Sardurvial Dissenting

Prologue

Sardurvial has found a false sense of comfort within the ice-cold shadows of a derelict stairwell. He’s found it is his only protection against the shadows that can move, that can hunt him down, do him harm like they already have. Lying on his back and unable to move another inch, he mutters how thankful he is that he was able to escape those who nearly beat him to death. He can remember the hostility in the angry mobs voices and the fury in their fists. He can still see their faces. The look of betrayal in their eyes that fueled their aggression will be branded in his mind forever. The memories are so painful and unrelenting.
Though he feels what he’s done didn’t merit an assault of that caliber, flashes of the moment keep coming and keep the pain both body and mind fresh. But of all the familiar faces that participated in the beating, none stand out more than the one he thought was his best friend. Dear Aramus. His anger and hatred for Sardurvial seemed just a bit deeper than everyone else’s. It was what drove the frenzying crowd. Maybe Aramus never was a true friend because if he were, then why would he have turned on him so fast and with such vengeance? Everything spun out of control so quickly.
Sardurvial fights the vivid memories away. Just thinking about Aramus and the events that brought him to this moment pains him deeper than any wound the beating may have left upon his body. The pain he feels in his heart is intense but yet benumbing. He always believed he and his friend would stand by each other’s side through eternity. Friends forever. That was the pact they’d made so long ago.
Though it hurts to do so, Sardurvial can’t help but chuckle, because really, what is forever? He should’ve known better and foreseen all of this the very moment things began to fall apart inside the forest. It wasn’t like Aramus even attempted to hide his bitterness when everything began to unravel…
Sardurvial swears underneath his breath then mutters how he’s beaten Aramus and beaten the Father by surviving their onslaught. Knowing full well his victory may be ephemeral, Sardurvial believes now is the perfect time to do something he feels is way overdue. Though severely beaten and paralyzed by the pain, he forces himself to kneel. He reaches his trembling hands outwards, and with tremendous effort, he holds them as steadily as he can. Interlacing his blood caked fingers, he drops his head, rests his brow on his white knuckled hands and prays, pleading with all of his might for forgiveness for the sins of his past.
Lord, Please…
Finally feeling as though he’s made peace with his God, and feeling the invisible weight called burden and guilt being lifted from his shoulders, Sardurvial sighs in relief. Falling to his back again, Sardurvial submits himself to destiny—whatever that may be. He feels he can accept death now, if that is what his fate is to be, even though he knows once the moment comes it may mean the end to everything he’s ever known. And most of what he knows is execrable, so, he decides without reserve, how bad could death be? He figures to be done with the world and its’ misery might be a great relief.
Unsure if he could ever gain forgiveness for the things he’s done, he trembles. All of the things he witnessed while standing idly by… Watching the people suffer with delight… The atrocities surrounding his existence are infinite. But if nothing else, it was worth the try to save his soul. Even if the prayer did nothing more than free his mind of the guilt for the moment, it still felt right—like a spiritual cleansing of sorts. It is a release that brings him to silent tears.
And if he is not forgiven… he knows, it is exactly what he deserves after all the corruption and sin he’s imposed on others...
But for the moment though, the details of his past sins is of no matter. He understands he can’t erase the wrongdoings of his past. He can only use those events to guide himself from this day forward. To never make those same mistakes again if he’s offered another chance at life again.
Please, just give me one more chance to make things right…
He smiles inwardly because he believes he’s finally conquered what he has despised about himself for so long…the consuming inner hatred, the animosity, the jealousy, and the cold proud heart. Yes, he can actually feel the coldness inside his heart has been melted away, replaced by swirling warmth. It is love, this warmth, and he worthily embraces it with the continuing flow of bittersweet tears because that is something he hasn’t felt for a very long time. His only hope now is that he didn’t embrace the love too late. But he questions the invading thoughts: could it ever really be too late, even for a poor soul like me to love again?
No. Sardurvial doesn’t, just can’t believe it’s ever too late for love. The thought brings about a faint smile that parts his lips. Love will do that.
Sardurvial needs sleep and knows he cannot resist its’ calling much longer. Maybe the rest will help his body heal. There is a chance, he knows, that he won’t wake from his slumber because of the severity of his injuries, or maybe those who are hunting him will be able to track him. He knows while he sleeps he will be unguarded, and the thought of his vulnerability frightens him; the chance he is taking by closing his eyes is something he never had to worry about before this moment. But he is tired now, too tired to care about his fear or the consequences of wanting something so simple as getting a good nights sleep. He knows there is plenty of time to worry about the shadows that look to take his life after he wakes. That is, if he is to ever wake again.
The constant questions of both present and future consume Sardurvial and soon tire his mind. He sinks into a deep sleep. Finally, Sardurvial begins to feel the peace he’s been seeking, and there, within the sanctity of his mind, he remains oblivious to the world and the dangers that await him…
…The dangers that is both tangible and concealed.

Chapter 1


Friday, October 14th, 1:00 am.








Faye holds a sneeze in and her body quakes violently, awakening the pain in her lower back that finally began to subside throughout the course of the day. Learning the agony of pain is something she will have to endure every day for the rest of her life, she cringes and bears it as she pulls the last corner of the clean sheet over the edge of the bed. She runs her hand over its’ cool surface to smooth it out and takes her time in retrieving two pillows from the visitor’s chair next to the bed. Carefully she fluffs them and places them at the head of the bed. She purposefully but guardedly walks to an occupied bed in the rooms’ rear where a patient sleeps undisturbed. She bends to retrieve the vital statistic log hanging on the footboard and groans out in agony. She grabs at the knee buckling pain that feels as though it is wrapping her spine and constricting the nerves within. The pain she just felt is nothing to what might be coming next. Knowing not to push it further, she!
pauses until the initial wave passes. The unbearable ache quickly weakens but continues to linger angrily, waiting to strike again. Moving carefully not to awaken its’ surging might a second time, Faye slowly takes the chart, takes her time to study it, and hangs it back up. She fishes a pair of rubber gloves from her pocket. Using the same delicate care to wake the sleeping patient, she then takes his blood pressure and routinely administers a needle into his knee. Taking the chart again, she jots her activities and hangs it. She walks away from her patient’s bed and takes off the rubber gloves and drops them into the trashcan. She walks to the hazardous box mounted on the wall and disposes of the needle she used to administer the cortisone shot with, all the while thinking she should’ve used it on herself. Maybe it would help ease the pain she can hardly find relief from these days. She can’t help but think at this moment that she may’ve returned to work too soon. But, th!
rough the pain, she knows it’s what she needed to do to fight the loneliness that abruptly entered her life. It is an invisible demon, the loneliness. It drags you down and lies on top of you with all of its crushing weight. And it’s a pain far worse than the ache she feels in her back.
Barely loud enough to hear, a female voice announces over the PA that there is a telephone call for Nurse Faye Schnepp in the recovery ward. Responding, Faye wipes beads of sweat from her brow and hurries out of the patient’s room. Peering down the great length of the hallway before her, Faye sighs with apprehension and begins her long journey down the corridor. While she mindlessly admires the floors lustrous shine, she can only wonder why someone would be calling her at such an ungodly hour. Faye makes her way into the nurses’ station and Claire, the head nurse, is busy shuffling through some papers behind the clutter on topside of her desk. The glow of a computer screen illuminates her face brightly, almost eerily. Without looking away from the screen, Claire says, “Pick up line six, it’s your sister. And don’t worry, she’s fine.”
