The Elder Prophets (To Absolve the Fallen Book 2) Page 5

  “Well,” Jeremiah added, “if they don’t move faster, they’ll be slaughtered.”

  As Jeremiah completed his sentence, Matt saw demons of different sizes and shapes pouring onto the road right behind the armored car. One yellowish-green demon with eight appendages pounced on top of the truck. It looked to be a cross between a human and a spider. It clung to the top of the vehicle with six of its legs, and, with the other two, it pounded on the driver’s side window. Matt was amazed when it apparently succeeded in shattering the bullet-proof glass. It pulled the driver out and threw him to the ground. The truck swerved out of control and plunged into a ditch along the side of the road. It stopped, and demons swarmed over it.

  “Oh my God,” Matt said. “They’ve taken it.”

  “I see that,” Jeremiah agreed. “With any luck, this will give us enough time to get away.”

  “What about them?” Elizabeth yelled at the demon in horror.

  “There isn’t anything we can do for them,” Jeremiah responded coldly. “Do we have air support?”

  “Air support?” Matt asked, thankful for a reason to draw his gaze away from the window.

  “To get us out of here,” Jeremiah added. “Vienna belongs to Metatron. We won’t be safe anywhere in the city.”

  “No,” answered Matt. “No air support.”

  Jeremiah was silent for a minute. Matt looked back out the window. The armored car and the demons were becoming smaller from the distance. None of the demons were pursuing. There now seemed to be no immediate threat.

  “Munich is about 270 miles away,” Jeremiah said finally. “If we can make it that far, we have friends in Germany.”

  ***

  Alex was cold and alone. He saw and heard nothing. He yelled for God, for Jeremiah, for Matt, but there was no answer. He wondered if he was dead—or dying. He felt something hard beneath his feet, but, when he looked down, he saw nothing. He flailed his arms around to find some kind of support. His hands didn’t touch anything of substance.

  “Where are you?” he yelled. There was only the echo of his own voice. “What should I do, now?” Again, the only sound that returned to him was that he had sent out into the nothingness.

  So, he walked.

  It seemed like he had walked for a very long time, and, though he didn’t feel any physical fatigue, he did want to stop. He was frustrated. He had done what he was supposed to do, what God had told him to do, and he was sure that this was a direct result of his duel with Metatron. But it felt like he was being punished.

  “Okay,” he yelled once more, “I’ll wait right here. And, when you decide that the time is right, get me out.”

  He sat down, pulled his knees up close to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them in an attempt to conserve heat, but it didn’t seem to work. Hoping that motion might make things more bearable, he rocked back and forth. Nothing.

  He wondered what had happened after he entered the cloud. Had they won? Had any of the other prophets survived? He hoped so, and even though he didn’t know if God could hear him or would respond, he prayed that they had—especially Elizabeth. He still had a longing for her. Even if his love would never be requited, he wanted her to be safe and happy.

  Maybe, he considered, he was inside Metatron. Maybe the demon had overpowered him. After all, Metatron had threatened to take his soul. Perhaps, this is what it felt like when a demon captured one’s spirit. That didn’t seem right, though, because he’d felt the cloud retreat. Nevertheless, he was cold and alone. Emptiness, he decided. He felt extreme emptiness.

  Then, for no reason he could explain, he started to feel warmth. It was only a little bit, but he was warming up. A voice from all around him said, “I’m here, Alex. You’re safe now.” He couldn’t make out whom the voice belonged to, but he reached out to it, anyway. With his mind and heart, he sought the friendly voice out. As he could feel himself getting closer to it, he realized that he was no longer in the same place.

  ***

  “Shouldn’t you do something about Alex?” Elizabeth asked after about ten minutes.

  “Yeah,” Jeremiah agreed. “I guess we’re far enough away. Matt, come up here, and take the wheel. You’re just going to stay on the Autobahn. This is A1; we won’t get on A8 for a while. The speed limit is seventy-five miles per hour; don’t deviate. Getting pulled over would be a bad thing. Do you think you can handle this?”

