1:8
November, 1971 AD
The paint on the concrete floor was chipped and dirty. A small round table sat in the center of the room. A piece of smooth red velvet covered much of its surface. All of the walls in the dimly lit chamber were lined with tall bookshelves. A green desk lamp was the only light source. It illuminated the pages of the notebook the man was writing in.
He always kept to a determined, almost religious routine with his writing. He wrote everything in the notebook daily. The words he linked together on the white sheets with the thin blue lines were to be his masterpiece. They would chronicle his rise to greatness, to power.
He was a man with a dream. It was as big and fantastic as any had ever dreamt. It was not a fool's dream. Oh, no. It may have been at one time, but not anymore. Not with the recent acquisition of one very rare artifact. The only one of its kind, actually.
It had been unearthed at an archeological dig near the Dead Sea in 1960. Transferred to the University of Washington, it was stored for study and safekeeping. It baffled all the researchers that came in contact with it. It had amazing qualities to it that could not be explained. It was more than three thousand years old, and yet it showed no signs of wear at all. The stone remained as unblemished as the day it was carved. The glass enclosure containing the fluid was far beyond the capabilities of the time.
And the fluid. The dancing, magic fluid. Many tests were going to have to be done and some of the greatest scientific minds were called upon for the task.
But then, it just disappeared. A full investigation was still underway when the object made its way into the hands of the man sitting there in that darkened little library. The ancient talisman was lying on the red velvet under the light.
On a nearby shelf was a very old text. It was the forbidden scripture written by a man who had been damned by God long ago. Roman Catholic priests had translated it from Aramaic. The pope himself had deemed it blasphemy and locked it away. No one was supposed to ever see it again.
But one priest, a historian with access to the Vatican's highly guarded vaults, stumbled upon it most accidentally one morning while doing some research for a paper he was writing. He secretly wrote down every word by hand. It took him months of daily visits and long hours to make a complete copy. The book became his life�s work.
It was the secret scripture of the Fallen Ones. It contained the spoken word of an angel, and instructions from Lucifer himself.
He pulled it off of the shelf and set it under the light. The smiling man ran his fingers over the yellowing pages carefully.
It was a blueprint for the Devil�s own messiah. The necessary components were scattered throughout the verses. They included the scripture itself, a certain talisman, and a willing receiver.
For the first time in over three thousand years, all three existed in the same place.
1:9
Stacey looked up from her laptop computer, noticing a chill in the breeze. It swept through the leaves that were left on the trees, and scattered the ones on the ground.
She raised her knees up to make her lap a more level platform to set the computer on. She had been playing a chess program. She didn�t normally play video games, but she was bored, and wanted something to pass the time. What she really enjoyed was surfing the Internet. The phone cord just wasn�t long enough to reach out to the porch.
Looking toward the back of the yard, she could see Chris playing under the old swing set. A shiver went down her spine and she pulled the afghan up over her shoulders.
A storm is coming. I can feel it.
That was a thought that always made her feel empty somehow. It seemed as though the whole world were dying. The grass, the trees, everything, had to endure the skies cold anger.
When she was a little girl she lived in Illinois and the winter there seemed to last forever.
Cold as a goddamn witches titty! her father would always say, fighting his way in from the snow.
Her dark blonde hair whipped her face. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes deepened as she squinted at the cold air. Her birthday was in a week, and she was positive they would have snow before then.
She would turn thirty next Saturday although she looked much younger. The smooth pale skin and faint freckles across her nose, her pastel blue eyes, always brimming with curiosity and her willing, warm smile embodied youth.
Most people who met her thought she was in her early twenties. She enjoyed getting carded at the bar and liked the way the college guys looked at her. She only wished that her husband would pay her the same attention. He hadn�t in a long time.
The wind was picking up, and the temperature was dropping fast. She decided to let her son play outside a little while longer.
Looking back down at the small screen, she pondered which move to make next. Moving the roller ball mouse over to her rook, she slid it across the board, highlighting a black pawn. With one click of a button, the piece disappeared, and her rook stood in its place.
�Take that, you asshole.�
This was her third game and it looked like she might lose again.
