“Ow,” he groaned softly.
“Matt?” Alex said.
Matt was startled, and he spun around. Alex saw four long cuts that extended from underneath Matt’s left shoulder and ran, diagonally, down his torso. He was covered in stitches.
“What happened?” Alex gasped.
Matt sighed and looked down at himself. “I got into a fight.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’ll be fine. I heal pretty quickly. You should get back to bed, now. You have school tomorrow.”
Alex nodded, dumbly, and went back into his room, shutting the door softly behind him. He lay in his bed for almost thirty minutes, but he finally drifted into unconsciousness.
***
Dylan’s eyes slowly opened. He could make out a figure sitting by his bed.
“Jeremiah?” he grunted. The pain in his back was little more than a dull throbbing.
“I’m here,” Jeremiah responded. He was reading something. “You just go back to sleep. When you feel better, we’ll leave.”
“What happened?”
Jeremiah put the book in his lap and smiled at Dylan. “You did well. A little surgery was required, but I pulled some strings and got you the best surgeons in Chicago. They tell me that, with a little bit of rehabilitation, you should come close to being fully recuperated in a few weeks, and I should be able to expedite that a little. I have all of the necessary equipment at the mansion. As soon as you recover, that’s where we’ll head. I promise,” he added with a hint of guilt, “that there won’t be any more excitement until we get there.”
Dylan laughed, but after pain ripped through his back, he groaned. “Yeah. I don’t think I want any more excitement for a little while.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Get some sleep.”
***
A balding, nervous, middle-aged man sat in a Las Vegas jail cell. He was sweating. He knew that his life would soon be over. They’d taken him into custody at the bus station on bogus charges. He had gambled, and he would soon die for the mistake.
“Marcus,” a voice cooed to him from within the cell. “I’m astounded.”
Marcus looked up and was not at all surprised with what he saw. “Metatron,” was all he said.
“You came to Vegas. Why? If you would have kept running, I would have never caught you. I may have even stopped looking. But you came here to work with my enemy. This just isn’t acceptable.”
Marcus knew there was no hope in hiding his intentions. “I came to warn Abbie about Eva. I thought she should know.”
“Oh,” Metatron remarked sarcastically. “You thought she should know. I’m sure it never occurred to you that I might know better. After all, I have been around for a very long time.”
Marcus shook his head and laughed. He looked down at his feet. “I should have joined Jeremiah when I had the chance.”
“Don’t let your conscience get the best of you now, Marcus. You were right to stay out of this mess. You shouldn’t have gotten involved.”
Marcus took a long, deep breath. “‘Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit.’”
Metatron smiled. “But not today.”
Marcus stood and dusted himself off. “I have nothing more to say to you, fiend,” he announced.
Metatron shrugged his shoulders in cold acceptance. “Okay.”
He grabbed Marcus by the shirt and threw him against the bars of the cell. Petty criminals adjacent from the action had already woken and were yelling for the guards. Marcus coughed and gagged from the wind being knocked out of him, but he could feel himself being pulled up. Metatron’s hand was cradling the back of Marcus’s skull. His head was being pressed against the bars. The pain was immense, and then there was no more.
Metatron examined what he had done and sighed. “I really wish you had not chosen so poorly, Marcus. You really had a future.”
The prisoners were in an uproar. The one across from the cell Metatron was currently occupying blew his dinner out into the hall between the cells.
Metatron laughed softly and quoted, “‘Thy pomp is brought down to the grave...the worm is spread under thee, and the worms cover thee.’ So long, Marcus.”
As he was about to leave, he noticed something on Marcus’s body that struck him as strange. Marcus’s body hung, limp. It was suspended by the majority of the prophet’s skull, which protruded through the bars of the cell. His right hand was flush against the cell door, palm facing Metatron. There was, of course, blood everywhere, but it seemed odd that there would be blood in Marcus’s palm.
