Jump: The Fallen: Testament 1 (6 page)

“Hello sunshine,” it was the first thing Kelly said to me. I was sitting in the SCA Quad, ignoring the afternoon drizzle, brooding over some failed farce of a Compliance 101 test. Her voice cut right through my scowl.

Her face was like the sun, popping through the Northwest Quarter’s gray—anyone who met her dropped what they were doing to bask in it. Her light was so beautiful that you couldn’t look directly at it. It blinded me for sure.

After that, I was like an idiot. “Yes, I would love to go, whatever you think, sweetie.” Total dumbass with a dick—Kelly’s bitch.

To tell you the truth, I liked it. I’m pretty sure she did too. I had someone who would listen to me rant about nothing, and she had an injured bird with a broken wing to fix. She let me spin out of control about the State and Protection until we were both exhausted from it. Then she would snuggle next to me and rub my chest while we pretended to watch the PIN. It was all I wanted—someone to listen. It didn’t last long.

After I ran, Kelly was the only place I could go to escape the feeling that Protection had simply been a vice, slowly tightening around its citizens. When I finally looked at it, they all strained and struggled and crammed against each other, until every once in a while one of them popped and went on a crazy rampage. Trouble was, none of them were crazy. I never realized that before.

Another “ism” my father used to deliver—you pile enough rats together in a cage, start starving them and stressing them harder each day. . . “Violence, rape, murder, cannibalism—as sure as the Devil,” he would say. I had no idea how he knew that. I found out later.

But PIN made the incidents sound like just another mentally-disturbed nutbag. They ran the footage over and over again until we all begged for anything that would make us safe.

Those of us that had a clue knew that today’s escaped “nutbag” was yesterday’s “guest” at the
Fifty
.

I’ll get to the
Fifty
later. Right now, the mere sight of Kelly makes me want to go off on an anti-State conspiracy rant. But as fast as she shows up, she’s gone, and I’m falling again.
Shit!

The images on my descent only fuel my rage.

— XIII —

AS DEJECTED AND broody as Dal ever got, he was an eternally arrogant and self-centered archangel. Leaving the crowd of angels in the arena—the light and the adoration of followers—to her? Alone? He flew back from the fiery lake, ran through the dungeons of the two heavens, and burst back into the center of the arena. One last round before the end of the soul’s fall.

And the Arena of Reckoning echoed with the anger of his words. The faithful remained perched. But as deep as his rage ever became, Life’s restraint as she plotted was deeper. Hers was a patient wrath. The weight of the blood on the broken wings of the past helped her endure his insolence. Even that would only carry her contempt so far.

Dal stared into the fall, remembering his own tumble from grace. “Time waits for no man . . . or angel.”

“We have a few moments,” Life said. “Time is—”

“The relativity of it always seems so eternal,” Dal said. “Only in the confusion and seeming endlessness of their fall do they realize the seconds they have wasted. That is one of the nuances you do not comprehend. He reminisces of fine wine and sweet women, yet burned his years in the rage of fire. While you cannot, I understand this sentiment perfectly.”

“And now you masquerade at philosophy,” Life said. “Many names have you labored under since our time, my Day Star, but philosopher?”

“And by any other name,” said Dal, “I am no longer your—”

“You are what you have always been,” Life said, her hair now waving and moving on its own. “Condemned to be ruler of the darkness at your own request.”

Dal ignored her. He looked at the fall. This one would be his. “Only in the fall do we recognize how wickedly you have condemned us.”

“The end of this life is not the end of life,” she said. “It is simply the next step in the journey toward faith. A journey you must set on willingly.”

“Then there is no purpose in your eternity,” said Dal. “Save for suffering at your hands, once again. I think I understand something more clearly now. You enjoy bringing suffering first. You masturbate to their lament before you will allow them to be saved.”

