by Lee, Summer
“That is not what I mean. Where did it come from?”
“The Bible,” said the announcer. “The Bible says the moon will turn to blood in the last days.”
Chapter Fifteen
September 25th, 11:43 p.m.
Eric sat on the floor in the windowless room that Isabella kept him in. He studied the walls for any kind of opening. Nothing was within his realm of possibility to get out. He may never reunite with his sister.
Isabella had prepared well for his kidnapping. She had thought of everything that might help him escape. Nothing was in his reach.
He was fed whenever he worked with Isabella, which he did not like to do. In the beginning, he had no need to question why he was abducted. Instead, he learned to pray. “God, help me get out of here.”
Since he was being ignored, he decided to start working his way out. He tried very hard to internalize his feeling of hatred and frustration. They wouldn’t see that they were breaking him, which is what they wanted. Actually, the opposite became true.
His favorite guard in his prison was a man called Jalen. He had cut out a newspaper article and slipped it in for Eric to read. The sticky note on it read, “Look at this.”
Eric read, “People around the world are not star gazing. They are moon gazing tonight. This is to be the third blood moon of four. The first blood moon in this series happened on the night of April 14 in 2014. The second blood moon eclipse is on October 7. This third one will be visible over most of North America. Bible students report that this is an unusually amazing eclipse. The study shows an eclipse at 4:44 in the morning, for the duration of 4.44 seconds. The Seal of the Lord is number 444. Their are four angels holding back the four winds in four corners of the Earth. The woman who has the moon under her feet has a crown with 12 stars; that equals 444. This is a warning to pay attention to these repeats of the number four. It may bring terrible destruction on the Earth.”
This was too big for Eric. He called upon the only friend he had left, since his sister was out of the picture.
“Hi, God. It’s me again. I really hate to bother You again. I know You’re a busy guy…uh…spirit. I don’t know if You’ve even heard my prayers or You’re just ignoring me. I kind of have a feeling that You don’t do that. Of what I’ve heard, You are a pretty kind… spirit. I’ve asked for a lot of things for myself since I got captured. I didn’t think I was asking too much. Decent food. An actual bed to sleep in, instead of the floor. A means of escape. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I think I’m starting to get You. I mean, how You work. You know, operate. You’ve been doing this a long time and I don’t think You like the whole selfish thing. I think You’re all about the sacrifice for my brother, or in this case, sister. Isn’t there a scripture about if a person gives up his life for someone else, they get blessings from heaven? Or is it all about Jesus dying in our place? Something like that, anyway. I’ve just about lost hope of Sybil finding me. I’m trying to stay positive, but it’s not easy. You know? In fact it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to go through. I know I don’t have anything to do with the Blood Moon. The dreams were crazy. I just want to go back and be with my sister, Sybil.”
* * *
Sybil believed that if she would find Isabella, she would find Eric. She had spent the past several days on the hunt for Isabella and any of her known associates. With the help of the fire marshal and some of her father’s police connections, she narrowed down possible affiliations.
She even went so far as to entertain the notion of hiring a private detective, but she didn’t have the money. She wasn’t about to ask for handouts for something that personal. Sybil would rather become a detective than to spend the money to hire one. That was pretty much what she did.
As adamant as the police and fire marshall Lindser were about supplying any financial backing, her stubbornness wouldn’t allow it. She told no one that the biggest reason she wouldn’t accept that kind of assistance, was because she felt responsible for Eric’s disappearance.
After all, she was the one who took him to see Isabella. So she would find him—Sybil would find her brother.
Chapter Sixteen
October 8th, 2:02 p.m.
The Second Tetrad
Sybil was awakened when the radio alarm blasted the news. “Now for the news break,” said the announcer. “A lunar eclipse was seen over Portland, Oregon in the early morning hours. An image of the moon was captured by local television stations. If you missed it, you can watch it on TV and join the many around the world who enjoyed it. Unlike solar eclipses, lunar eclipses are safe to view with the naked eye and don’t require special filters.
“For those of you that slept through the last red moon, I’ll give an explanation. We are in the midst of four blood moons in a row. This is known as a Tetrad. Blood moons will continue to sweep the night sky until September 27, next year.
“The two blood moons that we have seen so far takes us only halfway through the series. Two more blood moons are coming. I think everybody knows now that scientists call it a Tetrad. The series is occurring in roughly six-month intervals. April 4, next year, is the succeeding one, and the last will appear on September 28, 2015. Some ignore this unusual phenomena by saying blood moons are common.”
Oh great! I missed this one. Hope it did not hurt Eric! I need to find him.
Sybil had become paranoid about getting help from anyone she didn’t know. It was about a week and a half until the next Blood Moon and she needed help of the supernatural kind. That is what she looked for when searching the Internet.
Managing to track down a supposed expert on celestial bodies, with specifics to the Blood Moons, she followed a lone trail. One person would refer her to another. That one to yet another. It was a long path that led her down a dark alley in Portland’s bad side of town. She tried to be cautious and safe. It dead-ended at an empty house.
