Eye of The Storm: Where Evil Lies
NAOMI PAIGE
Copyright ©2010 by Naomi Paige
Smashwords Edition
*****
For us
****
PROLOGUE
His mind had recessed to a dark place: the place where most of us dare not enter, because there is always a chance that we will never find our way out.
The red traffic light and the unyielding, red hand of the “Do not walk” sign were completely inconspicuous to Eric under grey skies and mist.
He hurriedly crossed the rushing street of Brooklyn on the corner of Flatbush and Darcy, where people and motor vehicles herded together on their way out to pasture―misfit jobs and misfit lives― with his eyes towards the gray, black asphalt, and his hands securely tucked into his pockets, just barely missing the tragic impact which could have ended his life, and his chance to redeem his restless soul. Eric stood frozen in time like a “deer in a headlight.”
“You damn crazy Mon?” yelled the Jamaican Rastafarian who was racing his white dollar van in and out of traffic and straight for Eric.
Another showed Eric the ubiquitous standing middle finger, except that Eric was solidly immune to all that was going on around him. He stumbled. Anxiety had begun to build even further; it enveloped his entire self. Eric felt as though he was going crazy. He wanted to get away; he wanted to find refuge.
He made it to the other side of the street, unscathed. And as though someone had heard his deepest thoughts, his deepest fears, Eric saw the bright red doors of a community church just a few feet away. He reached the concrete steps and stood silent for just a few moments, breathing deeply.
He opened the doors and entered his sanctuary and immediately felt as though he had left the demons which had invaded his soul and his mind, behind. He stood in the quiet by the solid wooden, scrolled doors with his head held low, trying to find his way back home, trying to find some peace in his mind.
Peace was what he yearned for.
And at that moment, he felt a beckoning to probe deeper into the wells of his sanctuary.
Eric sat in the almost empty church, quietly weeping over his unsettling discovery, his miserable existence of a so called life, and his relationship with Shelby (his wife) and Jim Callahan or Cap as he is affectionately called.
He looked around the dimly lit room with dull white walls and painted glass―blue, red, yellow― set within them with a streak of white light descending from the east passing through, and the empty, dark, wooden pews lined up in rows to his left, to his right, and in front of him. The smell of burning candles, Myrrh and incense filled the air.
He sat on that church pew quietly and alone, looking at his brown withering skin with the blood of Africa running through its veins.
There were voices in his head: some he knew, others, well, he had never heard before, at least, not in this world. He saw their faces and heard their screams mixed in with the constant beeping of cars, and buses, and trucks as they whizzed by each other in the world beyond the church doors; he was in a bemusement of misery.
Eric didn’t understand what was happening to him. He felt like he had been on a very fast train that had lost its brakes, and there was no one to stop it.
“Why do some people suffer so much and others very little, if at all? Does God love some of us more than others? And, do we suffer at his hands or at the hands of the Devil?
He tried to piece together some semblance of an explanation as to why he had had to endure such pain throughout his life.
Why? Was it to serve some higher cause?
Perhaps, his suffering would elevate him to a point where he would become impermeable to more suffering, and as a result, gain the ability to transcend evil and its many inflictions on the human soul.
Eric looked up at the man on the cross who had the palms of his hands pinned with rusting nails. He looked at the crown on his head made of thorns. He saw the tears which flowed, but were not there. And he heard the cries of a people so long ago asking―no, begging―for mercy. Eric was transported to a moment in time to witness the suffering of Christ. And then, he understood, sort of, that even Christ suffered, and he was the son of God. And perhaps, his suffering may mean something to the world.
But what?
Then he heard these words spoken by the only other person who had been sitting just a few benches away from him:
“Search me, o God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.’” PSALM 141:23, 24
The voice echoed through the empty church. However, Eric did not know if those words were meant for his ears or for the speaker’s.
The old-man turned around and repeated:
Search me, o God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: And see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.
And it was clear: God had heard his thoughts.
what now?
*****
~1~
1200 B.C.-THE BEGINNING
And so, it began in the ancient city of Nok, sub-Saharan Africa, where the land was lush and fruitful. There were oceans of lush green, and rivers that flowed wild and pure from mountains that peeked through billowing pillows of white-blue clouds, and the brilliant glow of golden spears guided from the heavens, making its mark precisely under the blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbows dancing to the rhythm of calm blue seas through, and birds of many feathers singing gloriously and uninhibited.
The Earth was at its genesis. People and animals roomed freely, each knowing their place and purpose on this vast land―the hunter and the prey. But then, the game changed.
The blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbows had no longer danced to the rhythm of calm seas. The birds had lost their way; they flew aimlessly into the mountain sides and dived into the torrid seas. The oceans of lush green stirred wildly; the scent of fear had been impermeable. Fear of losing all which was good and pure to an evil that had risen out of the ashes of humanity and the imminent battle for the souls of men.
This battle waged on from the end of one age to the beginning of another: Copper had given way to iron. And iron had given way to some of the most powerful, more refined weapons of its time, made only to shred and rip at flesh like the Jagawak, a short, spear-like dagger with jagged edges.
Spears, twice the length of any man, were fitted with arrowheads, clawed and venomous. There were swords detailed with the markings of the owner’s tribe, like the Cainians and the Aberibians. They were sharpened finely and capable of splitting a man into two with only one strike.
But more importantly, these were weapons made only for evil―the hunter―to strengthen it, as it waged war against the souls of mankind. These weapons lay at the feet of the good and the pure―the prey―who were then forced to pick them up and use them to fight evil throughout the ages.
