Summary:
Not everything is what it seems, least of all when it involves that which cannot be seen. Edward Cullen is plagued by mysterious wounds, unsure of what's causing them, and he seeks help. Was he going crazy? Was it a bad dream? Perhaps the help he sought wasn't what he was expecting. Read to find out more.
***This is a One-shot SK ans I wrote as a contributing piece for the Fandom Fights the Flood in Queensland***
A quick thanks to Lindz for never saying no to us even though we hardly give her enough notice. Here's to an awesome beta and friend. Thanks to Keye and Tania for doing the pre-reading pleasure. Wonderful ladies!
SK and I have been dying to post this story, we wrote this earlier this year and had to wait for close to four months before we can post it... Finally...
Archaic Lies:
The air was stifling and odors originating from other passengers were enough to produce vomit. The sickening part was that Edward Cullen was used to such pungent odors. Monday's through Friday's were fairly busy during rush hour, but Saturday's were the days when it got crazy as though the freaks were let out of the circus. He usually avoided the subways on Saturdays. A guy could take only so much of cheap perfume, stale alcohol breath, and hostile stares from fellow passengers.
He sighed obtrusively.
New York was one hell of a place to live; the city that didn't sleep didn't cover it. It was a place where everyone fit in. Where aspiring models, Hollywood's royalty, everyday citizens, and not everyday citizens rubbed shoulders and coexisted. One hell of a salad bowl was America, but New York, it's its own kind of salad with dressing to boot.
And then everything changed. A scene out of Hollywood's own studios took life.
It all happened within a fraction of a second even though for Edward it felt like hours and yet too fast to be real.
His back arched as if experiencing a mind-blowing orgasm. The beauty of it didn't escape the other passengers; at first oblivious as to their surroundings but who little by little looked towards Edward, and gazed completely rapt in the image before them.
The other passengers that had moments ago been robbing him of breath were pushed back by an invisible force. He looked around and all he saw were silhouettes enhanced by the darkness.
From the depths of his soul, seemingly, a mind numbing pain lanced through his head promising to break his skull in fragments by the mere intensity of it. Then came the pressure that made his weak knees buckle, making his hand seek support of a nearby rail.
Another wave of pure agony tore through his head, his hands clutched at it in an attempt to either break free of the pain or pull the pain by the roots of his hair, he was unsure. As swiftly as it came, it left. Sharp needle like stings raced across his temple, he felt his skin give and tear. With electrifying clarity he was conscious of each drop of blood that fell and stained the cold metal floor.
His hands shook as touched his forehead. Slowly heaving himself up, he raised his head to look straight at the windowpane. His reflection drenched him with pure undiluted terror that clutched at his heart and left him ashen.
It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. And as more of his blood pooled at his feet he dimly questioned the very essence of sense and rationality.
You can believe and not see but you cannot see andnotbelieve,the words of a long lost friend resonated and they felt too real to be figments of his imagination. Perhaps his friend had known something he did not; it wasn't like it mattered as a dark gaping hole stared back at him.
The stench of blood gushing from his forehead down his face made Edward lurch with absolute force that nearly emptied his stomach of its contents. Fear and bafflement marked the faces of the passengers around him. None came forward to offer a helping hand; cell phones were ripped from purses and pockets with every intention of dialing 9-1-1. Gripping his head in an attempt to stop the spine-chilling sound that he could only hear, he reached forward to brace himself for the inevitable fall, yet his weakened state made him crash to the ground with a loud thud, face first.
Waking up to the blinding glare of the ER lights snapped Edward back to his present predicament. What just happened to him? He remembered the crippling pain in his head, slashing through his temple with undulated pain. The throbbing ache escalated while he waited inside the little cubicle surrounded by stark white curtains. What the hell happened to him? The nagging question kept creeping up to him knowing full well that Bella would be worried by now, and dinner was now cold and left uneaten. Edward patted his pants for his cell phone amidst the stinging soreness in his head. The paramedics haphazardly bandaged his head but trickles of blood continued to saturate the now crimson piece of cloth.
