Chapter Fourteen

"How bad does it hurt?" Michael asked as he wiped his face free from tears.

He didn't know how long they'd been there in the bathroom, him kneeling on the floor in front of Elizabeth. He'd let go of her, of course, and had finished bandaging her wounds, but they hadn't left right away.

Elizabeth's body was stiff and her hands rested in her lap. There were tears still falling from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks, and Michael didn't know what to do to help her, to make her feel better.

Her hand had tightened briefly in his hair when she'd been playing with it, and her breathing had hitched a few times before she'd forced herself to calm down and let his hair go.

She'd been silent for a while. He hadn't said anything either, not until just then. He figured they just didn't know what to say. What could they say? They both knew and understood what had happened, what that thing wanted. They both knew what would happen if Michael and Elizabeth continued as they were. The proof was on her arm.

It could get worse. It would, if they didn't do what it wanted.

"I'm okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"That . . . that wasn't what I asked."

She took a deep breath, looked down at her arm.

"It burns. But it's not as bad as it could've been. It's not as bad as I thought."

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I mean, I know what it wants, and I know I don't want you to get hurt again."

Something changed in Elizabeth. The tension seemed to drain from her body and a huge sigh of relief made its way out of her mouth. She brought her hands up to cup his face. He let her guide him so that they were eye to eye. There was a fierceness in her eyes that he recognized as something the was strictly hers, only this was on a more intense level.

"I can't make that decision for you, Michael. But I'm going to help you as long as you let me help you."

"Aren't you scared?"

"I'm terrified," she admitted quickly. "That doesn't mean I'm just going to give up. But you can't give up either. Okay?"

He didn't answer right away. If he didn't give up, give in, she could be hurt worse than she already was.

She shook him a little and squeezed his face tighter.

"Michael, you don't give up. This thing, it's evil, and it's willing to hurt me to get what it wants. So you don't give it what it wants. Ever. It's hurting you by hurting me, because it knows you care about me. And no matter what happens now, you have to remember that I care about you too. Okay? And I do not blame you for what it did to me. That was not your fault. You did not hurt me."

"But I am the reason you were hurt."

Elizabeth didn't try to make him think otherwise. It didn't matter; nothing she could have said would have changed his mind.

That night Elizabeth suggested they keep their routine up, her reading to Michael before they went to bed. He'd seemed hesitant, but nothing happened when she started to read, and so he relaxed. She read her usual one chapter and then placed the book on his bedside table.

Apparently, there were certain parts of their relationship that were okay. They would have to find out what those parts were and just deal with it until they figured something out.

As Elizabeth left for the night – because staying together at night was probably not allowed anymore – she turned to look at Michael, who was wide awake despite the late hour, probably because of everything that had happened earlier, and noticed the shadow again. It was perched on the headboard of his bed, almost as if it were keeping watch. It probably was.

"Good night, Michael. Try to sleep."

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth."

That was that, and she went to her own room, her chest full of some emotion that was between fear and anger. How dare this thing prey on Michael when he didn't have the means to fight it. Despite his appearance, and despite his on-and-off bouts of maturity, he was still only four years old. He was not emotionally capable of making it go away, not for any real length of time – not even the few days she'd been able to. At least when it went up against her, she was able to somewhat stand up to it.

Elizabeth went to her own room and got in bed. She didn't change into her pajamas, though, because she wasn't tired either. She was basically waiting for another attack even though she knew that the spirit or demon or whatever was in Michael's room.

It was at that point that Elizabeth knew that it wasn't going to be any actual attacks that would drive her insane – as long as they didn't go past what had happened that night, because after the marks had been cleaned, they didn't appear that bad. No, it would be the anticipation of awaiting another attack that would get to her.

She was going to hate walking on eggshells in her own house. She needed to find a way to get this thing – she still couldn't believe it was the devil even though she knew it was – out of her house – a way that didn't involve making Michael leave.

