by EJ Wallace
Jake sighed. “It's not a story, it's the truth. He just... I don't know, got healed. It was… was… a miracle.” The word sounded weird on Jake's tongue, but he couldn't think of any other way to describe what had happened.
“Divine intervention, huh? Have you talked to that attorney, Munson? Is this part of an attempt at an insanity plea? That ambulance chaser has been nothing but trouble for the Chicago Metro,” the officer growled.
Jake was growing tired of this routine. “Listen, that's what happened. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth. How else do you explain the blood on Calvin's shirt, and on the street, and how he has no wounds, no scars?”
The officer examined Jake for a moment. Not to see if he was lying; the officer seemed certain he was. He wanted to see if Jake actually believed his own story. “Who’s to say it's Calvin's blood?” the officer retorted. “I believe the part about the drug deal, son, but this whole act of divinity thing is getting old fast. Even if it was true, no one on Earth would believe you. So tell me, Jake, what happened? You get in a scrape over some money? Did your customer short change you? If so, what did Calvin do to him? Where's the gun, Jake?”
Jake couldn't take it anymore. His heart felt as though it was going to explode in his chest. “I told you! Mark Swanson had it. He shot my friend Calvin with it, and I healed him, okay? I don't know how, but I did. And now I wish I hadn't!”
The officer sighed, a look of pity on his face. He leaned close to Jake. “Listen, son. I've seen your record. Other than a few vagrancy charges, you're pretty clean. This Calvin kid, I know you think he's your friend, but he's got a track record a mile long. Now if you cooperate, I can cut you a deal, maybe get you out of this with a slap on the wrist and some probation. All you have to do is tell me what really happened. Don't ruin your life, kid, especially for someone like Calvin, who you better believe would throw you under the bus to save his own skin. Tell me what happened, Jake. I want to help you, but first, you have to help me.” The officer looked at Jake with pleading eyes.
Jake sat back and sighed. “I already told you what happened.”
The officer's face quickly deteriorated into a grimace. “Fine, have it your-” The officer was interrupted by several men abruptly bursting in through the front door of the police station. There were three of them, all clad in long black pea coats. The man in front had long black hair and pale skin. He had high cheekbones and a delicate jaw. His eyes were a golden amber. When they fell on Jake, they sent a shiver down his spine. The girl to the strange man's right had fiery red hair to match her fierce eyes, which were the same shade as the others’. Her skin was just as pallid, but her full lips were a rosy red. The third one was another male, taller and thicker than the other two, a mountain of muscle. He had mahogany skin and a shaved head. They were all hauntingly attractive. Jake found it hard to stop staring at the redhead.
The three strode forward in perfect unison, a graceful sight. The man with the long dark hair was out in front. He walked so seamlessly it seemed as if he were gliding. He walked past the clerk at the front desk without so much as a passing glance. Before the clerk had time to protest, however, the hulking one flashed what looked like a badge. The remaining two were making a beeline directly for Jake. His heartbeat quickened.
“Hey!” the officer barked. “You can't be back here! Just what do you think you're doing!”
The long-haired stranger looked at the officer as if he had just noticed him for the first time. He did it the way one would notice a cockroach in the cupboard. The stranger's eyes glinted dangerously. He looked to the red-headed girl, who shook her head. The stranger sighed, curled his lip, then reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a leather-bound badge. “CIA,” he said, sounding almost bored.
The officer took the badge and scratched his head. “CIA? What are you doing all the way out here?” he asked, vexed.
“We need to speak with the boy,” the stranger said, nodding to Jake. Jake's face flushed a ghostly white.
The officer's eyes went wide. “You mean him?” he asked, stupefied. “I think there's been some kind of mistake.”
“Yes, you are the mistake,” the stranger hissed, his amber eyes sparkling like rubies.
“Ras' Guul!” the redhead snapped. “Sorry,” she told the officer. “He has a bit of a temperament.” The stranger cleared his throat and breathed deeply. “I need to speak with the boy, alone.”
The officer cocked his eyebrow. “For what?”
