Chris LoParco - Artist/Writer
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
A Story Told - Chapters 1 and 2
Here are the first 2 Chapters of A Story Told, the first novel I wrote that I collaborated with John Santarsiero and Herbert Olivera on. If you like what you read please visit this link http://www.wix.com/astorytold/store which will guide you to all the places where you can purchase A Story told in either Paperback or eBook format, including Amazon and Barnes &Noble.
Thanks and Let the Story be Told.
CHAPTER I
DEATH’S HUNGER
Dong, dong, dong. The ominous toll pierced the ears of the dead. The night was
calm, yet this had not been the case a few moments earlier. A man lay on the
floor in a pool of his own blood, and the bells rang louder. Another figure,
like a man, cloaked in a dark flowing cape with a hood to cover his face from
prowling eyes, approached the seemingly dead body. The toll was now reduced to
a whisper, for the figure realized that there would be no funeral. The man was
not dead. The man could not die. The figure had been through this many
times during his years of collection. As usual, he was unable to collect this
one. The blood on the floor began to disintegrate. The wounds of the man were
miraculously healed, and he slowly rose from the ground and disappeared among
the shadows with a malicious laugh. The figure turned around and vanished. All
was quiet.
Part I
Death’s Tale
Once again,
that cunning monster has slipped away from my grasp. It has been almost two
thousand years that I have been chasing him. This millennium will end soon, and
a new one will begin. If I do not end the reign of that horrible beast, the
Earth will suffer another century of pain; and the next millennium will be
filled with nothing but more torture, destruction, and pure evil. I have
been searching for a way to defeat him, but the fact is that he cannot die. If
he does not pass through to the world of the dead, then I cannot soothe my
pain. The longer he lives, the longer I hunger, for I am the one who collects
the souls at the time of passing, longing for the death of all things. My sole
purpose is to make sure that all the souls of the universe are brought into the
other world after passing. I yearn for death, which is my bondage to life. I am
Death, in name and being.
Since my creation, I have existed in a place separate from time:
a world that has no feeling, no love, no hate, no happiness — nothing but the
grim image of death. My existence is empty and one-dimensional, controlled by
the fates of those living. Their death is my life. Because of this I am forever
alone. The only true contact I have with the mortal world is with the dead. I
have never spoken to a living being for they cannot see nor hear me. I
curiously look out at them, wondering what it would be like to live among them.
Sometimes, I will see someone come and run toward me. Ah, but it is not me they
are running to, it is the cold lifeless body on the floor. I cannot escape my
prison of solitude until all have crossed over into the next stage. Once there
is no need for death, I will be complete, and my services will be needed no
longer. But as long as mortal life exists so will I.
Mostly, I stay trapped in my own dimension: a plane forgotten
by man — a world separate within itself. My world lies between what humans call
Heaven and Hell, yet it touches neither. These worlds (Heaven, Hell, and my
own) are not physical, therefore, they do not honor man’s theories. Think of
them more as states of being. I stare blankly down these halls that fill this
plane — this Limbo. The entire place is a maze that has no beginning and no end
— just dark, gloomy corridors.
It is difficult for mortal man to understand how I collect the
souls of all who die; for someone dies every second, practically, and the
universe is infinitely large. The laws that govern the mortal world do not
govern mine. Being of a metaphysical nature, I have the ability to travel in
and out of space and time, allowing me to be in all places at all times.
Because of this I can collect each and every soul, even if two beings perished
on separate worlds at the same time. Once a mortal dies, I become aware of it,
and know exactly where to go to collect the spiritual energy. The energy is
collected in a mystical box that was given to me at the beginning of my
existence. This box is the key to my existence and the power that I hold, and
it can only be accessed by me.
I wonder as I sit alone, what would it feel like to love or be
loved? Feelings are dead to me. Who is there for me to love or to love me? I
have no one, not even God it seems. I know about as much of God as mortals do.
