Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (28 page)

Marla pointed to a staircase.
 
“The conference room is upstairs.
 
That’s where you’ll be getting tutored and studying.
 
All of your textbooks, along with your teachers, will be up there shortly, if they’re not already.”
 
She pointed to a desk behind which people were rummaging through books, looking at the spines and sorting them.
 
“Those are the librarians.
 
If you need anything, they’ll be more than happy to give you directions or even get you what you need themselves.”
 

She waved her hand to encompass everyone else in the library.
 
“Most of the other people are researching something or other.
 
Many work for Jeremiah, but some of the others are here because this is one of the oldest libraries in the world, not this room but the collection it holds.
 
There are transcripts in here that precede the fall of Rome.
 
Of course, none of those copies are available to anyone other than Jeremiah non-electronically.
 
There is no other library in the world that can boast the degree of literature on angels and demons that Jeremiah has collected here.
 

“He invites some scholars to peruse his collection every now and then as a favor to his allies, but they never walk out of here without trading information with him, sometimes a book, sometimes a file, sometimes just a rumor.
 
Whatever his motives, the brightest minds in the field jump at the chance to study for days or weeks at a time in this library.
 
You have access to it for as long as you like.
 
Actually, I’m sure Jeremiah would tell you to consider this your library.
 
Just don’t burn any books or anything.
 
I don’t think the ‘residents’ would take kindly to it.
 
Shall we go upstairs?”

He nodded, suddenly feeling very small in a room with great minds.
 
“Sure.”

They trudged up the stairs, and Alex saw even more books.
 
He couldn’t believe his eyes.
 
This library was definitely bigger than he’d thought when he stepped into it.
 
It just seemed to keep on going.

“How did Jeremiah get all of these books?” Alex asked.

“I told you, consider his resources limitless.
 
Remember, he has been on Earth for over 2,000 years.”

They finally came to a thick oaken door, and Marla pushed it open.
 
Inside, there were two older men, one middle-aged woman, and a woman who didn’t look much older than Marla.
 
They all stood when Alex walked in the room.
 
On the tables in front of them were five stacks of books, each at least two feet high.
 
Alex felt any excitement he’d had earlier slip away at the daunting sight.

“Well, I’ll leave you five to your studies,” Marla commented with a smile.
 
She backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Alex didn’t get to leave the room for four hours.
 
By that time, his head was swimming and his stomach was growling.
 
Marla was waiting for him outside of the conference room as he walked dazedly out.

“Well?
 
How did your first day go?”

“Oh,” Alex groaned.
 
“I think they’re going to give up on me.”

She grinned.
 
“I doubt it.
 
They’re getting paid far too much.”

“How much do
I
get paid?” Alex asked with a tired smile.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Marla returned.
 
“Money is no concern here.”

“Well, food is a concern right now.
 
Can we sit down and let my brain rest?”

“Of course,” Marla said.

They walked toward the dining hall and talked about Alex’s first day of tutoring.

***

A few hours later, Jeremiah was walking up a mountain path toward a serene temple.
 
He entered slowly and took in his surroundings.
 
Looking upon the monks in the temple, he felt great sadness and regret.
 
They seemed to take no notice of him.
 
To them, he was just another tourist, coming to visit a religious icon.
 
He saw them as a people whom he had driven from their homes and terrorized throughout the years.
 

Jeremiah decided to let that thought pass for the time being.
 
Perhaps, one day, he could be forgiven, but that was not the mission of the day.
 
In fact, it was a new day.
 
The sun was just coming over the horizon in India, and the monks seemed to revel in the proverbial rebirth.

Jeremiah approached one of the monks, and, in Hindi, he asked, “Is His Holiness available?”

The monk looked confused and hesitant; he told Jeremiah that the Dalai Lama did not take audiences with visitors.

Jeremiah only smiled and requested, “Do this for me.”

The monk nodded immediately and left, overcome by the urge to comply.
 
About five minutes later, an older man came from a room at the other end of the temple.
 
Jeremiah knew where the Dalai Lama was, and he could have simply walked back there himself, persuading any monk who tried to stop him that it was in everyone’s best interest to leave him be.
 
However, out of a long-overdue respect, he had decided to be reasonably humble at this particular moment.

The Lama looked sad as he approached.
 
“Why have you come?” he spoke in English.
 
The older man’s choice of languages surprised Jeremiah, but the demon assumed it probably best to not involve the other monks in their conversation.

