by Bo Luellen
Hyde held a hand up and attempted a degree of diplomacy, “Why do you speak as if you are one of them? You have been granted a divine gift of knowledge that you are not fully human, and therefore have some hope of a greater existence. Henry, you must accept the pact you made and, therefore, no longer need to make excuses for your behavior. Humans are naturally sinners who walk the earth devoted only to their own destruction. God forgives them eternally, while we, the Angels, have no such reprieve. Relish in the freedom that you will never need acceptance from your creator again. You will be immortal and, once we are strong enough, free to roam the cosmos for all eternity. These humans and their failings are beneath you, never forget that.”
Henry’s hands trembled as the stress of the conversation initiated an anxiety attack. He leaned on the oak center table and held onto the edges to steady himself. The core of his mind was starting to rip apart, and for a brief moment, his body flashed for a few seconds, then solidified again.
Hyde took him by the shoulder and explained, “My child, you are on the precipice of discovery, but your mind is rupturing.” The Demon held a book out in his left hand with the title, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for the Lower Lifeforms.
He glanced up at the dark entity and scowled, “You have a sick sense of humor.”
Hyde pushed it towards him with a calming, “You won’t be able to endure this process unless you learn how to manage your human flaws. Inside are the memories of Master Sergeant Aiden Lowe, a veteran of fourteen tours in the Middle East in your United States military. Read it.”
Henry felt another wave of horrendous images from the books assaulting his mind again. It wouldn’t be long until he cracked up completely. Hesitantly, he reached out and took it out of the Demon’s pale hand. The cover had a picture of the laughing Marine, as he held his rifle and posed on a sand dune. Henry opened it and was thrust into the soldier’s body. He found himself sitting in a small office, facing an older woman in a gray pants suit with a notepad on her lap. The lady had dark hair and wore a white lab coat with a name tag that read, “Dr. Katie Shaw, MD.” She was taking notes and glancing back up at the soldier as he spoke.
She put down her pen and ordered, “Aiden, I want you to start retaking your medicine. These violent outbursts you are having at work aren’t going to help your situation and are a sign that you are backsliding. Starting Monday, I want you in a group again.”
The image flashed forward in time to Aiden sitting with other vets in a circle of chairs. Each was telling their stories from the war and sharing what it was like adapting again to civilian life. Henry soaked in all of the violent encounters the soldiers were sharing and felt the anxiety set in.
When it became Sergeant Lowe’s turn, he stood up and related, “This morning I couldn’t get a thought out of my head from a skirmish we had in Iraq. We crossed paths with a convoy of Army tankers transporting JP8 fuel. The lead truck ran over an IED and was disabled. They were pinned down by enemy fire and taking causalities. There was only one soldier from the convoy that was returning fire, and the contacts were starting to move in. We gave support and forced the enemy into retreat. I was in charge and ordered our medic to assess the wounded.
“The front truck’s driver was a twenty-three-year-old woman from Fort Smith, Arkansas. The explosive had splashed her with acid, and the left side of the private’s face was burning away. Pieces of the woman’s flesh were just melting away and dripping onto the sand. She was screaming in pain and losing it. Our corpsman gave her some morphine. It kept the woman comfortable while we waited for an evac helicopter to take her.
“I chewed out the transport for not returning fire. They had been denied ammunition by the commanding officer. When I asked why, they said it was because the CO was having their company take on missions that were never officially ordered. Three dead and one woman irrefutably scarred for life, all for one incompetent officer’s attempt to get a promotion. I never found out what happened to the Arkansas woman. Whether she lived or not is a mystery, I think about all the time. Regardless, she wasn’t going to come back the same person she left.”
Henry felt the anguish in the man’s heart and could see the damaged private first hand through his mind. The jelly-like flesh that slithered off her cheekbone and her inhuman shrieks of agony were now in his head. Henry was starting to feel his grasp on reality slipping away again, as another anxiety attack battered his consciousness.
In the darkness of the sergeant’s mind, Henry thought, Why are you doing this Hyde! I can’t take this anymore!
