by Lynn Sholes
“I don’t know who his patron saint is. I didn’t even know he had one.”
“Cardinal Tyler’s patron is Saint John of the Cross,” the nurse whispered as she pulled the door closed behind her.
Turning back to John, Cotten wondered if she was beyond praying at this point. Why would God listen to her prayers? She was about to turn her back on Him forever.
She sat at his bedside for over an hour, coming to terms with what she was about to do. She had only one hope, and needed to talk to Ted tonight. Tomorrow might be too late.
As she rose to leave, a glint of reflected light caught Cotten’s attention. Looking closer she saw links of a gold chain that disappeared beneath the neck of his gown. Cotten lifted the chain. The hospital staff had allowed John to continue wearing his gold cross. Being careful not to disturb the tubes and wires from the monitoring devices, she unhooked the clasp, removed the chain and cross, and slipped them into her pocket.
Cotten gave John a last look before leaving. As she went down in the elevator she kept her hand in her pocket palming his crucifix. Not until she was outside did she release it so she could make a call on her cell.
“Cotten, how’s John?” Ted asked when he answered.
“No change,” she said, working at holding back the tears.
“I’m really sorry.”
“Ted, please don’t ask any questions. I now know what I have to do to save John, and I need your help. I don’t know how this will turn out for me, and that doesn’t really matter. Please understand that. I’m going to tell you my plan and you have to promise to follow it through. No matter what I say or do later, you must do what I tell you now.”
She fought to keep herself composed. What would she be like once she surrendered to the Darkness? Would she become evil? She had to make preparations now before that happened, and she had to be sure she could count on Ted. There was no one else. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Arrange for me to get clearance through the State Department to travel to North Korea. Just say that the Communist leader has agreed to an exclusive SNN interview.”
“I’ll start the paperwork immediately.” He sounded skeptical but didn’t hesitate. “Anything else?”
“Yes, one more thing.”
land of lies
The Air Koryo flight from Beijing approached Sunan International Airport from the north. Cotten watched the farmland and brown hills glide beneath as late afternoon turned to evening across the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Only a third of the 198 seats in the Russian-built Ilyushin IL-62 were filled, and she occupied her own row. Whether it was because of the low number of passengers or it was pre-arranged so she would not have contact with the other passengers, she didn’t know.
Cotten was dead tired. She had only slept in small segments on the fourteen-hour flight from New York to Beijing, tormented by John’s deteriorating condition and the decision she made that would save him. The overnight stay at the Sino Swiss Airport Hotel was just as restless, for all the same reasons. Even with a high-level-approved visitor’s visa, she was still made to sit in an isolated waiting room for most of the day in Beijing’s Capital International Airport before the Korean flight took off for the five-hundred-mile trip to Pyongyang, an equally fatiguing experience. She dreaded seeing herself in a mirror, fearing she would resemble a character from a Tim Burton movie.
Cotten watched the modest terminal building roll into view, a three story, glass-front structure with a large portrait of the Communist Party General Secretary perched on top. Two bright red signs displaying the city name in Korean and English formed bookends on each side of the portrait. Once the jet had taxied to a stop, she prepared to deplane. Out her window she saw a dozen armed Korean soldiers forming a corridor between the plane and the building, keeping the passengers from straying. Cotten noticed a couple of military vehicles parked nearby. Mounted on the back of each were large caliber machine guns.
She was the last to disembark, and as she stepped off the stairway onto the tarmac, a man in a dark-green military uniform standing nearby said in a heavily accented voice, “This way please.” He gestured toward a black Mercedes limousine parked a dozen yards away. Cotten had read in the State Department briefing papers supplied to SNN that North Korea had the largest fleet of state-owned Mercedes limos in the world. Stiff DPRK flags were mounted on both sides of the limo’s front grill. A city police car, its emergency lights flashing, waited in front of the limo, another in the rear.
The officer held the door open for Cotten, and she slipped into the back seat. He joined her, taking the opposite, backward-facing seat. He was short and thin, perhaps only five feet five. His close-trimmed hair was dark, and he wore rimless glasses on a round face. He sat straight with his knees together and his arms crossed, gazing intently at Cotten. He had to be wondering why she was getting the star treatment in a country with only one star. There was no attempt at introductions or conversation.
A moment later, Cotten heard a thump as someone placed her bag into the trunk and closed the lid. Then the sirens wailed and the three-vehicle caravan accelerated off the concrete through a security checkpoint and onto the main highway for the fifteen-mile trip south into Pyongyang.
The traffic was almost non-existent. An occasional commercial or military vehicle passed in the other direction along the four-lane motorway. As the Mercedes entered the city, the traffic increased, but only slightly. In any other major city, Cotten thought, it would be considered extremely light. She was told in advance what to expect, yet it still amazed her. In what the State Department documents called the Land of Lies, Pyongyang was the City of Ghosts.
