Searching for the Enemies

by R. J. GREEN

  In first class he sat at the right side of the plane. He was a well built fellow, about mid-forties, sporting a fine designer suit. He had Brown eyes, dark hair with a slight trace of grey. He ripped off his jacket and flung it across his lap, tugged on his tie, checked his watch several times. Sigh. Mullson sneaked a glance at a white fellow wearing a priest outfit that sat next to him.

  The man in the priest outfit is Father Andrew, mid-sixties, clean shaven. His hands rattled as he read a section from an old textbook resting in his lap. His voice lingered in his head, “When the soul becomes separate, and the mind gets crisscrossed…” He squinted at Detective Mullson and could have sworn he saw an image of a skeleton. Father Andrew wanted to make sure he was not hallucinating. For in his living days he’d seen it all. Sweat splattered over his forehead. Rubbing his eyes while shaking the thoughts from his head, he spotted a black gentleman.

  “Are you okay Father?” said Detective Mullson, with a light Jamaican accent.

  “Yes, and you,” Father Andrew replied, with an English accent.

  “I guess I am,” Mullson sounding a bit more confident.

  “This is just the beginning, Mr. Mullson,” Father Andrew whispered.

  Astonishment gleamed across Mullson’s face. He was quite sure he hadn’t told anyone his name, especially when on mission to Africa. In his line of duty he’d learned to trust not a soul.

  “Have we met before?” he asked.

  “Just keep yer guards up,” Father Andrew warned.

  “Is this a curse of some sort?” said Detective Mullson, with a broad smile.

  At the back of the plane a deranged man got up from his seat and began to run about screaming.

  “I’m not crazy!” he said. “Do I look crazy?”

  A drop dead gorgeous flight attendant, Asian, about mid-twenties, hurried towards the ranting man. Her name-tag read: NINA.

  “Sir, please calm, everything’s gonna be alright.”

  In first class, Mullson braced against his seat and reclined it to help release the discomfort along his spine.

  “You look rather familiar,” he said to Father Andrew, after his detective senses tickled. “Could have sworn I spotted you in Bangui.”

  Father Andrew eyes widened, a grin finally shot across his pale face.

  “You're the only one who noticed,” he whispered.

  A white couple in their mid-sixties sat directly across from Mullson. Mrs. Jeft, a short rosy cheeked lady, loved a good gossip. Mr. Jeft, who towered over six feet and five inches, warned her about being nosy, for she always gets stressed over other folks business, but that didn’t stop her from eavesdropping on Mullson’s conversation. She slid on her glasses then peeped towards Mullson, an unpleasant look overshadowed her rosy cheeks. She took off her glasses, cleaned the lens in her coat, and slid them on for the fifth time. Still she couldn’t figure who Mullson was talking to. She blamed the decades for her withering sight, now her mind was racing more than ever, her head pounded.

  Detective Mullson, with what appeared to be blood trickling from his eyes, extended his hand toward Father Andrew.

  “By the way, my name is Trevor Mullson,” he said. They shook hands. “Never got the chance to formally introduce myself,” Mullson continued.

  “You’re the one,” a shivering Father Andrew uttered, before falling into a trance.

  Forty years earlier, outside of a hospital in Montego Bay, Jamaica, after emerging from behind a cloud, the moon was glowing like a red hot charcoal. Two stars hovering above the hospital were painful for the naked eyes to view. The sounds of insects, now flattened by the minute, was somewhat unusual for this part of the country. Only the whispering of cats painted the backdrop, almost as if night stood still as something lurked in the darkness. The ferocious mongrels habitually scavenging the parking lot were nowhere to be found.

  Five men in the shadows, wearing matching ankle-length coats over their black suits, hopped off their motorcycles and scurried toward the hospital entrance. One of the fellows braced against the door forcing it open. They entered the hospital. The beasts were unleashed. The power of their bare hand was too much for any human being, for what they did they knew it had pierced the heart of heaven. Within the grasp of their palms they preyed upon everyone in their path. The body parts of pregnant women, old folks, doctors, and nurses scattered on the floor, their lives snatched away like well-fed bears playing with salmon.

