A Mark Unwilling

by Candace Wondrak

  I’m either too spunky or too alert, for he frowns. “Father is busy dealing with a traitor,” he speaks of Deb, and I instantly become anxious. Other than behind attached to social media, my generation is known for being the most anxious and depressed of them all. “I am more than capable of purifying you.” His hands travel upward; at least they’re above the dress.

  “Why do I feel like, by purifying me, you really mean something else?” I say, sending him my own unimpressed look. I meant it when I told the Devil that guys who threaten these sorts of things are stupid and boring.

  Terrifying, sure, but stupid and boring nonetheless. No imagination. Typical evil man.

  “You are angry that our Lord and Master did not want you,” he says, standing. “You must let the anger out in order to achieve peace.” He moves to the podium.

  I cross my arms. “And by peace, you mean become your sex slave, right? How dumb—”

  He slaps me, hard, and for a moment, I sit there as my cheek begins to throb. In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever been slapped. “You have internalized the ways of the old age. You are nothing but a whore.”

  I flinch at the word. I’ve heard the word in movies, when chicks get into chick fights, but never have I been called one myself. An achievement, considering all that’s been between my legs is underwear. Not that there’s anything wrong with people getting down there. I have nothing against it and I believe there’s a double-standard when it comes to women and men and their sexual activities.

  But that’s neither here nor there.

  He grabs my face, squeezing my cheeks, whispering, “A filthy, worthless whore that even our Lord disposed of.” Stronger than he looks, he lifts me off the pew and leans me on the podium, face down and butt in the air. Of course a man like him would prefer it this way.

  “What if,” I say, “I tell you he didn’t dispose of me?”

  “I’d say you are a liar as well as a whore,” he whispers, tugging my hair. “And that you need double repentance.” I feel him reach down to his belt.

  This sure went south fast.

  “What if I tell you,” I say, flipping around and landing a swift kick on his groin, “that your sense of repentance is sick?” The blow must have hurt doubly, for I’ve never seen a man turn a shade that purple before.

  He grimaces, and before I can make a run for it, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a syringe. Into my neck it goes, injecting me with who knows what. My arms lose their strength, and my legs give out. Still purple in the face, he lifts me back on the podium.

  This is completely unfair, I think, as I feel him moving his hands beneath the dress and bunching it up by my thighs. My thoughts intensify as he pulls down my underwear and drops it to the floor.

  This is really happening.

  I’m about to be…I’m about to get…

  Well, I walked into this one, thanks to Deb. I sure hope she isn’t getting the same treatment somewhere else, by her Father. All different kinds of bad.

  As the man unzips his pants, my Mark burns. I try moving my fingers, and to my surprise, they move slowly. They curl into a fist. The serum’s effects diminish as the sensation on my Mark intensifies. As the man grabs his hard shaft, I lunge for him, hands circling his throat with force I never knew I was capable of.

  We tumble to the floor, and I squeeze and squeeze. My hands sizzle with my rage, a heat growing inside them, burning the man’s flesh off to reveal his esophagus. The man tries to scream, but nothing but blood comes out. Soon, after a bit more squeezing, he becomes still. I pull my hands from his throat, gooey red sticking to me grotesquely.

  I get to my feet, aghast not only at what I’ve done, but also what might’ve happened if I hadn’t done it. Just when I’m about to make a snarky comment to myself about deus ex machina, I nearly jump out of my skin when I see the owner of my soul sitting in the pew, spread out and looking bored.

  “You could’ve helped,” I say.

  “I would’ve helped before he went inside of you,” he shrugs. “I wanted to see if you could handle it, and by the look of him, I’d say you did well enough.”

  At that, I step closer to him, bring both hands to his face, and rub the dead man’s gooey, throaty, bloody skin onto him. “Oh, yeah? Well, here’s my thanks.” After getting a good bit on his face, I then wipe both sides of each hand onto his chest. “You’re such a big help, I don’t know how I survived before you came into my life.”

  “That’s just it,” he says with a dimpled grin, and with a wave of his hand, all the bloody goo is gone, and I’m wearing my skinny jeans, boots, and leather jacket once more. He stands, nearly a foot taller than me. “I’ve always been in your life.”

