Forging Truth (The Truth Saga)

by Raymond Masters

  “Sweetie, do you need to see a doctor?”

  “A shrink, maybe.” I laughed. She did not. At least, I gave it the effort. “I’m fine. It’s just – and I know you’ll take this the wrong way – I don’t have a clue who you are. On top of that, what are you doing sharing my bed? I don’t – oh no – I don’t owe you anything, do I?”

  She blinked rapidly, and then said, “Am I a hooker?”

  I smiled. She did not. Let’s hear it for effort, ladies and gentlemen.

  “Sorry, I’m retarded.”

  “Maybe. You’re really serious? I mean, serious serious? Not just being Kade?”

  “Babe, I don’t even know how to be Kade.”

  She rolled to an elbow and gave me an evaluating once-over. Then she softened and said, “Well you sure knew how to be Kade a few minutes ago.”

  “A few minutes?”

  “Well, I don’t know who else could have made me feel that good. I don’t know what type of kink you’re trying here, but I guess I’m game. The question is: have you recovered from the first go ‘round? Hmm, I guess Nurse Jessie will have to take a look-see.” She slid her hand between my thighs, and gave a gentle squeeze.

  “Wait!” I fumbled, “Jessie …” It sure felt like the little amnesiac was starting to remember her.

  “Oh, c’mon, don’t get me worked up over round two and then not deliver, sexy.” She turned away from my face, and lifting the sheet over her head, made a beeline for my waist.

  I skidded backward out of bed, falling to the floor with my feet still propped on the mattress. Because of how I had landed, the stranger – Jessie? – was obscured from my view. When she spoke, I noticed a little more gruffness than she had possessed before. “Okay, lover, okay,” the voice hissed. “Quit fooling around now, and give this woman what she needs. GIVE ME THAT WRETCHED SSTONE, BOY!” The last sentence was filled with whistles and cracks, as the voice changed in pitch and octave. How it hit upon the S’s, and seemed to linger, was almost reptilian.

  Before I had time to dwell anymore on it, a hand shot out and latched onto my ankle like a vise.

  9

  The grip was notably stronger than I would have ever imagined the slim woman could have managed, and the hand itself was different, too. It looked broader than a woman’s. And was it possible that … Did it seem to be older, as well as masculine? I didn’t waste time in this vein, but, instead, drew my leg up as much as her/his grip would allow, and thrust it forward, sending her/him flying backward. From under the bed, I could see her/him lying face down. The stranger’s build was, in fact, a little stockier, but his/her hair was still blonde. What had happened to the poor woman – what had happened to Nurse Jessie? And what had I gotten myself into?

  Suddenly, the stranger – and it was a stranger in every sense of the word – lunged to a standing position, and glared at me. There was no doubt, now, Jessie was no more; she had indeed been replaced – or changed – into a man. He was indeed an old man, after all, as I had originally thought when he had first ensnared my ankle. Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing the revealing nightgown the women had shared earlier in the night. Instead, he was clad in a swooping, black robe, with broad, billowing sleeves. Though I had originally mistaken his hair for blonde like Jessie’s, I could now see it for its true color: pure, snow white. The contrast it made, as it hung down his robe, only served to make the white more perfect. At the tops of his shoulders lay an unused hood. Rather than the shadows, the old man instead chose to veil his face behind the silky sheets of his long hair. I was starting to come to the realization this whole scene – everything from the girls, his sudden appearance, and even his stance – was all for my benefit, all for show.

  The dark monk stood still, allowing me to look upon him a moment longer. Finally, he threw his head back, issuing a shrill raven cry to the rafters. I jumped, shaken, which was no doubt the intended reaction. As the shriek fell away, it was replaced with another sound: soft laughter. Then, as he lowered his gaze to mine, the laugher became more pronounced, more sadistic. Leveling his stare at me, he became silent as ashes. The activity had shifted hair allowing the faintest sliver of his face to show through. He was older, but not as old as I had first thought. And there was power in this man’s age. His features gave the impression he had seen things, done things. Horrible things. And his eyes …

  I stopped cold.

