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Gabriel opened his eyes and thought he was in The Lion’s Mouth. There was a peace about the place, rows of tall, weathered trunks and a muddy path pitted by human feet. Fir trees made a hollow, resonant whisper and sunlight streamed in between the branches.
He wanted to be back in the light where the spirits of family run free. He wanted to be one of them, away from this infernal darkness.
He rested now, warm and tired, heard a familiar roar in the distance. The Outlaw Biker Club met along the main drag into Corrales, road names emblazoned on their jackets and lounging with attitude on their tricked out motorcycles. In a strange way he envied them, the freedom and the thrill of all those ‘twisties’ on the hairpin turns. And he missed the homemade meals in the Fat Mule and the compassion of an aging waitress.
It was dark, but then he didn’t expect it to be anything different at that time of night. He knew Demon was there with him, a shape huddled against the wall and oddly translucent in the moonlight, oddly quiet.
His lips were moving, emitting no sound. But there was a mocking tinge to it and if Gabriel really listened, he could hear the soft strains of a song he once knew. Something about a garden, breath and dirt.
Gabriel never understood the words until now. Dirt was man, a filthy creature who was given authority over the animals and the earth. And when Dirt needed a mate he was given one from his own rib because Master loved Dirt more than Demon.
“Such an extravagant gesture. Such favoritism,” Demon muttered.
Gabriel had always felt sorry for Demon and he almost did now. But there was one thing that scared him and that was Demon’s power. His never-ending energy, the incredible fight that was still left in him, the passion to destroy a race that had taken away the Master’s favor.
“You must understand,” Demon said, “you are made in Master’s image. You are perfect.”
Gabriel liked the sound of that. Perfect. It had a nice ring to it and he almost thought he was.
“But you are also imperfect. Oh, yes, it was all Master’s plan. The original pair, lying down together and making more of their hideous race. A royal priesthood. You are testament to that, a museum piece that my kind study through a thin veil we can no longer walk through.”
“What do you mean?”
“Regret... is what I mean. There are moments when I grieve, moments when I remember the first sunset, the first moonset. And then I wonder what it must be like to live. I expect this is all ancient history to you.”
It was all a myth to Gabriel. Old-fashioned language that had no place in a modern world. A load of crock.
He stared at the shadow against the wall, wondered what the draw had been, what made him gravitate toward such a terrible choice. From an innocent man to a murderer, all in the span of two years. And then a thought struck him.
“If I am royal... then what are you?”
“Ah, now there’s a story.” Demon dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and smiled.
Gabriel didn’t like that smile.
“I am one of many. A legion of prowlers tasked with turning the priesthood away from fellowship with Master. It seemed like a good idea at the time, stalking the herd, herding the stalked. So vulnerable, so frail... out there in the wild. Trouble is, it’s a gigantic waste of time and I’m getting rather tired of it. You would if you knew how it all ends. Oh, I forget, you already do.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“No, but you will. You’ll remember the stuff they taught you at school, all those righteous little stories. They have a funny way of creeping back into the mind when you least expect it. You won’t get lost then, will you?”
Gabriel was lost. Horribly so. All he wanted to do was get revenge, slash their tires, key their cars, crush their everything. Sometimes he was overcome with a rage so thick he’d fall into the deep black, legs kicking, arms flailing, not knowing what had put him there. Those righteous little stories were as calming as an antique clock, pendulum and cogs ticking their way through time. Soft and rhythmic. It put him to sleep.
“You told me those stories were make-believe,” Gabriel said. “Especially the one about the man who had a vision―”
“John.”
“...on that island. You said he was hallucinating from sunstroke.”
“The island was a little scant of trees.”
Gabriel hardly remembered those classes at school, but what he did remember were the pictures of Patmos, a desolate island in the Aegean Sea. Caves, rocky bays and not a hint of shade in sight. He began to wonder if Demon had been there, whether he was as ancient as he said he was.
“I’m old and tired,” Demon said over Gabriel’s thoughts. “Probably time we said goodbye. After all, an unwilling host is hardly worth dining with. Look at you. You don’t fool me. And you won’t fool them.”
“They don’t know me.”
“I know you. Remember how we met? You were quite different then. You believed me.”
Gabriel wanted to expel every nuance of that memory and dash the deep whispers from his mind. He replayed the scene in that quaint little wood in front of the school, recalled how Demon’s voice had called out to him, risen above the rest. How he preyed upon Gabriel in waking and dreaming moments.
It was no use. There was no quick escape this time. That voice was outfitted with every witty comeback, and slick remark, wooing Gabriel until he was his. “You said it was all a hoax.”
“A very elaborate one,” Demon murmured. “But there are stories, and there are stories. Around-the-campfire-stories, midnight-night-feast-stories, horror stories, love stories. You have to admit, my stories were the best.”
The smile Gabriel hated was back again, and the laugh when it came terrified him.
“And they were the best, my friend,” Demon whispered, “because they were all lies.”