"Where the hell is my cell phone?" he grumbled after he felt all the pockets in his pants and they came up empty.
"Mr. Cullen?" A southern sounding drawl collected Edward from his distraction. "I am Doctor Jasper Hale." The blond gentleman offered his hand to Edward which he grasped firmly. "Let me get down to business here, you passed out in the subway from a head wound according to the reports coming from several witnesses, is that correct?" The doctor looked up from the chart to watch Edward's response.
"That's exactly what happened Dr. Hale," Edward reaffirmed as another wave of pain pounded on his head. He palmed his head on both sides to slow the pricking pressure that coursed through his temples and radiating around his head.
"Let me take a look at your wounds," The doctor laid the chart on the table and slowly unwrapped the soaked bandage until it revealed the fresh wounds that resembled a puncture wound caused by a sharp object. What stood out from Dr. Hale's professional scrutiny was the fact that the edges were ripped, something knives, nails even glass wouldn't do. Stunned to silence, the young doctor grappled with the sight before him for a long duration before he finally spoke. "And these wounds just appeared out of nowhere?" He asked while he checked the facts on the preliminary reports.
Dr. Hale had seen many things in his short stint as an ER doctor, ranging from gunshot wounds, knife wounds, slashed wrists, amputations, etcetera, but this was mysterious to say the least. Could a wound inexplicably appear out of the blue without anything causing it? This one was a hard sell for him. He needed more information from the young man on his table.
"I will give you a tetanus shot as an initial treatment and after that I will cleanse your wounds and send you home with a prescription of antibiotics." Dr. Hale worked efficiently on administering the shot and wound cleansing while engaging his patient in a conversation. Unbeknownst to Edward, the doctor was quietly assessing his mental wellness. Dr. Hale was a reasonable man but all signals led to self mutilation. It could have been a wound his patient had inflicted on himself prior to boarding the train. Unfounded for the mean time until he could arrange for a psychological testing, Dr. Hale could only do so much. When Mr. Cullen walked out the door, the possibility of a similar incident was bound to happen.
Questions came at him from all directions, Edward had to pause and think. He wasn't crazy! Why would Dr. Hale want to know if he had intended to commit suicide in the past? Why was he asked if he believed in God? Sure he does, but what was the relevance of the questions to his current situation? Any criminal record? Whoa! He better get out of there, and fast! Edward fumed internally but kept his composure to a simmer. Patience was tested as the last of his head wound was cleaned and a fresh bandage was applied in place.
"Here's a referral to…." Dr. Hale called out to Edward as he ran out of the emergency room in a tumultuous daze not wanting to stay under the condemning eyes of the doctor. Taxi cabs were a luxury he couldn't afford but this was a day like no other, raising his hand as he hailed a cab to take him home.
He was a Christmas Catholic as branded by his mother. He believed in God and heaven but life just took so much from him thus shoving his religious practices and beliefs aside. Who would have guessed that he was an altar boy until 12th grade? He and another friend who he last heard became a priest. What led him to start thinking about these things anyway? He had bigger problems; he needed to see someone, anyone at that point who could unravel the mystery of his wounds. He also needed a beer, and Bella, she must be worried! Edward felt the tremors that rocked his body uncontrollably, he was scared beyond belief.
Isabella was on the verge of calling up her friends in Arizona when her door shook from the pounding abuse that was inflicted. She had no idea who in their right minds would pound like that, more specifically she knew no one who would dare disrupt her senior citizen neighbors.
Annoyed and irritated she opened the door to the idiot pounding. Edward pushed past her, his complexion was devoid of blood and there were sweat beads trailing along his face and disappearing along his shirt's neckline.
"What happened to your keys?"
"I am sorry about missing dinner baby." His apology sounded shaky, very much the emotion he was keeping from her.
