by David Risen
The expression on the man’s face is at first that of fear, but he quickly replaces this grimace with a fake smile.
“Divine Father?”
Rider’s host takes a step toward him and stops just at the edge of the garden.
“Where is your brother, Cain?”
Cain laughs nervously and shuffles his feet. Rider’s host is upset by Cain’s fear of him.
“Am I supposed to be my brother’s keeper?”
Fury quickly replaces his feelings of sadness and pity. Rider’s host leans toward the man he calls Cain.
“Yes, Cain. You were supposed to be your brother’s keeper. You were supposed to defend him when all others hated him. Shelter him when he had no respite. Fight for him when he’s under attack. I know where your brother lies. His blood cries out to me.”
Cain sinks to his knees burying his face in his hands. He slaps his forehead repeatedly.
“I love you, Cain. Your mother loves you. Your father loves you. All of you love your brother. Why did you do this to them – to me?”
Cain looks up at Rider’s host. “You rejected my offering of sweat and blood and accepted his instead. He bloomed. I withered in shame.”
Rider’s host shakes his head. “He’s your brother. His successes are also yours. You were supposed to look upon his victories with happiness. Your pride and bitterness has caused you to wither, not me.”
Cain grasps the folds of Rider’s hosts’ white cloak.
“Please forgive me.”
Rider’s host bunches his lips and looks down the garden.
“You will earn your forgiveness through penance. The ground will no longer bear fruit for you. You will wonder the earth completely dependent on the charity of your brothers and sisters, and you will do so until this mortality reaches its end. Women will fear you, and the men will hate you.”
Cain tugs on his robes again. “Please, no. They’ll kill me.”
Rider’s host stretches his hand forth and touches Cain’s thick brow. A letter appears on his forehead glowing red – it looks like an upside down and backwards L.
“When they see this letter, they will know that I protect you. None will kill you for fear of your curse.”
Cain touches Rider’s face, and Rider shrinks away from him.
“Could just cut your head off and make this quick, but the problem is that I don’t much like you.”
Cain pushes himself up using the sword like a staff. Then he plants the blade in Rider’s belly. Immediate, intense, white hot pain shoots through his abdomen. Rider screams and begs for mercy.
Red light spills from the gash cut in Rider’s stomach.
Cain smiles and nods at him as Rider’s vision fades into darkness.
“Have a good trip.”
A warm, tingling sensation around his wound causes Rider to open his eyes.
He finds the beautiful but stark figure of the girl he saw in his bedroom as he awoke this afternoon touching his wound.
She wears a black dress, and her hair is just as black. Her lips are painted bright red. Her eyes glow yellow, but he can’t make out all her features because her image is blurred.
When she removes her hand, the only evidence that remains of it is a new gash in his purple, button up shirt. The skin below is perfect.
“Who are you?” he asks.
She opens her mouth to respond but fades before she can make a sound.
Rider lingers for a moment, and then he climbs to his feet and starts down the left tunnel with his flashlight in hand.
The sewers below Skitts Mountain, Tennessee are nothing more than ten-foot diameter tubes of old silt. An hour into his tour of the old pipes, he finds himself in the general vicinity of the manhole that Cain mentioned.
As he stands in the center of the tube swinging the yellow light of his flashlight about searching for manhole 43, the light catches a glimmer of a naked human form lying just to the left of the silt.
Rider trains his flashlight on the image.
Pale white back of a woman lacerated deep with wounds resembling whiplashes.
Crusty black scabs cover the rifts in the skin.
Disheveled long, auburn hair.
Amelia.
He gasps and charges toward her. He lifts her head to find that the entire right side of her face has melted with third degree burns.
“Amelia,” he says.
She opens her left eye.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers.
Rider rolls her over gently. “What happened to you?”
“Sisters,” she says. “Hayden.”
At that moment, Rider hears echoes of rapid footfalls approaching.
He straightens up. The abysmal spike snakes around his arm.
The darker shadow of a man appears in the tube. Rider sees by his silhouette that he’s taller than six and a half feet, has a mane of frizzy and curly hair all the way down to his shoulders and a body like Mr. Universe.
Hayden.
“Father Fury! How nice to meet you again,” he says. His voice is course and low. His eyes glow green.
Rider snarls. “I was about to pay you a visit. Thanks for saving me the trouble.”
Hayden laughs. “We’ve met before, you know. Hundreds of years ago.”
Rider’s eyes trace the dark lines of his huge right hand to find that he’s holding a Warhammer. He squints.
“Why is it that every time I see you, you’re beating up on a woman?”
He laughs. “She’s no woman. You came after me because I passed myself off as a God, but she’s done the same.”
“I don’t care if you pass yourself off as Elvis, you’re not gonna hurt a woman while I’m around – let alone this woman.”
Hayden grins. “I’ve created the greatest hand weapons in the world and used them since before mortals even had hand tools. You’ve never even had basic military training. Get out of my way unless you want to die first.”
Rider assumed a swordsman’s stance with the abysmal spike presented before him.
Hayden flashed a piratical grin. “Do you even know who I am, you fool?”