Elizabeth was up for hours just thinking about everything that had happened, especially her finding those numbers behind Michael's ear. She'd felt paralyzed at first because even though she knew who he was supposed to be, who she believed Langdon to be, she hadn't really considered it until she'd seen the numbers. She knew what they meant; she'd seen enough horror movies to know those numbers represented the mark of the beast.

But what did having the mark of the beast really mean? Michael still cared about her, he didn't want her hurt. If he were evil, if he really were the anti-Christ . . . he shouldn't be able to feel things like that, right? Not love, not real love – and no, he hadn't said it, but she could tell he loved her, even if it was the love a child felt for someone taking care of him, it was real. And she loved him, obviously, or she wouldn't put up with everything that came with keeping him there with her.

Suddenly her eyes fell on the Bible sitting on her bedside table. She'd placed it there when she'd bought it and hadn't opened it at all since. Maybe now was the time to start reading it.

She grabbed it and opened it, placed it on her lap. She turned to the first book, the book of Genesis, and started reading silently. She almost expected the evil in Michael's room to burst through her door and attack her again just for reading the book she was reading, but nothing happened. Maybe it didn't care what she was reading as long as she did what it wanted when it came to Michael.

She didn't read much, just the first few chapters. She'd heard the creation story before, how God had created everything just by speaking it into existence, and the story about the serpent leading Eve astray, but she'd never read them herself.

Her family didn't even own a Bible, she was pretty sure, and she'd never been one for church. She'd never seen the reason to go, her life was fine the way it was. She'd never considered herself an atheist exactly, because she didn't have anything against God and she didn't not believe in Him. She was more agnostic – she didn't know what she believed in. Or she hadn't until that night, and it had nothing to do with the book in her lap or the chapters she'd read.

The reason she was considering that God might be real was because she'd found out that the devil was, that the anti-Christ was. If there was a devil and an anti-Christ, it stood to reason that God was real and that Jesus was too. She was a logical person, and so logically if there was a spirit or demon or whatever the devil was considered as being causing bad things to happen, there had to be something out there allowing good things to happen too.

If the devil had been created and God was supposed to have created everything . . . God had to be real then.

Unknown to Elizabeth, Michael was dreaming while she was reading about God's creation. In his dream he was still in his room in Elizabeth's house. However, someone who wasn't Elizabeth was in the room with him. The person was standing at the foot of his bed, just staring at him.

The person looked like Tate, but Michael knew that it wasn't him. It was whatever the thing was that had made itself known to him the night before. He didn't know why it was using the image of Tate to try and talk to him.

"You know him as your father. He is only the vessel I used to make sure you were born."

Michael didn't understand anything of what had just been said. How had Tate just been a vessel, and what did that mean for Michael?

"It means he was possessed when you were conceived. I was possessing him. I used his body to create you."

"Who are you?"

"I have many names."

Tate's dark eyes held a strange light, and it wasn't a good light. Not like Elizabeth's. She had a light that shined from within. This was more like there was light hitting obsidian rock and reflecting off of it. There was nothing on the inside. He was empty.

Michael noticed that the Tate look-alike hadn't answered his question.

"Then what's your name?"

"Originally I was called Lucifer. I'm known as the Devil and as Satan."

Michael knew those names only because his gramma had talked about Lucifer, the fallen angel, a few times. After Lucifer fell, people came to know him as Satan. Gramma had considered herself as religious and had spoken about things like that all the time.

"What do you want with me?"

"I have something I need you to do. Something only you can do."

"And what's that?"

"To begin a new world. A world where people like you, people with your urges aren't looked down upon. They're glorified."

People with his urges? Did he mean the urge to hurt? Because Michael didn't want to hurt anyone, not really. That urge belonged to the thing inside of him that took over when he lost control.

"That's not me," he insisted. "I just need to learn control."

"Why control it, though? Let it free."

Michael was already shaking his head before it had even stopped talking.

"I don't want to hurt anybody."

He didn't care who this person or being was. He didn't care that he was supposedly the son of Satan. He only cared about Elizabeth and what she would think if he just gave up trying to be good.

