The Next God
Page 1
Table of Contents
The Next God
Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.
Foreword
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
Make a God Link
Make a God Preview
Mail List and Podcast
The Next God
Twilight of the Gods Book 1
M.B. Mooney
Copyright 2014. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any likeness to any events or persons, alive or dead, is not intended.
www.mbmooney.com
ISBN-13:
978-1494214685
ISBN-10:
1494214687
Foreword
This is one third of the first real book I ever wrote. Putting this together has been a labor of love. Written over ten years ago, I’ve grown as a person, as a writer, and as an artist. What do I change? How far from the original vision should I stray?
I hope I have come to a decent compromise. It is a dark work, but there are flickers of light if you pay attention. I tried to temper the darkness and remain true to the original vision. While this book will be better than it was, it will keep the intent of the artist I was as I turned 30 years old.
As a self-published work, I submit it, with all its faults, for posterity and the enjoyment of a few.
Peace.
M.B. Mooney
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my parents, Mary K. and Gregg, who both passed on one of the greatest treasures in the world to me: the love of reading.
Prologue
It is both a blessing and a curse to leave Paradise for Earth. The Master shows honor to send us as messengers, our mission to affect the world for good, and that is a blessing. The curse is to be made mortal, and while Earth is the most beautiful place in all Creation, Man has left a dark stain upon it. Creation longs to be clean again.
Also, can you ever be truly content to leave Paradise? Human language cannot even express the sights and sounds and feelings of that place.
Looking around, I was back on Earth again. The temporary disorientation left me, and I became more aware. I was in a city. The buildings in the city were tall and imposing. The sun warmed my skin, but the stone and metal surroundings made me feel cold. I longed for the life of a forest or field, some semblance of Divine Creation, not that of Man. But this is the mark of this time, I reminded myself. The Mark of Man.
In my current position, the only way to see the sky was to gaze straight upwards into the beautiful blue. I did this for a moment, basking there in the light of the sun, the light that gave life to everything on Earth. The street lay before me, and I began to walk towards that light. It was brighter from the middle of the street. I raised my arms and felt the weakness of this body, this human form. Gazing down at myself, I saw the body of a male, of a man, with wonderful dark skin and well-shaped features. It was a beautiful body, and I was thankful for it.
That is when I heard the scream.
She was an older woman, very unhealthy in appearance, with sallow skin and patches of baldness in her thin hair. Her shoulders were stooped and there was an odd twist to her spine. Clutching a small paper bag to her breast, she seemed frightened, and she peered at me, pointing with a long bony finger.
I was confused about her fear for a moment until I looked down at my body again. I was naked. I had forgotten about the preoccupation with the nude body here in this time and place. She apparently had not. Extending my arms in friendship to her, I began to walk in her direction. She took exception to this and began to run away, very quickly in spite of her failing health. I felt helpless as I watched her go.
The horrible sound that I heard next caused me to grab my ears in a reflex to protect my frail human body. It was such a sound of screeching, that I thought it might hurt me. Turning around to face this noise, and I noticed a large metal vehicle had stopped not far from me.
This vehicle, rumbling with thunder and made of some strange materials, began to move around me. Yes, I reminded myself, a car. A man sat inside of this object, a chariot-type vehicle rolling alone on four black wheels, and he spoke to me.
“You pervert! Get the hell outta the road!”
He also pointed a finger at me, but a different finger than the one the older woman had shown me. I watched the man in the car roll away, faster and faster. The car made a noise not unlike a roar.
I walked back away from the street, thinking about this strange land in which I had been placed, and tried to remember what it was I was here to do.
Oh, yes. The boy. The Master is giving me a chance to save the boy.
I did not know exactly how to find him, but I knew he was here, somewhere. The Master always helps his servants find a way. But first I must find some clothes.
“Hey, buddy, why don’t you come with me.”
I turned to see a man dressed in blue walk cautiously towards me. Something on his chest reflected the sunlight. He held something on his hip. I smiled at him, hoping to put him at ease. “Your invitation flatters me, but I have much to do today. Much to do.”
The man stopped a few feet in front of me. “It wasn’t an invitation.”
“You seem very agitated, how …”
But I did not have time to say much else. This man rushed me and threw me to the ground, placing thin shackles upon my wrists behind my back, and he pressed my face to the cold concrete sidewalk. “Oh, I understand now,” I told this man. “You are an authority of some kind. Are you detaining me?”
“I’m arresting you, you friggin’ fruit, now shut up and walk with me. Don’t give me any shit.”
“I shall do my best not to. I assume that would be rather rude. But you see, I can explain everything.”
“I’ll bet you can.”
“My name is Kalil, and I am an Angel. I have come to save you. All of you.”
Chapter 1
The first time Matthew Walker remembered his dream, he didn’t ever want to dream again.
