Well, I've finally gotten down to work and have finished Chapter 15! *CONFETTI AND FANFARE* There is a slight warning...okay a BIG warning I'd like to make note: This is a very graphic section, and if there are any small children, or impressionable children reading this now, please take them away. Reader Descretion is advised.

Chapter 15: Stop and Smell the Roses

The Master was quite enjoying his newfound converts, and the symbolism they represented in the “Greater Cause” as many of them called it. Soon there would be a world willing to change their ways against the “One” who came before him. He seethed with hate just thinking of him. It would give him great satisfaction to wipe every trace of His very name from the earth.

This following was quite the ride to power. Years ago he wouldn’t have even dreamed of this much power. The very supremacy coursing through his veins made his skin tingle with excitement. Oh of course he had been tempted to use it for his own pleasure, but the training and discipline that had gotten him where he was held him back from doing just that. But even times when he could the power was just so intoxicating he could barely contain himself.

Of course in those times he remembered the warning that overexerting these powers might cause him to loose them, or the following he possessed altogether, and that would make it ten times worse for him in the future. He heaved a sigh of regret at not being able to do just that and went on about his business, setting up the underground meditation room for another of his daily meditations. It was quite the best place for it, of the entire compound actually. The atmosphere it possessed channeled his thoughts to its height. At these times he thanked the demon who had given him these powers for also pointing out this place. It had been an abandoned cave when he had gotten to it, but soon it was transformed into what it was today.

The Master sat down and crossed his legs and began to drift off to other places, places he had not gone to in a long time. He drifted back to when he was just a teenager, slowly developing the powers that now worked themselves into the very fibers of his being. “Eustis? Eustis, where are you?” the voice of his aunt called. A kind hearted old woman, yes, but the devil was in her. She possessed everything the Dark One wanted to teach him. She had been a follower for quite some time, ever since she had encountered him with the Ouija board that now was in Eustis’ hands.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, “I’ve been looking all over for…Ah, I see you have found my divining board. Do you wish to see how it works?” He nodded and followed her to the kitchen from the barn he was hiding in. She lived on a farm, far away from the city, and the summers were perfect for his visits. This time she had prepared for him, specially putting up the pentagrams in her living room, taking her upside down crosses and hanging them above her door, the séance candles at the table and around her living room. It was perfect.

His mother would probably be hysterical if she found out about what his aunt dabbled in. “Now, you get it set up while I get the cookies I was baking. You know your Uncle used to hate me doing that?” she said while she was getting the cookies out of the oven, “I so worried him that one day he decided to leave.” Eustis listened, but only half-heartedly, for he was too drawn in by the board. It seemed to be calling to him. Just faintly at first, but soon it drowned out the sounds of his aunt all together. It seemed to be saying something to him, but it was very garbled and he couldn’t understand.

The sound of his aunt’s voice finally broke through the garbled message, “Eustis? Eustis, are you alright?” he nodded to her as she set the cookies down. Eustis smiled at her, and she smiled back. “Here,” she said, “let me show you how this works.” She took the board from him and set it in front of her. She began by closing her eyes and relaxed her palms on the glass. Right before Eustis’ eyes it began moving. He thought at first it might be his aunt making it move, but it was actually moving on its own. Eustis was about to take a step backwards, but his aunt began to speak.

“Eustis! Eustis, the spirits are speaking! They are saying that you are to become a great leader! I can feel the power that emanates from you!” A chill ran um and down Eustis’ spine. Never before had anyone said that about him. But somehow he felt this wouldn’t be the last. Eustis felt hungry and reached for one of the cookies. He took a big bite and the cookie melted in his mouth. For some reason it tasted funnier than the others.

“Do you like the cookies?” his Aunt asked. He nodded, and then said, “Yes, but they taste a bit funny.” She smiled devilishly and said, “That is because I mixed in the blood of a bat. It is a special sign of reverence to the Dark One. Do you know why Eustis?” He shook his head and put on a puzzled look of confusion and longing to know why, sort of a morbid curiosity . She began again, “This is because a bat flies through the night, searching for things to eat. It does its business in the dark, where no one can know what it is doing. Just in the way the Dark One commits his acts.”

Eustis nodded in understanding, and took another bite. He could feel the presence of something dark coursing through his veins with every bite. It felt good. He needed more. He took another morsel, and bit into it with a delicate touch. Oh, how this power felt! He was sure this might make him burst with satisfaction, but it was so hard to tell, he couldn’t help but eat another. By the time the sensation had died down again he realized he had eaten almost the entire plate of cookies.

His aunt only gave a delighted chuckle and got up to go back into the kitchen. “I imagine you are very thirsty. I’ll prepare a special drink for you.” She gave a very eerie, almost insane laugh, and went about making a pitcher of something that Eustis could not see. He wished this trip wouldn’t ever end, but of course he knew the time was drawing near. His mother would arrive at any moment and bring him away, back to their home. It was different now; he had asked for Mark’s old room, and unknowing why, his mother had granted his request; the very presence of being in that room made him feel strengthened by the Dark One. All of the time that he had spent perfecting his power was done in that very room.

As quickly as she had gone into the kitchen, Eustis’ Aunt came back in bearing a pitcher of a dark liquid, one that he couldn’t tell very well. She had brought two wine glasses, one for her and one for Eustis. She poured the liquid and toasted his glass. “To the Dark One; may he reign forever!” Eustis toasted in similar fashion, and they downed their drinks. He felt the surge of immense and awesome power flow through his veins, and he liked it.

“Bat’s Blood?” he questioned. “No,” she said, “Ox blood. It is much more potent, the strong becomes weak, and the weak become strong. That is the way it is symbolized. We have now completed the ritual, and your mother is now here. Remember Eustis, the Dark One is with you, everywhere and anywhere. You just ask him for help and he will.” A wicked grin plastered her face, and it was infectious. Soon Eustis was wearing one. He gathered his things and went to his mother’s car.

The time going back to their house was short, and Eustis couldn’t wait to go back up to his room and practice the new things his Aunt had showed him. The power he felt was intoxicating, and it was his drug, his addiction. And he needed more; much more. He didn’t know exactly how to get it, but he felt a little experimentation couldn’t hurt. Quickly he gathered many supplies and sorted through them to find the right equipment to start his quest.

He built a small pentagram from nails and set it on his nightstand, he got a goblet from out of the supplies he found in Mark’s old bag. Eustis knew there was a bat that lived upstairs, and he went to kill it. When he reached the attic, it was sitting their, taunting him. Slowly he reached for it, hoping it wouldn’t spook and fly further into the attic, or out the window into the day, never to return.

Just as his hand reached the small creature, it spoke in a deep, animated voice, “Do not lay a hand on me Chosen One.” Eustis jumped back in fright as the bat continued. “I am a servant of the Dark One. I have a message for you from him. Do you wish to hear it now?” Eustis dumbly shook his head and listened to what the bat was saying. “My name is of no importance, but you should want to know how to increase your power. I can see it in your eyes; the lust for power, the exhilaration and the rush of pure evil coursing through your veins. Here is how…”

For the next hour the bat regaled how he could master the arts he would need on the quest he had been chosen for.  This pleased Eustis immensely, and wanted to know everything. Of course he asked if he could, but he got quite a surprise answer. “How DARE you ask for something like that!” the bat screamed, “You should know all too well that if I were to do that, then you would destroy yourself! You have a purpose; and selfish questions like that should not come up!”

Eustis backed up in fright, but he understood what the bat was saying. If he did get that power he would most certainly destroy himself with greed and ambition; and if he were to do that, then he wouldn’t fulfill his destiny. Suddenly he heard footsteps on the stairs behind him, and realized his mother was coming. Quickly he rushed to the window and opened it, allowing the bat to rush out, so as not to be seen. “Eustis? What are you doing up here?” his mother’s soothing voice asked. “Nothing mother,” Eustis replied, “I was…searching for something I thought I left up here.” “Well it’s time for dinner,” she said, “go and wash up. You can look for it later.”

Eustis nodded and went to wash up. If he was to continue his rise to power, he would have to never let his mother catch on what he was doing. While he was washing his hands, he realized that he was still wearing the pentagram that his aunt had given him; he would have to hide that in his drawer, or the safe, to insure that no one would find it. The secrets only a few knew were resting on this very knowledge, and if found out he could possibly die for it. And he couldn’t; at least, not yet.

“Master? Master. Master!” it was Melodee, bringing him out of his vision.

How had she gotten down here? Oh, of course. She had been with him when he had opened the door the first time. Of course he knew that she probably had come in when he forgot to lock the door. “Yes, can I help you Melodee?” he asked in a voice, dripping with power. “I was wondering if I could meditate with you?” she asked.

            “I’m sorry Melodee,” he began, “but I meditate alone. It usually helps me concentrate more. My thoughts are clearest when I meditate alone. However, I know that there are three people in the meditation room above us who would love to have you as a guest. They can show you how to meditate properly!”

            “Alright,” Melodee said with a sigh, “I will take your judgment at its worth. Will I see you later?” “Of course you will!” he said, standing up to usher her to the hallway, “Don’t worry, I always visit. If you do need anything else, don’t hesitate to find me. I’m always around.” He watched as she disappeared up the hallway and then he let out a sigh of relief. “That was close,” he said to himself, “I must remember to lock that door.” The Master went up the stairs and closed the door, locking it when it reached the frame. Walking back down, he crossed the floor to the alter he had erected to the Dark One. He poured himself a glass of bat blood and drank it swiftly, feeling the pure power of evil flow.

            Melodee walked down the hall to the meditation room, uneasy about leaving the Master. She couldn’t help but feel some sort of connection to him, and wanted to be nearer to him, even though he wanted to be alone. This feeling made her feel foolish, but that didn’t diminish the feeling. She slowly opened the door that revealed the three members the Master had talked about. She didn’t recognize any of them, and wondered if she could walk away before they noticed she was there.

            “How good of you to come Melodee.” Said the first one, “We’ve been expecting you.” This man was dressed in a black robe, one she hadn’t seen before. The other two were dressed in a red robe, as she was. “Come, sit down by us. We will teach you what we know of meditation.” Said the second; he was sitting to the left of the Black one. She thanked them for their kindness and then sat down, crossing her legs like she had seen them do.

            “Close your eyes exhale and clear your mind,” the first one said. The best thing to do when meditating is to have clear thoughts. You will relax, and your mind will be open for clear thoughts to enter. Many times meditation can help solve a problem that you’re going through.”

            The thoughts that raced through Melodee’s mind were directed towards the Master. She couldn’t believe the clarity with which they came. It was like she had a fresh start at thinking. But the thoughts didn’t stop there; they kept manifesting themselves one after another, changing from thoughts of the Master, to things she had no control over thinking, changing every second. Soon she couldn’t take it and she opened her eyes, gasping for breath.

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I HAVE IT! My pen name from now until eternity (so to speak) Is Phileas Tambov. A pleasure writing for you all.

~Phileas Tambov

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Chapter 14: Converting a Journalist

            The invisible force was still holding him to the couch. The Master walked around the desk towards him. “Let me tell you something Blagdon,” he said as he began to pace between the two officers and the safe, “If there is one thing I hate more than this opposition the puny infidels field, it is a traitor. You were weak minded to even think that I wouldn’t be ready. I have ways of knowing. And I am more powerful than even you know.”

            Breathing hurt and Blagdon could barely stay conscious to hear the reproach.  The words cut, but more than the pain that marred his chest and restrained his breathing was the fact that he had failed the coup d’état that was almost picture perfect in every way. There would be no way Terrin would accept his apologies. Forever would this moment be scarred on his mind, and tears began to roll down his cheeks as he thought over this. But he knew what the Master was saying was true as well. He was powerful, and to have even thought he could double-cross him was futile.

            It seemed as though the Master would keep him there indefinitely and there was little room to lead to doubt of this. The pacing the Master continued to do was driving Blagdon out of his mind, and at that very moment he wished he could just pass on into the next world. Slowly the padding of the Master’s shoes against the carpet became slower and farther between. He finally stopped at the safe and bent down to pick up the backpack that was resting right next to the safe.

            He weighed it with his hand and reached into the backpack and came out with a stack of bills. The Master smiled crookedly as he looked at the bills and then back at Blagdon. “You know,” he said, “you really could have thought up a better lie than that.” At that the Master tossed the money back in the backpack, dropped it on the floor and walked hastily over to Blagdon. “You know,” he said, “I’m going to enjoy this.” Blagdon’s eyes opened wide in fear. If the beatings were mild, what else could he expect from the Master?

            The Master took the glass from the desk and drought the last drops of water from it. In a flash he hurled the glass at Blagdon’s chest and when it connected it smashed into a thousand shards, all sticking into Blagdon’s already bloody and broken chest. A cry of pure agony rose from Blagdon’s throat. The pitch and volume rose so high it shattered the glass in the window behind the Master. The Master raised his right arm and stretched his palm to face Blagdon.

            Pain shot through Blagdon’s chest, and he realized that the glass shards were being removed from his chest. The Master flung them into the wall behind himself, and then a searing pain spread through Blagdon’s chest. The skin which had been embedded into the very muscle and bone was growing back, in a most excruciating way that was almost making Blagdon faint at the pain. Slowly the skin and muscle returned to its prior state, and Blagdon almost thought that the Master was going to heal him and take him back. The look in his eyes told him different.

            There was a pressure getting stronger on his heart, and Blagdon looked down, and then at the Master. From the outside Blagdon could not see what was going on, but as he looked at the Master’s outstretched hand it was clenching into a fist. In that moment Blagdon realized that the Master was crushing the life from his heart. His breaths got shorter. Sweat beaded his forehead. Through the ceiling behind the Master, the demon Terrin dropped to the floor. “Terrin!” Blagdon screamed in delight, even as his heart was being crushed, “Help me!”

            Terrin walked over behind the Master and around to Blagdon, only showing in his human state. “Hello Blagdon,” Terrin said, “Look at you, quite a predicament you’re in.” Without a pause Terrin back-handed Blagdon on his left cheek, leaving a stinging mark. “You fool!” he screamed, “You failed to kill the Master! Little did the little fool know that he couldn’t kill the Master! You’re soul is mine!” Blagdon looked terrified, first at the Master, then back at Terrin. Terrin reached through Blagdon’s chest, visibly piercing his stomach, and he latched onto Blagdon’s soul. Blagdon gave a cry of pain and fear; the fires of hell were lapping through Terrin’s fingers into his very core.

            Terrin began to pull, and as Blagdon looked down he could see his own soul being pulled through his stomach. In an effort to bring himself back he lunged forward, still being held to the couch. “Vengeance will get you nowhere boy!” the Master said in a vengeful voice. It appeared to Blagdon he couldn’t see Terrin grasping his soul. “NOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Blagdon screamed. It was of no avail. Terrin pulled his soul out and Blagdon was plunged into a fiery darkness.

            The Master let his hand slump down to his side as Blagdon’s head rolled to one side, his eyes noticeably glazed over. He snapped his fingers and the officers came back into action. “There!” the first Sergeant said, clearly shocked to find Blagdon slumped over on the couch. The second Sergeant felt for a pulse and found none. He shook his head to the others in signification of his findings. The Master lowered his head in sorrow, and the other Sergeant came to the couch to aide his friend in picking up the body.

            When they had left, the Master gave a smirk and a short chuckle in satisfaction. “That should send a message,” he said to himself as he took a seat at his desk. There was a few moments silence as he jotted down some notes on the paper in front of him, and then the sergeant’s came back in. “What would you like us to do now sir?” the first asked. The Master thought a moment and then said, “I would like you to report this, the whole incident. Have the body processed to find out what happened, and the moment you know, tell me. I’m curious as to how he died. But before you file your reports I wish that you inform your superiors and the press that I wish to hold another press conference and another meeting personally with someone from each of the three big newspapers. Is that clear?” Both sergeants nodded their heads and walked out the door back to their cruisers.

            The Master finished what he was writing and stood up and walked to the window. He heaved a sigh of relief, and wiped some of the perspiration from his brow with his sleeve. “Did you ever think it would be that easy?” a voice said, making the Master jump into the air a bit and spin around in surprise. There stood Pauivian, in an Armani suit if he was correct in judging the work of famous tailors. “Getting a bit fancy in our tastes aren’t we?” the Master asked jokingly. “This?” Pauivian questioned with a smile on his face, “Just a little something I picked up for myself, you know I do want to look good in this dump of a world. Outward appearance is all that matters to these fools you know.”

            “They do seem to pay attention, don’t they?” the Mater said. He walked around his desk and sat back. “I’ve noticed that they faun over my appearance, pressed tuxedo, slicked back hair, fiery eyes. I didn’t seem to think much on that.” “It’s good that you did,” Pauivian said, “you can now use it to your advantage; you didn’t think that you were charismatic just for speaking? Your appearance is half of everything. The better you look, the more they will be swayed to our side. I’m sure you can handle the rest?”

            The Master nodded in agreement, and then said, “I was thinking of painting over this, ‘incident’, saying that we caught him in the corruption and that he was the shooter and mastermind of this plot. Blagdon was in the plot, but he became a hindrance and so he framed him. When we came to arrest him his heart failed on him, and he collapsed before us, money still clutched in his fists; wallowing in his greed to the very end as it was. What do you think?”

            Pauivian gave a smile that only a demon could and said, “It’s the perfect lie! My, my, my! Your storytelling skills have improved. I have one last piece of ‘equipment’ to bestow upon you.” He stepped forward and laid a hand on the Master and spoke the language of the Devil, giving the Master Powers only the bowels of hell could spit up. “There,” he said, “now you shall know what those around you are thinking, and you can sense your adversary, knowing what and where he will be. You can also sense where the followers of ‘Him’ hide in this foul city. I have a sneaking suspicion that the Mayor of this filth will give you the opportunity to have an office in one of the tallest buildings. Use it well.”

            With that Pauivian snapped his fingers and disappeared in a cloud of smoke that smelt of sulfur.  The Master breathed in a heavy waft of the smoke and sighed. Walking out of his office and down the hall he met Davila at the front desk. “Davila!” he said emphatically, kissing her on both cheeks, “I need you to place some calls for me. Place one to the police office and ask them what the progress is with setting up another conference. Tell them I wish to have it here, on the front steps of the Mission. Also, call the Tribune and tell them to send that, what was her name?” he paused for a second. Davila came to his aide, “Melodee, I believe sir.” “Ah yes! Melodee,” he said, “send Melodee here for the interview that I will do privately. I believe that I might be able to win her over. But don’t tell them that.” He smiled at Davila, and she gave a shy smile back.

            The Master rubbed his hands together and went back to his office, plotting what he would do for the press conference the next day, and the private interviews thereafter. Oh would it be quite amusing to fool over the crowds to his side! The sympathy it would generate would be tremendous, and in the troubling times the world was facing this just might rocket the Mission and, of course himself, onto the broader stage. Reaching his door he went in and closed it, making sure to lock it. The notes he was about to take would not be good if seen by a member of the Mission, even if it was an innocent glance.

            Melodee was woken out of a sound sleep in her one room apartment in uptown Chicago to the sound of a very loud ringing. At first she thought it was her alarm clock, and tried to shut it off. But the ringing continued after her vain tries to silence the electronic machine, and she realized, albeit in half a daze no where near being awake, that it was her phone, right next to the alarm clock. She fumbled for it and picked up the receiver. “Melodee speaking, who is this?” she said in a sleepy, and quite curt, voice. That familiar and annoying voice of Nolan, her boss, came over the phone, “Melodee! Congratulations! You’re moving up in the world.” She could tell he was sarcastic, and that made her all the more annoyed.

            “What do you want Nolan?” she asked. Nolan was emphatic in his tone, “I want you to go and interview the Master and cover the press conference he’s holding.” At the mention of the Master Melodee shot out of bed like a bolt. “What time is the interview?” she asked as she hurriedly got out of her nightgown and into her clothes for the day. “Eleven, you have plenty of time to get to the Mission.” The very mention of the Mission made her head swoon. “I’ll get the scoop boss, don’t you worry!” Nolan thanked her and gave her some words of encouragement and hung up. Melodee looked at the clock on the wall in her kitchen. It read 7:15. She could go back to bed and rest for a bit, but with this exciting information she could hardly wait. She contemplated leaving now, but that would only put her there four hours early, and the most an interview could take was an hour. She didn’t think they would appreciate her coming down that early.

            Slowly time dragged by. Melodee decided that it would be a good idea to fix some breakfast and broke out the cooking pan and the eggs, bacon, cheese and milk and started cooking. “I wonder if he will remember me from the last interview I did.” Melodee questioned herself as she began to fry some bacon. “I think he might, oh, what will I wear? What will I say? What will I do?” Melodee finished with the bacon, mumbling to herself all the while about the whole situation, and she cooked the eggs, and made some toast, but by the time she realized it, it was too late.

            Melodee had cooked up all the bacon, fried all her eggs into omelets, and made a whole loaf of toast. “Oh dear!” Melodee exclaimed when she saw all the food, “was I cooking for an army? Oh well, more leftovers for tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that.” She went around boxing the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator, almost running out of room when she got to the toast. She managed to just cram all of the leftovers into the fridge and just sat down to the breakfast she made when she looked at her watch.

            “I must get going!” she exclaimed as she grabbed a piece of toast and her coat. Her car beeped as she pressed the unlocking button on her key. “Ah, the luxuries of our age,” she muttered as she climbed in. The engine roared to life as she put the key in the ignition and turned it to start. She shifted into reverse and backed out of her driveway. The drive was much shorter than the first time she went out to the Mission, or at least that’s what Melodee thought.

            As she expected there were only a couple of other reporters there, the mass of the media had not yet conglomerated. “They probably all got stuck in traffic,” she said to herself as she got out of her car and locked it. She walked towards the front entrance and encountered one of the members of the Mission, who seemed to be acting as a security guard. “Halt,” he said to her, “State your business.” “I’m a reporter,” she said, digging for her id card, “Chicago Tribune? I’m Melodee, Melodee York.” The man’s face lit up and he said, “Ah yes! You must be the reporter that the Master specially requested! Come right inside, the Press Conference won’t start until one half hour, but he wishes to speak with you personally, in private for a bit before the ‘main event’ as he calls it.”

            They walked down the corridor which led to the Master’s office, but to Melodee’s surprise they didn’t go into it. She followed the robed man for a distance that she couldn’t quite peg, but she knew it was a bit farther, no much farther than she thought she would need to walk in the Mission. It was much larger than she had ever anticipated, and so was awed by the more space she encountered. The relics and stain glass that was all around provided for her attention as well, falling well behind from time to time.

            They came to the end of the wall, and the man in front of her pulled a key from underneath his right sleeve and opened the door in front of them.  If he hadn’t put the key in the lock in the middle of the door, Melodee would never have known a door was there. “Follow me,” the man beckoned, walking down the darkened stairs. The hall was lit with old torches, and they gave off an aroma that was soothing Melodee’s nerves. She was never one to be in dark, damp places lit by torches. They reminded her too much of the old horror movies she used to watch about castles. This hallway was almost exactly like the one in a movie she watched just the other day, and so she was on edge. But the intoxicating odors that seemed to radiate from the torches made her feel almost comfortable going down, knowing that this was possibly a trap.

            They reached the bottom, and walked straight a few paces. They then turned the corner, and what Melodee beheld shocked her. There in the middle of the floor was a huge pentagram with writing, which she could not read, on each of the points, the Master sitting cross legged in the middle. Torches similar to the ones that lined the way down were hung around the circular room. There were all sorts of books and patterns and rugs all around the room in a neat order.

            The Master seemed to be concentrating, as if in a trance. As if he seemed to sense their very presence he opened his eyes and smiled. “Why, Melodee! What a pleasant surprise. I was just meditating. Would you join me?” He moved over a bit to his left, in a gesture of friendliness she thought, and so she sat down next to him. “Now,” he said, “cross your legs like this. Good! Now, close your eyes and take deep breaths in and out, slowly. This will help to relax you and relieve some of the stress which might be bothering you.”

            Melodee was shocked and stunned in the first few breaths she took. The intoxicating aroma was all around, and she began to drift away, all the troubles that had been dogging her the past two days were dissipating into thin air. Oh the ecstasy of this trance! She wanted it to never end. But of course after the first few breaths she forgot to breath, and so quickly ran out of oxygen. She gasped in a few breaths and was quite soundly out of her trance. The Master chuckled knowingly and said, “I know, it takes some getting used to. However, the feeling never shrinks. It’s always just as high as the last time you come. I use this sanctuary of mine to clear my head of the problems above.”

            He glanced at the watch on his wrist and said, “Well, we should be getting back up. The conference is about to start. Would you like to come back here for the interview after the conference?”  Melodee only nodded dumbfounded and smiled. Some of her brown hair brushed in front of her face. The Master brushed it back and stroked her chin in a somewhat loving gesture, and Melodee shivered, but in the way one would expect. Melodee had never had attention from men really, so this was new to her.

            They both got up and walked back up the stairs. Melodee had a hard time keeping her balance because the scents of what she assumed were incandescent lamps were making her woozy, and very much light headed and blissful.  She followed the Master back through the door she entered the first time, and she stood back as he closed and locked it. “Why do you lock it?” she asked. The Master flashed a kind, and almost flirtatious smile, she thought, and said, “Because it is only my special meditating place. One or two others have keys, but they can only use them to get to me to let me know things. Other than that they are not allowed down there.” Melodee nodded her head in understanding and waited for him to finish locking the door.

            They both turned and walked up the corridor, every step knowing that the large crowd of reporters would be waiting to start the conference. “Would you like to stay inside?” the Master said as he abruptly stopped. “What?” Melodee questioned as she too came to a stop. “Would you like to stay and take down the conference from in here? We can put you at the front desk, and you should be able to hear everything from there.” Melodee agreed and so she went behind the desk and sat down as the Master started the conference. Time seemed to be endless as the questions came at the Master right and left, and Melodee couldn’t wait for her own personal interview with the Master. Finally the conference ended, and the Master came back inside.

            “Shall we go?” he asked, offering his arm to her. “Let’s.” she said as she hooked her arm in his. They walked back to the door, and the same sensations of pure bliss filled Melodee’s body as they entered the passage way. They reached the bottom and took seats on the mat which the Master had been sitting on when Melodee had entered the first time. “Well, where would you like to start?” the Master asked in a soothing voice. Melodee got one of her pencils out and the pad of paper and said, “Well, this deception must have been very shocking, how did you feel when you were face to face with your potential killer and your real killer?”

            The Master took a deep breath and began to relate the anger and frustration he felt when he learned that Maurin was partly responsible, and even more when he and the officers caught him pilfering money. “I wanted to kill them both for this vile betrayal! But, one committed suicide and the other,” his voice trailed off. He cleared his throat and continued, “And the other could not withstand the stress of the situation and passed away. That is partly why I am down here. It’s quieter, and better to think than most would assume. Next?”

            Melodee asked him a series of questions, and the Master answered them all perfectly. As the time drew near for the end of the allotted time, Melodee became somewhat uncomfortable. “What’s wrong? You look tense.” The Master asked. “It’s just,” Melodee began, but she cut herself short when tears began to snake their way down her cheeks, and so she put up her right arm to stop the crying. “There, there,” the Master said, patting her on the shoulder, “It’s okay, what is it?” “I just feel so peaceful here, and I know I might loose my mind if I go back to the chaos outside!” she sobbed and cried into the Master’s inviting shoulder. The Master whispered into her ear, “You know, we do accept new members.” She sat up like a bolt, her eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store, “Really? Y-you mean it?”

“Certainly!” the Master said, “That’s our main purpose! You could stay here, and live quite happily the rest of your days.” Melodee nodded, and then said, “Would it be okay if I wrote up this article and then joined?” The Master nodded yes, and so Melodee thanked him and showed herself the way out. She was as happy as she could be and had a spring in her step. It seemed like for the first time she might be accepted somewhere. Melodee drove back to the Tribune and typed up her report, and then handed in her resignation. She was glad that tomorrow she was moving into the mission!

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Chapter 13: Sticky Fingers

The Master’s curiosity was now peeked. Blagdon’s comment about greed had certainly given him an angle to work off of. If anyone was to blame it might be Blagdon. Maurin was not the type to want to take over; he was a follower; a strong group leader at most, but not one to want to take over the entire organization in a coup d’état. “Hello boys,” he said as he entered. “I was wondering if you had any security footage of the attempt, or any of the tapes you might have come across from the news stations.”

One of the men, a sergeant the Master thought, reached over and grabbed several off of a stack that was near him. “Sure,” he said, “we were going to get to that today.” The Master gave that winning smile of his and said, “Why don’t we look at that right now.” The sergeant agreed and popped in the first one. “We’re going to roll this close to the time of the shooting, about a couple of seconds before.” The Master shook his head in agreement and they fast forwarded the tape to just about before the shot went off. Maurin was in the picture, but there was no gun in his hand.

“Okay, rolling.” The sergeant said. They rolled the tape and the shot went off. Just a split second later the gun was in Maurin’s hand. His hand didn’t even flinch, and there was no sign he even brought his arm up. One second it was in at his side and the next it was just there. “That’s weird,” the sergeant said, “let’s play it again.” The rewound and played it back and the same footage showed again that all the sudden Maurin’s arm shot up. And it seemed to happen just as the shot went off.

“We’ll try this video,” the sergeant said as he grabbed another one off the stack. He put it in and went right to the spot just before the shooting. It had Maurin in the shot this time, but it just had Blagdon in the frame as well. The film started rolling and things were going fine. Then it happened. The Master could plainly see that Blagdon was drawing the pistol from underneath his coat and aiming at him. A small tear trickled down his face, but it was not of sadness. It was of joy that he found his threat. That Blagdon had been a cockroach from the beginning. Both sergeants watched as the pistol in Blagdon’s hand went off. “We found him,” the second said.

“Thank you for showing this to me gentlemen.” The Master said, “Would you mind accompanying me back to the Mission to arrest this lowlife?” They both agreed and they escorted the Master to one of the cruisers parked out front. The first sergeant got in with the Master and the second got into another cruiser and started out behind them. The Master was wearing a sinister grin as they started out.

“Oh yes,” he thought to himself, “Blagdon will get his just deserts.” He gave a light chuckle as they began pressing onward. The traffic was becoming a bit more congested, and the going would be slow getting to the mission, but the Master knew they had time, and he was in no rush to catch the cockroach. At the appropriate time he would squash him like the bug he truly was.

            The trees passed by fast as Blagdon came closer to the Mission. He knew the Master would surely connect the dots now. “I must do something about this!” he said to himself, “Think! Think!” There was nothing coming to his mind as the Mission came into view. Then it hit him. “I’ll go and get money from the Mission safe and plant it in Maurin’s belongings! That would complete the frame!”

            Blagdon turned into the Mission and got out in a hurry. He gave a brief greeting to Davila as he passed and walked down to the Master’s office. All the Mission’s funds were in the safe in his office, and Blagdon was fortunate enough to know the combination. Every now and then he snuck some money for his own personal collection just incase he needed to go and do something in the city. That was the only way he could get in some fun. It broke all the codes of the Mission, but he didn’t care then, and he certainly was desperate enough now not to care.

            The Mission was eerily quiet, but Blagdon knew that everyone was asleep, except for Davila, and no one would see him. He was about to get out the key to the Master’s door when he saw that it was open. Blagdon pushed open the door the rest of the way, checked both ways down the hall and inside the room and then closed the door back to its original place. Walking over to the safe he cracked his knuckles and prepared to open it. Slowly he punched in the code numbers and then turned the knob in each direction of the previous number. A “click” resounded from behind the safe lock and the door came open.

            Blagdon rubbed his hands together and began to reach for a stack of thousand dollar bills. Suddenly he remembered that he couldn’t just take them and put them in Maurin’s room. If someone saw him it would only seal that he was the shooter. He decided to go back for his backpack that he always kept in the corner of his room and put it in that. Blagdon got up from where he was and went to the door and looked both ways. Nobody was coming and so he left the room, with the door open and he went to his room.

            The Master and the cruiser he was in pulled into the parking lot just twenty minutes after Blagdon arrived. “If we are both right,” the Master said, “We will catch ourselves an assassin and a thief.” They both exited the cruiser, and the second sergeant also exited his vehicle and walked towards the entrance. The Master gave a cordial hello to Davila as the three of them marched to his office. The Master was quite certain he would find a very guilty Blagdon in his office taking money to satisfy his greed. Just as they were reaching his office the Master heard some noise coming from inside.

            Just through the crack he could see a figure moving inside putting money into a backpack. “Now, all I have to do is put this bag in Maurin’s room and I’m home free!” Blagdon said somewhat aloud, just enough so that they all heard.  The sergeant on his right was going for the door, opposite hand on his gun when the Master stopped him. “I’ll open the door,” he said in a whisper, “I don’t think he’s armed.” The sergeant nodded and backed away. The Master opened the door, and a very startled Blagdon looked up from his work.