All my interactions with the Highest of all Powers are through His glorious
angels (or so they call them), and Kepha, known to most as St. Peter. After
Peter’s death and transcendence, he was placed in charge of the Gates of
Heaven. He took over for one of God’s elite, the angel Janus. This was the
first time a mortal was given a position of power in Heaven. I hand the souls
of the dead over to Peter after collecting them. He, then, places them in the
judging Fire of the Spirit, which determines what fate is in store for that
soul.
Though I may not know God, the Damned One I do know. The fallen
Morningstar whose countless faces, all disguises, I have seen — all but his
real visage. This I hear to be quite frightening, even more than my own
ghoulish guise. To think, at one time he was the most beautiful of all creatures
created by God. But he abused his powers and paid the consequences.
Now that devil makes everyone pay for his own disaster, trying
to deceive the mortal plane to fall into the darkness that he fell into long
ago. Many planets have fallen already. Earth, though, has passed the test of
time well — but it is still young. Things can change, and Earth will fall like
the others if Radix succeeds. Satan couldn’t do it on his own. He couldn’t make
the Earth fall, and so he created the most evil mortal to walk the face of the
Earth; a mortal that defies his mortality — a mortal who cannot die.
That beast escaped me tonight, just like before. I wonder who he
has to kill now. It’s hopeless though, because you never know who Satan wants
dead. Radix has killed many unknowns before, plus countless bystanders, just
for the sake of doing it. He has to reach his quota soon, for it is the year of
the Lord, anno Domini, 2000 according to the standard Earth calendar,
and the millennium will shift in the year of the Lord 2001. I believe he has
put an end to 665 lives already. All he needs is one more. It is about time I
took matters into my own hands. I must go to Heaven and for once demand to seek
counsel with God. I do long for death, but I gain no nourishment from a planet
falling into darkness. That void is worse than the one that Radix has created
inside of me.
Part II
Locked Gates
With a flash
of intense light, Death vanished from his plane of Limbo. His destination was a
place too glorious for mortal eyes, where the souls of saved men and women
waited for the new creation, and angels sang up high. An infinite paradise,
Heaven was God’s first creation, the center stage where it all began. The trip
to this Holy plane was not easy, and could not be done by just anyone. It
involved being in full control of your spiritual energy. Energy that exists in
all who live, even demons. To travel to and from dimensional planes, one must
be able to access the proper frequency of that plane. That was why most demons
were trapped in the bottomless pits of hell; they did not possess the ability
to achieve these frequencies. The only demon with the ability to freely travel
through the planes of existence was Satan, for he was the first to fall into
the black pit of nothingness. But even with his years of mastering his dark
powers and his ability to travel to and from all worlds, his power is nothing
compared to that of the Almighty, whose Will is greatest of all.
Death appeared with another flash of light and stood before a
sight most beautiful, the Gates of Heaven. The structure was actually not a
gate at all, but rather a portal to the many levels of this infinite plane.
Death approached the immense crystal formation, which was surrounded on all
sides by a pure white fire that was strangely both hot and cold to the touch.
The walls of this formation were made of no earthly crystal. They were denser
and more solid than diamond, and as clear as glass with light passing through
all sides — this made for quite a sparkling display. Stepping through the
strange fire, Death entered the crystal realm. A ring of the very same fire
surrounded him and then vanished. He searched the room with his empty eyes,
taking in its beauty. This was not his first time here; but no matter how many
times you visit, the crystals always seem to sparkle with more brilliance than
the last time. The walls and floor that surrounded him were made of the same
crystal that formed the outside. Portals of pure white fire were fitted into
the walls. Death gazed upon the magnificent ceiling, which was made up of the
stars of the sky. Beautifully colored supernovas and bright flashing lightning
created a feeling of unlimited space, yet clearly from the outside one could
see that a ceiling stood there. Before Death stood a man, or so he still
appeared, in good health but well matured. He had a thick beard, and thick
curly hair. His robe was as white as the fire, and he shined with a brilliance
of an angel. It was indeed St. Peter, and beside him stood two great angels,
like pillars of great fire, strong and stern. These three guarded something
special, something grand — the Gates of Heaven. Behind them, in the center of
the room, stood a ring of fiery crystal, which went up to the ceiling. There
was an opening in the front of the structure acting as a doorway. Inside was
housed the Pure Fire of God, the Heart of the Holy Spirit. All the souls that
Death collected were brought here and placed into the Fire to be judged. The
Fire determined their fate, and where they would go. Death approached St.