Metatron pulled the hand toward him for closer examination and noticed that it was dripping from the palm and there was a puddle underneath it on the floor. He saw skin underneath the fingernails, where the prophet must have clenched his hand from the pain. He dismissed the oddity as he heard the guards approaching with raised voices, telling the other raucous detainees to shut up. When the guards did arrive, all they saw was the mutilated body.
***
Lao Shi awoke from his own sleep. His body was quaking, and his sheets were soaked in sweat. “Five left,” he told the empty room.
Chapter 12
Choices. Everyone must make them, and everyone must live with the consequences. I have made some very difficult choices in the past, and I have regretted many of them. For the faithful, we choose by listening to our hearts. The logical use reason and empiricism. The more flighty of us ride the waves of chaos, their decisions reflecting that lifestyle. It’s strange to think that the choice of an individual could affect the entire world, but it has always happened, and I imagine it always will. When prophets make choices, we hope that God drives our thoughts, but it’s only through retrospect that we can ever be sure. All too often, we make our choices, thinking that God would approve, rather than relying upon God and approving His decision. I chose poorly, and it took a demon to show me my error.
--Abigail Martin, Through the Eyes of a Martyr
“You told her what?!” Matt exclaimed. “I was very clear about everything. How could you forget?”
“I don’t know,” Alex stammered. “I guess I just got caught up in the moment.”
Matt was deadly serious. “You were told the cover story. It was explained, in plain English—I thought—that you were from Las Vegas. Your father is a wealthy landowner here. Damn it, Alex. Do you want to die?”
“Matt, she’s not a threat,” Alex tried to explain. “She doesn’t even know who Robert Kinsfield is.”
“Maybe not,” Matt countered, “but you have just set yourself up. What happens when someone else asks you where you’re from, and you tell them that you’re from Vegas? What happens when she’s around when you do it? Then, she says, ‘But I thought you said you were from Missouri.’ What then?”
“I don’t know. I could just say that I lived in both places. I mean, he’s rich, right? He could have houses in Missouri and Nevada.”
Matt looked at him, exasperated. “Why? Why would he?”
“For God’s sake, Matt. He just does. Who’s going to question it?”
Matt grabbed Alex by the shirt and pulled him very close. His voice became a hiss. “You are not only fucking around with your own life; you’re also fucking around with mine, Liz’s, everyone’s. Everything we’re working toward is being jeopardized because you can’t control yourself.”
Alex was starting to look very scared. He turned his head and started to cry.
“No,” Matt commanded sharply, shaking him once. “You aren’t going to get out of it that easily. If you worked for me, I would slap the ever-loving shit out of you.”
“I’m sorry,” Alex whimpered. “I didn’t know.”
Matt let go of him and walked toward the bar in the kitchen. “I need a drink. Then, I’m calling Jeremiah.”
“Why?”
“‘Why?’” Matt mocked. “She’s a threat, Alex. She’ll have to be eliminated.”
“You’re suggesting killing her?” Alex gasped.<
br />
“Maybe, she can be relocated,” Matt suggested, as he twisted off the top of a bottle of whiskey. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t call Jeremiah, Matt,” Alex begged. “Can’t we figure out something to do?”
“What? You don’t want to know what I would do.” He threw back a shot and added, “I didn’t think you would be this much trouble. I think I’d rather be out fighting demons. Then, at least I’d know who my enemies are. It seems like you’re working hard to get me killed.”
“That’s not fair,” Alex commented softly.
“Not fair?” Matt spat back at him. “Let me tell you about ‘not fair.’ It isn’t fair that I’m trying my best to keep you safe, while you’re messing everything up for a lousy, fucking phone number. It’s not fair that I put my life on the line in another part of the country for this damned plan of Jeremiah’s, and that bastard will hardly give me the time of day.” Matt walked around the counter and got up in Alex’s face. “It isn’t fair that some people get to be happy in life, and I get to be the pack animal. That isn’t fair.”
“You think I’m happy? Don’t forget that I didn’t choose this life. I was thrown into it.”