With the ongoing war, and the land now stained with blood from the dead and the dying, Seraph and his most trusted general and daughter Ashana (the warrior angel) made plans within the walls of the Temple of Shiloh―a stone fortress perched upon Mount Shiloh, the highest mountain in the land, just beneath the clouds―for the battle against Bane and his army of demons.
Beneath the Earth in the caves of Hades, Cain, son of Bane, said breathlessly, with his face smeared in blood and sweat, “Father, we have lost the fifth battalion. Seraph had surrounded us; we were greatly out-numbered. I fear that all is lost, father.”
“Do not fear my Son. All is not lost, for you still take breath,” Bane said, as he gently placed one hand on Cain’s cheek. “We will find retribution, not in this world, but in the next. The seed of their seed and all who follow will be punished for their insolence for all time to come.”
“How Father? How will they pay?”
“You are the key my Son.”
“Me father?”
“Yes my child. I am ancient and fragile. It is you who must seek retribution for our kind. It is you who must bring Seraph and his people to their knees.”
“But Father, I am not as powerful as you. Nor, am I worthy of your trust, for I have failed you, Father. How will I seek retribution beyond my years?”
“My Son, you are more powerful than you have been made to know. On the night of the red moon, we will ride out together, and then you will know your might. You will part the way.”
~~~
Seraph! Ashana rushed into the private quarters as Seraph stood with bended knees on the cold stone floors with his head towards the heaven. “Word has reached my ear that Bane plans to send his son forth to the future so that he may plant the seeds of evil in the heart of humankind. If he is successful, then all will be lost.
While we fight here for the souls of mankind to remain pure and good, he will fight through the ages for evil to flourish and spread like vermin, and then together, they will claim the Earth and all the souls upon it!
Seraph’s silence could not be broken, even as the soul of mankind lay at the brink of destruction, not until he had been satisfied with his thoughts and prayers:
Do not worry child. He must be stopped. We will find a way to banish Bane and his saplings into the depths of hell for they are the root of all that is evil. They must not be allowed to flourish and wipe clean the divinity of this world and the worlds to come, because for us, time has not a beginning nor an end. It is but a hiccup, a pause for which we must take to cleanse this affliction from the souls of men. They, will become the hunted.
Seraph lifted himself from his knees to face Ashana.
“Ready your army, for on the dawn of the brightest sun, when it is closest to the Earth, we will ride.”
“Yes Father.”
~~~
On the first night of the red moon―comes only every seventy-five years, when the moon holds its greatest power―with the Jagawak in hand, Cain rode out with Bane at his side and their army of Kenites closely behind:
My Son, tonight you will feel your power. You will raise the Jagawak towards the moon and the power of it will transport you to the distant future. Our retribution starts this day. You will spread evil upon the land across time.
You will bring famine, disease, great storms, hate, and all that we hold great, to the seed of Seraph and his righteous followers, until he kneels before me and beg for mercy. Only then will I cease to inflict pain upon him and his kind. They will know my power. They will feel my wrath through you and all who will take our path.
“Father, I will not fail you.”
Cain raised the Jagawak towards the red moon, and a great surge, like quick silver lightening, entered him. He cried out with a vast pain, “Father, I will not fail you!” even as he glowed brilliantly against the black skies, and then he was no more.
*****
~2~
THE YEAR 1340
The skies were black over the southern lands of Europe, not a flicker of light from the distant stars. But, there was the red moon. The populous saw it as an omen of things to come, some great evil that was set upon the land. And with it, the wind howled wildly. Coils of dust and veiled wind could be seen descending from the sky as the people struggled to keep their stand.
The sound of a horse’s hoofs could be heard riding out of the wind towards them, but yet, they saw no horse. The sound of great pain echoed through. But yet, they saw no man, and they saw no woman.
The people were silent in the night, frozen in time, unclenched and fearful. Even the dead would not have made themselves known. The people were confounded and rightly so.
Yet, as the days progressed, and the red moon was no more, the memory of that night faded away partly because of fear of the unknown, and fear itself. They had convinced themselves that what they had heard had been only a trick of the mind, an affliction by the red moon. They had no answers.
However, the priest, the monks, the religious kind had seen it as a sign from God, a warning of things to come:
“…And I beheld when he opened the sixth seal, and, lo, there was a great Earthquake, and the sun became black as a sackcloth of hair, and the moon became as blood….And the stars of heaven fell unto the Earth, even as a fig tree casteth her untimely figs, when she is shaken of a mighty wind…” Revelations 6:12-13.
Within a few days of Cain’s arrival, the Festival of the Twelfth Night to celebrate the Three Wise Men and the birth of Jesus was to take place in medieval villages all over Europe. And so it did.
However, that celebration was the beginning of Cain’s vengeance upon the land. With the Jagawak in hand, he inflicted an event so devastatingly deadly, spreading it through out small villages, across borders, from royalty to the lowliest peasants. The Black Death had no boundaries, taking with it seventy-five million souls.
On the night of the next red moon Cain, once again, pointed his Jagawak towards the sky. And again, he inflicted disease upon the land. 1817 was the time of Cholera, taking with it millions of souls, and continued through the ages. 1918 was the year of the Spanish Flu: With in a span of one year, one-hundred million good souls were lost.
*****
~3~
It had always been too late when they arrived. When Seraph and his Warriors of Light arrived during the year 1341, one year after Cain had already inflicted most of Europe with the Black Death at least one third of the population had already perished.
“I have failed them,” said Seraph with Ashana at his side. “I have failed to save these poor souls from the hands of Cain,” he said, as they rode through the narrow streets massed with the bodies of the innocent: the orphaned children crying over the decaying flesh of their parents, brothers, sisters; vermin and wild dogs feeding on the dead, and the stench of death that lingered on.
