Verity Rising (Gods of Deceit Book 1)

by Phil Scott Mayes

  “Dimer?”

  “Oh, sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “It means I’m only ten percent Nephilim. Don’t worry though, I made up that nickname myself. Everyone here respects each other regardless of blood purity. By the looks of it, you don’t have anything to worry about. Hey, it was nice meeting you, Ted, but I gotta run.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Doc.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. A group of us are doing a campfire tonight at seven; just a chance to hang out and tell old war stories. It would be great to have you join us.”

  “I don’t know. I appreciate the invitation, but I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  “Well, just know that you don’t have to go through this alone. All of us were loners before we joined the alliance. It can be a big adjustment, but we all know what you’re going through. We’re glad to have you here, Ted. Hopefully I’ll see you tonight!”

  Doc hustles away and I zone out as I imagine myself at the campfire, a stranger amongst a group of old friends; the awkward outsider cramping their camaraderie. The image is far from appealing—awkward for them and even more so for me. Unfortunately, the alternative is an early night in a foreign room with only my demons to keep me company. Perhaps the campfire is worth considering.

  As I return to reality, a gaseous, fluttering mirage, a visible disturbance of the air, shifts at the rear of the old hardware store, catching my attention. Curious, I investigate what strange Nephilim abilities are in use this time. As I stroll in its direction, the seven-foot-tall amorphous disturbance moves smoothly through the closed back door of the store. I try to follow, but the flimsy excuse for a door is locked. With just a couple of steps for momentum, I ram my shoulder into the brittle wood that crunches and gives way, nearly falling from its hinges.

  Dust floats, glowing in an errant ray of sunlight against the darkened hallway. I walk the cluttered hall that runs between the offices on the left and the restroom on the right on its way to the front of the store. The old floorboards let out a creak and pop that travels up my spine. An ear-piercing shriek assaults my frayed nerves as I push through the swinging door and enter the main sales floor.

  Rows of shelves sit well stocked with abandoned products, all caked under a thick layer of dust. I stand and survey the eerie sight. The scene is a snapshot of someone’s personal apocalypse. Whether through disaster or the rapture, it’s as if they simply vanished, leaving their unfinished business right here on these shelves. According to Drake’s version of events, people migrated away as the wells dried up, but the visual is far more unsettling than the story and it’s easy to see why the town has a ghostly reputation.

  The mirage’s slithering, rippling motion enters my peripheral vision. Despite being transparent, it bends the ambient light and makes the tools hanging behind it appear as though they’re under shallow, turbulent water. Shifting, wiggling, the dirty axe dances through the wondrous illusion.

  A sickly whisper calls to me from the mirage. Uneasy, but more curious than ever, I take several steps toward the mirage before thump, thump, thump, SHRIEK—the swinging door to my right flies open, nearly scaring me airborne. Having noticed my startle, Mel stops in her tracks with an apologetic grimace. I look back to the mirage but it’s gone, and a quick three-sixty confirms it’s nowhere in sight.

  “Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, Ted. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mel says sweetly with a sheepish grin.

  To avoid admitting I was scared I ignore her apology, instead asking, “Were you doing that just now? The…shimmering mirage thing?”

  “Mirage? No,” she replies, concerned. “What did you see?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I saw something like a heat mirage by that wall over there,” I answer. “I thought I heard a whisper too.” I give her the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  “Could it have been a sunset reflection off a store window? What did the whisper say?”

  “No, it definitely wasn’t a reflection. It moved from the alley into the store and I could feel it. It had a presence. I couldn’t make out the words it whispered.”

  Mel ponders with a furrowed brow. She looks around the room before closing her eyes as if to meditate. Fifteen seconds pass, and I take the opportunity to appreciate Mel’s knee-buckling beauty while I wait. Her eyelids slide open and intercept my gaze, which I avert, but not swiftly enough. I examine my tan work boots and scratch the back of my neck as she speaks.