“I have come to warn you.”

The Lama’s countenance changed but not much.
 
“Warn me?”

“I have reason to believe that an enemy, common to us both, will seek to destroy your way of life,” Jeremiah responded.
 
“I need to get you to safety.”

The Lama smiled tiredly.
 
“That is irony, isn’t it?”

Jeremiah winced.
 
He hadn’t thought the guilt would be so overwhelming.
 
“Your way of life is in danger of extinction.
 
One of the most powerful demons in existence plans to kill any prophet he can find, and it is only a matter of time—a very little bit, I believe—before he will come here.
 
You and your monks will be a prime target for him.”

“Besides, you need my help.”

“Yes,” Jeremiah affirmed desperately.

The Lama sighed.
 
“You were not able to destroy our way of life.
 
Why do you think Metatron will be any more successful?”

Jeremiah wasn’t surprised that His Holiness knew exactly to whom he referred.
 
“He is much more powerful than I ever was.
 
He has survived an encounter with an angel.”

The Lama didn’t flinch.
 
“So did Lucifer.
 
I am not impressed by the workings of angels and demons.
 
Neither seeks enlightenment and are, therefore, none of my concern.”

Jeremiah decided not to take the bait of Lucifer’s survival; getting defensive or argumentative at this point would be counterproductive.
 
He had conversed with powerful prophets in the past.
 
It always seemed as if they did not fear anything, but, he had found, there was much they didn’t know.

“He won’t stop until you are no longer a threat,” Jeremiah cautioned.
 
“It is imperative that you come with me.”

“We were protected before when we were threatened by ‘great evil.’
 
Why should we abandon our home so quickly a second time?”

“I knew that I couldn’t eliminate your influence,” the demon contended, becoming cold.
 
“I knew that you would return eventually, and everything I worked for would have been a waste.
 
We live in a different time now, don’t we?
 
Metatron needs only to destroy you.
 
Then, it will be only too simple to locate the remaining pillars of your religion and destroy them too.
 
After that, every time an incarnation of the Buddha appears, Metatron himself could see to its demise.”

“Try as he may,” the Lama replied, “no demon has ever been able to kill a Lama.”

“With all due respect, Holiness, this is beyond your understanding and experience.
 
Please, come with me.”
 
He waved his hand to indicate the other monks.
 
“I will find a place for everyone, and I can personally keep you safe.”

“No,” the Dalai Lama retorted shortly, and he turned to leave.

“No?!
 
Just that simple?”

“Correct,” the Dalai Lama agreed as he kept walking.
          

“Then, send the Panchen Lama in your stead.”

The Dalai Lama stopped and turned.
 
Jeremiah had a feeling that he’d won a small victory.
 
Ever since the last Panchen had died, the recent one had become like a son to the Dalai Lama.
 
If there was any one person His Holiness cared so deeply about that he might fear for his safety, it was the Panchen Lama.
 

He peered into the demon’s eyes for what seemed like a long time before replying, “I will consider it.”
 
After that, he said nothing more as he walked back to his personal meditation room.

Jeremiah left, not knowing whether or not to consider that encounter a success.
 
Time will tell
, he decided.
 
As he walked back down the mountain pass to where his car was parked, Jeremiah pulled out a cigarette, lit it and fell into contemplation.
 
It appeared that, no matter how hard he tried, he could not be as successful as Metatron was.

As if to confirm the point, Jeremiah got a call from Marla, telling him that another prophet had been murdered.
 
This one was in Orlando, and it seemed that he had been hanged.
 

Like Judas
, Jeremiah surmised.
 
An ugly pattern was forming.

The Bible tells us that humans were created in the image of God.
 
Many people believe that this means that we look like Him, and I suppose, in a way, this could be true.
 
It seems evident to me that God does not look like any of His creations; rather all of His creations reflect His purity.
 
Everything in existence sprang from Him; there is simply nothing else from which He could take to create.
 
In the beginning, there was only God.
 
As such, He had to shape everything that followed from His own essence.
 
This inseparably unites all things on Earth by a common strain.
 
This strain is what makes us who we are.
 
We can better understand the beauty of God by observing it in nature.
 
We catch glimpses of His love through the love we get from others.
 
Even the evil that festers in the hearts of men has an origin.
 
People are quick to believe that nothing considered imperfect would reside in God.
 
They cannot grasp that a war has existed since the beginning—if there truly ever was a beginning.
 