            “Hello Blagdon,” the Master said, “What are you doing?” Blagdon dropped the backpack that was in his hand and stood up slowly. He saw the two sergeants from Chicago PD standing next to the Master, and so he didn’t make any move, he only leveled his eyes to the ground. “I um, I was uh…” all that came out of Blagdon’s mouth were stutters. He was thinking of what to say, and the Master knew it. He stepped forward, a grand smirk on his face.

            “Why were you in the money Blagdon?” he asked in a convicting voice, “You know you’re not supposed to be in the cash. That’s for the Mission.” In pure ecstasy of the moment the Master continued his assault, “Did you really think that I wouldn’t put the pieces together Blagdon? ‘It is amazing what greed will do to a person.’ Really, you need to cover yourself better. Like that wouldn’t arouse my suspicions? I’ve known about your little ‘habit’ for some time now.”

            Hate and anger rose in Blagdon, but he kept his eyes down and his voice silent. The sergeants moved in a little bit, one by the door to block an escape and the other by the desk. Blagdon wished he had kept that pistol; it would have been handy right about now. He would have to improvise. The Master continued to pace around him. For some reason he wasn’t picking up the backpack he had been shoving money into. Why, Blagdon did not know. Every second that was passing he just wanted to strangle the Master and then kill the two blue shirts standing behind him.

            “I don’t know why I’ve been doing it Master,” Blagdon finally said, “I don’t know why I’ve done it. I’ve been giving it back. Honest.” He began moving, slowly towards the sergeant leaning on the desk. He was clouding his thinking, so that he wouldn’t be able to react fast enough. “I was hoping to do something for the Mission. I have felt like I haven’t been doing enough. I thought that it might seem like a great sacrifice if I gave back what the Mission already had, pretending it was my own.”

            Each step he took Blagdon was thinking about what he would do for the next; he was sure one wrong move and both sergeants would shoot him dead.  The Master seemed to be intrigued, for he had stopped moving. Blagdon decided to chance a look, and he looked up from the floor to see the Master’s expression. He seemed to be amused with this explanation, so Blagdon pressed forward, returning his attention to the floor.

            “I thought I was doing a great favor, because I had no money of my own to give.” He continued, “You understand don’t you?” The Master smirked, and then gave a great laugh. The laugh shook the floor, and Blagdon wondered if that were possible. “Do you really think I am going to believe that Blagdon?” he asked sarcastically, “You are as daft as the day you were born! You couldn’t have thought of anything more stupid to stay!”

            Blagdon barely heard the refrain; he was still making his way over to the desk slowly. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said, “I mean everything I say, and I meant everything I said. You don’t seem to believe me at all. You think I am a liar and a coward…” Blagdon was cutoff by the Master, “I did not say you were coward. But you freely admitted it! Which means that you must be; which also must prove that YOU were the one who pulled the trigger yesterday morning!”

            The Master raised an accusing finger at Blagdon, which was the cue for the sergeants to apprehend him. But before they could react Blagdon dove for the first sergeant’s gun and whipped it out. He put the sights on the Master’s chest and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew and slapped into his heart. But there was no blood. The hole closed up, yet there was one hole in the wall behind the Master. Blagdon fired again, and the same thing happened. He shot the Master in the head and tried again, but he failed. The gun began to click and he dropped it.

            The Master was smiling and laughing. The ground shook again as he snapped his fingers together. Blagdon felt a rush like wind pass by him, and then felt stillness. He looked behind him and saw the sergeants bending towards him, frozen in time. “You see,” the Master began, “I cannot die. Not until my reign is final. Anyone that stands in the way, I will crush.” When he said this a cockroach appeared in his hand. “Just like you,” he said as he crushed the cockroach in the palm of his hand. He blew the remains off and they caught fire and disappeared.

            Blagdon was terrified. He backed up and fell to the floor, scooting his way backwards trying to think of things to say; to do that might change the Master’s mind about killing him. ‘The money’ he thought, ‘I can tell him about the money!’ “The money,” Blagdon said under his breath. “What was that Blagdon?” the Master asked, a surprised look spreading over his face. “The Money,” Blagdon said again, louder this time, “I was taking the money to send to someone.” A slow grin returned to the Master’s face.

            “Why? Why do you need to send this money to someone? Hmm Blagdon?” the Master asked, amused at this turn of events. “I was stealing it for Maurin.” Blagdon said, “He wanted me to get it for him to send to someone who needed it.” The Master turned and paced to the window and back behind the desk. “Why would a dead man want you to send money to send someone Blagdon? Of all people you should know that he wasn’t capable of something like that.”

            “Well he was.” Blagdon said. The Master shot him a piercing glare as he spoke, “You aren’t even to be a cockroach you filth! You know lying is a sin. You need to pay for your sin! There is no honor among thieves.” An unspeakable force threw him into the couch beside him, righting him up and pressing him to the couch. “Begin,” the Master said. The Billy clubs in the sergeant’s belts were taken out by an invisible hand and began striking him, the one on the right first, and the second one after the first, like drums.

            Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! The blows fell on his chest and arms and Blagdon could feel them breaking the bones underneath flesh. He let out howls of pain, but they fell on deaf ears. The world was frozen in time, and the Master and he were the only ones alive. The Master smiled as he sipped the water left on the desk. He craved the pain that he was inflicting upon Blagdon. Pure fear and adrenaline were running in Blagdon, and he knew that.

            The power; it was the only explanation Blagdon could think through the pain that he was enduring. Blood was beginning to stain his shirt, and he knew that his skin was breaking. Each blow gained intensity, and for some odd reason, heat. The screams were not affecting Blagdon’s throat, or the compassion of the Master. All he did was stand and stare, drinking in the intoxicating power he held over this weak follower of his. Words began to form between blows in his pain and agony. “PLEASE!” he shouted. “Please what?” the Master retorted. “PLEASE STOP!” Blagdon screamed. “Okay,” the Master said with a crooked smile. He snapped and the clubs went back into their holders on the officers belts.

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Chapter 12: The Conspiracy Theory

            Everything was going according to plan. Maurin was in the clink, for what it would seem would be indefinitely, and no one suspected it was him. Blagdon did a small jig as he was in the bathroom washing his hands. Now, he could just get something to slip the Master and make it look like it was an accident, or natural death. Then seize power and take over the world. A slow, evil grin spread across his lips as he wiped his hands on a paper towel. He tossed the crumpled paper in the bin by the sink and went out the door. He walked down the corridors to the room where the Master would be grilling Maurin for facts of what happened.

            He reached the room where Maurin and the Master were; he could tell because there were guards on the outside, as well as he could see Maurin kneeling in the corner through the one sided glass. He wished he could hear what was being said, but he would have to just watch. The feeling was stifling, he could not bear the fact that he would wait in grueling silence while the real drama unfolded before his eyes.

            Maurin Stared at the table that was in the corner of the room nearest the door. He felt so scared he acted on instinct when the Master entered and sat in the corner farthest from him. If anything this was only hurting his case; not helping in any way at all. He rocked himself back and forth to keep calm, but even that did not seem to help. He could not bear to hold the Masters gaze ever again if he even got out. The Master stood in the doorway for quite a long time, keeping unmoving, unspeaking.

            Even if Maurin had tried to read the expression on the Master’s face it would not have brought him any hope. It was just as piercing and judging as he had the day he was shot at; which happened to only have been the day before. The Master suddenly began to pace slowly, from the door, to the table near the door and back. Time dragged by, and Maurin wondered if the Master was just pacing to get the tension up and make him confess or cry, or if he was thinking the words to slash him through the heart. It was doing all three and even now he wanted to confess to something just to be back in the graces of his Master. But he did nothing. Tears began to slowly snake their way down his overcast face, but he made no utterance that he was doing so.

            The footsteps stopped in front of the table, and Maurin looked up to see what he was doing. He had his hand on the table, and the fingers on his hand were tapping, in beat with some rhythm in the Master’s head. Maurin could not help but follow it, watching it beat after beat. His gaze went up the Master’s arm, to his shoulder, and with a power Maurin couldn’t resist, his gaze finally rested upon the Master’s face. Those piercing eyes cut him through the soul as he watched.

            “You know why I am here Maurin.” The Master began, “I am here, because you committed a crime; an unforgivable crime at that. You tried to take my life. You know as well as any that that offense is punishable by death and death alone. Not by their culture; those pigs that call themselves ‘humans’. You are not so lucky that they have no control over this matter. If they had they would let you live for a time in prison; or they could also execute you. But you would have a chance. What I am here to find out is why? Why did you try and take my life?”

            There was a deadening silence that only continued to tear at Maurin. Evermore was the room closing in on him. His breathing began to shorten and quicken. He felt that he might pass out at any moment. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to tear his gaze from the Master, but he held it as if caught by some imaginary force that wouldn’t allow him to look away. The tears that stained his face poured forth into an ever building flood. The only thing that escaped his lips was a soft sob. The Master stopped his fingers from tapping. Maurin was able to rip his gaze from the eyes of the Master to the hand that lay on the table. He watched as it was moved from where it rested to the elbow of the opposite arm. The Master’s arms were crossed now; yet the scowl on his face remained unchanged.

            All this rejection was too much for Maurin to bear. He let out a howl of anguish and let loose more of the tears he had been holding back. Heavy sorrows lashed his marred soul bash after bash, not letting up for a second. Maurin buried his head in his knees and let all of his feelings poor through, like a child that had been caught steeling or lying; just wanting to be forgiven and accepted again. He was not going to have that second chance as many people might. This outpour of emotion he was giving wasn’t just for him; Maurin was hoping he might strike a chord in the Master and maybe, just maybe he would take him back.

            No, even if he was moved by this show of emotion he was not showing it. Only that ever tearing stare remained. The stare was knifing, knifing, knifing and was only making the tears Maurin was shedding ever grow into a raging river. “I asked you a question!” the Master shouted at Maurin. This only increased the output of tears. “What?” the Master asked in a haughty voice, “You think this will help you out of your misery? You are a cockroach if you think so! Emotion is for the weak!”

            Maurin wiped the tears from his eyes and looked up. “I do not want sympathy, or any pardon. I want to be accepted by you again!” Maurin said through his choked flood of tears. They came again through the deadened silence that settled on the room again. Maurin took hold of the situation and boldly pressed forward, “I don’t know what happened out there at the courthouse! One minute I was watching you give your speech to the crowd, and the next a smoking gun is in my hand and it is pointed at you. What I do know is that I would never want to hurt, or kill you. I serve you! I am your right-hand man! You have to believe me!”

            He could still see no emotion on the Master’s face. All that happened was pure silence. A silence that was claustrophobic and grasping; not letting Maurin out of its sickly, black grasp. He tried to speak again, but the words caught in his throat and brought a fresh wave of tears. Increasingly his breath drew short. Again the Master turned towards him. “So,” he began, “you want acceptance? Why would you think you are not accepted? Come here.”

            Maurin obeyed, somewhat against his own will. Slowly he rose to his feet and walked unsteadily towards the Master. One foot in front of the other he made it to the table, only feet from where the Master stood. “Now, look upon this table Maurin.” He said, “What do you see?” Maurin’s gaze drifted onto the table. All he could see on the table was the pistol. That dreaded instrument of destruction that had been used in this criminal act.

            “Look at it!” the Master shouted. An unexplainable force grabbed the back of Maurin’s head and shoved his face to the table, to within inches of the pistol. Tears dripped onto the weapon, and curiously they sizzled when they contacted the metal. The Master bent low to the table and whispered in Maurin’s ear, “This is the weapon you tried to defeat me with. And like the fool you are you didn’t realize that I cannot be killed by a mere man.” Maurin straightened up and looked into the Master’s eyes with pity. He searched and could not find any pity in the Master’s eyes.

            “Pick up the pistol.” The Master said in a cold voice. Maurin did so. He heaved heavy sobs, trying to draw even one fiber of humanity to the surface of the Master. No impact, whatsoever on this seemingly stone cold man. “You said you want forgiveness,” the Master said, “put this gun to your head.” Though he did not want to, he obeyed, each sob cutting worse in his soul. ‘No man should bear this pain,’ Maurin thought as the pistol leveled just above his left ear. “Say you’re sorry,” the Master said, a slow grin spread across his face.

            “I am so sorry Master!” Maurin cried, the tears falling in cascades over his cheeks to the ground. His hand was trembling very badly, and he did not know what lay ahead on the road before him. That icy stare looked back at him and made him tremble more. It was a look only pure evil would give; and he knew this man was not the man he set out to follow to the Promised Land. “Goodbye Maurin.” The Master said. Maurin tried to plead one last time, but the gun went off before he could. His body crumpled into a heap, blood pouring from his head, gun still clutched in his hand.

            Blagdon watched in horror as the whole scene unfolded. At first it seemed like Maurin was putty in the Master’s hands. But then it all seemed to go wrong. One thing led to another and now he was lying, dead on the floor. It seemed like he committed suicide! Suicide! Blagdon stormed around the corner from the window and was about to open the door when one of the guards grabbed his arm. “You can’t go in there!” he said. Blagdon was fuming, and he was quite tempted to make him pay, but he cooled himself down and said, “Something’s going on in there! We need to go in!” When the guards heard this they opened the door and burst through.

            The sight they beheld shocked them. Blagdon stared at the Master, who was sitting in the chair closest to Maurin’s body, white as a sheet. He was staring off into space and barely noticed that they entered. The guards rushed to check if Maurin was still alive, but it was clear to Blagdon that he wasn’t. He could feel that the corpse was a cold as ice without even touching it. He knelt by the Master and put his hand on his leg. “What happened?” he asked, in the best concerned voice he could put forth.

            The Master continued shaking, mouth slowly parting for a small breath every few seconds. “It all happened so fast,” the Master began, it startled Blagdon, he didn’t know why. “He, he started muttering things about unfairness, he crouched in a ball and started to cry, blubbering all the while about things I couldn’t understand. All of the sudden he stood up and walked towards me. I didn’t know what to do, so I froze. He walked to the table and picked up the gun; for a moment I thought he would shoot me. Then he muttered something about forgiveness, and he said he was sorry, brought the gun to his head and before I could do anything he shot himself.”

            The Master continued to just stare into space. He was shaking badly, and before Blagdon could suggest it the two guards were helping the Master out the door to a more comfortable place. Something wasn’t quite right, and Blagdon knew it. For some reason it didn’t seem right that Blagdon would shoot himself. He didn’t have the character for it. Blagdon followed the men and the Master out the door after taking one last look at Maurin’s cold, lifeless cadaver.

            It sent shivers down Blagdon’s spine and so he jerked his head away from the sight. He couldn’t help but think that there was something not quite right about this. There had to be some reason Maurin committed suicide. It just didn’t add up. Blagdon decided he needed to do something about this little incident. He caught up to the Master and the two men supporting him. “Master,” he asked, “should I put together a press conference about this?” The Master thought a moment and then agreed. Blagdon hurried off to the phones and began calling the various stations around town to let them know of the new developments of the case.

            The phone by Nathan’s head startled him awake and he fumbled for it in the darkness of his room. He looked at the yellow phone screen and saw that it was barely five o’clock in the morning. He also saw that it was Nolan calling. “This can’t be good,” Nathan muttered as he answered the phone, “Nathan here.” “NATHAN!” Nolan said cheerily as he answered the phone, “Great news for you. That Master fellow you’ve written on so many times just had a development in that shooting case. His so called associate who made the attempt apparently shot himself when he was grilling him.”

            Nathan was shocked to be sure, but not too shocked. “And how does this relate to me?” Nathan asked, fully knowing the answer. “It relates to you because the new second in command has called a press conference at the precinct! And guess who is going?” “Let me guess, lucky winner Nathan?” Nathan said sarcastically. “Bingo kid. You catch on quick. It’s in an hour; be there.” At that Nolan hung up. Nathan rubbed his still sleepy eyes and reached for his white shirt that always hung on the back of a small chair in his room.

            Slowly he dressed and then walked out to the kitchen. He started the coffee and proceeded to put on his shoes. Nathan ran his fingers through his hair and gave a long sigh. “I wish this was all over!” he said. The coffee maker started its usual alarm that told him that it was done and so he stood up and walked over to it. The travel mug that stood by the coffee maker had its top off and was ready to go. Nathan grabbed the handle of the pot and poured some of the black brew into the cup, and then he set it back down and turned off the alarm. The night had been quiet, no dreams, just black nothingness. Nathan still didn’t feel rested and he wondered if he shouldn’t go back to that psychiatrist. “That’s crazy talk!” Nathan said to himself as he grabbed the cup and his keys. His recorder was in his pocket, like usual and he opened his truck and got in.

            Nathan let out another sigh of sadness as he turned on the ancient vehicle and started for the precinct. Thankfully the roads at five a.m. were agreeable and he made it to the Police department in no time. He flashed his press badge at the front desk and the receptionist told him to go down the hall to the room on the left, five doors down. He opened the door and the room was already pretty full. He saw many of the faces that covered the shooting just the prior day.

            The Master stepped up to the podium and began to speak. “You are all probably wondering why you have been called here today.” Around the room several heads nodded. “Well,” the Master continued, “that reason is because Maurin, my second in command and my alleged assassin has committed suicide. His death happened as I was personally questioning him. I felt I could break him, and before I could ask him anything he took the gun and shot himself. I had brought it in because I felt having some evidence in the room might get something out of him. And it turns out I was wrong.”

            The Master began to choke up, and it looked as if he might not make it to the end of the conference. “But,” the Master said, clearing his throat of emotion, “it was my fault, and I am accepting that consequence. Because of his actions we, meaning myself, my colleagues at the mission and many at the Chicago Police Department believe that he was indeed the shooter, and not just used as a scapegoat for the real shooter. At this time I will accept questions. Yes you in the back?”

            Matt Bentham stood up, “Yes, Matt Bentham, Channel 23 News, I understand that you had doubts that he might not be the shooter. What were your thoughts about that before the suicide?” The Master nodded his head and answered, “Well Matt, we felt that it might have been a cover-up that he might have been covering for someone else, like they would shoot me and if it failed he would raise his gun to make it look like he did it. But now…” his voice trailed off. Nathan could see that it was very hard for him to do this.

Nathan raised his hand and got the okay from the Master. He stood up and turned on his recorder. “Nathan Cardsworth, Chicago Tribune. I understand that he was held overnight, what was your feeling about seeing him this morning?” The Master cleared his throat again before answering, “I was a bit apprehensive. Even though I did feel that he wasn’t the shooter, there was that tension that I might be sitting with a true cold blooded killer. To be honest I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.” The Master dried his eyes, but the tears kept coming. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I can’t continue. The Police Chief will take the rest of your questions.” He stepped back down off the stage and through the door, supported by his new second.

 The press conference continued on as Blagdon and the Master walked down the hall to the security room. For a few moments they walked in silence. Then Blagdon spoke up, “It’s too bad that Maurin had to shoot himself. It is amazing what greed will do to a person.” “Greed?” the Master said questioningly, “What does greed have to do with this?” Blagdon was caught, not sure quite what to say, “Greed; it just seemed obvious he might be vying for your position and killing you was the easiest way to do it.” The Master nodded understandingly and they reached the security room. “I must return to the Mission Master. Are you okay with staying here?” The Master nodded and Blagdon turned and left.

“Greed eh?” the Master said to himself, “Well, thank you Blagdon. I shall definitely look that angle up.” A smirk of satisfaction spread across his face and he gave a light chuckle as he entered the security room.

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Chapter 11: The Assassination Attempt

            Blagdon had been up all that night, tossing and turning with the plan he was about to put into action. To say he didn’t feel restful would be a complete understatement. He was actually quite sure that it might terribly fail if he couldn’t react fast enough, but he gained courage when they reached the Courthouse. The crowd that had been there before their arrival was quite large considering that it was seven and the speech began at eight. “Ah well,” Blagdon said to himself, “more room for me to blend in.” Everything was rolling beautifully, and Blagdon couldn’t have been happier.

            The Revolver was tucked underneath his coat and well concealed. He was sure that as long as he could teleport it to Maurin’s hand in the nick of time all would be safe; all he would have to do is play it cool for the next week or so. And then seize power and the following would be his! He glanced at his watch and it read 7:30. Blagdon put his hand back down impatiently. The crowd continued to grow and he could see the press gathering just to his left. “Perfect,” Blagdon muttered.

            From where he was he would be completely in the back, with no pictures of him as the shooter, and they would catch Maurin red handed with the pistol. “This is too perfect!” he said again to himself. Oh how the minutes seemed to drag by. If only he could control time as well. “Time to ask that later,” Blagdon thought as he shifted his feet. He could see some more of the media men coming up, and to his chagrin they set up directly behind him. A frown crossed his face as he looked back. The Master was to make an entrance from the doors of the Courthouse with a police escort of one officer on either side of himself.

            Nathan walked up and decided that right behind the Channel 12 crew would be the best vantage point of the gathering. He also was quite sure that it would not only be safer but less crowded as well, seeing all the big name news people would want to get statements at the first possible moment. “Strike after the iron has cooled,” Nathan said to himself as he strode past the crew. The crowd that had gathered was large. The whole plaza in front of the Courthouse didn’t seem to hold all the people in. Nathan paid no heed to this and continued to make sure he was ready.

            “Is my mike in place?” the Master asked Davila. She nodded and the Master gave a sigh of relief. “Today is a glorious day Davila,” the Master said, “do you know why my dear?” There was a slight pause before Davila answered, “No, my Master, I do not know why.” She hung her head as if in shame. Before she could say another word the Master said, “Now, now, now! Cheer up Davila! Today is the day I shall be exalted by the people, and our following shall again increase tenfold. Mostly outside the mission of course, but it will increase.”

            She nodded her head and glanced at the clock above the receptionist’s desk. “It’s almost time. Are you ready?” Davila asked. The Master again answered yes, and they prepared to exit the building and face the crowd. Fortunately enough the Master was able to win the Mayor of Chicago over to their cause, and he was quite sure that any day now he would convert. That would gain his position in the government, the first step to his semi-peaceful rise to rule the world! But for now he would only announce the Master. They could hear him utter the words, “And now ladies and gentleman, the moment you have all been waiting for; The Master!” The crowd gave a deafening roar as he and Davila came forward.

            He raised his hands to quiet the people, and their cheers subsided. “Ladies and Gentleman of Chicago, it is a great honor to be with you here today.” the Master began his speech. “And it gives me the greatest pleasure to come and heal the many of you who are sick in this crowd. I know how long you have waited, and I am here, here for you all!” The crowd cheered in a loud roar when he finished. He again quieted them with his arms and began to speak again.

            “The pain of your great city has not been felt, or the cries of the wounded been heard. But I am here to change that! I am here, to comfort your sorrows, to lead you in your days of wandering, and I am here to heal your wounds!” The loudspeakers boomed his words and the crowd cheered even louder. Blagdon and Nathan both wondered if this was even possible, but the fact couldn’t be denied. Blagdon could wait no longer. He casually reached for the pistol. The Master continued with his speech, and because everyone’s attention was drawn to him it made it all the more easier for him to pull it out.

            The Master was continuing his speech, and now was his only chance. Blagdon threw the pistol up and drew a bead on the Master’s head. It took mere seconds and then, “BOOM!” He then teleported the pistol into Maurin’s hand and raised it, pointing it at the Master. But the Master had not fallen. What happened?! Then he saw it. The Master had taken a step towards the crowd, and down one of the steps. He had missed and hit the Master’s arm. But he was not doubling over in excruciating pain. Why? Blagdon could then see no hole in the Master’s arm.

            A lady in the front row first noticed the blood on the steps above the Master and she let out a scream that could wake the dead. The crowd went silent and realized what she had seen. Then more voices joined hers in unison. Maurin began staring dumbly at the weapon in his outstretched hand, and then next minute he realized what had happened. He saw the policemen crowding in towards him and so he decided to make a break for it. Shouts began to rise from the crowd, “HE DID IT!!!! HE TRIED TO KILL THE MASTER!!!!” Maurin did not stand a chance. He made it twenty feet and then he was wrestled to the ground by two burly policemen, both sergeants.

            “Where’d you think you’re going pal?!” the one said in a very husky voice. They cuffed him and yanked him to his feet. Many in the crowd were trying to beat him, and many began to spit upon him. He was never so humiliated or betrayed in his life than at this moment. How could that have happened? They led him straight passed the Master and he gave him the most sincere, helpless look he could to try and get his compassion, but all that was returned was a glare, of a fiery brew in no mood for compassion, only of hate, and regret. The policemen hauled him off to the nearest cruiser and shoved him inside.

            Nathan was quite in shock. He did not quite believe his eyes. He had just witnessed an assassination attempt. “Wh-what just happened?” he asked one of the cameramen beside him. “The Master has just had a pot shot taken at him. He seems to be fine.” The cameraman replied. Impossible! Nathan could see blood, and what looked like a little flesh lying on the step above him. Nathan felt the strong urge to go over to the nearest drain and hurl, but he kept his composure and made his way over to the Master.

            The nearest reporters began bombarding him with questions and Nathan wasn’t quite sure if he would be able to get in to question him. “I hope this is worth it!” he muttered as he was jostled around in the crowd. He could barely hear himself think above the noise, but he was sure he would get his turn soon enough; though he wasn’t really sure he wanted it. The nearest reporter started to spout off a question, and three more joined in unison. The Master raised his arms and said, “Please, please! One at a time! I will get to each on of you in time! You, there; close to the back!”

            Nathan recognized him as Paul Bradworth of TV Channel 2 news; one of the biggest Media Moguls of Chicago. “Sir, how do you feel about this shooting?” he asked. The Master gave his reply slowly, “I was honestly taken aback. I had no idea something like this could happen. I will do everything in my power to find out what is at the bottom of this! Next question, ah yes, you there!” He next got someone from Channel 6. It was David Brendan, the morning newsman.

            “Do you have any idea of who was behind this attempt?” David asked. The Master took his time again and then answered, “No, I did not. This was out of the ordinary and I have no idea why it happened. I know the shooter, but anyone else who is behind it I do not.” The chatter began again and the Master had to quiet it again. “You, in the back, you next.” He said. This time Channel 5’s Alice Hollister stepped up to the plate.

            “Did he hit you sir? Are you injured?” she asked. The Master gave a chuckle and replied, “No, not at all! I feel nothing, not a twinge of pain.” He was about to pick someone else when she said, “But sir, there is a hole in your arm.” The Master looked down and saw that there was indeed a hole in his arm, but only in his suit, not in his arm. “I see that you are right,” he said, “but as you can clearly see, there is no hole.” Nathan was completely astounded. He gazed himself for a long time and saw that there was a hole in the Master’s suit, but no blood, or great hole at all; only a little blood that stained the tanned suit on the edges.

            “I am feeling very tired now from these events, I am sorry that I cannot heal anyone today, but I shall make a concerted effort to try again. Good day ladies and gentlemen.” With that the Master walked off stage to one of the cars and got a police escort out. Nathan couldn’t shake the feeling of something strange in the air. He couldn’t pin what it was, but he was bound and determined to find out what was going on. He had been denying the fact that he needed to be on this case, so he would try working on it in hopes that he could escape the nightmares he was experiencing all too frequently.

            The crowd began to disperse, but Nathan decided to go closer to the steps and see if he could see what lay on the steps that had caught his eye right before the Master was shot at. Caution beckoned, screamed, at Nathan to be careful, so he decided not to make any sudden moves just incase he was doing something he shouldn’t. He saw what it was, and nearly fell off the steps with the wave of unexplainable dizziness that hit him. There lying on the steps was a hunk of meat. Embedded in it was a bullet, and pieces of tan fabric. The blood was freshly dripping from this piece, and was making Nathan quite nauseous. The smell that lifted from the lump made Nathan feel no better.

            For his own purposes Nathan took out his cell phone and snapped a fast picture of the piece just incase he needed it and walked away quickly. When he almost reached his truck Nathan realized what the smell that wafted from the hunk of meat smelled like; it smelled like a sewer. Nathan had a very big urge to leave the car and dive for the nearest bush, but he overcame the urge and got in to start the truck. Before he did he rubbed his hands on his face in frustration. “Why? Why is this happening to me???” he wailed. He gave a long sigh and started his truck and drove home.

            The trip was unexpectedly fast, and so he decided to call Nolan with the new news he had just collected. He reached the phone and picked it up, beginning to dial Nolan’s office number. Midway he had a sudden urge to talk to Dana, so he cancelled the number and dialed hers instead. It rung three times and Nathan grew impatient. “Come on Dana,” he said, “pick up!” One more ring and it would go to her answering machine. Nathan was about to hang up when a sweet voice trickled over the phone. “Hello?” came that familiar voice Nathan longed to hear, “can I help you?”

            Nathan sighed in relief and said, “Dana! I’m so glad you’re there! You will never guess what happened!” Dana came over concerned, “Nathan, what happened?” Nathan took a deep breath and then said, “The Master, this creepy leader guy I told you about, someone tried to assassinate him, and I witnessed it!” Dana gasped and asked him how it happened. He took the next ten minutes to tell her about the event. She gave a sigh and said, “Oh Nathan! I’m glad you’re alright, but what are we going to do with you? First you’re attacked, then these weird dreams and now this? You need to get off this thing. Now! That may be the only way to keep sane.”

            Nathan replied solemnly, “I can’t! Nolan said that if I want to keep my job I’ll do this story! And anything else like it. Oh what am I going to do sis?” She interrupted his wail, “I don’t know Nathan! I wish I did but I don’t! How can I help you? Have you tried a…no, you already said you had.” Nathan was nearing a breakdown and decided to sit down on the couch. He wiped his face and gave a sigh, “How are mom and dad doing?” Dana said, “They’re doing fine, but I told them about what’s going on with you and they said they were worried. Oh Nathan, I wish you could just drop it!”

            His whole world was coming crashing down on him. Nathan didn’t know what to do. He had never been out of control like this. The Privacy he had relied on ever since his mother remarried was being stripped from him. He was going and doing things that he didn’t want to do, and he was desperate to be the one in control of that. Thoughts flooded his mind. “Maybe I can quit,” Nathan thought, “no, that wouldn’t work. I need the money.” He decided to end the conversation, “Thanks for your support Dana, but I will just have to see how this all goes.” Dana expressed emotion when she said, “Call me anytime, you hear?” Nathan said ‘yes’ and they both hung up.

            At the police station Maurin was being thrown into one of the holding cells. “There you go!” one of the guards said as he shoved Maurin inside. This shoved forced him to stumble and crash into the back wall. He slid down in anguish as they closed the door and went off laughing. “Why did this happen to me?” Maurin whimpered. A snickering resounded from the cell across from him. “Wh…who’s that?” he asked in a cowering voice.

            The snickering continued to build into a high pitched laugh. Maurin swallowed and questioned with a firmer voice, “Who’s there?” The laughter went down to a slow snicker, and then a grating voice came through the dim bars, “You wouldn’t know who I am. But you are making me laugh.” the voice said, “Why did it happen? You did it, that’s why it happened you fool!” This lunatic’s words cut Maurin to the heart. He tried to defend himself but it all got caught up in his throat. Tears ran down his cheeks and he did not try to hold back the sadness that pressed past the gates of his soul.

            He knew that he wasn’t the one responsible for this tragedy, but he couldn’t understand why he was crying. There was the thought that what this goon said was true, but that thought was quickly thrown out the window and the door shut and locked behind it. Soft sobs uttered from his mouth, and he just wanted to die. He crumpled on the prison mattress and cried himself to sleep, though it didn’t last long. He was up thirty minutes later, sighing and sobbing just like before. He wouldn’t last. He had to figure out what he could do to appease the Master. Every time he thought of the Master he broke down and cried, for the image of the Master’s face popped into his head.

            That disapproving, rejecting scowl broke him. Each time he felt dejected, knowing he would never be forgiven. Even though he knew it wasn’t his fault, he still wouldn’t be accepted again. The Master was too hard a man to welcome him back. He would be alone, for the first time in a long time. Not since the Master came along and picked him up off the streets in New Brunswick. That had been a happy day. Oh, if only those days would return again! Through the window in the opposite prison cell Maurin could see the sun beginning to rise.

            A soft padding of shoes was heard coming down the walkway. A jingling of keys also met Maurin’s ears. Freedom; it was so close he could taste it. And to his surprise the guard stopped in front of his cell. The lock began to turn and the guard came in. “Get out,” he said in a gruff voice, “You have a visitor, assassin wannabe.” Another sharp snicker followed this man’s equally sharp words as Maurin got up and walked out of the cell. The guard led him down the boardwalk past all the other cells with inmates peering out at him, wishing that they were the ones going to talk. Maurin could see how it could get lonely in the slammer all by yourself; day in and day out, no one to talk to but you and the other guy in the cell just over.