Faye throws Claire a forced smile of appreciation and turns her back. She picks up the telephone receiver and presses the button labeled line six. “Hello?” she mutters and grimaces, the inert ache in her lower back has been almost unbearable this entire night.
Claire glances at Faye and studies her. She looks pale.
“Hi, Faye, it’s Megan. How are you?”
“So so. My back is giving me a lot of problems today. Can I call you back in the morning? It’s been a long day and my shift is just about over, and I’m looking to get out of here as soon as I possibly can.”
“No need, I’ll make it quick,” Megan says, a low level of apprehension detectable in her voice. Faye’s curiosity is peaked and she listens intently. “I just wanted to know if you’d be up to watching Jaiden Michael for me tomorrow night?” Faye can’t help but think about all the planning her sister had to do to get the nerve to ask a favor. Megan is a bundle of nerves, always has been—even for simple things. And Ted doesn’t help the situation at all. Megan is the type that looks to please others—not inconvenience them. Faye hears her sister is still talking so she clears her mind and listens. “…and a couple of girlfriends from work invited me out. What do you think?”
“Yeah, I think it would be good if you got out of the house for a change. What time would you be looking to drop him off?”
“Right after I feed him dinner. Say about 6:30?”
“Sounds good,” Faye says and bites her lip as she contemplates asking her sister a question that’s been looming inside her mind for weeks. She knows she really shouldn’t meddle in her sister’s affairs, but she needs to know if there is more of a reason for her nervousness this night. Reluctant in thought but blatant in approach, she asks, “Have you seen Ted lately?”
Megan falls silent, and with a diminishing tone to her voice, she responds by saying, “Not since the incident. He’s called a few times asking to speak with Jaiden, but I won’t let them talk.”
Megan stammers. She’s uncomfortable with confrontation.
“He has been trying to make up with me—I won’t hide that from you. He told me he’s in anger management, and he’s changed. But I have to be honest with you, I don’t care where he’s been going or what he’s been doing; I just don’t trust him anymore. You know how many times I’ve gone through the bruising session with him both emotionally and physically.” Megan pauses and Faye remains silent knowing her sister isn’t finished. Megan continues. “The only thing that concerns me now is Jaiden’s feelings. He keeps asking me when he’s going to hear from his father and when he’s going to come back home. I’ve gotta be honest with you, Faye, I don’t know how to answer him. It’s real hard. I just keep telling him his daddy’s sick and he’ll come home as soon as he gets better. But, sometimes I can’t help but look at things from his perspective. And I seem to do this mostly when I’m alone, and that seems to be a frequent occurrence these days. Jaiden does miss his father, and he doesn’t und!
erstand our adult problems.”
Faye rolls her eyes and feels a presence of anger stirring around the inside of her head that conjures a harsh tone.“His problems, Megan... That man is crazy. He’s the one that beat on you in front of his own child for reasons only he understands. To me, any man that strikes a woman is no man at all!”
“…I know, Faye, we’ve discussed this a million times since that day. That’s the reason why I’ve got an order of protection against him. And that is why I’m going to therapy. I’m not looking to take him back, I’m just looking out for Jaiden’s feelings and what is best for him.”
Faye contemplates silently, and then says, “So, you are thinking about giving him another chance... Why would you want to do that?”
Megan doesn’t respond and Faye suddenly regrets having even mentioned anything about Ted. The conversation always ends with the two of them angry at each other and not talking for days. She can only imagine the stress of being a single parent with a child that cannot comprehend what you went through because of his own father. The thought of having to bear such burdens immediately calms her. She musters a compassionate apologetic tone, and says, “I’m sorry, Megan. I don’t mean to push the issue. I just don’t ever want to see you go through that again. It angered and hurt me terribly. I’m sure you understand. I’ll see you tomorrow night when you come to drop Jaiden off.”
“Faye?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks, for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow night around 6:30.”
Faye listens to Megan hang up, and in response she hangs up. She’s relieved to hear her sister is trying to stay away from Ted. Though Megan is scared of him, Faye understands how she could miss him. Everything wasn’t terrible all the time, and Ted is a good father. But her memory always reverts to the worst. All those night she would hear her sister crying after a beating, begging her to stay out of it and just be an ear for a while… If only she can remain strong and keep her word this time, Faye knows both Megan and Jaiden will better off.
Faye makes her way to the coat rack with a slight bend in her back and a hobble to her walk. She grabs her pink sweater and puts it on. She hugs its’ softness and sniffs its’ scent. She’s always loved the feeling of finding warmth on a chilly night. Bedding down with a loved one and finding warmth and comfort in their arms is the best form of romance she can think of on any chilly night. Though at the moment she’s only imagining she can feel the coldness of the frigid air whipping around outside, she dreams of the romance she misses deeply, like her sister does, and believes she will never be able to experience it again. Thinking of Salvatore then Ted, she understands to love someone is to accept pain, and the pain like her sorrow is something she cannot bear much more of.
Faye turns to Claire, and says, “I’m absolutely beat. I’ve had ten-hour days for the past two weeks, and haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve been counting the days away to my big two nights off.”
Claire continues to shuffle through the papers on the desktop. Pushing her eyeglasses up, she smiles and says, “I know. You were telling me yesterday. I can’t say I blame you either. You just got back to work and you’ve barely had a moment outside these walls. Do they feel like they’re closing in on you?”
Faye smiles. “They’ve already tumbled down on top of me.”
Claire laughs heartily. “You told me you felt like you were coming down with something. Do you think it might be a cold? You know how vulnerable we are working here being around every infection known to man for Christ’s sake. Why don’t you have one of the doctors look you over? If it’s a cold, maybe he can write you a prescription so it doesn’t turn into something worse.”
Faye shakes her head in dispute. She’s had more than enough education in the medical field and has seen enough sick people to know symptoms of the common cold or something more severe. She doesn’t have any of those symptoms; a severe form of depression maybe but no ailment caused by germ or infection. She’s thirty something years old stuck babysitting her nephew on a Saturday night. And you know what the funny part about that is? She’s actually looking forward to it. Maybe it’ll occupy her time enough to help her forget how empty her life has become. That tragic day has turned her life upside down, and her desire to carry on is a constant struggle.
“No, that’s not necessary,” Faye says, knowing the hurt she feels squeezing the life from her heart is way worse than any cold she might contract. And she can only wonder where her pill is for that. “I don’t know, I think I’m just tired and my backs been giving me a lot of trouble lately. Maybe we’re going to get a rainstorm or something, I don’t know. You know how my back acts like a weather station. I’ll use my free time to catch up on some much needed rest. If I don’t feel any better by my second day off, then I’ll see the doctor.”
“Well, maybe you’ll be lucky enough to get Dr. William,” she says, biting her lip and fanning herself.