Some, who still clenched to life, pulled at the robes of Seraph and his army. “Mercy!” they cried. “Mercy!” However, there was nothing that he could have done to ease their pain. His powers were limited. And his only charge was to stop Cain from destroying humanity.
Seraph brought his army to the foot of the Alps.
“My mind is fogged. I must seek guidance,” he said to Ashana, as he dismounted his horse and headed towards the edge of a cliff.
There he stood for many hours as his army waited patiently behind in the distance. And when he returned, enlightenment could be seen in his eyes.
“I have been given a gift,” he said to his daughter as he mounted his horse.
“What kind of gift, Father?”
Her horse had begun to show some impatience, “Allyon, steady yourself,” she ordered the wild steed.
“I have been given the gift of sight and of dreams. “
“Please explain further, Father.”
“I will choose many champions, my daughter. Through their dreams, I will show them the truth of what was and what is to be. They will become The Seraphs of Souls―Earthly angels with the gift to see evil for what it is, what he is, hunt him down and destroy him.”
*****
PART ONE
A WARNING AND A DREAM
*****
~4~
THE DREAM
MARCH 15-2011
The blue-green skies with ribbons of rainbow no longer dance to the rhythm of calm seas. The birds have lost their way; they fly aimlessly into the mountain sides and dive into the torrid sea.
Above, behind the varied grays and black of the swiftly moving clouds, lamenting a great loss, the light of the dying moon, now stained in blood, and the once bright stars can be seen trying to find a way through. But that is not to be.
The wind whispers softly in the deep of night, disturbing the fine grains of dust and ash on the surface of a once flourishing Earth, now parched and cracked with remnants of chard plants, of animals, and of human flesh.
Only a few good souls have survived; they walk the Earth, lost and bemused in the thick of what once was and is no more, trying to find their way home, trying to find their love ones―mothers, daughters, and sons. Their blood burn wildly as it rushes to the reality of the mere existence of life, even as evil celebrates its rise to power and a coveted victory. The light has been turned to darkness, everlasting―so it may, or may not be.
A nefarious storm of fire, wind, water, and quake summoned by humanities voracious appetites for Earthly euphoria, weakened minds, hearts and souls, filled with pride, envy, lust, wrath, and greed has consumed the Earth.
The Earth is fit for the harvest.
Eric heard the sound of many horses quietly approaching. He thought for sure that it is the end of the line this time, that Cain has finally caught up to him. Panic has set in. What will he do? How will he save Shelby and Flora?
The horses increase their stride from a slow dance to a trot, and then a rushed gallop; the foot soldiers increase their march to a fast pace as they made their way towards an enemy that threatened to seize all power, and claim the souls of humanity.
To what end? To the end of an endless death, where evil would live, everlasting.
It is pitch black, blacker than any hell that can ever be imagined. He can barely see the destruction which lay before him. He has only the sound of his own breath, the hard beating of his heart, and a niche in a cave―silky with bat guano―which he stumbles upon by mere chance to comfort him from the sounds of horses doing the slow dance to impending victory or impending death, and the choreographed beating of wooden shields, and the uniformed march of two-hundred thousand foot soldiers.
With in just a few increments of time, the thundering hoofs of more than two hundred thousand horses, mounted with the Warriors of Light―the last hope for mankind― dressed in armor of gold, echoes as they swiftly, through a cloud of dust, with desperate urgency, gallop across the Earth.
And at their helm stands Seraph―hair of glimmering silver, skin brilliantly bronzed. He is dressed plainly in a white sheeted robe. And in his right hand, he holds the Horn of Justice, which, by the mere sound of it, could drive his enemies to madness.
At his right flank is his most trusted general, Ashana, whose hair is long and woolen, streaked with white and silver. Her skin flickers in the dark as she glides across the land with the Sword of Retribution held firmly in her right hand: it lights the way and spears the truth in the soul of man.
“Come, let us ride through the night till we meet our enemy again,” she shouts. “Let us move swiftly and unyielding through them until they are no more!”
“Yes, let us ride! Let us claim what is ours and restore the Earth to goodness!” says Seraph.
Bane, with long, grayish white hair and meandering, deep, cavernous lines running through his face lead his nefarious army, the Kenites, swiftly into battle, with the confidence of assured victory.
“Victory will be ours. I can smell its sweet aroma! I can taste its spoils! Let us annihilate them into the void of darkness! Come, let us ride unyieldingly and fierce!” he shouts to the Kenites as they sprint across the Earth, relishing in all the destruction and darkness that they have put upon the land.
And so, from every corner of the Earth, they ride: the Warriors of Light from the north and the south, and the Kenites from the east and the west, until they meet again, crushing, slashing fearlessly, each fighting desperately to annihilate the other, where the victor will claim the Earth and all the souls, and start a new.
*****
~5~
MARCH 15, 2011
Midnight. It had been almost four years since Eric Jonas had had another dream of Seraph, Ashana, Bane, and the epic battle for the souls of the Earth.
Half-way between dream and reality, Eric woke to find him-self in what should have been just a dream, except it wasn’t, His dream was his reality.
His eyes were wide and glaring. They were glazed over in a sea of confusion in the night, the moon stained in blood, and night ravens―numerous in numbers―screaming through the sky, not in a unified formation as birds often do, but rather, misguided and flying in every direction.