The little sapling they had planted in the spring rustled its leaves and shook at a cold gust of air. She hoped the tree would make it though the season alright. She was a bit worried, seeing how she couldn�t keep any of the plants inside the house alive.
Stacey�s mother always had lots of beautiful ferns and flowers all around the house. She was good with things like that, but Stacey hadn�t inherited the green thumb. She liked plants all right, but always forgot to water them. Her mind was on more important things. That was the way she justified it. Anyway, it was Jack who couldn�t accept the fact that every plant that entered the house was on death row.
He frequently would bring them home, set them on the table and say, isn�t it pretty?
Not for long, Stacey would think, as she smiled and said, yes, beautiful.
A black car pulled into the driveway. Stacey looked up from her game, and smiled.
An enthusiastic �Daddy, Daddy!� sounded from the swing set.
Jack slid out of the driver�s seat with a brown paper bag under his arm, �Hi, honey.�
�Hey, whatcha got there?� His wife gave him an innocent, inquisitive look.
�Never you mind.�
�Oh, come on, just a little hint?�
�Nope.� Jack received a welcome home hug from Christopher.
Stacey closed the lid on the computer, �You were gone a long time.�
�I had an interesting morning,� He went up the porch stairs and opened the screen door. �I�ll tell you all about it next Saturday.�
She would have to wait until then to hear about Jack�s conversation with a crazy old woman.
He disappeared inside the house, and went straight to the small spare bedroom at the end of the hall. Chris followed his daddy inside. Stacey stayed on the porch for a few more minutes to give him time to hide her gift.
When she went inside her husband and son were watching television. Chris glanced over at her, and then back to the cartoon that was playing.
�Hurry up Mom! Cow and Chicken�s on!�
They all sat on the couch and watched TV for most of the evening. They ate hot dogs and macaroni and cheese for supper. Part one of Stephen King�s The Stand miniseries was on at seven O�clock. It was the second time they had seen it.
Christopher sat at the kitchen table. A big pile of multicolored blocks sat beside him on the floor. The red, blue and green castle he was constructing was coming together nicely. His imitation of heavy machinery sounds rumbled out of his mouth as he snapped each piece into place.
He decided against a long white block and sounded out slow beep-beep-beep sounds as he backed it away from the structure. Stacey smiled and nudged her husband in the side.
She whispered, �Hey, look.�
Jack looked over from the commercial that was playing. Chris had his lips in a pucker as his invisible crane lowered part of the castle wall into position. He grabbed his uneaten hot dog out of a bun on his plate.
Holding it up in his fist he said, �I am the weenie king! Finish my castle or I�ll kill you!�
Catsup flew in different directions across the table as he shook the possessed meat vigorously. Stacey covered her lips to hold back laughing. Jack pursed his mouth together, looking away. Although it was hilarious they didn�t want to encourage him.
When Stacey thought she could control her amusement she lowered her hand and spoke.
�Chris, don�t make a mess.�
Her son ignored her and tossed the weenie into the center of the building with his sticky hand.
�Chris!�
�Mom! This is the king�s house!�
Jack spoke up, �You heard your mother. Put the king back in his bun.�
Stacey couldn�t hold back any longer. She laughed as she got up and approached the kitchen. The six-year-old grinned.
�Go wash up,� Stacey said, trying to sound stern.
Chris wiped his hands on the front of his shirt before hopping down and heading for the bathroom. Jack�s vision shifted from his wife, who was ankle deep in Legos, to the television screen. The movie was back from commercial.
�That�s my boy,� he said with a chuckle.
Stacey, with a wet wash cloth in hand, wiped down the table. �He�s yours alright.�
Twenty minutes later Christopher proceeded to make another mess; on the carpet. The cleanup wouldn�t be so easy that time. Multi-colored chunks of play dough were squashed into the fibers behind the recliner. He had been in bed sleeping for more than an hour before his parents noticed it.
Stacey was so mad at the sight of it that she considered waking him up just to punish him. After much deliberation with her husband, she decided against dragging her son to the living room by his ears. All four open cans of molding clay did however, find their way into the kitchen trash can.
