Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (40 page)

The guy said, “C’mon, now.
 
I can buy you more liquor.
 
I just want to talk somewhere quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Matt retorted.

“What’s the matter?” the guy taunted.
 
“Didn’t you come here to meet a real man?”

Matt looked at him and furrowed his eyebrows, “What?
 
Can’t you find someone your own age?”

The guy grabbed Matt by the hair and looked as though he were about to hit him.
 
The bartender did nothing, and no one else at the bar did anything, either.
 
But they were all paying close attention.

A familiar voice from behind Alex interjected, “Hey, man.
 
It doesn’t look like the kid wants to talk to you.
 
Why don’t you leave him alone?”

Alex turned his head to see who had come to Matt’s rescue and, to his surprise, Jeremiah was standing there, smoking a cigarette and smiling, broadly.

The man, who had not let Matt go, turned and cast a withering glare at Jeremiah.
 
“And who the fuck asked you?”

“Aw, that’s not very nice,” Jeremiah responded, ashing his cigarette on the floor.
 
“Why don’t I buy you a drink, and we can be friendly.”

“Look,” the man replied, letting go of Matt’s hair.
 
“I bought this little shit alcohol; he drank it, and, the way I see it, he owes me a little.”

“I realize that,” Jeremiah returned.
 
“Now, how’s about I buy you a couple of drinks, and we call it good?”

“I think I’ll be happy if you just go away,” the man replied, turning back to Matt.

“If you touch him,” Jeremiah cautioned, getting very serious, “you will regret it.”

The man put a hand on Matt’s shoulder and looked at Jeremiah, defiantly.
 
“And what the hell are you going to do about it?”

Jeremiah dropped his cigarette on the floor, ground out the cherry, and smiled.
 
“Funny that you should mention it.”

With lightning speed, Jeremiah grabbed the hand that had once been on Matt.
 
With his other hand, Jeremiah palmed the guy’s face and bent him over backwards to slam the back of his head on the bar.
 
His head hit so hard that it rattled most of the drinks in the general vicinity right off, shattering the glasses on the ground.
 
Jeremiah, who still had the guy’s hand and face, backed away from the bar and turned once to face the dance floor with the guy still in tow.
 
It looked, to Alex, like Jeremiah was about to waltz with the guy (except, of course, that Jeremiah’s hand was on the guy’s face, not his shoulder).

Jeremiah said, “Now, this hand has gotten you into trouble.”

Following that, there was a sickening series of cracks, and the guy let out a muffled scream.
 
Jeremiah released him and delivered a side kick that sent the guy flying into the dance floor, where he lay, unconscious.
 
Jeremiah turned back to the bar, and Matt was staring at him, wide-eyed.
 
Jeremiah just grinned and shrugged his shoulders.
 
He sat next to Matt, whose mouth hung agape.
 
The bartender and everyone else at the bar looked much the same.
 
When the demon dropped a couple hundred dollar bills on the counter, the bartender merely stuck them in his pocket and went to retrieve a broom.

“So what are you drinking?”

“Why did you do that?” Matt demanded.

“Hey,” Jeremiah said, motioning to the dance floor, “I warned him.”

“I suppose you want something in return.”

“Yes,” Jeremiah confirmed, “I do.”

“And you think that, because you kick some dude’s ass that I’m going to sleep with you.”

“No,” Jeremiah responded, examining Matt’s shot glass.
 
“I think that, because you don’t have much to live for, I might be able to give you something to fight for.”
 
He looked up at the bartender and, pointing to Matt’s empty glass, ordered, “Another Vodka.”

Matt looked at the bartender and back at Jeremiah.
 
“Fight?
 
I don’t fight.”

“Not yet.”

“Look at me,” Matt insisted.
 
“Do I look like a fighter to you?”

“I’ve done more with less,” Jeremiah responded, lighting another cigarette.

“That sounds more like a creative attempt to get into my pants.”

Jeremiah laughed.
 
“I don’t need to be creative to get into your pants.”

“Well,” Matt said, skeptically, “you’re going to have to do more than buy me a drink and tell me you’ll make a ‘scrapper’ out of me.
 
This sounds like a bad movie.”
 
Matt gave it some more thought and noticed that a drink had been placed in front of him.
 
“Or an opportunity for you to create a missing person.”

“Look, Matt, I don’t plan to kill you.”

Matt stared at him.
 
“How do you know my name?”

“I’ve done some research on you,” Jeremiah replied, nonchalantly.
 