“My colleague will fill you in with the details. But this is a time-sensitive issue, and we are wasting it. Do you have an interrogation room?” the stranger asked.
The officer nodded sluggishly. “Of course, in the back.” He jabbed a meaty thumb behind him. “Help yourself.”
The stranger smiled. It was a thin smile, almost predatory. It reminded Jake of Mark's smile in the alleyway. “Very good. Now, Jake, is it?”
Jake nodded warily. “How did you know my name?”
“I know a great deal about you, Jake. Now come with me, and everything will be made clear.”
Jake obeyed. What choice did he have? The interrogation room was cold, clinical. The harsh fluorescent light beat on Jake's back like a spotlight. The seat he was in was metal. The cold steel bit into his flesh as he sat; it was not designed for comfort.
“Listen. I already told the officer everything I know. Can I just go home now?” Jake asked, not attempting to mask his irritation.
The stranger smirked. It was a good smile: he had pearl-white teeth that were flawlessly straight. Something behind it seemed empty, though, sinister. “I don't care about your friend, Jake. Or should I say, Ezekiel?”
“What?” the name meant nothing to Jake, but why then did it invoke a dread in the pit of his stomach?
The stranger cocked his head. His amber eyes were vertical slits, like those of a snake. “Or is it Ragnarok?” he asked.
Fear, a frigid fear assailed Jake's insides. He could barely breathe. “I don't know what you're talking about,” Jake said.
The stranger considered this for a moment, than smirked once more. “You truly don't know. Remarkable.”
From the corner of Jake's eye, he caught it: a brief flash of light- no, fire. A small jet of flames erupted from the redhead's hand through the chest of the officer outside. The officer collapsed into a heap, and Jake jumped to his feet. Waves of nausea bombarded him now. The stranger moved closer, cornering Jake. “Stay away from me!”
The stranger shook his head. “Do not weep for the mortals. They are feeble and petty. Weak,” the stranger hissed.
“You're crazy!” Jake choked.
The stranger laughed. “No, I am Ras' Guul, spawn of Zerath, from the pits of the inferno. Lich of the fire lake, and you, Jake, are my brother.”
Jake stumbled backwards, recoiling from the man's touch. “What are you?” he asked.
“We are wielders of the mana, Jake. You and I alike. I am here to free you of your fleshy prison. To reawaken Ragnarok, so that you may fulfill your destiny.” The stranger hissed, his tongue lashing out. His canines began to grow into fangs, his nails to claws. Even his pupils were wider. The lights flickered as the stranger's eyes drank in the light, the warmth. Jake shivered.
“I'm not like you,” Jake said. “You're a monster.” Jake could feel the malice, the disdain oozing out from the stranger, tainting the air around him like a thick smog.
The stranger cackled. “You do not know who you are, Ragnarok. The foul angel's mana has clouded your mind. Haven't you wondered why you have no parents, no recollection of your past, no memories? You are just a shell, a lost soul wandering this forsaken Earth in the body of a mortal. We need you back, Ragnarok, the hour of war draws near. Now come, and let me sap the wretched angel Ezekiel from your body.” Ras' Guul said, reaching out a spindly hand.
All the rage, the contempt, the utter hatred Ras' Guul felt was coursing through Jake like a venom, blackening his insides. Jake tried to fight it, but he could fee
l fire gurgling deep within his chest, liquid magma building in his veins. Suddenly, he felt rancor, raw, seething rage, and bitterness. He had no parents, no real friends, no purpose. Jake's eyes began to glow a neon orange, like the lava he felt inside of him.
“Yes,” Ras' Guul said. “Release the darkness.”
Jake howled as the flames gushed forth, consuming him. The blazing inferno engulfed them both. Ras' Guul's smile, however, had faded to fear as the flames turned blue. “Stop!” Ras' Guul shouted, trying to wriggle free of Jake's grip. “If you do not join us, you will die!” he warned. “My kind will hunt you to the ends of the Earth. You cannot hide from the wrath of death!”
Jake pulled the beast close. “I am death.” he bellowed darkly, and the flames erupted into an explosion, consuming everything with a gluttonous greed.
