by A. L. Mengel
Later that afternoon, he had cursed himself for being so astounded – because all he had managed to reply to Antoine – at first – was a simple “Yes”.
Sheldon stood and cleared his throat, and put on his horn-rimmed glasses. Brushing himself off and buttoning his jacket, he gathered the papers and made an attempt to compose himself. Antoine stood slowly, smiling as he looked Sheldon in the eye.
“Tell me Antoine,” he said. “Do you normally walk around in mid-afternoon?” He fumbled with the file. The papers were going in every direction, as Sheldon hastily stuffed the contents back in the brown folder.
“There are many things I do during the day,” Antoine replied. “I actually was coming to speak with one of your researchers…Anthony. But let me ask, to where are you going in such a hurry?”
“Anthony? What do you want with Anthony?” Sheldon asked inquisitively.
Antoine merely smiled, but did not give an answer. His tone was very seductive with every speaking word – which seemed ironic in that situation. Regardless, Antoine’s charisma came across no matter whom he was speaking to. Certainly most would not understand, nor would they care to know, why someone so strikingly handsome would be so charming to a short, paunchy old man…but that was just Antoine. He carried himself in the same way, equally polite with everyone he encountered. He reached out and opened the door for the older man – as Antoine always remained a gentleman.
“I was actually coming to see you,” Sheldon admitted, as he snapped the lights on in the reception area. “I was coming to get your take on all of this.” He held up the mess of a file to accentuate what he was talking about.
“And I see many discs there,” Antoine commented, pointing to his bag.
“Yes. I would like a record of the conversation, if that’s alright.”
“I don’t see an issue with that. You explained to me, as well as Anthony, that your organization is supportive of us.”
“Yes, that’s true,” Sheldon replied. He stepped inside and interior door, setting the contents of the file down on a waiting room chair that was just inside. “Why don’t you come inside? I am the only one here today, so I guarantee privacy.”
“Certainly.”
Antoine followed Sheldon inside the offices; the door slammed shaking the glass and the shade was hastily drawn.
*~*~*
The Astral had offices that looked like any typical office. There were leather-bound chairs in the waiting area, vast floor-to-ceiling windows in the lobby that had heavy drapes and blinds, and a smattering of magazines on a large, glass coffee table. A reception desk, which looked like any other reception desk in any other office stood at the far wall, with another door, a brown door with frosted glass, covered by a white slatted blind, which led deeper into the offices.
Inside, there were more islands of desks in a sea of light blue carpet. Sheldon’s office, located at the far wall, had windows overlooking the common area with smaller desks and cubicles. Yes, it was a generic looking office. It could be any office anywhere .
But what was practiced in this office, most certainly, was anything but typical. As Sheldon snapped the light on in his office, he plopped the file on his desk.
“Why are you so interested in me?” Antoine asked, as the two sat down. Antoine took a seat on the leather couch that was under a window overlooking the rest of the offices while Sheldon sat behind his desk.
“It goes back a while,” Sheldon admitted. “I studied Theology at Boston College and now I am a licensed Paranormal Investigator. I work with an open mind. I believe. In you, and your kind.”
“I see.”
“And I’ve read the newspapers. I know what you have done.”
Antoine’s eyebrows raised, silently urging Sheldon to continue.
“You’re regarded as a Spiritual Healer. You have really made a name for yourself over the years that you have been in Miami. That interests me.”
The two sat in silence for a moment.
“And I don’t want you to think that this is some sort of a club that kids talk about – everyone hears about groups of people that call themselves vampires on tabloid TV – that’s clearly not what we are.”
Antoine crossed his legs and folded his arms.
“We are much more than vampires, Antoine. We are everything about the paranormal – we are demons, the afterlife…ghosts, hauntings…” his voice trailed off as he placed the last of the contents in the file. Upon finishing, he banged the side on the desk several times to pack the papers, and stood up again.
“We are very well funded, Mr. Antoine,” Sheldon said. “So if you are thinking I am looking for a donation, that is most certainly not the case.”
Antoine uncrossed his arms and placed them on his knee. “Where does your funding come from, if I may ask?”
“Many sources,” Sheldon replied, walking around the desk and taking a seat opposite Antoine. He placed the file on a smoked glass coffee table. “We are primarily supported by paranormal societies, educational institutions, even churches.”
“Churches?” Antoine asked with interest. “That’s interesting.”
“Yes,” Sheldon added. “A lot of our work involves demonology.”
Antoine froze for a moment. “Demons? You involve yourself with that?”
Antoine was unsure of what to think. Normally suave and sophisticated, he now felt like a small, troubled boy in class on the first day of school when he heard that word: demon. For the first time since he was a mortal, he felt stirring in the pit of his stomach. He uncrossed his legs and sat forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.
After several minutes of silence passed, Antoine spoke: “Demons…”
“It’s an integral part of our work,” Sheldon said. “The church is one of our biggest financiers. Demons are here, Mr. Nagevesh. They are all around us. They may spend most of their time existing in alternate dimensions…but every so often…they cross over.”