“Come now, he can’t be that good…”
“Girl, you have no idea…”
Faye grabs her pocketbook from the bottom drawer of the desk and fishes a pill bottle from the clutter inside her pocketbook. Dealing two pills into the palm of her hand, she shakes them like dice. Getting herself a cup of water, she downs the two pills, pats the desktop, and says, “There, that ought to help. I’ll see you Monday night.” Without waiting for a reply, she heads to the elevator lobby. Pressing the down button, she waits for one of four cars to come for her.
Moments pass before the elevator dings, announcing its arrival. Faye positions herself before the available car and the doors slowly slide open. Faye impatiently pushes her way inside before the doors completely open and she presses the corresponding button for the first floor. The doors remain open long enough for irritation to surface again, and then they slowly pull closed.
Downwards the elevator races, its motion sending a strange sensation coursing through Faye’s body stemming from somewhere in the back of her head; she hates the feeling and is sickened by it. She’d take the stairs, but knows her faltering back would never allow it. The elevator jolts as it slows, and jolts again as it comes to a complete stop. The strange sensation leaves Faye’s body, as does the sickening feeling. The chime sounds again, announcing the elevators arrival on the first floor. The doors slide open and a young woman with a lush bouquet of bright red flowers is standing in front of Faye, blocking her way. The young woman kindly steps aside, allowing Faye passage. Faye can’t help but think how it’s rather late for a visitor to be dropping off flowers, and she thinks to say something but decides against it. She thanks the Porcelain Faced woman for the kind gesture of giving her the right away, and the woman says in return, “We know your life has been hard, Lady Fay!
e. Things will get more confusing for you before they’ll clear. But in the end your reward will be great. You’ll learn to love again without restrictions. Always remember your suffering is recognized and your character is being tested as is his. Be strong.”
Faye stares back at the woman in disbelief. Mystified she says, “Excuse me?”
The woman smiles at Faye and turns and steps into the elevator. The doors slide closed and Faye contemplates the strange encounter but to no conclusion. She shakes her head and chuckles nervously. “Okay…” she says dismissively, and turns towards the hospital’s exit and moves onwards, searching her pocketbook for her car keys.
Pulling the keys from the bottom of her purse, Faye walks through the poorly lighted parking garage towards her reserved parking space. The wind carries an intolerable chill through her thin white stockings, and she shivers. She listens to the soft soles on her nurse’s shoes squeaking as she quickens her pace to try and beat the cold that bites at her legs.
Clacking sounds echoing throughout the garage catch Faye’s attention and she looks towards those sounds. Nothing is there. Maybe she imagined the sounds. Faye can’t help but think that someone was walking behind her. Purposely following. The sound was faint, but there is no denying it had been there. She continues to search the surrounding area nervously, stretching her gaze beyond the immediate area. She still can’t see anyone. Faye’s defenses kick in and suddenly remind her the third and final shift begins filtering in around the same time she leaves. Although she’s getting out a little later than she normally does this night, for security sake, she concludes someone else is arriving at work late. Maybe she’ll know this person, and maybe not.
A stray thought works its way in and comes out in the form of a whisper, “Maybe it’ll be that Dr. William.”
After all, the other nurses have been talking about him non-stop, telling her how hot he is. Take Claire for example, she’s gone completely gaga.
She promises herself if it is him, then she’ll only chat long enough to see what all the fuss is about. She doesn’t want to send the wrong signal because when it comes to men, since Sal, there hasn’t been any other interest.
Faye pans the parking garage one last time before she’s satisfied that no one’s around. But the sound was there, no question about it. She searches the outlying area a bit more carefully. But still, she finds there’s no one around. The eerie feeling this faceless sound gives her speeds her mind. She can’t escape the thought of being followed. She can feel someone’s around her. Watching. Apprehension makes her shiver. Maybe it’s Ted, her sister’s abusive husband! Maybe he has a score to settle with her sister and maybe he’s going to use her to do it! How many times have you heard of that happening?
No, that’s crazy thinking, she reminds herself and quickly dismisses the intruding thought. Knowing there is little to no ground behind such a notion, Faye manages to remind herself that even if there was any substance to her disturbing imagination, things like that only happened to weak people. Faye isn’t and never was weak spiritually or physically--the doctors said that the day she began to walk again. Reminded of that she presses onwards, feeling strong and fearless. Her vehicle, a red Honda Accord, is in sight.
Clack, clack, clack.
Faye hears the footsteps and notes how they are in perfect unison with her own. Gradually picking up her pace, fear enters her body and ices her blood, stealing her courage. She breaks into a full sprint. Hitting the remote on her car, the alarm chirps two times and the lights flash.
Reaching the car, Faye pulls the drivers’ side door open and she jumps into the seat. Quickly she pulls the door closed. She immediately locks all doors and places the key in the ignition with a trembling hand. Turning the key, the car engine sputters to life.
“Oh, thank god! See only to weak people,” she thinks.
Sighing with relief, Faye puts the car in reverse, looks out the side and rear windows, and backs out of her reserved parking spot. Depressing the accelerator, Faye’s four cylinder stick shift car jolts, squeals its’ tires, and speeds away. She looks into her review mirror before she exits the garage, and to her relief, she still doesn’t see anyone. A disbelieving laugh erupts.
Faye finds the roads are pleasantly empty as they usually are at this time of night, and the trip home is rather pleasurable despite hitting every traffic light possible. Faye’s radio is turned up louder than she normally likes having it, and she bops along with top forty songs that, no matter what radio station she was to put on, she would probably hear those exact songs. The eerie feeling that consumed her moments ago is already a thing of the past. A figment of her imagination that seems to get wilder the older she gets.
Pulling into a rarely free parking space in front of the apartment complex where she lives, Faye grabs per pocketbook from the passenger seat and climbs out of the car. Having consideration for her neighbors, Faye presses a secondary button on her remote to activate the alarm in silent mode. Responding, the lights on the car flash.
Faye slings her bag over her shoulder and approaches the steep cement staircase that leads to the small lobby within the apartment complex. Seeking the warm protection it will provide her against the wind and cold she begins to hurry up the steps.
“Hey, lady,” someone moans barely loud enough for Faye to hear. She pauses near the top step and listens attentively. She’s unsure she actually heard anything at all. Had it been the howl of the wind?
“I need your help,” the voice says again, faintly, but like the footsteps she heard earlier, it is undeniably there, somewhere beyond her sight. But exactly where it came from eludes Faye for the moment. She walks to the iron railing, grabs its’ cold handle and peers over the side, looking into the deep stairwell that hasn’t been occupied since she moved in over a year back. The lower apartments have been closed for much needed renovations, a project she had yet to see begin. And for a while, the stairwell served as a hangout for the neighborhood kids. But this night, the chill is too bitter and the swooping wind only intensifies it.
“Hello? Is anybody there?” she calls, searching the impossible darkness below.
No answer comes but Faye can hear grunting, then some shuffling sounds that she can’t identify. Trepidation keeps her at bay, but her logical instinct of danger tells her to scamper while she still has the chance. Her care of others outweighs her fear and keeps her near. What if someone is hurt and they need her help and medical expertise?
She cautiously walks down a few steps while she continues to peer over the railing. She searches, but it is of no use. The dark is too deep for her eyes to penetrate, and too frightening and dangerous for her to go down and explore.