That was about all she was able to glimpse before Edward averted his face and stalked to the fridge, throwing the door open and pulling out a beer. He looked like a desperate man in the way he kept drinking, mind focused on taking gulp after gulp. For a moment he appeared as if he was trying to drown away something and forget, why that caused a feeling of foreboding to settle deep in her gut she couldn't say.
"I was worried about you! You usually call when you're running late."
She was beginning to freak out. Going now on a year now since they began dating this was about the weirdest thing he had ever done. With shaking hands she separated Edward and his third beer, it probably wasn't enough to create a buzz but his eyes began to take a dull appearance.
"What's wrong Eds?" she prodded using her nickname for him. He remained quiet appearing too far away, she feared talking to him wouldn't reach him. It was absurd.
Coaxingly she managed to make him lie down. To try to calm him down she ran her hand through his hair and found his messy hair coated with a dry substance.
"Holy crap Edward!" she said as she jumped away. It was fresh blood! Forgetting her queasiness, she pushed his hair away and gasped. Her first impression was that he was into creepy things. She had, after all, heard the things people were into now, pain and pleasure went hand in hand. Personally it made her sick to her stomach.
Edward tried to jerk his face back but unlike other times it was she who held a firm grasp. It was sickening and both fascinating how what she supposed where barb wires, cut into his skin. With dread she realized that it was as if his whole head had been wrapped and pressure had been applied to create such wounds.
His eyes sent liquid chills cascading down her back. There was confusion but it was quickly overridden by fear. She didn't like it one bit but didn't voice her thoughts, instead she focused on slowly divesting him of his shirt while taking care to not cause further flinching yet unable to tear her gaze from his head wounds.
The uneasiness stayed with her even while Edward showered, it hovered like an unwanted storm cloud when he finished and got dressed, but when he laid in bed and said nothing the uneasiness lodged right in-between her sternum and heart.
"Can you tell me what happened to you?" The question was overdue and Edward knew it. He wrestled with the urge to keep his mouth shut or to blurt the incident out and face the repercussions of Bella's doubts and ridicule. Edward decided to take a chance.
"This may sound utterly crazy Bella… you may freak out…." Uncertainty crept up in Edward's face as Bella studied him. She held his hand and urged him to go on. The blow by blow accounting of the incident that occurred in the train leading to his visit to the ER elicited shock, disbelief, fear and finally, a terrifying calm from Bella. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as they watched each other's expression.
"Do you have any doubts as to my sanity? Are you scared of me now?" Frightened like a lost dog…for Christ sake, what is wrong with me? Edward, still visibly shaken gripped on Bella's hand tighter. "I don't know what to do…"
"No….no….I don't think you're crazy Edward and I am not scared of you. If anything, I am scared for you." Bella whispered as tears continued to fall. Bella's mind whirled for answers. "There has to be an explanation for that…" Another look at the bandaged head of her boyfriend made Bella wince.
Jumping out of the bed, she retrieved the laptop on the table and took it back with her to the bed where Edward was massaging his aching temples. "There has to be a logical explanation that we can find, Edward," Bella stated reassuringly despite the tears that refused to go away. She wiped the tears from her eyes and typed the word Head Wound on Google.
"Damn it." Bella banged her fist on the mattress in frustration as she continued to scroll down the list of possible answers to her question. Punk Band? Hell no! Head Trauma, not really. JFK, oh crap. Related search! Yes!Hurriedly typing Unexplainable Head Wounds, a long list of results came out but there was one that stood out of the rest.
Image of Christ Bleed in Argentina."Now we're talking." Bella sniffed as she began skimming over the article real fast, reading enough to find anything related to wounds. Words that lingered in her head were skeptical, propagating hoaxes, caution, supernatural and the list went on. Pounding her fist in frustration, seemingly hitting a dead end, she kept typing different words and terms that she came across, willing to spend the entire night to find the answer, any justification to support that Edward wasn't insane nor hell bent on mutilating himself.