Peter.
“Why have you come, Death?” Peter asked. “You have no souls to
hand over.”
“Well, to speak honestly, I am here to seek counsel with God.
You see, I have a slight problem, and I was wondering if—,” implored Death, as
he was cut off by the words of the Gatekeeper.
“If God could solve it? Why not just pray like we all do.”
“I don’t pray.” Death stated. “If I pray, I cannot know if God
is listening, or if He even cares to listen. My problem is much too important
to leave to chance. Prayer is out of the question, I need to speak with
God.”
Just as Death spoke those words, another portal opened right in front of him. A great fire beamed
light from this portal, which illuminated with such great brilliance and was
shrouded by such an aura of pure love that it made the fire outside seem dimmed
and dulled. At this the angels, those great pillars of fire, bowed in
reverence, as did Peter. From the portal came a voice unlike any on Earth.
“Be still!” the voice thundered from all around them. “Death, I
know why you have come.”
“God, is it truly You, the Creator of all?” Death asked.
“Yes, it is I, YHWH,” The same voice spoke, but this time as
soft as a lamb. “Are you surprised to hear My voice?”
“I have never heard a word from You all my life, and now I am
speaking with You,” Death spoke back. “I figured at best You would have sent
Metatron to speak Your Word, as You have been known to do.”
“Your faith has opened your ears to My voice. Anyone who wishes
to hear it must just listen, as I deny none of My children the opportunity to
be in My presence and My Grace,” God’s voice filled the air with love and
peace.
“Will You help me then, oh Lord?”
“It depends on your definition of the word ‘help’. I am always
helping everyone and everything, for I am Creator of all things. But My ways
are not the ways of all.”
“Lord, I am confused by Your words. Will You help me by ending
the life of Radix, and save Your people from death and darkness?”
“Since when have you been concerned with the deaths of mortals?”
the Most High asked. “You know in your heart that I will not just wave My
mighty hand and smite Radix.”
“You do not have to smite him. He has a contract with Satan.”
Death interjected. “Can’t you just have one of your mighty angels protect his
next kill, so Radix misses his quota and therefore forfeits his life.”
“That is not My way. Man will bring an end to Radix. I will be
of help. But I will help as I help, and no other way.”
“So, what is Your way? Is it to let Radix keep slaughtering Your
people and bring forth destruction to the entire planet, while we wait for some
superhuman to do the impossible?” Death snapped back. “You are abandoning Your
people when they need You the most, when I need You the most. The longer Radix
lives, the longer I pain. And if the world falls then my pain will be
unquenchable, as I still feel the sting of other planets lost in generations
past.”
“Blasphemer — show some respect when speaking to the Lord of
all,” St. Peter cut in.
“Kepha, let him speak. I understand his pain, as should you,”
the Almighty rebutted. “Death, you must understand that I do not take pleasure
in treating my children as puppets or slaves. It is right for My children to
live in My ways, but they must choose how they live, and therefore they must
face challenges and gain the right to My power. What kind of Father would I be
to them if I did not respect them as my sons and daughters. I love My children
with an undying love and give them all they need — for as long as they call
upon Me, will I bless them.”
Pausing again, Death spoke, “I was right. You don’t really care.
You speak in circles, talking about love and giving your children what they
need. Well, what they need is salvation.” Then, Death turned and said, “I’ll
just have to find help somewhere else.”
“You speak of salvation. This I have already given all of My
children, no matter where they are scattered, by the only means through which
they could be saved — My own blood.” the Almighty answered. “Go, if you must.
