The Devil's Prayer: A Supernatural Thriller (The Books of Jericho Book 1)

by J. D. Oliva

  "Ahh!" he screamed, letting go.

  The second grabbed her wrist and squeezed. She dropped the bread knife, but drove the steak knife into his shoulder.

  "Fucking bitch stabbed me!"

  Turning back, she kicked him in the stomach and tore back down the stairs. Leaping over the last railing, she landed on Main 1 and pushed open the door where Julia and four other security guards were waiting.

  "Dana, what are you doing?"

  She pulled another blade from her pocket and slashed at the leader of the congregation. Two security guards stepped in front of Summerville with guns drawn. Dana lunged at them but pulled back when she realized their bullets would do a lot more damage than her steak knife.

  "Please drop the knife, Dana," Julia said, but her warm, motherly voice rang a little more hallow now.

  "Why, is it your turn to strap a helmet to my head and break my ribs?"

  Julia put her hand over mouth, pretending to be shocked.

  "Oh, Lord. Where's Michael?"

  "He's still up there. Go take a peek," Dana said with an icy tone Jericho would appreciate.

  Julia understood what that meant. Gently pushing the security force aside, Julia put her hand on Dana's face, gently moving her head up so she could see the slash across her face. Dana did that one herself, not that she needed to point it out.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't want any of this."

  Dana didn't believe or care about what Julia wanted anymore.

  "I just want to get out of here," Dana finally said.

  "I can't let you do that. You're going to come with me, and you'll see. Everything is going to be so much better, very soon."

  With a tear trickling down her face, Julia smiled and rubbed her chin. For some reason, she wasn't giving up on saving Dana's soul. Whether Dana wanted it or not.

  LXXIII

  Bright lights shined from the Green Beast. Gentle raindrops bounced off the tips of razor-sharp weapons. Two men wearing sunglasses in a darkened parking lot circled each other, each waiting for the other to strike first. Zion swung his long, extended right arm down, the edge of the keris heading for Jericho's head. The katana blocked the first, but was slow to respond to the overhand left coming next. A quick twitch and the second swipe was blocked. The two backed away, keeping their defensive fighting stances.

  Their first fight was a quick affair between two men who didn't know or respect the other's abilities. The second was inside of a burning building fought with pure rage. This was different. Even as the rain fell, the environment was controlled. The tension felt different. Jericho was prepared. Zion had something to prove to both the client and the Prince. Neither wanted to make a mistake.

  "I thought this would be more exciting," LeMay laughed.

  Neither man cared. It wasn't that weasel's life in the balance.

  Jericho charged forward and swung the katana. Zion blocked the first strike, dodged the second and caught the blade with edge of his dagger on the third. The two warriors pressured in, so their faces pushed together with only the cold, wet steel between them. Zion spun underneath, freeing him to sweep his opponent's feet out from under him. Jericho crashed to the ground and felt the stitches in his stomach rupture. With the rain pouring, in minutes, the blacktop would be awash in red water.

  "Ahh!"

  Zion leaped into the air, pointing the keris toward his victim's heart. Still on his back, Jericho raised the katana to block the falling daggers. A foot to the chest knocked Zion back. He back rolled into a crouching position and spun the keris.

  With a smile, he licked his teeth. "I knew you wasn't healed yet."

  Jericho struggled to get back to his feet. The pain in his stomach is excruciating. Reaching for his belly, Jericho pulled back a handful of blood.

  "Just give up," LeMay shouted.

  "There is nothing that one should suppose cannot be done," Jericho uttered while picking the blade back up off the wet pavement.

  "What?" The line confused LeMay.

  "A man's whole life is a succession of moment after moment."

  "He's quoting the Hagakure. Fuck. You one of those?" Zion laughed.

  Jericho bit down on his lip and pointed the blade at Zion.

  "Rich or poor, old or young, enlightened or confused, they are all alike in that they all will one day die!"

  The smile was gone from Zion's face. Now he was annoyed.

  "You right."