“I know that you’re a long way from home.
 
I can’t blame you for running away.
 
I would have run away, too.
 
I know that your mother killed herself when you were six, and you were the one to discover the body.
 
I know that, until recently, you were being raised by a verbally, physically, and sexually abusive father whose only concern,” Jeremiah pointed to the drink, “was losing himself.
 

“I also know that you’re out of that money you stole from the gas station.
 
I know that you held the attendant at gun point, but the gun—your dad’s gun—was unloaded.
 
You were afraid something terrible might happen, and, as you have never fired a gun in your life, you thought it safer to make sure there was no threat.
 
I know that you dropped the gun in a dumpster outside, leaving your fingerprints all over the store and a traceable gun nearby.

“I know that you don’t plan to be alive by the end of your little excursion because the only reward you can find in life is in temporarily quieting your demons.
 
I’m giving you a chance to find purpose.
 
I’m giving you a chance to make something of yourself.”

Matt looked like he’d stopped breathing.
 
“Are you a cop?”

Jeremiah laughed.
 
“No.”

“Who are you?”

Jeremiah took a long drag on his cigarette and said, “I’m someone who has seen the darker side of life, like you, and I’m trying to turn it all around.
 
You may call me Jeremiah.”

Alex could hear his name being called.
 
He looked around, but he could see no one addressing him.
 
He felt himself being pulled out of this vision.
 
He didn’t want to go.
 
This had been a beacon of hope.
 
And, even though he knew what happened next, he wanted to see things work out for Matt.
 
But the pull was too strong, and the scene faded.

***

“Alex,” Abbie whispered in the his ear.
 
“Come back to us.”

Alex’s eyes fluttered.
 
His sight was blurred, but he could make her general figure out.
 
There were others standing around.
 
His vision cleared, and he could see that they had guns.
 
He could feel that someone was holding his hand.
 
He looked down, and he saw Matt lying, unconscious, on the floor.

“What happened?” Alex groaned.

“Your powers overtook you,” she said.
 
She then looked at Matt.
 
“And him.
 
Let go of his hand now.”

Alex did as he was told, and he sat up, slowly.
 
“Will he be all right?”

“I don’t know, Alex,” Abbie responded.
 
“Let these men take you somewhere else.
 
I have to try to find him.”

“Find him?”

“Yes,” Abbie verified.
 
“He’s lost in his past.
 
If I can’t do anything, he’ll have to come out of it on his own.
 
It was easy for you; you were just a casual observer.
 
This is something he’s lived.
 
If I can’t pull him away from it, and he doesn’t come away from it on his own, it could devour him.
 
Right now, the best thing you can do is let me work.”

Alex was carried out of the room by two of the guards.
 
The others followed shortly after.
 
Alex was laid on a bed, where he was encouraged to get some rest.
 
He looked over at the clock, and it read 9:45.
 
He was woken close to midnight by the sounds of Matt’s voice.
 
He jumped up out of bed and nearly collapsed from lightheadedness.
 
Guards, who had apparently been watching over him, picked him up and placed him back on the bed.
 
He refused to stay there.
 
He got up again and insisted that he be allowed to go into the other room.
 
They finally yielded and led him to the door.
 
They opened it, and Alex saw Matt lying on the couch that he, himself, had been laying on over two hours ago.

There were several people in the room.
 
Elizabeth and Marla were standing over Matt.
 
And there were four armed guards stationed in the room.
 
Abbie stood on the balcony, and she was talking to someone on the phone.
 
Her hand was on her side, and, though Alex couldn’t hear what she was saying, her tone sounded very irate.
 
Matt looked over to Alex and smiled uncomfortably.

“Matt,” Alex whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Matt said.

Matt smiled, but then he averted his eyes.
 
To Alex, it looked like he was hiding embarrassment.
 
Alex just nodded.
 
He, too, felt embarrassed.
 
He also felt that he was to blame for everything that had happened recently.
 

He shrugged off his guards and went back into the room.
 
He closed the door behind him and lay, sleepless, on the bed for two more hours.
 
By that time, it sounded like everyone had left.
 
He could hear the television, and he wondered if Matt was still there.
 
Maybe, he decided, it was someone else, and they had taken Matt back to the mansion to recuperate.
 
For some reason, he hoped that wasn’t the case.
 
Matt was the only friend he had now.
 
Though his thoughts were troubled, sleep soon took him again.
 
This time, there was no sign of God or demons.