But know that he will be of no help to you. He will only try to
use you, as he has used others in the past.”
“I have no where else to turn. It’s not like You are doing
anything, as usual,” at this final comment Death emitted a great shining light
from his body and vanished.
“Their suffering will not last forever,” the sound was faint as
the words rolled off of the most powerful lips in all creation. “But without
suffering there will never be peace.” At this the portal closed.
CHAPTER II
EVIL IS UPON US
The year was
2000 AD, and after almost two millennia from the time of our being saved from
sin, evil still flourished. But this had been the case since before the
infamous Sodom and Gomorrah, before the time of the great flood, before the
slaying of Abel by his own brother Cain, and even before Adam ate the “forbidden
fruit.” It all began with a falling star, who dragged a third of Heaven along
with it to the depths of Hell. Since then Satan has made it his mission to
corrupt all of God’s creation, turning the hearts of God’s children dark like
his. We are pitted against each other, when we should band together to defeat
our common foe. God has done His part by sending us men and women to lead us in
His ways. Though time and again we have rejected those who bring the message of
peace and love from the Most High, including the greatest of all — God’s own
Son, Jesus Christ. Christ died so that we might live, for with His resurrection
were we truly set free from sin and evil. We may continue to walk in darkness,
but there is a light. We must just look for it and follow.
Part I
Evil Lurks Around Every Corner
It was a cool
night in New York. A dark man stood atop one of the city’s sky piercing
structures, resisting the strong wind as if it was a calm spring breeze. His
long black coat flowed behind him, and the air ran through his short jet-black
hair, which contrasted his pale white skin. The silk shirt that he wore was as
red as the blood that flowed from his victims. This man’s name was Radix and
many had fallen by his hand. The streets below seemed still and calm from where
he stood. Radix looked down at the city — its millions of people, all cattle
waiting for the slaughter. To kill all of them would be sheer pleasure to the
man, a task he could easily complete. But for some reason he did not. He told
himself that if he killed them all, then what would he do. He would have no
purpose. But that was not the true reason. Deep down inside, Radix did not know
why he held back from annihilating the entire human race. That was because
Radix did not realize that he was not the master of his own destiny, not since
he signed his deal. But it was not Satan, either, holding him back. A powerful
force of evil held back the hand of Radix, an evil that needed the people to
live in order to have what it desired. From the distance approached a
gentleman, who walked on the currents of the air. His skin was nicely tanned,
and he had thick black hair and a well-trimmed beard. He wore a white suit with
a red tie that matched Radix’s shirt. Still looking down at the city, Radix
paid no attention to the man who approached him. When he looked up, the red
eyes of the gentleman in white met his own, and the two began to talk.
“So, Old
Scratch, how’s the weather down there?” Radix asked.
“We’re keeping it warm for you,” Old Scratch replied.
“And what brings you here?”
“Just checking up on my favorite boy. I heard that you nixed
number 665, only one more to go. Don’t mess it up or you’ll be spending your
days getting a tan with me. But something tells me that you won’t take to the
heat like I do.”
“Always a clown, huh, Scratch. Well, I’ll finish off the next
one quick. So who is it, this time? A world leader, the pope perhaps, or just
another pacifist?”
“Actually none of the above. The next lucky contestant is a
Caucasian male, twenty-five years of age, and about five-feet-six-inches tall.
His name is Nathaniel Salvatore, and from what I hear he’s not too far from
here. Good luck hunting,” Scratch grinned, his teeth whiter than his suit and
sharp like a lion’s.
“I’ll do just fine; I still have plenty of time. But what I want
to know is why that name sounds so familiar,” Radix contemplated, rubbing his
head. “Nathaniel Salvatore, hmm.”
“Well, that’s none of my concern. I just wouldn’t be so smug
about how much time you have to kill this one. Death is looking to put an end
to you. He can’t afford to lose another planet, and your not dying is leaving a
nice gaping hole inside of him. He has already spoken with His Highness.