Life hung her head. “How I could have spawned such a. . .?” she said. “How have you become such a vile creature, such a lawless liar? End this now and come back as—”

“As your
what
?” Dal asked. “Your slave? I am what you made me, cast out and impaled on the sharp spike of your love.” He kept his gaze on her, and pointed to the fall. “The love you pretend to have for them. I am that I am, because that is what you commanded. Blood-flowing and rage-filled revenge. And you . . . you are neither sorrow nor joy. You are simply absence. No pain, no sorrow, nor sweet misery of judgment and redemption. Joy and love and ecstasy do not exist without these things. You are not joy. You are the absence of lament. And that is emptiness. I will have none of it.” He gazed back to the final stages of the fall. “Neither will he.”

— XIV —

A FEW MORE floors rush past me—ten maybe. I don’t take time to count, because I’m getting really pissed off now. This fall is taking forever. I know the street will splatter me, so I’m just wondering . . . what’s the goddamn point?

Flashes of life? Purgatory? That’s just electro stimulus to the brain as it shuts down—sputters to a stop like an old guzzler’s engine that won’t turn off when you pull the key. I know I’m dreaming, none of this is real. Don’t ask me how I know that. But if this
is
the flashes of my life. . .

Kelly and my wedding and marriage fly by. Then our first house and I know where I’m going from here. Shortly after that, things fell apart. Almost as fast as this fall.

Then I jolt to a stop. More like a slam, really. And it’s raining outside and I immediately recognize where I am. Doesn’t take much. Contempt-filled doctors, overworked, sunk-in-eyed nurses, and a huge angry orderly standing in the corner. I’m in a State Med-mart birthing room.

That’s what the hospitals turned into—assembly line chop-scrapers where they take citizens apart and put them back together, like mechanics wrenching on old, rusted guzzlers that nobody wants or needs anymore.

I look at the doctor—disgust and contempt written all over his face—and he forces a downturned smile at me. It’s easy to look at a citizen that way—you got too much of something, what’s the use in having one more?

I jerk my head toward the window when a huge bolt of lightning flashes, but it’s hard to hear the thunder over Kelly’s screaming, and then there she is.

Amy
. Bright, beautiful Amy, stretching her way out of Kelly’s vagina. I can’t watch it again.

I turn my head, but it doesn’t matter. The image was seared into my mind long ago. Kelly rips, she screams, and then there’s all the blood and then—who decided that childbirth had to be so brutal? I’m just glad as shit I never had to do it. I mean, it looks painful. And bloody? I’ve seen less guts when I field dressed deer.
 

Then the blood and shit comes and a nurse scoops all of it off the table, dumps it, and then asks me if I want to cut the umbilical. What? Like after all that deliciousness, I probably want some dessert.

“Hell no,” is all I can remember saying over Kelly’s whimpering. And then I’m queasy and the room spins. Or spun or something, but I feel the same sensation now. As real as it was when it
was
real. Then things go black.

— XV —

DAL WAS WILD now, and he shot fire from his wings. He longed for the warmth of the past. And the shimmer of the great hall could not quell his rage and regret. A lament for all time of a love cast overboard and drowned beneath the seas of blood he had spilled.

“Indeed,” he said to all in attendance. Soon they would all choose again. “Who did decide that bringing forth life should be so barbaric? Birth and death mimic each other. And to the woman you said, ‘I will greatly multiply your sorrow and your conception; in pain you shall bring forth children.’ ”

Life answered on impulse, “This was my judgment.”

“For the crime of tasting sweet fruit? You are right.”

Life stared into all of their pasts. How could her children have. . .? “I gave them the garden with very simple instructions. They succumbed to your temptation and—”

“I
should
come back and work for you,” said Dal. “I could never conceive of such unholy punishments. Your indifference to suffering is—”

“I could only ever show them the path,” Life said. “They must choose to follow it or—”

“Suffer the consequences,” said Dal. “My contempt for your children can only be matched by your own.”

“They will have suffering in this world,” Life said. “That is my Word.”

But Dal was too drunk on the fall. “Yes, yes, but
why
? Why must we
all
. . .?”

She spoke of her own law as simple fact, shooting it at him like arrows of guilt, “There comes a day . . . when all will be judged.”

Dal paused for a second and then shot some of her own words back, “And you shall wipe away all their tears and there shall be no more death, or sorrow, or crying, neither shall there be any more pain. . . . And yet I do not fear for myself and my position in this.”