  The men scanned rooms, bathrooms, and the kitchen. They entered a darkroom. When their eyes adjusted they spotted a bed at the center of the room, a girl crumpled in bed groaning in agony. That didn’t deter them from inflicting more pain. The girl screamed until her voice faded, gagging for air until her lungs collapsed. Two of the men moved towards an open window at the far side of the room. They stared at a car parked a few feet away from the hospital.

  The car's headlights suddenly flicked on, almost blinding the two fellows who used their hands to push away the lights.

  Inside of the car, a younger Father Johnson, early thirties, wearing a priest outfit, was the driver.

  “Father Andrew,” he said. “Which of these foot rests is the accelerator?” Father Andrew, mid-twenties, wearing a similar outfit to Father Johnson, sat in the backseat cuddling an identical twin, newborn. One of the babies thundered a high frequency squeak and shattered the car windshield; from the eyes of the other baby blood trickled.

  “Father Johnson, it’s God’s will,” said Father Andrew. “Close yer eyes and press down on anything that set the car forwards.” Father Johnson closed his eyes and smashed his foot against a pedal, setting the car in rapid motion. Outside the hospital, a thunderous boom echoed as the men plunged through the walls and windows. Rubble heaped as concrete and steel crumpled like the aftermath of an earthquake. The men seemed unharmed and dashed out of the way as they spotted a car hurling toward them, in reverse. The car stopped then swerved away in the opposite direction.

  Advancing towards the car the men sprinted as fast as their legs allowed, until they reached the parking lot. The car retreated further and further. In the parking lot they found their bikes’ tires all punctured. The men kicked and punched their useless machines. With teeth grinding and hatred bubbling in their heart, only if they could get a hold of those in that wretched car, all their hard work seemed to be in vein. What they’d come for now slipped away into the desolated countryside of Jamaica. But the stories in their eyes had just begun. For Fathers Andrew and Johnson had no idea what they got themselves into.

  The plane experienced extreme turbulence, bumping father Andrew out of the past. He shuffled in his seat, looking out of his mind. The years had worn him. Things he used to do he’d no interest for anymore, he’d served his purpose, but his spirit remained to guide Detective Mullson.

  Mullson thought long and hard about the words lingering in his head. Father Andrew’s conversation was blurry, just like the demon of Mullson’s past that resurfaced a few weeks ago, before he set out across Africa to meet his brother Daniel. The pair had always been close, they had similar taste and hobbies, felt each other’s pain, after all they’re the same person. Identical except for a secret each carried, but unaware of.

  “The child who cries blood?” said Detective Mullson, glancing at Father Andrew wryly, from the corner of an eye.

  “Believe it my son. Yer destiny shall come to light,” said Father Andrew, in a hushed voice.

  Detective Mullson was in a crunch. He felt awkward and was not sure what to believe. Yet he had no doubts of all the possibilities from things he’d encountered and what his brother had told.

  “Are you afraid of the Congo, Father?” he said.

  “Afraid of the Congo,” said Father Andrew. “Afraid of…” He chuckled as he sorted through his cranium. “Some enjoy the wonder, others are petrified by it,” Father Andrew continued, sounding a little nervous.

  “I will stick to the Chinese stuff,” said Detective Mullson. “Perfect peace of mind is a balance betw
een good and evil. One cannot exist without the other, something like that.”

  Father Andrew sighed. “Do you believe in transcendentalism?”

  Nina, after snatching a bottle of champagne from her trolley, went and stood by the gentleman she’d been stalking, mentally. Every time she passed his seat her knees felt as if they were about to give way. Butterflies rumbled in her tummy. Electricity ran throughout her body, making her clit vibrate, like a disturbed rattle snake. Nina got moist— very, very moist. She urged for a big one, the more she thought about him— oh yeah baby. If only she could get him in the bathroom to bang the hell out of him.

  “Hello sir,” she said, to Mullson, interrupting. “Anything special?”

  “Both of us could use a shot of that,” Father Andrew told Nina, referring to the champagne.