            With every step Maurin dreaded the worst. Who could it be? Why were they coming to see him? Of all people! He had been framed for the attempt on the Master’s life; but was that so much to get hyped over? If he could get out of this jam he would have to find the man who framed him. They turned and weaved through many corridors, and reached the room he was to talk with the person in. It was a big room, with a couple of tables, a few chairs and one light bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. It seemed like he was early, so he took a seat at the table nearest the middle. The room was painted black, and made Maurin feel like it was closing in on him. He sat there for what seemed like an intolerably long amount of time, before the door burst open and the Master entered.

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Chapter 10: The Assignment

            The pillars of fire rose around Nathan. All he could see before him was a sloping path, leading on for what seemed like miles. He got up from where he had been kneeling and stretched. The narrowness of the path and the pillars of fire made Nathan uncomfortable, but there was nowhere else to go, and he did not want to remain where he was. He slowly pulled himself together and started walking. The pain increased in his legs as he started and he was almost inclined to fall back down, but Nathan was almost certain that this would result in further pain, and so he limped on.

            He could see dead, charred trees every so often through the flames that roared along the path, and so kept track of the distance he traveled. The progress was grueling and it made him even wearier than when he first started this journey. The sweat made his shirt cling to his body and every step felt like lead. Excruciating pain like hot irons being shoved through his feet all the way to his knees kept him from pressing forward faster. The crackling of the flames was his only company, as were the trees, and the dirt of the path.

            He once wavered to the edge and looked over. There was an endless chasm, and so he decided to look over the other side, and there was also an endless depth. The flames just licked the surface seeming to come from nowhere. The intensity of this heat was scorching when Nathan had gone to both sides and forced him to retreat back to the middle of the path. Nathan wiped his forehead and trudged on, feeling no hope in the way this path was leading him. He wondered if he should just jump over the side of the path and be done with the whole excursion. But something inside him pulled him back from this reckless endeavor.

            Suddenly he saw it. Off in the distance there was a small door. This brightened Nathan’s spirits and he decided he had to make it! Slowly he pushed himself to go faster. This was much more grueling than before and his legs cried out for mercy and compassion. He would not, and could not give them that. If he did he would most certainly not make it, then he might be doomed to remain in this hell of his. And it was quite appropriate he labeled it so; though quite strange since he had no need for God or Satan in his own perfect world outside this. A chuckle reached his own lips at the thought of this and pressed on a tiny bit faster.

            But his laugh was drowned out by another. He looked around frantically and could not see anything. He recognized the evil laughter and began to push harder to reach the door. The laughter echoed as though it were in a canyon and began to close in on Nathan. “SSSSSOOOONNNN OOOOOOOFFF AAAADDDAAAAM!!!!!!” the voice echoed. “SSSSSOOOONNNN OOOOOOOFFF AAAADDDAAAAM!!!!!!” Nathan pushed himself to make it, he could see the door, just there, and not more than two hundred yards away. All he had to do was make it.

            The voice echoed again, “SSSSSOOOONNNN OOOOOOOFFF AAAADDDAAAAM!!!!!!” Nathan reached his arm out in desperation, seemingly to grab the handle that was not there. The next thing Nathan knew he was falling to the ground and landed with a great crash. He could feel the claws of an evil creature on his back. They poked him as it walked forward. Then he could feel them lifting off, as he was lifted to his own feet. He could see the door was inches away for his face and forgetting the creature he reached for the knob and yanked on it, only to find it locked.

            His heart sank and resigned itself to the fate before it. Once more the voice boomed behind him, “SSSSSOOOONNNN OOOOOOOFFF AAAADDDAAAAM!!!!!!” Nathan took a deep breath and screamed, “WHAT IS IT YOU WANT FROM ME????” A deep chuckle resounded through the darkness and filled the whole cavern. It was joined by multitudes of other laughs, much the same as this one, but higher in pitch. The laughter resounded until it was cut into silence by one word. The creature cleared his throat and said, “I told you that you cannot escape!” At that the beast yanked the door open, cut the stitches on Nathan’s arm and threw him into the blinding light.

            Nathan gasped for breath as he tore at the sheets on his bed. Light seeped under his door and he shielded his eyes from the brightness of the glare. He gulped in huge amounts of air as he tried to compose himself and find out what was going on. Nathan rested his hand back on the sheets and felt the wet spot that was there. A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he quickly withdrew his hand from that spot. His gaze was drawn to his hand and he nearly fainted at the sight. It was pure red blood that covered his hand and he looked to the sheet.

            There was a nice large conglomeration of his blood. “But how?” he muttered as he looked dumbfounded from his hand to the sheet. A sharp pain in his shoulder drew his attention from this new revelation and he touched his shoulder with the unsaturated hand. A sticky and wet feeling greeted his hand and he looked at his shoulder. The stitches he had so diligently sewn had popped. “Or were snapped.” Nathan said sharply as he got out of bed. He walked to his small mirror to examine the damage further.

            Nathan sighed as he faced the music. “I can’t do it myself. I’m going to have to let a doctor do it.” He said. Nathan walked to the phone in the kitchen and picked it up. He then walked to the small drawer below his TV and withdrew the ‘all powerful’ yellow pages. “Doctors, doctors, doc…there you are!” he said as he found the number. He punched the numbers carefully and diligently. Previous experience had taught him that one wrong number dialed fast could result in calling a residence and not the doctor’s office. “Chicago Memorial Hospital, how may I help you?” the receptionist voiced over the phone.

            Nathan sighed in relief and then spoke, “Yes, I have cut my arm, and I need to get in to see a doctor.” The receptionist paused and then said, “One moment please.” The soft and cool music of Beethoven floated to Nathan’s ears as he waited for the receptionist to get back. Suddenly the music cut and the receptionist came back on, “Do you have a doctor here?” she asked him. Nathan nodded as he answered, “Yes, Dr. Tucker.” He could hear the clacking of the receptionist typing in the information. “Please come down immediately and Dr. Tucker will see you right away.” Nathan thanked her and grabbed his coat and keys and headed out the door.

            Blagdon closed the door of the mission’s car. He knew how to drive it and was sure that it would be best to stop by the vacant lot first rather than go all the way to the news stations and then come all the way back just to meet Nigel again. He had called yesterday and told him of the dilemma. Nigel said that even though this was a simple mix up he would have to fork over some cash to get it fixed. Blagdon had packed along all the savings he had left. Getting out and onto the road in front of the mission was easy and he put miles behind him, loving being behind the wheel again.

            The familiar landmarks were starting to shape up and he kept his eyes peeled for the turnoff. That familiar grove of woods came into view and he knew he was getting close. The roads were not congested and Blagdon was happy for that. He had wrangled a deal that would land him the best opportunity he could hope for. Fortunately enough for him the exit came soon and he pulled off the road into the lot. Now this lot was quite large, and so he had quite a drive ahead of him. He had almost thought about just parking where he was, but that would be foolish. He calmed his emotions and nerves down as he drove the required distance, which was about half way into the lot.

            Slowly he could see the dark object which was Nigel’s car looming in the distance. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his robe, and pushed a little harder on the gas pedal. Blagdon could see that Nigel was already out of the car. As instructed he had the small case with the silencer and the revolver on his car hood. Blagdon slowed the car to about ten feet from Nigel and then stopped it completely. He grabbed the case of money and brought it forward.

            “Open it,” Nigel said. Blagdon placed the case on Nigel’s car and flipped the locks open. Nigel looked inside and an evil grin crossed his face. “My, my, my! You religious boys sure don’t disappoint.” He said with a chuckle as he handed the revolver to Blagdon. Walking back to his car he put it on the hood and opened it. He looked inside and warmth filled him. There was that prized revolver he had needed. And oh how convenient was it that Nigel had put the silence on it. He opened and checked that the bullets were in it.

            “Hey,” Nigel said, “we agreed a swap! Your money and the other pistol for that one that I just gave you!” Blagdon sighed and said, “Yes, yes we did. Here’s your swap!” Before Nigel could react Blagdon seized the pistol and fired one shot directly between his eyebrows. Nigel sank to the ground and fell face forward. The blood stained the dirt on the lot and Blagdon smiled. “Keep the money.” He said with a laugh. Blagdon entered his car with the pistol and set it on the seat beside him.

            “Now for the other errands,” he muttered as he drove back out the lot onto the road. To his knowledge there had been no cars that had passed and no cars were coming, and that was very good. The chores would only take him an hour’s time at least to finish, so Blagdon decided to start with the papers and work to TV.  The time passed quite fast, and Blagdon was so relieved when he finished visiting the last news station. He headed to the car, turned it on and headed for home. Thankfully enough no one had caught wind of the murder he had committed and if things worked out no one would.

            Nathan exited the hospital with a freshly stitched shoulder, though it still felt sore to the touch. He climbed into that old faithful truck and started it up, thinking why those stitches had popped. He was just relieved he didn’t have to explain as much as he thought he would. It was quite an interesting ordeal without anesthesia, but he survived to say the least. The drive home was uneventful, though he was quite grateful that the traffic had quieted down considerably.

            He pulled into his drive and shut down his car. The thoughts came rolling in and made Nathan sit in his car for a few moments longer. “What is happening to me?” he asked himself as a tear rolled down his cheek. “No use crying about it,” he said. Nathan got out of his truck and locked the door. As he opened his own front door he heard the phone ring. “Not now,” Nathan muttered. He raced over to the phone and answered it. To his chagrin it was Nolan.

            “Hello Nolan, what do you need?” Nathan asked in a very perturbed voice. “Well look who’s so cheery this morning?” Nolan said in quite a sarcastic tone, “I need you to cover something for me. I don’t know if you’ve seen this or anything, but this ‘Master’ guy healed again.” Nathan rolled his eyes as he answered, “And why is that so important? This guy has healed about a dozen times. What’s so special about this one?” The blood dropped from Nathan’s face as he heard the next words out of Nolan’s mouth. “He healed in public.” Nathan nearly fell out of the couch he was sitting in. In public? Nathan thought this clearly impossible. There was no way this ‘Master’ this ‘Saint’ could heal in public! It had to be against their weird religion or something.

            “So you want me to go back there and interview him again, right? Look Nolan, I’m not going to…” Nathan was cut short. “Relax Nathan! Take it easy.” Nolan said, “I’m not asking you to go and talk to him again back there. He’s going to do it again, this time with media and police coverage. I want you to get the scoop. He says that he’ll make a short speech and then begin healing again. I want you to catch all the details about everything and present me with a front page story! Got it?” Nathan was stunned, then he regained his composure and answered with a ‘yes’.

            “Good,” Nolan said, “It’s six days from now, so you have plenty of time to prepare. Oh, and Nathan?” “What?” Nathan answered. “Don’t try and get out of this one.” At that Nolan hung up. Nathan hung up his own phone and walked back to put it in the charger. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “What am I going to do?” he wailed. He went and sat down on the couch. Six days. He just had to face up to it and get the job done, no matter what happened.

            The six days were much quicker than Nathan had wanted, so he was not looking forward to getting up that day. He had four more terrible dreams in the past six days, and that night had been no exceptions. Some were worse than others but if he kept having these strange dreams he would go crazy! He grabbed some coffee and his keys and drove downtown to the County Courthouse. There were so many people there he had to park several blocks away. “You’d think there was a Rolling Stones revival going on down here!” Nathan commented to himself with a chuckle. He grabbed his trusty recorder and walked to the crowd. Little did he know of the events that were to transpire right before his very eyes.

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Chapter 9: An Inner Deception

            Blagdon paced in his room. He could not have been convinced by any mortal man of any of what he saw with his own eyes not long ago. He was so confused at the emotions that boiled in his body. They had all given a vow when they had joined that they would try and suppress most of their emotions at most all times. But Blagdon was so confused that he didn’t know what he was going to do about it. He was fairly sure that he couldn’t go to the Master about it. He decided that he would go and meditate. He headed out his door and walked to the meditation room.

            As he walked he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye that didn’t fit. He turned to see what it was, but it turned out to be nothing and so he continued walking, though he had slowed his pace considerably. He saw something again, a little clearer and it made him jump; but when he turned, again it was nothing. It looked like some of the creatures etched in the Sacred Texts. He was sure that it was nothing and so again he started again, though only in slow, small steps.

            This mysterious figure appeared again in his peripheral vision and he turned fast to see what it was. But it was nothing, as it had been the time before that and the first time. He started to sweat, and he quickened his pace. “It’s all in your mind Blagdon boy. All in your…Ah!” Blagdon was face to face with what he thought was following. It was exactly like the sketches in the Sacred Texts; it smelled heavily of sulfur and looked like something he would have watched in a horror or sci-fi movie when he was younger. In the blink of an eye it changed to the form of a man in an all black suit with a gray suit coat over it through what Blagdon thought might have been a mirage.

            “Hello Blagdon,” this, man, if you could call him that said, “I am here to change your destiny.” Blagdon put his hand to his forehead and rubbed his temples. He then said after a few seconds, “I don’t think I know you Mr.…” “The name is Terrin; you can call me T for short. Why don’t we walk to the meditation room so we can talk more privately?” Blagdon nodded yes and they walked there. “I can explain why and what I am when we are in there. But you must lock the doors. I don’t need prying eyes viewing what you are to be shown.” They entered the meditation room silently and Blagdon closed and locked the door after himself.

            “Now, to get down to business,” Terrin said, “I have come on behalf of the Dark One. I am here to offer you a deal that no other mortal will be granted in a hundred years.” The mention of this made a chill run up Blagdon’s spine, and he liked it. “What kind of deal?” Blagdon asked. His voice quivered, and he wondered if this man, if he could call him that, was telling the whole truth. But if he was going to get some deal that would make him superior to most humans he felt he was willing to get the chance.

            “This is a deal that you need to think over, though I doubt it will take very long for you to decide. This deal is for you to take on immense powers, more than even your precious ‘Master’ has. You are most likely wondering what the catch is. I can see it in your eyes. But we will get to that later. Stretch out your hand.” Blagdon stretched his hand forth and Terrin said, “Now concentrate on this piece of wood in my hand. Make it come to you and let it hover over your hand.” Blagdon did, and at first there was nothing. He was going to say, “Why am I doing this,” when the stick shot to his hand and levitated.

            He stood stunned at what had just happened. “Now,” Terrin said, “make it fly, and stick it to the ceiling!” Blagdon thought this and it happened; this small piece of wood shot from where it was hovering over his hand and stuck into the wood above them. So violently in fact, that splinters fell on them from the impact. He grinned at the power he held. “Do others have this power?” he asked. “No,” Terrin answered, “Only you and your Master hold this power. I will show you greater power than this.” Terrin put his hand into one of the pockets and took out a vile. He opened the cover and poured it one his hand. Boils began to appear, and they oozed the black blood he had seen one or two times before. Terrin didn’t even flinch at what was happening.

            “Touch the wound Blagdon,” Terrin said. He said it with such charm and charisma that Blagdon could not resist, even though his eyes and mind screamed that it was wrong. Blagdon reached for it slowly, with one shaking hand and touched the wound. Before his eyes he saw the hand healed to its proper state. He jerked his hand backwards and stared at it for one long minute, not knowing what happened. “You see,” Terrin said, “you have just as much potential and power that your Master has, but you are special. You have ten times as much that can be released.”

            Blagdon barely heard Terrin. He was still staring his hand in amazement. “This is where our deal comes in,” Terrin said, “all you need to do is give me two things.” Blagdon thought a moment, not removing his eyes from his hand and said, “What might those be?” Terrin smiled and thought to himself, “I have him now!” He cleared his throat and said to Blagdon, “All I need, is a little of your blood, and your compliance in a task that I wish you to do.” Blagdon looked up and asked him, “What kind of task?”

            Terrin continued smiling at him and said, “A simple one, all I need is for you to kill the Master. In public. You can frame anyone you like for it. That is why you are going to have violent powers to start, and then charismatic charm later.” Blagdon took a step back at these words, and almost wanted to run out the door and then get a group to kill this man for his blatancy. But he was not the sort of man to be swayed easily to run or do anything rash. “How do I know that you won’t kill me, or have me killed?” The expression on Terrin’s face changed to a cold, lifeless expression. “Are you daft man???” he nearly yelled, “I am showing you the way to prosperity! I wouldn’t dare think of double-crossing you, not yet.” He said the last words in sort of a hushed tone, so that Blagdon could almost not hear him.

            “And how, may I ask, am I supposed to frame someone for the murder of the Master if someone sees me?” Blagdon asked in an impertinent voice. The smile returned to Terrin’s face as he said, “That, my dear Blagdon, I am going to show you.” He took a knife from under his jacket and handed it to Blagdon. “Now,” Terrin said, “concentrate. Think about sending it into my hand. Not the pointed end, the handle.” Blagdon concentrated, but not very hard and then he was startled. The knife disappeared from his hand and was now in Terrin’s hand.

            “How? Why?” Blagdon started to mutter, amazed at what had just happened. “Don’t ask questions Blagdon. Just accept it. You know that you were meant for this. Deep down, you do.” Blagdon still looked at his hand, still crunched like it was holding the knife. He was speechless. He couldn’t think to say anything. How could he? This man, was trying to get him to kill the Master. “I am still not convinced.” He said. Again, the smile left Terrin and he seemed to be much more irritated. Blagdon knew that he was treading on thin ice, but he was not going to change loyalties at the drop of a hat.

            “You ignorant fool!” Terrin said, seething with anger, “I should kill you for your unbelief! How can you stand by and just take these things for granted?” Blagdon stared at him, galled at this sudden burst of rage. “How dare YOU think that I would just kill my Master at the drop of a hat. I will not just change because I posses some inner power. I cannot accept this until you can convince me that I am truly worthy of this. For all I know you could be sent from the Light One to distract me from my true purpose!”

            Terrin started to shake violently. Blagdon took another step back to make sure that if he did something he would be safe. There was a flash of light, and a mirage like looking through the heat of a fire, and Terrin changed. There, standing before Blagdon was the creature. Or a creature that was like the Great Creature that appeared to Gilim in the beginning. This creature had all the features described in the texts, but he was pure black, with fire blue eyes that burned with a hatred of him. He could see that he was going to die.

            “You, Blagdon, are too full of yourself.” Terrin said in a raspy, almost animated voice, “You want proof??!!! I will show you proof!” He grabbed Blagdon by the hood of his robe and yanked him into the air. Blagdon could smell the sulfur in his breath. Terror was in his eyes as he watched the mouth of this beast come nearer. Instead of biting his face off, like Blagdon thought he would, he breathed on him. He set him back down and said, “Now, say something to me.” Blagdon spoke, but instead of English, the ancient language came out. “You see,” Terrin said as he changed back into a man, “you are special.”

            He snapped his fingers and said, “Now speak again.” Blagdon spoke again, and this time he spoke in English, though he remembered how to speak in the ancient language. Terrin smiled wide. “Do you see my point now? You do have powers, and it is your destiny to take over the Master’s position. He is weak, and he does not use his power to gain people for the cause. If he was strong I would not have come to you.” Blagdon stared at him with a blank stare. Terrin could see the battle raging in his conscience, and he was winning. “A little more,” he said to himself, “and he will be mine!” He took a step towards Blagdon and touched his eyes. Blagdon gave a yelp of surprise and said, “I can’t see! What did you do to me?!”

            “It is only my last test to convince you.” Terrin said. He knew this would be going out on a limb, but he had to do it to convince this idiot of his true potential. If he failed it would be Hell to pay. No pun intended. He grabbed one of the staffs that were leaning up against the opposite wall in the meditation room. He tossed it to Blagdon, and he instinctively caught it. “What is this?” Blagdon asked. “It is a staff. I am going to attack you, and you will defend yourself.” Swiftly he took his own stick and swung at Blagdon. He caught the blow and went on the attack. It was all over in three seconds. They perried back and forth, and then Blagdon pulled a trick and sent the staff flying upwards .It crashed down on one of the meditation bags.

            “Very good!” Terrin exclaimed. He came up to Blagdon, took the staff from his hand and placed his own over Blagdon’s eyes. The light came pouring in, and Blagdon had to shield his eyes because he felt it was so bright. The meditation room was one of the darkest rooms in the entire mission, and yet it was too bright for Blagdon. “Ahh! It is too bright!” he screamed. “Yes, it is.” Terrin said, “Do I have your acceptance.” Blagdon thought. He rolled back his thoughts to the emotions that had been boiling inside him during the entire time he had been here with this man.

            He realized that he was feeling the urge for power. “Yes,” he said in a weak voice. “Yes!” he said even louder, “Take my blood! I want this power!” Terrin wasted no time. He jumped upon Blagdon, which startled him a little bit. A claw flashed on his arm and blood seeped from the wound. The pain seared through every nerve in his body, and he screamed silently. Terrin rushed into this blood and sucked it dry, more than what Blagdon thought he should have. He breathed on the wound when he backed off and it was healed. Like nothing had happened. Blagdon stared at the spot where he had been cut. He still felt the pain, but there was nothing there. He decided to test it out. He stretched his hand to one of the sticks and beckoned it forward with his mind.

            It sailed at him and he caught it. He made it hover, and then he sent it flying back to where he had made it come. He held it just before the wall and set it back gently. “I like this new power!” Blagdon said. It made Terrin smile all the wider, and then he snapped his fingers and he was gone. Blagdon was not amazed or frightened that he left. In fact he was almost glad that Terrin was gone. A chill ran through his body, and he drank the sensation in. “Power.” He said in a soft voice. He said it again. Another chill ran up and down his spine. “POWER!” he yelled. The room shook, and then he stopped. He wondered if anyone had seen or heard.

            Davila pushed the intercom again, and said, “Blagdon? Blagdon are you there?” No answer, again. She was a little worried. He usually answered right away, and this was not like him. She thought for a moment and wondered why he might not be answering. It just didn’t seem right that he wouldn’t talk. Just then Kieltar was walking by. “Kieltar!” Davila said, “Would you mind going to check on Blagdon? He hasn’t answered his intercom and it isn’t like him to not answer.” Kieltar nodded and went off down the hall to find Blagdon. He was a bit worried himself. He was sure that Blagdon wouldn’t do something like this, it wasn’t in his nature.

            Kieltar went down the hall and straight to Blagdon’s room. It was a tad messy, or at least for the standards of the mission. “Blagdon? Are you in here?” Kieltar asked. When he heard no answer he entered. “Hello,” he asked as he entered. He heard no answer and so he walked to the intercom by the bed. He thought about making a little more thorough search before he paged Davila, but it felt better for him to let her know first thing. “Davila,” Kieltar said, “He’s not here. I think I might know where he is, would you mind paging the meditation room for me?”

            Davila said yes, and Kieltar started on his way. He reached it shortly, and he saw that the door was locked. He walked up to the door, and he was a bit hesitant as he reached to knock on the door. He put down these emotions and knocked anyways. He waited a few seconds, but no one opened the door. He knocked again, and no one answered. “Blagdon,” he called, “are you in there?” There was a second of silence, and then that familiar, yet muffled voice, rang through, “I’m here, what do you want?” Kieltar gave a relieved sigh and said, “Davila wanted me to get you. I don’t know more than that.”

            “Alright,” Blagdon said, “I’m coming out.” Kieltar saw the door unlocking, and he stood back. Fear crept up and down his spine, for no particular reason. Blagdon stepped out, and he looked changed in some way. His robe was dark black, and his eyes didn’t look right. They were a misty blue, and the whole aura around Blagdon made Kieltar’s skin crawl. “Come with me,” he said, and Blagdon made no objection to Kieltar leading. Kieltar started sweating and tried even harder to push back all the emotions coming to the surface.

            They reached the counter and Kieltar said, “I will leave you two now.” And he left down the hall. “Davila,” Blagdon started, “what is it that you wanted to talk about?”

Davila smiled at Blagdon and said, “Oh that is my fault. I should have told Kieltar why I sent for you. Actually, I didn’t call for you. The Master did.” Blagdon turned white as a board and stepped back. He regained his composure and asked, “Did he say what it was about?” Davila shook her head and replied, “No he didn’t. I didn’t think to ask. Just go right in.”

            Blagdon started the long walk down the hallway, though it felt even longer knowing the treason he had just committed. The Master knew all, though if he killed him now it would make his transition to power complete. But that would be just what the Master would expect. He would wait. Besides, what would the Master want to talk about? His curiosity was stronger than his growing desire for control and power, and so he approached the Master’s door. He clenched his fist, hesitated a moment and knocked. It gently swung open as the Master said, “Come in!”

            “Blagdon,” the Master said, “I think that you are wondering why I have asked you to come here.” Blagdon took a seat as the Master continued. “I have been thinking over our trip to the hospital. Your suggestion was very helpful, and I have thought about doing more healings.” Blagdon looked at the Master and gave a slight smile. The Master saw this and stood up. He walked to the window and looked out. “I was wondering Blagdon, do you have any suggestions for where we could hold such a gathering of people?” Blagdon thought for a moment and then replied, “Well, I first would have to know where you would like to hold it. Indoors or out?”

            “I think that we should hold it outside. We would attract more people that way. I need you and Maurin to hang fliers around this city. Anyone who has seen my work should come by the droves. Maurin knows how to drive, so you two should be set. I have just paged for Maurin, so when he comes you will both go.” Though he was forward, it was the Master. The hate was seeping towards the surface, but he couldn’t just let it come through. He would wait for the perfect time to come forward and strike this weak man down. Heal, heal, heal. Did he think that this was the only way to get disciples? No matter.

            He nodded and waited. It seemed like ages before Maurin came. He wanted to scream at him for his tardiness, but he held back. Emotions were good. Not bad as the books suggested they could be. “You beckoned, my Master?” Maurin said in a willing voice. “Yes, sit down Maurin.” The Master said, motioning to the chair beside Blagdon. “I have called you here on an important matter that I have talked over with Blagdon,” he started, “and I will need you two to co-operate. I know you both don’t see eye to eye one everything, but if we want more followers it depends on both of you, not just one or the other!”

            He said this last bit in tension. “Now,” the Master said as he took a seat in his chair, “I have had some posters made up in the copying room, I need you both to go and get them, and then head to some of the most popular places in this city and hang them there. But it has to be where people who are sick would also go in droves. See if you can’t find a good place to hold the meeting while you’re out there.” Both Blagdon and Maurin nodded there heads and were excused to the copy room.

            The walk to the room was short compared to what the dreaded walk to the Master’s room had been. And in comparison, the hall to the Master’s office was a shorter distance than the copy room. They knocked on the door, and Kieltar opened it, which quite surprised Blagdon. Kieltar was just as shocked, but he regained his composure and asked, “What is it you need?” Blagdon was going to speak, but Maurin beat him to it. “We need the posters that the Master requisitioned. Are they ready?” Maurin asked. Kieltar just nodded and disappeared inside. He returned with a stack of them and gave them to Maurin.

            They walked to the car together and Blagdon opened the back seat so that Maurin could put them inside. He then went to the side door and got in himself. Maurin came around the back and got in the driver’s side. “Where to first?” Blagdon asked. Maurin thought as he buckled his seatbelt and then said as he started the ignition, “We go to the Public Library, that will be the perfect place to start.” They backed out and started down the rode.

            Their trip to the library was actually quite short, or what it seemed to Blagdon. He still could not get used to riding in these cars. He kind of felt like a kid in a candy store, but of course if he was to keep passing off as one of disciples of the Master he would need to keep his emotions back, or at least not show them. Blagdon suggested that they go to some other public buildings, and they stopped at a booth labeled ‘PHONE’ and Maurin looked up some of the other businesses they could put these flyers in. Then he saw it. “The County Courthouse!” Maurin exclaimed under his breath, “That’s where we’ll hold it!”

            They headed out and tacked up the flyers everywhere they went, and everyone seemed to welcome them. They came to the County Courthouse and parked in one of the visitor’s parking spots. They both walked in and got some strange looks from the receptionist at the front desk. “May I help you?” she asked, looking them over once again, still in shock Blagdon supposed. “Yes,” Maurin started, “we have come on two matters. First, we would like to know if we could put some of these flyers up. The second is that we would like to hold this gathering on the steps of the City Hall?” She looked at the computer and typed a few things in.

            It was a few minutes before she looked back and asked, “May I see one of these flyers?” Blagdon handed one of the ones in his stack to her. She read it over and then entered some things into her computer. The printer started to work and it surprised Blagdon. The receptionist gave him a strange look and went back to typing. The page finished printing and she handed it to Maurin and said, “Just fill this out and give it back to me. You should be all set after I get you the permit for that.” Maurin thanked her and they walked to one of the desks to fill it out. It did not take long, and they handed it back in to her.

            She reached under the desk and got the permit for them and they turned to hang the posters on the board, but the receptionist stopped them. “Here,” she said, “I’ll hang them for you.” Blagdon handed his over to her and said, “You are very kind.” She smiled and took them from him. They both turned and went out the doors and down to the car. “That went easy.” Blagdon said as he exhaled. They got in and went back to the mission to tell the Master the good news.

            Almost for a moment Blagdon showed his emotions, but he caught himself. He had bigger problems that faced him. He would have to get away during the healing and get some sort of weapon. If he brought anything from the mission it would arouse suspicions.  But he had the perfect plan, and it involved Maurin. This, follower, of the Master fit his plan like a glove. He looked out the window to allow himself an evil grin. He nearly was seduced by the urge to laugh, but he held back that desire much better than the urge to grin.

            The few indulgences he could allow himself were dangerous, but very enticing. A cold chill ran down his spine at the thought of getting caught in one of these moments. He drank in the bliss of that moment, and when he finished they had just pulled into the mission. “Should we report to the Master right away, or wait?” Blagdon queried. Maurin thought and walked ahead as he said, “We should ask Davila, she can then ask the Master.”

            Blagdon accepted this and walked faster, though only a couple of steps behind Maurin. He caught the door on his way in, and saw that Maurin was already speaking with Davila. She greeted Blagdon, and then she turned to Maurin and said in response to his question, “The Master was expecting you. He is too excited, so I think you can use the Intercom this time.” Maurin thanked her and he went around the desk and pressed the button for the Master’s office.

            “Master? Are you there?” he asked. The Master’s familiar gruff voice came over, “Maurin! You’re back! How did it go?” Maurin cleared his throat before answering, “Ahem, All went as planned Master. The flyers are all over the city and we have arranged for the healings to take place at city hall. We have a permit with us, and everything is set.” The Master praised them for their efforts, “Well done! Well done! Now, we shall hold the healings tomorrow, as the flyers say, and then if all goes well we shall have another healing two days from then.”

            Maurin accepted this and bid the Master good day. “Wonderful,” Maurin said, “perfectly wonderful. I am going to meditate in preparation for tomorrow. Good day.” He went around the counter and walked down the right wing to the meditation room closest to the Master. “I must go as well,” Blagdon said, “good day, Davila.” He turned and went to his room. Everything was lining up. “Should I kill the Master tomorrow?” he asked himself. “No, no, that would be too hasty, I might be found out.” He realized how much animosity he held against the Master in that moment. He sat down on the bed and pondered what he would do next.

            An idea struck him in that moment. “I can get one of my contacts to provide a weapon for me!” he said. He knew a few people that did that sort of thing in a pinch, before he came to the mission. He then set about planning the whole attack out. It would be swift, and he would only buy the best weapon, so that it would be harder to link the crime to him. “I know! I shall have Vincent get me a pistol with a silencer and one bullet!” He exclaimed, though almost regretting it for fear that someone might here. A pistol was a bit messy, but he knew anything else would be too incriminating.

            The day of the first healing came faster than the Master thought it would. “It’s probably because I wanted it to come fast,” he muttered as he rolled out of his bed. He grabbed the black suit and pants that had made him famous and infamous all over the city and got dressed fast. He paged Davila and had her get the vehicle ready. He would take Maurin, Blagden, Blagdon and a few others with him, to help with the people. The car was waiting and off they went.

            There was a crowd there when they arrived and just as he had wanted, Blagden and Blagdon, with the others, created sort of a buffer between him and the crowd. They escorted him to the top of the steps and then opened to let him speak. “Good people of Chicago. I, the Master am here to heal those among you who are ill, and weak!” A great roar rose from the crowd, and they almost surged forward in an unstoppable tidal wave. “People, People! Be civil, I will heal every one of you in due time!” the Master yelled over the torrent. The crowd quieted and stepped back.

            The Master approached the first row and started to lay hands on the people. The sicknesses started to fade away, like the light when darkness comes at sunset. Just as the Red Sea parted for Moses, so did this crowd for the Master to come through. He continued to lay his hands on the people and they were healed. Those who had been touched looked at themselves and were speechless. Those who hadn’t came closer to be touched and healed like the others. Soon the entire crowd was healed and they praised the Master for his power.