When the flames extinguished, Jake's eyes returned to their blue hue. He found himself on the ashen floor of the crumbling police department. Ras' Guul was sprawled out several feet in front of him, along with his companions. Jake was scared, confused. What had happened? What had he done? 'Run, Ezekiel,' a voice in his head told him. 'Run!'
Jake obeyed, being swallowed up by the shadows of the Chicago streets.
Chapter 2
(Sophie)
Sophie awoke in a cold sweat. It was the same dream again, with the drapes and the ashes and the mysterious man. Visions of the blue-eyed stranger came almost incessantly. It had become her obsession. It had been months now since she had left the orphanage. She had been traveling state to state ever since her release. At first she didn't understand why, what was compelling her forward. Eventually, though, she realized. She was following the mystery man's trail. The problem was he moved a lot, never staying in one place longer than a few days. It was only Sophie's visions that kept his trail warm; otherwise, he would have been impossible to track.
Sophie's hunt had led her through half of the northeast, her most recent vision bringing her here, to Detroit, Michigan. She knew the man was somewhere in the city, or at least had been. The vision of him seeing the mile marker on the exit, and him getting off of the express way confirmed that. He was riding in a van with several other men. Why, Sophie couldn't say. Her visions involving him were always too vague, too brief. It was all she could do just to keep his scent.
Sophie's stomach growled. Her gift was dangerous that way. When your mind is channeling so many other experiences, perspectives, it's easy to forget about your own body. The needs of your physical form. Sophie rummaged through her purse, finding nothing more than a rogue dollar, crumpled in the corner underneath a tube of lip stick. She slipped on a wool coat and ventured out into the swirling snowstorm outside. She needed to replenish her expense account.
It always snowed in Michigan. Drifts of snow would kick into the air and abruptly dissolve on the concrete of the street, kept warm by the constant stream of cars. Sophie carefully crossed the street from her hotel room to a seedy gas station a block away. The streets were empty today, no traffic in the road or on the sidewalk. It seemed unusual. Even this early in the day.
Sophie entered the gas station, greeted by the harsh florescent lights. She hurriedly made her way to the counter and held out her crumpled dollar to a very irritated looking attendant.
“Listen, we don't want any riff raff in here. You want some handouts, go to the soup kitchen like everybody else,” the man growled.
Sophie shook her head. “I just want a lottery ticket. A dollar scratch off,” she said.
The man laughed and shook his head. “Unbelievable. It's your money,” he said with a shrug. “Which one do you want?”
Sophie put her hand on the glass that held the tickets inside. Then the vision came. A flash of her scratching a ticket with the number 75 on the bottom right hand corner. A two hundred dollar winner. “I need the paradise palm, ticket 75 on the roll.” she said.
“Ok...” the man said. “But you know you're never going to make it in this world like tha-.”
Sophie slapped the ticket on the counter. “Two hundred dollars please.”
“What? Yeah, right,” the man said, grabbing the ticket. He squinted at it. “Well, I'll be...” The man opened the register and counted out the money in front of her. “You sure you don't need anything else?” he asked.
“No thanks,” Sophie said, and was out of the door and into a diner before the man at the gas station could blink.
Sophie smeared her eggs into her hash browns and scooped them up greedily. It felt as though she hadn't eaten in days. She needed to get a grip. Her visions had dominated her thoughts so much lately she had begun to lose touch with reality. She had only left herself with a dollar to get more lottery tickets. That was how she had been funding herself from the beginning. What would have happened if she’d had no money left at all? How much longer could she keep living like this? But she couldn't give up now; she felt closer than ever to finding him. Just a bit longer now... she told herself. Then all of her questions would be answered.
Whoever the mystery man was, he had been progressively traveling further north now, a path straighter than usual. It seemed he had a purpose now, a plan. Maybe he would stop soon, giving Sophie a chance to catch up. Her nomadic lifestyle was liberating at first, but now she felt stretched thin.