With few cars, buses, and taxis, Cotten thought the city was almost beautiful in an eerie sort of way. The limo passed tree-lined boulevards and sprawling public squares built around fountains and statues. Lovely but deserted parks, walkways, and plazas lined the Taedong River as it flowed through the center of the city. The buildings were dark, and the stores all appeared closed. She even caught a glimpse of the USS Pueblo and the Pitcairn moored bow to stern near the city’s center. The limo drove past the 150,000-seat stadium constructed in a failed bid to capture a portion of the 1988 Olympics. Cotten watched the huge bowl-shape structure drift by, a gloomy monument as empty as the soul of this sad nation.
They pulled up to the front of the pyramid-shaped Sungyong Hotel, an impressive tower extending 106 stories, one story taller than the tallest building in South Korea.
Led by her military escort, Cotten exited the Mercedes and entered the hotel’s grand atrium. Rather than approaching the front desk, he halted her in the middle of the athletic-field-sized lobby.
“You are not allowed to leave the hotel without official approval and a government chaperone,” he said. “You are not to take any photographs. Do not speak to anyone but an official from the DPRK. Remember that you are from an aggressor nation and do not have the same privileges as our visiting friends from the former Soviet nations. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Do not test our hospitality.”
Cotten watched as the limo driver carried her bag to a nearby bank of elevators.
The officer motioned, and the three entered the lift.
“How many rooms does the hotel have?” Cotten asked.
“Three thousand and one,” the officer said after much hesitation as if he were revealing a state secret.
“But isn’t it true that you only allow one thousand visitors into your country a year? What are the extra rooms for?”
His face reddened. With a huff, he said, “That is a matter of national security.”
“Of course.” Cotten shifted her gaze up to the floor indicator. They stopped on the fiftieth floor and exited.
The officer led her down a corridor to her room. He inserted a key—there were no magnetic cards used here. She stepped into a modestly furnished room with a single be
d, dresser, and desk. A small TV sat on a corner stand. Thick black-out curtains covered the window. A large painting of the General Secretary poised atop a snow-clad mountain peak carrying the DPRK flag hung over the bed. He appeared to be leading a great army into battle.
Cotten turned to thank her escort just as the door clicked closed. The officer and driver were gone.
She wandered to the window and pulled open the drapes. The curtain rod slumped at one end, threatening to fall. What she saw was a sprinkling of street and traffic lights, a handful of vehicles, and a spotting of illumination from the windows of distant buildings. Night had enveloped Pyongyang like a cloak.
If she was about to make the journey into the Darkness, she had come to the right place.
supernova
After showering, Cotten slipped into bed and immediately fell asleep—the long trip finally catching up with her. Her dreams were filled with images of her father pulling the trigger of the gun he held to his head, her mother’s face scored with lines of depression, and the spirit of her twin sister.
Suddenly, Cotten sat up wide awake. No light came through the window, the city slept in darkness. Feeling a presence in the room, she started to pull back the cover and search for the light switch.
“Stay,” a voice said.
“Who’s there?” she asked.
The voice had come from the direction of the window. The drapes were open but she saw nothing between her and the faint starlight beyond the glass.
“Daughter of Furmiel, I am pleased that you have come home to be with your family.”
“I’m here to save the life of my friend. Being here has nothing to do with you.” Her voice was shaky.
“You will soon come to understand that this is where you truly belong.”
“Tell me your name so I know what to call you.”
“I have many names.”
Cotten pulled the covers to her shoulders. “Then give me one.”
“Light bearer.”
“I don’t see a great deal of light here tonight.”
Suddenly the room exploded with white light—a supernova flash that momentarily blinded her. She was certain that the heat had singed her hair. As the light diminished, she caught a glimpse of a form standing beside the window.
The image faded back to darkness. But she had seen enough to know it was her immortal enemy, the Son of the Dawn. The Beast. Lucifer. Satan.
The ice-cold hand of trepidation slithered down her spine.
“Do you need more light?” the voice asked.
Still reeling, her eyes stung and teared, her mouth and throat parched. “No,” she managed to whisper. “That was quite enough.”
“Good, then let’s get on with our business.”
temptation
“Why did you come here?” the Old Man asked.
“You already know the answer.” Cotten now stood in the darkness of the hotel room, still shaken from the blast of blinding light. Once it had faded, his form appeared like a shadow against the starlight flowing from the window.
“You must say the words.”
“I’m here to consummate an agreement between us to save the life of John Tyler.”
“More specific,” he said. “What does our agreement entail?”
His voice was surprisingly benevolent and velvety. Perhaps he knew that it would be difficult for her if he was forceful. The serenity did make the words come easier.
“In return for sparing John’s life, I will succumb to my heritage and accept my true identity, which was passed on to me by my father.”
“What is your heritage—your legacy and identity? And as you tell me, be at peace with it. Surrender to it as you speak the truth.”
Cotten hesitated knowing that there would be no turning back. She choked as a lump of fear seemed to close off her throat. “In my veins flows the blood of the Nephilim. I am, and always have been, the daughter of a Fallen Angel. My soul belongs to the Darkness, to you.”