His heart hastened as the sound of thundering hoofs drew closer. The smells of smoldering dust strangled his breath. And even as he struggled to breathe, with outstretched arms, he felt around wildly for his love, Shelby, who lay peacefully dreaming about Phillips hands. She felt them caress her body, freely and uninhibited. Her breath hastened as he eagerly searched her mouth with his tongue. Just the mere image of him sent wanting sensations throughout her body, making her beg for more until she sees his eyes, red and glaring, filled with evil and discontent, and his touch felt cold and barren of love or any form of goodness.
“Eric, honey, what’s wrong?” she asked as she woke with a firm grip, almost plunging into the flesh on her shoulder.
“Shel! Shel!”
Fully awake now and with her hand on his to ease his hold,
“Baby, it’s ok! You must have been dreaming!”
“It’s happening Shel! They showed me! They showed me again!
It’s real!”
Now with fear in her eyes, the quickening of her heart, and the
fleeting of her breath, “what’s happening?” She asked.
“It’s time! They have arrived!”
“Who? Who have arrived? Eric, you’re scaring me!”
“Come Shelby! We must go, now!”
“Eric, what is going on!” asked Shelby. “Flora!”
But as she hurried out of the warm comfort, the place of now a restful soul that once, many years passed, had wrestled and toiled with ill content, the quick silver moon stained with blood, the blood of mans’ evil souls speared her like the sharpened edge of the blue stone―arrowhead.
“We must meet them by sunrise!”
“Meet who and where!” asked Shelby, as she struggled to clothe
her trembling body.
Sparks of the unknown spiraled through her like the stinging bite of electricity, unpleasant and threatening, intensifying fear for the safety of her daughter Flora, now four, who was in the other room.
“Hurry! We must meet them! We must drive towards the rising sun!”
*****
PART-TWO
2010- ONE YEAR BEFORE
*****
~6~
Reports (in print and on cable news stations) of violence of epic proportions: gang wars over drugs and turf, murders and rape, bank fraud resulting in thousands losing their homes, their livelihoods, and their sense of security, starving children, the heartless rich could not be ignored. And the epicenter of it all: greed, envy, pride, lust, wrath, human conditions that have plagued the Earth and its inhabitants, since Bane had sent his evil seed through the gateway of time to root itself deeply and bare fruit in the souls of mankind, growing wildly from then to now.
How?
Through images that have appeared in weakened minds and lost souls. They appeal to the wronged, and to those who have suffered great loss and pain at the hands of another, and to those whom had readily invited them. These images set off a trigger for the need to kill, to rape, to cause misery, to do all things evil, and with it, a deep satisfaction, a climax of victory over their victims, until the next time evil hungers and thirst.
But there are some, the Warrior Angels, and the Seraphs of Souls, who have suffered through time, who, have themselves, fallen victim to evil, and have carried out such vile acts as they have seen, or, better yet, have been instructed to do, whom have seen the light of the truth; they have welcomed God and Good in their hearts, therefore, making them impermeable to the hands of Bane and his evil seed. But, if they falter, as humans often do, they will once more succumb to the hands of evil, and therefore become a child of Bane, unless they confess their ways and seek forgiveness from God.
*****
MARCH 15, 2010
The Brooklyn courtroom―quiet, airy, large, dark, wooden walls, high class enough to rival any “Good Old Boy” smoke filled room that beckoned back to a time when deals were struck to the sound of clinking glasses and bogus laughter―was in its own right, intimidating and impressive.
But Eric was not in the least intimidated. He placed his right hand in his pant pocket and touched the small pamphlet penned with the words of Jesus―his heart felt right―while he glazed through his closing argument for the three month Louisa Westgate murder trial, flawlessly, making eye contact with the highly impressionable group of jurors who listened intently―some with the twitching of noses, the scratching of an itch, the shifting around on the hard, wooden, chairs, all the funny things that people do naturally when unaware―and the infamous murderess Louisa Westgate who murdered her wealthy lover Adelais Francois and his vainglorious wife Cécile Francois for nothing more than a glass of wine and a sliver of cheese.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury: Ms. Westgate, at first glance, seemingly harmless, timid, intelligent, classy, unless you are a man of wealth and means, and have had the unfortunate luck of being chosen by her, caught up in her webbed maze for her own selfish, greedy, lustful benefit.
Adelais Francois was such a man. And his wife Cécile Francois (a brief silence) well, she was somehow caught in the middle. Both met their untimely deaths by the hands of Louisa Westgate. You have heard all the witnesses, the unfortunate men who crossed paths with Ms. Westgate. You have seen all the evidence (the pistol, the video tape which placed her at the crime scene shortly before the shootings were heard, the fingerprints and motive.) It is clear, without a doubt, that Ms. Westgate committed these murders. And you must find her guilty. Thank You.
Outside the courtroom cars and buses could be seen on the crowded streets in the perpetual dance of speeding by, then stopping at the butt of another, then speeding, then stopping―infinitely.
Messenger bikers with packs on their backs rushed and dodged between the mass of vehicles to get to their assigned destinations. The street venders busied themselves with the highly desired dirty water hot dogs, pretzels, candied nuts and whatever else could be served from a push-cart.
But strewed about in a corner over there and over there and over there and on the wide sprawling marbled steps of the courthouse with cops, lawyers, judges, suits stepping briskly up or down were the drunks, the insane, the addicts, or just simply, the hopeless and the homeless.
Men, women (the young and the old) glided. No. Rushed unemotionally, with blank faces, stepping over an outstretched hand or leg, bumping shoulders to claim their successes, their livelihood, even if it meant shattering another’s dreams―only a few could see the suffering of others. Only a few would reach out.