Awaking with a start, he heaved for breath. He was soaked through with sweat, the bed damp. Matthew sat up and lifted his arms. Wiping the moisture from his face, he dangled his feet over the side of the bed, and peered at the digital clock on the nightstand: 3:43a.m.
Groaning, Matt stood next to his bed, and found himself hopping in surprise, as if he didn’t expect his leg to be there.
Odd. Something from the dream.
He stumbled in the darkness to the small bathroom in the hall. When his fingers found the lightswitch, he pulled a forearm over his face to hide his eyes. Slowly they adjusted to the light.
Matt was seventeen years old and small for his age. Even his peers assumed he was a freshman, although he was in all their senior classes. Matt rubbed a hand through his short dark hair. His skin was paler than usual, and he grimaced, splashing water on his face.
He gasped at the cold water, and it forced him to remember details of the dream. A man in a long tunnel of some sort, but white and clean. Another person was suddenly in the tunnel, threatening and ominous, a killer. Matt tried t
o cry out and warn the first man, but his lips made no sound. The killer pointed at the man in the tunnel, and a strong silent wind blew through the tunnel, tossing the man about like a lizard in the jaws of a rabid dog. The man in the dream screamed, and Matt knew he was dying. Fear gripped Matt, fear not only for the man in the dream but for his own life.
That’s when he woke up.
It was just a dream, he thought, trying to convince himself. But he failed. It had seemed so real. Matt staggered back to his bed, removing his wet clothes, changing into dry ones, and stripped the bed of the damp sheets. Laying on top of the mattress, he wondered if he would get any sleep the rest of the night. School started in four hours.
Slamming the door to his looker, Matt hooked his Bio book under his arm as he moved toward his first period class. The crowd of hurried teens shuffled themselves around him. It was the first day of the second semester at Oak Ridge High School of his senior year. Matt was the new kid. He had spent the last month before Christmas catching up, and he was ready to start over in a new school with new friends, learning a new place and how things worked.
He felt horrible, exhausted from sleeping in fits the last few hours before he had to rise for school. Matt was small and easily lost in a sea of people, and most of the time, Matt considered this a blessing. He didn’t necessarily want attention of any kind, especially since he had only been going to this high school for a few months. Moving around as often as his family did, he found it difficult to try and invest in new relationships, however much he longed for them.
He merged with a line of people that seemed to be going in his general direction. A hand slapped his back. “You look like hell, dude.”
He turned to see Richard, his new friend, his only friend, behind him. Richard’s tall frame seemed to float behind Matt as they walked down the hall. “Well, that’s nice of you to say.”
“Just trying to help,” Richard said.
“Speaking of help,” Matt said, looking back at him, “did you do your History homework?”
Richard frowned at him. “What do you think?”
Matt shook his head. “Sorry. Stupid question. You never do your homework.”
“Of course not, and neither should you.”
“Why would I want to pick up any of your bad habits?”
Richard laughed. “Bad habits? I’m offended. Not doing my homework is one of the few things I do well.”
Matt smiled as he walked. “I have something to ask you,” Matt said, his voice lowering in volume.
Richard seemed to get the hint and became serious as well. “All right. Go ahead.”
“Do you know Vikki Wagner?”
There was a short pause from Matt’s friend. “Who?”
“Vikki Wagner.” Matt looked around as if someone were spying on them. “She seems to be really popular.” Matt snorted and raised his shoulders. “She’s probably the hottest girl in the school.”
“Yeah, okay, I know her. What about her?”
“Well, you see, she’s in my homeroom and my Biology class this semester. And we’ve been talking ...”
“And ...”
“I thought about asking her out. You know, on a date.”
“I know what it means. What’s your point?”
“I just thought you might know her. Maybe give me some advice on what to do.”
Again Richard paused. “I don’t really know her that well. I couldn’t really tell you what to do.”
Matt stopped just in front of his Biology class. He turned to Richard, craning his neck to get his friend in full view. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Richard ran his hand through his long, light brown hair, almost blond, pulling it away from his face, his arm rising high above Matt. His smile faltered as he answered. “No. Not at all.”
Matt didn’t believe him. “Okay, well, see you after school?”
Richard nodded absently, not meeting his gaze, and began to walk towards his own class.
Just as Matt turned to his Bio class, thinking of how strange Richard was sometimes, he collided with another person. He almost dropped his books and crouched to catch them. Looking up, he saw another student, Marcus Brooks, standing over him.
“Get out of my way, you little shit,” Marcus said.
Marcus one of the few blacks in the rural area school. He was the local basketball and football star and demanded a lot of leeway for that fact and many others, most of which were unknown to Matt.
As he stood, Matt raised his arms in an apologetic nature. “Sorry,” Matt said.
