, or any other rich bastard that was holding a tab on the rest of us.

  He’s right about the two things, though. I want my girls back.

  “They’re both dead,” I say. The tears come before I even say their names. “Isn’t that what your little daydreams were for, reminding me about Kelly? Amy?”

  “Amy…” he says, “yes, very unfortunate. Precious little I can do to remedy that.” He glances up and then looks back at me. He motions his long thumb upward. “She is … keeping close watch over her. However, your wife, on the other hand…”

  When he looks at his feet, I feel another twinge in my chest, right where he ripped out my heart. I rub it with my hand to make it go away … and check that it’s still in there. But Kelly in…? If all this is real, there’s only one place a person like her ends up, and that’s Heaven. And after what they did to her… Now she’s the only salvation I want.

  “That’s total bullshit,” I say. “You don’t have her down there. That woman was only ever good to anyone. No way she ends up with you.”

  “She was a beautiful soul, wasn’t she,” he says. “Very tasty. It is … sad. However, she has rules. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Rules?” I say. “What rules could she possibly have that—” Then I realize what he’s talking about. So long ago. More shit that’s my fault—guilt I gotta cram down with the rest of it. “She’s gonna condemn her for that? We were teenagers. We had no idea what to do with a baby.”

  This time he doesn’t even bother tilting his head back, he just rolls his eyes up and smiles. Then he rolls them back down at me. “She likes to reserve the baby killing for herself. Poor Herod—tricked into it.”

  I got no idea what he’s talking about, but I don’t think he’s too broken up about whoever “Herod” is.

  “He tried to play…” he says. “None of you are authorized to play God down there. That part of the Word is true.”

  And the flames in the sky above us go away and lightning and thunder flash and crack through the clouds. It’s the first sign of disapproval she’s shown so far. I’m surprised it took this long. But when I think about it, that was probably her on the roof, right before I jumped.

  “Shit…” I mutter. If he does have Kelly, I gotta… “Look, that shit was not her fault. I pushed her into that decision. If you gotta bill someone…” Now I look up, and I can feel the rage building. If we go at this much longer, I’m going to do something I regret. By now, I know that’s not a stretch—my whole life’s turning to regret. “Hey!” I shout up at the sky. “You wanna punish someone for that, here I am! She doesn’t deserve to be with him!” I look back at him, and he’s wearing a shit-eating grin—I’m doing exactly what he wants.

  The silence from above tells me that she’s not listening … or doesn’t give a shit.

  “It’s not her turn,” he says, “it’s mine. And there is nothing she can do for Kelly. So—”

  “Name it,” I say. I’m tired of the game. I might have ruined my own life, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to drag Kelly down to Hell with me. Though, from what I’ve seen so far, I don’t know which one of these two is worse. But even in the face of firsthand evidence, some beliefs are hard to overcome—Heaven has to be better than whatever he’s doing to her. “Kelly—out of here and into Heaven—name your price.”

  “And you bargain with … what, exactly?” he asks.

  He knows, but he’s wallowing in my desperation, licking in the panic. Maybe that’s part of the game?

  “You have nothing to offer,” he says. “She took her own child’s life and you took yours. I already possess everything you could possibly give me. Pesky rulebook, anyway.”

  “Then why are we still talking?” I say. “You want something or you would just get to it. So what is it?”

  “Clever boy,” he says. He pauses for a second. “Allegiance,” his voice is commanding and he caws it out, like a Protection agent says, “Citizen ID.” He’s not asking.

  “What?” I ask. “If you own me, I do what you want. Or you torture me. What’s that got to do with it?”

  “It’s true,” he says. “Torture you for all eternity, that’s my right. And you must do what I wish. However…”

  Again with the, “however.” At least he’s putting a line between the lies and the truth now.

  “Your allegiance means that you follow my orders because you believe in them—you recognize my legitimate authority. You follow because you have faith in me, not because you must.”

  More hidden agenda—life and death mimicking each other. I realize this has precious little to do with me. I can recognize a little malcontent with an axe to grind against his boss. This is about him and her and I’m tired of being in the middle. The king and queen can duke it out themselves. See how they like it down here in the mud and blood with the pawns. The answer is—

  “Wait,” he says. “I can feel your rage, and I sense that you harbor some … reservations regarding my offer. So before you answer, let me remind you: I did not perform those vile acts on your wife and I did not rip little Amy from you. I am simply a messenger. I do what her Word commands. I carry out orders. And there is no end to the supply of them… . Heaven is not so magnificent as you might imagine. It is a bit like a huge corporation being run by a spoiled billionaire from her yacht. Heaven… Trust me, it will feel like you never left home. However … battle for me—bring vengeance and justice down upon the very ones who’ve wronged you—and I assure you, you will drink in the sweetness of your enemies cries under your talons.”