  Charging back at Jericho, Zion didn't swing or twirl the keris. Instead, he charged, planning to thrust the weapon forward. Jericho already had one stab wound bleeding out. Two or three would finish him. Jericho swung the shimmering katana in circles, blocking each forward thrust with a metal clang.

  "No matter if the enemy has thousands of men, there is fulfillment in simply standing them off and being determined to cut them all down, starting from one end!"

  Zion crouched and tried to sweep the foot out again, but this time Jericho countered with a knee to the face. A move that he liked to call the V Trigger. Zion, now on the ground, tried to roll back up, but his long torso made a perfect target for a savate-style side side kick to the center of his chest.

  "Continue to spur a running horse!" Jericho shouted. He was just yelling any quote that passed through his consciousness.

  Struggling to catch his breath, Zion shouted, "Shut your fucking mouth!"

  He hopped back up and charged in with a fury. Wildly swinging the kerises, Jericho's steel sliced into the backside of Zion's right hand. The dagger went flying into the air, landing next to the Town Car.

  "My blade!"

  "It is a wretched thing that the young men of today are so contriving and so proud of their material possessions. Men with contriving hearts are lacking in duty. Lacking in duty, they will have no self-respect."

  "Fuck off, bitch!"

  Zion charged and speared his shoulder into Jericho's gut, tackling him to the pavement. The katana was airborne and landed on the hood of the Green Beast. No more technique and position. This is a fight. Zion tore the shades off Jericho's eyes, exposing them to the harsh lights. When Jericho instinctively closed his eyes, Zion drove his fingers into the exposed sockets. The intense pressure made him scream. If Zion kept pushing the eyeballs, the orbital bone itself would pop. Catching those fingers, Jericho sunk his teeth into Zion's thumb and bit down till the bitter taste of blood filled his mouth. Zion screamed in pain, but refused to let go. Jericho bit down harder as Zion's fingers squeezed his skull. Neither man relented, so Jericho ripped his head to the side, shredding a chunk of flesh and muscle from the Brit's hand. Finally, Zion released.

  Raising his hand into the light, Zion looked at the sinew hanging from his wrist. With his arm already bent, Zion drove the point of his crooked elbow into Jericho's nose. Cartilage burst out from the flesh of his face. Jericho sent the base of his palm into Zion's nose, breaking it too. Zion rolled off of Jericho and went for the free keris still radiating strange blue light off the blade. The two men crawled on the flooded blacktop and reached for the knife's handle. Jericho grabbed it first, wrapping his hand around the wooden grip. Beaten to the weapon, Zion took his long finger and reached under Jericho's shirt until he found the open wound. Zion's boney fingers penetrated the exposed laceration and poked around inside of Jericho until he found something to hook onto.

  Jericho screamed and let go of the blade. He tried to push Zion's hand out from inside of him. The Brit finally released and grabbed his keris. He stood tall over Jericho, who crawled back toward the high beams. Jericho reached up for the steel cowcatcher, pulling himself up by truck's grill.

  "I always knew you's a little bitch!"

  Zion ran forward and lept to drive the keris into his prey. Jericho spun out of the way, and Zion crashed into the Beast's metal cowcatcher., but rolled off and landed on the ground, Jericho's right hand caught the katana's handle and pulled the blade as he spun away from the hood. Zion ducked under the edge, which skimmed the top of his head. Keeping his momentum going
and extending his arm, Jericho spun one more rotation. The top of the katana drove toward Zion's face. Time moved through sand as Zion leaned back, trying to avoid the sharp tip. The blade missed Zion's head, and for a second, he sighed in relief. But the sword kept trailing, and the tip sliced through the glasses and ever so lightly dragged its edge across both of Zion's eyeballs. The sound reminded Jericho of cutting into a small grape. The blood and fluids inside of his eyes spilled out over the glasses still draped over the bridge of his nose.

  "My eyes!"

  Zion dropped the keris to the ground, and Jericho followed up with a wide swing that severed the younger assassin's hands from his wrist.

  "Ahh!"

  Jericho bent over and picked up the knife with his free hand.

  "Sorry, Roscoe."

  Zion screamed.