Even though the Almighty gave his usual shtick, the feeling is that He won’t be
as passive as He has been in the past. It could mean your end if you don’t stay
focused. It’s a good thing you found the Necronomicon. I have put it
nicely and neatly back in its place of honor. It is yours to use whenever you
need to. Just call upon it like you have in the past.”
“I only like to use that book as a last resort. I’ve done fine
without it for a good many years. I’m sure my next victim will not cause me too
much trouble, despite your concern,” Radix answered.
“Never underestimate your enemies, for at any time someone can
take you down. That book that you do not like to use was the source of the
power you have today. Remember its magic is what makes you live and breathe. So
you might think differently, to use it as much as you can. Better to stay on
top of the game, and survive, than to let your guard down and be overcome. Do
as you please. I must be going now. Farewell.”
The gentleman vanished, leaving Radix all alone with the cold
night air.
Part II
The Gutter
A loud knock
at the door startled Lyles as he sat in his bed. It was four o’clock in the
morning, and he had been woken up only moments earlier by the sound of a
gunshot from across the street. The young black man of twenty-six years of age
was accustomed to the sound of gunfire in his neighborhood, it had been the
case his whole life. But he was more confused by the knock at the door, and it
continued even louder.
“Who’s there?” Lyles asked harshly with his shoulder pressed up
against the door.
“It’s me, Rashan, and the guys,” a voice answered from the other
side of the door.
Lyles opened the door and let Rashan and his friends in. The
three thirteen year old boys walked in with a swagger, each of them had a gun
tucked into his jeans. Lyles looked at them with a disapproving glare.
“Was that you three causing the rucous out there tonight? What
the hell were you thinking?” Lyles scolded.
“Yo, Lyles, cut us some slack,” Rashan jumped in. “That wasn’t
us. But it’s why we’re here. You see, Old Man Reynolds was shot by some white
fool,” Rashan said and walked over to the window and pointed across the street.
“See, his body is still there.”
“Oh God, no!” Lyles cried. “I’d say we should call the cops, but
I’m certain they are on their way already. To be honest, you boys bettter ditch
those pieces, unless you want to get tied into this.”
“It don’t matter, ‘cause we already are,” Rashan spoke again. “You
see we tracked that white freak to an alley, and shot that cracker with about
every bullet we had.”
“What’s wrong with you three? I thought I taught you better than
this,” Lyles responded.
“What’s wrong is some white punk comin’ into our turf and
shootin’ one of ours. That’s what’s wrong. You think we’re gonna let that
slide?”
“Rashan, you’re crazy. The cops are on their way, and once they
start investigating this, you are all screwed. That man you shot is full of
bullets from guns with your prints all over them.”
“We thought you would help us — hide us, hide the guns,
anything. We know if the cops get to us, we are as good as dead. Those pigs got
no love for us, just like we got no love for them.”
“This is ridiculous. You are staying here. But when the cops
come, you are gonna tell them everything. It’ll be better for you to come
clean. Lying will only make it worse,” Lyles lectured the teens, who were like
younger brothers to him.
“I ain’t waiting around for no pigs. I’m out, and you guys best
be comin’ along. I know I don’t want to go back to no juvi, let alone jail.”
The three boys got up and bolted out the door before Lyles could
stop them. They ran outside and headed south. Lyles heard the sound of sirens
approaching, and he went out to the street below, not sure what to do.
Part III
Three Little
Pigs
It was about
five in the morning, and the sun had not yet risen. The sky was still mostly
dark with a hint of red coming from the horizon. Three shadows could be seen
dashing through the streets, trying to escape. Not running from anyone in particular,
but instead running from reality. They had just killed a man. To them, they did
the right thing — a life for a life. But that was not the law of society. Sure,
they feared being caught by the cops, but they feared what they had done even
more. The band of fugitives ran about sixty blocks south until they finally
stopped. Sitting on the cold concrete sidewalk, they took a rest.