For a moment, Antoine wasn’t sitting in Sheldon’s office. He wasn’t spread out on the plush brown-leather sofa, admiring the book-laden shelves and paper-strewn tables.
He was lying in a grave.
He was lying in the cold water – shivering and beginning to turn numb, he closed his eyes. He closed them so tight that they hurt. He closed them so tight and he dared not open them because he knew that Asmodai was right above. He could feel the hot breath from above. His presence.
“Antoine?” Sheldon asked.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Wilkes,” Antoine said, shaking his head for a moment and running his hands through his hair. “So please tell me again why you want to speak to me?”
“Haven’t you determined the answer? My deep fascination comes from your past and your history. But even more so, your present. You are a very intriguing individual, Mr. Nagevesh. With your celebrity status, you could bring a significant amount of positive publicity to our firm.”
“I am known as a Spiritual Healer, not a killer, Sheldon. Not a demon.”
“I want you to tell me that, Sir.”
Antoine stood. He walked over to the shelves that lined the opposite wall of the office. Running his fingers upon volumes and volumes of books relating to the paranormal, unknown entities, UFOs, exorcisms and demons, his finger stopped on a book published in Boston by Parchman’s Press.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
“I have not seen this book in many years,” Antoine admitted.
Before Sheldon could respond, Antoine moved over to the window behind the expansive desk. The sunlight warmed the room through the blinds. He slowly opened the blind, looking out at the shoppers crisscrossing Ponce and 5th. Antoine turned back around to face Sheldon.
“You will be opening yourself up, Sheldon,” Antoine said. “If you get involved with me, you will be opening yourself up.”
Rise Antoine. Rise out of your maker’s grave!
“I fully understand that,” Sheldon replied. “From all
of the information I have gathered on you over the years. All that I have here – needs to be substantiated. Please Antoine.”
Antoine walked over to the door signifying that he was going to leave, that it was time for the conversation to come to a close. He turned back to face Sheldon. “If you must open that door, you may. If it betters your cause – if it betters my cause – then so be it.”
Sheldon followed Antoine towards the front of the complex. “And where shall I meet you?”
“Come to my home this evening. I suspect that given your proven abilities that you should know exactly where to go without my having to tell you.”
Sheldon nodded. Antoine opened the door slowly as he exited the waiting room; the afternoon daylight shined in with a fierce brightness. Antoine put on a pair of dark blue sunglasses, and adjusted them slightly.
“And one more thing, Sheldon. Before you meet me and before you press record. Just keep in mind what you will be opening yourself up to.”
“I know, sir, I know,” Sheldon said, joining him at the door and waving his hand as if brushing off the comment.
“My life has been…full of…” Antoine seemed to be searching for what to say. “Full of sin. And I have been paying for it. Dearly. When you spoke earlier of demons, I cringed. Just remember what you are getting yourself into, Sheldon. You will hear of everything – I will be totally honest with you about my past and my present. But the picture will not be a pretty one.”
“I understand that,” Sheldon said.
“Just consider yourself warned. I was chosen for a reason – and it wasn’t because of my nobility and generosity in life. You will see.”
“So tonight then? What time?”
“Just consider yourself warned.”
With those words, Antoine slipped outside the door and disappeared in a throng of afternoon Miracle Mile shoppers. Sheldon was left standing at the door considering the warning. What exactly did Antoine mean by that?
Certainly he was immortal, but how exactly is he involved with demons? Pondering the questions, he stepped out onto the sidewalk, completely oblivious to the people who were walking right in front of him. He cut off a harried young red haired female shopper who gave an exasperated sigh and darted around him. He paid her no mind. He was too busy to even notice her. He was looking ahead to the direction he believed Antoine went; scanning a group of ladies ahead on the next block, to see if a man dressed entirely in black were to stand out taller than the women, looking for Antoine.
Antoine was nowhere to be seen.
He had disappeared just as quickly as he had come. Sheldon turned around and dashed back into the office. Once inside, he sought to find Anthony and see how he had ties to Antoine. Sheldon left shortly thereafter; the door slammed behind him, and the windows rattled. He hastily locked the door and charged down the street.
Beneath the setting sun, clouds leaped across a sky that painted crimson orange and red hues against pale blue; the streets of Ponce de Leon appeared aflame. The small shops, with their dusty windows displaying everything from books to cakes to evening gowns and designer purses, seemed to glow in the auburn tint. The fingerling shadows of palm trees stood like an army of watchmen, which elongated and stretched, growing ever taller and larger against the stucco as the sun sank into the horizon.
The crowds had dwindled as the dinner hour was close at hand.
Padding his way block to block, Sheldon decided to confront Anthony later. After this afternoon, he needed a drink. But the words Antoine said kept on replaying in his mind:
Consider yourself warned.
CHAPTER FOUR
Miami is the crown jewel on the tip of the Atlantic Coast. Glittering skyscrapers rise from the land by the water; a pastel patchwork of stucco and stone, mirrored by beautiful bright blue majestic seas and palm trees. Immense ocean liners and yachts dot the blue watered bays in the shadows of giant skyscrapers and contemporary mansions that had a hint of style; and terra cotta buildings under palms adorn the landscape lending to a tropical feel.