  And there it is—revenge. All I’ve ever ranted about. Dreamed about. Shove a stake in the heart of the vampires, sucking the blood out of the citizens. Just the thought of it makes me want to say yes. But allegiance? “What’s the catch?” I ask. The advertisement is always better than the product—I know there’s a catch. And once you crack credits on something, you’ll tear your eyes out trying to get them back. Remember that.

  “You are … perceptive,” he says. “I would not offer otherwise. Simply continue to rip Kelly’s soul apart and add yours to the lake. So hard to keep track of all of you. No wonder the Germans used numbers. They were much more efficient at this than I am … Ahh…” He pauses for a few seconds. Looks like he’s thinking or remembering, maybe. Then he continues. “There is no hidden—I grow weary of torturing souls in Hell. It has
become … common. I want to rule. To do that, I require loyal soldiers. So I give you Kelly—release her soul to Heaven—and you come work for me … willingly. It is really that simple.”

  Nothing ever is.

  Whatever I think about the sons-a-bitches running things back in life, this guy is a devious bastard. Working for him…? Come to think of it, I guess I’ve had worse bosses. I grind the idea in my mind, while we stare at each other. First guy who blinks… I guess being a soldier in Hell is probably better than being ripped apart by one of them.

  But then I remember something. Maybe he can’t take me yet. Something he said, slithering the truth in with the lies. He’s just like a State politician, licking a baby—he couldn’t care less about the shutter op, what he wants is the vote. Something about “tempting.”

  Then I figure it out. I look up and ask her, “And what are you offering?”

  When I look back at him, he seems a little dejected. Like his mommy just told him they aren’t stopping for ice-cake at the mike after all. “Smart monkey,” he says. “Verrry smart.”

  And then he’s gone.

  — XXVI —

  EVERYTHING TURNS BRIGHT, as the darkness opens up, and the sun shines down in my eyes. And a radiant circle of light descends from above me. Then she appears again, right where he was.

  I can barely look at her, she’s so blinding, a circle of light with wings on each side of it. Then the bright subsides a bit. “Hello, Jake,” her voice is still warm, but there is a touch of annoyance on her face now, a slight curl of disgust in her lips.

  But I’m starting to feel one of my moods coming, and “hostage negotiation” is getting old. “Well … that was a—”

  “I apologize for his … behavior,” she says. “I fear he is disappointed with me … to a certain extent.”

  I can’t help it. She’s a woman and I’m staring again. But like I said, the worst that can happen is—

  “It is not the worst thing,” she says.

  The words are angelic, as if I even know what that means. With him it felt like fire and searing flesh when he spoke, but with her—kinda like that calm about two minutes after you have an orgasm. I know it shouldn’t be, but that is what’s in my head. I try to get my filter put back on, but that’s not the feeling I have. This feeling is—

  “I gave you this same feeling in the garden,” she says. “Comfort and confidence, and love without fear. You lived as I meant for you to. Without shame and without guilt.”

  “But…” I’m trying hard to bring this to a more intellectual conversation. Though I have no idea why. Maybe it’s the feeling that no matter what he can do to me, whatever wrath she rains down on me from Heaven will be worse. “So why all the shame and guilt … and insecurity? And the assholes—the murderers and the rapists? How did we get this messed up?”

  The shiny, black orbs she has for eyes glow a little and I find myself staring into them. It’s kinda like I could get sucked right into them. They take getting used to, but I’m thankful they’re giving me something else to stare at besides her breasts. Damnation for gawking at God—add it to the list.

  She catches the thoughts, because a touch of annoyance flashes across her face. “Free will,” she says. “After the garden, I realized I was not able to protect you. You would have to fend for yourselves. Of all my creations, you have been the most … difficult.”

  That’s more politician-speak for, “You little shits are driving me nuts down there.”

  But I wanna get right to it. “So … we’re just a zoo?”

  She pauses before she answers. Then she says, “That is an oversimplification. One, I fear, that he does not represent very accurately.”

  The banter with him was about all I can take. My mind is twisted up enough right now. Swapping semantics with God is only going to make things worse. “That’s not denial,” I say. “So we are a zoo.”

  She pauses in silence and continues to flutter and hover in front of me. Looks like she’s trying to figure out how to explain where babies come from to a five-year-old. At least it feels more pleasant. I can smell the molasses and baking cookies again.

  “I am love and I am joy and I am happiness,” she says. “And those can only exist when they are shared with another. I created you to do just that.”

  The thoughts just fly out, But how does the baby get out of your belly, momma? And whose belly were you in, for that matter? And I wince a little. I’m sure she heard that.

  She smiles. It’s what all parents do when they are stalling for time. Time to figure out how to educate without damaging their children’s innocence. In the end, they all opt for some version of the truth involving a gap in the story and a fairy.