            Blagdon saw his chance, and though it was awe inspiring to watch the Master do this amazing feat he had to act quickly if he was to succeed in his own task. “I hope this is the right number!” Blagdon said to himself as he walked to the nearest phone. He dialed fast and waited as the phone rang. “Nigel here,” a sinister voice said over the phone, “what do you need?” Blagdon breathed a sigh of relief and went over his list in his mind. “I need a favor Nigel,” he spoke, hoping Nigel would recognize him. “Who is this?” Nigel snapped, “I can’t have anonymous people buzz me and then leave! I run a business not a phone line!” Before Nigel could hang up Blagdon spoke, “It’s me Nigel! Blake! You remember? Frisco, five years back.”

            There was a long pause before Nigel responded, “Ah yes, I remember. Well, what can I do you for?” He gave a sigh of relief and spoke quickly over the phone so as not to be overheard, “Nigel, I need a piece.” Nigel was stunned for a moment, and didn’t respond. Blagdon wasn’t sure if he had hung up or went away, so he repeated his request. Nigel took a deep breath and then asked, “I thought you’d gone religious?” Blagdon gave a nervous chuckle as he replied, “No, not THAT kind of religious. Can you get it to me today? I’m at a rally at the County Courthouse right now.” There was another pause and Blagdon knew that precious time was being wasted. “Sure, I’ll be there in five.” At that Blagdon hung up the phone. He wiped his hand on his pants and walked out.

            He felt numb as he realized how quickly the Master was healing people. He almost wondered if he could pull off the job at such short notice. Then he noticed out of the corner of his eye a car at the far end of the Courthouse. To make sure that he could find Nigel he walked to this car to check it out. “It hasn’t been THAT long,” Blagdon muttered to himself, “surely he couldn’t have changed a whole lot.” He neared the car and a man stepped out.

            His pace slowed as he realized that it was indeed Nigel. His conscience screamed for him to stop and turn the other way, but he pressed forward, driven by the unknown force that was power driving him to the ultimate goal. “Nigel? Is that you?” Blagdon asked in a friendly voice. “You got me.” Nigel said with a raise of his hands. “Do you have that package for me?” Blagdon queried, not wishing to wait any longer. “Yeah, I do.” Nigel said as he slid his hand under his coat. He produced a small brown paper bag and pushed the handle out to show that it was there. “Now this is a favor,” Nigel said, “don’t be looking for me when you need another one unless you have cash.”

            Blagdon nodded as he took the bag from Nigel. He took the pistol out and admired it. It was quite shiny, and Blagdon felt quite an attachment for this hunk of metal, though he had no idea why. He pushed the clip release and the clip dropped into his hand, he then de chambered the round that was in it, and smiled in satisfaction. “Thanks man, this is great” Blagdon said. With a nod Nigel turned and said, “Your welcome, just remember what I said.” And he opened his car door.

            Noticing he still had all the components in his hand, Blagdon put the pistol back together, first putting the shell that had fallen to the ground back in the clip, and then he slammed the clip back into the pistol. He put the bag in the trash can and the pistol under his suit in his back pocket. Emotions flooded his mind as he released his grip on the pistol. Should I do it? When? Why? How? As he walked back he noticed that the crowed was shrinking. The Master must have been finished. He considered going back the other way to make it seem as if he had taken a walk, but then he decided against it, saying that would only take longer.

            He was almost all the way around the building when he realized that the plan would not work. For one, the crowd was dissipating and any shooting would definitely be linked back to him. The second was that the pistol he had just bought had no silencer and it was an automatic which meant that the sound, and casing would be traced back to him no matter where he teleported the pistol to. Fear crept upon Blagdon and seized him wholeheartedly as he spun to look for Nigel, but he noticed to his chagrin that he and his car was gone.

            “That traitor!” Blagdon said under his breath, fueling the boiling of emotions that was coming forth. “I’ll just have to get what I want later, for now I will go back with the others.” He was slowly able to cool the fires that burned his anger and he turned right back around and walked towards Maurin to query as to how the rest of the healing went. “Where did you go?” Maurin asked as Blagdon approached. “I was taking a walk,” Blagdon replied, “I wanted to see some more of the city before we left. How did the rest of the session go?” Maurin smiled in childish delight and said, “Better than could have ever been expected! I counted the crowd on the spur of the moment and I counted almost a thousand!”

            Blagdon was taken aback. A thousand! No one could ever dream of thinking that many people would be drawn to this healer. “Does this mean that we will have a second healing?” Blagdon inquired. Maurin smiled again and said, “It most certainly does! The Master has decided to talk over it in the vehicle; he and Blagden are there now. Come.” Maurin led the way back to the car and it was good that he had, for Blagdon did not remember the way.

            They reached the car in great haste and got in. Blagden started the car as the Master spoke to both of the. “I want you to know how proud I am for your services,” he started, “and I am grateful that everything has gone so well in the past, and I am confident that things will go well in the future. From the size of the crowd I do believe that we shall do this again. Only this time we will advertise better. I am going to want one of you to drive to the local news stations and inform them of the next event, which will again be held at the County Courthouse. I want you to pick them up Blagdon, is this problem for you?” Blagdon responded with a quick ‘no’ and so the Master continued.

            “We must be tactful about it, so I will prepare a small speech and give it to the crowd, and then I will begin healing. If we can I think we should have some of this fair city’s police at the event to control the flood of humanity. Is there anything you three would like to add or ask of me?” the Master asked. There was a resounding no in the car and the Master nodded in agreement. “Then it is settled,” he said, “I say that the date should be a week from today, which means that I need you, Blagdon, to get to the mainstream stations tomorrow. I know it comes as a surprise I would not say right now, but I am tired and would like to return to our beloved mission.”

            The car proceeded along until they came to that all familiar entrance to their mission. Where they had spent their lives’ work until now, and to see those fruits blossoming only encouraged them more. The car was parked and they all got out and walked to the door. What a feeling of accomplishment Blagden felt as he stepped through those doors. If he didn’t have the restraint he had he might have leaped, whooped and hollered for joy that very moment. “Davila,” Blagden said as he passed, “make sure to let anyone who asks for me know that I am trying to rest and do not want to be disturbed.”

            She said she would and Blagdon walked to his room. The walk was lonely and solemn and he felt like he was the only one there. With anyone else they would think that would bring on a depressed and sad outlook when going to their bed. But not for Blagden, oh no. He could not have been happier as he closed his door. “What a day! I cannot wait for next week to come!” he exclaimed as he kicked off his shoes. Most of the people at the mission were taught to sleep with their robes on, and so all he need do was crawl right into bed.

            Sleep came faster than he had really expected it would, and so he just let it engulf himself. The blackness descended up on him and he was transported to a world that was vague and familiar to him at the same time. The scene which stretched before him was in total desolation. He had no feelings for this though, and so tried to keep his attention wandering and not focus in on one thing until absolutely necessary. Burned trees, shrubs and grass scattered the rolling plain in front of him, with a blood red sky overhead beating down rays of insufferable heat upon him. Smoke rose from one of the draws to his left, and he decided this would be the best place to walk to find the solution to his questions.

            It was much farther than he had anticipated. He began to start sweating in the heat and his feet were starting to ache. He tried to put these things out of his mind as he pushed forward. Powerful waves of heat crashed into him and started to drain what energy he had. “This is not the restful sleep I thought I was going to get!” Blagden muttered to himself. The gulch loomed before him, and he could see the smoke rising, but it was not smoke. It was a black, sludge like river that was flowing down the gulch into the valley beyond.

            Upon further inspection of this river Blagden found that he could see the bottom, lined with rocks and pebbles and obstacles otherwise unnoticed from far away. He took one step forward and pain shot through his leg. This pain was so gripping it made him fall to his knees in agony. He tried to cry for help, but couldn’t. More pain spread through his knees and legs as he rocked back and forth. He couldn’t stop it from spreading and wished it would all end. The sky dimmed as a figure began approaching him from the bottom of the gulch and he stopped rocking back and forth to watch this, being, for lack of words.

            The figure slowly worked its way up the hill and stopped behind a charred bush, not more than ten feet away from Blagden. The sweat that had beaded his forehead slowly dripped into his eyes and he could do nothing about it. Each droplet burned his eyes and he wished he could move, but he was frozen to where he knelt, fixing his gaze upon this powerful man. “You Blagden are cursed!” the figure said in a booming voice, while pointing at Blagden.

            This made the fear grow inside of Blagden and he continued to sweat in ever increasing amounts. He could not see under the hood of the figure but he knew if that hood was removed it would only terrify him to the point of death, so he said nothing, but he could not help but feel that his mouth was open. The figure continued, “Your curse is much greater than you know! You are destined to die, and die you shall, knowing that you have wasted your life!”

            Blagdon could see the finger pointed at him was not whole, but skeletal. He continued to stare at the figure in horror as he heard the words spoken to him. “You will writhe and gnash your teeth, and cry for mercy, but you shall not receive it you miserable worm!” the figure yelled. “Could this be my messenger?” Blagdon asked himself. He did not get a reply, for the figure began to disappear, the scenery began to change and an earsplitting noise hit his ears. It was his own scream.

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Chapter 8: Innocent, or is He?

The Master walked from the window he was looking out of and sat down in the big chair that was behind his desk. He was bothered. That, one could tell in the look that was on his face. He brought his hand to his chin and stroked it for a few minutes. The healing had gone well. Though, he was flustered at the fact that he wasn’t able to heal a simple child. A child! He was befuddled by this; some in the mission might even say vexed. He knew it couldn’t be this, but he just wasn’t sure why he was unable to perform such a simple act as healing a babe.

He was worried that this might be a sign that his power was only temporary, and he could not do great things as he thought he could. “Why?” he questioned himself, “why is it so hard to heal someone so little, when I can heal someone so great?”  Overall the healing had been a success. He was sure that all the people, except for the woman with the child, had joined the mission. “The more, the better!” he had thought when the new roster had been shown to him.

But now, he wasn’t so sure that it was good. The people were expecting a great Master to lead them and guide them through their journey with the time they had left on the earth. “Always the following must increase if success is to be in sight,” the prophecy had said. His wavering faith might destroy that following. He didn’t give any meetings or spiritual guidance sessions, so he didn’t need to worry about them thinking that he was a fake. He had proven that much already. But if he failed to gather a sufficient following, let alone the world, then he would burn for all eternity.

“That must not happen!” he yelled at himself inwardly, beating back the doubt with the coolness that had served him well all these years. The visions that Blagden had been having was a good sign. It meant that the final prophecies would be revealed shortly, and his destiny would come forth. The thought of this made a chill run down his spine. A cold, satisfied chill of power and desire; he basked in the moment, drinking in every sensation. He hadn’t felt that in years. The simple fact that he was even in this position was pure fate, though he knew that it was more than that.

“Eustis! Eustis, where are you?” a soft voice questioned. His mother had never been the loud type. He decided not to answer her, because he was in that type of mood. He didn’t want to be disturbed, and when he didn’t want to be disturbed he hid, though his mother had only found him once before. The old house had very thin walls, which made the sounds that he heard seem closer than they were. By judgment, they were on the second floor, completing the rounds and heading up to the level he was on. He hated being found; though this time he didn’t seem to mind her coming to find him. Something in him screamed that it was important, though he didn’t know why.

The steps quickened, and so did Eustis’ pulse. His mind raced with questions, and he felt that he might show himself when his mother came to the room he was in. The musky drapes hung in the window, and the dusty desks, shelves and couch presented themselves just as the previous owner had placed them. He fiddled with the piece of wood in his hand behind the ancient couch as his mother searched the rooms for him. She was in the third room down the hall, and he decided to sit on the couch instead of hiding behind it. He considered going out on the balcony, but decided it better to begrudge his mother an appearance.

“Eustis!” his mother called again, “There you are! I have been looking all over for you!” She crossed her arms and Eustis looked up to her with those solemn eyes of his. At only seven he was quite the character and his mother was quite soft on him. She uncrossed her arms and said, “Eustis, Mark is coming to live with us. I know you don’t like Mark very much, but I don’t think you have much choice. He won’t be living in my room; he is going to live up here, so you won’t be able to stay up here.” Eustis thought over this remark. It wasn’t unlike his mother to do this. She had brought home several of her boyfriends to this old mansion before.

He was frankly quite surprised anyone would want to live here in this backwoods Wisconsin place other than them, but his mother’s 250,000 a year didn’t fail to attract men from every piece of the woodwork. Every time it hadn’t worked out, and Eustis had gotten wise that these men weren’t all that they seemed. “Are you sure that he’s right for you?” Eustis questioned, “I mean, the last three tried to steal from us. I don’t want them to put us in the poor house.” He was sly about not letting his mother on that he knew too much. She looked at him with a concerned, sweet expression and said, “Honey, it will be fine! You’ll like Mark. I promise.”

Eustis wasn’t so sure, but he nodded his head and got up. He walked out of the room, and headed downstairs, with his mother right behind. He was fairly sure that this was what his mind had been alerting him to, although he wasn’t sure why. There was nothing special about it. The long flight of stairs curled down in a spiral, stopping off at each one of the flights. The walls on both sides had pealing rotted wallpaper, with just as rotted wood behind. He had a mixed feeling about the smell. It was sort of a love/hate feeling, musky and familiar with pungent sweetness mixed in.

He instinctively tensed up as he reached the landing. Ever since they had moved into this old house he had always done that for no reason. He let out a sigh and walked into the hallway that led to the dining room. Halfway there was a door to the right, which happened to be the main door, and to the left and down a little ways was a closet. He had been up and down this house he could tell where things were by just glancing at them. Hard to believe they had only been there for three months. His mother had always said he was special, just how special he didn’t know.

He reached the dining room in short order and saw a man sitting at the table. He guessed that it was Mark. “Eustis,” his mother said from behind him as she came up and around to the man and put a hand on his shoulder, “This is Mark.” He said hi, and the man returned the compliment, with a cold stare from those somber green eyes of his. Eustis didn’t like him one bit and wished he would go away. But that was not his decision. He didn’t hold many of his mother’s boyfriends in to high regard. He disliked this one twice as much as the rest. It seemed that this ‘Mark’ disliked him just as much.

“Do you have your things out in your car, Mark?” his mother asked. “Yeah Penny, I do. You want to help me get them into the house?” She said yes, and they went to get his luggage. Eustis could tell he would be trouble, and so he went up to his room to think of what it was that irked him so. He was smarter than most boys of ten, and he didn’t let his mother know it. Which is why he acted the way he did. He acted the way he thought a normal young boy should act. He reached his room and jumped onto the bed. The drab olive sheets were beginning to fade, and he thought they might need a wash soon.

“Why is he here?” Eustis asked himself in a whisper, “What does he want from us? It couldn’t be my mother. She doesn’t make that good of a prize. Not that he would begrudge his mother beauty, for she certainly had a lot of that. But she wasn’t what this kind of man wanted. He knew that. The expression in his eyes were of hatred, contempt and lust. He couldn’t stop thinking about how slicing they were towards him. “Maybe he intends to get rid of me, marry mother and then kill her to get her money.” Eustis thought in a panic, “No, no that couldn’t be it. Get that out of your head Eustis! It’s not that obvious that he would do something like that! Give him time, and you will see what he intends.”

Eustis watched and waited, each dinner he had to eat by himself, and he rarely saw his mother. Mark was upstairs half the time and the other half Eustis didn’t know where he went. They had two dinners as a group, but that was it. The whole atmosphere of the house was not right. He knew for sure that this man’s intentions were not towards his mother or him. He was helpless on his own, but he thought that it was time for him to spend time in his sanctuary. That is what he had dedicated the room for. The little space Eustis had to get away from it all.

It was a little after one when he crept up the old stairs. He knew that Mark was up there, and he secretly hoped that he wouldn’t find him in his sanctuary. He reached the top of the steps and there was no sign of Mark. He let out a relieved sigh and walked straight for his room. He found it untouched, with the door open, and so he went in. Eustis decided that it would be best if he sat behind the couch and ponder all the events rather than sit on the couch, or out in front. He picked up his little piece of would and walked around the couch.

He could here nothing, and so he started to fiddle with the stick. He knew that it wouldn’t be good if Mark found him up here, but if something happened he would be ready for it. A rattling came from down the hall, and Eustis froze. He thought that maybe Mark was coming for him and he was going to kill him. He realized that it only came from his room, and so he went back to his thinking. He lifted his head with a start. What if Mark was breaking into the safe they had. He couldn’t let him do that. If he did, Eustis was sure that he would leave with what valuables were there and high tail it before anyone was the wiser.

He slowly rose, and then straightened with confidence. He strode around the couch and down the hall, closer to the sound. He reached the door, and then the flood of courage he had received receded. His hand began to shake as he reached for the knob, and it suddenly opened as he touched it. There stood Mark, much taller and more massive than what he had seen the last time he met Mark. “What are you doing here?” Mark growled. “I, I, I…” Eustis stuttered, trying to think of an excuse. “I don’t think you should be here, do you?” he bent down, the stench of sweat reaching Eustis’ nostrils.

“I…” Eustis didn’t answer him. He ran down the hall and instead of going into his sanctuary, he ran down the flight of stairs and went to his room. He slammed the door shut and he dove onto his bed. He grabbed his pillow and clenched it close to himself. He knew that it would be hard for him to find out what Mark was doing, but he knew that it wasn’t good for his mother, or him. He didn’t here steps following him, and he had a vague recollection that Mark had slammed the door behind him. Eustis was sure that Mark hated him with a vengeance, which made him suspicious that his work might increase because of their little run in just now.

He made up his mind to go to his sanctuary again tomorrow, and hopefully Mark would be drawn to him. He would confront Mark and then confront his mother with this proof. His plan had holes, but he had to try. He waited a full hour before venturing out. He went downstairs and got something to eat. He was sure that it would be bad for him if Mark came down and saw him eating, so he planned a quick escape just incase he needed it. He finished and washed his dishes and went back up to his room. As he climbed the stairs he heard some noise, like Mark was coming down the stairs. Eustis froze, and when it didn’t come any closer he continued up at a hastened pace.

The night came on slowly and he knew that what would come tomorrow would change everything. He just didn’t know how or what would happen. But he knew that it wouldn’t be easy for him to rest for that big day that lay ahead. He tossed and turned for an hour and still couldn’t fall asleep. He turned to face the ceiling and he laid his hands behind his head. “What will happen if I fail?” Eustis asked himself. “What may become of mother? What will become of me?”

All these questions racked his mind and it was not until late that he fell fast asleep. He had never been one to wonder before, but there was something that was just not right about Mark. He had to be the one to stop him, no matter if his mother got in the way or begged him not to. He just had to make sure that Mark didn’t succeed at whatever he was doing. The sun peaked through the window and crept over the bed. Eustis razed a sleepy head to greet this light. He wiped his groggy eyes and slid out of bed. He decided that he was not going to waste any time. He opened his door and heard nothing. He went up the stairs and sat on the couch in his sanctuary. The piece of wood he had set on the couch was still there.

 “This is good. He hasn’t been here. All I have to do is wait for this man of intense evil.” Eustis said in a bitter voice as he walked to the couch. Mark sat on the bed in the room he was staying. “A little more time,” he muttered, “that’s all I need.” He looked to the wall, where he had placed a satanic cross. “A little more time and I will have the money for the Dark One to reign forever! Now, to take care of the brat and I will be free to sacrifice the mother!” He stood and walked to the safe that he was boring into. He hadn’t joined that den of thieves just for the cash.

He went over the plan slowly and carefully, sure not to leave out any details in the case that he made a mistake; which he wouldn’t. He had an idea that the boy used the room two doors down the hall on the opposite side as sort of a sanctuary. The aura that was being given off could say as much. He would lure the boy to the balcony, drug him with ether, and then throw him over the railing. He would pretend like he saw the tragedy and cry out for the mother to come. When she did, he would drug her and then take her to the altar he had constructed for this purpose.

He would chant and then kill her for the Dark One. He would rummage her belongings for the key to the safe and finish the job. He had realized that the safe was too thick for him to get into, and he wouldn’t have any other choice than that key, because if he kept this up for much longer they would both be suspicious and see everything; it would all be over. He put the ether cloth in his pocket and walked out the door. He could not see the “sanctuary door”, as he called it, closed, and so he walked down to it, not sure if it was inhabited. The senses that had been bestowed upon him by the minions of the Dark one told him there was.

Eustis heard Mark coming, but he did not react. He just continued to fiddle with his little stick. He seemed to have an innate fascination with it for the most peculiar reason that he couldn’t understand. He saw Mark’s shadow in the doorframe, and he continued to concentrate on the stick. Mark saw this, and walked to the window, hoping that maybe the boy wouldn’t make too much of a struggle. He would take it slow, and not make a scene before the time. He was feeling a strong pulse from the boy, and was sure that it wouldn’t be good to touch him unless he came of his own accord.

“Eustis,” Mark said in a mellow, almost seductive voice, “come to the balcony, I want to show you something.” But Eustis did not respond. He ignored Mark and continued to fiddle with his stick. Mark had not expected this. He said it again. Still Eustis did not come. “Curse you boy! DID YOU NOT HERE ME???!!!” Mark screamed, forgetting the plan entirely, “Or are you daft too???” he reached to strike the boy, but his arm was caught in the air, and wrenched backwards with a force that would have thrown any other man over. When Mark looked, there was no one there holding his arm.

“I know what you are doing Mark. You won’t get away with it.” Eustis said in a calm and gentle voice, “You are full of lies and hate. You do not come into this house of good intentions.” Mark felt his throat being clutched, and he grasped at the invisible hand with the free one he had. His eyes filled with terror as he looked at the boy. Eustis stopped his fiddling, and Mark now saw what he was playing with. A piece of wood fashioned smooth and round, six inches long, with points on both ends. It levitated from his hand for a second, and Mark’s fear deepened.

His gaze never left the stick, but he felt himself being picked up off the ground. He wondered if the stick was to represent him. He had a feeling that the child was influenced by the Dark One, but his was only a guess. “Goodbye Mark.” The stick shot for him, without any effort on Eustis’ part, and plunged through Mark’s throat. Blood spurted onto his shirtless chest, and he tried to look down. But at that moment he was thrown through the curtains and plunged through the railing of the balcony. He hurtled to the earth below.

Eustis listened as the sound of crunching bones reached his ears only seconds after Mark descended. “Thus falls the disciple,” Eustis said. He got up from his spot on the couch and walked to the balcony. He looked down at the lifeless form. He spat and the spittle fell onto the body and sizzled. He walked to the room where Mark had been staying and opened the door that had been closed when Mark had come to him. He saw the symbol on the wall, and kneeled. “Your sacrifice, oh Dark One.”

The very thought of that fateful day made another chill of power sweep over the Master. “A flea in the way, that is all that he was. I almost pity the fool!” he said with a chuckle. The powers had only grown since then. He had made sure of that. Each day he had practiced, over and over what he had done to Mark. Not so much tossing him from the house, but levitating the stick and shooting it forth to penetrate objects. He had started with the wall opposite the couch in the room, and he had stuck another stick that he had made into that wall many times. He moved onto trees and even the couch itself.

When he first practiced he felt the raw energy, and it was good to him. He only wanted more. He felt control, and he liked it. This brought his attention to the healings he had performed. He remembered the pure rush of adrenaline he felt when he was healing the common infidels in hopes they would join his following and increase his power. He wondered if it would be safe to continue with these healings. He had to heal more, it would make his power complete, but many would become suspicious. He only dwelt on the danger for a moment, and then he smiled and gave a slight chuckle.

“The fools do not realize how much power I really hold over them.” He said with another laugh. The mere concept of this would boggle the minds of some of his most trusted followers. He levitated the pencil on his desk as he thought. The mere concept of him visiting another hospital so soon wouldn’t seem right and he knew it. “If only there was a way,” he spoke to himself, “oh, only the Dark One knows my yearning for power; only he understands it!” He didn’t realize the demon floating down and alighting on one of the chairs near him. He changed his form and spoke, “You are right in saying that.”

When he spoke it made the Master jump slightly and the pencil wavered and clattered to the desk. “Don’t ever do that again!” the Master said, “You startled me! Now, why are you here?” The demon gave a chuckle of approval and said, “The Dark One has heard your plea. I am here to give you the power you will need to heal in public. You already have a decent amount to do enough good, but I will give you more charisma and personality to win over the most hard of hearts, even those of the Jews. They will see you as Messiah, and will flock to you by the thousands!” He laid his hand on the Master’s head, said the words and then took his forearm in hand.

“This is to seal our agreement.” The demon said. With the movement of lightning his hand changed to its rightful shape and it slashed the Master’s arm. He gave a sharp yelp of pain, but the demon paid no mind. He bent down and sucked the blood from the wound. When he had lapped every speck of blood up he breathed on the wound, and to the astonishment of the Master it healed. “Until you need me again!” the demon said as he changed fully and disappeared through the roof. The Master returned his attention to his arm.

There was no scar or any mark that it had ever been slit. But he knew it had. The smell of sulfur and the heat from hell still radiated from the spot. He felt the power, even more raw energy than he felt before, coursing through every vein in his body. He thought about the words the demon had spoke, “I am here to give you the power you will need to heal in public.” He then thought back to Blagdon’s suggestion that they heal. “Yes,” the Master said, “Blagdon will be perfect to go and spread the word that I will heal many who are sick in public!” He went to the intercom and pressed the button that said “Front Desk” and he talked into it. “Davila,” the Master said, “get Blagdon to come to my sanctuary, I wish to speak with him.” Davila answered, “Right away.” and the Master gave a contented sigh and went to wait for Blagdon at his desk.

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Chapter 7: The Prophecies of Gilim

Gilim sat at the desk, staring at the book in front of him. His visitation had seemed somewhat surreal only hours ago in the forest. It had sunk in when he had found this book just as Pauivian, the demon, had said. The words, “You will not finish this book. Fire will consume you, but you yourself will last for ages.” echoed in his mind. He almost forgot everything else Pauivian had said when he reached for the gilded cover.

The moment he touched the cover the prophecies flooded his head. He grabbed the quill by the book and began to write. He wrote on the inside cover, “He whom first picks up this book will understand and believe in its words. He will lead a following that lasts through the ages. Small though it will be, it will continue until it will grow in the wake of the end of the ages.” He reflected on these words as he dabbed his pen for the first prophecy in the book.

He lowered the pen, and then stopped for a second. “I wonder if this is such a good idea.” He said to himself. He decided firmly against this notion and set the quill down, etching the first “holy” words, “The true Master shall arise from the youth of the future. He will set himself apart from them and do great things to impact those around him.” Gilim lifted the pen off the page and dipped it for a fresh coat of ink and returned to the task ahead.

“He shall rise up from amongst the commoners, the poor and the destitute amongst those immigrants from far away. He shall know nothing of his powers until his tenth year, and he shall commit an act that will set him apart from others, and he will be scorned for his power. He will not be further uplifted until he has reached maturity.” Gilim reached again for the inkwell, going over the next prophecy in his mind. He wondered how long it would be before they were realized.

“Those who shall enter my house with intentions of destruction shall be destroyed by fire. Disease shall ravage their flesh and destroy their will. All who attempt this shall fail and be mocked in contempt for their failure. He who attempts the life or the destruction of the property and house and life of the Master shall also meet this fate; he who opposes the Master with words will receive this fate and will be smote within days of his blasphemy.” Gilim felt a chill run through his hand as he set the quill in its holder.

He didn’t feel like he could carry on, so he set out for a walk to clear his thoughts, and dwell on the message that he would be writing. He was secretly hoping that he could speak with Pauivian again, and ask him some questions about the future. His house lay one quarter of a mile from a small village not many people knew of. He built this house so that he could be alone and not be bothered by the questions of the people. He could hunt and fish and provide for himself. It was very comfortable living, though none would know that if they saw the outside.

Gilim walked down a path he had cut, that pointed north, away from the village, and he walked to the lake. He breathed the fresh air, and thought back to the day he had left the small village outside Latakia for adventure, and a new life. His parents had wept more than he had expected them to, and it had wounded him very deeply. He had his faith in Judaism shattered when he reached the cities of ancient Greece. He had been visited by many spirits that told him all things that were false in Judaism. At first he couldn’t accept it, but then he gradually saw the way that they were speaking.

He continued on through many of the towns and villages along the coast, until one spirit told him to go inland and build a house. He did so and lived happily, until a couple of days ago when he first met Pauivian. He explained that he was to be the father of the religion that would over take the world. At first he wasn’t going to go and by into a false religion again. He had tried that once and he said so to Pauivian. The demon reiterated his prophecy and Gilim was still quite skeptical of this endeavor that this demon was pushing his way. Pauivian told Gilim to go home and mull over the prospects, and then come back in two days with his answer.

And Gilim had gone over all the aspects. He wasn’t really sure of what to think of all of this. He rested the first day and it wasn’t until evening that the spirits began to speak to him. “Why not believe in what he says,” the spirit Oujian said, “it seems to me that this is much better for you to endeavor in, for this, is actual proof that he is true, he has shown himself to you. God never showed himself to any of the people except to the brave few. You yourself don’t deny that there is a God, so with that in mind what better way to throw insults into his face than to desecrate his name?”

Many other spirits pushed his thinking towards maybe accepting this honor. He finally decided that he would accept this “honor” that the demon was offering. The look of Pauivian only convinced him that he was a demon. The look on the demon’s face changed, and it seemed like he was pleased. He explained the fifty-five prophecies to Gilim and told him to walk for a while to clear his thoughts before going back. That was only three hours ago. He knew that walking like this would help, and to make sure that he didn’t just write something foolish, he had to clear his mind.

A figure dropped from the sky and alighted on the ground before him. Pauivian. His heart leapt and coward at this sight before him. He knew the evil behind this demon, and he didn’t want to upset him to bring wrath upon his head before his time. He slowly changed from that terrifying demon shape of his to the form of a man. “I do this so that any who see us will only think that I am a traveler, and not what I really am. If they see me in my true form, you will never finish, and there will be no great rebellion as the future Master requires.”

Gilim nodded and went closer to Pauivian. He smelt the sulfur, and felt the hot breath coming at him from ten feet away. This stopped him for a second, but no matter. He needed guidance and counseling anyways in this matter. “I see that you are taking a break. That is good. I foresaw that if you had continued, not all would be as I told you;” Pauivian said, “however, I must tell you that you do not have much time left. You must finish your prophecies in five days, or the villagers will burn you!”

Gilim stopped walking when he said this. His face turned pale, and he faced Pauivian. He didn’t think that the day would come so soon that anyone would take their wrath out on him, but he wasn’t all terrified. “I must know something,” Gilim said, “can you teach me a curse to put on the people who will kill me? It would give me great satisfaction knowing that I would kill those who killed me.” Pauivian stopped, stared and then smiled at Gilim. It was a wicked grin, and he said, “Yes, I will teach you. This is an important thing that I was hoping you would ask me to teach you. This is important, because I want you to put these down in the book of prophecies. It will be critical to the success to the Master when he is gathering his following. But I only want you to put down the second curse that I tell you. I will tell him the curse I tell you when he is ready.”

He spent a few minutes telling Gilim the curses, and he had him repeat them to him, except omitting the last words to ensure that the curse is not complete before it was time. “Do take breaks. These prophecies will take a lot out of you, and you shouldn’t carry on if you feel tired.” Pauivian said. “Thank you, Master,” Gilim said, “I will try.” Pauivian’s smile faded and he said in a gruff voice, “Don’t call me Master. I am not a Master of anyone but myself.” He calmed down and said, “I tell you this now so that you will not be shocked. You will still die in five days, though you will finish these prophecies by the time they come for you. Only the last five will you not write. Be strong and curse them with every fiber of your being.”

At that, he snapped his fingers and he disappeared in a pillar of fire. Gilim stood there, stunned at what had just happened. He continued his walk until he reached his house. He entered and sat down. He rubbed his temples and muttered, “I don’t know if I can still do this!” He knew that he was in too deep, but he was still very confused and a tad afraid. He opened his eyes and reached for the quill. The page was still open where he left the last prophecies. He dabbed the quill and started to write.

“The Master shall have the power to do what he wants, when he wants. No one will stop him in any way. His followers shall grow to the multitudes as thick as the Romans once were in this world. His followers will be willing to die for him, and they will defend his name before the unbelievers. He shall deliver a blow so swift, to those who first oppose or reject him that will truly express his power to all.” The quill settled in the inkwell as Gilim leaned back to survey his words. It was shocking, but it was true.

Gilim gave a contented sigh and relaxed for a moment. He wondered if he should enter the curse into the book as soon as this. Only four prophecies, it would seem a little forward. Or would it? He gave the pen a significant amount of time for it to soak up enough ink and he began to write. The pen flowed over the page in graceful movements, and he did not stop until it was completed. The fury and might behind it set fire to his eyes, and it made even himself tremble a little as he neared the end. He lifted the pen off of the page and re-read it to himself to ensure that he had correctly used the words he had written.

It dawned on Gilim that he hadn’t put down the ancient language so that those who read it could use some of the prophecies and curses. It was fortunate that he was using Latin, and he set to work composing a translation on the page beside the curse. It took him an hour, but he got through it in record time, and he set the quill in the holder and pondered the next prophecy he would write. He wasn’t feeling fatigued, not yet. He picked up the pen again and he wrote for three straight hours, putting down twelve prophecies. The night came faster than he would have liked, but he was feeling tired and so he went up to bed. That night he slept with a dagger at his side, to defend himself from an attack before it was his time.

