5:7
Jack’s soul raced to catch up with the spirit. A faint vapor trail of pain led the way across the black sky. He could feel the anguish washing over him in the ethereal stream. Whatever had ripped the murderer away from the material plane was full of hate. The anger boiled stronger with each moment he got nearer to its destination. The span between the material world and his current destination seemed like forever. Jack followed the ever-reddening astral residue for more than an hour.
He quickly zipped by many varied entities on his way. Some were larger, some were smaller, some hovered in place and others darted around hurriedly. He saw bright energies, multicolored mists of every kind and dull, almost invisible variations of light. Each one held its own consciousness, its own life force and power. And Jack knew as sure as he was seeing all of them, they were seeing him. They knew as he did, that he didn’t belong there. His place was in the mundane world. It was only by a fluke that he was ever there at all. A twist of circumstance that had put his soul in danger. Yes, they knew who he was. They could feel it in his essence as he flew by. They could smell it on him as easily as perfume in stagnant air.
He was the one. Chosen by fate. Trapped in chaos. Lured by the devil. But it was God himself who now depended on him. He needed to be strong, to overcome.
But how?
Can a mortal man take on invincible power and expect anything other than failure?
But it’s not invincible.
Whatever force that had ripped it out of his body and carried it screaming through space had proven that. It wasn’t without flaw. Jack was beginning to realize that now. He also was aware that there was no way he could match its strength or the terrible energy that had whisked it away. He would have to find another way.
Another way to what?
He didn’t even have the first clue of what to do to stop him from…
Oh God, that poor girl.
It had been Jack’s own hands that had hurt her, made her scream and forced her to die. Even if he wasn’t in control at the time his body was still a murderer. If he were caught back home for the crime he would be punished, not the entity. The responsibility would be his. The consequences would be his.
But what about out here, on the astral plane?
Would the same hold true? Would his soul be condemned for earthly actions not performed by him? Jack wondered if God saw him as a murderer. After all, it was his recklessness that had led to the powerful spirit’s opportunity.
Something was coming into view. A giant tornado of shimmering light. It was as if the ground were in two directions. Both top and bottom were cone shaped and faded away into nothingness. But there was no ground above or below it. It just hung there in space like a great galaxy of fear. Constant bolts of lightning snapped across as it spun its crimson storm.
This was the place were murderers spent their eternity, paying for their crimes. Jack could feel it. The path he’d been following led directly into the center of the tornado storm. The possessor was somewhere in its core.
Even from that far out he sensed the torment swimming all around him. He was afraid. Jack couldn’t help thinking about how Heaven had spat him out. Maybe Hell would welcome him home.
Jack’s soul hovered for a few minutes, staring into the circling storm. He was still as least a half a mile from its border. Tiny dots of light buzzed around the spiral like distant flares wobbling and changing direction. Flares like an SOS signal from a distressed ship. He was sure that no one would see their cry for help. No one would show up to save them. It was far too late for that.
The dancing lights were actually entities; large, powerful spirits whose purpose it was to keep the storm’s inhabitants inside. They were the guards at the most elaborate prison ever conceived. For most, escape was a distant memory long given up on. But some, the new ones mostly, would try to get out, frequently testing the angelic patrol. Momentarily success was always punished with a push into the core. The center of the violent swirl was the most hated place of all. It contained the origin of the tornado’s power. The torment was at its very worst there and the pain was most dense. A soul passing through the core couldn’t cry or call out for help. They could not desperately swim for the edge. The agony at the eye of the storm was so great that the most an astral body could do was shudder. It was like electricity entering directly into the spine and sending out a steady stream of ripping thunder to every nerve. The core was the thickest, blackest, and most feared place in Hell.
It had swallowed the dark one whole, and he was drifting slowly through its power. Even with all of the strength he’d shown that night, he was still as helpless as any of them in the core. He would have to wait until he reached the other side before escape would be possible again. There at the outer rim, that strong spirit could break free from the storm.
He would escape, sometimes for hours, before Hell pulled him back. Upon each struggling return he would be sent into the eye of the storm, punishment for his arrogance.
Jack wondered if the angel guards were working for God or the devil. According to the story, Hell was a place created by Lucifer for his followers. They despised the human race, yes, but why wouldn’t they let the beast out freely? Wasn’t he part of the devil’s own plan? And if they were God’s angels what were they doing there? Did the divine take over Hell at some point? None of it made any sense.