In the alleyways behind the courthouse and surrounding buildings, prostitutes (men, women) could be found peddling themselves for a loaf of bread, a 40ounce, a dime bag, some for a gallon of milk for the child left at home (if it could be called that) locked away in a closet, scared and lonely; all, obliviously living, creating their own worlds in their minds, knowing that happiness would never find them, accepting their hand and playing it out until they are forced to fold.
Back inside the courtroom, Eric who knew too well what it was to suffer so deeply that you lose yourself and all hope for life glided meticulously across the galley, as he parsed his words carefully with the hope of swaying the jurors to a conclusion that would bring Ms. Westgate to justice, a justice that she so categorically earned and deserved for her part.
*****
~7~
(WHO WAS ADELAIS)
Africa, the second largest continent in the world, and a source of wealth for many. However, most who live there are indigent. But where the Indian Ocean meets Cape Town towards the northern stars and the mountains of Kimberly―the heart―lay some of Earth’s most precious stones.
A ration of rice. Three pounds of flour. A twelve pack of bottled soda-pop. That’s all they’d received week by week for the back-breaking digging and tunneling through the mines with sweat dripping from their brows and muscles that burned like fire in search for diamonds and precious stones.
That’s all they would have to feed their wives and their crying children who waited patiently at home with fat bellies, not from the abundance of food, but rather, from what happened when the body was starving: They waited patiently in Earth packed homes, a luxury; most lived in zinc huts with dirt floors.
They had no stoves with burners for cooking. Instead, women burned coal to heat their pots. There were no warm showers in which to bathe. Instead, they had cold water, brown and fibrous, of which people and animals shared alike.
The streets, or dirt alley-ways, were filled with corruption― mostly, men trying to take what they could not earn.
Adelais Francois― owner of the most renowned mining company, the source of several jewelry manufacturing companies in France, United Kingdom, USA, and Switzerland―had a heart, which could not be outmatched by the hardest diamond. It did not glisten, nor did it sparkle; it was not beautiful, nor did it bring joy to the suffering and the indigent. Instead, it was cold, un-empathetic, dispassionate, and sought only self gratification.
He had no cares about the lives of the African souls in his employment. Whether, he had provided enough to support a family was, in itself inconsequential, only that he had provided something was enough to justify his actions. It was enough to calm his restive conscience.
His way was, truly, the way of the Kenites which had graduated from being an order of an evil cult that paid reverence to Bane, to a conglomerate of wealthy business people―bankers, big oil, manufacturing mammoths― who were stretched from one end of the globe to the next. Their mission: to seek riches and power at the heels of the less fortunate. Together, they held the fate of the world in the palm of their hands. And at its helm stood Cain, who used his conglomerate at his will.
Adelais demanded his way with African beauties. As far as he had concerned himself, they were fair game for perhaps an extra ration of food or payment―diminutive― in Rands (The South African currency), while his wife Cécile, at home in Paris, lived her own wildly, self-gratifying life with perfectly smoothed pebbles of pearls and precious stones set in cradles of the finest gold or silver surrounded by the sparkling, lucid blood of Africa strung around her perfectly chiseled neck, and her small wrist and her long subtle fingers, with their perfectly painted nails.
At her beck and call was the driver Samuel, who struggled to feed his own family; the house maid, Madeline, who sent every dime she made, back home to Haiti to feed her four children and her mother; the gardener Louis, who used almost every dime he made to pay for his son’s college tuition so that he could one day have a better life. Not once did Cécile Francois consider the lives of those in her employment. To her they were invisible, and exist only to serve and tend to her every need.
No! To gain success and wealth is not in itself selfish in anyway. Bu, to gain wealth and success by the plundering of the common man is, in itself, an atrocity.
~~~
Louisa Westgate, the diamond of Brooklyn, at least she enjoyed thinking of herself as one that sparkled so, believed that no man could ever turn away from her.
She used this self-full-filling gift as a tool to woo men of her choosing; men of means, it was her only criteria. Young, old, short, tall, it didn’t matter, so as long as they could provide for her the life of luxury which she had come to expect.
Perhaps it was, because in her own life, as a child, she had been born to parents whose survival depended on the monthly checks from the government. While most of her friends wore designer jeans and fancy sneakers, she wore jeans without labels and sneakers that could easily be found in any corner bodega in Brooklyn.
Somewhere along the lines, not sure where exactly, but somewhere her need for the finer things had become obsessively insatiable.
Perhaps it was when she met a young man who called himself Cain. He enticed her into a way of life that she could only have dreamt of otherwise. Suddenly, it wasn’t a matter of how she would be able to acquire the designer jeans, or shoes, whatever it was she wanted, but rather, when and how many.
She fell in love with Cain. And together, everything was perfect for the first year, until she learned of how Cain had been able to provide for her.
She learned about who he really was, or what he really was. He was the son of Bane; the son of evil himself (That was his claim. And he was proud of it).
However, at the age of twenty, she did not wish to go back to a life of emptiness. Instead, she wanted wealth, which she thought would bring her happiness.
But at what price? At the price of her soul.
And so, she closed her eyes to the evil truth and gave herself completely to Cain and to the beginning of his order, The Kenites.
Louisa stayed by Cain’s side as the years went by. She became his Earth (a wife-though not in the legal sense). He had several others. But he had another life. Outside of his order he was known as Phillip to his legal wife Joy and Bob Salinger to the many who visited his community center on Court Street.
Louisa, also, had another life. One that included coasting from man to man. She stayed, only until her fascination had run out, never taking the time to think about their feelings towards her. They were just a pawn in her wicked game of greed.
*****
~8~
(LOUISA AND ADELAIS)The new jewelry store was scheduled to be opened with in a few weeks―on the fourth of July. Adelais, being as meticulous as he was, made plans to meet his staff at the Brooklyn store two weeks before to ensure that they knew exactly what he expected and exactly how he wanted his prized jewelry to be displayed (It all had to be perfect).