“Are you alright?” She shouts into the abyss.
She waits, but still, no answer returns. Suddenly she shivers, the tremor shaking her violently. Has the devil walked behind her back like myth says or has she noticed the bitter wintry air again? She vigorously rubs her chilled hands together then folds her arms across her chest.
Deciding there’s nothing in the stairwell other than a gathering of debris carried around by the wind, Faye begins up the steps again. Taking her time with each step in order to give the person one more chance to summon her if that someone is really there at all, in need of her help. Faye reaches the top of the stairs, unlocks the door, and pulls it open. Again, she finds pause in the doorway.
“Please, ma’am, I need your help,” says the pleading voice, but this time the voice is loud.
Undeniably loud.
Faye turns around and screams at her unexpected find. A big man, tall and slender, is tattered and bruised and wobbling weakly on legs that are barely able to hold him upright. His clothing is torn and filthy and abrasions cover almost every inch of his exposed flesh. His eyes make no attempt to hide the desperate state he’s in. He appears ready to pass out at any moment.
Without deliberation, Faye rushes to the strange man’s side, struggling against her own pain to hold him upright. The man is heavier than he appears, and is barely strong enough to assist Faye in keeping himself up. Faye ushers him to the stairs and gently sits him down, leaning him against the sturdy iron railing. She squats before him and looks into his eyes for any obvious signs of his condition. Concussion, she has no doubt, and by the looks of the bruising, there is deep internal bleeding from vital organs, and quite possibly, some broken ribs within.
“Remain still, I’m going to call for an ambulance,” she says and starts to hurry away.
The man quickly reaches out, groaning in pain as he does so, and latches onto Faye’s arm. “Sam,” he says to Faye, and she stares at him with widened eyes.
Why would he resist her help?
He coughs and blood flies from his mouth and splatters on the walkway. “My name is Sam.” He wipes his chin. “You cannot, under any circumstance, call an ambulance or the police. If you do, you will endanger me further.”
Faye could easily break Sam’s grip but she waits until he lets go. When he does, the thought of running to a telephone wrestles with the compulsion of wanting to know what has happened to him. Unresponsive and curious, she remains by Sam’s side, waiting for him to explain things further.
“You have to get me inside,” Sam struggles to say. “Undoubtedly they are coming for me, and if they find me, they’ll kill me and make you pay somehow for having laid eyes on me. They’ll believe you know everything and they won’t allow that. I’m sorry I’ve gotten you involved in this, I really am. But I’m desperate.”
“Who are they, Sam?” She asks and looks down the street both ways. She doesn’t see anyone. Whoever they are, Faye’s sure Sam has been successful in getting away.
“Please,” he says, trying to stand on his own. “I will explain everything, I promise. But first, get me off the streets.”
Faye can’t ignore the desperate tone of his voice, and she knows Sam poses no threat to her in the condition he is in. His wounds are genuine enough, as is the sincerity of his plea to seek shelter. Besides, she can always call the police from inside her house if he gives her any trouble.
Faye pulls Sam to his feet, her back screaming with pain, but she ignores it as she works his arm around her shoulder. Slowly, she walks him into the apartment building, up the long flight of stairs, and into her dark apartment. Using the penetrating light from the windows, she walks down a long hallway to a spare bedroom, and eases him into her bed. She pulls the frayed blood soaked shirt off his back, and asks him to lean himself against the headboard. Once Sam is balanced, Faye leaves the bedroom and walks down the hallway and turns on some lights. Halfway down on the right-hand side, she steps into the bathroom. She retrieves gauze wrap, cotton balls, medical tape, peroxide, and Tylenol with codeine from the medicine cabinet, and returns to Sam.
Placing the items beside Sam on the bed, Faye retreats to the kitchen and pours a cup of water and returns to the bedroom. She hands Sam two pills and tells him to take them. Without asking any questions, Sam pops the pills in his mouth and washes them down with a generous gulp of water.
Faye takes the water cup from Sam and places it on the table beside the bed and gathers a handful of cotton balls and douses them with hydrogen peroxide. Dabbing Sam’s wounds, working painstakingly slow to clean the caked blood and dirt out of the crevices, Faye ignores Sam’s grunts of discomfort.
She says, “You should seriously consider seeing a doctor. The abrasions I’ll be able to take care of here, but the bruising and head trauma needs to be evaluated and treated by an actual doctor in an actual hospital. I can take you in the morning, I know some great people.”
Sam doesn’t respond.
When the wounds are clean, Faye disposes of the soiled cotton balls, dresses the wounds, and helps Sam get underneath the covers. Faye returns the first aid products to the medicine cabinet, and when she returns to Sam, he’s fast asleep.
Looking down on him, Faye can’t help but notice how beautiful he is. Underneath the swelling and bandages she can see his features are perfect, but not a human perfect. He is something better, something otherworldly.
She decides to let him sleep. There is plenty enough time to get his story in the morning. She knows sleep is what his body really needs to begin the healing process.
Moving with care not to rouse Sam, Faye eases herself onto the foot of the bed. Finding comfort on her back, she watches the ceiling as the merciless pain drains out of her body. She plans to lie there for a little while, only long enough to watch over Sam and enjoy the pain-free moment. As she sinks into a relaxed state, her thoughts begin to wander. She ponders different scenarios, her mind working feverishly to try and figure out who could’ve beaten Sam so severely and had him so frightened he would run afraid. Maybe he has ties to the mafia? A drug dealer whose deals have gone bad? Or maybe he messed with another man’s woman? Faye knows any of these situations are possible. She also knows drug addicts don’t always look disheveled and desperate. She also doesn’t believe Sam would have much trouble enticing a woman married or otherwise. But no, it couldn’t have been one man that did this to him. Sam is much too big. He’s in shape and there is no question he’s able to care !
for himself—just by looking at him, that much is obvious to Faye. She always liked bigger men. Always felt more secure in their arms. Felt more feminine looking up to them. Sam appears to be the same size of Salvatore, and she always felt Salvatore was the perfect size for her. Big. Teddy bear. The thought of Sal makes Faye smile. God how she wishes it was him lying in the bed beside her…
Her mind begins to wander, to play out desires she would normally try and repress. The past few years didn’t allow such a thought and her strict religious upbringing always said it was sinful to knowingly lust. She defied such weakness and hardly ever gave in to such temptation. But this night she would let it slide because she was sure no one was listening to her private thoughts in her small section of the world.
She pictures herself and Sam in the back seat of a limousine, sitting close, sipping bubbling wine. Their bliss is reflected in fanciful colors of swirling bar lights. Glimmering eyes and sparkling stones that represent a promise that says so much more than any group of words could. It expresses their love, commitment and their promise of forever.
