The Prophet Box-Set: Books 1-4

by David Beers

  Her father stared forward, and Nicki felt herself giving over to his will. He wanted to know, had pulled her from bed to hear it.

  She sighed. “The restaurant was on fire. Everything. People were burning and the flames just kept growing. I turned around and customers were literally dying at my feet. The fire wouldn’t touch me, though. Not at first. A man was at the back of the restaurant, near the exit. He was black … but not his skin color. Black like night, like a shadow rested over him. I think his eyes were closed or he was looking down or something, because when he finally did look at me ….” She trailed off not wanting to finish. She’d hidden from those eyes since waking up in the infirmary, because she didn’t want to acknowledge their existence.

  Everyone knew what eyes like that meant.

  Even though you didn’t talk about it, you knew.

  “Go on.”

  “His eyes were gray, Dad. They were gray like that woman we learned about as kids. The one from the Black.” Had she ever spoken of it in front of him? Perhaps as a child, but he and her mother told her she wasn’t to speak of that outside of class. Ever. And her teachers had told her the same.

  She expected him to turn on her, to tell her to keep quiet about such things, but he only kept looking at the house.

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes. Well. The fire ended up grabbing me. Right after he looked at me. That’s why I was rolling on the ground. I felt like I was burning alive.”

  “Those people dying around you,” he said, “they didn’t feel like a dream? You could hear them? You could smell them burning?”

  She nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”

  Her father took in a large breath and then let it out slowly.

  “There’s a lot this world tries to keep from us, and I guess I know that as well as anyone. I guess I’m just as much a part of it as anyone else, too, because I bought in and went along.” She heard the self-hate residing in his words, something she’d never heard from him before. “And now, I guess I can’t do it any longer.”

  He paused and the crickets in the yard made themselves known, filling the void with their songs.

  “It’s the sight, Nicki,” he finally said, his voice raspy as if he might start crying.

  Nicki blinked. Her mind seemed to be stuck, like a truck in mud—yet her wheels weren’t even trying to spin. She was just standing there.

  “You have it. I had it. A lot of people before you in our family had it. On my side, not your mom’s.”

  Nicki blinked again. The sight? No. No, that wasn’t possible at all. She knew about the sight the same way she knew about the Black, but they were both things that you didn’t talk about. The sight was supposed to be found and removed from society because it was bad it was the devil it was attached to hell and anyone that had it was being touched by demons was that what she saw a demon and were they going to come get her they were because that’s what happened to people who had the sight—

  Nicki’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. Her mind thinking its frantic thoughts all the way down, until her body slammed hard on the ground.

  Nicki woke up on her own.

  She was inside the house and the sun was up outside.

  She rolled over and looked at the bedside clock on her table, shock filling her as she did. It was almost noon. Nicki bolted out of bed, her feet slamming onto the hardwood floor.

  “Dad! We’re late!”

  Her voice traveled through the house for a brief moment, and then fell silent. She heard no response, just the house’s empty quiet.

  “Dad?” she called, pausing as she dressed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept this late, nor not shown up on time to the restaurant. Maybe as a kid, when she was doing her little rebellious thing after Mom died, but definitely not since.

  She still heard nothing. She dropped her uniform back into the drawer and turned around, staring at the closed door. She went to it, pulling her robe off the back, and then wrapped it around her. She opened the door.

  “Dad?”

  Nothing.

  She walked down the hall and to the porch, finally hearing something that showed she wasn’t alone. The chair outside, creaking as it rocked back and forth on the wood.

  She pulled the door open and the chair’s noise grew louder. She looked through the screen and saw her father sitting to the right.

  “What are you doing?” she said, opening the screen door.

  “I called Susan and let her know we’d be late. We need to keep talking.”

  “About—”

  The words died in Nicki’s mouth.

  That’s why he was sitting out here, why he hadn’t woken her up. Because they’d walked out here late last night, all the way to the road, and then he told her …

  Tears filled Nicki’s eyes as she looked at her father.

  “It’s important we keep acting normal, Nicki. Even taking the morning off could raise flags, though I suppose the excuse you’ve been in the infirmary will mask it … There’s coffee inside. Grab some and then come sit down.”

  Nicki turned back into the house, her hands wiping at the tears starting to spill on her face. There weren’t a lot of them, but they blurred her vision. She was remembering more of last night—a sudden glut of panicked thoughts and then waking up in bed this morning.

  She moved on autopilot, going to the coffee maker and pouring a cup. Her mind remained on the words her father said.

  You have it. I had it.

  Nicki turned back around, cup in hand, and walked back to the porch.

  You have it. I had it.

  She opened the screen door and went to her dad.

  You have it. I had it.

  Nicki sat down on the chair, pulling her feet up and folding them beneath her. She took a sip of the coffee, the tears still hazing the world around her.

  “I shouldn’t have waited to tell you,” Daniel said. “I should have done that differently. I’m sorry. I didn’t really plan it out, just like everything else in my life.”

  Nicki didn’t know what to say. She was still struggling with the basics. She had the sight?