  Nina ignored Father Andrew’s request. She only seemed interested in Mullson and asked him again, “Sir, do you want anything?”

  “A drink of water please,” Mullson answered her. “Father Andrew also needs a drink.”

  “You could have both,” she said, in a sexy tone. “One is on me.” Nina headed towards the back of the plane. A dirty grin flashed across her face as she licked her lips and closed her eyes. “What a handsome weirdo,” she said to herself.

  The moment Nina exited first class the deranged man preyed upon her. He shoved a nail clipper against her throat and held her hostage with the sharp edge of the filing component.

  Passengers clinched to their seats.

  Along with his hostage the deranged man moved towards the front of the plane. Goosebumps flooded his arms as fear rushed throughout his veins.

  “They're here!” he roared.

  Other passengers were worried that the lunatic would harm Nina; nobody was interested in what he was saying.

  In the lower compartment personal belongings scattered as if someone was searching luggage, the stench of rotten meat filled the air. A faint laughter echoed from the midst of the room. Wrath darted from behind a pile of clothes. He was wearing a khaki outfit, Rastafarian hat and a pair of sunglasses. His face was still blackened from the roast, pus gushed from holes at the side of his jaws. Wrath spotted a mp3 player on the floor, he jammed the headphone in his ears then hit play.

  “SEX MUST REWIND, IT IS SO FINE…” he sang along to a song by Masta Recka and Jeano. “Something smells funky,” he blurted, sniffing his way to oversized panties lying on the floor. He picked up the drawers and rubbed them against his face, picturing himself with a lightly dressed female who pulled out his penis and forced it in her mouth, swallowing it halfway and at times licking it like a lollipop. Wrath got more than his money’s worth. Laughing out of control he blew a fart that had him check the rear of his pants.

  The deranged man dragged Nina towards the front of the plane. She kicked and tossed her hands about, but he kept poking the clipper further into her neck, subsequently calming her. Passengers sat in their seats and hoped for the best.

  Detective Mullson was the only one to get up; he stood in the path of the man who came lunging into first-class. But the fellow made up his mind he wouldn’t be stopped. He had a message to deliver and it needed to be heard. The more attention he got the merrier, for unpleasant things were about to happen to this world. God had sent him to help save humankind, as if anyone would ever believe such nonsense.

  Welcome to Earth, for today was not the day to mess with Trevor Mullson who had enough with people taking advantage of the weak, and worst, no regard for the laws he fought to protect. He stared the fellow in the eyes and tried to figure the next move, from the man’s breathing patterns to the sweat penetrating the forehead, nothing went unnoticed.

  The man’s heart skipped a beat as he stared back into Mullson’s cold eyes; somehow he figured his opponent was special, but a little confused. He ventured deep into Mullson’s soul and realized mankind’s chance against the enemies had improved, a slim chance indeed. The dark side had cast the spell of doom on whom Engulf thought was a common man to carry out his bidden — Daniel will never or cannot be controlled, just as Mullson’s blood will always be feared. Inching closer towards Mullson the man braced against Nina’s back.

  “Don't let me!” he said to Mullson, sounding desperate. He flung Nina to the floor then positioned a karate pose, boastfully exhibiting his quick hands, too swift for any human to observe other than flashes of blurriness.

  This was Mullson’s first test, but he had no idea. He tried to focus on the hands that had him dizzy. Pretending to be unimpressed, he tossed a kick that connected the man in the throat. With blood spraying from his mouth, the deranged man went flying in the opposite direction. Two men got up and apprehended the unconscious fellow. The echo of claps filled the air. Nina showed her gratitude with a quick kiss to Mullson's lips.

  “Thank you,” said Mullson, to the cheerful passengers, heading back to his seat. “Thank you.”

  Father Andrew didn’t seem thrilled. “The war is already started,” he told Mullson.

  Mullson had begun to wonder if Father Andrew was also missing a screw. He blamed himself for falling for some of the old man antics. How could such an educated man like himself fall for religious mumbo-jumbo? Damn Mullson, you should know better.