"She was never supposed to have anything to do with you. It never should have happened. You were meant to be raised by Constance Langdon until you were ready to be taken in by others that could lead you down your path."

"My path?"

"Creating that new world. Your job would be to destroy this one first."

Michael's first reaction was anger. Why would he or should he do anything this thing wanted him to do? It had hurt his Miss Elizabeth.

"I promised to leave her alone."

"If we left each other alone. I know. I never promised anything else."

It wasn't as if he could leave. He had nowhere else to go, had no one else to take care of him. She was all he had, the only one who had ever shown him genuine concern.

"If she cares so much about you, why is she lying to you?"

That caught Michael by surprise. Elizabeth wasn't lying to him. She wouldn't do that. She wasn't a liar.

"Ask her how long she's known the truth, how long she's known whose child you are, and you'll see she very much is a liar."

The next morning found Elizabeth still tired because she hadn't slept well after she actually got to sleep. Michael was already awake and up. He looked about as rested as she felt. They had matching dark circles around their eyes.

They ate breakfast in silence and then Michael planted himself on the couch in front of the TV. There was a heaviness to Michael, to the actual atmosphere around him. It was the physicality of the decision she knew he'd made the night before; to go through the motions but to keep her at a distance. Michael was slumped on the couch, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I have to work today. Do you wanna come?"

"No," he said, soft but firm.

"Are you sure? Maybe if you got out of the house . . ."

"It won't matter. It's not the house that he's attached to. It's me."

"He?"

"I think it's a he. I had a dream last night that made me think it was a he."

"What did you dream about?"

"It was just . . . It was just us talking. Me and him."

"Oh . . . what did –"

"Who's my father?"

The question had been asked so abruptly that Elizabeth was taken aback by it. Why was he even asking that?

"Is that what you talked about? Who your dad is?"

"That was one of the things we talked about." He looked at her now. "Do you know who he is?"

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the couch and rubbed her face with her hands. She was not ready for this conversation.

"I was hoping you would never find out, Michael."

He slumped even further into the couch. "So . . . it's true? I'm the son of Satan, and I'm supposed to destroy the world?"

"No, you're not supposed to do anything. Part of you is human. You have a choice." She moved a little closer to him. "This is why I didn't tell you anything. I didn't want you to feel like you didn't have options, that you were fated to end the world."

"How long have you known?"

"I found the mark last night." She wished she could tell him just that, but she had to be completely honest with him, especially since she'd been asked a direct question. "I never believed until last night, but Mallory mentioned it the first day I took you in. I thought she was just talking crazy."

"Mallory?"

Elizabeth nodded. "The day you were almost run over by that car and I brought you here, I went to talk to Constance after you fell asleep. Mallory was there. That's when she told me."

"But how did she know? She'd never even met me until . . . until the day after Gramma kicked me out."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say. Yes, she knew the truth and was willing to tell him, but how much was he able to take at once.

"Michael, I will tell you everything if you really want to know. And I have kept things from you, but I have never really lied to you."

Even the day she'd pretended to go for a jog only to go see Langdon she hadn't really lied; she'd just said she hadn't gone that hard when he'd noticed she wasn't sweating when she got back.

"The devil twists words and plants doubt. That's what he does. Did he tell you I was lying to you?"

"Maybe . . ." he said, eyes cast down.

"You already know that he doesn't want us to be close. He said that so you would pull away from me."

"Really?"

She nodded. "I kept things from you to protect you. I never wanted you to think you had no other choice but to be bad. Because you do have a choice."

"What else have you been keeping from me?" Michael's voice wasn't angry or defensive; it was curious.

"A few things, but can we tackle them one at a time, please? I just . . . it's overwhelming and, honestly, I don't think anyone but you would believe me. That's how crazy it is."

Michael took a minute to think about it and then, "One at a time? But soon?"

"Soon," she agreed.

Okay, so . . . Satan is a doubt planter and wants to get between Michael and Elizabeth as much as he can.