I Am the Storm

by Trisha Lynn Halaas

  The pathway transforms to wooden stairs. We descend toward the oceanic rhythm. Turquoise Villa rises into view. It sits alone at the edge of the sea. A large wide structure spreads along the oceanfront, also wooden and turquoise. It’s heavier on turquoise, though, and donned with a substantial dose of aquamarine gemstones.

  Lush coconut. Dry crusted sand. Five-years-old. Infamous stairs known as ‘Ye Ole’ Wooden Peak.’ We had to take breaks every ten steps. It takes a while to reach the Villa.

  “You still got that fishhook?” I ask. I wasn’t sure where it came from, but it popped up when we were young and never left his side. One time he nearly died because of the thing.

  “What? This thing?” He produces a palm-sized ancient fishhook.

  “Where’d you get that? Really?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Ahh, just found it one day when we were little.” He twirls it around his fingers expertly as if he was born with it in hand.

  We reach the gates, which are open at the moment.

  “You think she’s in?” I ask.

  “Yeah, she’s in,” he says as we reach the surmounting wooden doors. He holds it open for me. The structure is very tall. The ceiling is steepled and alternates wood and glass. The side facing the sea is entirely glass. The ocean roars beyond the pane, a churning depth of mystery. We walk into the main room. It’s a large lobby. Crushed velvet in various shades of blue cover the furniture. Brooks meanders to the wall and hits a switch.

  “Hey guys. I’ll be down in a second.” A voice fills the room clear as day. Framework intelization. She can probably see us from her Slab.

  “Sounds good, Lani,” Brooks says, lifting his finger from the button. He settles in for the wait on a giant, overstuffed sea-green chair and takes off his hat.

  I step up to the window. The sky is overcast today. On the steps it was sunny. Now grey, menacing clouds block the sun. The water looks black in the clouds’ shadow. I can’t help but think what’s down there.

  “Hey guys,” Lani says. She musses Brooks’ hair as she brushes past.

  “Lyv, it’s good to see you.” She envelops me in a hug.

  “Good to see you too,” I reply. The scent of sunscreen and orange blossom wafts off her tanned shoulder.

  “You guys hungry?”

  “We got pizza on the way,” Brooks says, inspecting his hat. Bored.

  “You got anything sweet?” I ask.

  “You know it,” she replies, and we follow her to the kitchen.

  Down the hall we make our way to the east wing. The kitchen is massive. An aquamarine mosaic adorns the walls and floor. Everything else is chrome. Noelani walks to the fridge and pulls out a dish. Then she goes to the pantry and returns with two more. Taking off the lids I see rice pudding, homemade peach pie, and a giant chocolate cake.

  “Mm,” I say, analyzing each choice. Pros. Cons. I love them all. Chocolate sounds good. But... Nope, I have to have the pie. Wait a minute. I haven’t had rice pudding in too long. But the chocolate… No, the peachy goodness for sure, it’s my favorite… mmm creamy pudding...

  “Just pick one,” Brooks says, draped over a stool.

  “Mind your business,” I reply with a flick of my hand. “Okay. I’ll have… Peach pie with ice cream if you have it, please.”

  She prepares a chunk at lightning speed with her electronic Heatwave, it uses molecular atomization to heat food; the closest comparison would be a combination of a microwave and wood burning oven. No more radiation or smoke and works quicker than its predecessors. The heaping slice gets a scoop of home-churned vanilla bean ice cream before arriving to its final destination. She gives me a spoon, and I dig in.

  “So, I hear you need the staff,” she says, pulling out a stool. Her long, thick auburn hair frames her face. She wraps a curl around her ear. She’s wearing her trademark floor-length maxi-dress. She’s got one in every color of the rainbow and prints too. Some are strapless, some one-shoulder, and still others have sleeves. Today, she’s wearing a billowy deep blue, stormy print with spaghetti straps and slip-on leather, strappy sandals. Her only jewelry consists of a wooden snake dangling from a leather cord around her neck. Her eyes, the color of caramelized crème brûlée, bore into mine imploringly.

  “It seems that way.” I shrug. I take a bite of gooey, warm pie balanced with the slight chill of ice cream.