The vehicle they occupy eases to a gradual stop. Moments later, the door is opened by the driver and Sam steps out. The driver steps forward and helps Faye from the limo. She stares at him knowing she’s seen him before, feeling as though she’s known him her entire life. Paying her no mind, the driver passes her off to Sam. Sam twirls her lovingly. Faye bats her eyelashes that feel overly long and thick with makeup and she thanks Sam for being so cordial. This day is as perfect as it was meant to be. Sam bows and offers Faye an arm. Faye takes his arm and begins walking hand-in-hand with him on a trail carved by humans inside a nature preserve. She glances back at the limousine and its driver. The limo’s exterior is smashed like it’s been in an accident. Its fluids are spilling into the street. And, unexplainably, the driver is buffing the creased hood. She pauses and shivers unknowingly at the discovery. Sam gently tugs Faye’s hand. Her legs move onwards and her eyes move aw!
ay from the vehicle.
The wind is blowing about the preserve, gently rocking the treetops back and forth, rustling the foliage on the ground and pulling the browning leaves off their branches. The slow moving brook beside the trail trickling through a sinuous rivulet routed and rerouted many years before their time captivates them both. Birds chirp wildly; the foreign language of their call is like music to the ears.
The two continue to walk the path and explore its’ beauty. Releasing hands and wrapping arms around each other’s waists, Faye can feel her love for Sam, his strength, and the radiance of his body heat. She can only offer a smile to him although it means so much more. She takes a deep breath, sucks in the clean warm air, and slowly releases it in full appreciation. Faye moves her focus to the sunlight breaking through the trees above.
Intoxicating.
Faye looks to Sam and he to her. They exchange smiles, and then kiss. Content, Faye rests her head on Sam’s broad shoulder and involuntarily pans the milieu. In an instant the backdrop of the preserve morphs. The surrounding cluster of trees on all sides repress all penetrating beams of sunlight, and above, the tree branches mesh together and form a tight impenetrable barrier. The darkness appears to be coming alive and growing larger at an alarmingly fast pace. Before Faye can alert Sam, the entire forest surrounding them is shrouded by a dull grayness. In the dim darkness, just on the forest’s edge, movement catches Faye’s attention. The feeling of love rushes out of her and is replaced by inexplicable terror that’s bringing forth sheer panic. She wants to run, but needs to see. Eyes, big orange eyes that don’t blink are watching her and Sam’s every move from within the shadows of the forest. How strange this all feels to her. It’s so real, but knowingly forged. She looks !
to Sam for protection, but he’s seemingly oblivious, continuing to drag her along the path, consumed with the thought of love. She tries to say something, anything at all, but has no voice to utter a single word. She tries to point out the eyes dwelling within the forest, but her arms are too heavy to lift. She wants to whimper but whispers the words “I love you” instead.
“Of course you do,” Sam says and she can smell the wonderful fragrance of his breath.
“And I love you,” Sam says proudly. “That is why I’ve brought you here. I want you to meet my Father.”
Is that all?
Faye suddenly feels relaxed. She would do anything to please Sam, even brave a blackened forest filled with goblins.
Sam continues to escort Faye, leading her off the path and to the edge of the forest where the creatures with the orange eyes gather and frenzy with excitement.
“Father?” Sam calls forth, and Faye is again paralyzed with fear; the nearness of the frothing beasts is like death walking beside her. She struggles to breathe—to maintain control over herself when Sam perks and says, “Father? I’ve brought my…. contribution to you.”
All sets of the orange eyes back away, and one pair of red eyes approach. The eyes narrow and study Faye unreservedly.
“C... Contribution?” Faye manages and looks to Sam with confusion.
Sam smiles, his teeth shining in the darkness. His eyes twinkle as he looks to Faye, and says, “Yes, for the love we feel. For our love. You’d be willing to do anything for the love we share, wouldn’t you?” Sam looks back to the frightening set of eyes eerily covered by the living curtain of shadows, and looks upon them with a consuming love. Maybe the love he’s feeling, Faye thinks, is for his Father and not for the one he is offering…
Faye returns her glance to those red eyes, not because she wants to, rather, as if she’s being commanded to do so by a muted voice that cannot be ignored.
“Leave here, Sardurvial,” says the beast from within the forest. His voice is beautiful, like a finely tuned harp being plucked. Sam turns and walks away.
Sardurvial? Sam’s name is really Sardurvial?
Faye stands alone, quivering before the living shadow, fearful for her life. The beast within the shadow growls a warning. The resounding tone he produces is low and domineering and standoffish. In the wake of its’ might, Faye weakens and drops to her knees but she is unable to pry her eyes from the penetrating stare and their mesmerizing blood red glow. She’s paralyzed, helpless and vulnerable.
The beast lunges forward. Faye sees it coming and closes her eyes and braces herself for impact. It doesn’t come, but she can feel the heat of the beasts’ breath drumming off the back of her head. She doesn’t want to look at it but needs to. Slowly opening her lids, Faye turns and stares in awe at the attractive man who looks just like Sam but superior in an unidentifiable way. His anger disguises his beauty. How could something so handsome be so ugly? It’s tainted with hatred, and makes no attempt to hide the fact.
The man roars like a feral animal is Faye’s face. She sits up and gasps for air. The heavy blankets she’d placed on Sam have somehow ended on top of her too. She is soaked with sweat and her heart is pounding. To her relief it was all just a bad dream.
Being careful not to wake Sam, Faye shimmies out of the bed and exits the bedroom. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she enters the bathroom and relieves the pressure in her bladder. Flushing the toilet bowl, Faye makes her way to the sink and washes her hands and face. She dries them, shuts the bathroom light, and by the use of the moonlight shining through the glass window inside her living room, she walks directly to her bedroom. The digital clock on her desk reads 4:30am.
Letting out a ferocious yawn, and stretching her arms wide, Faye pulls the blankets on her bed to the side. She unzips the back of her nurses uniform, kicks off her shoes, removes her stockings, and slips off her nurses uniform and bra and slides into bed. She pulls the covers over her body and shifts until she finds comfort on her side. Striving for nothing other than sleep, Faye fails to notice the man blending with the shadows that’s sitting in her reading chair in the corner of her room. His head is down and he doesn’t plan on lifting it until he’s sure Faye is sound asleep. For the rest of the night he’ll sit there with his eyes aglow, watching her in silence. He’ll contemplate her future for aiding an apostate that so bravely made a stand against his cause.

Chapter 2



11,000 B.C.







Sitting atop scattered boulders beside a beautiful blue lake, five great friends, Aramus, Sardurvial, Jesseth, Ishmael, and Abraham are in deep discussion. They are deliberating a future that looks grim. In a nearby cluster of trees, the Father settles in as quietly as he possibly can to watch and listen in on his brother’s conversation.
“I just can’t believe it though,” says Aramus, and from where the Father is keeping cover, he has no trouble hearing the words. “When we were originally told the idea about creating man, I didn’t think He would take the project so seriously. I thought for sure the silly notion would pass. But now that He has created them, it’s as though His care is for nothing else but the people. I’m beginning to worry for us! It seems He spends every waking moment worrying about those people and their destinies. Have you seen the way they behave? They’re beasts! It seems as though their imperfections have Him bewildered and so concerned that He doesn’t have a moment for us.”
All nod in agreement and understanding.
“I feel exactly as you do, Aramus,” says Abraham. “The only thing He’s worried about is how He’s going to save them from their destructive ways. I don’t know, for some reason we mean nothing to Him anymore.”
“Apparently most of us are feeling the same way, and we’re all terrified of the repercussions,” says Sardurvial.