The feeling of dejection was coming on thick and Bella was about ready to give up when she stumbled on a related article called Stigmata. Clicking on the link for one last try before she called it a night, her eyes literally grew wider as she read the definition aloud. "Stigmata are bodily marks, sores, or sensations of pain in locations corresponding to the crucifixion wounds of Christ…. Holy mother of God." She gasped loud enough to startle Edward from his lethargy.
Groggily, Edward lifted himself by his elbows and read whatever they could get their hands on regarding the Stigmata phenomenon. The more he read, the sicker he felt. This has got to be a joke!Edward couldn't help the sinking feeling at pit of his stomach when he read one article that mentioned the other wounds that stigmatic's had endured.
Sensing Edwards' distressed state, Bella wrapped her arms around Edward's waist encouraging him to come closer. "Don't worry Edward, we'll figure this out." Somehow, Bella was not entirely convinced at all, neither was Edward.
"I am scared Bella, this is some weird shit." Edward tugged at the ends of his hair with frustration. The continued throbbing of his head wasn't helping at all. He gently pulled Bella down and wrapped his arms around her as they faced each other. Words were absent. No words of comfort could be uttered. This was something they both couldn't wrap their minds around.
Just as they were both dozing off, a strong and unexplainable force came barreling down on Edward, pushing him down on the mattress. Pinned, writhing in pain and unable to move at will, he started jerking his body free from the unseen attacker.
"Bella!" Edward cried in terror. Half asleep, Bella roused to witness the unseen aggressor force Edward's arms to open and extend to across each side. Frightened and beleaguered as she was, Bella started prying Edward's left hand from the damning force that kept him pinned on the bed.
"Edward, what's going on?" Gripped with fear, she tried once more to pull at Edward's hand to no avail.
"I don't know… I can't move…." His voice was strained with fear. "Help me Bella!"
His cry for help was replaced with an agonized howling as both his hands balled into a fist and his wrists begun spurting blood at the same time. The thick red liquid spewed everywhere in the room with some landing on Bella's face. A pounding sound in this head tore through him, lulling him into oblivion. Edward swung his head back and forth as he watched in tortured pain and horror as blood continued squirting from both of his wrists, and the hammering sound grew louder in his head.
Unable to move from her spot, Bella blindly wiped the blood from her face, debating whether to flee or stay. The hair at the back of her neck urged her to run off from the scene but looking at Edward made her stop dead in her tracks, his face contorted into a sneer before his eyes rolled back. Bella back pedaled and hitched her leg on a chair leg and hit her head on the desk. Shocked and dazed, her eyes didn't leave the sight of the man in front of her.
"Talitha kum!"A deep and leathery voice she never heard before spoke in Edward's tongue. Glassy green eyes fixed themselves on her as Bella tried to crawl her way out the door. A gust of wind blew in every direction, knocking vases and books off the shelves.
"I bear on my body the marks of Christ. I bear on my body the marks of Christ." The chanting came with the wind, wrapping around them like claws of terror. Unable to move from the floor, Bella closed her eyes and started praying silently in her head. Fear had finally lodged itself on her.
As fast as everything came to pass, an eerie silence surrounded them and the next sound that came was Edward's moaning in pain while his arms began to relax on his side, the invisible force that took hold of him disappeared quickly as it came. Bella took one last look before she took flight but Edward pitiable face disabled her plan to leave.
"Edward, is that you?" Cautiously, she moved forward, closer to Edward as he continued to grimace in agony. His hands were bleeding profusely which made her think of the wrists wounds on the internet site. With cautious steps, she inched forward even when all her warning bells were shouting for her to bail out and run.
Tears and sweat mingled on Edwards face when he nodded to Bella, his eyes begging for help. "I am really scared now Bella. What is happening to me?"
Still unsure of what to make out of it, Bella couldn't bring herself to move any closer. "I saw what happened…. There's something or someone that did that to you." Her voice quivered as she tentatively touched Edward's hair and began soothing him. Edward examined the wounds, the scent of blood was making him queasy. The wounds were identical almost. Remembering what he just read on the internet sent chills down his spine. No, it can't be… Things of this nature happened to clerics, holy people and religious fanatics.
