Daylight blinded Sparks when he awoke. It flooded through a window of the quaint log cabin he found himself in like water spilling through a ruptured dam.
"Ow." David whined, the opening of his eyes putting tension on the scabbed-over cut upon his face.
This place was warm, a stark contrast to the world he had known the night before. A fire crackled within a rustic stone oven in a corner, near the sofa where he lay. He was nearly nude, having been stripped down to the exotic leopard-print banana hammock he had intended to impress his bride with. His pale flesh was red with the sting of the cold still evident, but it felt as though a cloud surrounded him in the form a thick bear pelt draped around his body.
He pulled the blanket close, embarrassed at his attire, as he heard rustling in a nearby room. The man he knew as Gary Pritchard stepped out of a tiny bathroom, wringing water from his hands. The beatnik had shed his coat and was dressed now in a flannel shirt befitting his mountain-man image. His jeans were as faded and haggard as the flesh upon his face.
"Good morning." He smiled at Sparks when he saw his guest was awake. He moved immediately to the kitchen area which was only feet from the couch. Opening a small fridge, he produced a basket filled with eggs. "Hope you like them scrambled." He said jovially. "I'm gettin' old myself, can't seem to keep from breaking the yolks anymore."
"Scrambled will be fine." Dave returned, clearing the morning phlegm from his throat. "Listen, Mister Pritchard -."
"Gary." The man insisted. "Call me Gary. Hell, I've seen all there is to see of ya' -- might as well act familiar. Your clothes are in front of the fire, by the way. They were freezing when I carried you in."
"Gary," he continued, kicking his foot out of the covers to fish for his pants. "I can't thank you enough for taking me in. You probably saved my life."
"Don't mention it." Pritchard returned as he scooped butter into his pan and placed it upon the stove. It crackled immediately at the heat of the fire below. "It's the least I could do for a brother in God."
Having retrieved his drawers, Sparks pulled them on. His dignity restored, he leaned over and reached for his shirt. As Pritchard broke the eggs and poured them into the waiting grease, David got lost in a memory triggered by the smell. It carried him home, to his apartment in the sky high above the water.
He had earned a good living as a day-trader, even in the midst of the recession. His instincts were sharp, his credit pool deepened by the stellar paychecks Tracey pulled down each month.
She was gifted. Her talents coupled with her stunning beauty catapulted her instantly into the limelight when she took an entry-level job with a prominent advertising firm. The partners were quick to take notice of the bottle rocket they hired for the mail room when she mistakenly walked into a presentation and proceeded to revise the entire campaign to suit her liking. As it happened, they liked it better her way. Within months she had risen to the executive level and was sharing in the firm's profits.
David rarely lost her money in the market, but when it happened she got hot. One of her outbursts was brewing on the morning he found himself reliving in this cabin. A bad investment had put him behind to the tune of ten thousand dollars. His cell phone vibrated on the counter as Tracey whipped the eggs. It was surely a call from his broker seeking payment on the debt that had overdrawn his portfolio. He had to leap from his computer chair to snatch it before his woman saw who was calling.
"Who is it?" She asked as he pressed ignore.
"Telemarketers, I think." He had lied. He would have to tell her, eventually, but the moment was so sweet he couldn't bare to have it spoiled.
She was wearing one of his button-down dress shirts; nothing else underneath. It flowed over her chest but touched nothing below, enveloping her petite body like an oversized tarp. She was so sexy to him; just as she likely would be to any man with a functioning penis and healthy libido. He found it hard to resist the urge to take her right then and there as she cooked, but he was just as hungry as he was horny on this particular day.
It was a Saturday morning, the spring sun shining brightly beyond their enormous picture window. Outside, the bay was quiet, the water calm in the absence of any trade traffic. The fish markets were alive, however, with the calls of street vendors trying to move their wares. This new apartment was perfect for them; a fine balance of a big city and small town feel that suited the happy lovers well. This would be their first home as a married couple. If she didn't ditch him when she learned of his mistake, that is.
"It's ready!" She announced enthusiastically as she scooped a helping onto a plate for him.
He took a seat at their granite counter atop one of the plush full-back barstools that were situated at its side. The breakfast looked as luxurious as their abode, complete with bacon, sausage and hash browns.
Unfortunately, for all her wonderful attributes, Tracey was lacking when it came to basic culinary acumen. The eggs were runny, the bacon chewy and the sausage overcooked. He ate every bite regardless, feeling blessed just to have her with him.
"How is it, honey?" She asked. He put on a brave face as he choked down the slop in the hopes of preserving her feelings.