“Let’s relax for a li’l while, guys,” Rashan panted. “We’ve been
runnin’ for at least an hour, and I’m—”
“You ain’t the only one who’s beat, Rashan. Me an’ Josh are
about to drop, too,” interrupted Kenny.
The three boys just sat on the strange street corner, and
watched the people go by. They had rarely been outside of their neighborhood
before, never knowing how big the city really was and all the different types
of people that made it up. Things would be different now — new and scary. They
would have no one except for each other. All of their friends were back in the
neighborhood, a place that these boys would never see again.
“Yo, Rashan! Josh! Wake up! It’s ten o’clock, and we best be
out.”
“Where we gonna go, fool? We ain’t got no homes no more,” Josh
sniveled back.
“Well, all I know is I want to go somewhere other than here,”
replied Kenny.
“Kenny’s right. And anyway we gotta’ get as far away from home
as possible. Let’s head downtown and then go out of state. Maybe Jersey.”
“Rashan, you crazy? You think we can just go somewhere else,
just like that. Where you plan on stayin’. It’s not like the Ritz is offerin’
rooms to homeless black kids. We gonna have to sleep on the street!” Josh
shouted. “We gotta find a way to get some dough.”
“You guys, just chill’. All we should be worryin’ about
is hidin’ from the pigs. So let’s get up and out,” Kenny stated calmly in order
to relax the others. At this the boys got up and began to walk the cold,
cluttered streets of the city.
As the day dragged on, they got tired and very hungry, but they
had nothing to quench their thirst or starvation. Just then, deliverance came
their way. A young African-American woman in a Salvation Army uniform
approached the boys. She had a welcoming smile, and the most honest eyes they
had ever seen.
“Are you boys all right? You look lost. Do you have homes?” she
inquired.
“Not any more ma’am,” replied Rashan. He always seemed to be the
mediator of the group. “You see we kinda ran away, and now we got nowhere to
go, and nothin’ to eat. Can you help us?”
“Sure I can, young man. You see, I’m from the Salvation Army.
It’s our duty to help those in need. Come with me, and I’ll feed you boys, and
give you a place to rest tonight,” the woman said in a comforting voice.
The three boys, in their joy, followed the woman down the street
to a soup kitchen. Their eyes opened in shock as they saw how many other people
had similar problems to theirs. Growing up, they saw the bums on the street
corners, drinking whiskey from bottles in paper bags. They never understood
why, until now. They were just like those bums with no place to go; no place,
that was, but the streets.
Where are those boys, Lyles
thought to himself as he told the police about last night’s incident.
“You said that a white male, indefinite on the description, shot
Mr. Reynolds at his front door at about a quarter to four in the morning?”
questioned the portly red-haired officer.
“Yes,” Lyles replied in a worried, yet calm tone.
“I see. Now, you yourself did not get a view of the criminal
suspect, but rather were told this information by three boys? Correct?” the
officer asked, while writing down what Lyles told him.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Well, where are these boys, and do you have any clue to where
the suspect went off to?” inquired the officer.
“The boys ran off and haven’t been heard from all day. As for
the suspect, well, I’m really not sure where he is. All I know is what the boys
told me,” Lyles replied almost stuttering due to his nervousness.
“And the boys didn’t tell you where the guy ran off to, or what
he looks like? All you know is that he’s white? This all sounds shady to me,
boy. Now don’t withhold any information! If you know something, tell me. Or
I’ll see to it that all this gets pinned on your head!” the officer roared at
Lyles.
“Officer, I’m telling you everything I know. All that the boys
said was that they saw a white guy shoot Mr. Reynolds, and run off. I haven’t
seen the boys since. So why don’t you do your job, find those boys, ask them
what happened, and leave me alone!” Lyles shouted back at the officer.
“Okay, boys,” the officer called over some of his fellow policemen.
“Let’s search the area and find these kids, I have names and photographs, so
you know who you’re looking for. Let’s go!” Before he left he turned to Lyles
and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back for you later, boy.”