On the other side of town, the Black Riders were entering the little village. Jose dismounted and walked his horse to the stumps set for the people staying at the inn to tie their own horses to keep them there until they were allowed to put them in the barn. He and his companions had ridden from Madrid, across Italy and were going down to Greece on a mission that little heard of until they committed the acts they had come for. It was late when they arrived and Jose had wondered if they were even going to get a room.

The innkeeper looked up at them and asked, “Can I help you?” Jose stepped up and said, “I do believe you may, we weary travelers are wondering if you have any rooms left for us to stay in. If you do, we can pay in gold.” The innkeeper thought for a moment and then said, “I do have a couple of rooms left. How many people are you traveling with?” Jose smiled and said, “Just four of us.” The innkeeper nodded at this and then asked, “Would you please toss me your gold so I can see how much you will pay me?” Jose thought a moment and then took the small bag of gold and tossed it to the man saying, “Why not? We do need lodging for the next four days.” The innkeeper looked over it and said, “This will be plenty. Put your horses in the barn and I will show you to your rooms.”

He smiled back at the others and they went and put their horses in the barn. They came back with a few of their belongings and they followed the innkeeper back to the rooms. They were not too fancy, and had a lamp and four beds. “Perfect,” Jose said, “thank you for your hospitality.” The innkeeper accepted the compliment and then left to go back to his desk. “What shall we do next?” asked Pierre, the newest of the group. Jose sighed and explained, “We will stay here for one or two days. We will then go door to door in the village and ask if there has been any of the plague in this village. If there is, we ask if there are any Jews here. If there is a yes to that also, then we accuse the Jew as the culprit and then burn however many are there.”

The night passed quickly, and they were rudely awakened by the cock’s crow in the barn. “How comforting.” Jose noted to himself. They rose and went to the inn’s dining room and sat themselves down. Jose had some silver to cover the breakfast and no one really imagined that they would need to pay, but they figured better safe than sorry. They all got hot biscuits and some fresh milk. It was more than enough after a hard days’ ride from the north. After they feasted they returned for the day to their room and plotted the first place to look for the disease.

The days passed very fast, and they decided to go to the butcher’s shop first. Jose thought that they had passed it on their way into town, and the others agreed with him. They were off on foot and were not prepared for what met their eyes next. They approached the shop and screams erupted from within the shop. They rushed to see what the commotion was. They saw blood all over the counter when they entered the shop, and thought that the butcher had been a little knife-happy this morning. But then they recognized the shape that lay on the ground in the blood. It was two fingers. They looked up to see where it had come from, and they saw that it was from the butcher’s own hand.

They looked a little further up his hand, and saw to their joy, and their fear, that there was a fresh boil, black and sticky formed just that day, even within moments of their arrival. “What happened?” Pierre asked, with a look of fear on his face. The butcher said in a voice masked with pain and consternation, “I was chopping a chicken’s head off when this injury happened, the black thing on my arm I mean. It hurt and I misjudged. I came down with the axe and chopped off my finger. Miss Eysla saw it and screamed. So did I.”

Jose held back a smile of contentment and he asked, “Do any Jews live in the village?” The butcher thought, clutching his hand even tighter and then said after a few moments, “Yes, there is, but he does not live in the village. He lives in a cottage he built himself. It is about a quarter mile from town.” Jose nodded and said, “That is the cause of your problem. The Jew caused it! He has been waiting to strike. All Jews are. They seem innocent, and then they set this plague on you for not believing what they believe. They send boils to break your skin, and other things happen as you die slowly.” He stopped to take a breath and see their reactions.

He spoke to Ms. Eysla, “Go and tell the villagers of this news. Spread the word and have them erect a stake to burn the heathen. I and my companions will go and find this Jew and bring him so that we can stop this madness from spreading any more!” Ms. Eysla nodded and headed out the door, going across the street yelling the news at anyone she passed by. “Here,” Necouth said to the butcher, “let me help you with that.” He took a piece of cloth from his coat and he went around the counter. He tied it around the man’s hand and tied it below his hand to stop the blood from flowing to his hand.

Jose signaled his friends to come and they set out for the cottage of the hated Jew. Jose thought that they would probably have the stake erected by the time they got back. He smiled at the thought of burning another Jew to stop this accursed plague. The walk would take a little time, and they would definitely be able to think of a plan to force this Jew to his death, one way or another. They walked and walked for what seemed like hours and all talked over a plan on what to do when they reached the cottage and it was when the cottage was in sight did they decide on a plan.

Gilim sat back and sighed. All he had to do was wait for the villagers to come and get him. The final prophecy that he was to write before he was carried off was complete. He left the bolt on the door unlocked so that it would only make it easier for those coming to get him. He got up and looked out the window and saw them approaching through the clearing. He smiled and opened the door a crack so they wouldn’t do anything drastic. He almost thought about grabbing his dagger and getting at least one of them before they killed him, but that was nonsense. He would go in fire, and nothing but fire would do.

“Come on guys, only a little farther,” Jose said. They saw a horse in the small shed that was behind the house. He also thought that he saw a cart behind the shed, but they would look at that later. They had decided on the direct approach, straight through the front door. He saw that it was open slightly and his heart sank. “Someone got here before us!” he said under his breath as he raced forward ahead of the others. He pushed open the door and saw the Jew, standing there with a smug look on his face.

“I see that you have come to take me away now. Am I right?” Gilim asked. Jose just stared at him, speechless for a second. He recovered his wits, “Who told you we were coming, Jew?” “No one told me,” Gilim said, “I just knew. Now are you taking me or not?” Jose thought and said, “We are. Pierre, get the wagon. Necouth, get some rope. We don’t want our ‘friend’ to getaway. He deserves everything that’s coming to him.” He chuckled as he said this. He and the other man in the group kept a haughty watch on the prisoner as the others gathered the supplies. Necouth arrived before Pierre, and they hastily tied the Jew up.

Pierre pulled the cart around and they all got on, they forcefully put Gilim in the bottom, so he wouldn’t try anything. They rode back to the village in half the time it took them to get there, and they could see the villagers lining up wood. They had erected a stripped tree for the pole, and they were dumping what looked like oil on the pile. Jose smiled at their progress and then announced, “We have the Jew!” A great cry arose from the crowd as they stopped their work for a moment.

Gilim wondered if he had done the right thing as he lay in the wagon. Fear was coming on him and he wondered if he would say the curse right. He wondered what death would be like. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to die. All in that moment he felt like he wanted to cry out that he was innocent. But he could do nothing, so he remained silent. They dragged him out of the wagon and carried him, hand and foot, to the stake they had erected for him. They lashed him firmly to this pole, and he did not move, he just stood there, trying his best to look stoic in this dark hour. One of the townspeople had lighted a torch, and they waited for the signal to light the pyres. Gilim looked into the midday sun, and prepared for the heat.

Jose gave the signal and the torch went down. The oil ignited and began consumed the pyres. Gilim screamed out in pain for a minute, and Jose relished in this, another of his moments of glory of the despised Jews! But then he heard something between the screams. It sounded like words. He couldn’t understand what was being said, but the joy melted away, and fear took root. Gilim finished his curse, and he began to laugh. He made eye contact with Jose, and then watched as black boils began to appear everywhere over his body. Others in the crowd were feeling this too. They all began to scream, and Gilim continued to laugh. The sky changed to a dirty blood reddish-black, and he could see a part in the sudden appearance of clouds.

Pauivian descended on him, and he was glad. Fear, crept over him as he realized that Pauivian’s fingers were outstretched towards him. He began to scream, eyes wide with terror. He could feel the claws of Pauivian ripping into his flesh, but when he looked at his shoulder he could see no blood. He realized that the demon was clutching his soul. He let out an even more throaty scream, but it did him no good. The world went black for Gilim.

“Come on Simon!” Gerard yelled to his brother. “It’s only a clearing away. I promise.” His brother was puffing, twenty yards behind. “Yes my brother,” Simon gasped, “but that is what you said the last three clearings.” Simon didn’t care to answer this comment. Ever since they started the trek he was eager to reach the famous house. The people in Livno had said that by legend the village that they had passed had been cursed with the black plague and died out two hundred years ago. They were going to see if they could find the house of the Jew that started the whole thing. Anything to prove that this had happened might make them very rich. Even though they were French, a find like this would make anyone.

Then there it was. Sitting in the clearing ahead of them it looked like it had just been built. “My goodness,” Simon gasped, “it looks like it has never been touched by a storm!” He raced to the cottage and went inside. The door was not open, and he had no problem with that. “Hello is anyone here?” he cried out. No answer. “That’s good.” Simon said to himself. He looked and saw a book on the table near a window, with a half burned candle sitting beside it. The gilded cover drew his attention and he opened it. He was struck by the knowledge it possessed, and he believed. He was the first believer. “Simon! You found it!” his brother exclaimed. “Read this Gerard!” Simon said. They both read it, and believed.

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Chapter 6: A Revelation from the Past

This arduous journey was making Nathan tired. But he saw the bridge ahead and decided that he would stop and rest for a while there. It seemed to Nathan that this was a highway somewhere in the desert, though he had actually not seen any speed limit signs anywhere along this stretch. He reached the bridge and peered over. It was a gigantic canyon, with this bridge crossing over it. “This is insane!” Nathan muttered in an exhausted voice, “How could anyone have built this?” As if to tempt fate with this remark the bridge began to groan.

Nathan backed up a couple of steps and then it happened. The bridge from the point Nathan had stopped to all the way across the canyon to the other side, where an identical platform lay. He could see a figure standing there, but he couldn’t tell what or who it was. The sky darkened to black as night, and then flames shot up through the cracks and crevices all along the canyon. Nathan took a step back, and then froze. He could almost make out an image coming out of the fire. It looked like an enlarged version of the little evil creatures he saw in his previous dream, not that long ago. This one was a reddish-black, compared to the smaller ones that looked straight black.

He hovered for a bit and then came to a rest on the platform in front of Nathan. He tried to scream, or even move, but he couldn’t. It was like he was gagged and stuck in cement. The Demon, for that is what Nathan guessed it was, had its arms clasped behind its back, and it said nothing. It just stood there, staring with those piercing eyes. Nathan felt naked, exposed to this being. He didn’t know why, but it was terrible. All of his actions, his mistakes, on display for this monster to look at and gloat over.

The being began to speak, in a deep, growling voice that sent a fresh wave of panic up and down Nathan’s spine, “You are a disgrace and a mockery! You think that you can hide forever, don’t you?! You shall burn like chaff in the fire and be scattered into the wind. You will burn forever in this pit of despair and I will have the pleasure of tormenting you from the day you enter through eternity. You will be shrouded by darkness and cut off from everything you once knew. You have the mark of a dead man on your wrist. Clear that and you clear your name. I doubt you will.

“I will haunt you in your dreams, and sometimes in the day. I will strike when I please, not sparing you anything. You will know for your marked spot will heat up in response to my presence. You do not control your destiny without me, and without me you will fail your life and the lives of those around you. You will regret rejecting any ideas, if you reject the right one, your fate is sealed.” The demon gave a shrill cry and dove back into the flames, taking with him the light, and security that Nathan so longed for. He was plunged into pure and utter darkness.

Heat coursed all over his body, and he could feel that every nerve in his body had heightened its awareness of its surroundings, making ever little thing seem multiplied by the thousands. A pinprick would feel like a giant bee sting, and ten times worse. He was panicked. Claustrophobic at this point some might say. All he knew was that he was absolutely petrified at being alone, and vulnerable. He still couldn’t move or speak, which terrified him even more.

He started to sweat profusely, and that washed a cold and warm sensation of fear coursing through every fiber of his being. He had no recollection of ever being this scared in his entire life. The terror was too great to bear, and he could not stand much more. He could feel something caressing his skin, and then he felt a sharp jab, or what felt like a sharp jab, in his left heel. He let out an ear piercing scream that shook the very floor he was standing on. He then started to see light ahead, and he desperately wanted to go to that light, but he was still cemented in place. Yet, the light continued forward.

He was suddenly plunged into a room of pure light. He sat up and looked out the window to his right. He had to shield his eyes because it was so bright, but his senses came to him and he realized that he was in his house. He also realized that he had probably just screamed a warning call that might make the neighbors a little edgy. He groggily got off of the couch and walked over to his refrigerator. He opened the door and looked for something quick to eat. He grabbed some leftovers and the can of coffee he always kept in the fridge.

He took a bite out of the cold sandwich he made yesterday as he set to work making some coffee for the road. He would need to hurry if he was to drive to work and get this done fast. He reflected on what the old man, David, had said. Moreover, what he had looked like. “I’ll have to get this statement processed before the obituary comes out,” Nathan said to himself, “I don’t know why, but I feel something for that old guy, kind of like I knew him for years.” He thought over the conversation they had before David had passed away.

Nathan knew that he was right. The Master WAS evil. Deep down Nathan knew that he was evil. Something about the whole “healing” gig, just didn’t add up. The mission had proven that it could defend itself in a debate. Nathan knew that it wasn’t about money, at least, not on the surface anyway. There was something deeper going on than met the eye. He wasn’t about to do any “undercover” reporting. But he was sure that it would be better if he stuck with covering the events with the Master from a distance. Always recommending Melodee to cover the in person contacts.

The coffee finished and Nathan finished his sandwich. He grabbed the travel mug he had rinsed out and poured a cup of coffee. He grabbed his light jacket, the one he put the recorder in and headed out the door. He wanted to get out of the house anyways. He felt that if he could get out of the house, he could escape these horrible nightmares that kept plaguing him every night. His truck roared to life, faithful as always. He backed out of the drive and headed for work. For some reason the traffic was unusually congested and it took him over an hour.

He entered the parking lot and for some strange reason he parked it in the farthest spot from the front of the building. He got out and made the long journey to the doors, which for an even more bizarre reason took him three times long to get there. He punched in and headed up the elevator. There was some ominous atmosphere about the place, and it made him very uneasy. He walked to his cubicle and it seemed untouched. A couple of his co-workers were busy working and didn’t seem to notice his entrance.

Nathan took out the recorder from his pocket and sat down. He turned on his computer and waited for it to boot up, it was always slow. He wondered when the boss might think of updating these models. His mind started bouncing like a rubber ball with all of the activities that had occurred over the past few days. He wondered if he would stay sane over the next few days, or even the rest of his life, should he live that long.

The computer had finished waking and he opened up a WordPad file and began typing. He didn’t need the recorder for this part, because he was just going to write the introduction to the story. His fingers flew over the keyboard, every word heartfelt and meaningful. He hadn’t known David for very long, but for some reason it felt like he had known him for years. His emotions flowed like water in a river, and he even began to tear up a little at his own words. When he was about halfway through, he realized that he was writing the man’s obituary. He thought about deleting it, and then said to himself, “I can send the rough draft to a relative, and then they can work with it and submit it to a local paper.”

He continued, this time listening to the recordings every now and then, getting the feel for the personality of this man that he only knew for a short period of time. The stops he took to listen to the recorder were relatively short, which surprised even Nathan. This, power, he seemed to be having to speculate on this matter was impressive, though he didn’t know if it was at all correct. “That doesn’t look like the story I sent you to cover.”

The sudden voice of Nolan made Nathan jump. “No, it’s not Nolan. But I figured I could submit it to the guy’s relatives and they can edit what’s not right and submit it for an obituary.” “Guy died, huh?” Nathan just nodded solemnly. He hung his head in sorrow. “Don’t get so down about it,” Nolan said, “he passed away and there’s nothing that you can do about it. You can finish this, I can allow you that much. But as soon as you’re done, I want you to get that story up. We want it for the next issue, which means that you have a five hour deadline. Got it?” He gave Nolan a quick, “yes” and went back to his work.

Nolan walked to the next cubicle that was occupied and engaged in a conversation with Jon. Come to think of it, Nathan hadn’t seen Jon come in, but he was so absorbed in this work that he wouldn’t notice that anyway. He got back to work, and for a very odd reason he carried on with the same writing intensity as before. He finished about ten minutes later and took a break to see if he could locate anything on the relatives of David Fletcher. The quick search on the web revealed that the closest relatives he had were on the outside of Chicago, near Wrigley Field, if Nathan was right. He printed off the address and the obituary he typed up, along with a short note expressing his deep regret for their loss.

Knowing that Nolan might come back, Nathan went straight into writing that story. His apprehensions about writing were still there, somewhat disappointing after his sudden inspiration to write that obituary. Though it wasn’t all that unbelievable after all the strange stuff that had happened recently. He began to write, picking up tempo every now and then, a sentence or two coming out faster or slower than the last. “The things that I do for my job.” Nathan grumbled as he stopped for a second to collect his thoughts for the next portion.

In this subtle pause, Nathan drifted back in time. The smell of freshly baked cherry pie wafted across his nostrils. His mouth watered as he ran to the house. His mother was quite famous for her cherry pies. If only to him. His mothers’ voice called out across to him as he ran in the back door, “Nathan, is that you dear?” Her voice was just as delicious and melodious as her pies. Of course, when she was cross it could be quite frightening, but most of the time it was very sweet like honey. “Yes mom, it’s me!” He decided to slow to a walk, so that maybe he could get a bigger slice of pie if he kept his manners in check.

“Were you playing in the ditch Nathan?” she asked in that stern voice of hers, kind of a cross between her nice voice and her angry voice. Nathan slowed even more and answered, pausing to think it over, “I would like to say no, but my clothes would say quite a different story.” He was quite good with words, considering that most eight year olds don’t usually talk that way.  “Well,” his mother said, “Go and get changed, and wash up a bit. Then you can have some pie. Hurry it up, though, I want to talk to you about something.” Hearing her say that he could have pie made him get into turbo gear. He ran to his room and gathered some clothes and then rushed to the bathroom. He never remembered being this excited about taking a bath before, but with pie at stake, anything was possible.

He got through with his very short bath in record time and rushed to dry off and put on his clothes. He rushed out the bathroom door and went straight for the kitchen and leaped into the nearest chair, which happened to have a piece of pie in front of it. The fresh juice was dripping down the sides and the cherries were twice as big as the ones from last week’s pie. He took a big spoonful and then asked with a full mouth, “So mother, (gulps the helping down) what is it that you wanted to talk about?” She turned to talk with him, and then put her hand over her mouth and giggled.

“Honey, you have some of that pie dripping down you face. Here, let me help you,” she said as she grabbed a napkin to help out, giggling all the while. “That’s better,” she said after wiping away most of the juice, “Now I can talk to you with a serious face. I have some depressing news for you. Well, some of it is good and some of it is bad. Grandpa is coming to visit for a few days. The bad news is that he might die soon. That’s part of the reason that he is coming.”

She paused to let Nathan digest the news. “I don’t know if he can handle this. Why did I have to tell him?” she asked herself. Nathan set his spoon down and held his chin, stroking it every now and then, quite deep in thought. She could see that he was keeping the flood of emotions at the gate of his heart; he wouldn’t be keeping it back for much longer. “I would like to have you spend as much of your time with him as you can. I know that you don’t know him very well, but I think that this would be a good experience for you.” She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t say anything.

“You can think it over for a while, and then you can tell me how you think you can best spend your time with your grandfather.” She walked out the kitchen door and had to wipe away a couple of tears that were coming to here eyes. Nathan stared at the picture on the wall in front of him. He still sat at the table, chin on his hand. It was a picture of grandfather. He had only a couple of memories of his grandfather. They were of the times he came to visit, once when he was four, the other when he was five. He knew that it was selfish for him to not want to spend any time with his grandfather, and he really did want to spend time with him.

This wasn’t the reason he was thinking. He was wondering what could have happened if he had spent more time with him. He knew really little about the man anyways, and it seemed like a shame to not know him before he passed on. He resolved that he would spend every minute, every second that he possibly could with his grandfather. This decision firmly in place he went back to voraciously attacking the pie. It took mere minutes for him to devour the whole thing. He wiped his mouth with the napkin his mother had provided him with and went to look for her.

He decided that it would be best to look for her in the master bedroom, since he hadn’t heard either of the doors, front or back, close. He heard light sobbing coming from behind the door to the bedroom, and he hesitated to open the door. He thought that it was odd that he hadn’t heard the door close, but then again his mother was good at not letting him hear things. “Should I open it?” he asked himself, “It sounds like she is crying. I don’t know.” He reached forward, and then pulled his hand back, thinking better of just entering. “Mother,” he called out, “can I come in?” He heard her stop making the sound, whatever it was, and she said, “Yes, yes you can come in.”

He opened the door and walked in. His mother was facing away from the door, and it sounded like she was sniffling a little. He was fairly sure that she had been crying. She was wiping her eyes with one of her hands, and then she turned around. “Yes Nathan. What did you want to talk about?” Seeing her like this he wasn’t sure that he wanted to talk. But he knew that if he didn’t talk to her now, he probably wouldn’t have the courage to talk to her later. “Mother,” he began in a somewhat shaky voice, “I came to talk about Grandpa’s visit.”

She wiped a stray tear from her eye and asked, “What have you decided Nathan?” He took a deep breath and said, “I haven’t really decided anything yet. Don’t get me wrong! I do want to spend time with Grandpa; I just don’t know what I want to do with him. Mother, I just want to spend as much time as I can with Grandpa while he’s here.” A small tear trickled from his eye. He didn’t know why he was feeling so emotional. It could be because of his mother. His mother cracked a small smile and said in a soothing voice, “Come here. Give me a hug.” He came forward, hesitant with arms stretched towards her. He broke the apprehension and ran into his mother’s open arms.

She caught him and they both sobbed silently, expressing their love and sorrow in that silence. It was ten minutes before his mother let go and looked at him, holding his hands. “I know how much this will mean to you. Even though you don’t remember your father much, I know that you still miss him. It kind of feels this way with grandpa, doesn’t it?” she asked. He nodded silently, head bowed. “Don’t be sad. I know how much you need a father figure. I also know how much it hurts. Losing someone you love is painful. And you will always carry that pain with you. You might not always feel it, but it’s there and it will attack you when you don’t expect it.”

Nathan looked up into his mother’s deep blue eyes and could see pain, and love in the same glance. “Nathan,” she said, “your father loved you very much. More than you could ever know. That’s why he went off to fight. He knew that his duty was to you and to me, and to all of those who are like us. He went to fight for our country, and he gave the ultimate sacrifice. It may seem like he deserted us, and it may seem like grandpa deserted us when he’s gone, but you have to fight that feeling and tell yourself that it’s not true. Do you understand?” Nathan held her gaze for a long time and then finally nodded his head, letting go another flood of emotions.

She held him for a long time after that. She cried with him for all that time. She knew how it hurt. She had watched her own mother die slowly of cancer before Nathan was born. It was very painful, all the hurt and love that you can never give again, or that you feel you can never give again. She felt the same way when that army telegram came on that cold November day that her husband had been killed in action. She had to comfort Nathan, now in this time of grief. Letting it go just seemed to be the best thing to do.

Nathan heaved some heavy sighs before he finally asked, “What is for dinner?” She gave a weak smile and stroked his chocolate brown hair, saying, “Turkey. Just the thing to go with fresh cherry pie after dinner.” She gazed into those innocent green eyes. He sniffled and asked, “Can I go and play outside now?” “Yes dear,” she said, “go right ahead. I’ll call you back in when dinner is ready. Just make sure that if you play in the ditch that you take another bath.” He got up and looked back as he reached the door and said, “Ok mom. I will.”

Two days later they were at the airport in Kearny. Nathan had always wondered why they lived so far out in the country, but every time he asked his mom why she would just give him a short answer. He finally gave up about asking when he was seven. “What will he look like,” he had asked yesterday, “I know that he won’t look like the picture on the wall.” His mother had gotten up from the table and walked back to her room. She returned with a photo album, and opened it to a page that he assumed was the latest picture of grandpa. He could see this man, with rosy cheeks, a beard down to his chest and white hair on his head. Now, he looked for such a man so that he would recognize him when he entered the terminal.

“There!” his mother said, pointing in the general direction he was coming, “there he is!” She waved and they walked towards him. He waved back, and when Nathan caught sight of him he gasped. He was identical to what the picture looked like. He only gasped because he had never seen anyone look like their picture before. “Theirs my grandson! How are you Nathan?” he said in a gruff, but lovable voice. “I’m fine grandpa. How are you?” He gave his grandfather a hug as he said this. “I’m doing well. The flight was nice and quiet.”

“Can I get your bags for you?” his mother asked. “No, that won’t be necessary Judith. I can carry them.” He bent down and extended the handle on his carryon and started walking with both of them to the entrance. “How long is the drive going to be?” his grandfather asked, in a skeptical voice. “About two hours. Are you sure you don’t want me to take that dad? It’s no trouble at all.” Grandfather was silent for a while and then said, “I guess if it makes you feel better. Here.” He handed the bag to Judith. Nathan had never heard anyone call his mother “Judith” before.

As a father Nathan guessed that it was only natural. They walked out to the car that they had parked in the fifth slot that was miraculously available, his mother had said. Mother opened the trunk and put grandfather’s bag in the trunk. She opened his door, and then his grandfather’s door. They both got in as she opened up the door on the other side. Nathan buckled up and they did likewise. His mother started the car and they were off to home.

The car ride was short, or so it felt to Nathan. His spirits were high and he chatted with his grandfather all the way to home. They got in and his mother retrieved his grandfather’s bag while Nathan showed him around the house. From what details he could gather from his mother, they had moved only once, and grandfather had not been here when they had moved. He felt great pride in showing grandfather where they lived, especially when showing grandfather his room. It was frugal, yes, but what things he had he took pride in. Like his coin collection. He had some complete sets of ancient coins that his father had given him when he was four. He had a little sports equipment and a few pictures on the walls and dresser.

He could see his grandfathers face beaming as he talked with him about some of the stuff in his room. He was glad that he was staying for a week and hoped that the time would last longer than that. His mother came in and showed grandfather to the guestroom where he would be staying. “I will need to rest for a little bit, Judith. Wake me for dinner, okay?” She agreed and set about making dinner. It looked to Nathan to be twice as big and as delicious as she normally fixed a meal. The time passed on and the meal finally was ready. She sent him to get his grandfather and he came, still a little drowsy from sleep, but there none the less.       

The dinner was delicious and the conversation became just as delectable. He learned things about his grandfather and his mother. They were all laughing after a very funny story out of grandfather’s past, when Nathan asked a question. “Grandfather,” he said, “I was wondering what you do for a living. If that’s not too forward.” His grandfather smiled and then said, “No it’s not Nathan. I am a retired Army Colonel. Kind of like your father. I served in the war, and then retired a year after serving. You see, my father was already quite wealthy and that aloud me to retire without having to work.”

“Oh,” Nathan said. He gave a big smile and took a big bite of some of the salmon on his plate. The evening went along much more smoothly, and the dinner finished around seven that evening. Nathan helped his mother with the dishes while his grandfather went out for a walk. “Mother,” he said, “what should I talk about with grandfather? I feel very awkward when I don’t know what to ask or say. Please help me.” She looked at him with those kind eyes of hers. “Okay, I’ll help you. I know how you feel. Don’t be afraid. He loves you, I can tell that. Loosen up a bit that should help you out.”

For the next hour she taught Nathan everything that she knew.  He accepted it gracefully, and tried it out on her. “I think that you’ve got it!” she exclaimed, “Just try and be yourself. I’m sure that you’ll do fine. Try to avoid anything too personal, like the disease that he has. I know that it’s hard sweetie.” She hugged him and he went to prepare for bed. Brushing his teeth and washing his face took longer than usual, for he was practicing for the dialogues that he might have with his grandfather tomorrow. He knew that it was cynical, if not ridiculous. But this was the only way to keep on his toes to learn as much from his grandfather as possible.

“Nathan? Nathan!” Nathan came out of his daydream as he was awakened by Crystal. Crystal was the bright and bubbly new reporter that they had just hired. She was really sweet, and he had thought about maybe striking up a friendship. “Yes,” he said, “what do you need?” She smiled at him and said, “You were daydreaming and I wanted to know if I could get you anything. Oh, and Nolan wanted me to let you know that the deadline is in three hours.” He said that he didn’t need anything and thanked her for the warning.

“Three hours! Oy, I can’t believe that I was daydreaming that long! Now, let’s get back to work and finish that report!” he said. His fingers started to fly over the keyboard. His recorder started to go off and on quite frequently, and if one was there one might think that it would break any second. Nathan didn’t care. His job was on the line, and he knew just what to say. Except for using the recorder, he didn’t use any other resources. Fueled by a passion stirred in his heart, not that he knew where it came from.

At times he wondered if he could support what he was writing. He knew that it was radical, and if Nolan rejected it, it would be tough to water it down. He had to push it through as much as he possibly could. He saw several of the people leave, and he guessed that it was because of the clicking and clacking that he was making over the keyboard. He didn’t care what they thought; he just had to get this done. He didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t get it done. He began to feel drowsy as he neared completion.

Nathan typed the final period in the computer. It was finished. He picked up the portable drive that he used to submit all of his work and put it in the computer. He glanced at his watch as it was uploading and saw that he had ten minutes to get this to Nolan before the deadline expired. It finished opening and Nathan clicked on the “save as” button to title the document for the paper, so that someone wouldn’t have to. This was only the fourth time he’d done this, because the other issues that he had reported on had either touched him or influenced him in such a way that he didn’t want the title changed. Other times he just let the editors think up the names because it just didn’t feel right for him to put a title on the article.

“I’ll call it, ‘The Voice of Truth’. Yeah, that’s good!” Nathan said to himself as he typed in the words. He clicked ‘save’ and watched it save onto the disk. He didn’t trust keeping anything on the computer’s hard drive because it was easy for these computers to crash. It finished and he hurried to catch Nolan before the deadline went up. It was quite easy for Nolan to reject something if it was only even a couple of minutes late. Besides, he had pushed his luck as much as he could in the past few days, and he couldn’t afford to push the envelope any more than he had. Before he reached the door, Nolan stepped out. “I have it!” Nathan cried.

“Good, you’re a couple of minutes early. Come in and I’ll review it.” Nolan said. Much as Nathan would have liked to object, he obeyed anyways. Nathan had only been in Nolan’s office twice before, once when he had applied for his job, and once when Nolan had been very upset at him. Ever since then Nathan had tried to keep the boss as happy as possible. The office had changed, but Nathan didn’t want to spend more time in there than he had to. He plugged the drive into Nolan’s computer and opened the file.

Nolan reviewed it in haste, and saw nothing wrong with it. “Good job Cardsworth. You put a good spin on the story. This should make some good reading for many of our readers. A real decision maker.” “Thanks boss. I’m kind of exhausted right now. Do you mind if I take some Z’s before I go home?” Nolan thought for a moment and then said, “Why not? You put in a lot of time for this. You deserve rest. Go ahead.” Nathan thanked him for the permission and then walked back to the break room. He decided that it might be a bad idea to try any sleep medication before going to sleep. He laid himself down on the bed and began drifting off to sleep within ten minutes.

His world plunged into black darkness. Nathan acknowledged this as something good at first. He wasn’t in for any surprises this time. The air started to heat up considerably, and Nathan was beginning to sweat. He was confused and was wondering if he should try and wake up. Since he couldn’t see anything, it was futile to try anything. His mind was screaming for him to run, and his feet began to obey. Slowly he walked forward. Amazingly, he was not hitting anything, or tripping over anything. Though his body was telling him to run, he just couldn’t put forth that kind of motivation.

He continued on, walking for what felt like hours. All that he could here was the pitter patter of his own feet. He didn’t know what was beneath him, or why the temperature was going up. It was just nerve-racking for him to not know what was going to happen next. The only way to control his emotions was to keep walking. He just couldn’t take the pressure of the moment, it was too intense. He was going out of his mind and that was all there was to it. He had to get help, and he didn’t care who from.

Until he woke up he was just going to have to keep walking. That was that, and he wasn’t going to change his mind for anyone. He started to here voices, and he increased his pace a notch. Whatever was out there he wasn’t going to be the one to find out what it was. The voices grew, and Nathan increased his pace even more. They seemed to be keeping up with him. The presence of these voices terrified Nathan to the core, and he wasn’t sure what it was that bothered him.

A long, throated scream pierced the chattering, and forced Nathan into a run. A rush of hot air blew past Nathan, and he pushed himself even more to escape the danger that lay behind him. “Run, run, run all you can, son of Adam! It won’t help you!” a deep voice behind him said. A laugh descended through the darkness that poured hot waves of fear through Nathan and he kept running. The laugh followed him faster, and so did the voices, a little further behind though, Nathan thought. He began to put every fiber of his being into escaping.