"It's perfect, babe! Just like you." He lied well, that skill he did possess. She seemed so content, but he knew he couldn't hide forever. He was gonna have to break the news. "Baby," he begun. "You know I love you more than anything, right?"
Tracey sighed before he could continue. She had heard this speech before, she knew exactly what was coming.
"Damn it, Dave! How much?" She asked.
"How much what?" He said, playing dumb and sweet as well he could.
"Don't play with me, David, just tell me how much you owe!" Even though she put it on his shoulders, she knew very well it wasn't him that was on the hook. Their lives were hopelessly intertwined, from their bodies to their finances. There was no longer a hers or his -- only theirs in this new realm of life.
"Just ten." He responded nervously.
"Holy shit, David!" She had shouted ferociously. "How could you do that to me? To US? Do you have ANY IDEA how much money that is?"
"It's a lot of money."
"You're goddamn right it is! David, what are we supposed to do? We're getting married in two weeks, you've just blown through our honeymoon cash!"
"It was a good tip, babe - a home-run."
"A home-run? Honey, you struck out! And it's not the first time! I can't afford to keep bailing you out like this! You're gonna have to give it up!"
"Jesus Christ, woman!" He shouted back at her. "I was only trying to help!"
"Help?" She scolded. "I don't need this kind of help, Dave! You're gonna bury us with this kind of help!"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to STOP! I want you to stop trying to help by betting our future on a toss of the dice!"
"Just castrate me then, damn it! Just cut off my balls and put them in your purse! Carry them around with you while you sail out to rule the world!"
"David," She continued, putting up her hands and breathing deeply in an attempt to cage her fury. Regaining her composure she spoke softly, though her voice still trembled with rage. "I'm not trying to castrate you or make you feel emasculated, but you have to be more careful! You'll have us on skid row if you don't cool your jets!"
"Yeah?" He asked playfully now.
"Yeah!"
"Well I liked Skid Row." He smiled, raising his voice and breaking into song. "Woke up to the sound of pour-ing ra-in."
"Stop it, David." She buried her face in her hands.
"The wind would whis-per and I'd think of you."
"David..."
"All the tears you cried, they called my na-me."
"Please, honey."
His voice vaulting into its highest measure at the crescendo of the verse, David reached for her and grabbed hold of her bare cheeks below his shirt.
"And
when you nee-ded me I came through!"
Smiling with him, she skipped to the chorus as he slid his hands towards her prize.
"Remember yesterday --"
"Walking hand in hand!" He picked up, lifting her and carrying her to the couch where he placed her gently.
"Love lett-ers in the sa-nd."
"I re-mem-ber you!" As he finished the line he laid her back, sliding his boxers down. She smiled as he entered her, moaning at the pleasure. They made some of the most passionate love of their lives there, on the white sofa in their living room. When it was over they just laid there, letting things subside naturally. It was perfect...
If he had known that would be among the last times they were be intimate he would have held her there forever. They had eventually parted, though, and embarked, wide-eyed, upon the journey that would lead her to her death. He would never feel her warm breath again. With that knowledge, life barely seemed worth living.
"So," Pritchard broke into his fantasy, handing him a mug of the coffee he had longed for. "You said you were sent here by Christ Himself. How exactly did that come about?"
"It's a long story." Dave responded.
"I've got nothin' but time, David, and this story must be good. That's a serious cut you've got on your face -- imagine you didn't just get on the bad side of your cat." The man returned to the sizzling eggs, stirring the molten butter around them.
"I was at the airport with my wife, preparing to leave for our honeymoon. Something happened, though... I don't know exactly what. Everything just -- quit working. First it was my laptop, I thought maybe it came unplugged. I realized that it was more than that, though, when I noticed everything else had quit. Before I knew what was happening there were planes crashing all around us. One nearly plowed into the terminal; it shattered the windows when it exploded nearby. That's what cut my face."
"That'll do it." Pritchard remarked, scooping their breakfast into a bowl before cracking a few more eggs. "Where's your wife now?"
"Dead." He lamented sipping his drink. "She was impaled by the glass. That's when I saw The Jacksons. We had met them at the check-in counter... they seemed like nice old folks."
"They were okay?" The man put slices of bread into a separate pan to toast.
"They were trapped. The place caught on fire, so I couldn't just leave them there. After I had freed them, The Lord appeared to us." David purposely omitted the part about the TSA agent and his gun, his futile attempt at suicide before the intervention.
"Really? Just like that?" He asked, flipping the cooking bread.
"Just like that." Dave simply confirmed.
