“Well, in all honesty, towering, ashy, grey man-thing, I’m not the slightest bit demented enough to carry on after you took my favorite gun.”
“Oh, this?” And with another twirl, the being made the gun reappear then slid it across the table to Dawayne.
“You should take this visit as a point of personal pride. Seldom do I come to this realm to converse with mortal beings, let alone humans.”
At the mention of humans both of them shuddered.
“We agree on one thing,” Dawayne said.
“I told you we’ve been watching for a while. We’re rather fond of your work.”
Dawayne puffed out his chest a little, sitting up straight. “So what do I call you?”
The grey being shut Dawayne’s notebook, placing it on the table.
“You call me what angels, demons, and mortals alike have called me for eons. I am Asmodeus, stoker of fires, and inspirer of ascendancy.” Asmodeus looked up and to the right, tightening his fist with the tenacity of the millennia’s.
“Do I have to say all the stoker of fires and inspirer of ascendancy part too?”
“Hmm, Morning Star might possibly appreciate your quips, but alas they grow irksome.”
With sincerity, Dawayne nodded in reverence, “My apologies Asmodeus, I meant not for you to think me as flippant.” Asmodeus put his oversized hand placing it on top of Dawayne’s notebook, looking to him.
“We’ve known of what you intend before you wrote of it today and it’s my department’s duty to make first contact and offer assistance.”
“What assistance could you offer me? I have a simple life.”
“You act like we don’t know that you keep your truest self from those around you. I and the rest of my kind can help you remain ensconced in the shadows. Without our help, your life would be far from simple.”
Dawayne fiddled with the lining of his pocket, looking at Asmodeus with inquiring eyes.
“What’s your least favorite thing about humanity?” Dawayne asked. As if the words were on the tip of his tongue, Asmodeus replied, “Carnivals; they’re such slobs with the way they stuff their faces.”
Dawayne smirked, nodding his head. “Indeed, I’ve never been fond of them. Their complete lack of the finer tastes, fried this and fried that, just disgusting.”
“You have much to learn, these other vices help our cause, and yet it’s sickening how they swarm in droves for food that fattens yet malnourishes.”
“Our cause? I’ve made no deal with you and we’re quite far from a crossroad.”
“Between you and I Dawayne, Hollywood has done their job making it seem much harder to offer your soul when in truth it’s much easier to have them offer their souls of their own volition. The very appellation of the city is in observance to the wood the witches of old used.”
“I don’t understand your meaning”
“Pay it no mind.”
Dawayne crossed his arms, looking up to Asmodeus. “I’m having a hard time visualizing how exactly you can help me without me offering you anything in return.”
“Hmmm, that’s right you haven’t any anamnesis of what transpired eight years ago.”
Dawayne, not certain of what he meant, sat there and watched Asmodeus stand up, almost touching the ceiling.
“I assure you, this won’t hurt,” Asmodeus said as he leaned forward, pressing his large sooty index finger against Dawayne’s forehead.
Dawayne began feeling an odd vibration course through his forehead as Asmodeus pulled his finger away, and like a waking dream, Dawayne began having a lucid vision. With his own eyes, he could see ten-year-old Dante shackled in a tiny tile-covered room as he began to shake with the fiercest of reverberations. Dante’s eyes and mouth opened, and light poured from them, illuminating every crevice. It was deafening and blinding to Dawayne even as he lived through it, wincing from the brightness of the dream.
But seeing the fear on Rip's face, reinvigorated him, as he smiled at his expense.
“WHAT IN THE HELL?” Rip yelled.
Dawayne’s smile widened, without the slightest of clues that his eyes had blackened to the degree of the demon before him. And from Dawayne’s own throat, a dark voice that he did not recognize, spoke. “What the hell indeed mortal?” He then pulled the knife from the sheath around his ankle, but before he could use it, Rip ran toward him shoving him up against the wall, crushing the tile with Dawayne’s skull.
The power that Dawayne felt grew as he relived himself saying with dark tone, “You really shouldn’t have done that human,” then stabbed Rip on the side of the leg. Dawayne pulled the knife out, thrusting it into the interior of his other leg, and while his blood poured out, Rip fell onto Dante. Dawayne stood over and gazed at Rip as the vibration coming from Dante intensified. More and more light shot out, making it impossible to see anything until one last flash pierced the room.
Dante disappeared in that flash and both Rip and the chains that once bound Dante fell to the floor.
With a snap of Asmodeus’ fingers, the visions stopped. “There are other factions at play Dawayne.”
Dawayne sat there in a fugue state, having spent the last eight years wanting to know what happened all that time ago, and now he knew. With thoughts coursing through his mind Dawayne sat there as Asmodeus stood up and walked out and onto the grass, then waved his hand. A wisp appeared.
The wisp illuminated while Dawayne looked on. “How do I contact you?”
“Do as thou wilt, Dawayne, and in time I’m sure we will meet again.”
Asmodeus walked into the-wisp, closing it behind him.
“Filth!”
“Yes Master!?” The little cretin hobbled around his master's throne.
“Send word to Morning Star, The Dark Seed has been planted.”