“Hey! Get out of here, ya bum!” the owner of the diner howled. Some bushy-bearded man was taking bits of food off of half-eaten plates that were left abandoned. His clothes were tattered and his face was smudged with dirt. He was homeless, she realized.
“Please,” the homeless man said. “Spare some food. I have no money, but I will work for whatever you can spare.”
“No! This isn't a third world country. Cash or check only, buddy. I'm not a church, a charity, or a loan store, so get out. You're scaring away my customers with your smell,” The owner said.
“But, please, sir. It's so cold out today. Just let me warm up a bit at the bar. Rest these old bones,” the homeless man said, making his way towards a chair.
“No, no! The chairs are for paying customers only. Now if you don't get out I'm going to have to call the poli-.”
“Here,” Sophie said, dropping a twenty dollar bill on the counter. “Now he's a paying customer. Here, get whatever you want.”
The homeless man gave her a wide, tooth-less grin. “You have a golden heart. God blesses those who bless others.”
Sophie smiled weakly. “No one should go hungry. Especially when there's so much food to go around,” she added, shooting a sharp glare at the man behind the counter.
The owner shrugged. “Hey, you want to save the world, be my guest, but I can't afford it. I've managed to support myself all these years with no help. Why can't he do the same?”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Shouldn't you be making his order?”
“Yeah, yeah,” the owner grumbled. “Liberals...” he muttered as he made his way to the back.
Sophie turned to the homeless man. He had warm eyes and smelled strangely good, like fresh linen. He certainly smelled better than he looked. “What's your name?” Sophie asked.
“Gabriel,” the homeless man said. “And you are Sophia Delphine.”
A jolt of shock wracked Sophie. “How did you know that?”
“It says it on your bag,” Gabriel said, pointing to her purse.
Sophie relaxed, sighing deeply. Get a grip, she thought. “How long have you been... you know, homeless?” she asked.
Gabriel shrugged. “Hard to keep track of time. It's a very vague concept.”
Sophie cocked her eyebrow. He was a strange little man. “Ok...” she said, unsure how to respond. Maybe he had a mental illness.
The owner of the diner returned with a plate of food. “Toast, grilled tilapia, and a water,” he said, dropping the plate in front of Gabriel. “Enjoy,” he said with seething sarcasm.
“That's all you wanted?” Sophie asked. “You must be starving. Don't be shy, order whatever you want. It's on me,” Sophie insisted.
Gabriel shook his head and took a sip of water. “When a man has done so much with so little for so long, he can do just about anything with nothing, forever,” Gabriel said with a wink, and waved his hand over the plate. Suddenly, the two pieces of toast turned to four, and the one filet to two. Sophie nearly jumped out of her seat when she saw it.
“Wha-! How?” she asked.
“The Lord shall provide,” Gabriel said, taking a sip of water- no, the glass was red now. “Wine?” he offered.
Sophie gawked at him.
“What's the matter? Never seen a miracle before?” Gabriel asked with a grin.
Sophie took a quick look around the cafe.
“Oh, don't you worry. Nobody saw it. That's the funny thing about miracles. Most people spend their whole lives looking for one, when they've been sitting on top of a whole pile of them the entire time,” Gabriel said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “It's kind of like when you've been in the dark for too long and someone turns the light on. You avoid it because it hurts. The pain has a purpose, though: it makes everything clear,” Gabriel said, dipping his finger into the glass of wine. The liquid inside went crystal clear, water once more.
“Are you…” Sophie paused. “An angel?” she whispered.
Gabriel shrugged. “That is what some call might call me, yes.”
Sophie was in awe. “Why are you here?”
Gabriel scratched his head. “A difficult question indeed. I suppose because we are all here simply because no other alternative exists.”
Sophie sighed. “I mean here, in the cafe, right now...”
“Oh,” Gabriel said with a vacant smile. “That's considerably simpler. I am waiting for someone.”
“Who?”
“A messenger. One with a heart pure enough for the power and a soul strong enough to bear the burden of the oracle. I am waiting for you,” Gabriel said.
“What do you mean, waiting? I am already here,” Sophie said. “And how did you know I would be here? Can you see the future as well?”
