by Diana Estell
William simmered, Mary sobbed, and Dagon stood in the field, just as he had been ordered to do.
Mary shook her head, rubbed her neck, and trudged home on wobbly legs. She didn’t even flinch when William’s car zoomed past. Mary left the alley without looking at Dagon.
Dagon stood silent and lifeless when Mary left. Without saying a word, Sledge followed Mary home. Once again, the Seraphs faced Dagon. Again, their ancient noses puckered as he lit a cigarette. Smoke trailed behind him as he walked into the Abyss.
24
Shattered Pieces
Shattered pieces, shattered past, shattered memories that seem to last, glistening bright in an array of dreams, which scatter over lives tossed on stormy seas.
Dagon approached Mark’s cell and stopped. Two shadow soldiers stood guard. No prisoner could leave the Abyss. Two watchdogs glared at Dagon. Three more babysitters waited for him inside Mark’s cell.
Outside and inside the cell, the vile shadows bowed to Dagon, their superior. His authority put an end to the shadow soldiers cruel prodding and joking at Mark’s expense. Mark’s clothes hung in tatters from being dragged. Fresh cuts oozed blood on his face and limbs. Seeing his wounds pricked Dagon’s conscience, or was it watching Mary’s reaction, or both?
Mark moved closer toward the wall for its meager protection. Drawing his knees tightly to his chest, he hid his face.
Dagon reached down and jerked the boy’s head up, tilting it back. The scales of his dragon coat tightened, ready to strike. Even Dagon couldn’t deny what the coat craved: punitive vengeance.
“Do you know why you are here?” said Dagon.
Mark shook his head.
“Let me tell you where you are,” whispered Dagon, while the shadow soldiers’ sharp silver teeth gleamed in triumph. “You are in the Abyss, a place of death in the domain controlled by the law of death and in death you will stay.”
Mark’s body went rigid. Only his breath and the rattling of his chains echoed off the musty, scarred walls. The silence broke with blood-curdling screams after Dagon yanked Mark’s head back even further. With blinding speed, Dagon unsheathed his sword and put it against the boy’s throat. Yes, he’s only a boy. Can’t think about that … think about Mary … freedom.
“It is to this death that you, your family, and all of humanity are bound, for in treason, your inheritance will spill with your blood.” Dagon’s voice mirrored the sharpness of his blade.
Tears moved down Mark’s cheeks. He seemed detached from the moment, listening to something perhaps. His face looked calm, too calm in this place of death, like he was being comforted somehow. This possibility, if it was a possibility at all, baffled Dagon. He reversed both of his veils.
“Mark, they don’t see or hear what is going on now. They continue to see my blade at your throat, and they only hear what I want them to think that I am saying.”
Dagon, help him! Screamed the memory of Mary’s words.
“Hold out your hands,” Dagon told Mark. “You and your family are thieves, and as thieves you shall die!” Dagon shouted for the benefit of the shadow soldiers.
Mark brought his hands up in submission.
“I cannot remove your bonds any more than I can remove mine, but I can loosen them some.”
“Thank you,” Mark said as tears streaked dirt and blood down his cheeks. “Why did I see you in my dream?”
“That is complicated, and I do not have time to socialize, though suffice it to say, you and I are linked.”
“Why are you here now?” said Mark.
“To live.”
“Why, then,” gulped Mark, “am I here?”
“To die,” Dagon replied, which made Mark flinch.
Dagon rummaged through his coat, making a loud ruckus. The boy froze at the sight of a large needle.
“Don’t … why are you doing this?”
“I must for freedom. Though this is my first try at phlebotomy, it shouldn’t hurt … well … not too much at least.”
Mark barely winced. Either the boy had good pain tolerance and was used to being in hospitals for something—hopefully nothing catchy—or Dagon was, in fact, quite skilled.