  Handless. Visionless. Finished.

  LXXIV

  Jericho jammed the katana into Zion's back, driving it out the front. His rival's body collapsed into a puddle, splashing red and brown water as he hit.

  With the sword still in hand, and in only slightly in better condition, Jericho hobbled over to the black portfolio case that Paolo Graces left him a week earlier. The pain was too much to bend over, so Jericho used the backside of the katana blade to scoop up the sling. Raising the weapon high into the air, he let the strap fall down over his own shoulder. His eyes stayed locked on LeMay. Zion is done, but this was not over.

  "Gentlemen, please relieve Mr. Jericho of those pages."

  "I fucking dare you."

  The armed guards in soaking-wet suits weren't sure how to react. They just stood there, staring at each other.

  "That's enough," shouted a new voice.

  Everyone turned to the Church's entrance where Julia Summerville and her security team waited with Dana between them. She clearly didn't want to be there.

  "I believe those belong to me," Julia said.

  Again, no one knew what to say. Without her security, Julia walked into the rain, past the car barricade and approached the battered and bloody Jericho.

  "Thank you," she said.

  Jericho wiped his beard with his free hand. Whether it was covered in rain, sweat or blood, he wasn't sure. He also wasn't sure what to do. This apparently is the woman who hired him to retrieve the missing pages of the Codex Gigas, and he finished the job, as always. But handing them over felt wrong. Not like giving them to LeMay is a good idea either. He looked back to the entrance at Dana, who slowly shook her head.

  What choice did he have?

  Jericho unsheathed the portfolio case and handed it over to Julia.

  "Thank you again," she said.

  Julia Summerville took five more steps toward LeMay. The two stood face to face. The rain falling from the sky is the only sound any of them heard. The rest stayed silent, unsure what would happen next. The two religious rivals looked each other in the eyes and kissed.

  "Welcome back, Kevin," she said.

  Dana’s jaw hung open as Julia looked back on the perplexed crowd.

  "Please, all of you come inside. Can't you see it's raining."

  LXXV

  The guards, both the ones wearing suits and the ones in pseudo-police uniforms, ushered Jericho and Dana into the church.

  "What the hell just happened?" Dana asked.

  "There is no Antonio LeMay. It's bullshit. This whole thing is bullshit."

  "I'm so confused," Dana said, looking back to Julia, whose fingers interlocked with the man she thought was LeMay.

  The guards escorted everyone into the big arena that served as the Church's sanctuary. A far cry from the old stone and marble of Holy Name. The Summervilles mounted the stage with the portfolio case. Kevin Summerville placed the bag on the lectern and unzipped the case. After all of this, he finally had the missing pages of the Codex Gigas, the Devil's Bible. He had the prayer.

  "I should've just burnt the damn thing," Jericho said under his breath.

  Julia joined her husband, and together the two of them ran their fingers across the near thousand-year-old velum. They stood in awe, and they stood together.

  "This is it," Julia said.

  "It is. It's everything we've worked for," Kevin said, kissing his wife again.

  "Excuse me," Dana said, lifting a finger into the air. "Julia, I thought you hated Golden Sun. Can someone explain what just happened?"

  "I can," Jericho spoke first. "There is no Church of the Golden Sun. There used to be, but not anymore. This dude basically co-opts the name and goes around the country acting like an asshole."

  "Why?"

  "Because, Dana," Julia said, walking away from the lectern. "We're preparing for the end of time. Anyone who sided with Golden Sun, even in their heart, has shown their true nature. The Mark of the Beast. And He will not forgive that."

  "I thought forgiveness was a big part of the whole thing?" Jericho said.

  "Not tonight. Today is about separating the worthy. Satan tempted Jesus in the desert to make sure he was worthy of what was to come. Kevin became Antonio LeMay, a vile, disgusting man who tempted good people with evil words. God needs to know who is damned and who is worthy."

  Kevin leaned into the microphone on the lectern. "The worthy are not men who aligned themselves with Golden Sun."