  I open my mouth to argue, to say that it isn’t true, but then I realize how true it really is. Instead of arguing, I say, “Unless you plan on helping more, get out of here.”

  “You never asked me to help with this idiotic plan,” he says, offering me a hand.

  “Because I didn’t want to,” I mutter, slipping my hand in his. A portal swallows us. Unlike David’s portals, this portal is made of living, breathing fire. We reappear in a larger room, where Deb stands, strung to a cross, about to be nailed down. Tears stream from her eyes.

  An old man turns to me, shock on his face. A dozen or so robed men surround me. Dark maroon flames rise up, encircling us. The men stop in their approach. I step out of the fires, walking directly to the man I’m assuming Father is.

  “I know,” I say, landing a punch to his nose, “I’m not a blonde.”

  As the fires die down, the men see the creature they revere. They run like cowards, which I’m sure Father would do if he wasn’t unconscious from my punch. I work to free Deb, and she is hardly there. She wears the same white purification dress I did, and she falls into me when I untie her and stand. She says something, but it’s inaudible.

  “Take her,” I say. “Get her out of here. I have to find David.” I hand Deb over to the Devil, who once more acts bored. He lifts her in his arms as if she weighs nothing, a portal of fire enveloping him.

  I pick up the hammer, figuring it’d be good to have a weapon, and exit the room, heading in a random direction and hoping I’m traveling the right way.

  Luck—if you can call it luck—is on my side because I come across rows of rooms with one-way windows. Most rooms are empty; some have children. Others have older adults. Each room houses no more than one individual, and each individual wears white. More purification, perhaps?

  In one room, I find who I’m looking for. I try the door, and it doesn’t work, so I do the next best thing: I bash through the window. At first, it hardly cracks. I hit it again and again, and slowly the crack spider-webs out, and I’m able to push it down. I jump into the room. David lays on the bed, silver around his ankles and wrists, burned into his skin. I yank the chains off him, taking more than a few chunks of flesh off, which allows him to stretch and stand. His face has many cuts and bruises; I can only imagine what they did to him in the name of purification.

  “You all right?” I ask, breathless.

  David nods, and as he does so, I notice that his ears are bloodied, carved to align with Human standards. But he doesn’t bring it up; instead, he says, “I think you should see who’s across the hall.”

  We climb out of the room, and I press my face against the glass on the room opposite his. Inside, in a straightjacket, Mike sits on the floor.

  I look over to David, wordlessly asking what I should do, but all I get is a noncommittal shrug. Sighing, I know I should leave him. He shot me, after all, tried killing me. But then again, he was forced by his owner, Hades. How could you go against a boss like that?

  Heaving the mallet over my shoulder, I say, “Swear for me, will you?”

  David mutters, “This is fucking stupid.”

  And then I break the glass, knowing I’ll probably regret the decision because he’s right.

  Hopping in, I walk around Mike and undo his straightjacket, sl
ipping it off him. The man looks pathetic, huge bags under his eyes. “Come on,” I say, “let’s get out of here.” Mike follows me out of the room, not saying a single word to me.

  By the time we get into the hall, David’s gone. I hope he portalled out of here. A mini-army piles into the hall, and instead of daggers, the tattooed men have guns, similar to the gunman at my university. Mike’s too tired to care, while I move between him and the horde.

  I feel him come and tell him to grab Mike first, doing so causes the group with guns to waver. “You guys can kiss my—” A strong, warm hand grabs me, and I’m spun into a hard chest before I can finish. “—butt,” I mutter, opening my eyes to the familiar concrete walls of the Vampire sanctuary.

  My ragtag group stands in the hall, looking worse for wear. Deb runs to David, muttering how sorry she is. David does his best to smile it away, but it looks strained. Mike stands by himself, sliding out of his straightjacket with a pensive, downtrodden face.

  Cloud is beside us instantly. “I am glad you made it back, little Lexa.” The Devil shoots him a threatening glare, which he easily ignores.