With the blood in a clear capped tube, he placed a piece of gauze in the crook of Mark’s elbow. Dagon spun the tube, causing varying shades of red to swirl, and placed it back in his coat. Dagon removed the blood-stained gauze from Mark’s arm and placed it and the used needle back inside the blood kit and back into his coat. Lastly, Dagon put a drop of living waters on Mark’s arm, and it healed instantly.
“Now you will see and hear what the shadows have seen and heard.”
“What … what are those things?”
“They are shadow soldiers, and they are dead. You are still alive.” Mark looked relieved.
“Will I … will I see you again?”
“Assuredly. How old are you?” said Dagon.
“Thirteen. How old are you?”
“Old. Though I have been told that I look to be around twenty, what do you think?”
“Yeah … I would … say that sounds right.”
“Are you saying that just to be kind? Because I was also told I’m older than dinosaurs.” Dagon appreciated Mark’s unbiased confirmation of his youthful looks.
The shadows would hear Mark screaming, insisting he didn’t have anything of Dagon’s.
Dagon posed in his original position, the sword at Mark’s neck for the benefit of the shadows, then sheathed his sword and left his cell.
Once out of the Abyss, Dagon burned the gauze.
Slowly, Mary sat up on the couch, the couch that reminded her of the man she wanted to forget. Her head spun. Sitting weak as a newborn kitten, she took a deep breath. Placing her face into her clammy hands, she took more deep breaths. She wanted to forget what she had done, but her mind wouldn’t release her. What were those things? They went far beyond creepy. Did Dagon know about those things? Where had they taken Mark?
Beads of perspiration trickled down her forehead as she steadied herself. She understood now, more than ever, that Dagon moved in immortal circles, that she would have to try to forget about him. She had to move on. She wanted to hold on to the embers which warmed her heart into a new existence. Just how does one move on with their life when their life has been affected by someone like Dagon?
Mary steeled herself to be alone forever. Maybe she was never meant to be married. Maybe the dreams of him, the nesting and meeting him, were designed to help her live with herself. She wondered how long she would live because Dagon told her they were as good as dead without each other. But Mary already had lived most of her life as a walking corpse, going through life invisible and isolated, though at a casual glance, it would appear otherwise.
Carefully, she walked into the laundry room, opened Dagon’s laundry bag, and pulled out his black rock n roll t-shirt. She didn’t care if it was dirty. It would serve as a reminder to never let love in again. Love is too painful.
As soon as she could emotionally do it, she planned to dispose of everything that reminded her of him, except the t-shirt and the photos. She wondered how she could dispose of her heart so deeply moved by love.
Dagon passed the Seraphs who could not see him. They were singing, which was inappropriate because of what happened, their melodic song a lament.
In Mary’s front yard, Sledge sheathed his sword and put his sledgehammer back in his pocket. His body sagging, his face was covered in frown-shaped wrinkles.
“What’s wrong? Is she safe?” said Dagon anxiously.
“She’s safe ... but she’s angry. Really angry, and I can’t say I blame her, though I know that you couldn’t help her.”
“At least she’s safe.”
“I would highly suggest, that is, it would be wise for you to not stand in front of her in a darkened alley. Like where she was tonight,” said Razz.
“She couldn’t be that mad.”
“Yeah … but she is.”
Dagon blew him off and
gave Razz the vial and the blood kit and told him to dispose of the kit before heading to Rome.
“Everything is disposed of, and I’m sitting in a taxi. Over.” said Razz.
“Already?”
“Yes already, and would it please you to know that I’m sitting on vinyl?”
“No, but it pleases us,” said Mr. Cool.
“Heard that.”
“We hoped that you would,” said Sledge.
“For that, I will be bringing back no Italian chocolates.”
Mr. Cool, Sledge, and Friar quickly recanted, trying to apologize.
“I may be sitting on vinyl, but I’m going to Rome. Uh … boss … what if there are no airplanes going to Rome?” Razz asked.
“How would you exist without me?” said Dagon.