"We have to tell someone. Let's call the cops, the authorities, a priest maybe? I don't know but we have to get you some help, Edward! What are we dealing with here?" The hysteria finally bubbled to the surface.
Edward looked at Bella like she was crazy. Cops? What could they possibly do for him? They might even suspect the same thing as Dr. Hale did back at the hospital. He would be called a Nut and his life would be over. But a priest might be able to help. "I have a friend back in high school who I heard was recently ordained for priesthood. Maybe I should call him." The ordeal had been too much for Edward's body as he sank in bed, mindful of his bloodied wrists.
"Call him Edward, please call him!" Bella came back with several towels which she wrapped on each of his wrist to stop the bleeding.
"I don't know if he still has the same number from ten years ago." At this point, he would try anything. What the fuck was wrong with him?
After a brief call to the number, Edward was given the number to the rectory of St. Patrick's Cathedral. Wearily, he dialed the number with a glimmer of hope. Maybe Emmett could help him. He mentally crossed his fingers as he waited on the line.
"Fr. Emmett McCarthy speaking," the old familiar answered on the other end of the line.
"Emmett, this is Edward, Edward Cullen." He gripped the phone hard turning his knuckles white.
"Oh, yes, Edward! How long has it been? How are you these days?" The same cheerful voice that he knew from his high school years greeted him with enthusiasm.
"Emmett, I need your help real bad. Something is happening to me and I don't know how to deal with it." The urgency on Edward's voice concerned the priest on the other end of the line.
"What can I do for you? Tell me what is going on Edward."
After a brief description of the events that unfolded, Fr. Emmett McCarthy agreed to meet Edward and Bella at the rectory in 30 minutes. Questions lingered in the air as they hurriedly stepped out of the bitter cold to meet with Edward's high school friend.
The cathedral stood magnificently before them as they climbed out the cab. Neither one had set foot inside the church preferring to attend holiday masses at the smaller church closer to their apartment. They walked in through the threshold with awe and slight trepidation within them. Bella held Edward's hand for reassurance as they wandered the vast structure in wonderment. Humble statues adorned the walls around them awaiting supplicating faiths for personal prayers and intentions. No empty space was spared with ornamentation of religious artifacts. The pillars held modern day televisions that enabled every single part of the church to witness, to see and hear the words of God. Lit candles provided an eerie glow as Edward and Bella tried to look for the door that would lead them to the rectory.
"Edward?"
Edward and Bella swung around at the same time to meet the friendly gaze of a handsome priest garbed in black clerical shirt, pants and shoes while his dimpled smile welcomed them instantly. His brown eyes seemed friendly, combed back brown hair, and big build made him out to look intimidating while at the same time made him to be serene and trustful.
"Emmett or it is Fr. Emmett now?" Edward asked cautiously, feeling the air around them. It had been a long time since they last saw each other, things may have changed.
"Emmett is fine….and who is this lovely girl with you?" Emmett gave Bella a kind assessment.
"Oh this is Bella, my girlfriend." As the two exchanged hand shake, Emmett was already looking at the wounds that Edward had mentioned over the phone.
"Let us sit and tell me everything that has happened to you today." Emmett gestured to the pew in the front of the altar. Silence was all around them since the place was almost empty considering the time. Only maintenance staff lingered for last minute work that needed to be done.
"Before I tell you the details, let me show you the wounds." Edward started unwrapping the saturated bandaged around his head revealing fresh wounds that remarkably resembled the thorn wounds as seen in the prints of Jesus. Emmett's eyes were fixated as the hair in the back of his neck rose simultaneously. He hadn't seen anything like this before but before he could say anything, Edward removed the bandages the covered his arms, exposing open wounds on his wrists with fresh blood oozing from them. They were driven between the bones, separating and perforating the flesh.
"Oh my God!" An expression that Emmett hardly used escaped his lips, digesting the image in his head as well as the reality that he must remain a skeptic in situations like this one. The church had seen fanatics posing as stigmatics and they were warned to approach events like these with caution.