He tried to coax Cécile into joining him on the trip, but she was contented to stay in Paris with her servants and glistening diamonds. She did not have the desire for business. For her, it was better to leave that part to Adelais.
It was opening day for “FRANCOIS-THE JEWELRY BOUTIGUE.” The day was warm, but not humid. Ten a. m., Frank, the store manager, quickly pushed up the iron security gates to reveal a grouping of diamonds, pearls, rubies, and sapphires which rested snuggly in their own individual compartments on the glimmering golden revolving platter that seemed to be suspended in air inside the display window.
Montague Street, the heart of Brooklyn Heights, where the East River takes the eye to the monolithic beauty of the Brooklyn Bridge and the glory of the lady, holding her mighty torch, almost touching the sky and to the blue and white horizons of the Manhattan skyline, and in the shadow of the Promenade, where joggers jog, and bikers bike, and skaters skate to the rhythm of summer, and among them sitting on a park bench nestled between beds of impatiens, begonias, and marigolds was Louisa Westgate sipping on an iced mochaccino, contemplating her next move, her next victim. She had no idea that she would meet her match. Nor did she expect to fall in fatal love.
Inflicted with idle boredom, Louisa tossed her half empty plastic cup into the trash can close by and began her approach back to her townhouse on the Promenade.
It was like magnet to metal. Her eyes immediately became illuminated by the glimmering diamonds and precious stones on the revolving platter. They spoke to her, luring her to come in. She could not refuse. From that point on Louisa, though she had no idea, had lost all control, not just to the lust for shiny things, but she had lost all control to Adelais Francois, a man whom she had not yet met.
*****
~9~
(Back in the courtroom)
“Ms. Westgate, is there anything you would like to say in your defense?” asked the judge.
“Well, yes Your Honor. As a matter of fact, I would.”
“The day was―”
Louisa began to say before she and everyone in the courtroom had been wildly interrupted by a man whom had somehow rushed pass the guard standing by the door. He appeared old, with long, graying hair that reached the lowers of his back, and his beard, gray and wiry, which had smothered his brown wrinkled face.
He wore a long black trench coat that had many holes―frayed, with strings of thread hanging from them. His shoes, or lack of, were torn and weathered. And his eyes, well they seemed as though they would burst at any given moment; they were white and crazed―the eyes of a mad man.
“Beware! The time is near! Beware!” he said, and then disappeared as fast as he had entered.
Outside the courtroom the plumes of white clouds turned to black, suddenly, not the black of a threatening thunder storm, not the black of an overcast day. No. The clouds were the black of midnight without the stars, without the moon, and in the middle of the day.
After everyone had swallowed the big knot in their throats and had gathered up their stomachs off the floor, the judge signaled for Louisa to continue.
“As I began to say” repeated Louisa with a blank, emotionless stare. Almost as if she was somewhere else:
The day was beautiful, but uneventful, until I walked into that jewelry store. It was as though I had been sucked into something, or some situation that I had no control of. I was completely mesmerized, not only by the glimmering jewels, but by Adelais, the way he strolled over to me flawlessly and confident.
“That ruby would look splendid on your perfectly manicured finger,” he said in English that sounded more like French, as he comfortably placed an elbow on the glass display and leaned in to eye the white gold ring with the most brilliant ruby surrounded by small intricate diamonds. By then, my eyes were fixed on his brilliantly blue-green eyes that carried me away to the calm seas of the Caribbean and the magnificent beauty of the corals which lay beneath it.
“Let’s see. Frank, vous me donne cet anneau? (Will you give me that ring?) Forgive me. What is your name?”
“Louisa. Louisa Westgate.”
“Yes. Please, let... Oh, is that Mrs. Or Miss.?”
“Miss.”
The satisfaction could be seen in Adelais eyes. He removed the magnificent specimen from its red velvet bedding, gently took Louisa’s ring finger, sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.
It was then she knew it was over. There was no need for words. It was understood that it would be the beginning of an illustrious affair, lustful and stirring, at least until she felt satisfied that she had extracted all that she could from him and her boredom had reached its peak.
However, she hadn’t planned on one thing. After all, it was not in her nature. She was more like a black widow: take what she desired from her mate and then get rid of him and move on. She was who she was. However, she hadn’t planned on falling in love―really in love with Adelais Francois.
“Il semble belle sur votre doigt Mme Westgate (It seems beautiful on your finger Ms. Westgate).” Adelais said with a licentious grin of satisfaction as he held Louisa’s delicate hand in his.
Infatuation stole her mind. French words stole her heart, though she did not comprehend them. To her they were seductive and proverbial.
“It’s beautiful,” Louisa said as she stretched out her finger to admire the ring. “How much is it?”
“For you. (Brief silence) The price of going to dinner with me tonight,” answered Adelais with a smug smile.
“Dinner, hah,” Louisa responded, as she gazed at the beauty on her finger.
“Sir, we’ve only just met.”
“Oh, how rude of me! I should introduce myself!”
Adelais gently took Louisa’s ringed hand and kissed it as he introduced himself. He had no idea what he had done to Louisa at that pivotal moment. That sensual kiss riveted her, sending warm trembling sensations of sipping red wine by a blistering fire on a cold day in December as lingering fingers of a lovers hand traverses the most sensitive areas of a woman’s body throughout her delicate form. She was sure that Adelais would be her next victim. But, in fact, she had been the next victim.
*****
~~~
Adelais and Louisa had a stirring affair for six months. She melted in his arms with every touch. She had lost herself, her mind.