“You should fear your deeds,” Life said to him. “For they shall be your judgment.”

Dal cawed a small laugh. “You are slow in keeping promises, as they understand slowness,” he said. “Your patience while they perish is cruel. Many will never come to repentance and redemption, certainly not this one.”

Her fallen angel was right about one thing, time was growing short. Life said, “You twist and turn the word to suit your own purposes.”

“And you do not?” said Dal. Then he pointed toward the fall. “
They
do not? . . . They twist and pervert, and justify everything they do by bastardizing your words to suit them. I will tell you what I fear. I fear that one of them will surpass my own contempt.”

“They seek only to understand,” said Life, “so they interpret the—”

“Who are they to interpret your words?” said Dal. “None are capable of this. You give me fifty from—”

“Theirs is to struggle to come to faith,” said Life. She would make one last attempt. “Yours is to come
back
to it.”

Dal ignored her. Counting silently in his head the legion of fallen clergy in his section of the grandstands. “I have more than that at my disposal already—little child-raping monsters. They are hideously disfigured after they fall.
I
can hardly look at them. None of them agree on what the Word means. They do agree on one particular point, though: eye for an eye. They have mastered this lesson.”

In the grandstands there was a cooing of agreement that could be felt throughout the faithful. As the two of them traded barbs, the power of the Word spiked through the inside of the Hallowed Hall as if it was being written before them. However, when it came to a battle of words, it was hard to debate with the current author.

“You have heard that this was said,” Life spoke, “but I have told you, ‘Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.’ ”

“Further hypocrisy,” cawed Dal. “You send your children to teach against your own words. The Word that came before them. You expect man to understand the nuances of that? They barely understand themselves.”

She needed to temper the growing flames. There was much more at stake than the contempt of one fallen angel, even if he was the darkest of them. “Then we must strive to . . . enlighten them.”

And a huge blast of light illuminated everything in the great hall. And angels screeched and covered themselves with their wings. And the steel in their wings glowed white from the bright and their armor reflected the truth of her Word.

He responded with an orange blast and filled the hall with a fiery flame of defiance. Then he let the smoke subside.

And as quickly as the two of them traded warnings, the hall was bathed in soft light and shadow again.

— XVI —

IF I WAS falling slowly before, now it feels like I’m speeding up. And a bright light blasts me and I close my eyes.

But my anger has turned to fear again, and I wonder what’s really at the end of all this. Heaven? Hell? What could possibly be worse than what I’ve already seen in my life?

The bad, that has to be next. The good was good enough and I’m happy to have seen most of it again. I could’ve done without seeing Kelly’s vagina ripped apart. Doesn’t feel like I get to pick and choose events, though.

I can feel them watching me. I know they are there. The question is, who are they and what do they want?

The Devil? God? Gimme a break. I’m not that important. And fighting for my soul? That’s just . . . silly.

“Hey,” I say. If they are out there. . . “Yeah, ‘vagina.’ I said it. It’s a word, deal with it. Could you hurry this thing up? I’m ready to see what’s next. Show me whatcha got.”

There’s just more nothing in reply. It's just what I thought. Total bullshit. I wish I could go back. I’d tell all those idiots on Sunday the truth about their faith.

I only wish I could have given some payback. As soon as I think it, I see the windows of the building again. Clear as day now. And here comes the bad.

I can hear the screaming down the hall and I know instantly who it is. Amy—our little angel—the only child who lived through our baby years. The other one? I don't even know what to tell you.

“Do I really have to do this?” I ask. I’m still not sure if this is just death hysteria or if there really is someone out there. Maybe I’m already splattered and this is some final thought, or impulse or some shit. “Please don’t make me go through this crap again?”

Or maybe I’m a vegetable in a cell at the
Fifty
, and Kelly is standing over me, feeding me blended-up carrots as I drool orange slime down my chin.
Kill me, please
. I wouldn’t ever want Kelly in that building.

I don’t even know what I’m saying. “Please.” That’s not me. Anyway, whoever is controlling this, they’re not listening. And it’s too late now, because I’m running down the hallway to our little girl’s bedroom. Kelly is right behind me.