HUMAN DESIRES
Good Stewards of God's Grace
"Since therefore Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves also with the same intention (for whoever has suffered in the flesh has finished with sin), so as to live for the rest of your earthly life no longer by human desires but by the will of God."
—1 Peter 4:1-2
—
DECEMBER 6TH 2039
7:41AM
UNKNOWN
Esteban straightened up as he swallowed one last time, his tongue darting out between his lips to collect every drop of blood that threatened escape. He opened his eyes as his prayer began to fill the room, reaching forward to rest a palm against the forehead of the cooling body.
He thanked God for the sacrament most holy, lifting his hand and tilting his head toward the Heavens as he spoke. He asked God for grace, and for strength for his own disciples. For his entire congregation. Yes, he even asked Him to bless the sinners amongst him.
Who, except a man of God, could love the sinner so thoroughly as he?
He, who delivered their souls and who purged God's land of sin. He, who offered both mercy and punishment, communion and absolution, proclamation and damnation.
Esteban closed the eyes of the man before he pulled his hand away. He studied the body for a long moment as he prayed. He had been a man advanced in age and ripe of stature. The seat his body laid in had creaked and groaned noisily as Esteban had fed, but it had held strong and not given out. Surely, a well-loved seat in an often-occupied room.
The crucifix above the doorway leading into the next room made a soft smile fall over his face.
"May the Lord greet you warmly," he spoke before he kissed his thumb and made the sign of the cross. The joy of delivering God's holy children back into His Kingdom always brought warmth and strength to his bones. Esteban moved into the adjoining room and was pleased with the iconography displayed in various locations.
A true man of God had lived here. A blessed home for their newest base.
An hour later, the rooms were swiftly being cleared of furniture and various items. A few members of the congregation had already dug a deep pit in the woods behind the house. It was where the insides of the house would be placed and where the man would be buried, too. Once the following night was upon them it would be set alight, and then after all burned into dust, it would be refilled.
The house would serve as their own home for the next several days.
Their final home, if Esteban's prayers would provide him with enough clarity to lead his people through their final few tasks. The blood of his meal was as sweet on his tongue as the promise of resolution.
He pulled out his rosary and smiled at the end that sat in his palm. The dead female's teeth had not been large, but it felt only right that her canine replace the last one. To use her bone to mark up the ones who had failed to retrieve her would be poetic justice, utterly divine in nature. Esteban closed his eyes again and imagined the next woman that he would carve.
The messenger had given him very little information. But it was enough to know that he was so close to the ultimate act of justice.
"Does Major Jasper Whitlock possess a mate?"
The messenger grinned at the question and nodded his companions onward. Then, before they left, he turned. "Yes," he fixed Esteban with a skeptical look then, as if unsure of the nature of his inquiry. "The entire coven consists of mated pairs."
"What does she look like?"
The messenger's eyebrow twitched. "Is this information pertinent?"
"I agreed to your errand to serve justice. All information is pertinent."
There was a pause. Esteban studied the wicked messenger's expression, searching for signs of deceit while his mind plucked out information worth sharing.
The messenger spoke slowly, smiling to himself. "From what I hear, she is of average looks and height. Thin, with dark brown, long hair."
Esteban clenched his jaw. As if he would settle for such a common description. "I need more than that. She must possess some unique physical characteristic. Your meager intel matches the description of every woman in my congregation." His next words were spoken through gritted teeth."Give me more than that."
Another strange quirk of the messenger's eyebrow replied to Esteban before his words did. "That's all I know." The way his lip twitched at the corner made Esteban certain the man was lying. "I've never met her."
"Then, how am I to know—"
"You have as much information as we possess on the psychic's description." The messenger was angry for once, and his sudden irritation nearly incensed Esteban. "You know who you must grab. The smallest. Yellow eyes, short hair, tiny, fast. This one can not end up dead in your search for your strange revenge."
"I will fetch you your witch," Esteban snapped, stepping forward and baring his teeth. "Do not treat me as a fool. Begone with you."
Esteban would retrieve and deliver the demon to the Volturi, capture the Major's mate, and kill her slowly. He'd mail her to them piece by piece and then kill the rest of them in a mighty display of power.
Her death would be the Major's penance. He would baptize these lands with their ashes.
Esteban turned and walked into another room. This one was almost clear. The bed had been dragged out and beneath it lay trash and filth. He grimaced and stared down at the disgusting imagery staring back up at him. The jezebels on the covers of these publications were as much sinners as the man who had just become Esteban's meal.
A shame, too. He had hoped he'd consumed a worthy meal, for once. Instead, the man would spend eternity with the devil. A sinner, just like the rest of those Esteban sought to destroy.
He walked into a final, larger room. This one was only partially emptied. A desk in the corner and a few cleared-off tables were being utilized as people moved in and out of the room, carrying equipment with them, their arms full of wires and devices that made sounds that forced violent urges to rise within him. It was intolerable to listen to.
The tools they arranged would be useful. They beeped and hummed and whined with unnatural electronic misery, but it would give them more direct access to the messenger and his people. It would be what Esteban would use to signal that the deed was done, the witch had been retrieved, and the targets had been eliminated.
Esteban stalked out of the room swiftly, unwilling to listen to the awful buzzing devices any longer. It was bad enough that he was allowing some of his disciples to possess mobile telephones during this time. More electronics meant more noise. Unholy, unnatural noise.
He exited the house then and continued walking, moving until he was in the woods. They'd located an incredible amount of gasoline in the large garage, separate from the house. It was clear this man had been hoarding the ignition for some reason, but the dozens of red tanks that lined the inner walls now belonged to Esteban and his congregation.
Esteban continued to walk until the hum of noise was only a distant ringing in his ear. He did not rush as he made his way to his next destination. Instead, he relished in the novelty of the snowfall, and thumbed his rosary with excitement.
It was nearly time. First he would send the Major to Hell. Then, he would be allowed to rid the south of sin. He would return to Mexico and do to the harpy what he had done to the Major. Then, the rest of the sinners that still lingered in lands belonging to God would follow suit.
The second house, a kilometer away, was less substantial than the first. The one he approached now had long been abandoned. Half of the black roof crumbled inward and as he took a step through the doorway—it hung, limp and broken out of the way—rotted, moldy furniture greeted him. What was not eaten away by the elements sat at the edge of the room, overcome with both greenery and dampness.
Two more rooms filled the small house. Rooms only accessible by the larger, main area.
The Volturi man who was setting up their devices had refused this house. He'd claimed they needed something lived in. Something dry. Esteban had scoffed and claimed it as his own.
This would be where Esteban would bring his devices. His own tools. Nothing cursed and created from the hands of sinners with unnatural frequencies polluting the Earth. No, the only items Esteban needed sat heavy and safe within the pockets of his robes, and within the old, wooden chest that had been placed in the first, drier house. He would have one of his disciples move it here, and soon.
He imagined what would happen afterward, once the fruitful lands were rid of demons and sinners. Peace would not be Esteban's to own just yet. The Volturi Kings were not faithful men—if they were they would have come to his aid centuries ago—so Esteban would have to show them the power of God. Esteban would prove His power and virtuous wrath.
Esteban would display his own prowess before he would show the world how God sought retribution. Esteban would make believers out of them all. If not, he would send them to God, himself.
Until then, he would finish piecing his plan together, he would bide what little time they had left, and soon they would be allowed to move again.
For now, he prayed.