“I know I am,” says Ishmael, his face showing the worry. “Do you think the people were meant to take our place? Do you think our blind obedience has somehow caused this?”
Sardurvial’s features distort as he ponders Ishmael’s words. Sharply he asks, “Where in the world did you come up with that? What does our being obedient have to do with the way we’re being treated?”
“Plenty, can’t you see?” says Ishmael. “Maybe He sees our willingness to obey as… I don’t know, boring? He just says, and we do without objection or question. The people don’t. They ignore Him without regard and blatantly defy His word. I mean why would He need to create them? They were made imperfect. They are like spoiled food, and yet, they enamor Him and He desperately searches for a way to offer them a relationship. Have you thought why we aren’t forgiven if we disobey?”
Each look to one another, but no answer comes forth. Silently, they conclude that there isn’t an answer. Rustling in nearby trees steals their attention. The Father emerges from the brush tightlipped and his chin down. He moves before them, and glances at each.
“Haven’t I told you this would happen?” the Father says, his tone nearly reprimanding. “I tried to warn you all, but you just wouldn’t listen! I felt like a fool after I told you I suspected His changes and you looked at me as if I were mad! Those damn people! How many of you chastised me for my telling you this? Do you still think I’m crazy? A little paranoid maybe? Where is your laughter now?” The Father stares at each of them, his eyes bulging and untamed. None look to meet his reproachful gaze. The Father says, “As the days go bye, He only gets more and more distant, and now you’re finally starting to realize that. I’m afraid things are only going to get worse and that our welcome here may be overstayed.”
The Father sighs in frustration and begins to pace with his uncertainty, his thought focusing on one thing: Why couldn’t they see this the day I tried to tell them? He clasps his hands behind his back, drops his chin, and steadies his focus on his feet.
“I know I can lead you and any other who would be willing to follow me to a greater glory.” He slowly raised his eyes. “Before we are shamefully ousted, we can make preparations to build our own society amongst the people. We can rule them and make of them what we wish without having to snivel over their imperfections. We can exploit them. They will give to us what we desire and they’ll live by the rules we set. I will confront God Himself and tell Him this!”
Silence blankets the group as they consider his words. The Father looks at his colleagues expectantly, and for him, hope turns to concern when Sardurvial says, “But, Father, we cannot look to stand against God! He is our creator and He is far too powerful. It would be like playing with fire.”
Father titters in defiance. He says, “But we can stand against Him! God wants us to believe that we are helpless in our fight, but I know better. I’ve heard God’s thoughts, and inside His sleeping chambers He hides something very powerful. Something that if we were to get our hands on, our destinies would be changed forevermore.”
“But this thing that you speak of, what is it?” Abraham probes.
Jesseth hops off his rock and he narrows his eyes at Abraham. “It doesn’t matter what it is, Abraham. The Father is crazy for thinking we could ever enter God’s sleeping chambers and steal from Him. If we were to get caught, do you have any idea what the punishment would be? I dare not think it!” Jesseth returns to his rock, and settles. He says, “Never has anyone been so brazen to even think such a thing let alone seriously consider following through with it.”
The Father shakes his head knowingly. “You’re right, Jesseth, and very smart for thinking that way. But everything you just said I’ve already realized and I’m willing to face punishment alone if I’m caught in my attempt to take what God is hiding. I don’t know exactly what it is yet, but something inside is telling me I must get whatever that item is; its’ power will be the source of my rule. After I gain possession of this timeless artifact, I will return to you. Then and only then will I ask you to follow me in my stand against God. And when that time comes, the choice for you to join me will be offered, but given the time that will pass between now and then, I doubt you’ll reject me. I say this because I can only see God getting more and more distant from us, and our need to feel a sense of love and family will be great and our options limited.”
The Father turns and begins for the forest in which he emerged. He glances over his shoulder, and says, “Pass the word about what I’ve said, but only to those you trust enough with your lives. If He hears we’re conspiring, He may send forth His wrath. Understand, we are not prepared to face that... Yet.”

Chapter 3



Friday, October 14th, 11:35 pm.







Jaiden Michael has been put to bed and tucked in over three and a half hours ago. He finds himself wide-awake, alone and very afraid. As often as these frightening encounters happen, Jaiden can never seem to get the nerve to take a stand against that which tests the limits of his fears. He wants his father, but would settle for his mother even though she’s the one that got him into this predicament. By having no man in the house, there is nobody to scare the monsters away.
Every night it’s the same thing for Jaiden, and a weekend night is no exception. His mother wants him in bed at an exact time every evening during the school year. Even if Jaiden isn’t tired, he is to go into his bedroom at 8:00 and lay in bed with the lights out. No exceptions. As a young and recently single parent and a believer in speaking to not hitting her child, Jaiden’s mother has always believed consistency is the best way to teach her eight-year-old son how to listen and respect her rules. She is strict in her ways to insure her son doesn’t turn out to be a loser like his father or other kids his age that are already doing drugs and hanging out until the mid hours of the night. He will amount to something—even if he ends up hating his mother because of it.
When Jaiden’s mother first tucked him in bed and shut out his light, he thought he’d never be able to sleep because he had to watch the closet. Something lives in there and only comes out at night. But after an hour of watching, he’d become so tired he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Maybe the monster wouldn’t come this night…
But then, just about an hour ago, something pulled him from his slumber and woke him abruptly. This something was loud, but not loud enough, Jaiden figures, to gain his mother’s attention; it always seems to work out like that. Maybe it’s because the monster is cunning and calculating. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s alone and on his own as he has been since his father had to go.
When the monster first began to stir and gain Jaiden’s attention, his head buzzed from the lingering sleep sensation, and he listened along as things inside his closet crashed to the ground. A low ferocious growl directed towards him came blasting through the small space between the closet door and floor. He could swear he could smell the foul breath of the monster as it huffed and sniffed and searched the darkened room for fresh meat with its sensitive nose. Jaiden felt deathly afraid of the beast and his body trembled as he listened to it begin its hunt. He pulled the covers to the bridge of his nose and searched the dark corner with widened eyes. He couldn’t see anything, but knew it was there somewhere. Lurking. He could hear every move it made. It moved around seemingly with no other purpose than to find something to eat, and Jaiden knew he was the dish.
The monster worked the closet door open and made its way across the room to probe the clutter on the underside of Jaiden’s bed. The beast moved slowly, taunting young Jaiden with its arrogance and power.
And now, an hour has gone by since the monster escaped the confines of the closet, and Jaiden is wide-awake and very afraid. He can still hear the beast moving about, continuing to taunt him. He wants to scream for his mother, but knows he wouldn’t be heard and would only give his location away to the beast. He thinks to run from his room--dash down the flight of steps as fast as he can and jump into his mother’s bed. He wants to tell her about the monster that’s hiding on the underside of his bed, but he knows the monster will leave before his mother can check his room. It had before. Jaiden wonders why a monster would be so afraid of grownups.