He slowly flew closer to get a better look. He stopped at about fifty yards. He couldn’t go any further. His whole being ached with the stabbing pain that emanated from inside the cloud. The tiny spots of light he’d seen from a distance were now identifiable as huge masses of ever shifting energy. Through the bright white outer haze a multicolored dancing power could be seen in the center of each. They were extremely strong and fast and they all rumbled with etheric might. The angels paid no attention to Jack as he looked them over. They knew he was from a mundane reality but somehow, it was not within their power to help or hinder him. There was no way at all to tell if they were evil or divine. They only performed the task at hand.
Jack could see the huge presence through the hazy circling storm. The spirit blazed like a super nova out-shining all other’s around him. He struggled, helplessly drifting across Hell’s core.
The power inside that place seemed infinite, eternal. It was definitely more than enough energy to subdue the powerful spirit’s ethereal strength. Hell was the only thing Jack was aware of that exceeded the murderer’s might. What other powers might be able to conquer one with such spiritual fortitude? He needed to find out quickly. At the rate the beast was drifting he would be at the other side in just a few short hours. Jack feared what would happen when it got there. His mortal body lay completely unprotected back in the mundane world.
He turned and raced back to Earth. The angelic guardians didn’t give him a second look as he jetted away. Following Hell’s trail of wrath, he made his way home. Even back in his body there would be no defense against the entity. It could just push Jack out once again. Even at top speed it took almost an hour to reach his house.
It was 6:15 A.M. Stacey was in the shower. Christopher was playing in his room. The soulless flesh lay quiet in the recliner just where he had left it. His family was completely unaware that they’d had a monster in the house, a murderer.
The local news was playing on the radio in the bathroom. Stacey listened as she lathered her hair. They were talking about a homicide last night. A murder that had happened right there in Canon City, no less.
Jesus Christ.
Found in the alley a man said. Brutally stabbed to death he said. Stacey had no idea that they were in danger. She couldn’t have known that the hands that had performed the killing were coming down the hallway that very moment. The same power that had allowed her to say goodbye to her mother had stained her husband’s hands with death. Jack was opening the door. She’d soon know everything. She was about to find out just how close she’d gotten to it. She would realize that she had kissed death on the lips and smiled.
5:8
A tall, dark figure appeared at the doorway. Pushing it open, he entered the dark room. It was eleven O’clock and her mother had left for work more than an hour earlier. The television set was on channel 13. The audience was enthusiastically clapping at Johnny Carson’s monologue. The living room was roaring with laughter.
Elizabeth began to sob when she saw her father. He looked especially angry tonight, even more so than usual. He did not say a word as he approached her. There was nothing that needed to be said. She knew what he was there for. It was the same thing he wanted every night. And daddy always got what he wanted.
He didn’t pretend to care about her. He’d given up on those lies months ago. The simple fact was, he hated her. He had wanted a son so badly before she was born. When he found out his wife was pregnant he prayed every night that God would bless him with a boy. He’d wanted to teach him to shoot, play catch; maybe he’d even become a professional baseball player. But, as his miserable luck would have it, the expectation and the reality did not go hand in hand.
His wife had a little baby girl inside of her and that was the way it was. What he always referred to as “female problems” kept them from having any more children. She had a hysterectomy at the age of twenty-seven.
So the son he’d always wanted turned out to be the daughter he couldn’t stand. He spent as little time with her as possible, until very recently. She just turned thirteen and her young body had started to blossom.
Her straight, boyish figure had begun to curve at the hip and her small breasts protruded underneath the cotton t-shirts. She was developing into a woman.
Her father only had two uses for women. Cleaning and fucking. Her chores were done for tonight and that left only one more obligation to fulfill. His forbidden lust for his daughter was laced with a contempt that would stay with her the rest of her life. Long after he went to prison for his crimes, the hatred for Elizabeth remained. She had taken over where he left off and her won self-loathing ruled her whole world. She had short stints at hating others but most of the time she found herself too busy despising herself.
The audience cheered as her daddy rammed his way inside of her. As his sweat dripped down onto her face she tried to find a safe place in her mind she could live in until he was finished. She could not. The here and now, as always, was everywhere. It would not let her go tonight, or any night. Elizabeth was forced to endure.
It had been years since her father had so forcefully taken her virginity away. As the man with the cold rings on his fingers pounded on top of her, it seemed like only yesterday.
copyright ©2002 Brian Holtz
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