Star-Spangled Apocalypse

by Harmon Cooper

  “Why?” Eve asked as she moved closer towards him, her ribs poking through her torn shirt.

  James drew his sword, for the second time that evening, and pointed it at Eve. “It was an accident!”

  Chapter 24: Hope Arrives in Denver

  James opened his eyes. The room was covered in a murky haze, not unlike stained glass. He instinctively touched his forehead and felt a stinging sensation. There were small abrasions across his forehead and down the side of his right cheek.

  He was lying on the floor, covered in the fluff from a ripped pillow. His head pounded in his skull.

  He sat up, his lower back pulling intensely on his spine as he brought his body forward.

  The room had been ripped to shreds; his katana stuck deep into the wall that fell adjacent to the bathroom.

  James limped towards the bathroom mirror to see what had happened to his face. He gasped, his breath leaving his body for nearly a full thirty seconds as he touched the scratches on his face. Fingernails. Something with fingernails had scratched his face violently.

  A sense of horror spread over him as he realized Eve was still in the room.

  ***

  Hope arrived at the Denver International Airport, ready to meet Virgil.

  Amita had begged and pleaded for her not to go, but Hope had insisted, realizing that Amita didn’t quite understand her relationship with the strange psychonaut. A rental car was waiting for her outside after she claimed her luggage, and before she got in the car, she took a deep breath of the crisp Denver air.

  She had packed lightly, not knowing how long she would actually be in Denver, and she was thankful for this when she finally got to the hotel.

  Hope’s father, a United States weapons contractor turned ambassador, had encouraged her to go, knowing quite well that Hope generally never asked her father for anything. Every time Hope asked him for help or money, he would hang it over her head and use it later on to prove his worth.

  Sure, she loved always having anything and everything at a finger’s reach, this trip being a concrete example of this first world problem, but she also knew through the people she had met in Austin and abroad how happy someone could be without all the material things.

  About a year ago she had given up asking her father for money and instead got a job working a local breakfast restaurant in Austin. The work was grueling and the tips low, but somehow, working there completed her, made her feel more whole.

  But flying to Denver on a whim was way above her income level, and she knew she would have to ask her father.

  It was a good conversation though, her father on his way to Switzerland to have open talks with Russia, at least that’s what she took from what he could tell her.

  He swiftly deposited five thousand dollars into her bank account and now she was here, in downtown Denver ready to meet Virgil.

  It was that fast.

  She didn’t quite know what she would do when they met, but somewhere inside her she felt that things would work out.

  That evening, she took a stroll through the Civic Center Park, careful to stay clear of dark areas, and finally settled onto a bench near an old church.

  The skyline was gorgeous and the various statues a mixture of strange and ironic, like the statue of Isaac Newton or the oddly chunky installation piece that sat at the entrance of Denver Art Museum. The art in Denver perfectly mirrored her mental status at the time, a mixture of congruent uncertainty tainted with anticipation and doused with playfulness.

  “If Virgil doesn’t call me by tomorrow morning, I think I’ll spend the rest of the day at the museum or the library,” she said over the phone to Amita, as she walked back to her hotel.

  ***

  “I’m not done, James,” Eve growled.

  She lay behind Virgil’s bed, her fingers pulling her forward and ripping into the hotel’s carpet.

  James saw the katana stuck near the bathroom wall. The pellet gun was in the knapsack on his bed.

  A quick calculation and James concluded that he could grab the sword and hop towards the front door in a single bound.

  “Eve, I don’t know what type of demon you have become, or what the hell you are, but I will do my goddamn best to get out that front door,” he said, only half aware that he was even talking.

  The dividing line between dream and reality had blurred less than a day ago and James knew what he had to do. Steeling himself, he pulled his sword from the bathroom wall and brought it to the ready. He grabbed his knapsack from the bed and placed the bag over his shoulder.

  One glance around the room and his thoughts were settled: no more of this hellhole.

  James walked towards Eve as she coughed blood onto the ground in front of him. Whatever she was, he reasoned, she couldn’t be real.

  But then again, reason itself had quit applying to both Virgil and him since the start of the trip.

  James hadn’t even thought to look for Virgil and secretly hoped he would be outside waiting for him. He knew better, and he was cognizant enough about the details from the previous night to know that Virgil had left, but the hope was still there.

  Keeping one eye on Eve, he grabbed a shirt from Virgil’s bed and stuffed it in his knapsack.

  Another breath in to calm his nerves, and James moved cautiously towards Eve, ready to strike.

  In his previous life, the life where he was a happy father with a wonderful wife, he would have never struck her, never harmed a hair on her body.

  But this was a different life, a tainted life, and whatever she was, whatever spawn from Hell decided to play a part in James’ continually cursed existence deserved only one thing – and he held that thing in the palm of his hands.

  Chapter 25: A Clean Break

  Eve was hideous. Her face was grotesquely warped, her skin hanging from her pointy cheekbones like molasses.

  James raised his sword above his head and steadied his gaze.

  A clean break – one fluid slice, no more suffering.

  “James,” Eve whispered, scornfully.