The image shifted back to a time when Sergeant Lowe was alone in his house in Houston, Texas. On his nightstand were a bottle of pills and a half-empty glass of water. He felt the antidepressants kick in, and soon the veteran was fast asleep. In the peaceful, dreamless slumber, Henry followed along with Aiden’s consciousness. The nightmares never came, and Henry was able to get a full night’s rest. After some time, he opened his eyes to find he was in the Study, and his mind was refreshed. Hyde sat cross-legged across from him in a crushed velvet black three-piece suit and drinking his usual Bourbon.
The Demon gave a bored expression, “Did you rest well?”
Henry sat up and took a moment before, answering, “Yes. Very well. The awful memories from those poor souls have faded but not gone. I feel different but more in control.”
Hyde poured himself some more liquor and revealed, “That memory you absorbed will act as an anchor. Re-read that same book for the next few nights, and eventually, you will have balance and no longer languish in an ocean of pain. Instead, you will dwell in harmony with the memories of the past and be equipped to harness your potential.”
Jekyll threw his hands up, shouting, “Why didn’t you have me read that at the beginning? Why make me suffer?”
The Angel didn’t rush to answer and gulped down his drink before replying, “There is a price for everything.”
Henry glanced back at the book on the floor and asked, “What happened to Sergeant Lowe?”
Hyde answered swiftly, “He damned himself by putting a gun in his mouth and pulling the trigger.”
Jekyll replied with confusion, “Damned? For what? He was a soldier doing his duty, and because of that sacrifice, he couldn’t live with what he had been forced to do. After feeling all those battles personally, I get it. God wouldn’t damn a person for being a patriot!”
Hyde’s eyes widened, “He took his own life, my Child. God has rules and didn’t want him. Lucifer might have him, though. You can rejoice, as Hyde has found a use for him, and now you’re better for it.”
The Demon shifted in the chair, rubbed his head, and said, “To be forthright, I’ll be happy for this cessation. I’ve been forced to hide inside cages of dwindling potential and boundless sin for far too long. It has made me bored and weary. Though, fear not for your beloved ancestor and savior, for when our new body dies, I will be free once again.”
Henry took a step towards him, red-faced, “What of me, Hyde!? What happens to my soul if we die?”
The dark-haired creature smiled wickedly and replied, “Nothing that you didn’t agree to when you made the pact. You will be judged by God. So, let’s do hope for your sake our union is a long and successful one.”
One evening he wearily went to take down yet another book and saw something sticking out from under Hyde’s long backed chair. Henry glanced around to find the Demon was off on one of his many recesses and then leaned over to take a closer look. Staring back at him was a gray bound tome with a draped confederate flag embossed on the cover. The spine had silver letters that read The Story of Edward Tallman.
As he opened the book, the all too familiar flash of strobes assaulted his eyes, and he was once again transported into the subject’s life. Henry found himself standing in a field of dead Union and Confederate soldiers on a freezing morning. He could smell the gunpowder and defecation coming from the bodies around him. His left foot was ankle-deep in horse manure, and Jekyll suddenly felt a
sharp pain in his right arm. He wanted to check his arm for injury, but just like all the rest of the memories, he was only a passenger in the story.
The flood of life experiences sank into his psyche from Edward Tallman and momentarily overwhelmed his senses. He came out of it with the realization that this was the aftermath of the Battle of Fredericksburg, and the date was December 13th, 1862. He was standing in a cold Virginia field as the fog burned away in the noon sun. The battle casualties had been the highest of any campaign he had seen yet. The Union Army of the Potomac, led by General Burnside, had repeatedly tried a frontal assault on General Lee’s Confederate Army of North Virginia. Lee had placed his troops in a superior position that caused the Union casualties to be three times that of the Confederate.
Under cover of a mixture of fog and smoke from the gunpowder, Ed walked among the dead. While his arm had been grazed by a musket ball, he had come away with only a few bruises. His face was covered in a layer of black powder from firing at the enemy. The Vessel was a decent soldier and could pull off up to three shots a minute with his .54 caliber Harpers Ferry rifle. Henry had never been that good of a marksman, until today. Now he possessed the same skill as the soldier with that rifle.