  I’ve always heard that expression, and thought that was all it was: an expression. How naïve I had been. I really was freezing. As I had looked upon his face, taking in the whole of it, my mind had blocked out – possibly deliberately – the details of it. The sliver of eye that shown through reflected what little light filtered in the room. I couldn’t be a hundred percent sure what I had seen, but still, I knew. “T-those eyes,” I whispered, barely audible in my revulsion.

  “Oh, you mean, thesse old thingss?” The old man snapped his fingers, lighting the candle from across the room. Not impressed. I’d seen better, the past few weeks. When he brushed aside his cotton strands, however, he revealed the true portrait of evil. They were indeed the vile eyes of a snake.

  Catching me off guard over the sight before me, he suddenly pivoted and stalked around the bed to where I lay. “Where iss it?” He pitched forward, seizing me by the neck with his right hand. “I ssaid, ‘where iss it?” I began to strangle, gasping down as much life as I could manage. Black lines began to creep into my vision like an old television console.

  “Ghhgg,” I choked.

  “Hmm, I didn’t quite make that out, what with my nearly ssevering your vocal chords and all. Sso, here’s what I’m going to do: I’m going to remove my hand. When I do, would you please be so kind as to repeat that for me? Oh, and do try to remember to e-nun-see-ate when you sspeak, child.”

  I nodded my understanding, but when he released me, all I said was: “Go to hell, demon.” The fire in my throat from that effort threatened to overwhelm me; but the satisfaction was unmatched.

  He laughed, again – that hissing noise of his that passed for laughter, anyhow. “Hmm, yess, if I recall, thiss iss the part in our drama where I ssay, ‘Ssatan kicked me out, because he was afraid of my influence upon his ssubjectss.’ Iss that right? Now where iss your charm, hmm?”

  “My necklace? I promise, you don’t want me to get my necklace.” My eyes must have darted to where it lay. And, of course, his reptilian ones hadn’t missed a thing.

  “Your eyess betray you,” he sneered. “Sstay put, and I’ll make thiss asss quick and painlesss as posssible.” He started forward, considering his words. “Well, maybe not ‘quick and painlesss,’ but one or the other, to be ssure.”

  In a few strides – though his robe gave the impression of floating – or maybe it wasn’t an impression at all – he had crossed the room to the shelf where my stone and chain lay. “Yess, that’ss it. Come home. Come home.” As he crooned to it, he reached out his hand, but just as his fingers graced it, there was a loud crackle as the smell of ozone filled the air. “W-what trickery?”

  Anger seized him. He reached out sharply, intent on capturing the stone this time. Instead, the it shot out of his reach and arched above him. Its trajectory was bringing it straight at me. And fast. I threw up my hand to try to catch it, and – more importantly – shield myself from getting pelted in the chest by the missile. Surprisingly, my effort was for naught, as it slammed into – and through – my hand, leaving a neat circle in its wake. I unleashed an agonized scream that was cut short, as the unaffected stone made contact with my sternum, after all. The force knocked the wind from my lungs. Unlike my poor mutilated hand, my chest seemed to stop it. More than likely, it was only because the stone had wished to be stopped.

  With its forward movement quelled, it rested on my chest, where it had landed. I glanced up at the man I was now thinking of as the Dark Monk, to find him shaking with rage. He uttered a guttural noise and stalked forward. I tried to put up a tough front, but it was getting harder by the second. His demeanor w
as enough to make the most hardcore, manly man piss his pants and call for mommy. And here I was, some wet behind the ears kid.

  A wet behind the ears kid with extraordinary powers … now that I’ve got access to my charm once more. I reached to place my hand over it – and screamed, as pain arched through my entire being.

  The stranger’s very movements acted as a catalyst on the stone, and it began to move forward, again. I screamed louder in response to the dimpling around the white polished stone, as it began to, literally, push its way inside of me. I could feel, as well as hear, my bone splintering at the untold pounds of pressure the offending object exuded. Panicked, I reached up with both hands, taking hold of the chain. I nearly bit through my bottom lip, blocking against the pain I was sure would follow.