Rider charges him and blindly swings the abysmal spike after his head. Hayden throws his Warhammer up to block him.
When the abysmal spike connects with the Warhammer, bolts of electricity course down the blade of his spirit sword and course all throughout his body.
Rider grinds his teeth. His muscles lock as thousands of volts course through him.
Hayden breaks away and swings his Warhammer through the air low after Rider’s legs.
Rider jumps over it, and lands unsteadily on the silt-covered concrete floor of the sewer.
As Hayden recovers from his swing, Rider slices the abysmal spike through the air after the other man’s head.
Hayden glares at him, and flames shoot from his eyes.
The sheer force of the power emanating from the man tears Rider from his feet and flings him backwards ten feet where he lands on his back.
The dome of flames surrounding him burn so hot that the bubble of air around him feels hot enough to fry an egg.
He presses the abysmal spike against the blast of flames, and struggles against the weight of the force as he climbs back to his feet. Rider’s right arm shakes with exertion as he pushes back against the flames.
Then, with a sudden spike of power, he thrusts the sword out before him deflecting the twin pillars of flame back to Hayden knocking him backwards to the ground.
Rider glares from his position ten feet away resuming his swordsman’s stance.
From the silt-covered floor, Hayden laughs and climbs back to his feet.
“This will be interesting,” he says nodding at Rider with approval. “What you lack in training, you make up for in raw power.”
Rider snarls. “You talk too much.”
Rider charges him again, and swings the sword after Hayden’s neck.
Hayden blocks with his Warhammer sending another jolt of electricity through Rider�
��s body, but this time, Rider powers through it and curls Hayden’s Warhammer down and to the left. Then he slashes at Hayden’s chest in a broad X pattern opening a deep gash.
Hayden stumbles backwards touching the open X wound in its center with the palm of his left hand.
Hayden slowly lifts his head with a look of utter hatred.
He uppercuts with his weapon after Rider’s jaw.
Rider blocks left and low with his abysmal spike so hard that the force of his swing cleaves off the head of Hayden’s enchanted Warhammer.
A powerful explosion hurls from the broken weapon powerful enough to crack the concrete blocks that comprise the arched walls of the sewer channel, but Rider doesn’t even feel the blow.
Hayden gapes back at Rider in shock and surprise.
Rider swings upwards and hard after Hayden’s neck. The blade of the spirit sword passes through his neck so easily that he might have only swung it through the air.
Hayden’s eyes bulge with utter disbelief.
Slowly, he bows his head with a surprised expression still on his face.
Hayden’s head tumbles upside down from his neck and lands against the dirty floor with a dull thud.
Rider retracts the abysmal spike, turns and charges back toward Amelia.
He drops to his knees and lifts the back of her head. She gazes back at him with dull, dying eyes.
“How do I heal?” he says.
She smiles faintly. “You can’t,” she barely whispers. “The only way you could save me is by allowing me to take some of your life essence.”
Rider’s eyes well up. “Do it.”
She gives him a sad smile. “You may die, and you’re too important.”
Rider furls his brow. “Do it.”
Somewhere a Xylophone jangles a familiar staccato rhythm. Rider recognizes it from a distant age of his life – an era when colors were brighter, music had more soul, and cute drawings of animals made over into humans taught him about his own ideal morality.
The sound of the Xylophone rendition of “It’s a Small World,” fills his head with vivid images of the person he had been before his spirit was darkened by tragedy, moral trade-offs, his own sexuality, and cynicism.
The air pouring into his nose is sweet, humid, and hot – Spring.
Something prickly, like thousands of freshly cut blades of grass pokes into his left cheek.
He opens his eyes to find emerald grass extending for acres all the way down to a beach of white sand and blue water.
The glowing, yellow sun above him doesn’t scorch his eyes, but fills him with hope and longing for the return of his own innocence.
He climbs to his feet and looks right.
Hundreds of mothers and fathers dressed in bright clothes hold excited little hands made sticky by cotton candy and soft drinks as they file down pristine, white sidewalks toward multiple destinations.
And only a hundred feet away, the enchanted castle that appears at the beginning of every Disney Movie ever filmed presides over the park.
A snapshot of Rider alongside his wife Lauren and his daughter Alyssa entering the Magic Kingdom flashes through his mind, but he didn’t recall Disney World being so perfect.
That’s when he sees it.
Just a few feet away sits a bright blue canopy made of canvass, and a single park bench sits in the center of the pavilion. And in this pavilion, five-year-old Alyssa Rider sits with her feet dangling off the edge kicking the air.
Rider’s mouth pops open.
When she sees him, her eyes light up. She jumps up and runs across the field of emerald grass and when she reaches him, she wraps her arms around his waist.
“Daddy!” she says.
She draws back away from him and looks up to his face smiling.
“I’ve been waiting a very long time,” she says.
Rider takes a knee and considers her face. A pillar of blond hair explodes like party favors from the top of her head, and is bound together at the base with a hot pink scrunchie. She wears a matching pink “Hello Kitty” tee shirt that still has a tomato sauce stain over the right breast from her last meal at the Catholic school years before.
And detail for detail, she looks exactly as she did the evening she died.