Who does this guy think he is calling me “boy,” Lyles thought to himself as the officer walked off showing the
photographs of the three teenagers to the other cops in the search party.
A Caucasian man in his later forties draped in a gray trench
coat with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a pair of shades covering his
eyes walked out of Mr. Reynolds apartment and went over to the remaining
officers. He whispered something to a woman, and walked over to Lyles.
“I appologize for Officer Roger’s lack of manners. I’m Detective
Johnson, and I’ll be working this case. Thank you for all of your help,” the
detective said and shook Lyles’ hand.
“You’re welcome,
detective.”
“I’ll be keeping in contact with you as further information
comes up in the case. Here’s my card. Call me if anything happens, or if you
have any questions,” the detective paused as he gave Lyles the card. “And if
those boys return, please have them contact me as well. I would love to hear
their side of the story. Hope to hear from you soon,” he said and moved off.
Later that night, Lyles decided to take a look around Mr.
Reynolds’ apartment. He had a spare set of keys that the old man had given to
him, just in case anything happened. Lyles crept into the small one-bedroom
apartment, and quietly closed the door behind him. Lyles started to look around
the living room, but he was drawn to the bedroom, as if something was calling
him from inside there. There was a large cross hanging over the bed, and in the
corner was a desk piled with books, including various translations of the Holy
Bible. Next to the stack of Bibles was a beaten-up leather-bound journal.
Something told Lyles to take it, and so he tucked it under his shirt and
sneaked back out.
That same night, downtown in the village, the three teens were
lying down in a resting house for the homeless. They tried to sleep, but their
little minds were cluttered with confusion.
“Hey, pst, Rashan. Yo Rashan,” whispered Josh as he shook
Rashan to get his attention. “Yo, I can’t sleep. I can’t stop wonderin’ about
what’s gonna happen. I mean we’re gonna get caught for sure.”
“Josh, don’t worry. We’re gonna be just fine. I mean now we got
a place to stay,” Rashan replied.
“Ya’ll gotta be trippin’. We ain’t got no place to stay. This is
only for tonight. Who says we can crash here forever. Eventually, we gotta go.
And we don’t have many options, so we gotta start huntin’. Maybe we can walk
around tomorrow, and see what’s up,” Kenny said, trying to set the situation
straight.
“What are we s’pose to look for anyway, huh?” Josh threw in.
“I say we leave things be ‘til tomorrow. Okay, guys.” Once again
Rashan took charge.
That next day the boys went off on their journey and roamed the
vast streets of the city. Before they knew it, it was nightfall, and they had
no idea where they were. The streets were no longer numbered, and they did not
recognize any of the names, for it was their first time venturing this far
south. Even though they did not want to admit it, they were scared. Rashan
thought that he knew how to get back to the shelter. He led the boys into an
alley that he was sure was a shortcut. The boys followed their leader blindly.
But unfortunately it was a dead end, even deadlier than the boys knew. They
moved in close together as the walls seemed to close in on them, darkness all around.
Lyles sat down once he got home, and decided to look at the
journal that he found. He opened the old dusty leather cover, and flipped
through the yellowed pages that had countless rips and tears. It was Mr.
Reynolds’ personal diary. Lyles read the first entry. It was from 1930:
Today is my 10th birthday, and ma gave me this diary. She says
that I should write in it everyday. She wants me to learn to read and write
good, cause it’ll help me succeed. I ain’t had much schooling cept by poppy.
That’s grandpa. He’s a very smart man. I just wish that I could grow up to be
like him—
The book went on to point out the major events of the man’s
life, and Lyles kept on reading:
June 29th, 1945
Today was the greatest day of my life, for today I was ordained
a minister of God. Now I can preach His Word to all the world, just like Christ
instructed His apostles. This is the greatest accomplishment of my life. I
thank my mother and grandfather for all that they taught me. I am glad that the
Lord has provided me with such success—
Lyles drifted off as he read the book. He slept very peacefully.