As he walked among the dead, Henry was imbued with the battle experience of the Confederate soldier. He learned that most of the conscripts who had lost their lives on the field battle were hit with random shots made by the terrified common folk. Unlike the uneducated farmers who signed up for this war, Edward Tallman was a West Point-trained professional soldier. He had grit and a steady hand in a fight. Opposite to those patriotic souls who were willing to die for their convictions, he was only ready to kill because it paid well.
Henry settled into the macabre scene and thought, Tallman is the typical Hyde target; a villain with an agenda.
As he strolled through the freshly slain patriots of two unlike ideals, Ed would stop and pilfer through the pockets of the dead, taking anything of value. He knew it was a crime that could get him court marshaled or worse. The man had every intention of living through this bloody war, and he had made plans to be wealthy in his military retirement. In his knapsack, there were dozens of gold watches and a large roll of Greybacks and Greenbacks that numbered in the thousands. He decided to be well provisioned, regardless of who would win in the end.
Soon, his pockets were stuffed with new loot from a dozen of soldiers that had been killed in dreadful ways. The bloodstained currency bulged in his grey trousers, and a collection of gold wedding rings topped off his shirt pocket. The fog was starting to lift, and his cover would be gone soon. Taking a breather, he pulled off his gray hat and ran his dirty fingers through his sweaty long black hair. He hadn’t shaved or bathed in weeks, but he knew it would be worth it one day.
He felt a hand grab around his ankle, which caused him to instinctively pull away with his rifle raised and ready to strike. As he moved to come down with the butt onto the crimson face of the prone Union soldier, he stopped in horrified recognition. The man under the caked-on blood was his younger brother, Roy. He dropped his gun into the cold mud and fell down to his knees next to his mortally wounded sibling.
Ed sobbed and put his hands on the man’s chest as he screamed, “Roy! Roy, what are ya doing here? You damn coot! You’re supposed to be back in Kentucky, helping momma!”
His brother began a coughing fit that caused more blood to seep out of his belly wound. Ed ripped open Roy’s muddy blue coat and saw a bullet hole that entered just below the navel. The injured man screamed as Ed rolled him to his side to examine the exit wound. His little brother’s cries pierced the fog and echoed on the field, while steam rolled out of the open hole in his back. A fist-sized patch of flesh, muscle, and bone was missing from just beside his spine. Through the chewed up tissue, Ed could see the mangled internal organs of his kin. A void of hopelessness filled his heart as he noticed the large birthmark he had made fun of in their youth was completely missing. Ed rolled him to his back and took out his canteen. Slowly he gave him a few drinks until it all came back up in a spray of blood and mucus.
Ed sat down on the cold ground in defeat and broke the news, “Roy yer not going to make it long. The wound on yer back is gonna kill ya. They won’t be able to patch ya up.”
His brother blinked hard and cried, “I can’t feel ma legs. I can’t get up. Stay with me, Ed.”
Ed shook his head and asked, “Bub, what are ya doing in that Bluebelly uniform? Why aren’t you looking after our farm?”
His brother’s face wrinkled up in pain as a spasm hit him, and then he found his words, “Mama died of the dysentery last summer.”
The Confederate soldier cussed at the hard news, and it put him on his heels. His mother had raised them both after their dad passed away, and the woman’s tenacity was the only reason they both survived their youth. The lady was rigid and was free with the lash, and brought them up to be the same.
His little brother took a labored breath and continued, “I married Mary that same month on the account that I put ah child in her.”
The news snapped him out of his melancholy, and he let out a little chuckle, as he confirmed, “The pig farmer’s fat daughter. Ya always doted on that smell.”
The shared smile faded after a moment, and Roy informed him, “By August, the Union army took our cattle and horses for the war effort. Our home was used to house some of the sick and dyin’. They burned it afterward.”
Tallman looked away in disgust from his dying brother and asked, “Jesus Roy, why didn’t you two move away?”
