He had studied for years, prepared for months. He limited his diet to emaciate his body. He tried different visualizations to free his mind. One night he imagined his self floating in a reservoir, the water slowly draining through a hole. He slipped through the hole, and out, and left his body, and was free.
He looked down upon his gently breathing shell on the bed and rejoiced. He floated up, away, his soul unencumbered, and only when he was satisfied did he return.
But he returned to a state of shock.
He hadn’t planned how to reenter his body.
He moved delicately, as if buoyed by the wind, which he was taking little notice of. He didn’t bother to shield his face from the pelting snow. Aside from his hands being in his pockets, he didn’t seem to be minding the cold at all.
We watched each other as he approached. In the light of the station, he stopped.
“You’re Samael’s companion, correct?” he asked. His voice was high, a tenor’s voice.
He chuckled as if I had made a joke, and looked up into the snow. He had small piercing eyes that you would see in an old magazine ad for cologne or a business suit. His hair was dirty blond, and his face was handsome and angular. “I think you’re already aware that some of us would like this enterprise to succeed?”
“You’re talking about the angels who sent the watchmaker?” The last word caught in my throat. Some of us. Was this man an angel?
Continue reading “The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part VII”
Hi guys! Please take a moment to like my new Facebook author page. It doesn’t have much on it yet (what goes on those pages anyway??) but give it time. As for this page I have some new stuff on the way, including my second horror novel and a short science fiction piece.
I told them I was a bounty hunter. It was just easier that way. That Corrie had been noticing Milo stalking her, but that I had talked things over with him before and it was assumed he had backed off. That I was following up on a lead related to a band of criminals when Milo showed up. That maybe Milo was a part of this group headed by Amnon that accepted money to kill. Milo told them he had killed Corrie.
As it was, I was in questioning for hours.
A grizzled policeman finally barged into the interrogation room. “You’re free to go. Mostly ’cause we appreciate you handing him over to us without a fuss. We don’t have the best relationship with bounty hunters.”
I picked myself up from the uncomfortable folding chair. “You say that like I’m a monster.”
Continue reading “The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part VI”
As he had spoken he had paced the room, hands flying as he raved, but as he finished he slid down the wall into a sitting position. The story had been far more than I’d needed, in fact gave me none of the information I was sitting in this room for. But for some reason, perhaps to learn what I was dealing with, perhaps just for Corrie’s sake, I had sat through it to the end without interruption.
As animated as he had been during the tale, just as still was he now, sitting on the floor and staring at no specific point across the room.
“That was an interesting story,” I said. “But it doesn’t tell me where this…new man can be found.”
“You don’t want to find him,” Milo said in a voice like still water.
Continue reading “The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part V”
“He set me down, but didn’t release me. But I couldn’t have moved even if he had. His eyes held me, and they glowed red and bright, but distant, like the lights of a train far off that was approaching but you couldn’t leave the tracks, couldn’t even think to move. ‘You love this Corrie?’
“I didn’t wait to answer this time. ‘Yes, I love her.’
“’And you hate her?’ He smiled, a thin and terrible smile. It should have driven me mad but instead I felt an affinity with that smile, with that anger.
“’Yes,’ I said. And I did, I hated her more than I had ever hated anything. He had shown me this.
Continue reading “The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part IV”
He had lost his green cap, so the edges of his red hair burned bright like a halo from the hallway lights. But not as red as the blood that smeared his arms and splashed his face. He looked coiled, ready to strike, and he peered at me from under a furrowed brow. He grinned at me. He looked a proper madman.
“I remember you,” he said, his voice deep but devoid of emotion. He had an accent, a southern twang. He wasn’t from Chicago. “You were the one that monster sucked up. I thought you were dead.”
“What have you done, Milo?” I managed to say.
His eyes roamed around the room as if looking for someone else. “What’s it to you?”
“If you hurt Corrie…”
Continue reading “The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part III”
I dragged a chair to the window and sat in it. The tough Chicago wind blew in to buffet and freeze my face, but I paid it no mind. I was waiting to see if he came, the last one. It was the only lead I had, the best I could do. A thought of where Sam was wandered into my mind, what lead he was following, and I thrust it away.
I was there an hour before someone actually knocked at the door. I didn’t respond, only leveled my freshly-loaded Ruger at it. The lights in the room were off and only the bleary daylight lit the room.
Another knock, and then the door opened, slowly and timidly. Light from the hall fell in around a figure bundled against the cold, their body a bulky silhouette.
“Hello?” they whispered, not even loud enough to reach the other rooms in the apartment.
“Who’s there?” I demanded. I was still crouching in the chair, a part of it, ready to strike.
Continue reading “The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part II”
Last chapter! 😀 I guess that means I need to start typing up what I’ve written of my second book.
Silence poured back into the spaces around us. I looked up at the altar at the front of church, standing alone and self-important.
“How many of them are left? Besides you,” I said.
“One,” Sam said.
“One…” I repeated. Such a finality in the word. The fact that there was one left was somehow more unbelievable than his story.
“I have to see this through to the end,” he said. “I have to kill him.”
“Is he here? In Chicago?”
Continue reading “The Fallowing – The Sixth, Part I”
I laughed. The whole thing was absurd. But I walked over to the box. Unmarred, not a scratch. I still couldn’t see where the lid started. All this for me? I had no sense of unease about any of it. If anything I was entertained, though annoyed about my rug. I had no concern for my safety; I was invincible, truly invincible, unlike my brothers. Untouchable even. I forgot who I was dealing with. And besides, I could never back down from a taunt.
I set my hands on what I supposed the lid was and lifted it. It slid off easily, and I set it aside. There was a knife inside, on a bed of satin, like the box was a coffin and this knife a corpse. There was nothing special about the knife, it wasn’t unmarred like the box. It had been used and was in need of a polishing. I gave Golden Eyes a “That’s all?” look and reached in to pick it up.
I hadn’t noticed that something else was in the box.
Continue reading “The Fallowing – Interlude V, Part II”
I had traveled far after the bombs, back and forth across the states, but had settled for a while in DC, as I always had. This time on the outskirts outside the ruins. It was the best place for my work, so many susceptible to what I offered. I appreciated the challenges offered elsewhere, but occasionally I enjoyed a break, a few easy takers. I was also a collector.
It was nearing nighttime when they came. I was reading The Trial for the fiftieth time or so. Books are hard to come by these days. They knocked on the door and I remember I looked out the window at the fading light and thought Evangelists maybe, this should be fun. It was more a wish than an actual guess, but I had no idea how close I was to the truth.
Continue reading “The Fallowing – Interlude V, Part I”