She had to let the blood moons go until she found her brother. She was willing to follow any lead she’d get.
Getting a strange call to meet someone unusual, she promised the person to go alone to a location around midnight. There she was to get information about Eric. A chill was in the air and the cold breeze didn’t help. She wore Eric’s gray cotton jacket with a hoodie. The hoodie covered her head and face perfectly. It was extremely oversized for her, but it concealed her feminine features sufficiently. She also wore baggy sweat pants and her tennis shoes.
There was one street light in the alley where she was supposed to go. No one was there. She saw a few rats and heard obnoxious laughter coming from… somewhere. That made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She hoped Eric would be brought to the location, so she could see him—just so she knew he was alive.
She leaned against an old brick wall and shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. She lowered her head, until her face was practically invisible. Standing alone and terrified, she waited. The deadline passed and no one came.
Sybil could barely see out of the hoodie, as she glanced back and forth, looking for any sign of the person she was supposed to be meeting. Suddenly, she realized she also needed to be on the lookout for signs of trouble. Maybe it was a trap. That was scary. Her bottom lip quivered, as she realized she would never be out there if it wasn’t for Eric. She knew he was somehow the key to understanding the Blood Moons. She didn’t know how, but she felt that Isabella wanted his dreams to be deciphered.
But why was Sybil asked to stand out here alone? How was she part of the solution? She was the one who found Isabella in the first place. Perhaps her having the guts to put her life on the line was all they needed. The love she had for Eric brought her to this location. Perhaps this step of faith would help the enemy decrypt the secret found in Eric’s dream.
She knew that Isabella surmised the same.
* * *
12:37 a.m.
Sybil assumed she had been lied to. Her trust level was shot. But then she heard several voices laughing and talking loudly who were hea
ded her way. She turned and looked in the direction of the voices as her heart stopped. Maybe it is just a joke. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
She turned and walked slowly down the way she originally entered the alley. The voices were behind her this time, but they were getting louder. Not turning back, she heard footsteps in the gravel, and then all of a sudden, the voices went silent.
Fear completely engulfed Sybil as she went against her better judgment to see who it was.
Her breathing became shallow, as her heart raced. Then she heard the sound she feared she would hear.
Several pairs of footsteps running toward her. She knew she had no choice but to follow suit and run like the dickens, being thankful she kept in shape. Having absolutely no idea on what the outcome of a dangerous encounter would be, she pushed her hoodie down to the back of her neck. This gave her less wind resistance, as she ran for her life. She was still followed, but not overtaken.
The chilled Portland air numbed her face and turned her nose a very Rudolph shade of red. Hopefully, it would not light up. That was the last thing on her mind as she controlled her breathing and kept running.
Once out of the alley, she decided to run on the street, because she didn’t know if there might be anything obstructing her on the sidewalk. Realizing it gave her pursuers a better view of her, even in the dark, she had to pick the path of least resistance.
Breathing through her nose became not only difficult, but painful as well. Yet she felt her life depended on it. She didn’t have time to realize that she was deceived again. All she could think about was getting back to her nice, warm room… without people chasing her.
What did Eric have to do with this strange event? Possibly nothing. Maybe someone wanted to hurt her this time.
Her chest burned, as if it were on fire, so she grabbed a stop sign to slow herself down just enough to make her turn onto another street. Unfortunately, that street was much darker. The streetlight was all the way at the other end.
She glanced at each house as she went by, but there were no lights on at all. Not even a porch light. That was so odd to Sybil that she expected to be shot down.
She was concentrating on her pursuers, as well as studying the mystery of the house lights being off, when she ran into what felt like a brick wall. She hit her head hard.
Her head was spinning, as she helplessly dropped to the ground. Her vision was blurred, but she saw that her pursuers had caught up with her. They were chattering, but she could not understand. The surrounding voices sounded as if they were reminiscent of talking through a coffee can.
Unable to stand, she strained to stay conscious. Her body was in so much pain that she knew she was a dead woman, but at least she would be able to know who killed her.
She had no choice, but to succumb to the darkness and the pursuers. Before she completely passed out, she was able to hear a man’s voice.
“Take her inside. We don’t want to be gettin’ any trouble from this one. Yeah?”
The voice was deep, rough, and Jamaican.
She had heard it before.
* * *
Alone and missing Sybil, Eric spent time being depressed. He did not understand his place in the universe. Remembering the last dream, he knew something big was coming. But he did not know what or when. Alone, he sat in a dark corner and waited for just a piece of bread or a bowl of cream of wheat.
The shed began to shake and vibrate. Eric saw the red rays of the blood moon shine through the cracks in the wall. Nothing spectacular seemed to be happening. “This is the second blood moon,” he said to no one. “I am still alive.”
Chapter Seventeen
October 28th, 2:14 a.m.
One year to go—almost
Sybil woke from her forced nap with a groan. Her head was throbbing. She subconsciously placed her hand on her head, and she felt a wet rag had been placed on her forehead.