“Can we try?” said Friar.
Dagon glared at the Cherbs and told Razz to get on the first plane flying to Europe and then take a train to Rome if need be.
Dagon rang Mary’s doorbell. After multiple pushes of the doorbell, Mary stomped across the floor with more force than usual. Then an eye peered into the peephole.
“It’s me, baby.”
“Go away, Dagon Guardian. And don’t come back.”
“Baby, just open the door. What do you mean, don’t come back?”
“You heard what I said ... go away, now!”
“Mary?” said Dagon, more confused than hurt.
“Don’t you ‘Mary’ me. Please leave.”
“Okay, just let me explain, please?”
Mary banged her fist on the door. “What do you not understand? Leave me alone!”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I heard and saw everything, Dagon! Do you understand me? Everything!”
“Yes, I know, but—”
“Dagon!”
“I didn’t know, baby, let me explain, please!”
“Did you hear me yelling for help? Did you?” Mary pounded on the door.
“Yes, I did, but—”
“You heard … yet you did nothing, just like ... Dagon, get out of my life, now. Just leave!”
“You can’t mean that … you can’t!”
“I do mean it. Leave me alone. Forever.”
“We will die, Mary ... die!”
“I've been dead most of my life, what’s the difference? Please don’t make this harder than it already is. Just go.” She spoke with a voice like the undead, with more death than life moving through her.
“I love you, Mary. Always have and always will.” Dagon walked away. In darkness, Dagon turned around and looked back at the house of his beloved.
“I guess our guarding days are done,” said Friar.
“No, all of you will keep protecting her.”
“For how long?”
“Without end. You boys just may get to see what living without me is like, for the door to my death will soon close,” said Dagon in dreary certainty.
“Look on the bright side. At least you know it’s coming.”
“And how is that a bright side, exactly?”
“The more you know, the more you grow,” Mr. Cool said.
“You know, you may have something there, that’s really good.”
“Good? Man, it’s inspired.”
“I think I may coin that line,” said Dagon.
“Well, that would be plagiarism, and it will cost you.”
“You know, the three of you might be a teensy-weensy bit understanding, since I’m dying and all.”
The guys gathered around and conferred amongst themselves, whispering and gesturing.
“We decided to be understanding and give you a deathly discount, redeemable between now and the time of your untimely demise. After you have expired, well, the discount would also be expired.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“No problem. In fact, we have loads of clever inspirational, relational, and perspirational sayings, just waiting to be plucked from the vast troves of our brains,” said Mr. Cool.
“Oh, brother. What’s this perspirational stuff?” said Dagon, uncertain that he wanted to know.
“Oh, those are brilliant words designed as quick-witted comebacks, to make the sorry person wish that they had never opened their traps in the first place.” Sledge slammed his fist into his other hand.
“You know, you guys could go into the greeting card business.”
“What a wonderful idea! I’m glad we thought of it.”
“Hey, I thought of it. Isn’t that plagiarism?”
“Nah. That’s business.”
Dagon just sighed, “I am dead, yet hopefully, she will live. Maybe, I was never meant to be with her, but to help save her. With this, I can die. Razz is on his way to Rome. Her life insurance by blood will be in the lock box. Locked away for when she needs it. My love for her will keep all of you around to guard her the best you can.”
“We’ll do more than our best. Better give us all your cash since the dead can’t use it.”
This was as sentimental as it gets as far as these guys were concerned.
“Well, all of you are probably right.”
“We’re always right.”
Dagon sighed. Why did Mary say she was already dead? Did she want to be already dead to me? Well, I can’t blame her for that.
Dagon, a walking dead man, didn’t even try to conceal himself from the Seraphs. He didn’t care anymore. Somehow, he found his bench home and with a lonely thud, sat staring ahead into nothingness. Mark sat in a cell below, and together they waited for their death sentences.