“Don’t talk to me, either,” Marcus said, and proceeded to push Matt against the wall.
Before Matt could react, he saw Marcus move, against his will, past him and onto the floor. Marcus gave a little cry as he hit the tile, and Matt looked up and saw Richard advancing. Marcus stood angrily to meet Richard’s step but was caught off balance by Richard’s leverage and momentum. Grabbing him by the shirt, Richard pressed Marcus against the wall. Matt felt the thud next to him. Richard peered into Marcus’s eyes.
“Apologize,” Richard said.
“Screw you,” Marcus said.
Richard picked Marcus up by the shirt, ripping sounds apparent, and threw him against the opposite wall of the hall in the school. Marcus tried a swinging right aimed at Richard’s head, but the clumsy attempt was successfully shrugged off. Richard hit Marcus twice, once in the groin and once dead in the face, both deliberate, calculated blows. Marcus dropped to the floor in a heap.
Leaning down to speak in Marcus’ ear, Richard said, “Stop being such an ass and leave him alone.”
And with that, Matt watched his friend walk down the hall alone.
-----
Russell Person moved his groggy head around on his neck, the pops and crackles in the bones reminding him of his increasing distance from youth. Parts of his body ached where he didn’t realize aches could occur. It had been a long day, and it would only get longer. He should have been home a couple hours ago. A digital 45” flatscreen television sat across the room, the volume low, the channel always tuned to 42, WPXT, the station that he worked for. Russell stared blankly at the large mahogany desk in front of him, filled to overflowing with two or three trees worth of paper containing statistics and spreadsheets full of numbers telling him the latest ratings and polls of the station.
He held a cell phone to his ear. “Prime time is staying miraculously competitive, but the news dropped a point or two,” he told his boss.
“How is daytime looking?”
“Terrible. We’re losing our audience in the afternoon,” Russell answered.
His boss sighed through the phone. That was not a happy sigh. “Those are prime commercial spots. Those people spend a lot of money. What are you going to do about it?”
Russell rubbed his eyes. “There’s a new talk show, even raunchier than the rest of them out there. None of the other stations will touch it, though.”
“Do you think it will boost the ratings?”
“Probably, especially at first, but some of our more conservative sponsors might shy away from it.”
A pause on the other end. “Let’s grab it before someone else does.”
“Yes, sir.” Which means I’ll take the fall if it explodes in our faces, Russell thought.
Russell hung up the phone and put it on his desk. He took a deep breath and leaned over the spreadsheets again.
“Good night, Mr. Person. I’m leaving,” the voice came from the door to his office, and Russell opened his eyes just long enough to see his “executive assistant” bob her ugly little head at him and walk down the hall. Russell smiled politely while in her view - you never knew when that woman could see things - and frowned at her when he heard the front door to the office lock behind her.
He thought briefly about how great it would be to have a nice, sexy secretary that would render certain “services” at times like these to move up the corporate ladder, so to speak. But of course, that was
not the case. With his luck shining through again, it was commonly known that he had the butt-ugliest secretary in the office, if not the world in general. Russell knew gay men who were more attractive, and he hated fags.
He spent the next two hours going over things, reorganizing materials, going over notes and notes of ideas about what to do with the daytime line-up and the myriad of rescheduling options available. Where could he put the new show that would have the most impact and do the least amount of damage?
And when he couldn’t take any more, when his head pounded unbearably, when his rear end had been asleep in the chair for a half hour, when the cramps in his right hand came every two or three minutes instead of every ten or fifteen, he decided to go back to his lonely house and get that drink.
Russell put his jacket on. Standing, he considered what to do with the mess on his desk, and decisively left it for the morning. He turned out lights as he went down the narrow hall towards the main door of the office, dark now except for the one lamp in the corner. He made sure that the security system wouldn’t deafen him as he walked out the door and reset it again as he entered the main hall on the fifteenth floor of the building. After double-checking the lock out of pure habit, he walked alone down another long, dark hallway towards the elevator. Pushing the call button for the elevator, he closed his tired eyes and waited.
The elevator door opened, a smooth metallic sound with a rush of air, so the light from inside brightened the dark hall.
Russell opened his eyes.
A man stood in front of him, a tall man wearing a long overcoat and staring fiercely into Russell’s eyes.
“Who the hell are you?” Russell asked. He couldn’t see the man’s face very well from underneath the baseball cap, pulled down over his face. “How did you get past security downstairs?” Russell took a cautious step towards the man.
The long overcoat parted, flapping on both sides, and revealed a shotgun in the hands of the man in the elevator. Russell froze. The shotgun seemed to raise itself slowly, pointing at Russell.
Russell turned quickly and ran, although not quite as quickly as he wanted to, screaming at the top of his lungs down the hall back towards his office. His old body slowed him down. His half-asleep ass slowed him down.