Antoine saw it as the land of Sodom and Gomorrah.
No other city in the country could boast so much diversity – or such a distinction between the poor and those with money, power and class.
And so much open sensuality.
It is no wonder that Antoine, the sexual deviant he was during his mortal life, found his way to this city – the skin, the muscles, the leather, the sin.
Most of the population that interested Antoine seemed to find their way to the busy life of the glittering neon-rich lounges and nightclubs of South Beach. The flashy signs and palm trees in pink accented quaint little art-deco style hotels and apartment buildings. Thumping music, splashing pools and seashell colors stood proudly in front of gleaming beaches with crystal blue waters. But at night was when South Beach would truly come alive. After the sleepy mornings have passed along with the lazy beach-and-rollerblade afternoons. The nighttime on Miami Beach…that time was the time that Antoine loved.
Sometime in the middle of the evening, the nightclubs on Washington Avenue started opening their doors, the crowds would trickle in and liven, and Antoine could find plenty of mortals willing to become a minion or one that he could feed on in a dark alley, for the type of clientele that patronized these clubs were already far strayed from religion and anything Godly. South Beach was “The Land of Steroids and Silicone”, and these mortals would show that.
The men, beautiful and all were fantastically built, with muscles only hours in the gym could create. And then the women, all beautifully curved and shaped with the hourglass figure, enormous bosoms brought on by numerous and expensive trips to the plastic surgeon. These mortals were truly vain - worshipping their bodies by and far – keeping a vast distance from anything religious, good or moral.
And then, there were the parks.
By day, playgrounds and swing-sets are in full use. At night, the parks served a different purpose. Located back in the residential areas west of Washington, one found the really questionable characters. Walking down the side of the park, one could see several people in parked cars waiting for that next sexual venture to arrive. If one listened closely, the leaves could be rustling in the bushes beside you.
Darius stood at the entrance to Flamingo Park, the giant wrought-iron entrance stood tall before him, lined with overgrown ivy and a cross in the middle giving the impression of a cemetery. He leaned against the side of the entrance, near some tall hedges; a passerby might assume he was looking for some company.
Darius noticed a young Hispanic man sitting in a blue sedan about thirty feet away. Looking through the corner of his eye, Darius did not indicate to the man that he was watching. Slipping back through the park entrance, he heard the click and creak of a car door against the silence of the night.
Darius knew what the man was intending to do. Patiently waiting against the ivy wall just inside the park, he closed his eyes and reveled in the cool night air.
“Hi,” the man stammered quietly as he approached Darius. Darius opened his eyes and saw a young brown skinned man, he noticed the man’s jet black, short cropped hair, and couldn’t help but notice the small hole in the thigh of his blue sweatpants. The man stepped back cautiously.
Darius said nothing.
Darius slowly extended his hand, and placed it on the man’s shoulder. “How old are you?” Darius asked, lightly squeezing the man’s shoulder.
“I – I’m twenty five,” he said, and his eyes looked down at Darius’ hand. The veins engorged slightly against the pale skin as Darius tightened his grip.
“What do you think that I am standing here for?” Darius asked. “Do you think that I am standing here, calling to you with the intensity of my stare?”
The man said nothing and cautiously stepped back, but Darius’ grip tightened further, holding him in his place. “I saw you sitting in your car over there. I know what you were waiting to do.” Darius squeezed his shoulder so hard he cried out, taking both hands an
d grabbing Darius’ forearm, desperately trying and failing to break free.
“Do you know that I called you?” Darius asked the man, who was making an effort to pull Darius’ hand from his shoulder, with great effort but to no avail.
Darius took his free hand and grabbed the tuft of hair on the man’s chin. He bent down and brought his face right up in front of the man’s eyes, and then bent around to whisper in the man’s ear: “You don’t know why I called you…you stupid, silly man. You come here to sin and then when you find it…all you can do is stammer and stand like a stone…” Darius whispered in the man’s ear, softly and with heated breath, as he bent down lower and tore a gash in the young man’s neck.
Deep red blood poured from the pierced neck, and painted the bushes red in a shower of crimson as Darius drank and drank; he did not stop his drinking until the nameless man was a lifeless corpse – pale and dried. He held the limp body in his arms, peering down at his prey as the fresh, bright-red blood leaked out of his mouth and dripped on the man’s white shirt.
Darius suddenly saw a beam of light, and turned his head to the left he was blinded by the intensity of the light. He shielded his eyes, and dropped the body to the ground with a thud.
“Hold it right there!” a deep voice commanded behind the light. A uniformed police officer emerged, pointing a gun through the bushes, with another cop right next to him. Shielding his eyes with his arms, Darius turned towards the cop.
He could feel his anger mounting and the devil within coming. He no longer was the immortal with a purpose of finding his latest minion; he no longer appeared to be the man waiting in the park.
The monster was coming.