  “Sure,” Matt said. “Jeremiah?”

  “Yes.”

  “I feel...” Matt felt the words he had been thinking about were inadequate. “It’s just that Lao Shi and all those mercenaries...”

  “Matt, it isn’t your fault,” Jeremiah explained. “You didn’t kill them. You didn’t hire them. If Alex and I had not been saved, they would have eventually died anyway. Metatron claimed that he would have let everyone at the mansion live and continue working, but it was a lie. I had worked for him for too long to believe such an obvious flaw in tactics. Letting the rest of you live, with or without me and Alex, would have been suicide or, at least, a nuisance. If you had not gone to the lengths you had, the world would be in grave danger.

  “Metatron has been fighting to control the world for a long time now, and he has eliminated, converted, or assimilated most of his previous foes. That mansion and the people who inhabit it—the ones who fight with me—are about the only beings who stand between him and his goal. If Alex or I would have joined him, or if we would have died, the war would have eventually been lost.

  “The demon hunters are too disorganized. Normal prophets are too weak. And human society has already been too corrupted by the workings of demons to know the difference. Few demons would even consider fighting against Metatron, and almost none of them would ever fight for me. I have been branded a traitor in demon society, and I am not trusted in the prophet society. Nevertheless, I am a necessary evil. It will take people like you, Liz, and Alex to persuade the other prophets to see my point of view. Moreover, we are going to need all of the human support we can get. I will gladly sacrifice everything to protect the three of you—for the sake of everyone else. And I ask you to do the same.

  “As far as Lao Shi,” Jeremiah continued with a sigh, “I can only assume it was part of God’s plan. I wish he would not have stepped in front of Metatron, but none of us can do anything about that now. Losses are just something you will have to learn to accept. And you will have to learn to trust those of us who should know what we’re doing. Lao Shi believed there was hope for saving your lives through his sacrifice. Whether or not it made any difference, he did try.

  “I expect you to mourn in your own way, Matt, but this is not the time. We all have to get out alive. Then, you can punish yourself all you want. But do try to remember that it wasn’t your fault, and it did have to happen.”

  “All right,” Matt conceded.

  Jeremiah motioned for Matt to come up to the driver’s seat. “Remember: the cruise control is set for seventy-five—no faster or slower, unless you just have to.”

  Matt nodded, but then said, “I thought there was no speed limit on the Autobahn.”

  “On some parts there isn’t one; this part has a speed limit. I don’t know what the chances are that we would get pulled over, or that there is even a police officer out here, but if Metatron has given our description to the authorities and ordered them to arrest or kill us, the jig is up.”

  When the switch had effectively been made, Jeremiah knelt down next to Alex. He closed his eyes and put his hand on the prophet’s forehead.

  “He’s in there,” Jeremiah observed, “but he’s far away.”

  “Can you do anything?” Liz asked.

  Jeremiah peered up at her. “I’m glad to see you’re starting to show concern for him.”

  Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to play any games with you, Jeremiah. I am concerned for him. And I admit that you were right about his power. When he wakes up, I’ll apologize to him, but I won’t apologize to you.”

&nb
sp; Jeremiah shrugged his shoulders. “Fair enough.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Then, this is what you will do in the interim: hold his hand, and talk to him.”

  “What?”

  “What’s the problem, Liz?” Jeremiah inquired. “He needs human contact. I’m not human, and Matt’s driving. Warmth. Compassion. Is that too much to ask?”

  Elizabeth looked at the demon with apprehension. Then, she looked down at Alex. He looked so peaceful lying there. It was hard to conceptualize that he had just been in mental combat with the most powerful demon known to exist. She picked up his hand in hers. It was cold to the touch. She looked to Jeremiah, and he simply nodded his head. She rubbed Alex’s hands between her own to warm it up.

  Elizabeth bent down next to his ear and whispered, “I’m here, Alex. You’re safe now.”