"I am in way in over my head here, Emmett. I have no one to turn to. Perhaps you can help explain what it is." Fear was a distressing emotion and Edward was totally immersed in it. Every pore in his body screamed fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of possession, fear of losing his sanity. Fight or flight, the stimulus to combat fear…neither one was a choice he could make at the moment.
"I am in the same water as you are. I am a newly ordained priest who hasn't seen much. I doubt it very much that I have what it takes to help you." A shepherd must tend to his flock so the bible says, but Emmett's inexperience would do more harm than good.
Emmett patted Edward on the shoulder, an acknowledgment of resignation… that was not good! Edward thought with despair.
"I will call one of my superior. Fr. Carlisle can probably help you." Emmett dug in his pocket to retrieve a small cell phone and quickly dialed a number. Not too long into the conversation, he told everything that was necessary to summon an audience. "He is coming in a few minutes." A sliver of hope perked Edward's sagging soul as he sought comfort from Bella. Shortly thereafter, an older gentleman dressed in a black cassock with a graying blonde hair appeared from the side doors of the church. His calm face and demeanor as he approached them was comforting. After a thorough recounting of the events that led them there, Edward and Bella looked at Fr. Carlisle expectantly.
"Stigmata are spontaneous bleeding wounds which appear in various places on the body, such as the hands, the feet, the back, the forehead, and the side, and, in the Christian context, are considered to be manifestations of the suffering endured prior to, and during, Jesus' Crucifixion. There are two forms of stigmata, one is visible stigmata which show outward marks of the passion of Christ, and the other is invisible, which is mostly internal suffering.
"The annals of the church have records of Stigmata and I must say that yours looked legitimate, but I am no expert in this department. I have seen a few but I would rather that you speak to someone who specializes in this aspect. I will call them in the morning and refer your case to them. I apologize if I can't give you an instant response right now. I suggest that you go home for now and I will call you tomorrow after I set up an appointment for you." Carlisle offered a soothing smile to Edward and Bella who felt somewhat relieved that help was within their grasps.
The sound of the massive door creaking open in the silence of the church hallways followed by a blast of cold air caused them to shudder and check the approaching figure.
It was time.
His powerful stride was noticeable in the dark church. Though, there was no mistake; the Devil didn't belong along the humble statues that adorned the walls as his outfit screamed wealth and underneath the attire dangerous knowledge. The form of a man wore black dress pants; he donned on a shirt that appeared to be made of fine silk, and had a dark blood cravat.
Everything about him was black, even the leather strip that restrained his mid shoulder hair. But it was the fire in his eyes that compelled the faithful to avoid his gaze and leave the temple.
Stride after stride the devil could feel his body humming with life. The world could be rising up in flames and the devil wouldn't have cared, ironic, but at present he had matters to attend to.
For over thirty years he had bidden his time with patience that could have impressed the saints. One night while in his human form he has succumbed to pleasures only a female human could offer. One single night of blissful delight where his nature had been repressed and he found what he had sought—heaven.
In between kisses and many moans, the woman's womb welcomed his seed with open arms. Embracing his seed and giving life to a little human, it was something close to abdominal as relationships between humans and fallen angels were forbidden. A son of the Devil was unheard off only no one could speak out against him. Not even Him.
In complete secrecy the knowledge of that woman had been kept, no one knew about it and it had stayed that way. He had watched Emmett grow to the man before him, someone soft with innocence and nobility in his being. Where others had been happy to see his fellow men suffer, he had wanted to erase suffering altogether.
It amused the devil, how his offspring took to the holy path denouncing what his mundane soul most craved. That amusement slowly but surely became a sort of obsession. The devil and God held a unique relationship where interfering was out of the question. Human free will depicted that no otherworldly interference was permissible. Yet every once in a while there would be a slip which the other side would look the other way.
Only this time it was different. His son would fall and denounce God, and he would be there to pick up the shell of a broken man. Oh, what sweetness it would mean!