"What did this person say?"
"You mean Jesus?"
"If you say so... you seemed convinced that's who it was, so I guess I can't argue."
"It was Jesus Christ. He didn't say much... just told us to walk in his light, whatever that means."
"Then what?" Pritchard stirred the second batch of eggs with his back turned to David, a burning smell reminding Sparks again of his time with Tracey.
"Then there was a flash of light - and we were all out in the woods."
"Hm." The man remarked, seeming oblivious to the pungent odor of charring now overwhelming the cabin. "And you just started walking?"
"More or less. We didn't know what else to do."
"Seems strange that he would just drop y'all out here, smack in the middle of nothing."
"Yeah, it does." Dave was disturbed now by the man's continued lack of attention to the fact that something was burning. Smoke billowed around him in a torrent, stinging Sparks' eyes. "I think that toast is done." He remarked.
"It's almost like he wanted me to find you out there. Like he brought you right to me."
"Kind of." He said carefully, not sure what was going on. "You said you were told I was coming... did someone appear to you as well?"
"You could say that." Pritchard offered, a pan flaring up in front of him as he continued to stir the eggs. "It was less a someone, though -- more a something."
"And what was that?" Sparks stood from the couch, anxiety bringing tremors to his body again. From his vantage point he could see out of the window, seeing green woodlands barren of snow.
"It was a boar." The man explained, still tending the ruined food now in flames. "But it didn't have a boar's head."
"Really?" Dave asked, creeping silently towards the door.
"It was the strangest thing... I tried to shoot it. That's when I realized my guns didn't work. It told me you were coming and that I had to kill you."
"What was it, Gary? What kind of head did it have?" He asked to distract him, picking up his pace and closing on the exit.
The man moved to his fridge and opened it once again. In a fluid motion he reached inside and spun around quickly, drawing down on a savage looking bow.
"The head was of a goat!"
"Shit!" Sparks cried as he dove for the door, an arrow burying itself into the wood not far from his face.
The door was locked; bolted tightly in place. He searched for the mechanism only to find it required a key. The attacker dropped his bow, reaching for the pan the burning upon the stove. With a growl he flung it, liquid fire spewing forth and scalding David's flesh.
He shrieked at the pain and hurled his body towards the man, wrapping his arms around him tightly and taking him to the ground. A maddened struggle ensued, each of them jockeying for a dominant position in the fray. Pritchard was strong, more so even than he looked. He quickly assumed a mounted posture and yanked open a drawer near the stove. Reaching in, he produced a long and shiny blade.
The monster raised it high and plunged it toward David's face. It took every bit of his effort to roll his body away, the knife chipping the wooden floor as it dug in with the power put behind it. Pritchard tried again, his snarl vicious as he foamed at the mouth. David dodged repeatedly, both the blade and the saliva raining down. Finally a strike snapped the steel in two, leaving the aggressor with nothing more than a razor sharp spatula.
Pritchard ditched his ruined blade and resorted to pounding David with his fists. The blows were savage and primal, bringing stars to his eyes. After what he felt was an adequate pummeling the man surrendered his position to stand and dig for another weapon. Sparks shook off his daze and took the opportunity to tackle him from behind, tripping him up and riding him to the ground. The maniac's head struck the wall in the cramped space as he fell, drawing a pained grunt as his face slid down the unfinished bark.
David took advantage, holding the man down with his hands while he delivered a brutal knee to the exposed half of his face. It was like driving his leg into a boulder, Pritchard's head wedged against the log as Sparks continued to strike him. Blood eventually sprayed from his skull as David felt it caving in under the blows. The grunts faded as well; the man was clearly dead. Dave wasn't satisfied, though, so he delivered several more crushing knees.
Pritchard's head resembled a watermelon after an encounter with Sledge-A-Matic before all was said and done. David crumbled into the opposite corner in disgust when he looked upon what he had done. No stock trade gone bad, no matter how unsettling, had prepared him to kill to another human being in this manner. The deed was done, however, and there was no taking it back. He scanned the carnage for the keys, eager to escape this hell. After a fruitless search he smashed the window with the fiery hot pan and climbed carefully to freedom.
Once outside he climbed aboard Pritchard's ATV, the keys thankfully still in the dash. The engine was still warm, but it showed no signs of life when Sparks tried to turn it over. There was no throaty attempt at ignition, no electronic clicking -- nothing at all. Fiddling with the machine's controls he tried again, still to no avail. This machine was dead; David would have to walk to whatever was awaiting him.
Chapter 14
Unholy Advent: Deception Of The Christ Page 13
