The War in Heaven (7 page)

The mental picture that Bedillia was painting was horrendous. Tom wasn’t sure what to say, if anything. This had to be far worse than the fate he had been sentenced to. “What did you do?” he asked.

“What did I do?” repeated Bedillia. “I freaked out, that’s what I did. I cried and struggled, even as the demons led me to my chamber that even had my name inscribed on a crude plaque on the door. The turn of a large wheel caused the door to slide to one side. It must have weighed a ton. It was so thick. The room beyond the door was about eight foot on a side, with a bit higher ceiling. It was like a huge brick furnace. Near the back wall, a pair of heavy shackles hung from the ceiling, and on the floor beneath it was a big metal grate, upon which another pair of shackles was attached. There was a harsh yellow light coming from under the grate, and the smell was horrible. They dragged me in and placed my wrists into the shackles hanging from the ceiling. These weren’t shackles with a regular lock, oh no, these things clamped shut on my wrists like they were magnetized, then they welded themselves shut. I could hear my flesh sizzling like a piece of broiling meat, at least for a second. After that, all I could hear was me, howling in pain.”

Tom cringed. Why had he ever asked such a question? What could he possibly have been thinking of?

“And those shackles had a bonus effect,” continued Bedillia. “They were smooth on the outside but barbed on the inside. They dug into my wrists brutally. It took only a few seconds before blood was running down my arms. Then they shackled my ankles to the grate below, stretching me out, keeping me from moving back and forth. Only then did I look down to see the flames below me through a brick-lined shaft. Never had I seen such flames. They were bright yellow mixed with blue, and they swirled like they were in a whirlwind. Being dressed only in a short gray skirt and top, my skin was exposed to the heat. But something was holding the flames back for the moment.”

Bedillia paused.

“Really, it’s OK,” said Tom. “You don’t need to go on. I see why people don’t talk about it here.”

“No, I need to,” said Bedillia. “Sometimes I have to let it all out. Other people have to know about it. This experience is part of my life, so much a part of what I am now. There are still others there. Telling my story is telling theirs as well. Others have to know.”

Tom decided not to respond.

“Here is something that might interest you,” interjected Bedillia. “You could appreciate this more than most. Satan told me that the flames that I would be tormented by were flames of plasma.”

“Good Lord,” gasped Tom. “That would be an incredibly hot flame, much hotter than most normal flames.”

“Yes, like I said, I thought you might appreciate that. Satan said that the flame had to be carefully controlled otherwise it would burn my body to cinders…and his entertainment might be cut short.”

Tom gazed into Bedillia’s eyes. He was certain that he could see a trace of madness there. It sent a chill up his spine.

“Satan went on about my being positioned at the very most intense core of the flame. He said that if the rest of the furnace was that hot, the walls would be slowly eroded away by the heat, or something like that. Then he and the others departed. I heard the sound of gears, cogs, and wheels as the door was rolled back into place and sealed. I kept pleading for mercy again and again, but it did no good. Then there was a pumping sound. My ears popped, then the flames came roaring up toward me. I was engulfed in them in seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how it feels to be flame-broiled for eternity. I never knew the human body could feel so much pain … continually. There was no part of me that didn’t feel it. You prayed on that altar they put you on. I was so crazed with pain, that I couldn’t even think what prayer was. All I felt was a sort of unfocused regret. My very most primal instincts told me that I had to get out, but that was impossible.

“For years I hung from the ceiling with the flames roaring around me. I was stripped of my humanity, leaving little more than a mad pain-crazed beast. Then all at once the flames died away. At first the pain was little relieved. The glowing walls radiated back the years of stored heat. Slowly they cooled. I hung there for hours. After a time, I felt so very cold. Then there was a noise, the metal door moved, ushering in even cooler air from the corridor beyond. I waited. I heard voices; someone had entered my crematorium.”

“Mommy?” said a voice barely above a whisper.

At first I didn’t understand what was going on. I opened my eyes to see a young woman dressed in gray tattered rags like mine. At first it didn’t register in my mind who she was. Then my mind and heart opened and I saw her for who she was—my daughter Serena. I whispered her name.

“Yes, it’s me, Mommy,” she replied. There were tears flowing from her eyes. She was shedding tears for me. Then I saw who stood beside her … the very essence of evil, Satan.

“He reveled over his victory. He accused me of hardening my daughter’s heart. He told me that I was the reason she was here. He now had us both.

“I was in pain, a greater pain than I had even known in that furnace. I’d sentenced my own daughter to Hell. I cried, begged Serena to please forgive me. I belonged here, but not her, not my baby.

“Satan turned to my daughter, offering to give her time to vent her rage upon me, to punish me for what I’d done. Then came the greatest miracle she refused. She reached out and touched me on the cheek. She forgave me for all that I had done. She kissed me…asked me not to cry … told me she loved me. Where such mercy had come from, I cannot say.”

Bedillia sat on the bed beside Tom and started to cry. “After all that I had done, there was still love in her heart.”

Tom placed a trembling arm around Bedillia. Yet he said nothing.

It was almost a minute before Bedillia continued. “Satan seemed amazed, then enraged. He nearly demanded that my daughter strike me, but she refused. She stood with her arms around me, trying to comfort me. Then he pulled her away from me and threw her to the ground. My anger soared against him…the anger of a mother toward someone who had harmed her child. I didn’t care what he did to me. I screamed at him, demanded that he leave her alone. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore, I saw him for what he was… detestable, an abomination. I remember his hand going around my neck to strangle me. But he didn’t get far.