Matt shook his head and went back to pour himself another drink. “Well, it looks like you’re adapting.”
“What do you want from me?” Alex yelled at him. “I told you I was wrong.”
Matt snorted. “Tell Metatron that when he comes for you. Maybe he’ll have more sympathy than I do.”
“I don’t want your sympathy, Matt. I want you to be a little more understanding and a little less self-absorbed.” Again, Alex said something he couldn’t believe exited his own mouth. Lately, it seemed as though Alex was losing control and patience. He regretted it the moment he was finished saying it.
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “Self-absorbed? How do you figure I’m the one that’s self-absorbed. God, Alex, you are so damned blind.”
“That isn’t what this is all about?” Alex taunted, again becoming consumed by his anger. “You’re telling me that this isn’t about you being jealous and me being your type?”
Matt was stunned. “How dare you.”
“Oh, come on, Matt,” Alex replied. “I see the way you look at me. As head of security, you do have access to the cameras in the bathroom and my bedroom, don’t you? Like what you see?”
Matt gritted his teeth. “Alex, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but if you value your safety and that pretty face of yours, you should stop.”
“I hit a little too close to home, didn’t I?”
“That’s it,” Matt responded. “I’m done. I’ve gotten far too involved in this assignment, and I’m not going to be able to do you or me any good. I’m outta here.”
With that, he set down his drink and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair. He walked to the door, and, immediately, Alex realized that something bad had just happened.
“Matt,” he pleaded, “I’m sorry. Don’t leave.”
“No, Alex,” Matt said quietly. “No more apologies. I can’t handle this right now. I’ll get someone else to protect you. I don’t think it’s going to work out between the two of us.”
“Please, Matt,” Alex all but whispered. “I made a mistake. Don’t go.”
Matt stopped and turned to look Alex in the face. “Yes, you did.” He continued walking and slammed the door behind him.
Alex sat down on the couch and tried to sort through his thoughts. He was still in a relative state of shock regarding what had just happened. What he had said didn’t seem like himself, and the way Matt responded didn’t seem right, either. He wished there was someone he could talk to who would understand. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped through the numbers. Abbie, he realized. She wouldn’t be judgmental, and she might be able to speak to Matt, to smooth things over. But, when he called her, he only got the voicemail. He decided not to leave a message. He thought about calling Jeremiah, but he knew that Jeremiah would be disappointed with him. Besides, Matt would probably be calling the demon soon, anyway. There was no need for Alex to force things.
Reluctantly, he pulled the folded piece of paper out of his pocket and examined it. Underneath a phone number was written Jessica Smith. At the moment, though she didn’t realize it, she was the origin of many of his problems. It’s not her fault, though, Alex reminded himself. It’s my fault. It’s Matt’s fault.
He slowly dialed the number on the paper and stuck the phone to his ear. After two rings, her beautiful voice answered, “Hello?”
“Uh, Jessica?”
“Yes.”
Alex cleared his throat. “This is...this is Thomas Kinsfield.”
She laughed. “Hello, Thomas Kinsfield. I was wondering whether or not you would ever get around to calling me.”
Alex laughed nervously. “I meant to, but I’ve been so busy. Hey, do you want to meet somewhere?”
“Well,” she said reluctantly, “I’m actually making some food. Would you like to join me at my apartment? It’s pretty easy to get to.”
“I don’t want to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t be,” Jessica responded. “I’m cooking up an entire bag of vegetables. Most of this will probably just become leftovers. This way, you can save me the hassle of forcing myself to eat day-old stir fry.”
“Okay,” Alex conceded, “but only if I’m making things easier for you.” He laughed.
“You are,” she assured him. “You definitely are.”
***
Delilah? Abbie thought as she examined the message. What does that mean? She looked around the rest of the cell for clues, but she only saw the dried blood her student had left for her. He had left only that word, and it had only been seen as someone was cleaning the cell. It was underneath the cell bench, and the smearing indicated that it was written in a hurry.