  “No more suffering,” James said, tears blurring his vision as he brought the katana down onto Eve’s exposed neck. The blade hit the carpet and Eve disappeared.

  James fell to his knees.

  She wasn’t even real.

  She seemed so real last night, he reasoned, and the scratches on his face were all too real. The barrier between reality and illusion had completely blurred.

  Stumbling to his feet, James grabbed his sheathe and returned his katana to its rightful place. He opened the hotel room door and stared out towards the highway. A cold breeze met him, reminding him he was in Colorado.

  He carried with him four items: his knapsack full of cigarettes, a single button up shirt, an empty flask, and his katana, sheathed and hidden on his right side. He remembered his cell phone and pulled it out.

  The screen was completely shattered, and after pressing the power button to no avail, he tossed the phone into a garbage can. He almost chuckled at the fact that he was mentally saying goodbye to Tucker Jones and Rush Hannity, like those fucks actually give a shit about me.

  James estimated that Denver was less than sixty miles away and if he walked three miles an hour, he could be there by sunrise the next day. Of course, the best way would be to hitchhike, but his success in this endeavor could be limited.

  With all the signs along the Interstate 25 that warned drivers against picking up hitchhikers, and the fact that he was holding a katana, the chances of James actually getting a ride were slim to none.

  Hell, he’d likely get picked up by a state trooper.

  He figured he would try anyhow, and do his best not to let the walk deplete his spirits. After all, he reasoned, there is nothing like a good walk on a cool spring day. So, James started walking, his thumb aimed at Denver.

  ***

  Three hours later the scenery was the same.

  Cars raced by, each vehicle full of people living their own lives, having their own adventures,
dying their own deaths.

  James used to be one of those people; he had his own adventure and his own life too. Now, his life had started living him.

  He’d made it roughly seven miles and exhaustion had already sunk in. The last time he could remember eating any food was in New Mexico, over twenty hours ago. The only thing that kept him going was the horizon and the thought of seeing Zane.

  His mind rewound the last few days as he trudged along the highway.

  Starting with Mika’il, James tried desperately to figure out what this trip was about and how much of it was actually real.

  There was Nathaniel, he was definitely real, and Cody, he was definitely an asshole. Then there was Sax, the evil mime cowboy who had given James the alcohol he had drunkenly consumed last night, the alcohol that was still making his head pound.

  For some reason though, his thoughts kept arriving back at Mika’il and James began to wonder if he was figment of his imagination just like Eve had been.

  But how did I get the scratches on my cheeks? he wondered.

  Virgil had gotten a feather and he had seen Virgil holding the feather, so that much was real. Mika’il must have been real. But if he was real, why wasn’t he here now, when James actually could use him? Where has religion ever been when I actually needed it?

  It would be nothing for Mika’il to appear, let James hop on his back, and give him a quick flight over to Denver.

  His thoughts drifted to what Mika’il had said to Virgil and him about the keys of Heaven and how they could open the door to Hell.

  James knew in his heart that he had opened the door to Hell and that the strange, ghastly figure that scratched his face up had probably crawled her way out of that open door.

  Maybe it was just a woman thing, he concluded. After all, the dead version of Eve did look a bit like Amita. Maybe he just had some sort of hidden female issues that stemmed from a suppressed memory he couldn’t recall.

  James sighed.

  Everything had become a figment of his imagination, including Virgil. Remembering something, James placed his hand on his back pocket.

  Just as he had suspected, his wallet was gone.

  “Fuck!” he yelled at no one in particular. Without any funds, James’ trip just got more complicated.

  He continued down the lonely road with his thumb out, the sun laughing at James from high above. The ultimate tormentor, James concluded, the ultimate truthsayer; nothing new happened under the sun and yet the sun never did anything to intervene.

  James laughed at himself; he was now cursing an inanimate object, an unforgiving burning ball of hydrogen and helium, a light that had no switch; a light set on eternal illumination.

  A large SUV shot by James, the backseat full of kids stuck to the window like squashed bugs. The three children stared out the window at what James had become: a homeless man walking along an interstate highway in the middle of nowhere with a katana.

  James covered his face with his arm.

  As he walked with his face covered he wondered where Virgil was now, if he had made it to Denver, and if he would ever see him again.

  He knew it was his fault that Virgil had left, and felt unyielding remorse for threatening Virgil with the katana.

  Virgil was loyal and had been there and believed in James, no matter their political differences or anything else. Hell, Virgil probably would have stuck by him even after learning the truth, that it was self-centered trip to “rescue” a boy in a coma, a boy that couldn’t be rescued.

  Virgil would have stayed, James knew it, and Virgil of all people wouldn’t have judged him.

  “A good friend,” James began to sob. He sucked his emotions down and continued, one leg in front of another on the side of that lonely highway.

  He couldn’t even remember what he said the previous night; the only image in his mind was his hand holding the katana and Virgil backing away towards the door. Nothing more. That and the vial, the vial of alcohol no mortal man should have ever placed his hands on.

  James felt ashamed of this as well, abashed that he’d made the impulsive decision to drink the contents.