  “Hmm, I don’t feel anything, and I know that no one here has discovered an ability that presents as a heat mirage. Honestly, Ted, I’m a little bothered by it, but that doesn’t mean it’s something to worry about. Keep a watchful eye and let me know if you see it again, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Anyway, I’m glad I finally found you. Doc said he saw you around here, and I heard that door shriek from a block away. I wanted to welcome you and have a normal conversation for a change, but if it’s alright with you, I want to get out of here. These old abandoned stores aren’t the atmosphere I was going for…especially in the dark,” she says with a chuckle.

  “I can see why the local teens think they’re haunted.”

  “You think this one’s bad, you should see the clothing store with all the mannequins!” She laughs with a wide-eyed expression of faux fear and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Yeah, let’s do that,” I reply, trying my hardest to swallow the lump of excitement in my throat. She pulls an about-face, heads for the exit, and I gladly follow.

  Back outside, we amble the remarkably quiet sidewalks of the settlement at Carver. Soft lights glow through drawn curtains at several nearby houses. It’s hard to get used to the fact that behind those windows are Nephilim families. Regardless of their number, being immersed in a community of Nephilim really is my personal utopia and was only a pipe dream until a couple of days ago.

  “So, how are you liking it here so far?” she starts.

  “Well, I haven’t decided about my future here yet and, honestly, I haven’t really spent any time processing this whole thing. My short conversation with Reb pretty much burned my world to ash. I don’t really feel like I can assess my potential future with the alliance until I first deal with my personal issues.”

  “I’m sure that was a lot all at once, Ted. Reb is a wise leader, though. He wouldn’t have shared all that in one short conversation with just any ol’ Nephilim. He knew you could handle it and wouldn’t appreciate us holding back that info to dump on you later. I helped with Reb and Julius’s research, so I know what you’re dealing with right now. I’m just saying that because I want you to know that I’m here if you need to talk. I can’t say that I understand your exact situation, but we’ve all had our struggles. My mother was Nephilim. She was compassionate, nurturing, and loving while still being strong as steel, but I never even met my father.” Mel stops and changes subjects with a gesture to the stonemasoned building across the street. “Here we are.”

  The words above the missing front doors read Carver Town Hall, which is only legible now thanks to the rich, early nightfall moonlight. The stonework makes the building look strangely out of place in a town of mostly wood siding and stucco. Clearly it was meant to be a focal point, a source of pride for the mayor and the townsfolk. Now, it’s just another ruin.

  “What’s at the town hall?” I ask.

  “We are,” she notes with a playful smirk. “Follow me. I want to show you something.”

  With no observable interest in my agreement, she trots across the empty street and up the stairs. I play catch up, following her into the dark structure. Through the hollow doorway and at the far end of the grand hall is a stairwell that climbs all the way to the roof. Mel wastes no time getting there and bounds up the steps with more confidence in their structural integrity than seems wise. I follow at a more prudent pace, and when I arrive at the rooftop landing, Mel is already trying to light the first of four tiki torches that mark the corners of a cozy seating area. The patio furn
iture is arranged around a low, glass-top table and as the first flame ignites, the glass reflects the mellow, citrusy ambiance. After lighting the remaining torches, she invites me to sit. Despite the inviting arrangement, I can’t help my discomfort while perched above a thirty-foot void with a roof of questionable stability as my only protection against a fall to my death, or worse, a broken spine.

  “You don’t have to worry, Ted, this is the strongest building in town,” she assures. “It’s one of the only ones that they actually took their time with and used quality materials. We’ve been coming up here for years to relax and enjoy the view.”

  Replying would force me to confirm my nervousness about the roof, so I just nod and try to release the tension in my body, with little success. These moments, though they seem insignificant, could form a lasting first impression with Mel. I don’t want to be seen as the frightened Nephilim who’s scared of the dark, scared of abandoned buildings, scared of heights, and probably scared of my own shadow. And it’s not just about wanting Mel to like me. If I decide to stay, I don’t want everyone here to see the weakness in me. I can’t show them my humanity.

