by Mark Harritt
She turned to the team, “I think we can leave now. We did what we came here to do. The invasion has been stopped. Until Eli shows up and gives us more marching orders, I say we go and get dinner.”
The group concurred. They picked up their rifles, and headed back to their vehicles.
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Darcy was unhappy. She had one hell of a headache. It was hard to think, hard to concentrate. She didn’t know where Sam was. She didn’t know where the van had gone to. She never imagined that Eli and Sam would leave her. She leaned against one of the motorcycles. There were dead alien bodies everywhere.
She stared down at the huge gem in her hands. It was as big as her head. In its depths, strange colors swam in scintillating patterns. Something was in there. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was the key to finding her parents. Images were flashing through her mind, but the thoughts didn’t make sense to her. She had a vision of the gem, attached to her chest. It wouldn’t fit though. It was too big.
She looked at the gem, then turned it over. She had an idea. She was very good with minerals. She started to concentrate. The gem shuddered in her hands. There was a moan on the wind. The sound of glass tinkling sounded across the pit floor. She looked at the gem again. The huge gem looked smaller. But it wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t do what she wanted. She was getting some kind of resistance.
She frowned. She knew what she wanted, and projected that reality into the jewel. The resistance eased. It was as if the jewel suddenly understood. She felt power, like she had never felt before. She knew she was getting help from somewhere or someone. What she had been previously, was a shadow to what she was now. This gem would do her bidding. She concentrated, drawing on the strength of the magic.
The gem shuddered. She closed her eyes, and felt the structure of the gem with her mind. She shifted the crystalline structure, made it more compact. She could feel it shift in her hands. She sat there, leaning against the motorcycle, eyes closed, for a good, long time. When she finally opened her eyes again, the light was beginning to dim. She looked down at her hand. She could see a light coating of dust on her hands that glittered as it whirled away on the wind. The gem was much smaller now. She could hold it in one hand, with her fingers folded around it.
She stared at the gem, then she made her decision. She brought her hand up, and held the gem over her heart, next to her skin. A flare of light blossomed as she pressed the gem to her skin. The gem eagerly melded with her.
The gem pulsed in time with Darcy’s heart. She smiled. She walked over to the demon sword, and pulled it from Mephistopheles withered corpse. She leaned it against one shoulder, and began walking up the road to the top of the mine.
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He waited. He was sitting in the driver’s seat of a black, 1965 Lincoln Continental convertible, with suicide doors. He was a big man, broad shoulders. He had what was left of a cigar dangling from his lips. He had broad, brutal features, framed by blond hair. He had dark stubble on his face. His arms were thick, muscular, and hairy. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, chinos, and docksider shoes. Chest hair curled out of the v of his shirt. Thick fingers held a lighter up to the battered cigar, and he puffed as he tried to get it to light again.
She got to the top of the pit, and walked towards the tourist center. The sun had gone down hours ago. He switched on the lights so that he could watch her. She walked towards the car. He studied her good looks. Another time, he would have made his play, or, if that didn’t work, he would have forced the issue. This wasn’t the time or place for that kind of thing though, not with what he was facing. That could end up being very dangerous for him. The big, curved sword angled on her shoulder, moaning like the wind, punctuated that thought for him.
He got out of the car, and walked forward towards her, “Long walk up, huh?”
She looked at him, “Who are you?”
He smiled, and took the cigar out of his mouth, “I’m what you call an emissary. I have a friend that would like to talk to you.”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments. She watched him as she stood there. For a moment, he thought he would have to defend himself against her. Then she spoke, “Your boss?”
He shook his head, “No, not the boss. Another associate of mine. If we can all talk, maybe make a deal, I may not have to worry about my boss anymore.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded, “Ambitious, I get it. Okay, I can meet with your ‘associate.’”
His smile was genuine now. He knew he had passed the danger point, though he wasn’t safe yet. He pointed at himself, “My name’s Beelzebub, but you can just call me Bill if you want to. My associate has a place for us to meet.”
He motioned to the car, “Can I give you a lift. I’ll fill you in on the particulars along the way.”
Ragosh needed to know the players in this reality. Using this demon would help him figure out how he needed to play his hand. Ragosh looked at the car. He walked over, and laid the demon sword in the back seat. He searched the memories of his host, opened the door, and sat down. The new body was interesting. It would take some time to get used to it.
Beelzebub sat back in the car, and closed his door. He fired up the engine. He looked over at Ragosh. He motioned to the door. Ragosh looked over at Beelzebub’s side of the vehicle, figured it out, and the passenger door thumped shut.
Beelzebub smiled, then turned on the radio. They drove off with “Bloody Kisses,” by Type O Negative playing on the radio.
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She sat in her room. The room didn’t feel right to her, though. It was different. It seemed bigger than it should be. The furniture wasn’t the right size. She walked over to the door, and tried to turn the handle. The door wouldn’t open. She looked around. She walked over to the window, and pulled the curtains aside. There was nothing on the other side of the glass. It wasn’t as if it was night. Instead, there was just, nothing.
She looked around. The ratios were off. She looked down at her body, and then looked at her hands. She realized what the problem was. The room around her was set up from when she was a child. The room was from her memories. It was the way her room was when she was a little girl. All of the changes that had occurred since she lost her mother and father were gone. It was as if she had never grown up. She was looking at the room from the height of a four year old girl, even though she was fully grown.
She looked at everything in the room. It was all there, everything from her childhood. She tried the door again. She tried to open the window. It wouldn’t open. She tried breaking the window. The chair thumped against it, and the glass wouldn’t shatter, no matter how many times, and how hard she hit it. She banged on the door, and eventually, started banging on the walls. She did this for a very long time.
She started yelling. When that didn’t help, she cried. She fell asleep and then woke up, over and over again. She remembered that she had broken things, ripped things, and tore things. But nothing was damaged. It was the same as it had been when she first appeared in the room.
She sat down on the floor, wrapped her arms around her legs, and began rocking. Darcy wondered if she would ever see Sam again.
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Mark Harritt
About the Author
The author is currently an over the road Truck Driver who is frequently found at the end of a 400 to 500 mile day trying to peck out one to two thousand words on a new book. He’s an Army paratrooper with a background in intelligence operations. He spent six years in Iraq and Afghanistan, in uniform and out. Currently, his greatest challenges are blac
k ice, lake effect snow, and uploading word documents to E-reader format, all equally treacherous endeavors. His greatest hope is to write stories that his readers enjoy.
Other Books by Mark Harritt
Earth Exiles Series
On Distant Shores – Book 1
Connect with Mark Harritt
Hey, if you want to contact me, drop me a line at [email protected].
I also have a webpage at Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/9184359.Mark_Harritt