I suppose one of the most motivating factors in any kind of movement is desperation.
 
We were desperate in our war against demons.
 
And they became desperate when they began to understand our plans.
 
The hearts of humans are weak.
 
We seek compassion, but we’re blinded by fear and ignorance.
 
We want equality, but we will not risk our individuality.
 
We crave companionship, but we often become attracted to those who are worst for us.
 
We want, so badly, to be able to trust others.
 
Demons know our faults.
 
They know these faults because they have fostered them throughout time.
 
I admit, the demons caught us all with a very old trick, and I paid dearly for my gullibility.
 
I blame myself for the death of an amazing prophet.
 
I regret not knowing Eva was that close; I would have sent her to Hell, personally.

--Abigail Martin,
Through the Eyes of a Martyr

The screech of the alarm clock ripped Alex from his dreams.
 
He sat straight up and pounded the offensive machine until it stopped.
 
His vision was blurry, and he had a foul taste in his mouth.
 
The events of the previous night had begun to come back to him.

“Matt,” he heard himself say.

“Yes?” came a voice from in front of him.

Alex’s eyes adjusted more, and he could make out Matt’s figure standing in his doorway.
 
Alex looked away when he realized that his victim was so close.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know,” Matt replied.
 
“It wasn’t your fault.
 
Your powers are still new to you.”
 
Matt laughed.
 
“Shortly after Jeremiah began training me, I nearly killed one of his guards, sparring with him.
 
I was moving so quickly that, when my fist made contact with his face, his head snapped back so fast that it broke his neck.
 
Jeremiah kept him alive somehow—or brought him back.
 
I don’t know what he did.
 
Anyway, I never heard from that guy afterward.”

“Wow,” Alex commented.
 
“I guess that it’s good that there are people around who can undo what we fuck up.”

“Not always,” Matt returned.
 
“Anyway, about last night.
 
What did you see?”

Alex looked around to see if there was anyone else in sight.

“Don’t worry, Alex.
 
We’re alone.”

Alex stared at Matt for a while before responding.
 
“I saw you.
 
I saw you as a little boy, and I saw your dad.”

Matt blanched.
 
“And?”

“You were so scared,” Alex answered quickly.
 
“I wanted to help you, but I couldn’t.”

Matt sighed, walked over to the bed, and sat down.
 
“He molested me until I was twelve.
 
Even after that, he would beat me, regularly.
 
I hated him.
 
But, at the same time, I loved him.
 
Does that make any sense?”

Alex looked away and nodded.

“No,” Matt stated.
 
“I can see that it doesn’t.
 
He wasn’t a good man, but he was all I had.
 
What else did you see?”

Alex looked at him, surprised.
 
He hadn’t thought Matt would want to go further.

Matt registered the confusion and continued, “Abbie told me that maybe we were put together for a reason.
 
I’ve been harboring this for a long time, and I wouldn’t mind having someone to talk to.”

“That Derek bastard...” Alex said after some time passed.

“Mmm...” Matt responded.
 
“Yeah.
 
He died in a car accident a year after he graduated from high school.
 
It’s funny how ghosts from the past never really die.
 
He never touched me again after that day.
 
But almost no one in that school would even talk to me.
 
It’s not good to associate with a fag.
 
I was only at that school for another year before I ran away from home.”

Alex remembered the conversation with Jeremiah.
 
“You held up a convenience store.”

Matt looked alarmed.
 
“Yes, I did.”
 
He paused for a moment.
 
“I thought I was going to go to the west coast.
 
I never made it anywhere close.
 
My money ran out around Kansas.
 
I was able to make—uh—some deals, and I got to Nevada.
 
There, I decided that I was tired of running.
 
I was going to get very drunk, find something tall, and jump off of it.
 
Before I could, Jeremiah found me.
 
I was sitting in a bar, and I had been drinking a lot--”

“Yeah,” Alex interrupted him, “I know.”

Matt laughed.
 
“Right.
 
I guess you would.”

“Matt?” Alex asked, suddenly.
 
“Do you love me?”

Matt looked away.
 
“I don’t know.
 
I don’t know how I feel.”

“I just...” Alex stammered.
 
“I want to be your friend, but--”

“But you aren’t gay,” Matt finished.
 
“Yeah.
 
I know.”
 
Matt got up and walked toward the door.
 
He looked back at Alex and sighed.
 
“You need to get ready for school.”
 
With that, he walked away.

Alex shook his head.
 
“Goddamit,” he muttered under his breath.