  “Lyv, I don’t need to tell you how dangerous this is. But, I have to tell you that seeing the seven-headed dragon, Leviathan, whatever the hell he is—in person—is what nightmares are made of.”

  “I know. I’m trying to mentally prepare myself.”

  “There’s no mentally preparing for that,” she replies with a shudder.

  “Yeah, well, Levi has always been a creature of mystery. No clue it was this bad and scary.”

  “Yeah, I mean, he’s a real piece of work,” Brooks interjects. “But, damn.” He leans back and laces his fingers behind his head. “He’s turned the volume up to eleven.”

  “I’ll say,” Lani replies, searching an imaginary distance. She fiddles with her wooden snake.

  “So this staff…” I lead.

  “Yes. The staff.” She takes my bowl and spoon to the sink and begins washing them.

  “If you don’t already know, it has been passed down since Moses parted the Red Sea. My line has had it in possession since then. When I was predetermined to become the appointed leader, it was placed in my care at birth.” She dries the dishes and puts them away.

  “What exactly does it do?”

  “Well, part the Red Sea for starters,” she laughs, drying her hands on a small towel.

  “We’ve gathered that,” Brooks says with a yawn.

  “Okay. Okay. He also used it at the battle of Rephidim. But, first and foremost, God gave him the staff at the burning bush as a tangible vow.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, resting my chin in my hand.

  “Moses needed to know it was God at play, so God gave him a physical item for proof. Not just for Moses, though. Humanity has a tendency to discount things, especially novel or unpopular beliefs. The tasks that He was assigning Moses were not easy. It would be an instrument of assurance for the Egyptians, a sign of trust and faith.”

  “Tell her the other part,” Brooks says, leaning forward. Suddenly attentive.

  She leans over the counter on her elbows. “Well, all these generations later, it has been passed down with an accompanying scroll. A warning, really.”

  “Really? A warning?”

  “Yes, the message reads: ‘Upon resurgence of the seven-faced dragon, the Rod of Moses shall prove essential in the serpent’s defeat.’”

  “Wow,” I respond, digesting this information. Yet, equally perturbed my Relics didn’t come with instructions. Then again, I’m just grateful to have them.

  “And the vision…” Brooks hedges.

  “Right. The vision.” She closes her eyes for a second. When they pop back open, she looks distressed.

  “That bad?” I ask.

  “Worse.”

  “Well, give me something,” I say when she pauses again.

  “Well, it was weird. I was sleeping, so it felt like a dream at first. The initial couple minutes I was talking to someone familiar, but I don’t know who it was or what we talked about. Sorry, that part’s not helpful,” she says, brushing some crumbs off the counter. “I just remember a feeling before going into the second half. Fear. Whatever was talked about, I knew something bad was coming.”

  “Do you have any idea who was warning you?” I ask.

  “Not one bit.”

  “Okay, whoever it was just vanished?”

  “No, I was the one who vanished. I was sitting in the common room on one of the chaise lounges. Whoever was talking to me was indistinguishable, surrounded by fog. I can’t even remember a voice at all. Only forewarned impending doom.

  Then suddenly, I was standing someplace I’ve never been, a mountain somewhere. A cliff, really. Near water but not Turquo
ise. Almost seemed old-world, but not.”

  The tomb appears in my mind. I begin to get an inkling of who she had a conversation with.

  Noelani continues, “I’m standing on this cliff with the water right below me. The overhang curves over the waves to impede my view. I start to walk toward the ledge when I see movement just below the lip.

  Levi’s face slowly breeches the crest. Massive head. His expression is stretched in a grin of pure evil. I’m horrified. I stumble backward until my back meets rock. There’s what feels like boulder behind me, but I can’t turn around to look.

  ‘Oh, Lani, tsk, tsk, tsk,’ Levi says, shaking his head. ‘What am I gonna do with you?’

  ‘I have an idea… A yummy one.’ A separate voice.

  A second giant head materializes to the left of Levi. Its human face is stretched grotesquely and misshapen with a giant, leering grin. A clown, kind of like the Joker—Jack Nicholson’s version. Fat and sweaty. He keeps popping out at me like a Jack in the Box toy, even humming the weasel tune. He zooms within inches from my face. His breath is utterly disgusting.