Jeremiah had friends in the police department. They called him after some of the inmates claimed to see something that baffled the imagination and the evidence seemed to point to it. Jeremiah, not quite back from his journey, had sent Abbie to investigate. She didn’t know Marcus was dead until Jeremiah told her. It broke her heart, but she knew that it would happen eventually.
It was amazing that he had lived as long as he had, given his power. He was a threat to every demon in the world. In fact, he had, in the past, sought sanctuary with powerful demons to keep from getting killed by the less powerful ones. His likely murderer, Metatron, once acted as his host. His power kept him running, but it also ate away at him. The wealth of knowledge he had locked away in his mind would have driven anyone insane.
Now, he was dead, and this message was the only clue Abbie had as to his intention.
“Why did you come here, Marcus?” Abbie asked the empty cell, wiping a single tear from her eye. “It couldn’t have been worth the danger.”
She sat on the floor, peering underneath the bench. It was, no doubt, a message meant for her, a message Marcus must have been sure she’d understand, but she couldn’t piece it together. The most obvious use of that name came from a biblical story about the tragic Samson and his love for a manipulative woman. Delilah sought to know the origin of his strength so that she could disarm him and hand him over to the Philistines. He held out for a little while. He’d feed her lies that she would utilize to try to trap him. Every time, the Philistines would barge in, thinking Samson weak, and would die for their efforts. Every time, Delilah would get angry and demand that he tell her the truth. Every time, he would forgive her and tell her another story. Finally, he told her the truth. He told her that the secret of his strength lay in his hair. One night, she cut his hair and handed him over to the guards. Taken as a slave, Samson was blinded and forced to do manual labor for his captors. Eventually, he prayed that God would give him his strength back so he could sacrifice his life to kill the Philistines. God granted him his wish, and Samson died for his trust of a woman.
But that didn’t make any sense. Did a woman betray Marcus to Met
atron? No. Abbie knew that wasn’t his meaning. He came here to give her this name. Maybe, Delilah is a literal name of someone Abbie must find. But why? Was she a prophet?
Abbie shook her head. “There must be something I’m missing,” she told herself. “A woman who tricks a man of God. Samson, being a man of God, must have been a prophet. He was captured by the enemy. A prophet is tricked by a devious woman and captured by the enemy...”
Abbie’s eye went wide with realization. She spun around and saw a well-dressed man. He looked like Jeremiah with his black hair and his self-assured, almost regal stance, but his eyes were as black as night. He was standing between her and the cell door.
“Abigail Martin,” he greeted. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you. What would it take for me to persuade you to help me?”
“Metatron,” Abbie said, swallowing her fear, “there isn’t anything you could do. What happened to Alex?”
“I can’t tell you that,” Metatron replied smugly.
“It doesn’t matter, does it? You’re going to kill me. What difference does it make if I know before I die?”
Metatron looked shocked. “Why would I kill you?”
“I suppose you’ll play with me a little before I die, then.”
“Oh, no,” Metatron insisted. “You’re much too dangerous to play with. Relax, Dr. Martin. You won’t die at my hands. At least, not today. I have what I want. I admit, I would have preferred to get it a little easier. Then, not so many prophets would have had to die. Don’t get in my way, and I don’t foresee any more needing to die.”
“Somehow, I find it difficult to believe that you have a compassionate side,” Abbie returned.
“Abigail, I didn’t want those prophets to die. If Jeremiah would have heeded my warning, none of this would have happened. Everyone forgets that he is a demon; even he forgets. Long ago, before you were born, he pledged his allegiance to me, and I plan to see that he doesn’t forget it. I need his help. Therefore, I need yours. You will tell him that his presence is cordially requested in my castle. He is to come alone, and if he cooperates, Alex will live. If he doesn’t, I promise that I can devise a death for Alex that will take weeks, and, of course, I shall keep you updated on my progress.”
Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) Page 32