  Then, she began to feel light-headed. Part of her wanted to let go of Alex’s hand, but something else was stronger and commanded her to hold on.

  As she fell unconscious and pitched forward, Jeremiah caught her. He laid her gently down on the floor of the van. He held one hand over Alex and one over Elizabeth and closed his eyes. He opened his eyes and smiled.

  “What’s happening?” Matt asked concernedly, looking over his shoulder.

  “Watch the road,” Jeremiah commanded.

  The demon got up off his knees and sat down in the passenger’s seat next to Matt.

  Matt looked over at him. “Did you know that was going to happen?”

  “I thought it might,” Jeremiah returned with a grin.

  “She was right,” Matt concluded. “You are a monster.”

  Chapter 3

  Love is, perhaps, the most perplexing gift God has given us. It simultaneously makes us weaker than we could have ever imagined ourselves being and strong enough to face almost any obstacle. The first human love we feel comes from a protector and provider. The next comes to us from mentors and friends. And, finally, we become able to find one special love that transcends all of the others. That paramount love drives us mad with desire when we can’t have it and puts us into a state of serenity in the times it is most apparent. Some find it in a person, some in a way of life, and some find it only in themselves. All too often, I have been told that God is all-loving. I counter that God is all love, and, no matter what we do with the life we are given, we will spend it worshiping Him.

  --Abigail Martin, Through the Eyes of a Martyr

  Alex found himself standing at what looked to be a birthday party. He looked around at everyone present, and he saw mostly children. There were a few adults, but, for the most part, it was a party designed for the celebration of youth. There were bright colors, streamers, pointed birthday hats, and games. In the center, there was a table with a cake; around the table, children were crowded to witness the party’s climax—blowing out the candles. Alex moved closer to get a good view.

  A little girl with delicate, silky-looking, brown hair stood, as the center of attention, poised over the table. She was careful not to get anything that might be on the table on her pale, pink dress. Two cameras flashed in unison as she blew on the cake as hard as she could. Six candles extinguished simultaneously, and Alex couldn’t help but smile when the crowd of children erupted.

  “Elizabeth,” he reasoned softly. He was aware that, as in his visions of Matt, no one would be able to hear him.

  And he was right. The children ran all about him—and, disturbingly, through him. All of the kids seemed to be having a great time, except the birthday girl. She stood by the table as the cake was being cut. She looked sad, alone, apart. A man and woman stood on either side of her. The woman was tall and slender. She, like Elizabeth, had long, flowing, chestnut-colored hair and, as Alex could see from closer inspection, green eyes. The man had a hard look to him. The features on his face were sharp, and his hair, a lighter shade of brown than the woman’s, was thinning. The woman was cutting the cake, and the man looked on.

  “Elizabeth,” the woman said, “which piece would you like?”

  “I don’t care,” responded the girl.

  The man kneeled down next to her and put his hands on her shoulder, turning her to face him. “Liz, honey, aren’t you happy?”

  “Yes, daddy,” she replied shortly, without any real emotion.

  The woman stroked Elizabeth’s hair. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  The girl just shook her head, as if to dismiss the question. She looked to the ground to avoid looking either of them in the eye.

  “Oh, Liz,” the woman pleaded with a patient sigh, “tell me what’s wrong.”

  “When this is all over,” Elizabeth began, “my friends are going to go home. Daddy’s going to go home. And we’re going to be all by ourselves again.”

  “Ah,” the man said, “I’m sorry, Liz.”

  “No, you’re not,” Elizabeth corrected.

  She twisted free of both of them and walked into an open sliding glass door behind them, closing it softly behind her. She peered through the door at her parents for a moment.

  “C’mon, Liz,” her father begged.

  Alex watched as Liz pulled the party hat off her head and threw it onto the ground. The parents just watched her, silently. She shook her head, turned, and walked out of sight.

  “Looks like I messed things up again,” Liz’s father said after a moment of silence.