  ‘So sorry, Gulch.’ A hiss. ‘But thisss one’sss mine.’

  Another head reveals itself over the ledge. Looks human, but off. Then I nail it. Snake-like with slick hair and slit eyes. A long forked-tongue lashes out at me. It snaps at my ankles. Leers at me like a prized possession to be fawned over. Then I hear an unsettling grinding noise before a giant, vulture-human face floats above me. His long pointy beak grates back and forth, a sickening gnashing.

  ‘No, she’s all mine. Only me. And I say we go to her place for real and take them all…’

  ‘I don’t even know why we’re talking to her. There’s no point. She’s gonna die anyway. Let’s just go home.’

  This one resembles a blob fish, gooey and puffy. Round bulbous nose and cheeks, beady little eyes, and huge puffy lips set in a frown. It’s as if God mashed some putty around and made sure it was as depressing as possible before it dried.

  ‘Shut up, Sadler,’ a seething voice sneers. ‘Why are we here?’ The ugliest hairless cat’s head I have ever seen comes forward. Naked, wrinkled skin set in an expression of simmering rage. Its evil, pissed off cat-eyes churn with fury.

  ‘I say you let me take her for a spin. I’d love to try this one on for size. So pretty…’ The next one ascends so slowly; it really ups the creep-out factor, as if that’s necessary. It’s octopus-like. Eight tentacles frame the face and its massive forehead. Round bubble eyes set back into folds of skin. He floats right up to my face and stays there.

  ‘Everyone knows the pecking order, you idiots,’ an evil whisper. ‘And I’m first in line.’

  I don’t know what the one meant by ‘trying me on,’ because Levi tells them all to shut up. By this point, he is clear of the cliff and hovering above my head. He has a long snake body. Human-like arms and legs, albeit long and spindly with giant bat wings. The heads are attached to long dragon necks. He’s a flying serpent with seven heads, two wings and two arms and legs.”

  “Holy shit,” I say wide-eyed. “What did he say?”

  “So, he lands on the open rock in front of me. He’s huge. Each head was about my size, so you can imagine. They all keep floating up to me. Intrigued, hungry, and awaiting their master’s consent. Levi tells them to back off, and they drift away. His face comes within two feet of me. He tells me not to give you the staff. Says if I do, bad things will happen.”

  “What bad things?”

  “Oh, you know, condemned to Hell for eternity.”

  “What? Then I’ll find a different way.”

  “No, Lyv, you don’t.” She takes off her wooden snake necklace and hands it to me. “I can take care of myself. Heaven and Hell are between me and God. Not Levi, no matter what the asshole says.”

  “So, this is it?” I ask, examining the wooden pendant. “How does it work?”

  “Besides the cryptic scroll, there aren’t instructions. It’s up to God, I guess. How it works, when it works. Regardless, it works. You just have to figure it out.”

  Boy, does that sound familiar. “Okay. Dark Shire next,” I announce, inspecting the piece. Another Holy Relic to add to the collection.

  “Brooks, are you going with her?” she asks.

  “I don’t think you should, Brooks. I really think you should stay here. I’ll be fine. Trust me, Levi does not want to kill me.”

  “Just take you to Hell for eternity,” he replies, inspecting his hat again.

  “I can handle Levi. I can’t put you in unnecessary danger.”

  “So you’re going, Brooks,” Lani says, brushing her hands together in an ‘okay, that’s settled’ kind of way.

  “Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “I swear if anything happens to you, I’ll be pissed.”

  “You’ll get over it,” he says, hopping off his stool and meandering to the doorway where we say our goodbyes with hugs and prayers to keep safe.

  “Do you wanna catch the train back, or do you want me to drive?”

  I think about it. The train is fast but has stops along the way. Plus, his vehicle isn’t exactly street legal. We’ll get there in no time. “How about you drive?”

  “I figured,” he replies as he lopes around the villa.

  The garage is at the east side of the establishment. We pop in a Sandie Roadster made for both beach and land. It’s a cross between a sand buggy and Jeep. We head up north. It’s dusk. The vehicle moves about as fast as the Camocar. Should only take about an hour to get there.