  As I tugged, I stole a glance at the approaching enemy and was surprised to find him almost on top of me. For a split second, I was unsure which thorn to remove from my side – or chest – first. Why not both? With my course decide, I wrapped the chain around one wrist and held my opposite hand out in a traffic cop’s halting motion. With all my strength and will, I both pulled on the necklace and pushed concentrated energy from my palm. The blast, thankfully, caught my pursuer by surprise, and hurdled him back across half the distance he had just traveled.

  Unfortunately, however, my efforts to free the stone from my chest weren’t as well met. In response, the force inside the stone redoubled and then doubled again. Shards of ice pricked at my muscles as they locked up completely. My jaw had closed down, so all I could pull off now was a sort of sad whimpering. From my periphery, I could see blood pooling about the stone, as it finally broke through my skin.

  What happened next threatened to be the blow that would shatter my psyche, once and for all. The stone began to lose solidity, as it took on more gelatinous properties. Shortly thereafter, the membrane holding the thing together burst, and liquefied stone began to funnel itself directly into the hole it had created. My hand flew away as the chain came loose from the whole mess, the only souvenir I would have from this sorry night. Well, that and the scar that’ll be left from the big gaping hole in my chest.

  But, no sooner had I thought it, the hole began to suture itself. The dimpling pushed back to my chest’s customary, somewhat muscular, appearance. All was being repaired … without a scar, or even a scratch. I would, probably, feel an uncomfortable bruising or something, but other than that … But what does it all mean? Am I going to get, like, rock poisoning and die now?

  I was still fighting paralysis, as the last of my healing was conducted, when I caught movement from the lower quadrant of my vision. My snake-eyed friend was gaining his feet. Oh, of course he is. Why not? Because, I sure haven’t been through enough for one night.

  You know how people say not to say things like “What else could go wrong?” That invoking that sentence would result in the summoning of some bad luck Djinn? Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but that’s sort of similar to “I sure haven’t been through enough for one night.”

  The vertigo threatened to cocoon me from the conscious world. I couldn’t let that happen, not with this sadist, intent on visiting harm upon me. The company I’ve been keeping lately sure has rubbed off on my internal monologue, I thought, incoherently. My mind cleared, as I considered that ‘company’ for the first time since this began eons ago. Aesculapus! I tried to shout it, but couldn’t break the trance the wretched stone had placed me under. I can’t blackout now. What about Aesculapus? He might be nuts, but I’ve still got to warn him somehow, before I go under completely.

  The monster was coming once more. I was frozen. And all light was going out of the world. It was too late. Darkness was my destiny. Still trying to scream for my host – who might already be dead – stop it – My friend here could have visited him first. – stop it! – I had no choice but to succumb to the blackness, to go gentle into that good night. So, I slept.

  And I remembered.

  RECALL

  1

  “Brother Kade, would you like to dismiss us from class?” Tabitha Truth asked the quiet young man sitting near the window, Bible in hand.

  Kade adjusted his lesson plan, closed what his dad always referred to as THE WORD and obediently began: “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.” Finishing the rest with ease. As he wrapped up his thanks for his life, the organ music started in on What a Friend We Have in Jesus. “Mama.”

  “Yes, sweetie?”

  “Why do you call me Brother Kade, when I’m actually your son?”

  Tabitha had to bite down on the surprised laughter that threatened to run free. This had obviously been on his mind for some time, and he would only see her laughter as cruel. “Dear, we are all brothers and sisters in Christ. In His eyes, we will always be bound by His love.”

  “No matter what?”

  “Darling, God will always love you and be there for you. And so will I.”

  “I love you, Mama.”

  “I do you, too, Brother Kade,” she said giving a conspiratorial wink. “Go join the others for youth choir.”

  2

  This sweet Sunday school teacher is how he always tries to remember his mother. He doesn’t want to think of her as the bitch that sent him away, though he had, at one time been sent away. And he had called her a bitch to his friends, even to her face. Now, however, he understands why she had to do so. Kade had never been the same after his father’s … well, after. After what happened to his father, he gave up singing in the choir. He certainly wouldn’t repent to a God who could, and would, cause so much pain.