He had heard the words of this creature, but he didn’t care. He was going to do everything he could to escape this, this prison. He felt a strong push on his back and he fell face forward. He landed with a thud, and found that the ground he was running over was hot, and felt like fresh ambers on a fire. He heard a thud on either side of his body and knew that the creature had landed beside him. He felt hot breath pour past his cheeks, and he smelt the strong scent of sulfur coming from the creature’s mouth.

“I told you that you couldn’t escape me, and you didn’t listen!” the creature said. He let out an angry scream into Nathan’s ear. It hurt, but Nathan could do nothing. He let go tears, and they sizzled on the ground below. The creature picked him up, and flew him up wards. He could see a tiny fleck of light that they were going towards, and he held his hands up to protect him from the light. It was too bright for him. The darkness seemed to be better than the light. It hurt just as much as the pain from being pushed down. They reached the light and the creature held him up and said, “A little gift before you go.” He slashed Nathan across his right shoulder and then tossed him into the light.

“Nathan! Nathan! Wake up!” Jon said. Nathan felt himself being shaken by Jon. He nearly attacked Jon, but held back his emotions. He shielded his eyes from the light, and asked, “What time is it?” Jon was relieved to see that Nathan was alive. He had seen him tossing and sweating and felt that it might be a good idea to bring Nathan out of it before he became a basket case. “It’s six o’clock Nathan.” Jon said. Nathan blinked and then said, “I have to get home. Let Nolan know that I’ll be back to work tomorrow.” Jon said that he would and Nathan went and grabbed his coat.

He descended the stairs instead of the elevator. He punched out at the desk and walked to his truck. The walk was just as long as the one that he made when he arrived before and he chided himself on his poor judgment. He reached the truck after much meandering, and got in. He gave a big sigh of relief as the motor started to life. He put it in gear and backed out of his parking space. Nathan felt a twinge of pain in his right shoulder and decided that he would give it a look when he got home.

He entered his house a little before seven. He still was in shock at how bad the traffic was lately. He also regretted taking the job in Chicago. “Then again,” Nathan said to himself, “I would have probably been stuck in ten other different cities just like this. No point in trying to mull over that now.” Nathan went back to his bedroom and took off his coat and white shirt. It was dark in the room and he couldn’t see his shoulder very well. He decided that he would go and examine his shoulder in the bathroom.

Nathan entered his bathroom and almost fainted. On his shoulder was a three inch long, one inch deep gash in his shoulder. “The dream,” Nathan said to himself. He ran to the phone and started to dial 911. He almost completed it when he thought to himself, “I can’t explain this gash. Everyone will think that I’m crazy. I know. I’ll fix it myself.” He cancelled the number. He held the phone in his right hand and thought about what he should do.

“Maybe Dana can help me.” Nathan said. Dana. The last time he had seen here was leaving the house for Chicago. Dana was the best little sister he could have ever hoped for. Half sister anyway. He punched in the last number she had given him. It rang and then she picked up. “Dana here, how can I help you?” that voice coming to him from the other end flooded him with relief. “Hi Dana, It’s me, Nathan.” He said. “She muffled a cry and said, “Nathan? Is it really you? How are you?” Nathan almost started to cry too and said, “I’m not really okay. I really need some moral support right now.” “What happened?” she asked.

“It’s a long story. Do you have time to talk, or do you need to go anywhere tonight?” Nathan asked, hoping that she had time and might help him. “No, I’m not going anywhere. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think that I can help you.” Dana said. Dana had wonderful perception, and had helped him through many of the times that were difficult for him. Of course, when he first met her back when his mother remarried just before he went off to college, he hadn’t quite warmed up to her. But when he finished college, they were almost best buddies.

“Well, you’re going to think that I’m crazy, so brace yourself for the worst.” Nathan said. “Okay,” Dana replied, “start shooting big brother. Let me help you.” He started from the beginning when he was attacked, and finished with the last dream that he had just had. Dana paused on the other end, and if Nathan was right she was deep in thought. “So,” he said, “what do you think? I hope that you don’t think I’m a nutcase.” Dana gave a short laugh and replied, “No, I don’t think that you’re a nutcase. But I don’t think I can help you. Try to ride it out. I think it’s real disturbing big bro. I just don’t think that I can help you on this one.” Nathan’s heart sunk. They said their goodbyes and he hung up.

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Chapter 5: The Following Increases

            Melodee woke bright and early the next morning. She was very much in good spirits as she got out of bed. She walked to the kitchen in her small apartment to make some breakfast for herself. In all of the excitement yesterday she had almost forgotten that she had to go to another interview this afternoon. She made a mental note not to forget to go to the hospital after breakfast and proceeded to make a semi-fancy breakfast of bacon and eggs with toast and sausage. She poured some orange juice and went back and forth checking all the different items every few minutes.

            As she finished, she went over the questions she would ask the Atheists at the Hospital. Everything was flowing as she sat down to her breakfast. It took about fifteen minutes for her to finish her breakfast. She washed the dishes and headed for the garage. Her convertible was waiting, all shiny and new looking. She opened the door and sat down. As she started the car, she pondered how the day’s events might go. She knew that these atheists could be quite arrogant, so she would have to be quite tactful if she was to get any information from them.

            She backed out of her garage and started down the street. The drive to the hospital was long, because morning rush hour was congesting the roads. It took her a little over an hour to reach the hospital. The woman behind the front desk greeted her and said, “How may I help you?” Melodee returned the greeting and said, “Yes, I’m Melodee, the reporter. I’m here for the interview with the debate victims.” The receptionist looked through her records and found the appointment. “You are a little late, but it doesn’t really matter.” She called over an attendant to guide Melodee to their rooms.

            “You’re quite fortunate,” the attendant said, “they have all been put in the same room.” They went into the elevator and up to the third floor where the patients were staying. They walked down several corridors to the room. As they entered, Melodee felt a chill run down her spine. Generally, she was quite strong. But for some odd reason this unnerved her. Walked to the center of the room and nearly feinted from the horrible odor coming from the diseased.

            They looked absolutely atrocious. Great black cists were on their necks. Blood and pus seeped out of each wound. Much as she tried, she couldn’t control her stomach. She burst out of the room, down the hall and into the women’s bathroom. She ran into the stall, bent over the seat and threw up. She regained her composure after a few minutes and got the courage to go back and interview them. She told herself that this is what she needed to do for her job, to get the other side of the hill; figuratively speaking of course.

            She rinsed her mouth and straightened herself out. She strode back to the room with confidence. As she neared the room, her feet slowed the pace, every step drudging slower and slower. She reached it and the attendant was still there. “I … I’m sorry. I …” she started to say. The attendant stopped her and said, “It’s okay. We have people do that a lot around here. Just don’t keep them talking too long. We don’t think there’s too much hope for them to last much longer.” She gave a little smile to the attendant, said “thank you” and turned to the patients.

            She couldn’t really tell who was who because of the disease. They all looked very drained of energy. She got up the courage to ask, “Who is T.J. Dow?” Melodee asked, her voice slightly quaking. “Over here!” T.J. said in a low and husky voice. His breathing was heavy and strained; he had the most wounds on his neck of all of them. He was sweating profusely, and Melodee wondered if this disease was contagious.

            She walked over, quite slowly, almost like she wasn’t even walking at all. “I…um. I’m a reporter from the Chicago Tribune here to cover your side of the story. You know, about what happened at the debate? Do you…” She didn’t get to finish her statement. T.J. cut her off mid sentence, “I don’t want to help you with your article,” he said in a forced voice, “I lie hear on my deathbed and all you people can think about is getting the ‘story’! Well you people can rot for all I care. I already am. Let me die in peace!” As he finished his sentence he went into a coughing spell. It started out calm and mild and started to get much bigger; he started to cough up blood violently. Melodee tried to call for help, but it was too late. He choked on his own blood and died in mere seconds.

            Melodee could take no more. She ran out of the room and down the hall to the elevator, which was just opening. She got in and pushed the button for the ground floor and hoped that the elevator could go faster. She reached the ground floor and went straight to the main desk. Breathless, she told the person behind the desk that one of the patients had just passed on, and that the others might not be too far behind. The lady behind the desk put in a call to check the patients that Melodee had just visited. The person called back in just moments and confirmed that death, and two others.

            “You can leave now if you wish.” The receptionist said. Melodee thanked her and hastened to her car. She nearly convulsed again before she reached it, but she held her composure and was able to start the car. As she pulled out the hospital parking-lot she pondered how to slide this into her report. It was as much as she could get under the circumstances, and it wouldn’t have mattered in any light. She decided not to worry about it and she drove to work to put the final touches on her story.

            Blagdon awoke from a restful night the next morning. The sun was shining through his roof, and everything seemed to be going well. He decided to get up to visit the Master for some counseling on a pressing matter that had just entered his thoughts. He walked down the corridor towards the front desk. His quarters were on the south side of the mission, quite near to the meditation room. His room and that of Blagden and they often meditated together.

            He turned the corner and walked down the long corridor. A cool chill spread down his spine for one moment. He had no idea why this had happened, so he just continued on his way. He reached the Master’s door and as he reached forward to knock, the familiar, “Come in” resounded. Blagdon changed his hand’s direction and grasped the handle. He turned it and entered.

            “Ah Blagdon!” the Master greeted him, “I’ve been waiting for you. Sit down, if you please.” Blagdon took a seat opposite the Master. Blagdon made a move to speak, hesitated and then asked, “Master, may I express a matter that has pressed me? Albeit it happened only as I awoke, but still, may I?” The Master did not hesitate in his reply, “Of course Blagdon. Why would I not gain from your perspective or plight?”

            Blagdon took a deep breath and then said, “I have wondered if we could go back to the hospital and heal the people once more. What the harm might be if we did. Can you help explain these matters to me?” The Master got up and walked to the window, looked outside and then spoke, “Blagdon, I will be quite direct with you. There is no reason that we cannot go back. It would even be quite wise if we go back. Your confrontation with me has only confirmed that we should. I had been deliberating on this for a while, so we shall go today. I am glad you feel this way.”

            Blagdon sighed and thanked the Master. He shook his hand and walked back to his room to prepare for this venture. As he walked, he realized that he had not been out of the mission in five years. He was about to pass the meditation when this thought hit him. He froze and his mind went numb. What might happen out there? Would he be swayed from the faith by leaving the mission? His senses returned and he rejected this thought, saying to himself, “What childish thoughts I am thinking. I was chosen for a reason and I could never be swayed from the path destiny has laid for me.”

            The small four-seat mid-size moved swiftly down the highway into town, and Blagdon began to hold the armrest with intensity. He was not used to going this fast, even though it was the speed limit. They reached the first light and it turned to yellow. The car coasted to a stop and Blagdon began to release his grasp. Lothar said to him, “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. Just relax. Meditate on our success. Fill your mind with good thoughts.” Blagdon nodded and closed his eyes. The rest of the trip was quite fast, and he hardly noticed a thing until Lothar said, “We’re here!”

            Blagdon opened his eyes and saw the entrance to the hospital. They got out and walked inside. It was nothing like Blagdon had imagined it to be. The Master approached the front desk. The receptionist behind the desk asked, “May I help you?” The Master smiled at her and then said, “Yes, as a matter of fact you can. I called earlier about coming down to visit the sick. Have they been gathered yet?” The woman typed a few things into a computer, which Blagdon could not see, and then turned back to answer the Master, “Yes they are. They are on the third floor in the conference room to the right.” The Master bid her thanks and then walked back to Lothar and Blagdon who were waiting.

            The Master spoke to both of them, “I have to use the facilities, wait for me by the elevator. I will come back when I have finished and then we can go and visit the sick.” He strode down the hallway with confidence and entered the bathroom. He walked to the nearest stall and entered. Not that the Master was a shy man, but going in a urinal had never made him feel comfortable. As he closed the door a black, claw tipped hand stopped the door firmly. It was Gimrit. “You have done very well,” Gimrit said, “and now, I will present you with the power to just think about blessing and cursing these Sons of Adam. This will allow scrutiny to fade from your name, and your following will grow.”

            He took one of the Master’s left hands and punctured his wrist three inches down. The blood flowed freely and the demon bent down and lapped up the blood before it hit the ground. He said some words in the ancient language and then levitated towards the roof. He disappeared halfway to the ceiling. The Master could feel a cold sweat starting to trickle down his neck; he reached up with his right hand and wiped some of the sweat away. He completed his business and washed his hands. The Master left the bathroom and headed back towards his companions.

            “Let us go now and heal the sick!” the Master said with confidence. They turned and walked towards the elevator. Blagdon and Lothar could feel a great deal of pride in knowing that they were doing something that would make a difference. Blagdon especially felt proud because he had suggested it first. They stopped as they reached the elevator, and Lothar pushed the button that beckoned the elevator. It reached them and let off a few people. They allowed these strangers to pass and entered the elevator. The Master pushed the button that said “3” and they were off. They reached the third floor in very little time, and though it was a short ride, Blagdon began to feel uneasy. They walked down the dim corridor to the conference room and saw all the sick littered about.

            The tables had been moved to accommodate more people. “Excellent!” the Master exclaimed. They entered and the Master went boldly over to the sickliest looking person out of the entire motley crew. “Do you want to be healed my son?” he asked in a caring tone, one which Blagdon had not heard, ever. When the man nodded, “yes” the Master laid his hand on the man’s shoulder bowed his head and closed his eyes and said, “I heal you!” Instantly the man jerked back, and when the Master opened his eyes the man was cured! Blagdon had seen nothing like it in his life! The Master went to several other people healing them. It was a miracle!

            A woman approached the Master, a baby in her arms. His back was turned to her, so she reached out to tap him on the arm. He turned before her hand reached his shoulder. “Yes?” he asked. She took a deep breath and said, “Master, will you please heal my baby daughter? She has been very weak since birth, and the doctors say that she might not make it.” “Of course madam,” the Master said. He reached his hand out to lay it on the child’s head. When he was about five inches away his hand started to shake. Only a little bit at first, and then more violently as he got even closer. He looked at it and put it down for a second. He tried again. This time it shook much more violently and he felt a searing pain shoot up his arm. He put his arm down and then brought it to his chest. With a solemn face he spoke to the new mother, “I am sorry, madam. I can’t seem to be able to do it.”

            The woman turned, visibly shattered that the Master could not heal her child. The Master was even more visibly disturbed that he couldn’t heal a simple child. A child! It confused Blagdon even more than Lothar. The Master shook off this failure and proceeded to heal more of the sick. A half an hour passed before they finished healing everyone. He turned to leave and walked through the doorway. He turned back and said, “May you all be blessed, and keep your faith that you will never be sick again!” The gathering gave a cheer of approval as they all walked down the hallway. They pushed the button to descend in the elevator and went down. When they reached the ground floor there was another small gathering.

            The receptionist approached them, “These people wanted to see you. When they heard you were here they just couldn’t be turned back to their rooms. That’s why we let them stay here. In the Lobby, I mean.” The Master thanked her and turned to the crowed and walked forward. When they saw him they started to murmur amongst themselves and they rushed for him. “Master! Master!” they called. “What is it my children?” he asked. “Heal us! We have been sick for many years!” they said in earnest. “Yes I will my children.” He raised his hands over then and said, “You are healed!” Those in the crowed with outward ailments were healed instantly, and Lothar guessed that so were the ones with inward ailments.

            All the people looked at themselves and realized that their diseases had left them. “Thank you! Thanks you!” they all said. “Do not mention it my children,” the Master said, “you have been blessed. Now bless others.” They continued to thank him as they left, and the Master accepted it graciously. They all took deep sighs and then walked out to the car. Blagdon was so giddy that he didn’t care about the car ride. In fact he was actually looking forward to it. They entered the car and left the parking lot. The ride back to the mission was the best of Blagdon’s life. He couldn’t believe all of the emotions that he was feeling.

            They reached the mission after a long drive. It seemed to Blagdon that the drive took a little longer than when they came out in the morning, but Lothar explained this as traffic. Blagdon accepted this and got out of the car. He chatted excitedly with Lothar about the trip’s events and was quite giddy about the whole experience. He went straight to the meditation room and took off his shoes. He wanted to soak all of the glory of this event in. It was an hour before he came out, glowing with the aura like someone who was just married. He turned the corner to go to the front desk, and he saw a long line of people.

            He asked Davila, “What in the world is going on?” “Oh Blagdon, I am so happy,” she said, “All these people want to join the mission!” Blagdon was taken aback. “All of them?” he asked. “Yes! Isn’t it wonderful!” she exclaimed. “Yes, it is!” he said, taking her hands and doing a little jig at the same time. “I must go and help these people now,” she said, letting go of his hands, “but I can talk to you later in the dining hall.” Blagdon agreed and he ran to tell someone, anyone, of this glorious news!

            David Fletcher clutched the phone to his ear as he explained himself to the man on the other end of the line, “No, no I don’t want to place an ad (coughs erratically) I want to give someone a story. Yes! A story. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be alive, so I want a reporter to come as soon as you can get one out here.” He thanked the man on the other end and hung up violently, grumbling as he did so.

            He went into another bought of coughing and wondered if he would even be alive when the reporter got to him. It didn’t really matter if he did die before the person got to him. As long as someone found him before a day passed. His coughing subsided and he lay back into his bed. He knew that it had been a mistake to accept a healing from the man they called “Master”, but when you have a debilitating disease, you try everything you can to be normal again. That was the worst mistake he had ever made in his life and he wished that he wouldn’t make it again.

            Nolan set down the phone and pondered the conversation he had just engaged with some strange man calling about a story he had. He had thought about putting Melodee through to this case, but figured that she deserved a rest. Nathan, on the other hand, needed to work now if he wanted to keep his job. He picked up the phone and dialed Nathan’s number. The familiar, “Cardsworth, what can I do ya for?” rung in Nolan’s ear. “Cardsworth, I need you to cover a story. I know you’re not feeling your best, but you need t work if you want to keep that nice job of yours. Comprende?” There was a silence on the other end and Nolan had almost thought that Nathan had hung up on him.

            The familiar slow cool voice came back on the line, “Alright. It won’t kill me anyway, right? Give me the address and I’ll head out in fifteen minutes. I don’t think that I can write up the report at the office, but I can do it here and then send it to you via fax. Is that ok?” Nolan mulled over it, and although he did appreciate it when his reporters worked at the office, he didn’t mind Nathan working from home for a while. “Alright Cardsworth, you can do that. Just make sure that you get it done in time for the paper sometime this week.” “Will do chief.” They said their goodbyes and Nolan gave Nathan the address of the guy that called. They both hung up, and Nolan went to work reviewing the recent interviews that Melodee had with T.J. Dow and the people from the Mission.

            Nathan gave a groan of apprehension as he set the phone down. He didn’t really want to go do this interview. He knew that it had to do with the Master. He just knew it. But he made a promise to the boss, and that promise he would keep. He got a cup of coffee in his travel mug and went out to his ever faithful truck. He opened the door and set the coffee cup in the holder and got in. He shut the door and started the truck. He put the directions to the house on his dash so he could get them as soon as he got to the street. He knew that street very well, for he used to live on it. All he had to do was cruise the street looking for the house.

            It took him almost an hour to get there because of the thick rush hour traffic. He went up the street, a few miles under the speed limit so he could make sure that he would see the house and not have to come back around. He found the place and parked in the drive. Some ominous presence just unnerved him about this place. He got out and went up to the door. Before he knocked he realized that he forgot his pad of paper. He almost turned around and went back to his home to get it when he remembered he had a spare recorder in his glove box. He turned around and walked to his truck and opened the side door.

            There it was, like a little beacon of doom. He knew that something terrible might happen to him inside, though he didn’t know what. He strode confidently to the door and knocked three times. A low and raspy voice beckoned Nathan inside. He twisted the knob, and to his consternation, it opened smoothly. “Hello? Is anyone here?” he asked, knowing full well there was. “Yes, in the back room. I assume you are the reporter I called for?” the man asked, giving a slight cough when he finished his question. Nathan hesitated and then answered, “Yes. Would you like me to come to you?” The man answered him “yes” and Nathan walked down the dark hallway. The musky odor of rotting wood filled his nostrils as he went towards the shaft of light that came from a crack in the open door ahead.

            He hesitated for a second and then opened the door. The sight he beheld almost made him do a double-take, but he got his senses in order and approached the man that lay in the bed. He was old, but not too old, about fifty, Nathan guessed. He had a plethora of gray hair mixed in with streaks of brown every now and then. Thick freckles rested on the man’s face and arms. But this was not the only thing resting there. There were large black cists all over his neck and partly on his chest that was showing out of the top part of his nightshirt. “I came for the interview sir,” Nathan said, holding back the urge to puke, “where would you like to begin?”

            “From the right place, I hope.” The man said with a slight grin. “I don’t know how much time I have left, so we may need to go quickly.” Nathan nodded in understanding and took out the recorder. He pressed the red circle to start recording and spoke into it, “Nathan Cardsworth, 10:56 AM. I am at the residence of, hold on,” he pressed the stop button and asked the man for his name, “David, My name is David,” he said in earnest as he coughed.  Nathan turned the recorder back on, “at the residence of Mr. David. To get things started, why did you call to report a story? Is it for an obituary?” Nathan asked.

            David looked at him and said, “I called to report the truth. You seem like a man who is troubled by something or someone. Don’t try to deny it. I know that look about anyone. I’ve been around for quite some time and know these things. I would be willing to bet that it has to do with this so called ‘Master’. Am I right?” Nathan’s face had gone pale, and so he just nodded dumbly. “I thought so,” said David, “looking at me now you wouldn’t think that I was healed by that crazy man, but I was. I thought that I would be whole. I was healed in one of the very first healings.”

            “What did the Master do behind the closed doors?” Nathan asked. “The Master made us promise that we wouldn’t reveal what happened, but I’m going to die anyway. He said a strange chant when placing his hands on all of us, and then we were healed. Before we left, he warned us of two things. One, that we needed to believe in him, and either join the mission or believe at our own homes. Two, we can’t reveal what happened. If we broke either of these rules we would be killed for our ignorance. We had ten days to decide.”

            “So, you broke one of the two ‘rules’ he set down?” Nathan asked. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did. I knew that I couldn’t just stake my faith in this man. There was an evil presence about him. Besides, my faith belongs in the hands of Jesus Christ, not some man who can heal with a little magic. Though I don’t doubt that the healings were real. Excuse me.” David went into another coughing spout and Nathan turned off the recorder again. “I am sorry for the coughing fit. It has been constant since yesterday. I think I will pass away between today and tomorrow.”

            “Like I said, I don’t trust the Master. He’s too crafty for his own good. I am giving you information that will aid hundreds if not thousands in making decisions about this evil man. If he can bless, he can curse just as hard. It’s plain and simple.” David continued on another coughing spell, and this time it did not let up for a full five minutes. Nathan was quite tempted to call the hospital. When the coughing subsided David spoke in a weak voice, “Get this to print as fast as you can (wheezing) Help others. Don’t bother calling the hospital. I wouldn’t go there anyway. Just call the morgue for me.” He gave his last breath and gurgled, some of the mucus Nathan suspected.

            Nathan stopped the recorder and walked out into the living room. The house was quite old, and it reminded him of his childhood for some odd reason. He shook off the feeling and walked to the phone. He picked it up to dial the local mortuary, and he thought better of it and called for an ambulance. Yes, David had already passed on, but it would be away to get him off Nathan’s hands and into the appropriate place. He reported the death quickly and waited until the ambulance arrived, which actually happened quite fast. Nathan was quite thankful for this, because he didn’t want to stay for much longer.

            He got into his truck and started up. The putrid odor of death still clung to his clothes. He thought that maybe a sip of coffee might help. He took one draught and then had to open his door, because he needed to wretch. It took a couple of minutes to get his faculties back, and he drove home in a hurry. It only took him half of the time to get there, and relief flooded his mind when he got inside. He threw off his clothes and changed into some “relaxed” clothing. He set to work transcribing the interview onto his computer. It took him a few minutes to realize that it was too disturbing to be putting down the words of a dead man who had only just passed less then an hour ago. He decided to go to sleep for a while to get this off his mind.

            All the events of the day were becoming too much for Lothar. He needed some breathing room. He found the meditation room empty, and, deciding that he needed to meditate he sat down, crossed his legs and closed his eyes. His mind drifted from black solitude into one bathed in light. He held his hand up to shield his eyes from the sunlight that covered the whole of his mind. He looked and saw a road. “How peculiar,” Lothar said in a startled voice, “I have never had a vision like this!” He saw that the road ran for miles in either direction.

            He could see plainly now that he was standing on that road. One of the things the Master had always said was that, “If you should find yourself in another world in your meditations, go where your conscience guides you. If it say walk to the left, walk to the left. Don’t be afraid, just follow and see what happens.” So Lothar did. He walked down the road. It seemed like hours and miles passed as he was walking. The sun was bright, and yet not hot, like it felt it should be. Instead, he could feel heat coming from where he was walking to. Not an intense heat, but a gradually building heat. He continued to walk on.

            The way he was walking seemed to be west, though Lothar wasn’t quite sure about what direction was which anyway. The sky was darkening ahead. Not like clouds on a horizon, but the darkness of a starless night. He just kept on walking into this darkness, with the coolness of a boxer going into the ring. The road didn’t seem to end, and the road was sloping downward, which was odd, but Lothar didn’t think to stop. He came to what looked like a canyon with a bridge across it. He was only seventy feet from this bridge when half of it plunged into the abyss below. When Lothar reached the bridge, he walked onto the remaining piece with a calm and cool approach that anyone else would have called either stupidity or nonsense.

            The sky totally blacked out now, though everything was still visible. Lothar looked around, taking in all the scenery around him, wondering how the luminescence was possible without any lights to shine on it. He could see light boiling up the canyons, and realized that it was fire, creeping its way up to them. At their peak the flames reached about ten feet above the canyon walls. These flames were everywhere, except around the platform. It was directly beneath the platform for about ten feet, and ten feet out from the platform. The sudden appearance of these flames did not affect Lothar. He was cool as ice in this situation, braced for the unexplained or unexpected.

            What happened next terrified Lothar to his core, and made him question what was happening. He could see a speck of light, far off in the distance. He did not know what it was, or even if it was anything but a star coming up; but anyone could see that he was visibly shaken by it. It was coming in the distance, it looked pure, and white, and with each passing moment Lothar became even tenser. He could begin to make out the details of this thing that was coming closer. It looked like it had two wings, four faces, legs like a calf’s legs, shining and glimmering and the hands like that of a man.

            His heart was in his throat as this creature hovered over the remnants of the bridge. The creature spoke, like that of many voices speaking at the same time. Each of the faces spoke as at least that is what Lothar could determine, “Oh, son of the devil! Look and behold! This is your future unless you repent of your sins! Saturated in darkness, separated from all you know, burned for all eternity! Cursed into ****ation, give up your foolish desires and repent. Consider yourself warned. Others wait to torment you as well. Others still who will not pity your despair and will do everything in their power to make it worse.” The creature turned and went back the way it had come after it had said these words, taking the light with it, plunging Lothar into complete and utter darkness.

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Chapter 4: The Interview

            (Dream) The mist rose on the river. What made Nathan’s skin crawl was that the mist was neon green with red mixed in. He was standing on the river shoreline, with the mists closing in on him. It was strange that he was afraid of it, or maybe what it could do. He wasn’t sure, but he knew it was evil. He tried moving to get away, but his feet were stuck and they wouldn’t let him move. He looked around for some kind of help, but he could not see anyone that could be of any assistance. The scenery he had not noticed. It was like he was in one of those old horror movies with the swamp scenes of deadwood, twisted and coiled in such a way to make it seem even more spine-chilling. As he looked at the approaching fog, he glanced at the bottom of the river.

            He expected to see fish and river animals swimming around. Instead, there were dead bodies at the bottom, with grotesque looks on their faces. Some looked as if they were screaming in agony and pain. One of them seemed to be moving. Nathan assumed that this was from the current in the river, and that there was nothing to worry about. It moved again, against the current. He glanced at the sky. It was still a dark grey, menacing and threatening. He looked back at the corpse and it started to stand up, with a few others near it. It broke the surface and started towards Nathan. Several of the others followed in suit and started walking to shore. They started groaning, it sounded to Nathan like a cross between words and a loud moan. They actually moved quite fluently, with only a little stiffness in their joints.

            It took only seconds for them to reach Nathan. The one who came up first grabbed his shirt and said in a raspy, half-moan voice, “HHHEEELLPP UUUSS!!!!” then he gasped and stepped back. He pointed and started shrieking in an inhumanly scream. The others started to bring their hands in the air or to their heads and simultaneously shriek along with this leader of theirs. He still could not move, but he could turn enough to see what they were shrieking at. There was a fiery figure standing at the far end of a dead burning field. His hands were raised and he was raising the flames in his palms higher and higher. The voice of the figure spoke, slowly and ominously, “Go back to the depths from where you came!!!” The dead obeyed, shrieking all of the way.

            Nathan could still not move and he was getting worried. The figure was starting to move towards him, slowly. A black cloak was draped around the figure, a hood covering his face. Nathan turned his head away, hoping that maybe the figure might just be something his imagination had created. When he did this he looked into the water there were no figures. For a split second he thought he was safe, but he then saw that at the bottom in the middle of the river there was a hole, with what looked like fire shooting out of it. The dead figures were going through this hole into the abyss below. The mist started to creep closer, as did the mysterious figure as Nathan glanced back. Nowhere did he feel safe.

            He noticed that across the river there were some figures in cloaks near a fire. He knew that it was most likely that these figures were evil like the one advancing on him. He somehow felt that this one behind him was an enemy of those across the river. He tried to call out to them to warn them but his voice stuck. Come to think of it, his voice hadn’t resounded with his own terrified shrieks at those hideous dead that had faced him only minutes before. He felt like his feet were stuck in place, almost like someone had poured cement over them. His heart quickened its pace about three times as fast as it should have been going. He was very terrified. Until these past few days Nathan had never really been afraid of fire. He was almost a pyromaniac until this past week.

             The figure kept inching closer. It was really making Nathan uneasy that he couldn’t move. His neck was aching from turning to try and see if the figure was advancing any faster than the last time. The figures across the river were unmoving. They did not seem to even notice the figure advancing behind him. Heck, they didn’t even seem to notice him at all. The mist reached him finally. It touched his skin and it burned. The pain from the mist was almost unbearable. He looked at his arms and was stunned. The mist was burning his flesh off to the bone. When it reached the bone and was about to burn it too, the flesh reappeared and it started all over again.

            The mysterious figure finally reached him. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, expecting the fire to blast him at any moment. Instead it felt like he was moving; upwards. In a matter of seconds he was floating three inches above the ground. The pain increased because of this.  He seemed to be propelled by some unseen force, possibly made by the figure behind him. They crossed the river directly towards the three figures huddled over the fire. They reached the fire and the figure behind his set him down and said in a slow and raspy voice, “WWAATTCCHH!!!” He still could not move so that was the only thing he could do.

            The cloaked man approached the three and said something in a language he could not understand. They lined up and Nathan realized what was behind them. There was a pit behind them, with coals and flames licking up from the deepest recesses of the pit. The flames on the palms of the man were shooting higher and higher. The three figures stared at him unflinching and unblinking. There was one woman and two men. The figure pointed his palms down and shot flames at their feet. This lit each of them on fire, sending them hurdling back into the pit, screaming and writhing all the way. As the figure turned to say something to Nathan, he woke up with a start, breathing hard, dripping in sweat and blood and nearing the impulse to let out a loud scream.

            He muttered to himself, “I have to get some help for this or I’m going to go crazy!” He got out of the bed and looked back. There was sweat drenching the sheets. There were little splotches of blood here and there, and as Nathan looked down he could see a little blood on his chest. He walked to his refrigerator and looked at the clock on the wall before opening the door. “10:30, hmm? I guess it’s not too early for a beer,” he said as he reached into the refrigerator for a Coors. He walked to the couch and laid down. He picked up the channel changer and turned the TV to the news. Flashes of the bodies of sick atheists came on every now and then. Nathan sat up as he read the headline, his mind raced like a freight train.

            “Atheists Struck by Black Plague” the headline read. Nathan remembered that there was a debate that happened not too long ago between the members of the new cult and these atheists. If he remembered correctly, the atheists had their butts kicked. It dawned on Nathan that this debate had only happened yesterday. He was sure that his boss would call and make him cover the story. That was one thing he couldn’t do. He couldn’t face “the Master” one more time. He was terrified, and if he didn’t think it was nonsense he might believe it was the Master sending him these horrible dreams. Then he remembered that Melodee had said something like, “he’s, like, a god. A god. A god.” These words echoed in his mind as he picked up the portable phone to call his boss. 