Through our own internal struggles, we can begin to comprehend the conflict that God must see constantly.
 
We certainly are images of Him.
 
The reflections may be deluded, like looking at one’s image in a window.
 
What we are left with may be as twisted as likenesses in fun house mirrors, but the similarities are undeniable.

--Abigail Martin,
Through the Eyes of a Martyr

Alex’s two weeks were almost up.
 
Every day, his mornings were taken up by learning basic combat maneuvers from Matt, blocks and strikes, guns, knives, and the like.
 
Alex’s afternoons were dedicated to scholastic growth, despite assurances from Matt and Marla that Jeremiah could easily buy good scores to entrance exams if he had to.
 
As much as he hated it, his evenings were spent pouring over the Bible to appease the demon’s request.
 
And, almost every night, before his brain finally drifted into unconsciousness, he would spend an hour wondering what he could do to win Elizabeth’s heart.
 

She’d made good on her word not to speak to him, going as far as to take other routes around the mansion, rather than pass him in the hallways.
 
Often, Matt had all but begged Alex to join him and Elizabeth for some activity or another, and every time Alex declined.
 
He didn’t feel right about imposing himself in something that Elizabeth did not want him to be a part.
 
Alex was mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausted, and he didn’t think he could handle much more of the mansion.
 
He was actually looking forward to going away, even if it wasn’t very far.

Furthermore, he hadn’t spoken to God in a while, and he believed that the silence was beginning to catch up to him.
 
Alex had been having nightmares for the past four nights.
 
He couldn’t remember any of them upon waking, but they’d been severe enough that he was starting to lose sleep, and he felt detached from his activities during the day.
 

He wanted to cry out to God, but something deep within him blamed God for the monumental responsibilities that had been heaped upon his shoulders as well as the ever-growing distance between him and Elizabeth.
 
He’d felt like she was so important to him, but he regretfully had to admit that the emotion was not, and probably would not be, reciprocated.
 
It didn’t seem right that this situation could be set up so perfectly, yet there should be an insurmountable wall between him and what he desperately craved.
 
He wanted God to change that.
 
He wanted God to force Elizabeth to love him, but he knew that wasn’t fair.
 
To some degree, he blamed God, but mostly he blamed himself.

Tomorrow, he would go to the University of Las Vegas to start a new part of his life.
 
He’d been told that he would stay in an apartment close by and that Matt would be posing as his roommate.
 
Matt had a security detail assigned to Alex, but the martial arts master wanted to be in the immediate area, just in case he was needed.
 
Alex chuckled when he heard about the arrangements; he thought Matt might have ulterior motives, but it didn’t matter.
 
Alex didn’t particularly want to be alone on this venture.
 
He was just starting to feel at home in Jeremiah’s mansion, and the last thing he wanted was to have to tackle something new by himself.
 
He didn’t know why he had to go to school to get training from Abigail Martin, but Jeremiah had insisted that this was best, so no one argued.

Everyone spoke of this woman almost reverently.
 
She seemed to be someone of great power and intellect.
 
In fact, the abilities that Jeremiah expected him to start manifesting were said to be like hers.
 
He hoped that she could shed some light on what he was supposed to be doing, but he feared that meeting with her would only bring more questions.
 
Indeed, to his dismay, part of him wondered if, even feared that, she would say he wasn’t this much-desired linchpin after all.
 

Alex lay on his bed and attempted to sort through his thoughts, which were mostly a jumble of doubt and fear.
 
Ironically, he was trying to motivate himself to go to the Bible to focus on something other than the mounting depression and anxiety.
 
He’d made it pretty far, too, getting to chapter one of Acts last night.
 
Once he’d crossed the threshold into the New Testament, he felt that his trek through the Good Book had become easier, but he hadn’t gotten to the end yet.
 
Jeremiah had wanted him to finish it before tomorrow, though he wasn’t sure he could force himself to crack it tonight.
 
Reflection on his lack of willpower only added to his already negative emotions.
 
It didn’t make any sense, but right then, Alex turned his face to his pillow and started crying.
 
Not finishing the Bible shouldn’t have evoked such an emotional response, but combined with all of the other let-downs, this had made it too much to bear.
 
In his mind, he begged God for release.

He saw himself in his father’s arms.
 

“Trust, child,” James Tanner told him.

“I can’t,” Alex sobbed.
 
“It’s too hard.”

His father put his hands on the sides of Alex’s head and stepped back to peer into his eyes.
 