“What in the name of common sense?” she exclaimed, as she sat up. The rag fell into her lap. She found herself stretched out on a military cot with a scratchy military blanket covering her. The rag was old but clean.
She looked around the tiny room, shocked that she was still breathing. Her jacket had been removed and that was all. She saw it hanging over a wicker chair sitting in the corner. It was folded neatly. She had not been raped.
There was an old rolltop desk pushed up against the furthest wall. On top of the desk were papers and some lit candles that were giving off a blue glow. It was the only light in the room. The wicker chair was in front of the desk.
She saw a small half-moon shaped window close to the ceiling and knew that she was in a basement.
The only other items in the basement were a door to what she supposed to be a bathroom and more astrological charts and maps of the stars than she had ever seen in her life. They covered every wall.
“Good. You’re up,” said the male.
She was so mesmerized with where she was, that she didn’t notice the Jamaican accent immediately. Spinning around with a suitable amount of trepidation, she saw a very tall and very thin black man, with the widest smile she had ever seen.
He wore a button up navy polo shirt, blue jeans and worn out sandals. He was bald with a tattoo of a cross behind his right ear and a tattoo of an elderly woman behind his left ear. The tattoos had to have been no more than about three inches each. He had huge hands which showed the wear of someone who was familiar with manual labor most of his life.
His hazel eyes softened what could have been harder features, in spite of his smile. There was an unusual calmness about him. She had seen this man before.
“Hello dere, miss,” he said, as he stepped back. “Do you need me to put some water on da rag? It should be pretty well dry by now. S’up to you.”
“Whatever.” She slowly got off of the cot, while holding her head with one hand. Standing, staring, with her mouth open, she said to the gentle giant. “You… you’re not going to kill me?”
He let out a boisterous laugh, that echoed throughout the small basement. “Oh, heavens no. I never had no intentions of harmin’ you. I do know ma boys gave you a fright. Yeah?”
Her fear turned to anger. “Those men chasing me? They were yours?”
“Technically, I don’t really own dem,” he returned with a chuckle. “They share my philosophy. I have te apologize for da way I got ya’ here. You have to understand that trust is not something I give out freely.”
Sybil found it hard to contain her smirk. “You don’t trust me?”
She watched as he headed for the wooden steps leading up to the ground level of the house. She missed seeing the steps before. It was beginning to look familiar. “Who are you that you would scare me to death just to see if I was trustworthy?”
“I don’t get why some people have a need to repeat tings, in order the comprehend dem. I’m going to get some herbal tea. Ma mama makes the best honeysuckle and bourbon tea in Portland. Want some?”
She stood with her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll take a cup if you answer me one question. Well, I have several, but one will do for now.”
“Just name it,” he replied.
“Is your name Solomon Dancer?” she asked while watching his eyes for any sign of a lie.
He bowed his head slightly. “At your service, miss. I thought ye’d never ask.”
* * *
Eric was suffering as he was kept in the old sun-blackened shack. Having chills, he started to shake. He wrapped in the ragged blanket they left for him, trying to get warm. He had no idea what day of the week it was or what time during the day. He felt fearful and frustrated. “God? I don’t know how much more I can deal with this stuff. Look at me. Am I getting out of this alive or not?”
He could have sworn he heard an evil voice say, “no.”
He went from having chills to having hot flashes. He threw the blanket off and lay on the cement floor, which was usually cold. Now it was too hot to sleep on. Standing up, he walked around t
he room, wondering if he would die soon. His eyelids felt heavy and his vision became blurry, as he collapsed to the floor. The best he could do was rest and pray to see Sybil soon.
Chapter Eighteen
November 1st
Sybil sat in the wicker chair with a big fluffy pillow on the seat. She sipped her tea quietly, wrinkling her nose. “Mm-m.”
“Honeysuckle and bourbon.”
“Good.”
Solomon laughed. “S’not for everyone, Miss Sybil. An acquired taste for sure.”
“It tastes healthy,” she said, pausing. “You know you scared me silly. I hope you can trust me now and never do that again.”
He grinned. “Maybe I can.”
“I believe you’ve passed my test of trust,” she said, confidently. “You need to know this. The last person I trusted kidnapped my brother. We need to trust each other.”
His smile vanished. “I know. I am sorry for that. I have been betrayed myself many times before, so I came up with my plan to see how badly you missed your brother. Not a very smart one, I’m afraid.”
She smirked. “If it was meant to scare the heck out of me, then it worked.”
His serious side emerged again, as quickly as it did before. “We must hurry if we want te save your brother. S’good you came te me when you did. Der is a short time before the next Blood Moon and Isabella would use your brother’s dreams for her own wicked use.”
Sybil stood up and stretched. “I know. I just don’t know what she has planned yet.”
He nodded. “We’ll find out together. I hope you’re not sleepy, because we have a long night ahead of us.”
“I’ll do my best. I want to rescue Eric.”
“Sybil?”
“Yes?”
“My mom is a prophet. She has something to say to you. You’ll find it helpful.”