  “I’m going to try explaining it again, and then we’ll have to go into work.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “I’ll talk and if you have questions, you interrupt me, okay? Though, I doubt you want to talk right now.”

  Nicki shook her head, her father able to see it peripherally.

  “I took you outside last night because I didn’t know if the house was being monitored. I know the Old World isn’t as technologically advanced as the New, but that doesn’t mean they’re not listening. Especially when it comes to the sight. If they were watching, though, they’d have seen you fall out again. I haven’t slept and no one showed up here, so I guess we’re safe right now. After this, we’re not to speak of it anywhere near the house or the restaurant. The car, either, okay?”

  Nicki nodded.

  “I guess I’ll just start at the beginning. I don’t know where else. I don’t care what the Church says. It’s been lying to us since the Reformation, probably before it, too. I don’t know if I’ll go as far as to say I don’t believe in God, Nicki, but I sure as hell don’t believe in the Church, or the God It fosters. Neither did my mother, and she had the sight too. The Church has been lying to us for a long time, about a lot of things, and definitely about the sight.”

  He stood and walked to the edge of the porch, one hand grabbing onto a banister.

  “The Church used to kill witches, a long, long time ago. Before the Reformation. I don’t know if any of them were actually witches, but they burned them all the same. I think it stopped doing that for some time, and then the Reformation happened. The Church won’t tell the truth about what really took place. It keeps up this idiotic explanation that demons possess those with the sight.”

  Nicki watched his hand grow tighter on the banister, the muscles in his forearm straining. He held it like that for a second and then sighed, releasing the tension in his hand
.

  “The sight came about after the Reformation. No one is really sure exactly when, some say after the Black came last, some say before it. There are theories as to why, but no one knows that either. A lot of people think the nukes that were dropped on the True Faith weren’t really contained. The governments at the time said they had the technology to quarantine the fallout, but who knows if that was true? Maybe it spread and we’re the genetic mutations all these years later. There’s another theory that the Church itself did it. That after the Black, it started experiments on its members. The Church wanted people with the sight to help them take control over the entire world, or to battle the Black. I really don’t know, Nicki. I don’t much care either. You know me, the whys behind everything never interested me a whole lot, and I’m alright with that. It didn’t interest my mom too much either. You, you’re different than either her or me, though. It might interest you, but I’m warning you right now, don’t go looking.”

  He turned around and stared at her.

  “You hear me? You go looking for answers about how this all happened, and you’re going to end up dead. I don’t want to be cruel, but it’s important you understand that, Nicki.”

  She nodded.

  “Tell me you understand. I need to hear it.”

  “I understand,” Nicki whispered. She looked down into her coffee cup. Her mind wasn’t losing control of itself like last night. She wasn’t exactly calm, though—a sick depression sat in her stomach, feeling like rotting meat and making her want to vomit.

  “There’s more. I want to get this all out of the way now, but if you need more time to think about it, tell me.”

  Nicki shook her head again but didn’t look up.

  “However the hell the sight got started, it’s here now. The Church doesn’t like it, I suppose, because it allows people to see things that they don’t want us to see. There’s people that saw meetings between the Pope and other Priests. There’s people who saw deep into the machinations of other Ministries. Anything you can think of, Nicki, it’s been seen. The Church isn’t looking for people like us because it thinks demons are inside us. It wants us because we have the ability to see beyond the bullshit they peddle. Does that make sense?”

  Nick didn’t know if any of this made sense right now. She took a brief sip of her coffee but still didn’t look up.

  “It’s a lot. I know,” her father said. “I’m almost done, I think. I honestly thought you weren’t going to get it, the sight. Not everyone does. It’s skipped generations in our family before. Neither my mother’s father nor his father had it. That’s why I didn’t tell you. If you don’t have it by 20, you’re not supposed to get it. I thought it skipped you. The sight seems to work like athleticism, like muscles, I guess. It comes on, and it grows stronger, and then it decreases as the years go on. That’s why I say I had it. I suppose I still do. The genes are in me, they’re just weak now. I don’t have many episodes anymore. The last one was years ago—”

  “What’s all of this mean to me?” Nicki interjected. “What the hell am I supposed to expect, Dad?”

  Anger was rising in her, though she couldn’t explain why. Anger at her father. Her deceased mother. The world. Because nothing he said mattered at all. Who started it, what it did—none of that amounted to a hill of beans. It didn’t fucking matter.

  “What do I do?” she asked, her voice cracking and tears rolling down her face like huge raindrops on a window.

  “You’re going to have more episodes,” her dad said, his own voice remaining hard. “I’m not going to tell you it’ll get easy. It’s going to get worse and you need to expect that, Nicki. I won’t lie to you anymore about it. If you’re not prepared, then they will come for you. Don’t ever think differently. The Church will not allow anyone with the sight to keep living.”

  Nicki placed the cup on the ground and brought her hands to her eyes, sobbing into them. “What do I do, Dad? What do I do?”