“My daughter rose to her feet and plowed right into him. She nearly knocked him off his feet. I wonder if any human had ever done such a thing to him, but my daughter did. She did it to protect me. Yet she was no match for his strength. He grabbed her and swung her around like an old rag doll. Then he declared his intention. He was going to sentence her to the Sea of Fire, to suffer forever adrift in its vastness … and I was going to have to watch through some sort of mystical portal. I would become a witness to the carrying out of my own daughter’s sentence.

“He dragged her from the furnace. I saw him take her to the precipice of a great cliff overlooking a sea like no other. It was a turbulent sea of blackness, flames riding on its surface. He tried to get her to beg and plead before him, but she wouldn’t play his game. She removed her sandals and walked right to the edge. I cried out to her. I told her how much I loved her, but I don’t think she could hear me. A moment later, I watched in horror as she cast herself from that cliff into a sea of burning, boiling oil. A moment later, I saw her in the distance. The currents were sweeping her out to sea. Her hair was on fire.”

Again Bedillia hesitated. “To her credit, know that she went bravely. I can say no more than that. As the door to my crematorium was closed and locked once more, as the flames returned to ravage me, my last thoughts were of her. The last of my humanity had perished. Or so I thought. In the
following year I was numb, not to the pain, I still felt that, but to my spirit. I was little more than a tormented animal, occasionally howling in the fire. I was all instinct and no humanity. Then one day the flames once more died around me. The chamber had not even had time to cool before the metal door opened. They entered…three angels of a kind I had never seen before, a group of dark angels. That was the first time I ever laid eyes upon Abaddon. He shattered my chains with his sword and took me from that horrible place. He brought me here where I have been ever since.”

Tom was hesitant to ask the next question. “But what about your daughter; Serena? What became of her?” He was unprepared for her beaming smile.

“She’s not here, Tom. She’s gone, saved from the torments of Hell by a true miracle. You see, Serena had encountered Abaddon many months before and in the process touched his heart. It was her love for this terrible sinner that brought Abaddon to rescue me. In rescuing me, he was fulfilling a promise to my daughter. Now she is practically a legend among us. She is the true author of this revolution. One life can change the course of the world and more. It has happened before.”

Tom was astounded. “But where is she, Bedillia?”

“Where she can do the most good. Where the greatest battle against the prince of darkness will be fought and won—Earth.” There was a pause. Bedillia smiled. “Now, are you ready to start to win your battle? Are you ready to walk?”

Tom nodded. There was more to Bedillia’s story, he was sure of it, but it would have to wait for another time. Right now there were more important matters to see to. With Bedillia’s help he rose to his feet once more. There was momentary dizziness. The room began to fade, but he refused to give in. No, he had things to do; he had no time to waste. He took several faltering steps, each more steady than the last. He was whole once again.

“This will be your room,” explained Bedillia, walking over to the far corner, and pushing aside the set of brown drapes to reveal some clothes hanging from a short rack, also brown. “I’ve prepared some clothes for you. The color brown is in this year. It was the rave last year too. Still, it is vastly preferable to that gray loincloth you’ve worn these past eighteen months. Nonetheless, it is still in there among your other clothes.”

“Why?” asked Tom. “Why would I ever want to wear that horrible thing again? It’s positively indecent.”

“We don’t waste anything here,” replied Bedillia. “I still have mine, and the top that went with it. Abaddon has asked that we keep them. Perhaps it is to act as a reminder of where we came from. Perhaps it is something that might come in useful some day, I don’t know. Go ahead and select something to wear. I’ll take some time and show you around. I’ll be just outside.”

Bedillia departed, leaving Tom to his selection and his thoughts. He sorted through the clothes. They appeared simple, but well made. A chill ran up his back when he discovered his old loincloth hanging among the other clothes. He quickly passed it by. Donning a brown vest-like shirt, a pair of long loose trousers, and a pair of sandals that looked almost Roman in design, he was ready to go. He was still a bit shaky as he turned around and prepared to head into this new world, but he wouldn’t let that slow him down. In his wildest imaginings he hadn’t envisioned being free again. Now he had been given a second chance. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes he’d made in the past. It was time for Dr. Tom Carson to join the fight.

A
nother set of rippling uneven stairs carved from the gray rocky floor loomed before Tom Carson. Bedillia forged on ahead. “Up, down, and all around,” he mumbled, as he followed Bedillia up the 23 steps. Yes, he counted them all. They had been walking for nearly an hour. At this point, Tom was totally disoriented. This place, this refuge, as it was called, was an enormous maze of branching tunnels and oddly shaped cavern rooms. Clearly, this fortress had been carved out of an already existing cave system. Still, such a project was a considerable undertaking, of that Tom was certain.

Tom was no geologist. He could not discern whether the preexisting cavern had been formed by running water or flowing lava. It was hard to imagine water flowing in Hell, but that in itself was not evidence one way or the other.

He had seen many side passages during his tour, entrances that were covered with drapes not unlike the ones that guarded the entrance to the small room where he had awakened. Bedillia explained that these were all living quarters of those who dwelled in the Refuge. Closed drapes should be treated as a locked door. The people of this small community had little privacy, but what they did have should be respected.

Along the way, he noticed an occasional small creature fly past him that looked like an overgrown insect. He had also seen them on the day of his deliverance. He still didn’t know exactly what they were, and Bedillia declined to talk about them beyond saying that they were sentries of a sort,
guarding the tunnels and inhabitants of the Refuge from those who would violate it.

He also encountered people mostly dressed in clothes made of the same brown fabric. Some carried bundles of what appeared to be sticks, others had earthen jars, while still others carried nothing. Many offered a friendly smile and a hello as they went about their tasks, whatever those tasks might be.