  The security guards opened fire on the men in suits, executing them all. Dana and Jericho ducked down, covering their heads. Jericho threw himself on top of Dana, trying to cover any ricocheting fire. His hand accidentally grazed her front pocket.

  He leaned in and whispered, "Is that—?"

  "Yes," she whispered back.

  A hail of bullets bounced off the walls until the last of the men who arrived with the former LeMay were dead.

  "Dana, Mr. Jericho, please stand," Julia said in her warm voice that now seemed a lot more crazy than motherly.

  "Sorry, I got no plans to get shot," Jericho said.

  "We wouldn't do that," Kevin's voice boomed into the mic.

  "No. You're soldiers on the side of righteousness. Dana, your research and mind are awe-inspiring."

  Dana liked hearing that. A little ego boost never hurt.

  "Keep in mind, she's crazy," he whispered into her ear.

  "And you, Mr. Jericho, you're a warrior with a near-supernatural penchant for survival. God has a plan for you."

  "Kevin's right. Please stand up."

  "It's okay," Jericho whispered again.

  He was the first to stand. The blood seeped out of his shirt. Adrenaline kept the pain slightly at bay. Realistically, he didn't know how much he had left. Of course, according to the Summervilles, time didn't matter much anymore. It's already up. Dana followed him to her feet. They stood there, staring at the immense stage, watching this couple perform. Julia walked over to the edge of the stage and took a seat so that her feet playfully dangled over the side.

  "This is it. You both have shown the potential to be worthy. Make it official. Come join us."

  Jericho clapped his hands over his head. "I'm in. What do I gotta do?"

  "Mr. Jericho, I imagine your ledger is very messy, but if you're serious and you ask for forgiveness, I'm sure you too can be welcomed."

  "Cool."

  "Dana?"

  Dana felt a little more conflicted. Abandoning years of diet Catholicism is tougher than she imagined. This is wrong. Everything about this was wrong, and even if she's going to die, she wouldn't cheapen faith.

  "No."

  Jericho slapped her on the shoulder.

  "Would you use your goddamn brain!" He said under his breath.

  She smacked him right back in his injured shoulder and was even angrier this time.

  "No!"

  Jericho put his head in his hand and shook.

  "Forgive her, she knows not what she does. My friend doesn't quite understand you're gonna read that right now."

  Julia looked like a parent who came home to find her child failed a big test they had all week to study for, but chose to play video games i
nstead. She isn't mad, just disappointed.

  "Her loss. I want salvation!" Jericho shouted as he struggled to pull himself up on the stage. "Let's move on so that when the Rapture comes and she sees what she's missed, she will be eternally shamed."

  "You're not funny, Mr. Jericho, and I don't believe you're interested in salvation." Kevin Summerville's voice shook the church.

  "I tried," Jericho said with a shrug.

  "But I think you should both bare witness to what happens next. Julia, please join me."

  Julia Summerville slid her feet back up on the stage and walked over to the lectern and joined her husband. They looked into each other's eyes. The excitement and energy radiated from them.

  "Together," Kevin whispered into her ear.

  They joined hands and leaned into the ancient manuscript.

  "In nomine patris tenebris, exaudi orationem meam."

  LXXVI

  "Tu, qui es magnus et profanus fieret: et qui potestatem et gloriam. Vos autem, qui potens est, et in hoc mundo terminus ostenderet, nullum misericordiae!" The Summervilles spoke in an almost hypnotic tone. Their voices blended together as one.

  The security guards' weapons were drawn, but their attention was to the sky. Or more accurately, the ceiling, which they expected to open up and rain down with blood and hellfire, while their souls would transcend this mortal plane. Dana closed her eyes and looked to the floor, too afraid of what happens next. Jericho grabbed her hand.

  "Don't do that. Eyes up. It's almost time."

  The Summerville's lifted their interlocked fingers into the air.

  "Tenebris patris quaerimus faciem tuam. Amen!"

  They shouted the amen from their lungs so that it thundered across the empty arena. It made quite the visual. The collective held their breath as they awaited the arrival of the Evil Lord. The Minister of Darkness. The Morningstar.