  The view to my left overlooks two thirds of Carver, which is still and peaceful. With the sun long gone, the moon and stars are vivid against the backdrop of limitless space. I can now see that there are eight small houses with lights on, all a safe distance from the main roads. Two columns of gray, swirling exhaust, only visible in the spillover of the house lights, spiral their way from the generators toward the heavens. It won’t be long before similar plumes ascend from nearby chimneys and the campfire pit, wherever that is.

  I break the silence, saying, “You’re right, the view is serene. Reminds me of a painting.”

  “It’s a small community, but it’s very special to me and everyone here,” Mel responds.

  “So, I asked Reb earlier and he dodged the question, but I’m really curious how many Nephilim live here. I’ve spent my whole life alone since my parents—my adoptive parents—died. I’ve never even seen this many of our kind in one place,” I admit.

  “Right now the number is eighteen, not including you. There’s a couple with two kids, a couple with one child, we have an orphan, and also a single dad with two kids. His wife died a couple years ago. Then there’s a handful of singles like Reb, Doc, me, and a couple others. We’ve had others come and go. They’ve trained with us, then moved on to new areas to recruit and expand our reach. I know it doesn’t seem like much, but it’s a pretty high concentration of Nephilim for one region. We’re not exactly an army, but when three or four of us tackle a mission, we almost always have numbers against the corrupt Nephilim out there. Every new Nephilim that joins our ranks is really an exponential increase in firepower. Just like how many of us started life as loners sowing human targets, many of the evil Nephilim still function as loners taking advantage of the human system.”

  “Did you start off living alone and sowing individual human targets?” I ask.

  “Yes. It really is a special calling that we have as Nephilim, but until we deal with our own evil, manipulative ranks, it’s unfair to keep sowing human beings. If they’re acting based on the lies of our kind, I’m not sure how much blame we can really place on their shoulders.”

  “You sound like Drake.”

  “Julius and I have spent a lot of time together. He really gets it. He is one of the only humans I’ve ever fully trusted, and I honestly can’t imagine doing this without him,” she gushes.

  “Drake? The same guy who calls me ‘Sunshine’ and gives me flack every chance he gets? I realize there’s a history there but, from my experience, it’s hard to imagine thinking so highly of him or any human for that matter. He’s a nuisance.”

  Silence ensues. With each second I feel more uneasy about my choice of words. Clearly Mel and Drake, Julius as she calls him, share a special bond. Just thinking about it makes me feel like even more of an outsider. But if I’m going to stay, I can’t sabotage these bridges before they’re ever built.

  Trying to patch the damage, I say, “Sorry, Mel. I don’t mean to bash your frie—”

  “I understand why you feel the way you do, but Julius has been through a lot. We all have a past that shapes our outlook and sometimes leaves scars. He may be prickly, but if that’s the worst thing you can find to say after what he’s been through, it’s a minor miracle. His entire life has been a series of tragedies and offenses that would have destroyed anyone else.

  “First, his mother, a true saint if there ever was one, died unexpectedly when he was only eight from a brain aneurysm. One night she was tucking him in with a lullaby and a kiss, the next morning she was gone forever. Seven years later, he and his father, a high school principal, had mostly healed from her sudden passing and established a new normal. On the way home from a school basketball game, the two of them stopped at a gas station. When his father went inside to pay, he found himself in the middle of an armed robbery, a situation he may have survived if he hadn’t recognized one of the perps as a student. He called the young man by name and pleaded with him to put down the gun and choose a better way. The other perp, the student’s uncle, shot Julius’s dad three times in the chest and abdomen. When he heard the shots, Julius raced inside, fearing the worst. The robbers beat him unconscious and when he awoke with several broken ribs and a traumatic brain injury, his dad had already finished his slow, painful passage into the afterlife…alone.”

  “Oh my God,” I react in breathy horror.

