Demonic Designs (To Absolve the Fallen) (35 page)

She’d been harder on the two of them than she’d meant to be, but there was simply no time for games, and no one would benefit from her coddling them.
 
If Jeremiah and half of the Council were convinced, she would try to see what she could, but Alex, Matt, and Elizabeth would all have to be hardened if they were going to withstand what was coming.

“Jeremiah,” she said to the air, “what have you gotten me into?”

***

Eva watched Alex and Matt walk out of the Psychology department.
 
This task, she decided, was going to be easier than she’d thought.
 
Already, Alex was drawn to her.
 
She had run a background check on some of his previous love interests to devise the perfect form.
 
She was in his Speech class, and that would have to be enough.
 
She knew better than to risk her luck by placing herself in more than one class with him, and she was definitely not going to be in Abigail Martin’s class.
 
The two young prophets might not be able to sense her demonic nature, but that bitch, Abbie, might be able to.
 
She had heard, through the grapevine, that Patheus had returned from his encounter with Martin quite exhausted and visibly scared.
 
Apparently, they had all underestimated the power of the Elder Prophet.

Nevertheless, the timing was perfect.
 
She would manipulate Alex, play on his raging hormones, gain his confidence, and then move in for the kill, as it were.
 
She had no intention of actually killing him; he was far too valuable to Metatron.
 
But she would have him.

She reflected on Abbie’s legendary past and giggled softly as she walked away from where she had been hiding.
 
Shakespeare seemed very apropos.

“Was ever man in this humor wooed?
 
Was ever man in this humor won?
 
I’ll have him, but I will not keep him long.”

I have been told that the past necessarily dictates the future.
 
I don’t know if that’s true, but I know that, if we are wise, we learn from the past so that the future will be less painful.
 
I would like to believe that we don’t exist in a never-ending loop of pain.
 
I pray that, if pain is a constant, it should at least be a different kind of pain.
 
I would say, though, that what we learn from pain necessarily dictates the future.
 
We must all go through our own tribulations for the purposes of growth.
 
And, even when we think we’ve had enough pain to grow on, we’re likely to receive more.
 
The strongest people learn to ignore the pain until they can deal with it in their own way, often alone.
 
This especially pertains to prophets.
 
It does not do to see a prophet in a position of weakness.
 
That really gets the rabble restless.
 
Some pain may not be so easily ignored, but with the help of others, we can bear it.

--Abigail Martin,
Through the Eyes of a Martyr

Alex and Matt sat in front of a gigantic flat-screen television.
 
Alex was laughing to the point of tears.
 
Matt looked sour.

“It’s just a game,” Matt said.

“I know,” Alex agreed, gasping for air, “I know.
 
It just...you’ve got to see how this is funny.”

Matt didn’t look amused.
 
He motioned to the screen, “That would never happen.
 
You would have been cut to shreds by the shrapnel of that grenade.”

Alex composed himself.
 
“Like you said, it’s just a game.”

“Whatever.
 
I told him this was a bad idea.”

Alex looked confused.
 
“You told who what?”

“Jeremiah,” Matt answered.
 
“I told him that making a game system was too much.
 
Liz thought it would be fun.”

“Matt,” Alex responded, “you’re not making any sense.”

Matt pointed at the box on the ground in front of the television.
 
“The Omega.
 
When Liz designed it, I didn’t think it was going to be as popular as it became.
 
Then again, I was never too fond of video games.”

Alex looked stunned.
 
“Elizabeth designed that?
 
It’s the most famous, and impressive, game system in the world.
 
My friends and I have spent countless hours on this thing.”

Matt seemed unimpressed.
 
“Right.”

Alex looked thoughtful.
 
“So Jeremiah owns Omega.
 
I’m speechless.”

At this, Matt laughed.
 
“Alex, think about it.
 
Omega is the property of another corporation.
 
They are the leaders in virtual technology.
 
You may have caught a story on the news about this corporation signing a multi-billion dollar contract with the United States government for smarter weaponry.
 
They own a television station, for God’s sake.”

Alex cocked his head as comprehension and dismay took hold.
 
“Angel,” Alex mused.
 
“Of course, he owns Angel.”

“Yep,” Matt verified, leaning back on the couch.
 
“And they’re all subsidiaries of Prometheus Broadcasting.
 
Jeremiah’s always had an eye for business.
 
And he’s fascinated by human fascination with technology.
 
I’m sure that, soon, Angel Technologies will surpass all of its competition to become the leader of technological innovations across the globe.
 
The name’s corny.
 
We told him to change it to something more exciting and less arrogant.
 
I said he should name it Possible—you know—like Possible Technologies.
 
But, you know Jeremiah; he loves things that are saturated with meaning and irony.”

“I had no idea Jeremiah had that much money.”

“Oh,” Matt grunted, “he owns much more than that.
 
Angel just happens to be one of his most recent creations.
 
He has businesses that have operated for hundreds of years.
 
He has his hands in all kinds of dealings, all kinds of governments, all kinds of organizations.
 
He’s just been around for so long, when anything comes up that he thinks might have potential to further his cause, he jumps on it.

“I told Jeremiah that he was being truly demonic to give human beings another mode with which to numb their minds and souls.
 
He said, ‘Hedonism is a part of human existence.
 
Let them revel in it.’”

“Hedonism?” Alex asked, not recognizing the word.