***

 
“And, if I don’t?” the balding, middle-aged man sitting across from Jeremiah asked.

“Then,” Jeremiah said, ashing his cigarette into the aluminum foil ashtray, “I will have to presume that you are—or soon will be—working for the enemy.”

“You don’t frighten me, demon.”

“You have worked for Metatron in the past,” Jeremiah added, ignoring the taunt.

Jeremiah looked around the 24-hour diner to see if anyone was eavesdropping.
 
Not that he cared if someone thought he might be a demon.
 
He had revealed his true nature in public places before, and he surely would again.
 
Of course, he had never left witnesses.
 
This time, though, he was concerned more about the possibility of spies.
 
He continually reminded himself who and what he was up against.

“I’m sure it has never occurred to you, Marcus, but you owe the Big Guy for your little gifts.”

“Really?” Marcus scoffed.
 
“And I guess you’re here to collect.”

“I won’t allow you to play both sides,” Jeremiah stated.
 
“You have to choose.”

“If I don’t choose you, you’ll kill me.
 
But, if I do, he’ll kill me.”

“I can give you safe haven.”

“Unlikely, Jeremiah.
 
You forget that numbers are my thing.
 
I know how both sides stand.
 
When he wins, he’ll take what you have.
 
If I’m there, he’ll kill me.
 
I choose to remain neutral.”

“I don’t need you to tell me how many demons he has,” Jeremiah said, patiently, as he snuffed his cigarette.
 
“I need you to tell me where they are.
 
Besides, you should know that this battle will not be decided by demons.”

“What part of ‘neutral’ do you not understand?”

Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed.
 
“Okay, you can help me understand something.
 
You knew I was coming.
 
Why didn’t you leave if you won’t help?”

“I need you to take a message to someone.”

“Right....”
 
Jeremiah laughed.
 
“I’m going to play the messenger boy as you blatantly refuse my request.”

Marcus glared at him.
 
“She would want to hear from me.”

“Who?
 
Abbie?”

Marcus was silent for a moment.
 
He looked into his half-eaten meal.
 
“Yes.”

Jeremiah’s eyes got wide.
 
“Do you really think she’s going to give you the time of day after this?
 
She was counting on your support,” Jeremiah lied.
 
Abbie knew nothing of this visit, but the bastard revealed his hand before Jeremiah had finished playing.
 
“She’s training the children I’m looking to protect, you know.
 
It was her idea to call upon you in the first place.
 
And, if you tell me where they are, I can begin exterminating them, one by one.
 
Metatron can’t win if he doesn’t have anyone to fight for him.”

“I’m sorry, Jeremiah.
 
I’ve seen what he can do.”

Jeremiah was starting to lose his cool.
 
“You have evidently never seen what
I
can do,” he growled.
 
“You listen to me.
 
I have been about as cordial as I can be, given the circumstances.
 
I need your help.
 
She needs your help.
 
Everyone else on this God-forsaken rock needs your help.
 
There is no safer place under Heaven than my compound.
 
And, minute by minute, you are making this restaurant less safe.
 
I could make you give me the information.”

Marcus stood up.
 
“No, you couldn’t.
 
Abbie made me immune to the mind games of demons for times just like this.
 
And you can’t kill me because you need me.
 
I will not go with you, but you can tell Abbie that I plan to pay her a visit.
 
Judging from recent demonic activity, I can guess where she is.
 
I’ll find my own way.”

Jeremiah suddenly understood.
 
“Yes,” he affirmed, looking around.
 
“I feel it, too.
 
They’re coming for you.
 
They must have found you through me.”

“I have to leave,” Marcus said, walking toward the exit in the back of the building.

“You can’t run forever,” Jeremiah told Marcus’s back.

“I have run for a very long time,” he answered.

Jeremiah sighed.
 
“Don’t worry,” he muttered.
 
“I’ll cover your tab.”

Within moments of Marcus’s exit, two figures with automatic rifles walked in the front door of the establishment.
 
People were screaming, diving under tables, running for the exits.

Well
, Jeremiah thought,
at least he did find two for me
.

Jeremiah walked out of the diner minutes later.
 
The morning air was cool and somewhat satisfying.
 
He was a little cut up, but not too badly.
 
He nonchalantly walked away from the building and looked around.
 
Jeremiah knew he wouldn’t be able to find Marcus again, but it didn’t hurt to look.
 
He lit a cigarette and got into his car.
 
His next stop was a two-hour drive from Baltimore.