Contradictory to popular belief the devil wasn't interested in junkies, murderers, liars, thieves, or even the foulest of the foulest. The faithful and loyal to God were delicacies, he enjoyed seeing them fall apart, abandoning their fate because it meant a hit towards Him. It also meant that the race he proclaimed to love were whimsical in their beliefs and unworthy of the love bestowed.
The devil strode past the confession stand, past the marble statues of saints, and waited as four figures made their way towards him. They were in deep conversation. He recognized them all, knew their innermost fear, doubts, and petty wishes.
In unison, they stopped and acknowledged the devil's presence. Suddenly the air felt tight and heavy.
"May I help you?" inquired Emmett.
Yet even as his gut told Emmett the man before him wasn't trust worthy he waved it aside. Humans were incredibly amusing, always too scared to admit their fears, especially if they happened to be real.
"No, I am here to help you."
A blood curling scream tore free from Edward as Carlisle and Emmett turned to their companion who withered in the floor.
Spasm after spam shook his frame, and Carlisle and Emmett rushed to aid him when the devil spoke in a deliberate low voice.
"Leave him if you don't wish him further suffering," his eyes were glued to Emmett not the agonized Edward.
"Are you mad?" asked Carlisle in a fit of shock.
White pristine teeth answered him in a smile. "Look at madness Father." He pointed to Edward.
In that instant Edward stilled, his wide terrified eyes rolled. His left hand was ripped from his chest and outstretched, the same happened to his right. They all watched mystified and terrorized as Edward's feet aligned themselves.
Sweat ran down his forehead down his jaw line, Edward began trembling while still in place. He fidgeted and they followed Edward's distress to his feet. Emmett rushed to kneel by Edward, carefully removing each shoe. The socks were both beginning to be stained with blood. Frantically, Emmett yanked them both and stumbled backwards.
Before all of their eyes, blood began pouring out what first appeared to be a small cut. Edward gave one more scream and unbelievably, two lacerations appeared, two gaping holes from where blood continued to flow restlessly.
Carlisle shoved Emmett aside in his haste to get to Edward. With trembling hands, he placed one foot over the other. Ashen he turned to Emmett, "It-.. It cannot be."
The devils booming voice interrupted, "You see yet not believe?" He laughed at their hypocrisy.
"Who are you?" asked Emmett.
The devil shrugged without missing a beat, "I have many names. From Lucifer, Satanael, Belzeboub, Shaitan, Iblis, Azazel, Sammael, Deceiver and Trickster, most commonly known as—the devil."
"Imo mentiris," croaked Carlisle.
"Vis fateri quod feceris pater?"
"Non potestis diabolic." Carlisle was having trouble drawing air, he could feel each beat, and he couldn't feel the right side of his face. He tried speaking but his jaw muscles wouldn't cooperate; when he tried to stand up his eye sight became blurred and his feet failed him.
The more he tried to fight for air, the more his gut sank as he realized he couldn't breathe. With one more futile struggle he flopped down the ground, creating a harsh sound in the otherwise silent chamber.
Emmett tried to go to him but the devil stopped him.
"He's dead. Leave him be."
Fury rose up in Emmett, an intense emotion he wasn't comfortable with experiencing. "What have you done?"
"I have done nothing," he said, with a flick of his wrist the struggling priest stilled his movements. There was no question. He was dead.
"Who are you?" it was asked in a whimper.
"Call me Apollyon." The candle's flames were teased then put out by a gust of wind, darkening the atmosphere. "I am Apollyon and you are my son."
Since Edward had interrupted his life with a call Emmett had been plunged into a deep despairing hole. One where reason and sanity had taken foreign appearances while doubt and madness had spread in leaps; and just when a shimmer of light became visible the game had changed. Because he realized it had to be a game, why else would all this be happening to him?
"Apollyon isn't your name and you aren't the devil!" he said. "Why are you doing this?"
"Thirty years have gone by and not a moment goes by that I didn't question my restraint," Apollyon began. "Why shouldn't I do it? You are part of me, as I am part of you."