  His mother had always prayed and repented enough for the both of them, even though she, too, must have been suffering. Her pain was surely far worse than his own had been, for she had lost both a husband and a son. The husband all at once, but the son gradually distanced himself from the world around him and away from Tabitha, too. She rarely, if ever, appeared to be in deep pain, because – Kade knew – she was right with God. And, she was right to send her troubled son off to The Sisters.

  That was twelve years ago, and while his life had been nothing glamorous up to this point, Kade had no delusions as to whom he owed his thanks that he wasn’t in some rat-infested hellhole of a maximum-security prison. It’s like that old Confederate Railroad song, Jesus and Mama.

  3

  Stephen Marks was drinking his third screwdriver of the evening and watching Mason as he hung the garland, lights, and other such truck throughout the dorm room they shared with Kade. Kade was absent, probably writing his piece for this year’s final newsletter. “You’re not gonna hang that stupid wreath on my door, are you,” he asked.

  The wreath in question was a horrible, lopsided combination of crepe paper and photos of families, in snow and under trees bedecked in homemade ornaments. It was more an oval than a circle. Even the color scheme was off. Nevertheless, Mason took in a sharp breath and exhaled a “Mygirlfriendmadethatstupidwreath.”

  “Simmer, man. It was just the drinks making conversation,” said a momentarily sober Marks.

  “Yeah, I know. ‘Tis the season. My girl made it, and I can’t even be with her this Christmas.”

  “Hey, that’s why God gave you us, man.”

  There’s a slight knock on the door as it is pushed open by Kade, lugging in a stack of books in one arm and a suitcase of beer in the other.

  “What’s up with the knock, roomy? You know Mason’s woman’s out of town, and I’m in-between girlfriends, so we can implement the 3N rule: no knocking necessary.”

  “Uh, ‘knock’ starts with a K,” Mason pointed out.

  “Whatever, bookworm,” replied Marks. Then he turned to Kade. “And what about you, numbnuts? Got any plans for the holidays, other than drinking and reading?”

  “Yeah, I’m taking your mom to a nice restaurant for a change. For the holidays.” They all snicker.

  Stephen snatches an envelope from the table. “Speaking of mothers, yours sent you a card.”<
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  Kade takes the card without so much as a glance at Marks – or the card for that matter – and tosses it into a drawer by the couch. Marks knows enough about Kade to let that be the end of it. Instead, he takes another drink and decides to heckle Mason some more, “That really is a freakin’ ugly wreath, you know?”

  4

  They had been tight in those days, Kade remembered, and still saw each other at the shindigs The Sisters held every couple of years. There had been four such reunions since graduation; the last was a little more than a year ago. While they had partied together at the dorm and the nights following the four reunion picnics, their friendship hadn’t really carried over into “the real world.” This being the fact, Kade couldn’t immediately place the voice coming from his voicemail. “… excellent job that doesn’t pay that good, but it’ll pay the bills for ya. I guarantee it. Besides, man, it’d really help me out and maybe we could kick it after work or something. Give the number on the caller ID a buzz, and ask for me, personally. Oh, and thanks in advance for bailing me out.”

  The machine gave off a bird-like noise and fell silent. Kade stood there for a moment staring at it, waiting, as if there would suddenly be an outpouring of information. Maybe it would ramble off his fortune or something.

  Little did he know, but it had done exactly that.

  He decided to give the number a call first thing in the morning. He sure didn’t have anything else going his way. He was only a part-time security guard, after all. So, he’d call his friend and take him up on his business offer. Make some extra “cheese,” as they had liked to say. It’d be good to see his old friend on a regular basis again, too. First, though, he had to get some sleep.

  5

  Kade was in his mom’s church, back in Ransom, the little Oklahoman town where he’d grown up. It was void of worshipers. Must be a weekday. He was walking toward the altar, just beyond the front pews. On it sat a cell phone. His. A little red light was blinking on top of it, and it was playing Nickleback’s Rock Star, which indicated he had received new voicemail. He dialed and listened. “You have 99 new messages, your mailbox is full,” said the android voice. He played the first: “Liberty is gone.” – A harsh, whispered secret.