She thought about him almost every second of the day: how he would bring her to unending heights while he ravished her feverishly, wildly; how his kiss would send fire to every part of her; and the magnificent pieces of jewelry, which would be placed around her neck, her wrist, and her finger:
I thought that I had finally found the one man that I could probably love for a long time. Adelais was perfect in everyway imaginable. I loved him. But I was a fool.
It was only that morning that we had spent time together in bed, in each other’s arms. I believed we were making plans for the future, though, now that I think about it, I was making plans for a future that would never come to fruition.
Mid-day, I had decided to go to the promenade to shop for a few things for my date with Adelais later that evening: I wanted to look special for him.
As I strolled by the French Corner Restaurant, I noticed Adelais with a woman whom he had seem very familiar with. I watched, as he fed her chocolate covered strawberries, cheese, wine, and then, after, he gave her a slow wanting kiss, the kind that we had always shared: I believed they were just for me. But, apparently, I was wrong: He shared them with others. How could I have been such a fool? She asked, as she placed a hand over her brows, rubbing them as if they could provide the answer.
I guess I should not have been so surprised. It was foolish of me to have thought that I was the only one capable of such deception. I was angry. How dear he, I thought. I wanted to rip his eyes out and through them in the sea.
That evening he called and said that he needed to cancel our date because of some unexpected business. I knew what kind of unexpected business he had. I went to his apartment. Though I had my pistol in my purse, as I often did, I had no intension of using it. I rang his door bell and the woman which I had seen earlier opened the door.
I felt as though my heart had been shredded to pieces. I lost all control. Without thinking, I reached for the pistol in my purse and released the trigger. The bullet pierced the woman in her heart.
Just then Adelais ran out of the bedroom, only to find his wife dying, gasping desperately for air.
“What have you done?” he asked with fear in his eyes.
“You bastard,” I yelled as I shot him.
I did it. I killed them both, and I’m glad for it.
She said, while laughing and crying all at once.
~~~
It was 1:00 P.M… Screaming could be heard coming from outside the courtroom as Louisa continued her testimony. Loud thundering thumps, exponentially, as if the sky was falling, could be heard from above the room.
The sky was black. Ravens (dead and dying) fell from the sky. The streets were littered with birds and frightened souls.
The news outlets were flooded with reports of dead birds falling from the skies―not just in Brooklyn― all around the world. There were reports of dead fish washing up on the banks of the Hudson River, the Long Island Shores, and the east the west, the north and the south, in every country.
Was the world coming to an end?
Religious fanatics were quick to point to “Revelations” in the bible:
…And I heard a great voice out of the temple saying to the seven angels, go your ways, and pour out the vials of the wrath of God upon the Earth….Revelations 16.
Others pointed to Zephaniah:
…I will consume man and beast; I will consume the fowls of the heaven, and the fishes of the sea, and the stumbling blocks with the wicked…In the same day also will I punish all those that leap on the threshold, which fill their masters’ houses with violence and deceit.
Some argued the relevancy of either reference. In Revelations the reference was to End Times and Eric’s visions of it while on the island of Patmos. The reference of God’s words to Zephaniah of judgment on Judah and other countries, even over the threshold if they, if we, do not seek God and obey him.
Many blamed these perplexing events on environmental deterioration. The thinning of the ozone layer. The pollutants in the air and the sea. The shifting of the poles and the Earth’s magnetic field.
But, others knew the truth. Eric suspected that this was at the hands of Cain, with his Jagawak. He suspected, because it had been shown to him in dreams a few years back.
~10~
The emergency room at New York City Hospital was flooded with victims of falling birds and sheer hysteria. Shelby worried about Flora and Eric. But, she tried to empty her mind and rise to a level of professionalism that was expected of an emergency room nurse as they wheeled in several patients, crying, gasping desperately for air, and a logical explanation, most with serious head wounds.
“Nurse, are you with us?” asked a doctor as he rushed to receive the patients. His face was wrinkled and tensed.
“Sorry Doctor! “Shelby answered. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not get her mind off Eric and Flora. And worse, she could not get a minute to call Eric on his cellular phone, or call the pre-school to check on Flora.
“Let’s get this patient to the OR soon as possible,” the doctor ordered.
“I was jogging! Where did they come from? What’s happening?” asked a man, looked like he was at least in his thirties. His eyes were wide with fright as the blood gushed out of his forehead.
“Mommy, Mommy!” cried a boy for his mother as blood streaked down his cheeks. His mother lay unconscious on a stretcher.
“Code Blue, Code Blue,” yelled another Emergency Room Nurse, as they rushed a man whom had been having a heart attack to an area where they tried desperately to resuscitate him, but failed.
There were many others who were just as confused and feared for their lives and the lives of their loved ones. All around, cries could be heard. And all around, the questions could be heard. And the question that was in everyone’s mind.
~~~
About two hours later, just when they thought that they had seen the worst of it, clatters of tennis size hail fell from the bellowing, black skies and lightning strikes could be seen in every direction.
The judge ordered Ms. Westgate’s testimony to be discontinued for the day based on the events that had taken place.
Eric, worried about the safety of Shelby and Flora, tried to leave the courthouse with the intention of driving to the city to get his daughter. However, it was not safe. The streets were filled with chaos and tribulation, and dead birds, and balls of hail.
He made an effort to contact Shelby on her cellular phone, but got only her message, “Sorry I missed your call, but leave a message and I will get back ASAP. Have a blessed day.”