  Her father stepped across the porch and goodness, did Nicki want him to touch her. To wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. To hold her hand like he did yesterday.

  Daniel only stood above her.

  “When the visions come, you need to recognize them for what they are. You need to understand they aren’t real and that they can’t hurt you. They might feel like they’re hurting you, but that’s only in your head. You’re seeing something, and it might be in the future or the past. It might be in the present. None of it, though, is ever something that’s around you. You have to remember that and when you see these things, no one can ever know you are.”

  Nicki cried into her hands. She pulled her robe’s sleeves over them, and they soaked up the salty tears falling from her eyes.

  Finally, her father put his hand on her shoulder. “I love you, Nicki. Finish crying, and then we live our lives as if this never happened. We go to the restaurant and we keep going on just as before. If we do anything differently, we’ll die.”

  “Your Eminence, I’m at your disposal.”

  The Catholic Cardinal’s name was Wen Nitson. His first name came from his Chinese heritage, his mother having wanted something from 7,000 years ago to survive after she was gone. The Church hadn’t banned such things, though they were frowned upon, and his name always stuck out in any conversation. Nearly everyone had given up that ancient heritage, but his mother was a stubborn woman—and when she died, he was the one having to carry such an odd name around. Wen didn’t know where Nitson came from, and he never cared to find out either. It was enough knowing about the Chinese nonsense.

  Either way, it didn’t really matter anymore. Wen was usually referred to as ‘your Eminence’ or some other title, and he preferred them to his actual name.

  “Have you heard?” the Cardinal asked.

  “No, your Eminence. I apologize for my ignorance.”

  The Cardinal was looking down at the paper on his desk, his mind already onto something new. He didn’t like wasting time with unimportant matters, even if much of the Church seemed preoccupied with such endeavors. He looked up now, though, realizing he’d have to explain.

  “We’ve got another sighting. Or, at least they think there’s one.”

  “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” the underling said.

  “Yes. I was hoping I was done with this blasted thing. Apparently not.” The Cardinal stood. “Do you have a cigarette?”

  “Yes, of course.” The underling pulled a pack from his black robe, took one out, and handed it to the Cardinal. He then pulled a book of matches and lit the end of the cigarette. There were other ways to get his nicotine fix, but the Catholic Church liked the old ways and so did Wen.

  “Thank you,” Wen said. “Yes, an infirmary sent a report. A young woman. From the report, she seems older than the usual onset. I want you to send someone down there and take care of it.”

  “Do you want me to check and see if she actually has the sight?”

  “No,” the Cardinal said, shaking his head. “I don’t care. Just bring her back and dispose of her. The Church has been dealing with these undesirables for 7,000 years, mainly because we’re too lax with them. We try to decide if they’re actually afflicted. I’m tired of it, and I’m tired of this assignment. Just get rid of her.”

  “Yes, your Eminence.”

  Eight

  First Two Generations Following the Reformation

  It may be important to take note of the Ministries before Rachel Veritros was born. Her story is integral to this one, if not the most important piece, and much has been said about her. Wicked. Deadly. Brutal. Some of this is true, some just fabrications—but in order to understand her and the one after her, it’s best to first understand how their world was created.

  The peace begun under the four original Ministers was fragile in the beginning. None trusted the others, and given the horrors each had inflicted, that was to be expected.

  Still, the four went forward with their plan. The Old World probably had the
hardest go at it, because their domain stretched throughout such diverse territories. Spreading from western Europe down through much of Africa, the cultures were many.

  Still, all had difficulties, and all met them in different ways. To go through a complete recitation of each Ministry and the actions they took would be outside the scope of this recounting. It shall be enough to simply discuss some of the programs, and some of the problems arising from them.

  Reeducation camps were introduced into all four Ministries, though each naming the camps something less ominous. They took those most steeped in cultures other than the Anglo-Saxon, English speaking one now mandated by all Ministries, and quite simply, never let them return to society. Education had nothing to do with these places, but rather, they were holding cells for those that could never assimilate.

  Sometimes, the camps weren’t even that.

  Sometimes, people went to them and died. Clearly some ways of old were kept, as the Ministries used gas chambers and ovens when they deemed it necessary.

  The younger people could be taught. New language. New customs. In the Old World, Christmas was still celebrated, but in other Ministries? New holidays were forced upon the populations. They were, of course, embraced tentatively by some and more enthusiastically by others. The world remembered the war, and many wanted to eradicate the things which brought it.

  Some refused, of course, and they were dealt with. Death, even if not public or known. There was no other choice; people either accepted their new life, or they were killed. Keeping those alive that wouldn’t assimilate carried far too much risk. The previous belief systems had to be destroyed.

  The Ministries understood where the future lay, though, and it wasn’t in those already born.

  The future resided in the womb.

  The first two generations of children were taken from their parents, raised in a completely sterile environment without any hints of pollution. (Some Ministries would adopt this practice for all time, finding it fit their needs exceedingly well.) Children were taught the one and only culture (and devoutness to their respective religion) with a dedication and thoroughness that had to be admired.