Landis, Jonathan
JOURNAL ENTRY 07

When the pager given to me by a Ziz called Baal starts blinking, I head for the elevator and travel to the highest floor of the T.O.G. Center. After my first handful of applicants Belial awarded me with the pager and a briefcase full of paperwork and sign-up sheets all labeled with the mysterious title "The Nephilim Project".

Heading down an impossibly long and impossibly white corridor, the fluorescent lights are slowly dimming as I approach the double doors at the trail's conclusion. I'm almost in the dark when I reach the doors, and I have to fumble for my clearance card, which scans the first time, and a harmonious beep opens the doors before me.

I make cautious movements into the room. I can barely see anything. A hazy orange glow hangs in the air like a fog, and my eyes fight to adjust to the color. There is a quiet murmur of women's voices coming from several feet ahead. Belial steps out of the shadows holding hands with a little boy. I don't realize it until later that evening, but the child is Joseph Phinney, the kid famous for getting lost in the Nevada desert.

"Things are off to a good start, Johnny Boy," Belial grins. "Your first applicants are all here."

"They are?" I say, surprised. "Where?"

The kid smiles and points to the where voices are coming from. Belial makes a face that says, "What are you waiting for?" and nods to where the boy is pointing.

Walking awkwardly, not wanting to run into anything, I take several slow steps into the room until a large black shape appears in front of me. The shape, maybe six feet long and four feet high, appears to be a sheet of black velvet draped over a rigid, rectangular skeleton like a square tent. I frown, confused, and kneel, cocking my head to get a better look. As I'm touching the soft fabric, a voice within the shape asks, "Who's there? Is it time yet?" Belial sidles up beside me and lowers his head to my level.

"Let me show you," he says, pulling the black sheet from the shape, revealing a large cage underneath.

Inside is one of my first applicants. Garbed in the typical flimsy green hospital gown and kneeling on all fours atop a royal-looking bedding of plush throw pillows, the young woman turns toward us and repeats her question, "Is it time yet?" A silk belt is fastened around her waist that leads to a thin cable attached to the bars above her. She floats there, suspended in her position.

"Not yet, sweetie," Belial sighs. "Very soon."

On the back of the cage is a small removable panel where the woman's rear end is hoisted in the air and an eerie iron speculum fixed next to the opening. A clipboard pinned to the outside of the cage reads OLSEN, MARY-KATE in bold above the application I had her fill out days ago. Outside the cage are two sets of unoccupied shackles.

I raise myself slowly, my eyes now adjusted to the lighting, and notice four other black shapes in the room, arranged in perfect symmetry. IV bags on poles feed tubing down into each cage. On the other side of me, the information pinned to another cage reads SIMPSON, ASHLEE.

"These five are the beginning," Belial says as he leads me out of the room, his hands on the child's shoulders.

"Of course, we're not terribly sure exactly what we're doing yet. I suspect this will be a bit of a 'trial and error' sort of thing."

"Not sure? Really?"

"Well, Johnny, it has been a really long time."

"What's with the intravenous therapy?"

"It's like a protein shake," he says cheerily.

"Belial!" Joseph Phinney suddenly yelps.

"What is it, sport?" Belial asks, dropping his head in front of the kid.

"What's going to happen to all the pretty ladies?"

"Ah, but they're more than that, sport. Those are real-deal movie stars! Famous ladies!"

"Wow!" the boy gushes. "What's going to happen to them?"

"Wonderful things, of course," Belial chuckles, winking at me.

Walking down the hall of the medical floor, a man approaches the three of us carting a woman in a wheelchair in front of him.

"Mr. Belial!" he calls out. "My God, it's... It's really you!"

"Terribly true, I'm afraid," Belial grunts. "It is really me. What might I assist you with, young man?"

"It's my wife, sir," the man says, gesturing to the dark-haired woman in the wheelchair who appears vacant and glazed. "We need... We need medical assistance."

"Well, my boy. This is the medical floor. Follow me to the consultation room, and my doctors will speak with you directly."

"Of course. Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. It's true, isn't it? What everyone has been saying?"

Belial squints one of his large, slit eyes. "Is it?"

"That you're changing everything. The world I mean. That you're fixing the whole world."

"One thing at a time." Belial giggles. "Let's start with the home front first. Then we'll see what we can do about... the rest of the world."

"Yes sir. Of course."

And with that he turns and wheels his wife away. Belial nudges me and says, "Looks like a lively one. Must be quite fulfilling." Then he walks down the hallway with Joseph Phinney, who goes on asking questions about the caged applicants. I listen as the echo of Belial's talons on the cold tile fades in the distance.