  His mind floated back to what Virgil had said about Sax. What the hell did Virgil claim that he was? Abraxas? James took a cigarette from his knapsack and lit it.

  Why would something as large as God and as low as the Devil care about James and Virgil? Their journey was pointless, impulsive, a metaphor that reminded James of the customers he had served for what seemed his entire adult life – so blind to what they actually needed that they just grabbed whatever was at the register in front of them.

  Oh, some gum? It’s only three dollars more. I need it! Oh, a keychain? Sure, I need a keychain!

  He had learned the term years ago, impulse buys.

  Just place stuff by the cash register and people will buy it because they are already buying other stuff.

  That was what this journey was like, James figured, it was an impulse journey.

  ***

  “I dunno what the hell he was up to….” the first soldier said to the other.

  “Wearing a mask? A trunk full of gasoline? A copy of the Koran? Like four empty bottles of whiskey? Well, there isn’t much he could have done with that, but the point remains, he was definitely up to something,” the second soldier replied.

  “Did you see his arms?”

  “Yea, they look like he got in a fight with a weed whacker!”

  The first soldier laughed. “Crazy fucker. His wallet said his name was James Sinclair but that can’t be him. His face was so different. He claims that his name is Virgil and that an angel will rescue him soon...”

  “An angel?” The second soldier laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

  Chapter 26: Gabriel

  James had been walking since late morning. Sure, he was closer to Denver, but he was also hungry, thirsty, developing a nasty cough, and highly exhausted. It was getting dark and the temperature was dropping quickly.

  To make matters worse, James was heavily dehydrated.

  About the only relief he’d received happened about an hour go, when he had walked by a gas station on the outskirts of Monument, Colorado, and noticed an unattended water hose. He drank from the water eagerly, splashed water onto his wind beaten face and filled Ol’ Faithful to the brim with something besides whiskey.

  Ol’ Faithful stuck with him, no matter the circumstances.

  Over the course of the walk he had also developed a painful rash from his thighs constantly rubbing against each other, both legs pushing relentlessly towards their destiny.

  Denver.

  The destination that Virgil and he had fought so hard to get to, the destination that now seemed so close yet so far.

  James sighed.

  He had no money, no shelter, no support, and above all, no whiskey. He glanced over his right shoulder at a large rock formation, by no means a mountain, about a quarter mile from the lonely, troublesome highway.

  It looked like a perfect place to sleep for the night, and if he was lucky, a perfect place for the vultures to rip his decaying body into pieces.

  The only thing that stood in his way between the highway and a hallowed resting ground was a small barbed wire fence, covered in rust, which sat about four feet high.

  He looked for a clearing and noticed a couple of lines missing from the bottom pole a couple of yards up the way.

  Over or under, just like life, he thought, as he estimated the best way to get over the fence.

  The opening was too small for him to crawl completely under, and he didn’t know how safe it would be to place his hands on the top rung. After all, he couldn’t remember the last time he had had a tetanus shot.

  He laughed at himself again.

  Here he was in the middle of nowhere and he was worried about getting uncontrollable muscle spasms!

  “You’re from Huntsville, you pussy,” he mumbled. “You’ve climbed rustier fences than this.”

  He placed his hands in h
is pockets for a moment, just to warm them up.

  The stolen wedding ring. He had forgotten about the ring that he’d picked off the rich lady back in Austin.

  The first stop after visiting Zane, he figured, must naturally be a pawn shop. He would need to find a semi-sketchy one though, one that would pay him top dollar for the sparkling diamond and not ask many questions.

  He smiled. Maybe there was chance that he could rebuild his life in Denver after all. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless.

  Once his hands were warmer, James used the last of his energy to propel himself over the fence.

  He ducked into the field, making an effort to be invisible. Not that it really mattered: not many cared about a homeless man looking for a place to sleep in an open field.

  Besides, he reasoned, it’s night now.

  As he continued into the field, he came upon a small pond.

  “This may be the one redeeming quality about tonight,” James whispered as he looked at twinkling cosmic reflections in the water. The stars reflected off the small waves of the pond, shattering into the shore and bursting into a myriad of flimsy, innocuous images.

  The creatures that lurked in the corners of his exhausted mind showed no mercy, they appeared and disappeared at will, doing their best to perplex their spectator.

  For a brief moment James forgot about these creatures.

  He placed his hand on his face, feeling the scratches on his cheeks. He tried desperately to see his reflection in the pond, but the moon had hidden behind a dark cloud and he could only see the outline of his silhouette.

  James gave up, set his knapsack on a soft piece of grass, and lay down along the soft bank. He looked up at the sky one more time and yawned.

  Tomorrow he would finally get to see his son.

  ***

  “Wait, what did he say?” the first soldier asked.

  “Something about, the doors of Heaven and Hell. The strange thing was he was talking to someone, like they were truly there. A couple of doctors in the holding area observed him. He also screamed ‘failed destiny line’ once or twice. Whatever the hell that means. Man, you should have seen that crazy fucker. He was talking to a guy he kept calling ‘Nathaniel.’ And it took us forever to get that mask off him, we had to sedate him.”