Chapter Seventeen
Unfinished Business
It was cooler than normal that August evening as Dawayne stood in the garage while the motor of the sharpener whirred. Dawayne and his estranged father had built the workbench many years prior when the facade that was their family, was still together. The years had flown by and the years of neglect were showing as many piles of dust had formed and many webs had been woven throughout. One by one, he sharpened his knives then put each one into their respective slits in his case.
From big to small, the knives were arranged, and once the last spark had flung itself from the sharpener, Dawayne flipped the switch. The whirring slowed to a halt, then Dawayne gazed at his largest knife under the fluorescent light. He looked to see if anything was left on the blade then he placed it in the case next to the others.
Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers across the hilts, reminiscing. There were no more loose ends. He rolled up the knives, cinching the velcro fastener, then walked inside. Per usual, it was dim inside as he placed the bag on the kitchen island.
With the flip of a switch, six of the seven canister bulbs lit, illuminating the dusty kitchen. After Dante had met Anora he came over less and less until it had been weeks since they had even spoken. It became easier and easier to keep the darker sides of himself from his friend, but with them both heading to college within the week, Dawayne need not worry about that much longer. The only thing Dawayne had left to do was find the means of contacting his father to acquire the necessary funds for schooling. Most of the money his mother received was from his father anyway, which is what enabled her to be the degree of negligent that she was. And with Dawayne attending his father’s Alma Mater, UNC-Chapel Hill, he wasn’t at all worried about acquiring what he needed for school.
For once Dawayne thought his dad may finally pay more attention to him now that he was following in his footsteps, but he also wouldn’t hold his breath, especially with the sudden disappearance of his mother. Dawayne opened the fridge, which was absent of anything green, filled with nothing but bologna, bread, mayo, and a bag of apples. Dawayne grabbed the stuff to make a sandwich and while he slapped together the sad sandwich, again thoughts of his fr
iend Dante came to mind.
They had gone weeks without talking before, but this time was different, this time his best friend had a feminine confidant. A distance certainly grows between us, Dawayne thought. And, now more than ever, was a time of metamorphosis that they both needed, to become who they were meant to be.
With sandwich in tote, he walked to the backyard that had needed some tender loving care for quite some time. But seeing as he was all out of that, he went and sat in his chair under the awning. Dawayne for as long as he had been alive, had been a person who liked to leap before looking and to let the pieces fall where they may.
But with things changing in the way that they were, Dawayne felt the need to grow in his own way, to learn to be more meticulous and plan, like his friend Dante. Acting as he had, giving his thoughts and his actions credence without thinking things through, had to change. And change he would. As the sun’s rays hit his face, Dawayne turned from the light, facing the blue plastic barrel that stood next to his porch.
I wonder how it’s coming along, Dawayne wondered.
With much dense foliage surrounding his back yard, there was no chance of anyone being able to see what Dawayne was up to. So, with eyes blank and empty, he untightened the top, pulling it off. There was a pinkish sludge in it. Some bubbles came to surface, and along with the bubbles arose some deep red sludge. Off to the side of the barrel, something caught his eye. It was a single strand of hair, so he took it and dropped it into the barrel, where it fizzled into nothingness.
“I wish things could have been different mom, but alas, you left me no other option.”
Chapter Eighteen
Dualism
October 2006
It was a beautiful October day. Anora and Dante sat enjoying the Luciano backyard, both reading their tomes. With the pear trees yet to blossom, the azaleas sorted by color, it always put Dante at ease being amidst where he had done some of his hardest work. “Just wait till the pear trees blossom. It’s a sight to behold.”
“I look forward to it,” Anora said shivering, then got up.
“Can you get me some water?”
Dante watched how her long, black hair flowed in the breeze. “Wow, you are beautiful.”
“Looking pretty handsome yourself, big guy.”
Walking past him, she raked her hand across his chest.
In no time at all, she was back with water and a sweater. “Here’s your water, handsome,” Anora said, handing him the glass.
Dante chugged unable to keep his eyes off her as she nestled into her chair.
Feeling his eyes, she turned. She needn’t bother picking up her book, because Dante’s eyes held the only story she wanted to know. His eyes glistened as the sun hit them and, in that moment, she saw the same thing that attracted her to him just over four months ago.
“What is it, Anora? I know something’s churning around in that beautiful brain of yours. Your lips look like levees.”
“Do you remember the day we met?”
Dante chuckled. “Yeah, how could I forget, I passed out in the middle of the museum.”
“That certainly wasn’t your brightest moment, but you got it together and we went on a beautiful first date.”
“We did, didn’t we?”
Anora shook her head, ridding herself of the desire to be sidetracked from her point. “Well, there was something I told you as you lay there on the floor. I grabbed your hand and held on even though we had just met. I could tell you were out of it, but I felt something then that the book I’m reading now describes perfectly.” She spoke of the green book beside her: The Garden of Truth: The Vision and Promise of Sufism. What came from her lips was as timeless as the sands and as boundless as the universe. And, as the universe is theorized to expand year by year, so too did her understanding of the truth.