Hollow and gutted, Mary sat, her eyes fixed on nothing. Her mind and heart were fixed on everything. She lost so many people in her short life. Mark, taken below ... gone ... Dagon her love ... gone. Her past emotional relationships were easy to dispose of. But Dagon was different, very different. With the few guys she dated, she would have never invited them to her house. Other guys’ quirks disgusted her, yet she could discuss these things with Dagon. His spontaneity excited her. Most importantly, she felt alive in his presence. How had she been since he had been in her life? Better perhaps? Yes. He made her feel safe, wanted, and respected. Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks. Truth be told, Mary missed him. Dagon tried to explain what happened, but in a heated emotional state, she kicked him to the curb. A man who had been looking for her for centuries. A man who had loved her before she was even born.
Chills ran down her spine with the image of those smoky creatures dragging Mark under the dark, cold earth. Things started becoming clear. Is this the dark, cold, stifling place she saw when Dagon showed her images of his past? Or when she had the dream where she was the captive? The smoky creatures, the images of Dagon and her dreams, validated that Dagon indeed lived in the ground. If so, Dagon being “in between houses” actually meant that he waited to be with her when her house would become their house. Their marital home. How could she let him go just like that? Even with everything that happened, Dagon wouldn’t leave her. Terrible things happen in life, but love is forever. What did Dagon say to her earlier when she could hear everything? Words of love, that’s what. Just keep repeating over and over again how much I love you. Dagon said something else ... what was it ... oh yes ... I can't control ... Can’t control what?
Once again, she returned to the dark, cold, stifling place. A bottomless pit, an abyss of loneliness for Dagon to fall into while cast out. A pariah. Didn’t she cast him out? The feeling that he was trapped never left Mary. They stood better together, stronger, and he said he would never leave her. Two hearts will always be better than one. That place below, if it existed, Mary named, “The Abyss of the Fallen.”
Her mind ricocheted back and forth. Focusing on large and minute details as best she could. Adrenaline was replaced with calm. Her heart beat steady. With Dagon in her heart, she got up from the floor. She stood steady. She was in love. She had lovingly cleaned and bandaged his flesh wounds, the wounds she could see. What about the wounds she couldn’t see? Only love and time co
uld heal those. Whatever it took, no matter how long it took, she would love him without end.
Maybe, just maybe, she was meant to come to life, to bring him to life. Whatever Dagon couldn't control, she was going to let him explain. Together they would save his title, her sister, Mark, Dagon, and herself if possible. Hope coursed through her once hopeless body. She was in control of herself, her emotions, and opening the door. Into the inky black world of night, she whispered.
“Dagon.”
25
If you or someone you know is at risk:
NAMI: National Alliance on Mental Health. Helpline: 1-800-950-6264
National Suicide Prevention. Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)
Crisis Text Line: Text NAMI to 741-741
Website: www.nami.org
26
Please Enjoy a Preview of What’s to Come in Book II-
ASHES OF THE FALLEN
Book II
27
Blood Immortal
Forgiveness and reflection mixed with perfect fusion in tendrils of twilight smoke and ash. Memorial Day was almost over. The only remainder of this festive day smoldered in charred remains from neighborhood fire pits. Thin trails of smoke curled over the treetops as people lounged with friends and family on this summer kick-off.
Mangled parade bunting drifted down streets and tangled in fences. Even with immortal powers, the Seraphs could not protect Mark from the law of the earth, Savila. Defeat did not bring them back into Mark Bennett’s bedroom. Hope did. Mark’s dream had brought the Seraphs to his house for his protection a few months ago. Now Mark resided captive in the realm of death, the Abyss.
The immortals began singing a lament of Mark’s capture and the death of their beloved friend, Mystil. A lament for Mark’s Uncle Henry, Aunt Francis, and Cousin William, who had tried desperately to save Mark and now mourned in the parlor below. The duality of hope and grief, victory and surrender, loyalty and rebellion, freedom and prisoner of war, filled the spontaneous singing with anguish.