  “Honestly,” I state once I see the disdain the Devil sends to Cloud, “we couldn’t have done it without him.” Out of my peripheral vision, I see Mike glancing down at his outfit, and then glancing back at the Devil. “Not that I’m saying go throw him a party, but…”

  Josefina and Eve appear, and while my mom freezes at the sight of the Devil again, Josie couldn’t care less. That, and the little girl has no idea who or what he is. Before I can join in the reunion, she takes me by the hand and brings me to her toys, saying happily, “I got a Ken doll!”

  We sit, and she shows me the male Barbie. “Did Darren give him to you?”

  She nods, squealing with excitement. “I never had a Ken before.” She offers him to me. “Why is he wearing that?” She points a tiny finger at the tie on his suit.

  “Maybe he’s going to a dance,” I offer, handing him back. “Or a wedding.” I love Josie—she was like the little sister or cousin I never had, celebrating holidays and birthdays with us—but I have other things to do.

  “Have you ever been to a wedding?”

  I shake my head. “Have you?”

  Josefina gives me a negative.

  I surprise her by hugging her close, wrapping my arms around her tight. I may have other things to do, but I don’t want to leave her. She just lost her mom, and I lost my dad. Us survivors have to stick it out together, you know?

  Still, regardless of how I feel, I know what’s coming next.

  The man of the hour sits beside me, and Josefina, the ever-trusting six-year-old, shows her growing collection of Barbies to him. “Here,” she says, handing him the Ken doll, “you can be Ken.”

  I hold in a chuckle as I watch him study the doll as if it’s from another planet. “Josie, I don’t think he wants to play.”

  She sticks out her bottom lip, giving him her best cute face.

  “Josie,” I say, snatching the Ken from him and giving it back to her, “go show Deb your new doll.” She grows giddy with excitement, and with Ken firmly in her small hand, she skips back out into the hall.

  He uses his invisible power to close the door behind the girl, shutting us away from the rest of them.

  “Well,” I say as I toy with the laces on my boots, “I guess that’s it, then.”

  He stares at me for what feels like hours. His dark brows are slightly creased, as if he’s mulling something over. Finally, he exhales and leans back so that he’s lying on the floor. “Why did I have to get you?”

  I feel a ping of insult. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I grew up hearing stories about the depravity of humanity.” He props himself up on his elbows and stares squarely at me. “Sure, that place had some, but it was…not like I thought it would be. You’re not what I thought you would be.”

  It seems like everyone is saying that lately. My fingers pick at a plastic hair comb. He grew up hearing stories? That doesn’t make any sense. “What did you think I would be?”

  “Fun,” he says simply. “I thought it would be fun, but you’re intent on draining that fun, aren’t you?”

  “I’m sorry if I don’t think depravity is fun!”

  “I know you don’t,” he says, tapping his chest, where his heart is. Heck, I’m not even sure he has a heart. “Such an innocent soul yours was. How is it that after twenty years you haven’t lost any of that innocence?”

  I bite my lip. “I killed a man today, remember? And the shooter in my school.”

  “I know, but I do think those kills were mandated, don’t you? They deserved to die.” As he says it, he instantly becomes annoyed. “Listen to me. I’m starting to sound like you.”

  I watch as he stands and vanishes in a cloud of fire and smoke without so much as a goodbye or stay here. I’m shocked at his sudden departure, not to mention his demeanor. If I don’t know any better, I’d say he was pouting. But that’s ridiculous. The Devil doesn’t pout.

  There’s a knock on the door, and I say, “Come in.”

  Deb peeks inside, wiping her cheeks to hide her tears. She’s hugging me tightly within a blink, whispering, “I’m so sorry. They…I swear they weren’t like that when I left. Not that extreme, anyway.” Studying me, she adds, “Are you all right? Did they…hurt you?”

  I know what she means by hurt, and I quickly say, “No, but I did kill the man who tried to purify me.”

  She’s stunned only for a moment, regaining her composure and asking, “Who was it?”

  “Forty-something guy. Freckles. Grey beard. Liked the word whore,” I tell her.

  “Sounds like my Uncle.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “But they were all completely crazy.”

  Deb shakes her head. “They never used to be that bad. They never treated women equal, but they never forced them to do anything. I wonder if the Horsemen have anything to do with it…” She looks away, trying to make sense of the cult she grew up in.