“A few religions teach of an omnipotent Creator or a Source above all things, and this being is said to have been so lonely it manifested itself into all of the physical and metaphysical realms. So if that’s the case, then all life, even ours, is merrily but a dream.”
“Like the song,” Dante said.
“Just like the song.”
“There are so many names for this Creator, but the name that stuck out the last time I read the Quran was Beloved. And the night before I came to the museum, I dreamt that I was asking this radiating light without a face to meet an extension of it, a man that I may call Beloved.” Anora stopped. “So, what do you think?”
“Well, we both know how that went. Secondly, get over here, Beloved.”
Together they hugged, feeling safe in each other's arms until Anora wanted to borrow some sugar.
Dante tempered the fires that burned, coming up for air.
“You know that reminds me of how the Buddhists think.” Dante let go and walked to the top of the stairs overseeing their back yard and sat down.
Anora sat beside him.
“I remember hearing a Hindu guru talk about how the Spirit of the Creator in all of us is like that of an actor, getting absorbed in the role it plays while tethered to a physical body.”
“I like the idea of our bodies tethering,” Anora said.
Dante closed his eyes, contemplating the interconnectedness, and the nature of duality. Soon, he began seeing fractals folding into themselves, and pressure built in his forehead.
Anora grabbed his hand, and the fractals faded.
“Where were you?” she asked.
“It felt like I was leaving my body.”
“Next time, let me know. I might be able to help guide you as my uncle did with me. Tread lightly.”
Dante sensed the seriousness in her voice. After all, there were many times where Dante was powerless in the midst of his dreams. He knew her words needed to be heeded and only time would tell what dangers were on the edge of his periphery.
“Yeah, I have a lot to learn my love. You want to read some more while it’s still quiet?”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Anora said, not wasting a second. Dante sat down and gathered his tome, The Dhammapada, a book he could only compare to his favorite, the Tao Te Ching. Both had short sonnets with a depth that could be applied toward any sentient being’s way of life. And both spoke through poetic parable of how to have perspective in the moment.
The door to the house flung open.
“Amy, be more gentle on the door!” George bellowed, lugging in the groceries.
“Sorry, Dad!”
Amy ran past Dante and hopped into Anora’s lap.
“I love you so much, Anora.”
“Aww, I love you, too, Amy.”
With a smirk, Amy turned to Dante. “Oh, and Dad wants you to help him in with the groceries.”
Dante did what was required of him, then looked out the window to see Amy playing with Anora’s hair. Both of them had massive smiles upon their face. Anora was the sister Amy had always wanted.
He wanted to be out there enjoying more time with his love, but he looked at her like a flower. And, like a flower, once plucked or possessed, it would wither and die.
“They’re something, aren’t they, son?”
“Yeah…I’m going to marry her one day.”
“You’d be a fool not to.”
• • •
Like Dante, Dawayne too loved the serenity and familiarity of home. Just as he had hoped, his dad kept his distance while fulfilling his duties as a father. Week after week Dawayne checked the mail in anticipation of the checks that grew larger with each passing week.
This week was no different as he waited for the mailman to make his rounds. He sifted through ads for oil changes and cheap burgers to find a letter from his father, Dr. Alby Long, but the return address this time was a P.O. Box that he hadn’t seen before.
It had been more than a decade since he had seen his father but, suffice it to say, the large checks would continue to make the years pass by as they had.
Dawayne now had the fortune of being able to pay for his books
without compiling a reading list and giving it to his mother first. For the first time in his life, he could say that he could have anything his heart desired. He had been put on the fast-track in school and had been permitted by his Anatomy professor to work on cadavers. Dawayne even went as far as to request a few of his professors give him a test, so that he could receive credit for the course, but all of them denied him. Dawayne didn’t care about what was fair to the other students. He cared only about not wasting his time, and, as far as he was concerned, this was his time.
Dawayne now cared more about his appearance than he ever had before. Not that he was ever disheveled, but with the accessibility he now had to money, Dawayne strutted with more confidence.
Some days he wore suits to school, but he was still the same oblivious young man, not noticing or caring about the many looks he received from the fairer sex.
So, with the largest check to date, he walked back to the porch, nestled back into his chair, and picked up his journal. Even though he hadn’t made an entry in it for many weeks, he picked up where he left off.
October 6, 2006
Ahh, another day has passed, and I feel for once I can breathe easier than I had, knowing my mother is gone. She’ll never bother me again, or my father for that matter.
Her not-so-gentleman callers have been leaving incessant messages not knowing of her whereabouts. And why should I bother responding when I know the only reason they are so persistent, was due to their member remaining in its hardened state? Never did they show romanticism to my mother as I’ve seen George and Dante show their partners.
They would just show up without me being made privy and almost every time, immediately upon arrival, they would abscond upstairs. Then, not so secretly, would they moan until there wasn’t a sound. Disgusting.... But none the less her body is no more and is now returned to the Earth from whence it came. I will never forgive her. I will never forget. But if my father keeps helping me to the degree with which he has, then I have no option than to let bygones remain as they are. Not that I would have a choice. For yet, again, my father attempts to elude me by utilizing another address.
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