  “Oh, I’m not done. Julius spent the next three years bouncing around the foster care system until he turned eighteen, at which time he eagerly joined the Ridge City police force. He had his dad’s bravery and a neurotic motivation to fight crime after how it had affected his life. Police work came naturally and he graduated the academy with honors. After six months on the force, he had already earned two commendations and was on the fast track to sergeant. He had once again overcome a world bent on his destruction.

  “The final phase of his rebirth was love, and that came when he met Vivian at his twentieth birthday party. They dated for a little over a year before they got engaged and married on the same day at the Dillman County Courthouse. The next year was the happiest year of his life, hands down. At the end of that first year of marriage, he and Vivian conceived, and thirty-eight weeks later she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl that they named Holly, his mother’s name. Unfortunately, as drunks go, life is an angry drunk and its sobriety short-lived. After seven blissful weeks, Holly passed away in the stillness of the night, much like her grandmother before her. Sudden infant death syndrome.”

  I cover my mouth and swallow the stone in my throat.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  She shakes her head solemnly and continues. “It took two years and intense therapy before either of them arrived at the threshold of healing. Their therapist suggested that if they were ready, a dog may help them recover, so they rescued a mutt that looked something like a Scottie. It worked. They were a family again, full of love, and things seemed to be settling into another new normal until one day, as part of another investigation, Julius stumbled into a hornet’s nest. He discovered that at least two of his fellow officers were corrupt and deeply involved as a protective buffer for several criminal outfits including an illegal gambling ring and a drug smuggling and dealing operation. Julius being Julius, he confronted them and tried to set them straight. Spooked, they took drastic action. He arrived home from his shift the next night to find his wife held hostage, duct-taped to a chair, and their sweet dog Howard, tail wagging obliviously, in the clutches of Officer Timson. Brantley and Timson warned Julius what would happen to Vivian if he didn’t back down, then Timson proceeded to drive the point home by snapping Howard’s neck. Julius lost it, drew his service weapon, and plugged each of them between the eyes with blazing precision. The horrific situation was recorded as self-defense, but it was the end of his career with the Ridge City Police. Unfortunately for Julius
, it was also the end of his marriage. Vivian had had enough of the turmoil. She divorced him before their fifth anniversary and they’ve never spoken since.

  “At first, he stayed in Ridge City and spent three years in an existential vacuum working dead-end jobs, hoping that his self-imposed futility would satisfy life’s drunken wrath. Eventually, however, he accepted that the only thing that made life worth living was hunting down bad guys and, since it was just him now, he had nothing left to lose. He moved from Central California up to Port Ellis and got a fresh start. I met him several years ago while working a story and immediately sensed his integrity. I recruited him and here we are.”

  “How is it possible for all of that to happen to one man? I think that’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard. And he somehow still believes humans are unfairly judged and that Nephilim are the real problem?”

  Her face goes flat and she studies me the way she might study a boulder or some other impossibly dense object.

  “Ted, I’m not telling you all this to gossip. Julius gave me the go ahead to tell you his story because we thought it might help you better understand the human condition. And, before you try, he doesn’t ever want to talk to you about it. We looked into the corrupt officers, Brantley and Timson. The criminal organizations they worked for were managed by a small network of low-level Nephilim. They weren’t powerful enough to achieve a station like the Jans of the world, but they were devious and brazen enough to forge their own path to wealth and power. We also tried to look further back into the robbery-gone-wrong that killed his father, but we couldn’t confirm any Nephilim connection there. Either way, the point is this: humans may be more fragile than us, more vulnerable, but life doesn’t pull any punches and they are not weak and useless. There are plenty more like Julius out there—trustworthy, honorable, resilient, and courageous.”

  I sigh and ponder the moral of the story. “You’re right. I was wrong about Julius. I still have no idea how to relate to him, but he is everything you say. That being said, I think he’s the exception to the rule. Like you, I detected his goodness and strength when I first met him, but I’ve never met another human like him.”