  “Why did you never tell me you came from them? It doesn’t exactly scream trust.”

  Her thin shoulders shrug, and she rubs her palms, where iron stakes were seconds from being impaled before we reached her. “I told you. I wanted to get out of that life. I didn’t want to be used as a pawn in bringing about the end of the world. And…they never liked me much, since I’m a girl. They only kept me around because of my Father.”

  “You never planned on going back,” I state, already knowing it’s the truth. I couldn’t blame her, considering her Father was going to crucify her.

  Deb nods. “But when you told me how David was frozen with that stone, I…I know the things they do to other supernaturals they bring down there. I couldn’t let them hurt him. I haven’t known you guys long, but I…want to think we’re friends.”

  “Goody,” I say. “Now I have two friends! Put some butter on me, because I’m on a roll.”

  She chuckles.

  I stand, asking, “Where is he?”

  “David and Mike are in the infirmary.” When I’m about to ask why the Vampires have an infirmary, she says, “Cloud had one built for the Sapes.” Beneath the white purification dress—which she desperately needs to change out of—she gets to her feet, following me out into the hall, where Eve and Josefina stand, waiting for our talk to end. “I’m surprised you saved him, too, after he shot you.”

  Eve snaps to attention, too motherly in saying harshly, “Who shot you?” The hand holding Josefina’s tiny one tightens.

  “Mike,” I say with a sigh.

  I leave my mom’s questioning to Deb, who, I realize, might not be able to fully answer. But that’s all right. Eve doesn’t need all the answers. She doesn’t deserve them. I walk down the hall, making only four wrong turns before I wind up in front of the infirmary’s door. My hand is about to push it open when a voice stops me.

  “I’m amazed that you are still here,” Cloud says, his expression sullen. “Whe
re’d he go?”

  “Oh,” I shrug it off, as if it’s nothing. “He went off to pout a bit. You see, he was expecting to get a Human Mark who likes depravity and evil and stealing candy from children. He may force me to do things, but he can’t change who I am.”

  Cloud gives me one of his sad smiles—a real-life oxymoron. “A wise way to look at it.” There’s a long, somewhat awkward pause before he whispers, “He doesn’t deserve you.”

  At that, I can’t help but chuckle. “You make it sound like we’re dating. Last I checked, that’s definitely not what’s happening.”

  “Regardless, he hasn’t stolen you away yet. Perhaps he is not all bad.”

  On that note, I leave Cloud and head into the infirmary. The Devil can’t be all bad. Right. Because there’s good and bad in all of us, right? I don’t think I’m on that side of the debate. Some people, some creatures, are pure evil. No redeeming qualities whatsoever.

  The infirmary, a small room with a few hospital beds and large machines, is more high-tech than what I expected it to be. David sits on a chair, dabbing his ears with cotton that, I assume, is wet with some kind of sterilization liquid. He cringes every few seconds, but he strains a smile.

  “I see while I was taken, certain things have come to fruition,” he says, attempting to be lighthearted and failing. He winces, and I take over the cotton-dabbing, pouring a bit more peroxide on the pink ball. “Is it as bad as you thought it would be?”

  “Ask me in a week, if I’m still here,” I say. “And I found out that Mike’s soul belongs to Hades.”

  David nearly falls out of his chair.

  “He was ordered to kill me,” I whisper, not wanting Mike to overhear. The ex-FBI agent stands near the sink, dealing with his own injuries. “Hades and the Devil aren’t friends, from what I gather. He was about to stab me with a dagger Hades gave him, when…” I lower the cotton, feeling immensely sad not only for me, but also for my friend. “Can I just say, you were wrong.”

  He blinks, confused.

  “When you came into my dream and said nothing was real—you were wrong.”

  Finally, David remembers. “Oh, shit. The man you were ogling like a piece of meat—that’s him? He did look kind of familiar.” And then he does something I totally do not expect—he starts to laugh. Full, hearty laughter that shakes me to my core. What in the world is so funny here? When he calms down, he says, “I bet you nearly died when you met him. Maybe die isn’t the right word, considering.”