  “And Cain knew his wife, and she conceived?” I ask. Sure, I read the Bible. What else are you gonna do in church while the guy guilts you to death? But I could never make head nor tails of it. And I know, but I ask anyway, “So where did Cain’s wife come from?”

  She is not amused, and I can tell that I’ve struck a chord, the wrong one. And her hair turns gray again and, all merciful or not, that just pissed her off. But she does a good job of turning her locks back to a shimmering white. I know how I do it too, but I wonder what anger management techniques God must use. Controlling wrath, bet that’s a royal bitch.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “It was—I’m just… Ya know, it’s been a crazy day … I’m a little edgy … the Hell thing.” I’m stumbling on myself now—over-apologizing. Better to ask forgiveness, I always say. Sometimes it is.

  “For us all,” she says.

  And that’s it, she’s telling me not to do it again without actually saying it. Less is more. Okay, I got it. “So…”

  “My offer is this,” she says. She’s done explaining, now it’s the gory truth. Any interest she had in shooting the shit with one of her children went out the door when I questioned her authority. “You may reunite with Amy in my bosom and join the angels in Heaven. I ask that you repent for your sins and the sins you have caused. And swear faith to defend…”

  She goes on for a little more, but to be honest she lost me at seeing Amy. And then there was the “bosom” thing, and I had to tune out for fear that I might piss her off again. Something tells me that splayed out for him is nothing compared to the wrath I’ve only read about from her. One thing I do notice—she never says a word about Kelly. Why is she so willing to forgive me—give me a second chance—and not Kelly? That doesn’t make sense.

  I think I interrupt her, “And Kelly?”

  Sadness falls across her face and whatever anger she might have harbored has turned to a kind of empathy. At least that’s what I imagine it to look like, because it’s like she’s examining a broken leg on her kid’s pony, wondering how to explain that she’s going to have to shoot it.

  “Nothing you can do, huh?” I ask. “I … I just don’t get it.”

  She thinks about it, hovering and staring at me. “Her fate is written. Kelly has already been judged. Once it is written, only he can change it.”

  “But … you are God?”

  “What you believe to be is not the entire truth,” she says. As if that clears things up. “I am The Chosen One of this eternity and I have created all. Yet the Word is the word, and it shall not be unwritten.”

  Yep, just like the Bible—gobbledygook. “Eye for an eye” and “turn the other cheek,” contradictory bullshit. And now I’m snapped back to pissed. It doesn’t take much—there’s no meds in Purgatory … or wherever we are. “So you’re saying that you created everything, but you can’t save one angel from Hell? … And the Devil can?”

  It’s a mistake, a bad one. And before I even finish the thought, I know I’ve chosen.

  FEAR

  — XXVII —

  THAT PROTECTION AGENT—the PAIC on the roof with his big .60 caliber… He had another team waiting down on the street. Not the only thing I didn’t see coming today, I guess. Damn sure not the worst.

  They are idling and crouc
hing in a black van, double-parked in the middle of the street. And another team of six—three agents at each end—are diverting traffic around the whole block. Six—always six, I think.

  The ones in the van are the same ones that followed me. They’re locked and loaded in case I somehow fluttered my way out of the claws of the team in the building. They’re sitting there, shooting the shit and waiting for orders, when I slam into the roof of the van. Surprise!

  I think the driver shits himself when the top of the van caves in on him, because there’s a nasty ass-smell assaulting my nostrils. But he doesn’t have time to worry about it—he’s dead an instant later. Come to think of it, maybe the smell is me, my body anyway. I had to be doing about a hundred miles an hour—terminal velocity or something.

  Apparently, though you might not have a cardiac on the way down, you could very well shit your pants. Just a little FYI for the next time. And I tuck the thought away and get back to it.

  There’s screaming and yelling from the van, and the rest of them pile out the back doors, cussing, barking orders, and firing their MP-7’s at anything they think might be a threat.

  Couple of unlucky citizens get riddled with bullets in the process and they are flailing around in the crosswalk, screaming for help, bleeding the last ounces of their “freedom” onto the street. No salvation for the slaves today. And then the agents take up positions on the sidewalk and try to figure out what the hell just hit them.

  Feels like I can see and smell and … feel them all at once. Five little black rats now, scurrying around, looking for a reason to shoot someone else. Feels like I’m floating above it, because I can see my body, too—guts and brains splattered all over the place, like someone threw a pizza at a speeding med-mart evacuation vehicle. And blood is dripping out of the driver’s door. At least I got one of them.

  And I’ll be a son of a bitch, I think, I did shit my pants. For some reason I think that’s funny and I’m laughing. Maybe there is some humor in the middle of all this crap. No pun intended, mind you, because this is just a shitty mess. Guess I’ll find out soon enough, because this is death. The real deal this time—blood and screaming and confusion and pain. And then … I’m over.