“Shel, it’s me! Please call me and let me know that you are ok! Flora is fine! I called the school and Mrs. Burnett said that the kids were inside when this started! I’m stuck inside the courthouse, but as soon as I’m able to, I will drive to the city and get Flora; then, we’ll come to the hospital to see you! Call me Shel. ASAP!”
“God, is it time? Are you coming?” asked Eric to himself quietly as he looked up to the abysmal mass and slipped his phone back into his pant pocket.
He was tired of the threat of Cain, constantly pursuing him in his mind, willing him to go back to the man whom he was before―a heartless wreck. But, it was to Cain’s own detriment, because Eric had God and Good on his side.
By now many frightened people had crowded the atrium of the courthouse and any other building where they could find cover: law enforcement officers, judges, clerks, refugees from the streets, people who fled their running cars (some leaving open doors) their food carts, bicycles, the homeless, with the exception of one man, the old man who had so rudely interrupted Ms. Westgate during her testimony.
“The end is near! It is upon us! Embrace it!” he said loudly with his hands reaching, reaching for heaven. “Do not be afraid! Do not run from it! God is coming to claim his righteous flock!” he said repeatedly, even as hail fell, and lightning blazed against the dark, and the sound of thunder bellowed from deep above the clouds without so much as touching him, or causing him harm.
However, God had nothing to do with the dead birds that fell from the sky.
Nestled in a corner between a wall of glass, Eric removed a small bible from his briefcase which he carried with him always. He turned to scripture for comfort and understanding.
Just then he felt the insistent vibration of his cellular.
“Shel! I’ve been so―”
“Eric, I’m so happy that―”
“Flora is ok!”
“what is going on Eric?”
“Shel, I wish me knew―I mean―”
“Do you think―no”
“Shel all we can do is pray, and continue to be faithful. Don’t worry. God will protect us. As soon as things clear a bit, I will go get the baby and meet you at the hospital. Don’t leave without us.”
“Ok Eric. I love you.”
“I love you too Babe.”
After almost one hour the sky began to clear to a soft, powdery blue. The falling hail had ceased. The thunder and lightning was no more.
People had begun to trickle back on to the streets, cautiously looking above and around them, including Eric. The reality of what had happened pierced through his heart like a burning arrow.
It was assumed that everyone had been able to find shelter. However, that assumption was not met. There was a woman, with a young child, who lay quivering and bleeding as she covered her daughter with her own body, a homeless man who lay still in a corner, still holding his beaten cardboard blanket over his head. Several people walked about, some bleeding from their heads and other places, most walked aimlessly, wondering what had happened to them.
The sirens of ambulances and police cruisers filled the air. This scene was replicated in every city. In every country. On every continent. People of all colors, races, creed, sexual orientation, it didn’t matter; they all had been touched by these perplexing events. And, they all had been left wondering aimlessly, if even in their minds, trying to find an answer that would fit their reasoning.
Several blocks over Eric rushed to get to his car, stopping on the way to help whomever he could to get their bearings. But, his help was brief, since his thoughts were set on getting to Flora and Shelby.
In his mind, he could hear Flora’s tiny laughter, and he could see the sparkle in her eyes. All he wanted to do was to hold his little girl in his arms and squeeze his wife tenderly.
They were in such a good place now, and have been for several years. Before Flora came along, so much time had been wasted, so much precious time gone to hatred, and resentment, and evil. Eric and Shelby spent years rebuilding their marriage with each other and with God.
~~~
Eric ran feverishly, age could not slow him, nor could the heavy briefcase which he carried, stuffed with mountains of papers, all of which documented the murders of Adelais Francois and Cécile François, and the murderess, Louisa Westgate, certainly, not with all the adrenalin pumping through his veins. He came to a full stop when he noticed an old man praying on his knees in the middle of the chaotic Brooklyn Street.
It was the same man who came bursting into the courtroom during Ms. Westgate’s testimony. However, there was something more familiar about him. Curious now, Eric edged closer to the man.
Cars with broken glass and dented bodies were strewn about. Ambulances whizzed through the streets, trying to get aid to the injured. People walked around crazed with eyes wide and glaring. But there, in the middle of all the chaos was the old man, unafraid, and praying in the middle of the street.
Being careful not to meet his death on such an all ready tragic day, Eric approached the old man.
“Hey, this really is not a good place to be old man.” However, the old man ignored him and continued mumbling softly with his hands pressed tightly together under his chin, his head faced up towards to the sky, and his knees were pressed against the wet asphalt.
Cars whizzed by, beeping horns and angry voices echoed in the street. Feeling vulnerable, and nervous, and anxious to get to his family,” Old man we will both be killed if you don’t get up! Now,” Eric said firmly, giving it one more tries.
“Must you yell? I’m not deaf,” said the old man, now looking at Eric squarely in the eyes.
Eric offered his hand, without permission, and grabbed the man under his arm. An ambulance could be seen, and heard screaming towards them.
With just a few minutes to spare, Eric and the old man made it to the sidewalk. Feeling as if the breath was sucked out of him, Eric bent over, dropped the weight of his briefcase and placed his hands on his knees to retrieve himself.
“Are you crazy?” Eric asked the man standing next to him smiling as if nothing had happened. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that if you didn’t come to get me soon, I was going to get flattened like a pancake.”
“What?” Eric looked at the man precariously. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I knew you would come. They told me.”
“You’re crazy.” Standing firmly now. “I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to go get my family,” Eric said as he grabbed his case and began to walk away.
“They come to me in dreams! I told you before what they said,” the old man spoke strongly to Eric as he struggled to keep up with him.
“Listen old man―”
“Stop calling me old man!”
Eric fanned his hand at the nuisance behind him, rejecting every word that came out of his mouth.