  “I’m not looking forward to this,” I say, watching the scenery darken.

  “How come?”

  “It’s just been awhile.”

  I choose not to divulge the real reasons.

  26

  Dusk abruptly turns to black as the tree line descends. Anxiety mounts. This isn’t just a drive-through like last time. I have to go to the house. I haven’t been there in quite a bit. I usually meet Shane in other shires because we travel so much. I have a hard time going back there.

  I’m impressed Brooks remembers the turns after so many years. Soon, we pull up to the vast homestead. A cobbled Petoskey stone walkway twists between trees and vegetation toward the massive structure. The house is constructed with aged brick and log. It’s a Victorian-style mansion.

  Beyond the structure lies an extensive backyard. Actually, garden. Flowers bloom year-round. A maze is sewn through the blossoms. This walkway is made of black onyx. It gleams in the lunar supplied lighting. Past it there is a small wooded area, where a path through the trees opens to a very large lake with snow-like sand also found in Turquoise.

  We round the bend into my backyard when I hear it. The first chords of “I’ll Be,” a song by Edwin McCain. It’s our song—Levi and mine. This time—a different take. Same soft notes with a malicious twist. The chords strangle me. The melody is an impatient phantom serial killer who’s been hiding out for an uncomfortably long time.

  I motion for Brooks to stay back but follow. I continue around the bend.

  “Levi, that’s low even for you. And you’re, you know, the one and only ‘Lucifer.’” Punctuating the last word with air quotes, I come to stand in my parent’s giant backyard. There’s a massive porch that runs out into another made of wood and onyx but mostly stonework. Petoskey cobblestone walls pave the ways. The garden’s spiral maze of flowers and vines swirls around the center—a giant marble archway. Statues adorn the pergola as well as benches.

  He’s leaning against a sleek, plush black lounger, guitar in hand. He starts strumming the chords for “Always Remember Us This Way” from A Star Is Born, 2018. Another one of ‘our’ songs. Given we have a few, these are heavy hitters.

  He goes back to “I’ll Be” and sings a few lines.

  I stand arms crossed. Not amused. “You’re not supposed to be here. In fact, you’re supposed to be in Hell. I’m meeting you there. Remember...” I say slowly, wide-eyed with a measured nod.

  “Oh, I remember, Lyvs, looki
n’ forward to it,” he replies with an upbeat strum.

  “Ugh.”

  “You’ll like it.”

  “K. Anyway, why are you here?”

  “Well, thing is Lyvs, I need to make sure you don’t get something that’s in that establishment right there,” he says, using his golden guitar pick to point at my parent’s grand manor.

  “Levi, just leave,” I state, hands on hips. “You know you can’t go in there. Now I actually know why you can’t go in there. So get out of here.” When we were together, Levi always had an excuse not to enter the house; now I gather, it’s because the abode is blessed.

  “Maybe I can’t go in, but I can get someone else to…”

  “Hey Brooks, come on out,” he speaks to the darkness.

  Brooks immediately does. I’ve seen this show before. It’s bad. Now that I know he’s the Devil Incarnate, I’m terrified for Brooks, who currently stands awaiting Levi’s next command.

  “Brooks, can you do me a huge favor?” Soft high picks on strings. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Somewhere in that house there’s a pair of hockey skates. I'm gonna need those. Ya think you could do me a solid?”

  “No problem, man,” Brooks says, thumbs tucked in pockets. “You got a starting point?”

  “Lyvs?” Levi says, looking at me, eyebrows raised. “Upstairs? Downstairs?”

  I start to answer him honestly. Words compelled by truth. Powerless. “They’re in the—”

  That’s when the thorned crown does her thing. My hair tie stretches to a jagged wreath atop my head.

  “Wow. Haven’t seen that in what? About 3,000 years,” Levi says, still cradling his guitar. The music has ceased.

  “Didn’t bode too well for the last guy who wore it.” He strums Doobie Brothers, “Jesus Is Just All Right with Me.”

  “Neither did those.” He nods to my feet without looking up.

  “Brooks, go wait for me over there,” I say, pointing to a bench. “I’ll be done here shortly.”

  He starts to turn.

  “Brooks, don’t move,” Levi says, playing Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now.”