Maybe they are too big to eat…
Besides, if he called for his mother he knows he would get a lecture about how there were no such things as monsters and how he needs to stop playing video games and stop watching scary shows. But Jaiden knows differently, he knows the monsters aren’t manifested from his playthings or imagination. They are as real as the fear he can’t control. Night after night the monster has come. He’s had many chances to see it just like he could this night if only he could turn on his light. And with that thought he looks to it. The lamp on the night table beside his bed looks so far away. Jaiden understands the light would scare the beast off; it burns their skin. But, Jaiden also knows if he was to reach out for his light, the beast might get him. He was able to get past it once because he caught it by surprise. But he doesn’t want to chance it again. They are super fast—the creatures that live in his closet, much too fast for him to outrun again.
The fear that swirls within Jaiden controls him, keeps him from taking that leap from his bed and running for it. He needs a better plan than that. He thinks to lure it out from the underside of his bed and throw his blanket over it.
No, that still won’t work, Jaiden’s mind argues. He can’t believe he overlooked the complications of its’ ingredients the moment he thought of it. He knows if he were to extend any portion of his body beyond the threshold of the bed, the monster would grab his ankles and pull him underneath the bed and eat him. They are fast…
As he lies perfectly still, he can picture being caught and ground by the giant contorted needlelike teeth of the beast. He imagines he can feel the hyperactive salivary glands burning his flesh, and the pain associated with being slowly mulched and digested. The over imaginative mental images surpassing that of your average eight year old frightens Jaiden to silent tears. He feels trapped with nowhere to go. He tries to calm his fear by reassuring himself if he is to stay in the bed, remain quiet, and use his covers as a shield, he will remain safe as he always had before. He hugs his pillow and valiantly hangs in there and braves the beast.
Several more hours pass by and Jaiden continues to lie still, and continues to listen to the thumping sounds coming from the underside of his bed. The beast sounds clumsy to him, or maybe it’s just that it’s too big to maneuver around amongst the clutter; a few times Jaiden could feel the monster slamming the underside of his bed, jiggling the mattress.
Again he thinks he can outrun it…
No, it’s too risky…
He decides to wait it out. The monster will eventually tire and move elsewhere to find its meal.
Jaiden’s mind soon exhausts and eventually drifts into sleep and rests the night away without dream.

Saturday, October 15, 9:50 am

Jaiden bats his heavy eyes as he emerges from sleep with his midnight encounter with the beast fresh on his mind. He sits up in bed and looks to the closet. Surely the beast was gone by now, its morning. Jaiden notices the beast was kind enough to close the closet door on its’ way out.
Jaiden hops out of bed and cautiously approaches the closet. Apprehensive the beast might still be lurking somewhere within the confined darkness, he nervously inches towards the door. Being careful not to make contact with the wood slats, he peers through and struggles to get a glimpse at what’s been hiding within. He strains his eyes and shifts his position, but it is of no use, it is just too dark to see anything.
The door to Jaiden’s bedroom swings open and his mother hurries inside, carrying a swaying stack of neatly folded clothes within the cusp of her arms. Jaiden hoots and stumbles backwards, tripping over a pair of shoes and falling down with a heavy thump.
Megan places the stack of clothes on Jaiden’s bed and rushes to her son’s side. Concerned, she says, “Are you okay? You’ve got to be more careful.”
Before Megan can help her son up, he quickly hops to his feet and moves the sneakers he’d left in the middle of the floor to the side. “I’m alright,” he says and turns away.
He’s embarrassed, Megan figures and thinks to console him. As she approaches him, she sees her son eyeballing the closet door. Exasperated, she realizes what her son had been doing and she sits at the foot of the bed and reaches for him. She takes him by the wrist and pulls him close. Softly, she says, “Did you have another bad dream?”
“It wasn’t a dream,” Jaiden mutters, unwilling to establish eye contact. “I almost saw it but I didn’t want to move too much, I thought it might hear me. It came from…”
“…the closet?” Megan finishes and sighs. She stands up and walks to the closet door, and harshly says, “We’ve gone through this a million times, Jaiden! There is nothing in here. Not now and not in the middle of the night!” She pulls the closet door open and Jaiden retreats. Megan looks inside the orderly full-size closet and pauses a moment before looking back to her son. She says, “You see!”
Jaiden makes his way to the bed and sits. His eyes wander aimlessly, trying desperately to shelter the distress within. His mother couldn’t possibly understand him and what he is going through. She thinks he’s making it all up and he feels disheartened to know so. Why won’t she believe in what he says?
Megan senses this and finds pause, feeling she might have been a little too hard on Jaiden just now. She takes a moment to reflect, to try and relate to her son’s feelings. She thinks back to her childhood and can remember long nights of hiding from the darkest recesses of her imagination: the dolls that sat upon her dresser that would watch her with malicious intent into the wee hours of the night, waiting for her to fall asleep. She could see the evil dwelling within their eyes in the dim glow cast from the distant streetlights. She remembers the shadows that would come alive and take shape around her and just watch her without uttering a single word. She chuckles at the thought now but gains a sudden sense of understanding to her son’s confusion, fear and loneliness. In a way she feels responsible for it and can only wonder if Jaiden’s dreams are a symptom of the abandonment he feels from his father having abruptly left the house. She couldn’t bear to hear blame from Jaid!
en if he ever found out it was his mother that made his father leave. Even though she isn’t a psychiatrist, she knows her theory about Jaiden’s symptoms is possible and it certainly makes perfect sense. She doesn’t want to see her son so troubled, and is determined to help fix what is wrong.
Tonight I will try and make things better for us all, she silently reflects on things to come, and so desperately wants to share her plan with Jaiden. But he’s just a child and she couldn’t trust him enough to keep her plan a secret.
Megan sits on the bed next to her son and comforts him within her arms. She parts with a love squeeze and musters the gentlest tone she can, and says, “There are no such things as monsters. And even if there were… you know I’d protect you from them no matter how big and scary they were.”
Jaiden doesn’t say anything in response; he knows his mother doesn’t understand and that she thinks she’s easing the fears of a scared kid. She has no idea.
Megan rubs Jaiden’s head and stands. She starts out of the room, and says, “I’m going to start on breakfast. You have a few minutes before you have to come down and eat.”
She exits the room and closes the door behind her.
Jaiden sits quietly for a moment, staring into his closet. He tries to figure out where the beast went to hide when his mother went to look for it. He couldn’t see any holes in the wall or ceiling it could slither through, and he was sure there weren’t any hidden trap doors. He needs to check again while it is still light outside.
He slowly inches towards the closet; apprehension and frayed nerves caress his self-control with a razor and slice its strands. In a consuming wave of fear he can feel the beasts’ nearness again. He slams the closet door shut and sprints out of his room. He hurdles the steps and slows his pace as he emerges into the kitchen. He casually smiles at his mother and takes a seat at the table before a place setting; never at the table’s head, that is where his father sits.
Megan’s slender body is wrapped in a flowered apron that clings to her shapely hips. She gracefully tiptoes across the kitchen floor and gives her son another kiss; the love she feels for her son is radiating through her brightened smile. Jaiden wipes the wet kiss away and hugs his mother back. Megan rubs her son’s head and returns her attention to the stovetop. She’s frying some eggs and four strips of bacon that hiss and crackle in a pool of boiling grease. The smell is overwhelming, stimulating both his and her salivary glands, compelling their stomachs to churn in anticipation.