            Nolan answered quite fast, “Chicago Tribune, Nolan speaking,” Nathan let out a sigh of relief and then spoke, “Hi Nolan, it’s Nathan. I need to call in sick toda…” Nolan interrupted him, “Not again Nathan! You can’t keep calling in sick. I got you to write that other story three days ago and you called in sick that time. Now you’re sick again??!!! I don’t think so. You are going on assignment today I need you to cover…” Nathan interrupted Nolan this time, “Nolan I need to see a psychiatrist I have been having weird dreams lately and they are driving me up the wall. I wake up sweaty with a little blood on the sheets each time and I don’t know what’s going on.” Nolan paused and then said, “I don’t care about your dreams; you need to cover this sickness that these Atheists have been catching, mental condition or not.” Nathan responded faster than the last time, “I can’t! I think that’s one of the reasons that I am having these weird dreams. There is something eerie about that cult that I just don’t like. Why don’t you send Melodee? I think that she would like to have this assignment more than me.”

            Nolan took another pause, longer than the last one. He finally spoke, “Alright Cardsworth, you win. I will put Melodee on this assignment, you just get the help you need and be back on the next assignment I hand you in two days.” “Thanks chief! You won’t be sorry!” Nathan said with a sigh of relief. “I already am!” Nolan said as he hung up. Nathan pressed the ‘End Call’ button on his phone and put it back in the charger. He laid back down on the couch, turned of f the TV and took a short nap. He slept for a half-an-hour and had no dreams at all. He was relieved and he called the psychiatrist downtown to make an appointment for two in the afternoon.

            Nolan walked from his office towards Melodee’s cubicle, going over how he is going to assign her this new task. He knew very well that he already gave her an assignment, but he knew that she would find a way to get both done. She saw him coming, grabbed something and got up to walk towards him. “Hi Nolan!” she greeted him with such cheerfulness. “I finished the assignment you gave me yesterday. It was a cinch!” Nolan was taken slightly aback, but he took the folder from her hands and then said, “That is really good news Melodee. I have another assignment for you. “Oh,” she said, “what’s that?”

            He took a deep breath and started, “I need you to interview the atheists that got sick after that big debate yesterday. I also need you to interview the cultist debaters and ‘the Master’ to see his thoughts on this event.” She smiled and said, “Why sure Nolan! I’d love to!” A look of confusion crossed Nolan’s face as he said, “Really?” She smiled again and said, “Yes. It’s my job isn’t it? Plus I’ve wanted to meet the Master for a while now. I’d like to see what he’s really like.” “OK then.” Nolan said. Start out as soon as you can get everything in order.” “You got it chief!” Melodee said as she turned back towards her desk. Nolan let out a sigh of relief and mumbled as he walked, “THAT was easy!”

            “YES! I get to meet the Master in person!” Melodee said in her mind. She got her leather pack and put in the digital recorder, a pad of notebook paper, some pens and pencils and she was ready to go. She went to the elevator and went to the ground floor, walked to the desk and punched out. She took the keys to her ’97 convertible and put the punch-card back in her purse. The walk to her convertible was exhilarating. She had dreamed about going to meet the Master ever since she saw him healing people on TV. OK, maybe not physically seeing him, but the idea that he could heal people.

            Opening her car door, she put the bag on the passenger seat and got in. Happy thoughts raced through her mind as she started the engine and proceeded to exit the Tribune parking lot. The drive to the mission was uneventful. Her finger tips were tingling with excitement the entire way.  She stepped out of the car and locked the doors before she went to the front door of the mission. “Hello,” Melodee said to the girl at the front desk, “I am here to interview the Master about the debate yesterday.” The girl looked at her, smiled and said, “Yes. Come right this way.” Melodee was very excited as she went with this girl down the hall to the Master’s office.

            The girl said, “He is in, go ahead and go right in.” Melodee gave her a nod and a polite “thank you” as she turned to go in. She took a big breath, turned the door knob and went in. “Good morning, Melodee!” the Master said in a pleasant tone. Melodee stuttered, shocked and in awe, “Hhhow did you know my name?” “Oh, I know a lot of things about you. Plus, your name is on your shirt.” He said with a smile. “Oh.” She giggled. “Can we get down to the interview?” she asked. He answered her rather speedily, “By all means.”

            “Ok,” she said, “Let’s get started. First question, how did you feel about the debate when Mr. Dow challenged you?” The Master smiled at Melodee and replied, “Frankly, I was shocked at his boldness. Most would not want to try and prove our beliefs wrong as fast as he did. It is probably because this is the first time something like healings has happened here in America, and he felt threatened that I could do something like this and he could not. He used the pretense that I was making money from these and that the effects would wear off eventually. This is simply not true because we take money only from those who belong to the mission.”

            Melodee replied with fascination, “I see, well moving on to the next question; did you expect them to be as unprepared as they were for the debate?” “In part I was Melodee. They had no way to back up the statements they were making and completely floundered the questions we sent at them. They were outraged because they thought that I was making money off those already injured and that I was taking advantage of the helpless. It was a senseless debate where one side overpowered the other in a matter of minutes packed into two hours.”

            Melodee shot the next question his way, “How surprised were you when you learned the debaters became ill?” The master changed his look from one of playfulness to one of seriousness, “I was actually quite taken back by this. I would never have known that they were sick until they succumbed to it after the debate.” Melodee jotted this down and then asked the next question, “Are you worried that members from the mission might catch this disease?” “Not likely the Master said, “My members are very healthy, and the booths were not that close. I believe they shall be safe.”

            Melodee stated, “I think I have enough for your side of the story. I need to interview a few other people before I can go and interview some other people.” The Master said, I’m glad we could have this chat. Davila and Lothar were at the debate and could give you good explanations. Blagden could help you, but he is on an errand. I will walk you down to interview Davila.” He went to the door and opened it. He then came back and offered his arm to Melodee. She took it gladly and they walked down the hall. Waves of happiness and euphoria washed over Melodee as they walked.

            “Davila,” the Master said, “this is Melodee. She wants to interview you about your experience at the debate yesterday. It is alright to do it.” Davila answered, “I’ll do it. Get Megan to cover the desk. Come Melodee; let us go to the meditation room. Lothar is there; it is also very quiet.” “I’m right behind you,” Melodee said, “Goodbye, Master.” The Master replied, “It was nice meeting you. Come back anytime!” Davila and Melodee walked down the hall to the meditation room. All of the pictures on the walls fascinated Melodee, and she wanted to ask questions about them, but she knew if she did that it would have to be later. Duty calls.

            “Lothar,” Davila said, “this is Melodee. She is going to interview us on the debate yesterday.” Lothar said, “I would be glad to answer any questions you have. Please, by all means, sit and let us get down to business.” They all sat on the mats in the meditation room and Melodee started asking them questions. These mats were more like large throw cushions, but that did not matter. Melodee was the first to speak after everyone got comfortable, “This first question is for you Lothar. How did you feel when you got your first question?” “Well Melodee,” Lothar started, “to be honest I was terrified out of my wits. I didn’t know what kind of question was going to come my way. I was afraid that I might fail the mission if I answered the questions wrong. When I heard the questions, everything came to me and it was like hitting a fly on the wall with a frying pan.”

            “How about you Davila?” Melodee asked, “How did it make you feel when you were being asked the questions?” “Well Melodee,” Davila answered, “It is hard to explain the feelings, but I felt in control of what was happening. I knew questions that were not even directed to me. It felt really awkward with the atheists trying to answer questions with answers that did not even relate. I had to try very hard to keep from laughing at the answers that they were giving. I believe we defended our faith very well.” “Very good,” Melodee said, “Were either of you shocked when the atheists came down with the sickness only hours after the debate?” “I was taken aback to here this happen,” said Lothar, “not to say I don’t think they deserve this, it is just that I think that it was a sudden unexplained affliction.” “I agree with Lothar,” said Davila, “I too was surprised at this, but I am in no way sympathetic with these atheists.” “Ok then,” Melodee said, I have enough for a story now. I will let you know when it comes out.” “It was a pleasure,” stated Lothar. “It was very nice to make your acquaintance,” said Davila.

            Melodee said her goodbyes and went out to her convertible. Her spirits were high, the answers from these people was so nice! She had never expected that. She also did not expect the warm atmosphere there, or the very nice personalities that these people had. She unlocked the door of her convertible and got in. Going over all of the events in her mind was almost like a fantasy. It was almost too good to be true. Whatever this feeling was she liked it and hoped it would stick around for the rest of the day. “Maybe this good attitude is contagious and will make Todd be more amiable!” Melodee thought as she revved the engine.

            She exited the way she had come, in total bliss. She was amazed at how she was feeling and wanted more. It baffled Melodee how Nathan could be so cold to these very nice people. It mattered nothing and she headed to the Tribune. The trip back was quite nice, no clouds in the sky, a cool breeze to the north, everything was perfect. Melodee let out a sigh of contention as she got up to the exit. She was feeling a tad exhausted and wondered if she should go home and take a quick rest before typing up the story. “No,” she said to her self, “I had better get the story down while it is still fresh in my mind.” She turned towards the tribune and drove to her destiny.

            Nathan woke from another rest after he called the psychiatrist. He had no dreams at all and found that quite strange. “I must be going crazy!” He muttered to himself as he got off the couch. He turned on the TV for a little viewing as he got together a TV dinner for his lunch. The news was still running that bit about the atheists being sick with this mysterious plague after the debate. Nathan hoped that it would die down so he could forget about this whole mess. Even though he was getting sleep, it was not at all making him feel rested.

            After the news had gone over, several times in fact, the atheists and their mysterious illnesses, Nathan had enough. He changed the channel, hoping to catch some local news about traffic, or something on the weather for the week. The next channel held a small story on the subject of the sickness, but they went to a different story on high crime rates in certain parts of Chicago. This did not seem too bad, so Nathan left it on this station for a while as he went around his kitchen making his lunch. The news was going through smoothly and they finished the story on the increasing violence, and then they gave a special report.

            (News Reporter) “We have a development on the story that we brought you about three days ago. The man who was apparently beaten violently and then died at the hospital downtown was a mechanic on the outskirts of town. We can now bring you his name. He was called Bartholomew or Bart for short. He was somewhat of a recluse, and not quite as well known as many thought. The story he told doctors before he died was that he was on a hike in the countryside when a sudden cloudburst caught him and he was forced to charge for cover. He saw an old shack in the distance and tried to get there before mud overcame his will to find refuge. It turned out to be a big mistake.

            “From the rest of his statement, it says he was attacked and then warned not to meddle in the affairs of ‘The Master’ and then the figure disappeared into the rain. He didn’t know what this meant, but he knew that he wouldn’t be meddling anytime soon. He dragged himself across the floor to one of the chairs. He pulled himself up and limped out the door. By this time, it had stopped raining. As soon as he had left the house, he reported that it disappeared. He was shocked, but he decided that it didn’t matter what he saw, he had to get back to his car. It took him well over an hour, but he reached it and drove to the hospital downtown. The same one that this Master figure had been healing at recently. He was taken into intensive care and died an hour later of internal bleeding. Here is a picture of the victim. In other news…”

            For the brief few seconds they showed the picture, Nathan was able to get a very good look. He stood in shock of what he saw. Bartholomew looked exactly like him. Nathan fainted onto the floor into complete shock. He came to and realized that his appointment was nearing. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was getting close to one-thirty. “I’d better get going. I’ll have to forget about trying to have lunch.” He said as he got up. He walked a few paces to the counter for a glass of water. He drank the water, grabbed an energy bar and headed for his truck, key at the ready. He jumped in and started the truck.

            It revved to life with a roar and he backed out of his driveway and started down the street. Driving further into town during rush hour did not always appeal to Nathan, as he rarely went into town except on some certain special occasions. He reached the first light going into downtown as it was turning red. “Oh boy. It’s going to be a long drive.” Nathan sighed to himself. Indeed he was correct, for it took him a half an hour just to try and get to the parking lot in front of the psychiatrists office. He barely made it inside to check in.

            “Welcome to the Chicago Psychiatrist office. How may I help you?” the receptionist greeted Nathan. “Hello,” Nathan answered, “I am here for my appointment. My name is Nathan. Nathan Cardsworth.” The receptionist turned to her computer and searched for the appointment. “Cardsworth, Cardsworth, ah here it is!” she exclaimed. “He is waiting for you in room 309. It’s down the hall and two doors to the right. Have a nice visit!”

            He bid the receptionist a good day and walked down the hallway. He counted the doors and arrived at his destination. He opened the door and saw the doctor looking out the window. “Knock; Knock,” Nathan said, “Anyone home?” “Ah, Nathan! Come! Sit down.” The doctor greeted him. Nathan walked over to the elongated leather couch and sat down. Nathan vaguely new the doctor, only from visits on occasion, usually for work.

            The doctor started the conversation, “So Nathan, from what I here your having difficulties with sleeping? Please elaborate.” Nathan took a deep breath and then started to tell the doctor his story from the beginning, “Well you see doc, it’s not just my sleep. It involves work and things that have happened to me involving my work and relaxation over the past two weeks or so as well. It started the day I kicked off early for a little fishing and vacation time.” Nathan explained all about the things that happened to him on that trip and after he got back to the station the next day.

            Peter Williams, that was the doctor’s name, listened to his explanation, not batting an eye or changing his facial expression. When Nathan finished the first part of his story, the doctor asked him a few questions. “Nathan, were you drinking at all when you were fishing?” Nathan looked puzzled for a moment, then changed his expression to one of anger, “Are you suggesting that I was drinking, and that I fantasized the whole thing???!!!” “Calm down Nathan!” Dr. Williams exclaimed, “I only want to get the facts straight, so I can tell you what is happening. That’s my job.” Nathan calmed down and answered the question, “No I was not drinking. Though I’m not saying that I don’t. Everything was very real. I checked my shoe when I walked out and found blood, fresh blood, still stuck to the bottom. My truck was still sitting in the ruts I had made during the storm. I didn’t think it up on my own.”

            Williams wrote this down and asked, “Tell me about these dreams you have been experiencing. What is it about them that makes you unnerved?” The vividness of the dreams chilled Nathan at even the slightest thought. Dr. Williams could see this and said, “Don’t be frightened Nathan. I’m sure that I can help you understand these dreams of yours. Now, please tell me. I can’t help you at all if you don’t tell me what’s bothering you.” Nathan took several long deep breaths and then started to tell Dr. Williams his dreams.

            “The first dream I had wasn’t too bad. At least by quite a number of standards, by far. Normally it wouldn’t freak me out, but there was some air of, oh I don’t know the word for it, evil, is what you could call it, about the atmosphere in the dream. I could move, but not much. There were these two ghastly figures at one end of a deserted town street, and another towards the open country. The sky was blood red. The figures walked towards each other, with me in the middle, and I guess they did battle. The two to my right disintegrated in flames and the other one turned towards me. That’s when I woke up.”

            Dr. Williams had a tape recorder out, getting all of what Nathan had to say. He stopped it and asked, “Were there more details in your story, or was what you told me all of what you had to say?” Nathan thought for a moment and said, “I basically gave you a rough outline of what happened. There was more, but it would take me longer to tell you the whole story.” “I see,” said Dr. Williams, “Well, I take it there was a second dream? Was it in any way similar to this one, or was it completely different?” Nathan answered very swiftly, “It was quite different from the one that I just told you. Except for the sky, it was no where near parallel.” Nathan proceeded to tell him everything about the dream. In fact, Nathan almost had the notion that it was the entire dream, frame by frame.

            “These are very disturbing Nathan. There must be something in your psyche that is triggering the dreams you are getting. Explain to me about your work. It is most likely that you are getting these dreams woven into your mind from stories you are covering.” Nathan answered quite swiftly again, “The thing that I most come up with is the stories that I have been covering or supposed to be covering all week. They are mostly about this ‘Master’ that has been healing people. I interviewed him the first time and he warned me not to offend him or the cult in any way. He didn’t say cult and when I say offend I say it in the lightest sense of the word. I had a very weird experience when typing up the story, and I went to rest and had the very first dream that night at the office.”      

            The expression on Dr. Williams face changed as he said, “Are you sure that you are afraid of the Master and the people at the mission?” Nathan’s expression now dropped, “What are you implying???” Dr. Williams explained in a calm and rational voice, “What I am saying is that you might be experiencing a subconscious desire to join them. You could be torturing yourself at not knowing what it would be like to be one of them. These dreams could be a subconscious effort to drive you to them to find peace and tranquility.” Nathan got up angrily and growled, “I think you are a quack. I’m terrified of them! I felt burning on my shoulder when this so called ‘Master’ touched me there to tell me not to interfere. I don’t think that I ‘subconsciously want to join them’! For all I care you can stuff that crap of yours in the garbage! I’ll pay the fee and be on my way out. Good day!”

            At that he stormed out and went to the front desk. The receptionist greeted him, “How was your stay?” Nathan calmed himself down, but replied in a rather curt voice, “Fine, thank you. How much is the bill?” She checked and said, “Thirty-five dollars.” Nathan got out his wallet and paid the bill. “Would you like a receipt?” she asked. Nathan said ‘yes’ and she printed one out for him. He mumbled a quick ‘thank you’ and walked out to his car. Driving home was much faster now, since the rush hour traffic had finally calmed down. He needed a rest, so as soon as he parked his truck and got inside he went straight to bed. It was about two-thirty.

            Almost as his head hit the pillow he drifted off into a world far, far away from this one. (Dream) A bright light shone that made Nathan squint. The sky was blue and the sun was high in the sky. “This is a nice change.” Nathan said to himself, musing how he was not experiencing a terrifying dream. This musing did not last long, for the sky almost instantly changed to one of black and red. The scenery around him changed from a grassy meadow, with trees and a river, to one of utter desolation. The grass began to burn, as well as the trees. The river turned to a thick sludge, but Nathan could still see the bottom.

            He tried to move his feet, but he couldn’t, just like the last dream. Over a rise in the terrain to the east came a hooded figure. Is cloak flowed behind him, though his hands were clasped together. Nathan couldn’t distinguish the face from that far away. He could feel the heat seeping towards him, all around. Though this was quite disturbing, Nathan couldn’t figure out what it was that really eerie about this situation. The figure just kept moving forward.

            Suddenly, over the horizon, appeared bat-like figures speeding past the hooded figure and straight towards Nathan. He could do nothing but watch on in terror. As they drew nearer he could make out some of the features on them. They had leathery wings and bodies, with faces that looked quite resembled skulls with stretched skin over them and fiery yellow eyes that lacked pupils in the center. The ears resembled the wings of the beasts. The arms and legs looked like those on a bullfrog, except the fingers had claws about two inches long on each foot. They finally reached Nathan. He tried to let out a yell to frighten them off, but he could not because of his own terror.

            Several landed on him and crawled all over him. He kept quiet, hoping they would go away, but they didn’t. Their breath was hot, much more powerful than Nathan would have ever imagined. The claws poked Nathan all over as they crawled like spiders over his body. They smelled like sulfur, Nathan knew this was significant. While they were climbing over him they were saying something. “Death! Death! Death!” they chanted, in a voice barely audible.

            They continued this for ten minutes, every one the mysterious figure came closer. The river was between them and the figure, so Nathan was not too worried about him. When he was about fifty yards from the river something strange happened. In the middle of the river, something opened up and light poured out. He looked closer and saw fire licking from the opening. “Impossible!” Nathan exclaimed, “That can’t happen!” As he said this the creatures flew from his body and dove into the river. They filed in droves through the opening.

            As suddenly as it had opened, it closed. None of the other things changed, the landscape, the sky, none of it. The figure kept drawing closer and closer. It stopped at the bank of the river. It raised its hands to chest level and said, “Ma hatik, sonough toupe gui! (Translation: Beware you! No one lives through eternal judgment!)” He made his hands into fists and snapped his fingers saying, “Kariff!” He disappeared, setting the two bushes beside him on fire, consuming them at once. Only seconds later the whole dream scene, disappeared. Nathan was in darkness, though he could clearly see himself. He could feel nothing but intense heat. He cried out, and then he awoke.

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Chapter 3: The Great Debate

            Blagden came out of his vision; a terrible one in which Maurin and Blagdon had been fighting the Master in the ways only written in the sacred texts. He was sure it was a sign of evil clouds on the horizon. His head ached, and he commented to himself, “Oh, my head! I must report this to the Master, or else he will find out some other way!” He walked from the corridor where he was meditating and started the journey to the other side of the mission to the Master’s office. As he walked around towards the front of the mission, someone came through the front door and light shot through the darkness in the mission. Blagden shielded his eyes, for the front doors faced east and the sun was just rising. He walked quickly, so as to tell the master of his vision and get it over with before his conscience got the better of him.

            He approached the large door, with the painting of a demon breathing fire on the front, and raised his hand to knock. As his hand reached the door, the familiar, “Come in.” resounded before a sound could be made. He turned the handle and entered, bowing to the Master and taking the closest chair. “Now Blagden,” he started, familiar and to the point as always, “What seems to be the matter this time?” Blagden spoke, slowly at first, but sure enough to get all of his thoughts out, “Master, I have had a terrible vision! It has disturbed me greatly and I do not know what to make of it.” He took up the next half hour explaining the dream to the Master, with short pauses and interruptions from the Master to ask questions about certain details in the vision.

The Master got up and paced a few moments, then stopping by the window he turned to Blagden and spoke, “I do not like this Blagden. Few know that the sacred texts relate to something like this happening in the physical realm. As quoted from our prophet Tulziah, great writer of many of the prophecies occurring during the persecution of our true religion in the eleven-hundreds, ‘Out of the Great One’s own following will rise a traitor who will attempt to seize the power for himself. If he succeeds, the whole body will fall. Therefore if he fails, retribution will be swift and he must be executed publicly to show the Leader’s supremacy. If a scapegoat is named before he is caught, he must also be executed.’ Your vision may be just the thing the prophet warned. Meditate on what else may happen in the future.”

He turned and paced a moment again, and then turned back to Blagden; “Do you know that the prophet was burned at the stake before he had a chance to write the final five prophecies?” questioned the Master. “I was unaware of this Master. How did it happen?” “As he was writing another prophecy from a vision he had just had, the village people broke into his house, seized him, charged him with the plague that had descended upon them and rushed him to the stake and woodpile they had erected. As he died, he screeched abominations at them in the sacred language, and he struck the gathering with an instant curse; one that smote them in the passing hours. It was one that gave them an instant black plague like virus that showed immediately. Those not directly hit were not affected because it was not contagious. It is said that half-way through his ranting his face went white and he screamed an unearthly scream and went silent. He was dead. The people decided his house was cursed and never touched it. They did not burn it because it might unleash another deadly wave of terror.”

“Do not our sacred texts say that had they destroyed it, they would have been healed and the dead struck by any curse from the book would come back to the living?” “Yes Blagden,” the Master replied, “And it is good they did not. Make sure that you meditate on this as much as you can. Uncovering these missing prophecies are the key to our success or failure!” “Yes Master.” Blagden responded with much enthusiasm. The Master walked over to the new computer they had just purchased. Not many knew how to use such a tool except the Master, and he was always searching what many call “The Web” for bad publicity against his good works. He had singled out one such group already and had about ten web pages on them. He told Blagden to come over to the computer and sit in the chair and he did so in haste.

The Master spoke, “Blagden, ever since we purchased this machine, and I have started my healing works, I have been checking on some people. They call themselves Atheists, and from their talking pages called ‘blogs’ I have seen them ranting and raving that my healings are nothing but a scam that I am getting money out of it. They say that there are no such things as miracles and that I must have paid these people to pose as sick patients, and that is why I do not let the cameras in to film the process.”

This deeply disturbed Blagden, especially as he read what they were saying about the master. (Blog article) “This ‘Master’ fellow is a con artist! His first and biggest mistake was to not allow the media to film his ‘healings’. All these people are probably his followers covered in make-up and hospital clothes disguised to make it look like he healed them, and then when real people want to get healed he will take their money and run!” (Blog response) “I totally agree with you. He either wants money or power, and he will probably try and do anything to get it, even when hospital victims are involved.” Blagden went pale, almost faint, so he walked to the window for some fresh air. The Master Spoke again, “This is not even the worst part Blagden.”

            Blagden spoke, “I don’t know if I can take any more of it! They are as blind as cockroaches that have been found under a damp rug! They see, yet they are skeptical. It is that way with all that they criticize! Why do you not act when they say these things Master?” The Master got up and spoke words of calming to Blagden, “Patience, Blagden. We will be able to set them straight, maybe sooner than you think. Right now I need you to keep reading to understand them.” Blagden took one last deep breath and walked back to the computer.

            (Continuing on the Blog article) “This ‘Master’, as his all followers call him, is nothing more than a hack. I have read consistent stories about others like him in the world that have done this, and as soon as all the money from the newly gathered followers comes in they leave. Fast, I might add, so that no one can catch on. This leaves the people just as destitute as they were before the man or men came. It is a despicable practice and it is unfathomable how our own citizens can be fooled by it!”

            Blagden spoke in anger after he finished reading, “That dog! I should run him through with one of the Takamings*! Then he would think twice before criticizing you! I don’t even think he understands the way we operate. We do not accept money unless our followers feel they should.” Blagden had his mind racing fast, unsure of what should come of this. The Master spoke, “Blagden, even though these simpletons don’t realize what were doing, these aren’t the worst of the bunch.” He pulled up one of the other pages he had open, this one was from an ACLU Blog site, it made Blagden pale again.  “Pull yourself together Blagden! I don’t need you fainting every time I pull one of these things up!” the Master snapped. “Yes, Master.” Blagden replied as he grabbed a glass of water to keep himself slightly preoccupied and under control.

*A Takaming is a metal shaft about four feet long with a spearhead with about a hundred pin-sized points sticking out of the spearhead.

                (ACLU Blog Article) “As a leading scientist and head of the psychological wing at the ACLU can almost for certain say that this ‘Master’ has to be a con artist, and a really good magician with highly paid actors to even think about attempting a stunt like this in conning innocent people injured and in the hospital into giving them money. Studies in Asia and Africa show that people who encounter someone of this description had to give money before they received a healing. Even then, the healing was not permanent and it was almost a detriment to the person. I have urged my fellow colleagues to take action, but they do not think it warrants action. I shall continue to dig for dirt on this false healer!” Blagden’s face turned red with anger as he finished the article. The Master had little opposition from the public until now.

            The Master’s voice was rough as he spoke, “Blagden, I cannot express the magnitude these claims have against us as a people. I have strived for perfection in everything. Their allegations can be proven shortly and swiftly, and that could bring us to ruins and destroy all we have worked to achieve. As simple as it may sound to them, coming forward and revealing my healing methods would destroy and possibly kill us, we cannot reveal this to anyone. It depresses me more and more as I dwell upon it. I need you to read this final piece written in this ACLU magazine I had Lothar pick up. It grieves me to even read the title of the article.”

            Blagden bent down and picked up the magazine one the table. It was open to the proper page. The article was about two pages long, and was more an expose than actual facts. (Story from an ACLU magazine) “Title: Religion or Ruse, When has the Con Gone Too Far? Many people in this country of ours cling to ‘religion’ as a way to delude themselves in thinking there is no problem in the world. Many give freely to their own organizations that only steal a percentage of the profits for their own use. It is immoral, and all attempts to squelch these actions by us have failed. Therefore, we can only hope to foil these greedy hate mongers by their own methods.

            “I myself have gone under cover several times to uproot these false dealers of faith and the extortionists. We start our journey into the minds of these crooked people five years ago. It is in Westminster, New Jersey in April. The service is one of ‘giving so that “God” will heal or bless you. I went in to their donation rooms and lo and behold the collectors were sorting two piles. One for donations that go back into church funds for outreach and such, and the other was for the pastor and the pastor’s family. You can only guess how big his pile was. It even had a sign over the pile stating this fact. I went and called the police about it. They confronted this pastor about it and he said that it ‘was a fund for the new van they were planning to get for the church’. A likely story! Well, since he was confronted by this he was forced to by a new van for the church. I could tell by his flustered reaction that this was not the case, but it flew for the cops.

            “I also visited a few mega churches on this subject and it wasn’t as easy in that small church for the people in charge to lie about this extortion. You could plainly see their million dollar estates, fancy cars and jewelry they wear that not all of the money they get from tithe goes to their own church and ministries. It is disgusting to watch all of it being counted, while the people sit in their seats unsuspecting just listening to the pastor, watching as he keeps a straight face while giving a message about stealing! They call it ‘being blessed by the Lord with all the finances we need in the world’. They talk about not needing luxury comforts that we have in the world. Well it sure looks like they enjoy living here to me!

            “Healing is another thing I have found them flattering with. Ministries have ‘healings’ and ‘prayers’ for healing. I have talked to many of the people who come from them and they say they were healed for a day and then the pain came back. All of them say they donated money before they were healed by the minister presiding over the ceremonies. This happens quite a lot in other countries as well as our own. Although the con artists that live here don’t need to skip town after they collect the money. They just spread it around to make it look special for the church and to make it look as if everything is alright.

            “Take for instance this ‘Master’ that has shown up in Chicago. I have seen him personally counting money after one of his famous ‘healings’. I even spoke to people who were there and they reported that they were the same as they were before going into the room. His ruse is just as shameful as the mega churches all over our country. I expect him to skip town any day now and go to Mexico to steal more money from helpless people down in that region. His crime is as bad as stealing from a helpless old lady crossing the street that got hit by a car.

            “I believe his tactics are copied from some of the most famous con artists in Africa and Asia. The entire Mahlongwe tribe was conned of everything they had by con artists posing as healers that came promising healthy bodies. Their remedies lasted two days, but by that time the men had gone and the money with them. Since many are superstitious they believe what these people say and it is always too late to help them.

            “People in India are often exploited by this because of the low standing in the caste system over there. With little knowledge of medicine and what it can do, they can hardly resist it when a healer comes into town. Because of his fancy tricks, they think he really knows what he is doing, and the sad thing is that he does. His little concoctions are merely special fruits and vegetables juiced to get it to look right and a few seasonings make it look all the more real. He goes on to the next village and it leaves the people still in suffering. We must all band together to stop these madmen in the world from robbing the poor of every last thing they have!” – T.J. Dow.

            Blagden was as speechless as ever at this person’s blatant remarks. There was no one there at the hospital room that wasn’t sick or apart of the mission and all of the reporters had clearance and cameras. This person had fabricated everything about the Master! What was more; the Master had a piece of information that shocked Blagden beyond belief.

            “Blagden,” the Master said, interrupting Blagden’s train of thought, “Atheists have called me insisting that I debate them on the subject of my healings. One of these Athiests is T.J. Dow. I know what you are thinking. He was no where near the Hospital when we were healing all of those people. He was in Orange, New Jersey with his girlfriend. His wife didn’t know about it because she was on a cruise in the Bahamas with her lover, who is also her best friend’s husband and who also happens to be married to the girl that T.J. Dow was with. A funny event, don’t you think,” the Master said with a chuckle, “but getting back to the point. I cannot debate them myself. However, I am going to use you, Davila and Lothar as my debaters. Do you object?” His answer was quick, “Master, it would be an honor and a pleasure to refute these non-believers!” “Good, you and the others will debate on Friday as agreed!”

            Friday came sooner than Blagden would have liked. He studied all the material he could lay his hands on about the mission, and everything about what they stood on. He was confident the infidels would cower before the prowess of the three of them. The questions would be directed one at a time, one to each side, with a neutral person asking the questions. One person from either side would be selected; they would come to the podiums, answer the question and then return to their seats. The next person would come up from each team and the same schedule would progress until the end of the debate. He was still nervous, not only because the entire fate of the mission was hanging in the balance, but because he was first to answer the questions against the top speaker from the atheist camp.

The moderator spoke, “The preposition for tonight is as follows: ‘The Master of Keo Dai New World Missions is manipulating the patients in the primary hospitals for personal gain rather than concern for their condition.’ ”

            T.J. Dow strutted up to the podium, smoothing his Italian three-piece suit.  He possessed an arrogant air of confidence as he motioned to his secretary, Ms. Fuller, for his notes.  The young woman tottered up to the stand, thrown off balance by both her nervousness and her high heels, which she wore to disguise the fact that she was quite short.  She grabbed the podium to steady herself and handed Dow his notes somewhat shakily.

“Are you sure about this, Sir?” she asked, voice trembling with anxiety. Dow shook his head, wondering why he hired this girl fresh out of high school.  Her heels always threw her off balance, and her enormous glasses were usually askew on her face, making her look less than intelligent, despite her professional garb and tasteful makeup.  He pondered to himself, “What possessed me to hire her three months ago?”  He thought for a moment and remembered.  “Oh, yes.  Her typing is fast and perfect, she takes shorthand with skill and when she answers the phone, she sounds like an exotic song bird.”  He watched with amusement as Ms. Fuller tried to walk back regally and fell into the arms of those on the front row.  Apologizing, she kicked off her heels and walked back to her seat behind the curtain on stage.