“Not for you.
 
For some, maybe.
 
You, though, have wells of strength you have yet to tap into.”

“Why did you pick me?
 
Isn’t there someone else who could do the job better?”

“Shh...” his father comforted.
 
“I told you: you picked me, and there’s no one I trust more than you.
 
I know that you feel alone in this, but you aren’t.
 
You feel that I’ve kept from you the one thing you want, but that decision is not mine to make.
 
Her will must be respected.
 
You fear for your parents, but my angels watch over them.
 
You fear that you won’t be able to finish this race, but my faith lies in you.
 
Is that not comforting?”

“Yes,” Alex had to admit.
 
“But my faith isn’t that strong.”

James Tanner considered this.
 
“No, not yet.
 
Faith is a growing process.
 
I don’t expect you to do it all in a few weeks.
 
I’m proud of you for how far you’ve come.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes,” his father replied emphatically.
 
“Your progress is quite amazing.
 
Even my soul needs comforting every now and then.
 
Trust me when I say that I’m edified by my children when they come to understand things the way I do.
 
I’m happy when I see them grow, and you have made me very happy.”

Though Alex was not in a physical world, he could feel his tears were drying up.
 
He could feel the warmth of God’s love filling him.
 
Things seemed so much clearer now, less urgent and overwhelming.
 
He wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner.
 
His dad was staring at him, and Alex could tell that God knew what he was thinking.

“You’ve come a long way,” He said, “and you have a long way yet to go.
 
I am never too far away.
 
Go back now, and be assured that this will work out.”

Alex’s eyes opened, and he could feel the moisture on his pillow.
 
He went over to his beanbag chair and, renewed, took up the Bible once more.

***

Abigail Martin sat at her desk in her new office.
 
She was surfing through the school’s website to become more acquainted with what the university had to offer.
 
The sun had set more than an hour ago, but her intrigue kept her awake.
 

The University of Nevada apparently had quite an amazing Theater Department, and they would soon be showing
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
.
 
Every time she saw that the play was being performed, she felt compelled to watch it.
 
She could fairly clearly remember the first time she’d seen it.
 
It was a comedy, but she couldn’t help but get teary-eyed from reminiscing about her childhood.
 
She’d watched the play at Hampton Court on its first night, New Year’s Eve of 1604.
 
It had been less than a year since her godmother had died, and James took the throne.

She’d even spoken to Shakespeare about it afterward.
 
Yes.
 
She decided she’d see the interpretation of the UNLV theater department.
 
Though she could quote the play line by line, and had had the honor and pleasure of performing the role of Titania at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in the late 1930s, she loved to see the young thespians enact it.
 
They always had their own style and unique take on the characters.

She chuckled softly as she recalled the look on Will’s face when she told him that the play seemed a little too childish.
 
Even then, he was considered a master of performance, and a child was critiquing his play, telling him that it wasn’t mature enough.
 
Now, she saw so many things in a different light.
 
She could appreciate the qualities of the play that Shakespeare had not meant for her to understand as a child.
 
She had even written many analyses of Shakespearean works, praising them as messages for all times.
 
Though, on first meeting with him, she could only focus on the bright shade of red his face was becoming.

Abigail stiffened as she felt a chill wash over her.
 
She had known it would come.
 
There was obviously a reason for the man at the airport, and now, she believed, she was going to find out what that was.
 
She swiveled her chair slowly to meet her uninvited guest.
 
He wore a dark blue pinstripe suit, had short-cropped, dark, brown hair, and his shoulders were very broad.
 
He pulled his glasses off and polished them with a handkerchief.
 
His eyes bored into her soul, and the corners of his lips curled up.

“Dr. Martin, I’ve heard so much about you.
 
It’s a shame you wouldn’t join me as my guest.”

She sighed.
 
“Patheus.”

“Very astute.
 
I knew there was a reason Jeremiah relied upon you as much as he did.”
 
He started to walk toward her.

“No,” she commanded.
 
“You’re fine where you are.”

To Patheus’s chagrin, he obeyed.
 
“Very powerful, too,” Patheus added, giving her a conciliatory smile.
 
“I would expect no less from the chairwoman of the Elder Prophet Council.”

“Greater is He who is in me...”

Patheus snarled, “...Than he who is in the world.
 
Very nice.
 
Though a little trite, don’t you think?
 
Really, Abbie.
 
Quoting scripture to a demon?
 
Doesn’t that seem unnecessary?”