“Did you remember that you’re going to play in the paintball tournament with your uncle Mike and little Ryan today?”
Jaiden remembers and he nods to acknowledge so. He would never forget such an engagement. He enjoys playing paintball, enjoys seeing his uncle Mike and Ryan. Ryan is his younger cousin by a year that likes to follow him around and listen to everything he says. Jaiden doesn’t mind being left the task of leading by example. He is good at it.
“I want you to take a shower after you eat your breakfast. Put on your denim jeans and wear that heavy wool sweater your aunt Faye got you last year. It’s colder outside today than it was yesterday and yesterday you told me you were cold in your windbreaker walking home from school.”
“Am I still going to Aunt Faye’s house tonight after the tournament?” Jaiden asks, his memory always sharp. He hopes he is going with all of his might. He knows this will be his chance to escape the beast inside his closet, if only for a little while.
Megan sighs, and says, “Yes, you’re still going. I called your aunt last night at work and asked her. I was hoping you’d forgotten so it could kinda be a surprise for you.”
Megan turns the burner underneath the frying pan off and she carries the hot skillet over to Jaiden’s plate and scrapes the eggs on one half. She returns the skillet to the range top and fetches the bacon wrapped in paper towels used to absorb some of the grease. She places them on Jaiden’s plate next to the eggs and hurries to the fridge and pours a glass of orange juice and hands it to Jaiden. She watches Jaiden down half the glass as she situates herself in a chair next to her son.
Munching on some bacon, Jaiden says, “I could act like I forgot about going to aunt Faye’s, mom.”
Megan smiles at her son’s thoughtfulness. “And could you act surprised, like you don’t know where we’re going during the trip over to see your aunt? I just love it when you get all excited.”
Jaiden shakes his head in agreement while he scrapes some eggs onto his fork.
Megan gets out of her chair and pushes it in. “You’re a great kid, Jaiden,” she says and kisses his head. “Don’t ever change. I’m going back upstairs to put away the laundry. I want you to be done with your breakfast by the time I come back down. You have to get ready, your uncle will be here soon.”
Jaiden concentrates his gaze on the cooling mound of yellow mush on the plate before him, and nods his head in oblivious approval as he shovels a heaping forkful of eggs into his mouth. Megan strolls out of the room and walks up the stairs and goes directly into Jaiden’s bedroom. She opens the blinds to allow the bright days sun to enter the room. She stands in the penetrating shaft of light to embrace its warmth. Returning to the task at hand, she gathers the stack of laundry she’d left on the bed and moves it to the top of the bureau. Separating the clothing and placing each piece inside the corresponding drawer, Megan comes to a pair of slacks and a button down shirt that’s not allowed to be worn for anything other than special occasions. She walks to the closet and opens the door half imagining the monster will be there ready to strike out at her. Of course, she finds nothing from the ordinary and takes a step inside the closet. Turning on the light by pulling the chain !
that hangs down in the center of the closet, Megan rearranges some of the clothes on the rack and grabs an empty hanger and places the shirt on it. Hanging it back up, she then takes a second hanger and places the pants on it and hangs that up.
But what Megan fails to notice is that the room to her back fades to dark, dark like the forest her sister dreamt of. One witnessing this unusual spectacle could only wonder if the sun’s flame had somehow been extinguished and the end of the world had come. The world beyond the closet had become that dark. But Megan continues to work on the clothes and remains oblivious to the world outside the closet because of the overhead artificial light that surrounds her.
Finished, Megan pulls the chain and turns to exit the closet and ultimately the room. But, the sudden blackness of the air stills her feet and quickens her pulse. The thought of being in an aware state just before death crosses her mind, but she knows she is still alive; she can feel her feet are grounded. Maybe she is having a stroke; the part of her brain that controls sight has been hit by a blood clot and all blood flow is blocked. Maybe she is falling to the ground right this second.
She believes that it can’t be that because she is far too young. But something is wrong, something mysterious and nameless. She begins to panic, to inspect her body with her hands. She finds nothing different about herself, and begins to frantically search the dense darkness before her with exhausting fury, moving about quickly, swinging her hands blindly before herself.
A red glowing speck of light appears and begins to emerge from the distance, catching Megan’s eye. She turns to the source and feels its’ comfort and watches it with hope. As the speck continues to grow, it splits into two and her hope intensifies. The two light sources remain close to one another and hover at the same height as they continue to grow in size and intensity.
Eyes, Megan realizes, the eyes of something wicked. But she doesn’t fear the eyes or the wickedness within them. Instead, she welcomes them, awaits their coming with expectation and fidelity. She can’t understand why but she does. She’s never seen its’ source before and knows she would fear them during any other occurrence. She starts to walk towards the eyes, obeying the deaf order to approach.
Once before the eyes, Megan stares in awe and reaches to touch the face that remains hidden in the obscurity that surrounds them. On contact she knows the face she feels is a man’s. His skin is soft and his cheekbones are predominant. She likes what she feels, is turned on by it, and wants to see what it looks like in the light. She feels her way to his hand and places hers in his, and says, “Take me to the light, I want to see you.”
Megan is led to the closet in silence; the dangling chain from the light skims the top of her head. She reaches up, locates the swinging chain, stills it, and then gives it a tug. She can see she’s still inside Jaiden’s room, and a beautiful man is standing beside her. At first sight, she can only wonder, “Can love actually really be a person?” She always thought it was an illusive energy of some sort that constantly morphed.
She looks at Love and acknowledges that he is everything she thought he’d be, and maybe even more. She studies his eyes and is relaxed by the way the lashes bat when they blink. So gentle and innocent in their beauty. His chest is bare. Oh, the desire. Her eyes move down slowly, studying every inch of him. The definition and ripples of his pectorals and abs are flawless. His waist thin, his penis enormous in length and girth. She works her hands downwards. She hasn’t seen or touched another man’s penis since her early days of high school. Megan always remained faithful to Ted, even through the times of celibacy and intense abuse. But this isn’t high school anymore, and for this transitional moment, she is done with Ted. She’s pulsating with desire and sees Love’s eyes are screaming for her. Love is turning to lust. Megan allows her eyes to wander, and they eventually find her hands that now hold his…
She stares at it in disbelief. She thought she was holding his penis. She twirls the pointed tail around and tugs on it and the beautiful man lurches forward. The extremity is connected to him but around the backside of his body. She lets it go and wipes her hands on her thighs. Sickened by her unclean thoughts and by this man’s deformed body she wants to run away. But she can’t.
She looks at Love that is now Anger and she sees he’s giggling without sound; his shoulders bounce and his broad smile expresses sheer delight she couldn’t understand. And in a consuming wave, the comfort his presence provided her with is now gone, and the fear she should have felt earlier now sweeps over her, and snuffs any opportunity she had to flee.
The beast that stands before her can sense the dread and he circles her, appraising her body, but never her soul. He knows he will have that soon enough. Not by force but by her own bad judgment with a dash of his influence. She will be perfect, there is no question about that because his planning is always ingenious. He pauses before her, and slowly reaches his hand out and grabs the chain and shuts off the light.

Continued...
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