“Where are we?” he says.
Her goofy, little-kid-grin broadens. “Heaven.”
Rider furls his brow. “Am I dead?”
She shakes her head. “I am, but not for much longer. The child says that I’ll be back in the world with you soon.”
Rider nods. “Why am I here?”
“Hello, Father Fury,” a booming voice says behind him.
Rider stands and turns to see the man he knew as Ben Viracocha wearing a white, button up shirt with tan slacks.
Ben doesn’t look the least bit Native American now nor does he look Arabic either.
The scars around his forehead and his palms glow red, and his skin glows white. His face is regal and perfect without a trace of ethnicity. He has no idea how he knows this man as Ben Viracocha, but he recognizes him just the same.
Rider frowns. “Ben?”
Viracocha extends his hand, and Rider gives him a look of uncertainty and shakes it.
Viracocha smiles. “I brought you here because your little girl wanted to see you for a minute before she goes back to mortality to be with you, and I also need to give you a warning.”
Ben looks at Alyssa and squats so that his eyes are level with hers. “Why don’t you go ride the teacup ride again. Your Daddy and I have a lot of big kid stuff to say.”
“But I wanted Daddy to ride the teacup ride and the submarine ride with me!”
Viracocha smiles. “And he will again, but not today.”
He looks up and nods at Rider. “Daddy has very important work that I have to help him through. When he’s done, we’ll all go to the real Disney World.”
Alyssa goes inside herself as she weighs what the child offered.
“Run along,” Viracocha says.
She smiles, and starts toward the concrete sidewalk.
Rider gives him a look of concern. “Is she going to be okay by herself?”
Ben smiles paternally. “This is heaven.”
Rider nods. “Warn me about what?”
The smile fades from Ben’s face. “You’ve allowed the malevolent spirits to maneuver you into a mess, and you can’t do what you usually do in these situations and shoot from the hip. Their guns are just as big as yours.”
Rider shakes his head tightly. “You really are Jesus Christ?”
Ben nods. “At one time, along with many other names you may have heard and some you have not.”
Rider squints. “I have so many questions.”
Ben smiles paternally. “Let’s start with what’s important now.”
Rider frowns. “If you are who I think, you already know what my questions are. Why don’t you just tell me?”
Ben gives him a crap-eating grin. “My power, if you would call it power, is based on and grows through virtue like all powers worth having. Cheap parlor tricks designed to wow the target are not virtuous things. I’d rather you just ask me what you will.”
Rider furls his brow. “But you’ve done that before.”
Ben gives him a knowing smile and nods. “You’re referring to the whole thing with the lady by the well?”
Rider nods.
Ben looks down to his polished leather shoes.
“That didn’t happen quite the way that your scripture says.”
Rider shakes his head. “I don’t know what to ask.”
Ben smiles and looks directly into his eyes. “You asked before why you were here, so we’ll start there. Right now, your spirit is being consumed by a demigod that your species calls a succubus.”
Rider’s mouth falls open. “Those are real?”
He nods. “Succubae, Vampires, Werewolves, Giants.... All of them were real at one time. They all share a common mother. Her name is Lilith. She is the spirit
ual mate of Lucifer.”
Rider’s awe deepens. “That wasn’t just a story?”
Ben shakes his head. “In previous temporal realms, Lucifer played the same role that Adam played in your mortality, but he fell. Lilith was his wife, and she was also Adam’s first wife. You’ve had the pleasure, though you do not know it.”
Rider licks his lips. “Who is she?”
Ben sighs. “Right now, she’s trying to convince you that she is Mother Chaos.”
“Cassandra?” he says with exasperation.
Ben nods and shuffles his feet. “The real Mother Chaos is also with you. Her spirit is weakened by the draining of the Sisters of Divinity and feeding by her captors, but she has already saved your life from Cain.”
“Her?”
Ben nods again.
“Why doesn’t she just approach me?”
Ben leans close like he’s about to tell a friend a secret. “She can’t. Lilith has her imprisoned.”
Rider gives Ben a look of resolve. “How do I fix this?”
Ben smiles. “Now we’re talking.”
Rider opens his eyes.
He lies on his back on the soot-covered floor of the old sewer system.
A woman with dark hair hovers over him straddling his waist. Her eyes glow green, and a cloud of glowing red dust pours from his mouth into her open mouth.
Rider shoves her off and scrambles to his feet. She falls backwards and instantly her hair turns blond and her face takes on the shape of Amelia’s face.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“It’s me,” she says.
Rider’s eyes narrow to slits.
“You weren’t you a minute ago. You were some chick with dark hair sucking something out of me.”
She sighs. “I was using your essence to heal myself. You must have hallucinated.”
Rider swings the abysmal spike through the air and slices through the woman’s neck. Instantly, she transforms back into the naked woman with dark hair.
“Nice try,” he growls, and then he turns down the tube to find manhole 43.
The residence that once belonged to the Foreman of R.F. Whitaker and Company is a towering house unlike the other houses designed for the workers of the mill. The stick-built structure sits atop a stone foundation. The wooden siding was once whitewashed, but now, only flakes of the paint that once covered it remains.