This wasn't happening. He had taken a leap from the sane world, "I-.. I- It's not true. My mother and fath-fath…"
"He wasn't your father." Emmett remembered the cold stares his father had given him. The coldness that had covered his affection for him, even as a little child. The resentment lurking behind two judgmental eyes—hate. Something he had tried to explain and tuck away.
"Why now?" he couldn't stop the question.
"Look around you son! Open your eyes to what you know is true." He drove the point home with his finger on Emmett's chest, wanting to dig a hole right through the priests' very soul.
"So many years wasted on ungrateful beings, selfish too. Beings that deny their own mortality for shallow pleasures when they are born dying! Open your eyes and see that all around you is perdition. The same air you breathe is contaminated by condemnation. You are not like them Emmett, never have been."
He didn't deny it. In his mind he recited the prayer that had gotten him through hard and impossible times alike.Be strong and of a good courage, fear not, nor be afraid...for the Lord thy God, he it is that doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.
Apollyon made a sweeping gesture with one perfectly manicured hand. "But you are forsaken, my boy, the whole world is. The sad part being, there is no salvation. The Earth's on-goings is like cable television on a good day. Sure, me and the Big Guy up there can change the channels and even screw around the ratings but it's all for nothing."
Emmett shook his head; it was the Devil with who he was talking to. The greatest liar, thief, murderer, and persuasive being ever to exist. Who could and would twist facts to get what he wanted, yet why did his heart believe the foul being? Why couldn't he listen to reason, if for little longer?
"What do you want from me?"
"You spent years upon years building a foundation that lacked FAITH! Call me a liar," he coaxed. "Tell the devil he's wrong. Tell me that those doubts spread like wildfire and denied your sleep were lies. Tell me that when you asked for guidance, for a helping hand, or just to be heard… you weren't ignored."
Apollyon could see Emmett's indecision flicker on and off. It was doubt's scent that tasted sweet to Apollyon, doubt's ambrosia highlighted by the knowledge it was his son who would be one of the fallen.
"What do you want from me?" he asked again with more than a hint of desperation.
"It's not a matter of what I want you fool! It is what your heart covets!" the devil exclaimed, Emmett couldn't for the life of him look away; wouldn't look away even as he felt his faith slipping and another kind of manacles close around him.
"Humans are so fragile and manipulative yet when it was their actions that betrayed them they blame me! Pride, envy, avarice - these are the sparks have set on fire the hearts of all men. Yet you, my son, denied it. Turning away again and again from sin and asking forgiveness from your faults when it is He who should be thankful to have found a soul as giving as yours.
"Instead you twist and turn hoping to silence your doubts! Hoping to wash away your thoughts! O conscience, upright and stainless, how bitter a sting to thee is a little fault! Do away with pitiful humans and their guilt's that are dumped on you, do away with faith is but a crumbling temple."
Only Emmett couldn't fathom a world without God. If he were to be honest, he'd confessed that at times he prayed without praying, called forth His name without knowing why and maybe he'd even acknowledge that there had been no faith for quite a while. Yet why couldn't he give in?
It hit him with mountainous force. He couldn't give up on God only because it would mean that God had given up on him. And a small part of him felt as if uttering it would only make it real.
A sneering smile crept up the devil's mouth, "But you do. Your heart tells me otherwise."
Emmett fervently shook his head, wanting to run away from the devils too knowing eyes. Two deep pits that for a moment Emmett believed laid Hell. Hell was never a place. It had always been the devils two abysmal eyes.
"Do you care for your friend Emmett, son?" a rich, velvet voice inquired.
No hesitation, "I do."
"What do I get in exchange for his puny life?" The question weighed heavier than the sins he'd heard in his lifetime. Emmett's brows furrowed while beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. He was staring at Hell when heaven was what he sought for all his life.
A/N: This is a story that SK and I had been dying to write. We've been talking about this and finally had the chance to share it. Let us know what you think. Thanks.