The boys were trapped at the end of the dark alley. They huddled
close together, as they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Fearing for
their very lives, the boys climbed quickly into an adjacent dumpster. The
putrid smell and filthy vermin that were contained inside were no concern to
them at this point. All that they cared about was staying alive. They held
their breath and hoped that whoever was there would just pass by. But they did
not get their wish. The footsteps got louder and stopped. A dark man stood outside the dumpster
for he knew the boys were inside, the same man that they saw kill Mr. Reynolds,
the very one that they thought they had killed. But this man could not be
killed. Radix pounded on the side of the dumpster.
“Hey boys, come out, come out, wherever you are. I know you’re
in there. I saw you, and I can hear you breathing. Now come out like nice boys,
before I have to pull you out myself,” he said, his voice evil in every way.
The three runaways remained quiet, hoping that he would leave.
But he did not.
“Okay boys, I’ve had enough! I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll
blow your dumpster down.” At that he lifted the dumpster off of the ground and
flung it into a wall. This was no ordinary man — he was the Devil’s right-hand,
and the boys knew it.
The crash knocked all three of them from the dumpster. They lay
on the ground unable to move from the impact. Helpless, the three gazed into
the man’s empty eyes. Their own eyes were full of fear, for they knew that
their lives were coming to an end.
“You, you were dead. We killed you!” Rashan shouted.
“Sorry to inform you, but you didn’t do such a good job. But
since you had so much fun shooting me, I’m going to have some fun of my own.”
Bang, bang, bang! At the sound
of someone pounding on his door, Lyles fell out of the chair that he had slept
in. The happenings of last night were vague in his mind. So far, the mysterious
diary had shown him nothing, except for a few highlighted moments in the
preacher’s life. But Lyles forgot about the book as he got up to answer the
door.
“Who, is it?” Lyles shouted.
“It’s me, Detective Johnson. I have to speak with you for a
moment.”
“Who let you in the building? I never buzzed you in,” Lyles
said, not wanting to be bothered by the Detective.
“The super let me in. I showed him my badge. So open up.”
Lyles did not feel like arguing, it being so early in the
morning, so he undid the chains and locks and let the detective in.
“What is it that you have to tell me?”
“My visit here is of the utmost urgency. But before I tell you
anything, I just want to give you one more chance to release any information
you might still be holding concerning the case.”
“I told you everything that I know! I don’t really feel like
having you come up in here and play games. I don’t like playing games!” Rage
consumed Lyles as he spoke.
“I’m behind you kid. But if we don’t have a murderer your
statement falls, and you become a likely suspect.”
“Well, I told you — once you find the boys, they can describe
him to you. I don’t know anything else!”
“That’s the problem. You see, we did find the boys.”
“Really! Are they all right?” asked Lyles with a feeling of
relief.
“No,” Detective Johnson said and lowered his head. “They’re
dead.”
“No-o!” Lyles screamed in agony.
A half hour later in an alleyway in Manhattan, Lyles looked up
at three little bodies. They looked so innocent. A tear flowed down his cheek
as he thought about what kind of monster could do such a horrid thing to mere
children. Fear crept into his heart for he now knew the true evils of mankind.
How unlike any other creature, man would not only kill one of his own for no
other reason than sheer pleasure, but also in such a painful and unnatural way.
These boys had suffered much torture as they died. All three
were crucified on the alley wall, held up by pieces of their own ribs that were
driven through their wrists and feet. No one could figure out how anyone could
drive bone through a brick wall. It had to be done with great power and
precision that no man could perform. The boys’ chests had been ripped open; on
each boy’s stomach was carved a six; and above all of this horrible slaughter
was a pentagram with a diameter of ten feet, scrawled in blood. The only thing
Lyles could think about was how these boys suffered, and he knew why. See, it
was no accident that these boys were killed in such a manner. It was the man
who they shot. He was alive, and sought his revenge. Lyles knew that some
greater force was behind this, and he was going to find out what it was — even
if it would cost him his life.
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