  “Yes, it does,” her mother returned with cool spite.

  The man looked at the woman, stunned, then looked to the table. “I didn’t do this by myself.”

  “What?” she asked, putting the knife on the table. She turned to him and put a hand on her hip. “What didn’t you do by yourself? You didn’t work sixty hours a week for four years by yourself? You didn’t bone some woman from the health club by yourself? Was there someone else there with you, Andrew? Was it a ménage a trois?”

  “Her name is Debby.”

  “I don’t give a shit what her name is,” Elizabeth’s mother hissed at him, exasperated. “You have completely missed the point. You cheated on your wife and your daughter. This woman has two kids for godssake. You are going to pay child support for Liz, no matter how many more kids you pick up. And, you know what? No matter how many birthday parties you go to, you are still going to be a fuck-up. You single-handedly broke this home, and nothing you can do will ever make it right again.”

  “You think this was all my fault? Where were you when I needed someone to talk to? Our marriage started dissolving the day she was born,” he said, indicating the house. “After that, nothing I did was ever good enough. Was it, Pam? You can’t seriously accuse me of overworking when it was needed to afford insurance for the three of us and daycare for Elizabeth.”

  Liz’s mom smacked Andrew so hard that the force sent his head backwards. “Don’t you dare blame this on her. Get off my property!”

  The once-bustling party became silent. Everyone’s attention was directed at the two arguing parents. Alex saw a flash of pink from an upstairs window of Pam O’Dell’s house, indicating that Elizabeth had seen the display, as well. The figures around him began to blur and coalesce into shadows.

  ***

  Yuri Novikov admired the group of young ladies who surrounded him. The rest of the crowd was edifying, but the women were whom he sought to please the most.

  “Now,” he began in Russian, “I present pure bliss.”

  Everyone in his loft apartment was held in suspense. Yuri’s forte was for having—actually, creating—the best drugs in Russia. His youthful appearance, his charming demeanor, his extravagant style, and his charisma made him an idol for the other young men who worked for him and a mysterious figure for the lust of the girls who could always be found trailing behind him.

  He was very vain about his appearance, constantly buying new clothes, finding new hair products, purchasing designer shoes that he’d wear once and throw away. He stood fairly tall at a few inches over six feet. He had a relatively tan complexion in relation to most of his Russia
n friends. His body was slim and toned, but not overbearing like a body-builder. Everyone adored his hazel eyes. The hue of his normally short-cropped hair changed from week to week—sometimes including several very bright and gaudy colors, indicating a sense of rebelliousness. (Today, for instance, his hair was lime green.)

  Any eccentricity he might have had was quickly overlooked in the face of his captivating presence. He always knew the right things to say. His laugh was intoxicating. His jokes were always witty. He was always up-to-date on world events, but he rarely ventured to state an opinion on politics or religion. The definition of cultured, Yuri could be found commenting on many subjects of interest from wine to popular entertainment. People flocked from all across the country for a chance to be his friend—even if only for just one unforgettable night.

  For these reasons and more, his fans had noticed and almost begun to worship him, but the drugs bought their undying affection.

  In Russia’s black market, Yuri was a bit of an enigma. No one knew who funded his exploits, where he got the resources to make his products, or who protected him. On more than one occasion, a mafia boss had thought of taking Yuri’s business away from the teenager—perhaps kidnapping him and forcing him to work as slave labor. But something always stopped them. In fact, many of them had been found dead. After a couple of years of this, Yuri was untouchable. No one even bothered to try slowing his progress. However, that didn’t keep them from wondering about, spying on, and backbiting the young man’s endeavors.

  Yuri’s name could even be heard in aristocratic circles. It seemed that everyone wanted to know who he was and what he was doing. But, for all their wondering, it was clear that the people of Russia were only going to know what the young Novikov wanted them to know. As of yet, that wasn’t very much.

  Yuri pulled out a vial and beckoned two girls to stand close. “Hold out your hands,” he told them.