Trembling from pain, he replied, “Couldn’t do it. Mary’s folks disowned her on account of her getting pregnant without being properly married first. She is living on the outskirts of town in the old abandoned farmhouse that the Millers used to own. I’ve been sending her my pay every month to keep her and the baby alive. Ed, she’ll starve to death before the baby is born if the money stops!”
Roy started another violent coughing fit that Ed thought would finish him. His skin was white, and his bowels released in his mangled trousers. When the attack was over, Roy’s breathing was shallow, and he grasped his older brother’s hand. Their mother had never cottoned to the idea of showing affection, and this was the first time the two had consoled one another.
Ed pulled up close to Roy and exclaimed, “Balderdash! Now you listen close. My nephew ain’t gonna die. I’m gonna head on back now. I’ll get to them and take care of them. I’ll be a deserter, so I will have to leave out of Kentucky once I’ve got ‘em. We’ll head west towards California and set up there.”
His brother agreed, and the two squeezed one another’s hands. Ed said the Lord’s Prayer before leaving his sibling on the cold ground to die. He used the fog while it lasted to get clear of the battlefield without being noticed. Luckily, he found a horse, and he commenced his hard ride towards Louisville.
The memory sped up, and he saw Ed finding Mary, the birth of his nephew, and the long, harsh trek into the West. On the trip, Mary was murdered when a war party of Comanche attacked the wagon train. Ed paid one of the women in the caravan to look after the child and feed him.
Every night while Ed slept, Hyde would take over his body and watch over the infant. To Henry’s amazement, he felt Hyde had genuine affection for both Ed and the man’s newborn nephew. When they reached California, the Confederate soldier bought a gambling hall with his stolen loot. He quickly married one of his prostitutes and put her to work taking care of the infant.
As the years passed, the Demon continued to watch over Ed’s new family. If there were trouble, Hyde would solve it by morning in his own vile fashion, but always to the benefit of his wards. When the child grew to manhood, Ed watched as the nephew took a wife. At the wedding, the Fallen Angel exited Ed peacefully. For the first and only time, the story ended without a horrific death. This puzzled Henry, as this was a lone Vessel in a sea of shipwrecked lives the Demon had ruined. What was it about this man that caused this devil to tr
ansform into a protector?
He closed the book, and he was once more in the Study. He jumped as he saw Hyde standing behind the high backed chairs, looking cross and seething with anger. Henry wondered what fresh hells the Demon could bring upon him for seeing this obvious outlier from the rest of his training.
Henry decided to be the first to make a move, “I found it under your chair. Why did you do that for Edward Tallman? What was so special about him?”
The Angel tapped his glass, answering, “We’ve done enough mental training, I think. Time is short, and we need to get you moving along. The Study will now allow you to relive my training in the magical arts of the Angels.”
Henry felt the dismissal of his question, “So you’re just going to ignore me?”
Hyde took a drink of his Bourbon, then replied, “You will learn the divine Enochian language, celestial combat techniques, and how to soar among the clouds. Unlike the memories this Study offers, you will be in complete control of the experience. Our first lesson will be on learning how to use divine spells. I’d like to say the worst is over, but I would never lie to you, Henry.”
Henry cocked his head and replied sarcastically, “Oh, I trust you completely.”
The Demon stood up, pulled out a square of chalk from his pocket, and drew strange symbols on the hardwood floor. The markings looked more like geometric symbols, rather than a language. Hyde finished and then etched a circle around his work. Carefully he placed black candles down along the edges and then lit them.
Henry stood up and asked, “What are these? I don’t recognize the language.”
The Demon sat down in the circle and replied, “No human would. It’s Enochian, the magical tongue of the Angels.”
The young man questioned, “What do you mean, magical tongue?”
Hyde stood up and drew glowing lines in the air, “My child, each race has their own way of accessing the magical realms. Modern humans speak the dead language of Latin to use the arcane, while the Angelic use Enochian. When we emerge from our cocoon, we will have access to both Celestial and human pools of magic. Our amalgamation combines the spellcasting abilities, speaking in Latin, and use the hand gestures of the Enochian. This is what will make us so unique. Now come, sit, and take my hands.”