“Very good. See, this is not so difficult. And do you agree to those terms?”
Cotten’s eyes locked on his. “No,” she whispered and swallowed hard. “Not yet.”
The Old Man cocked his head and orange embers glowed behind his eyes.
“Why not? I have given my word, my promise. What is your hesitation?”
“I don’t believe you have power over life and death. How am I to know for certain that you can save John’s life?”
“Perhaps you are correct when you think of it in the traditional sense. But you make it too simplistic, too black and white. The power over life and death can take many forms. I do not need the kind of absolute authority for which you speak. My ego does not feast on supremacy. But I do have the powers of suggestion, persuasion, and temptation. With those powers I can halt, even reverse the ravaging attack of Black Needles on the human body and rid it of the disease. After all, I had a hand in creating it. However I accomplish it should not be your concern. The end result will be what you desire.”
“How do I know you won’t betray me?”
The Old Man moved against the background of the starlight and Cotten thought he became transparent.
“You, Daughter of Furmiel, are the centerpiece of my grand plan. Have you not figured that out? You are the last piece missing in my collection, the prodigal daughter finally come home. You will make our family complete.”
He shifted again, and she was certain he was more mirage than solid form, like heat radiating off the desert highway. A wave of dizziness washed over Cotten, and she struggled for balance, concentrating on her task, looking past the Old Man and picturing John’s deep blue eyes.
“I will need proof of life before I agree,” she said. “I have to know that John is alive, that he is recovering.”
“And how do I know that you will fulfill your end of the agreement?”
Cotten stiffened. Here was her stand, the chance she was going to have to take. “You don’t.”
“Then perhaps it is time that you see with new eyes so that you will not hesitate to consummate our contract.”
Suddenly the room filled with a whirring roar, then a blustering hot wind and the crash of a violent thunderstorm.
Cotten stood naked atop a mountain. The gale blowing against her skin subsided to a warm and gentle breeze as if she were being wrapped in fur and satin, caressed by a million fingertips. She looked out over endless fields of gold and yellow flowers stretching from the base of the mountain to the horizon. Puffy clouds moved languidly across a sky so blue that it reminded her of tropical island waters. Birds soared among the clouds and butterflies darted from flower to flower. Total comfort, complete bliss, wanting nothing and needing only to enjoy the beauty and serenity of the scene.
“This place I will give to you, in all its perfectness, pleasure, and contentment,” the Old Man said, standing beside her. “All your wants fulfilled, all desires come true, all needs satisfied, ecstasy beyond belief. Is that not the same as heaven?”
She said nothing and instantly found herself submerged in water. With no discomfort or panic, she breathed in the crystal clear liquid as it covered every inch, every pore, and every crevice of her body. Weightless, floating in a clear river of rapture, waves of pleasure undulated through her.
A voice inside her head said, “Daughter of Furmiel, this can be yours whenever you want it.”
The water cascaded over her, draining away. Cotten opened her eyes to find herself sitting in a vast room filled with mountains of gold and jewels, more than what could possibly fill all the vaults and treasuries of the world. She reached down and ran her hand through a mound of diamonds. They ran between her fingers like ice crystals, the brilliance of their facets sparkling more than the stars of the night sky.
“You will never be in need of anything. All that you’ve seen will be yours by accepting who yo
u are. Just say that you agree, Daughter of Furmiel, and you will have everything I have shown you.”
“It’s not enough,” Cotten said. “You know what I want.”
“And you shall have it. I give you my word. The priest will live.”
Suddenly Cotten was ripped from the vision back to the darkness of the hotel room. The gathering dawn silhouetted the Old Man’s form against the window.
With a frail voice, she whispered, “I agree.”
in my name
Cotten felt a part of her melting away as she stood in the dark hotel room. She couldn’t pinpoint what was happening, but sensed a cavity open within, a cold empty space inside her that had not been there moments before. The instant she agreed to the contract with the Old Man, some part of her evaporated into the darkness. It wasn’t that the sensation was unpleasant or even objectionable, just different. The only word she could think to describe what she felt was hollow.
“So what happens now?” Cotten asked.
“Nothing.” The Old Man’s voice seemed to come from far away.
She wondered if he was still in the room with her or if he was speaking through her thoughts as he had during the strange visions.
Cotten slowly turned in a circle, searching for him. She wanted a clear image of this … this being to whom she had just given her soul. But he took no form that she could fix upon. “I still need proof of life,” she said. “I have done what you asked. I want to be assured that you will do as you promised.”
Almost imperceptibly, the voice whispered from behind her. “Understandable.”
Cotten spun in the direction of the voice. “What do I do next?” she asked.
There was no reply.
For an instant the air in the room turned icy as if a window opened and allowed in a winter draft. She glanced toward the windowpane and found it still closed. Just as quickly as it had come, the chill dissipated.
Cotten looked out through the glass, laying her palms on the pane. The pale golden blush of daybreak brought the first tracings of the city below.