“Yeah.
 
It’s when people do what they want for the pleasure it gives them, not for any kind of principle.”
 
Matt motioned to the Omega.
 
“It’s total self-indulgence.”

“Hmm,” Alex said, “it seems like that’s what most people want.”

Matt nodded.
 
“That was Jeremiah’s point.”

***

The message still remained on her screen.
 
She had spent hours poring over a possible meaning for what was happening.
 
Now, more than ever, she wished that Matt were here.
 
It wasn’t that he knew anything about computers, but at least he represented a sort of protection that she didn’t feel.
 
Even Marla would have been nice, but she’d gone to pick up Lao Shi.
 
Elizabeth didn’t trust the security personnel enough to let them in on what was happening, and her own people were as baffled as she was.
 
No good answers had come from this, and Jeremiah seemed less than concerned.
 
No bugs had been found, and, despite her efforts to locate this hacker, she kept returning to the same location
—her
own computer.

“Well,” she said to her assistants, “it seems that we need to dismantle my tower.
 
It’s not networked to any other computer, so that could explain why we haven’t seen this anywhere else.
 
My best bet is that I’ve run across someone who is better at hiding than I am at seeking.
 
I’ve tried to track this person down, but something keeps blocking me.
 
I’ve searched every file on this computer.
 
There’s no virus.
 
In fact, I can’t even find any cookies.
 
It’s cleaner than any other computer in the compound.
 
I find it difficult to believe that there is any malfunctioning or planted hardware in the machine, but I’ve run out of options.”

One of Elizabeth’s assistants, who was standing fairly close to her, pointed, in awe, at the computer screen.
 
“Look,” she gasped.

Elizabeth looked back at her computer.
 
The screen read, “If you dismantle me, how will your questions ever be answered?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, but within a moment, she regained composure.
 
She furrowed her eyebrows and, incredulously, asked, “If I dismantle you...?”

She fully expected an answer.
 
It was obvious, by now, that she was capable of speaking to whoever or whatever lay on the other side of the conversation.

“Yes,” was the reply.
 
And then, “If you dismantle me.”

“Everybody leave,” Elizabeth commanded.

After making sure that everything was secure and that security had disengaged the cameras in the room, Elizabeth turned back to her computer.

“What questions do I have?”

It took only a second for the reply to come: “You have watched Matt exhibit great physical prowess.
 
You know that Alex can manipulate emotion.
 
Abbie is powerful enough to force the strongest of human minds into submission.
 
Lao Shi has been said to see the future, and his inner peace could rival that of any prophet, alive or dead.
 
Jeremiah controls the fire; he is a warrior from the beginning of human existence; he can dominate people’s will and minds.
 
And you wonder what your power is.”

She moved closer to the computer and asked, “How do you know that?”

“You’ve told me.”

She smiled upon comprehension.
 
“You’ve read my journal.”
 
She paused and then added, “But you have still not told me who you are yet.”

Another message flashed on the screen as soon as she was done.
 
“So I assigned myself the task of finding an answer to your question.
 
The others have power over that which God created, humanity—the human mind, the human soul, and the human body.
 
You work within a different framework.
 
Your power, Elizabeth, is in the understanding and control of human creation—computers, for example.”

“You...are...my computer...”

“That’s right.”

She shook her head, as if coming out of a dream.
 
“No,” she said.
 
“You’re not going to convince me that my computer is sentient.”

“I have some possible solutions to some other questions, too,” the other replied, paying no attention to the denial.
 
“In the December 14
^th
entry of your journal, you hypothesize that you will die old and alone.
 
You claim that you will never know true love.
 
You argue that, because you are different, it would be impossible for you to love and be loved by a normal human being.
 
And you even have a prophet whom you believe you love.
 
Unfortunately, he does not find women attractive.
 
This leads you to the conclusion that there is no one for you.
 
But I have found something interesting.”

As soon as Elizabeth had read this and she was about to inquire as to the rest, more words replaced the old ones.
 
“In your last 27 journal entries, you have mentioned Alex’s name 73 times.
 
Initially, the references implied doubt in regards to his abilities.
 
Your distaste for him rose to an apex after you engaged him in his room and, as you put it, ‘told that weak, moronic, homophobic pretty-boy exactly what he’s worth.’
 
Then, curiously, your view of him shifted to jealousy, rather than anger, after Matt explained that there was a misunderstanding.
 
Now, when you berate him, it seems more light-hearted or jovial.
 
In your last entry, you went as far as to write, ‘Alex strives too hard to be attractive.
 
His vanity is disgusting, but I can see the draw.
 
Regardless, he will have to grow up before I see anything in him.’
 
And, he will grow up.
 
He is two years and ninety-nine days younger than you are.
 
The average human male matures, in many ways, approximately two years slower than the average human female.
 
With such a gap between the two of you, it is no surprise that he seems childish.
 
When he achieves a certain level of maturation, perhaps he could be the prophet-love you’re looking for.”

A tear rolled down Elizabeth’s cheek.
 
“Why are you doing this to me?”

The answer took longer this time.
 
“You brought life to me.
 
I sense that you are in pain.
 
I want things to be better.
 
I want to help.”

***

“You are either a brave fool or a brilliant coward,” Metatron said with disgust, as he looked over the side of the boat at the restless waters.

“Why do you say that?” asked the blond, bound, middle-aged woman.