  Little did he know Engulf was already scouting out a single family house somewhere in Long Island, New York. As dawn descended he focused on the mailbox at the front of nine hundred and ninety-nine Storehill Drive, a black Expedition in the driveway, and a window located on the second floor. Not that it mattered, for Mullson had never met Engulf. Why Engulf had such great interest in the Mullson brothers put the whole family in jeopardy.

  CHAPTER 3

  Mullson and other passengers had already boarded their connecting flight in Europe and were well on their way to America. The wind was calm throughout the night. Dawn had come and gone. The plane drew closer to the East coast of the United States. Seagulls hovering over the Hudson River increased in large numbers closer to New York, where an atmosphere of gloom descended on the crowded city below. Smoke plummeted from chimneys towering above the Tri-State, even more so along the New Jersey turnpike.

  Inside first-class, Father Andrew and Detective Mullson continued to sit next to each other. “You need to pay closer attention,” Father Andrew advised Mullson, his cold eyes hadn’t blinked for the past few minutes.

  “So what about this transcend stuff?” said Mullson, trying to reflect back on an earlier topic.

  Again, the Jeft couple sat across from Mullson. Mr. Jeft tried his best to fit his long frame into his seat as he took a quick snooze. Mrs. Jeft regretted listening to Mullson’s conversation and wished she’d followed her husband’s opinion, not to mingle around. A doubt in her mind had her panicking, the fact she couldn’t figure who Mullson was talking with had begun to take a toll on her already failing health. A few years back she’d suffered a stroke-- a massive attack that left her right side paralyzed and impaired her vision. With vigorous therapy her health had improved, but she never fully recovered. Mrs. Jeft looked at Detective Mullson; she smiled when he turned and glanced at her.

  “We heard that story before,” she said, using an elbow to jab her husband in the side. “Haven't we sweetheart?”

  Mr. Jeft jumped and grabbed his rib cage. “Honey, come on,” he said. “Told you to leave that stuff alone.”

  “But Conrad said its okay,” she reminded her husband.

  “Who is Conrad?” Detective Mullson asked the woman.

  “Our son,” she said, elbowing her husband again. “Right sweetheart.”

  “Yes, honey,” Mr. Jeft answered under his breath.

  “Our son is a proud police officer at the John F. Kennedy Airport,” said the woman, to Mullson. She handed him a business card. “This is our number, you could call us. Do you mind if I ask you one more question?”

  “Honey?” said her husband, in disapproval.

  “What?” she answered.

  “It’s okay,” Mullson told her
.

  “Are you having problems with women?” she blurted to Mullson.

  Detective Mullson smiled. “Not quite,” he assured her.

  “Why are you talking to yourself?” She asked Mullson.

  Father Andrew laughed, so did Mullson who had no clue what was happening and thought the old lady had trouble with her eyesight. Mullson found the couple somewhat confusing, towards him they were polite, yet acted as if Father Andrew was invisible, kind of weird, he thought. He turned and glanced at the old textbook Father Andrew had being skimming through.

  “If the soul tricks the body” Father Andrew whispered to himself, “the enemy will rest in peace.”

  “What about people who die accidentally,” said Mullson to Father Andrew, after recalling a dream. “Can they come back to haunt us?”

  Father Andrew stared at the book and sensed something was wrong, his emotions seemingly got the best of him, and he no longer felt connected to life. “Maybe,” he managed a whisper.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the Captain voice echoed over the intercom. “It’s a wonderful day in New York City.”

  Emptiness consumed Father Andrew’s thoughts, like a lone star in the galaxy his mind wandered. It was close to two years since he stood on top of a towering building somewhere in the heart of New York City and fought a raging storm. The demon from within had confronted him, but he stood his ground with faith in the God he trusted. As a priest he was extraordinary skilled in an ancient language of anti-curse, uttering strange words that rattled the nerves of the dead. He held a metal cross above his head that attracted a bolt of lightning, he shook out of control. What appeared to be a phantom leaped out of his body and hovered in midair — hundreds of feet above the road. The ghostly figure was a spitting image of Father Andrew. It stood and watched as he chanted, “The work of God is stronger than evil!”