            “Ladies and gentlemen,” began Mr. Dow, “I am honored to appear before you this afternoon.  My case is short and to the point.  The members of Keo Dai World Missions, namely the man we know only as ‘The Master’, have most barbarously exploited the poor and sick, making them the innocent victims of his malignant scheme.  Such a man should, for the public’s good, be removed from his position and constrained to pay them back ten fold.  I appeal to you, ladies and gentlemen, to not allow such activities to continue.  Why, this man is even trying to play God.  He didn’t even bother to show up, just like the God many of you believe in.  He sent these three nonsensical persons to do his sordid work for him.”

            The moderator nodded politely to Dow.  “Thank you, Mr. Dow.  We present now

Blagden, who will now take the part of the negative position.  Mr. Blagden, please Present your case.”

            “Thank you, sir.  Mr. Dow’s statements are completely preposterous, and without base.  If they were, the situation would be grave indeed, but they are not.  In the times that we have visited the hospitals, we have only healed, not taken money from anyone.  You may inquire of any one of the patients we looked to, and you will see that they are in perfect health, unlike before we saw them.  You will also find from any interviews you may decide to conduct that we did not profit from them, on the contrary.  Some even offered to pay us for healing them, but we refused, for many are very resourceless.  We only wish to help them and better the world.  Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.”

            Dow looked back and saw his secretary chewing her nails and having a nervous breakdown.  She tried to hide it, by crossing her legs casually, and, in the attempt, she fell over with a short scream, glasses skittering across the floor.  Dow walked back to her as she crawled towards to the chair to get back up, face red with embarrassment.

            “Perhaps you should wait in the car,” said Dow.  “You can hear the debate on the radio there, and it will be...safer for you.  Please,” he added in a whimpering tone.

            Ms. Fuller nodded, found her glasses, and escaped the room, tripping all the way.  The ladies in the crowd hid smiles and suppressed giggles.

            The moderator stepped to his place.  “I will now present questions from the audience for the debaters to answer.  A Mrs. Wickham will be joining Mr. Dow and Mr. Bletham in this debate.”

            Lothar and Mrs. Wickham approached their podiums with confidence. The mediator said, “This question is directed to you, Mrs. Wickham. It says, ‘Do you really believe that the mission is stealing money from hospitalized people?’”

Mrs. Wickham answered quite quickly and bluntly, “Yes I do. People don’t just go to hospitals to heal people. I mean, no one other than the people staffed there. It seems all too underhanded to me. They wouldn’t let the press witness the healings, so we don’t actually know what went on in there. This makes these people all the more guilty. If this doesn’t convince any of you, I don’t know what will.”

            The mediator said in a tone of sarcasm, “Ouch, Mr. Lothar! What do you have to say to these comments?” Lothar came to the point concisely, “The answers to these questions are quite simple, really. First, our practices are sacred and, to many who have seen them before, strange. Should the media see this, they might turn this as negative healing, just as the people who are now debating us have done. Second, we do not take or ask money from anyone. You yourselves can question those healed and ask if they had given the Master any money when they were healed. We only accept donations from those who join the mission.”

            The debate was going smoothly and the next in line for each of the groups stepped up to the plate for the next question.

            The mediator spoke again, “Up next is Mr. Bletham and Ms. Davila. This question is directed to you Ms. Davila. It says, ‘What is the purpose of the Mission healing the people at the hospital?’”

            Davila cleared her throat and began to speak, “Our purpose for healing these people is exactly that. We want to make them well and whole again. If they are moved to join us then that is good, but it is most important to make them well first. Some could even say that it is out of compassion that we do this. If you have a friend that is sick, do you not go and visit? Even attempt to aid in their recovery? It is exactly the same with us, no matter what guise you try and portray us as.”

            “Powerful statement Davila!” the mediator said. “Mr. Bletham, what is your take on this question?”

            Mr. Bletham answered, quite sure of himself, “It seems very obvious to me and my colleagues that these people are gaining money from these people. The healing is most likely only temporary. In many corporate schemes and other areas people are able to obtain money under the table and not get caught. They are obviously persuading the victims to play dumb until they have finished cashing the checks. Even the dumbest of criminals in the poorest of countries has achieved what they are doing. To many it makes no sense why these people would heal the sick at a hospital for free. There has to be something up, with no other purpose present except the gain of money at the wheel.”

            As the debate progressed things went downhill for the atheists. The debate was nearing its end. The debaters from both sides gave their closing arguments and sat down. The mediator walked to his podium and said, “This concludes the debate. Our audience will now cast their votes for who was the more believable side. We will take a half-hour brake and then see who will win this epic debate.” Each side talked about the debate. Many in the audience wondered why “The Master” hadn’t showed up. In all truth, he was backstage at this very moment, watching the debate from a room secluded from everyone else.

            He was smiling as the mediator said the last words and walked from the stage. His disciples had done wonderfully. He sat back and gave a sigh of relief. He heard a rustling noise above his head. He tilted his head back just in time to see a creature descending to the ground beside him. It was the demon who had given him his powers. He alighted and sat in the chair next to “The Master”, changing into human form. When he did this it looked like a blurred mirage. He smiled at the Master and said, “All goes as planned. You have done very well over the last two weeks. I must tell you that I only gave you a small portion of the powers you should have, just in case you would fail. I am about to give you powers to teach these unbelievers a powerful lesson for not acknowledging your ‘divine’ supremacy. They will regret this debate.”

            The demon taught the Master what to say and then he vanished in a column of flame. The Master wiped some sweat from his brow, and said the words. He watched intently as the mediator approached the podium. The crowed hushed as he spoke, “Ladies and gentlemen, I have the results. But before I share them, I want to thank these debaters for coming here today. I know it has cleared up confusion about all that has happened over the last few weeks.” A round of deafening applause erupted, causing the mediator to pause before going. He motioned for the noise to cease, and it gradually died down. “And the winner of this debate is, The Keo Dai New World Mission!” Another round of applause thundered through the arena.

            The team from the New World Mission went up and accepted the honor. The audience cheered and applauded with the greatest enthusiasm. They went back to their seats and the mediator stepped back up. “This concludes today’s debate. Thank you all for coming.” At that everyone filed out of the building. The winning team filed to their bus that was back stage and the only ones left were the atheists.

            Dow spoke in an agonizing tone, “How did they do it? I mean, by all standards we should have won! It makes no sense.”

            Bletham concurred, “I agree, it is baffling. We should have stirred the hearts and souls of the crowed against these phonies. I don’t understand.”

            Mrs. Wickham spoke with utmost sincerity, “It doesn’t matter what happened you fools! What’s done is done. It does no justice to anyone to cry over spilled milk. We have to do more research next time so we will be better prepared to challenge them. Right now we should go home and get some rest.”

            They all agreed and left out the back door. T.J. went to his car where his secretary was waiting. “Start the car Ms. Fuller.” Dow said. She turned on the car and leaned over to open the door for him. He got in and shut the door in a rather irritated manner. “How did it go?” she asked, knowing full well what happened. “It was a disaster! You already know that, but I still cannot fathom how they did it!” He ranted while they drove back to the ACLU headquarters downtown. Dow let out a somewhat phlegm-like cough and rubbed his neck in the middle of his sentence. The substance that came up tasted somewhat like salt, and what he felt on his neck was sticky.

            “Ms. Fuller, can you look at my neck and see what is on it?” T.J. asked.

She looked and gave a scream of terror, slamming on the breaks. The car behind them braked hard and let go a blaring horn blast in fury at the sudden stop they made. Dow worriedly asked, “What? What is it?”

Ms. Fuller answered in a quaky voice, “Your neck! It…It’s black!” “Black?!” he said in a half question half scream. He went into another coughing fit and he brought up a napkin to hold the cough. When he finished coughing he looked at the napkin. It was red with blood. He stared in shock at it for a few moments. He said in a quavering voice, “Get to the hospital. FAST!” Ms. Fuller gunned the engine and sped for it. They were only a few blocks from the hospital and it did not take long for them to reach it. She ran over the sidewalk and parked in the first parking space. She got out and helped Mr. Dow in, and they got him checked in safely.  They had no idea what lie ahead.

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Chapter 2: Dreams

            Nathan’s palms started to sweat in ever increasing amounts as he approached the mission in his Chevy. He pulled into the parking lot, checked his hand-held recorder and entered the mission. He was greeted by a hooded woman, one of the leaders it appeared to him. “Hello, you must be Nathan, the reporter. I am Davila. Peace, joy, death to you.” That was strange. He had heard of these missions being a little strange in their greetings. But he had actually thought that she had said death to him. Ah well, the sooner he interviewed “the Master”, as he had heard many call him, the better. “Come, I will take you to him,” said Davila. She led him down a dark corridor, with man strange objects, plaques and statements on the windows, walls and doors. They turned past what he thought he read as the meditation room and turned into the Master’s office.

            “Welcome Nathan, I am the Master; founder of this Holy Building and people. You may leave us Davila.” “Yes oh Master, I am grateful. Mahf tik suf touy.” “Fay tul, Go in peace.”  “Now, Nathan; we shall get down to business. What would you like to ask me?” “Well for starters, what is your real name?” “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! I am only called the Master. My other name was not worthy, and I did not find any other earthly name suitable.” “Oh, I see. Well then, where were you born?” “I do not concern myself with that now, but your readers will need to know; I was born in Pawtucket, Rhode Island in 1966. June sixth to be exact.” “When did you first decide to build this mission.” “Most of your readers will probably not believe me, but I actually had the blueprint in my mind after engaging in an October’s night of the Ouija board at a friend’s house. Oh, harmless as it may have seemed, it gave me the revelation to start this sect, and with more research on the subject, I found three other sites like the one I have started over the country. I gathered many of the sacred documents, copies mostly, and I set out to start one mission, to convert everyone to the true “Way” as some here call it.”

            “How did you gather your ‘followers’ you might say, and more importantly, why did they choose to follow you?”  “Well Nathan, my ‘ways’ as you said, are more unconventional than others. At first I just got many into study groups to go over material and gradually this caught on. Then I would stage some acts of magic, and this should throw suspicion over the whole practice we engage in right now, but back then I did have the same power from heaven that I do today so I had to. Some followed me out of loyalty as friends and others followed me because I was very convincing.”

             Nathan was really starting to shake, and as he asked the next question, his voice started to quiver and he even squeaked, “How, (clears his throat) excuse me, how have you been able to heal these people? I mean some say that they are your followers, staging these illnesses just to gain favor in the community.” The Master gave a crooked smile and said, “This is simply not true. I mean even before yesterday many of these people were never aware we even existed. Most of the people I have cured are brain damage victims, as well as people who have clean breaks in their bones. I have to say that I am not staging any of this and that people are just trying to prove me wrong because ‘science’ cannot answer how I am doing the things I am doing.”

            “Thank you, ‘Master’. I think I have enough to write about you.” Nathan stated as he stood up. “You are very welcome. May I walk you back to the door?” “Yes, if you wish.” The next words the master spoke struck fear into his very soul. He put his hand on Nathan’s shoulder, and it felt as if a fire from hell was scorching into his shoulder, with driving pain slicing with it, “Nathan,” he said in a raspy, fiery voice, totally unlike what he had been speaking for the interview, “If you even think of interfering with the business ‘we’ are engaged in, you will feel such consequences as Bartholomew had as of yesterday. I am inclined to wish you would join us, but that is not possible, as you might want to overthrow me. I also want you to destroy the interview tape when you are done with the article. Do not tell anyone of this either, OR ELSE! Understood?” Nathan gave a very frightened nod of the head, and a quick, “Yes.” “Good,” said the master, he then took his hand off Nathan’s shoulder and the pain ceased, he also changed the tone of his voice into one of kindness, even better than in the interview, “Now, go and write up your story. Remember what I told you and I shall be looking forward to reading tomorrow’s column!”

            Nathan hurried out of the mission and fumbled for his keys as he walked towards his pick-up. Now that he noticed it, there were no other cars in the parking lot. Ah well, all that mattered was getting away from here and back to the Tribune and write up his story. He was not inclined, however, to destroy the tape after he was done, though. The reason for this being that he wanted to see what others might say about this guy. Shutting his door, he buckled his seatbelt and revved the engine, thankful it started. He pulled onto the one-way street and headed back to the Tribune. He tapped the wheel nervously as he went over the events that went on inside the mission. What troubled him most was what the leader said before he left. “Do not tell anyone of this!” was not very comforting, especially since he knew of what happened to the other man.

            Flashing lights appeared in his mirror. “Oh no!” he said to himself in a groan, “I didn’t notice that I was over the limit! And it’s the state police too!” He put on his indicator and pulled off to the side of the street.  That was funny. He hadn’t seen the policeman at any street off the side of the road and waited for him to get out and confront him. He reached over and pulled the license and registration out of his glove box and prepared his ID. His vision blurred, only for a second, but when his vision cleared everything disappeared, save the officer who continued to advance. Flat grasslands, the road and mountains shone in the distance. He rolled down his window as the officer reached his door, and before he had a chance to say anything, the officer spoke, in a voice like that of a fork tongued serpent, “The Master wishes that I bid you one more piece of information; one crucial to your survival. This, figment, you might say, is to show you what power he possesses and that he knows all. You are to keep away from the mission, unless on business, and if you do not keep your nose out of business not your own, or of other faiths you shall find yourself in a desperate situation as you did on your break. Understood?”

Just to get the man on to other business he gave a sharp “yes” to satisfy him. “Thank you, drive safely, and remember what I said!” Nathan’s vision blurred again, clearing in a few seconds, revealing that the city side-street pulled into was still there, and that his eyes were playing tricks on him. The officer drove past, siren blaring and lights going after what looked like a speeder. He pulled out and drove to the exit ramp that lead to the main street going past the Tribune. Waiting for the light to turn, he debated whether or not he should event go to work and write the story, or just go home and phone in sick. He debated against calling in sick, since he decided that he had already used his sick days for an entire year. So he turned left and headed to the Tribune.

 A few minutes later and he sat at his desk, listening to the recorder and deciding how he should describe the interview on his computer. The words haunted him every minute he rewound and played back the discussion, yet he knew he had to get it done if he was to ever forget it. The click, clack of the keyboards in the cubicles around him rang with that familiar tone of people using their collective stories to make the tribune what it was stirred him and gave him a little more drive to start transcribing more of what happened in the interview, along with what his boss had given him from other interviews gathered from supporters and critics. The deeper he got, the more he drifted from paying attention to what his colleagues, more engrossed than ever.  His senses became dulled to what it was about and he became thrilled at just doing what he loved.

As his mind started to drift, thoughts started to come into his mind. But because he was so occupied by what he was doing, he was more under the impression that Jon and Denise were having a conversation over his cubicle about who this “Master” really is. What he did not realize was that it was actually an Angel and a Demon, the Angel was his conscience speaking and the Demon was being spoken through by a follower of the Master, arguing over the true nature and intent of the man now in the spotlight. (Demon) “You have to realize that the Master is as real as anything. Surely even you cannot doubt this?” (Angel) “I do not doubt anything. But the fact remains that he is evil!” (Demon) “He is not! He has healed the sick in the hospitals and he has done nothing to break the law!” (Angel) “This may be so, but you also have to realize that what happened to Bartholomew did not happen by accident. From the report we can deduce that the only logical answer would leave that he influenced someone to attack and maim him to keep him from interfering with any plans he may have!”

(Demon) ”Oh, give it up will you! He could not be anything but good! His actions have proven nothing less than sainthood. I don’t see how you think otherwise.” (Angel) “Look in those sacred texts of yours you’d find that it is prophesied that one would come that would have the power to do good and evil to influence his rise to power. Anything and everything points to it, but you just won’t listen to reason!” (Demon, somewhat cutting Angel off) “I won’t listen?! You won’t listen! The physical evidence is right in front of your face and you won’t admit that he is doing good for everyone.” (Angel) “Just wait a few days and have a look at those patients he’s healed! Then you’ll see whether I’m right or wrong!”

What Nathan did not realize was that at his confrontation with the Master’s second in command, he picked up a transformation that allowed him to see into the realm of the Angels and Demons. Maybe not see directly, but feel their presence, be affected by things they do and sometimes event here what they say. All the chatter they were making was making him edgy. He was not even half way through with the interview and at the level of fixation he was giving it was making him tense. All of the sudden, he just stood up and shouted, “QUIET! Can’t you see that I am trying to get my interview down?!” Shocked and surprised Jon fired right back, “ME!? I wasn’t doing or saying anything!” Denise chimed in, “Neither was I. I was working hard on the Governor’s interview, and NOTHING ELSE! Do you here me!?” Nathan was speechless. He was sure it was those two bickering about who this nutcase was. Why not? They were all talking about it just yesterday. He had been a little tired and the way he was working his imagination probably got the best of him.

“Ugh! My head hurts! I think I’ll take a few aspirin and a sleeping pill and go lie down in the small bedroom.” As he walked past Melodee shot a terse remark at him, “Yeah, maybe you’ll cool off by later!” He pondered a few questions as he went to the small medicine cabinet, such as, “Why did I think that Jon and Denise were having a debate on who this ‘Master’ is? And, why did he have the headache that he did? As far as he could recollect he had never had a headache this bad in years. He opened the cabinet and searched for sleeping pills and aspirin, so he could at least rest a while. As he grabbed the aspirin he glanced at his watch. “Seven twenty,” he said as he yawned. Finding the sleeping pills he opened both bottles, grabbed what he required of each, put the tops back on the bottles and put them back in the cabinet. He some water from the cooler and swallowed all three at once and went to lie down.

It took a while, but he started to drift off into a deep sleep. He started to dream about some of the events that had happened in the past few days, and yet it seemed all too real to Nathan. (Dream) The plain ahead was flat; with only sand instead of the grass that had been there earlier. The horizon was red. Not just one shade of red either; blood red at high noon, strait red at three and orange-red and the horizon. It was foreboding and not too comforting, this considering that there was no town and a single road going to the horizon. Just as suddenly as he had come, he was sent to a different place; or so he thought. In reality, or in the reality of his dream, he did not go anywhere. Instead the scenery had changed. The sky was black and red, and there was a town in front of him. A small town, to be certain, but it was what was down the main street that took his breath away.

Two ghastly figures stood on either side of the street, hands clasped together, clad in short robes with the hoods up; these similar to the ones the people at the mission he had seen. One shone a bright red, flames licking from his feet and at the bottom of his robe. The other was similar, except black flames licked at his feet, higher than the other. Their hands were bones with sharp, blackened fingernails, twitching every now and then. It appeared that that neither had seen him. Both suddenly turned and started walking towards him, and their faces made him almost faint. The one resembled the face of his attacker; the other was that of the officer that had pulled him over earlier before he had got to work. They walked slowly, with their gaze fixed ahead. It seemed to Nathan that they had not seen him, judging by the way their heads were facing, but he was ready to run if they tried anything. The one on his left started to lift his hands in the air, building the flames higher and higher; it also seemed that he was drawing in electricity in what looked like a cyclone. The one on the right was duplicating the motion, ever higher did the flames grow; neither removing their gaze from whatever lay ahead. Even though he was terrified, Nathan removed his own gaze towards them and looked behind himself to determine if they were truly looking at him, or if they were looking at something he should be afraid of in the rear. As he looked a tall figure started approaching him, a little farther off than the other two figures, but approaching in the same manor, only with taller plumes of flame and lightning and an extra inclusion of debris twirling over his hands.

What he saw when he looked closer turned him white with fear. The face under the hood was that of the Master at the mission. Quick thinking and slow reacting led him to dodge about ten yards out of the way to see if they would turn in his direction. They kept their stare fixed on the lone figure, keeping their pace, not even flinching when he moved out of the way. The first one that turned acted first. He angled his palms towards each other, combining the flames and making one large flame. The second did the same and the third also. The first two hooded figures pointed their flames at an angle again and when they connected it shot towards the third figure. It looked as if the third body was going to be incinerated in the blast. The heat coming off the shot alone started to singe Nathan’s own hair and clothes.

When it almost seemed to late, the figure that looked like the Master reacted and sent his own powerful blast straight to the oncoming blaze. Both projectiles collided, and it seemed like the Master’s flame was pushing back the other flame of the combined members. Then the Master’s flame pushed and pushed the other flame towards the attackers. Closer and closer it inched towards them, the reaction of pure trepidation was shown in their eyes. As the flame reached the fork of the power of the duo, smoke arose from the focal point of power for a split second; as if under chemical pressure it exploded, sending both figures backwards. As the first one flew through the air, his flame changed to a transparent orange and gave of a hewn vapor. It spread and his legs started to go transparent as well, the edge of his cloak caught and just as it seemed it would consume him in a matter of minutes he disappeared in a flash of light, leaving a cloud of orange vapor behind. A blast of heat hit Nathan as this happened, and almost simultaneously the second figure reacted in the exact same way as the first. The Master stared at the vapor for a few moments, and then turned towards Nathan. As he walked the ground shook, like a mild earthquake almost. This petrified Nathan to the utmost. After witnessing the destruction of his followers in flames, what would be held for him? Just as the Master was about to unleash a blast of fire at him, Nathan awoke.

The sheets were soaked with sweat and a little blood. The window was open a little and a cool breeze drifted in, sending a chill all over Nathan’s body. Breathing heavily, he got up and walked out of the room. He stopped for a drink of water at the cooler. He glanced at the digital clock on the wall; it read six thirty-one. Nathan thought to himself, “The Boss probably isn’t in. I’ll write him a note saying that I’m taking the tape and the interview home to finish it there, and then I’ll turn it in for tomorrow’s paper.” At that, he walked over to his desk and took a piece of paper to let the boss know what he was doing and where he was going to be. He finished writing the explanation; he signed, dated and documented the time on the note, walked over to Nolan’s office, taping the letter to the door. He went down to the front desk, punched out and went to his truck. He was shaking so badly and his palms were so sweaty that he could hardly open his truck door. After about a minute he succeeded. He got in, revved the engine, pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home. He drove a little more cautiously than usual and it took longer to reach his house. But when he finally did he ran to the door, opened it in haste, crashed on the couch and turned on his television, determined to see if he couldn’t find anything else about the Master that he already didn’t know. He was dead tired and fell asleep on the couch for about an hour, until he got a call around seven.

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Chapter 1: The Start of Trouble

            His mission had failed. What would he tell the Master? He had gone to the house, as the Master had instructed, and he had lain in wait to teach the “unworthy troublemaker” a lesson to stay out of the Masters business, and to show him what might happen if he tried to stop it. But it backfired. How was he to know that the man knew Ju Jitsu? Or for the matter that he would kill him? This was not good. Fortunately, after the encounter, when the “special man” as some called him, left the house, it would disappear and everything would return to normal and he would be transported back to the mission. “Thank the demons that the master is going healing today.”

“Maurin!”

“Coming Master!”

Oh no! What will happen to me! The master has not yet left and I must tell him what happened, even though he can find that out himself!

“Maurin, how did it go?”

“Master, I am ashamed! It did not go well at all!”

Maurin told him about everything that happened and he was not at all happy. “You Fool! I gambled my soul for this power! A dog could have done better than you! (sigh) we will just have to get at him another way. COME! We must prepare for today’s healings. I do think that I may let you pick out a few of the most sick, even though you did not do as I asked to the T.” “Yes Master. I am very grateful for your lenience.” Maurin bowed and left.

Nathan felt that he might be able to research this “miracle guy” further at his work, the Chicago Tribune. After locking his front door, Nathan walked to his pick-up, started the engine and started off to work. Even though yesterday’s events seemed far away, it made him feel uneasy, especially since what was also happening yesterday related to “the Supernatural” or even “the Para-normal” if one wanted to call it that. He recalled the four college courses he took on the supernatural and the Para-normal. When he thought about it, he shivered and grimaced, determined to rule it as just another coincidence that his mind had conjured up after a stressful day at work. Pulling into the parking lot at the Tribune, he shut of the engine, engaged the rusty old brake, opened and locked his door, shut it and walked inside. He punched in at the front desk and strode to the elevator. As he was riding to the third floor he pondered how he could bring up the events of yesterday to his colleagues.

Since he was an on call reporter, they could send him at any time to interview this miracle worker, and he was absolutely terrified at the prospect. His cubicle was situated between Jon Matheson and Denise Nelson; they were a little bit strange, but good reporters. As he approached them around the water cooler, along with three other people, it sounded like they were talking about the healings this new healing sensation. “Hey Matheson, what’s going on?” “Oh, hi Nathan. We were all just talking about that guy that was in the hospital healing people. Did you see it?” “Yeah, some joke huh?” “Joke? You think that was a Joke!?” said Melodee. “You couldn’t be further from the truth; this guy is, like, a god I guess.” “I only say it’s a joke because something like that happened to me yesterday after I got done fishing, around four in the evening.” He told them everything that happened, leaving nothing out. Bob, an editor who had a cup of water, dropped his mug as Nathan finished speaking.

“Nathan, we had a call that something like that happened to another guy in the southern part of Chicago. Only he died. He took shelter from a similar storm in an old house and someone attacked him, telling him not to interfere with something. He used his last bit of energy driving to the closest hospital, and died three hours later, asking for the same miracle worker to come and heal him. He said he thought he entered the house at four to the policeman there.” Nathan nearly had a heart attack at those words. He knew that something was happening and he really did not want to get involved. “Oh, Nathan, I remember that the picture of the man that died looked exactly like you.” That really traumatized Nathan, forcing him to take the closest chair. “You don’t suppose that they killed him, thinking it was me, do you?” Nathan queried. “It’s possible,” thought Sally, another reporter in the cubicle directly in front of Nathan. Nolan, the man responsible for giving the reporters their assignments, came up to Nathan and said the words that he dreaded on the way to work, “Cardsworth, you’re going to interview this new ‘Miracle Man’ tomorrow and get his story on why and how he’s doing what he’s doing.”

At the hospital, the Master and Maurin were gathering some of the most sick in the massive board room. Maurin wondered how Blagdon had done in his mission, if the other ‘unworthy troublemaker’, Bartholomew wasn’t it, which he had been sent to warn had taken heed; he also wondered if Bartholomew wasn’t even the one at all, and that roughing him up was for nothing. He used some of the Master’s powers and picked out some of the worst hit people to heal. The Master had done this yesterday and had been very successful. He chose some with Parkinson’s disease, some with severe brain tumors, others with severely broken bones and even others with visible skin diseases. They lead them to the board room and the Master started the chant of healing. “Ho tu figh mi so to dah.” And so on for three minutes. He then went to the first tumor inflicted patient and he laid his hands and with a pain filled grunt, took the infliction and destroyed it with his mind. At that, the person was restored and went into the waiting area to show the others. He went through and did this to each one, with the same results as the last. 

Maurin wondered if he might ever have even a smidge of the power the Master has. Had he read more of the sacred texts at the mission he would have read about a dark prophecy, one about himself and another follower that would signify their end. A news crew came in to film the event for the five o’clock news as they had yesterday. Maurin approached them and announced, “You may film only in this area where we have gathered those patients which have not been healed yet, but you must not film the proceedings in the room. We understand this may cast some shadows over our proceedings. We cannot have unclean non-believers watching our healings.” And with that, the crews set up and started filming and asking questions.

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Prologue

           It was a fine summer’s evening. Nathan had just returned from the lake with three nice sized brook trout for his early dinner. A storm seemed to be brewing on the horizon, but that did not seem to bother him.

“If the storm hits and I feel it is too much for me to take, I’ll just duck back in the truck and wait it out.”, he thought as started a fire to cook his catch.

            Still looming in the distance, the storm seemed to be changing color, and then Nathan realized, to his horror, that it was not a storm at all, but a plague of mosquitoes. He had heard of these types of things happening, but he had never heard about one this big! He realized that he might not be able to get out of the path of the oncoming hoard in time, but he would have to take that chance. He jumped in his 1975 Chevy pick-up, started the engine and floored it¼

       Two days earlier at the Keo Dai New World Mission (in reality it is a cult site):

The leader, in secret (very few have been told this for security reasons), has called a demon to bestow the powers of darkness upon him so that many people will follow him, and not other people or “Ways”. (The demon is bestowing evil powers upon cult leader, and is giving him advice that he should follow) If you are to lead these people, you must use these powers I am giving you to first get their attention. Then, you are to use the next strongest part of this power to heal their sick. If there are any doubters that first believed, but are now starting to turn, use it to crush them! In the future, I see only one man that can get in our way. I do not know his name, but I do know what he looks like and how you can find him. If you keep him under your power, then you will lead many people successfully. But should he become a member of The Way, you will be crushed and your soul will be mine to torment for eternity!!! A Ha!! Ha!!! Ha!!! Ha!! Ha!!!

***

Nathan kept a careful eye on the road while occasionally glancing frantically behind him at the swiftly approaching cloud of mosquitoes.   As the first few struck the vehicle they turned to raindrops.  Suddenly a storm broke.  The rain hit the truck with shocking violence.  Nathan fumbled for the windshield wiper switch and turned it on full power.  It still could not keep up the fast falling drops.  He looked in his rearview mirror and saw a dime sized mosquito approaching fast.  Just as it reached the truck it turned into a rain drop.  It landed on a mirror and shattered into many smaller drops.  At first Nathan thought it was coincidence, but he watched in fascination as the event was repeated hundreds of times in a row.

The wind increased in velocity, threatening to blow him off the road.  Lightning flashed and thunder shook the earth.  A tree, struck by lighting as he approached it, crashed across the road, missing him by mere inches and forcing him to swerve violently, nearly flipping the truck.  This continued constantly for a few minutes that seemed to Nathan like hours.

As he got a few more miles down the road he saw a house in the distance that hadn’t been there before.  Nervous, he increased his speed to pass the house as swiftly as possible, but his move was foiled by his tires, which began to stick and spin loosely in the thickening mud.  He mentally berated himself for not buying a jeep as he stopped the truck.  A brick driveway ran from the road to the house.  He leaped from the truck and ran through the pouring rain toward the house, which appeared to have been built in the late 1800s.  The rain began to slow as he neared it and stepped onto the creaking porch.

 Nathan entered the tattered old house completely drenched.

 “Is anyone there?” he asked. His voice reverberated throughout the house.

‘Nope; I guess not’ he thought.

He ascended the stairs slowly, as they were somewhat rotten and the railing to his left was missing about fourteen posts. On his right the knee wall went up from the door, but it did not stop at the top of the stairs; instead, it stopped two and a half feet before the top step. Nathan spotted a chair near the kitchen, and decided to walk over and wait in it while the storm passed. The house was musty as expected, but it had a foreboding presence about it that Nathan could not place. Suddenly out of nowhere, a person dashed at Nathan and tried to take a swing at him.

He dodged the blow and started flinging lefts and rights at his attacker, forcing him to stumble backwards toward the stairwell.  Nathan flung two more punches and his attacker stumbled back onto the top step.  Nathan flung a powerful and unexpected kick that sent his unsuspecting attacker crashing through the railing.  He fell limply onto the concrete stairs below.  Nathan looked at his attacker, expecting to find him cold and lifeless.  It appeared that way for a few seconds, but then his attacker slowly pulled himself to his feet and stumbled down the last few steps and out the back door.      

Nathan walked down the stairs, armed with a piece of the broken railing, just incase another attacker was lurking in the shadows of the basement.  There was nothing except a few rats and a small pool of blood where his assailant had fallen. A cold chill ran down his spine at the site and an eerie smell met his nostrils, one stronger than that he had first noticed on the upper floor. He let the thought escape his mind as he continued to look. Wanting to be sure there was nothing down below, he ran down the last flight of stairs and hastened out the back door, expecting to see his opponent staggering away, but there was nothing.  He stepped out of the house for a better look and the mysterious structure disappeared, leaving the field as it had been before, when he drove down that afternoon.

He walked back to his truck and found the road firm, except for the ruts his tires had made as they spun wildly during the storm.  He drove home and collapsed into bed, both mind and body exhausted. When he woke up the next day, he felt that what happened yesterday was nothing but a very big figment of his imagination. But when he turned on the television, there were news splotches about some guy healing people with diseases and broken bones. Now normally this wouldn’t concern Nathan. But it seemed kind of like what happened to him yesterday. He thought that it might just be a coincidence, but he would look into it further…

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HELLO! I have finally decided to make a blog dedicated soley to Dark Prophet. This has the FULL chapters that I didn't post on The Creative Desk, so I am hoping you all can read them and tell me what you think. I look forward to your comments, and I shall take all criticism gracefully. However, if there are any rude, disparaging or hateful comments posted I will delete them. Now I don't have a little protection sign posted yet, but I would sincerely appreciate it if no one would copy any of this material. Also, I know that many of you have little siblings, and much of the content of this book is fairly deep, (meaning it has a lot in the way of violence, different spiritual issues and some "racial comments" mostly the "cult" members remarking about the "infidels", but you get the idea) and so it would be best if younger viewers not read this, unless your parents or a parental figure have previewed and said if you can or cannot read this material. Thank you once again for reading, and enjoy!

~Theynore Binakowski

P.S. this is not my Pen Name, I haven't delagated one for myself yet.

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