Thirst No. 3 (27 page)

For some reason, in this place of darkness and pain, the name Lucifer, “the Light Bearer,” haunts me the most. I recall how in the beginning God created heaven and the earth, and in heaven he created the greatest angel of them all. Greater even than Michael and Gabriel. His name was Lucifer, and God placed him above all the angelic hosts by endowing him with the light of the Holy Spirit itself. With this light Lucifer felt he was the equal of God, and thus was poisoned with arrogance, the first and most damning of all his sins, for it led to all his other crimes.

It was because of arrogance Lucifer strove to replace God in heaven, and rallied the bulk of the angels to his side by promising them a share of his light. These angels who joined him did so because Lucifer was so bright, so enchanting, and the Lord had never promised to grant them such a wonderful boon.

When the war began, Lucifer had numbers on his side, but when he rose up against God, the Lord chose not to fight. Instead, God bid his servants to save heaven and earth. He commanded Michael and Gabriel, and other archangels—whose names have long since been forgotten—to strike down Lucifer and his rebels.

How long this battle waged, no mortal was ever to know, for it was fought in a realm outside of time and space. But eventually Lucifer fell into the pit that God had prepared for him, and those angels who fought with him also fell, and became known as demons, and they hated the pit almost as much as they hated their master, who had promised them glory but instead led them to eternal damnation.

But it is said by Michael and his brothers that they did not defeat Lucifer, for he was too powerful. Lucifer was defeated for another reason. As he fought to claim heaven for his own, he had to call more and more upon the light of the Holy Spirit for strength, and the deeper he dove into the light, the more he realized the light had its origin in God.

Therefore, Lucifer realized a terrible irony. In his quest to destroy God, he saw that he was fighting against himself, for his light was not only of God, but his very being had been created by God. And Lucifer saw he was God, as were all those fallen ones who fought beside him.

Yet in the end, rather than share this truth with his demons, he chose instead to descend into the pit. It’s said he traded eternal bliss for endless agony, all because he could not stand to admit the truth to anyone else.

It is this same Lucifer who stands before me at the gates of hell. He asks if I understand why I’m here, and I cry out, “No!”

He laughs as he replies, “But Sita, you have also fallen.
Even when you have seen that my light is no different from the light of your precious Lord?”

I try to answer but cannot speak. My fear is too great. I scream as his shadow engulfs me, and weep as he throws me into the pit.

But God does not hear my cries. For I am forsaken.

I awaken on the floor of the motel to the screams of Numbria. She thrashes on the bed in agony. She cries for another shot. As if in a dream, I reach for the needle and fill it with opiates. Yet as I turn back to her, I can’t help but notice the blood soaking through her bandages. Its smell seems to penetrate to the core of my brain, and I feel I have reverted to a yakshini, a devil from the deep, a reptile consumed with hunger. There’s no sympathy in me. How can there be? After all, Lucifer is right, I am forsaken.

“Sita, help me,” Numbria cries. “There’s something wrong with my mind. There’s something inside me. I can’t stand it. It’s killing me!”

I sit beside her on the bed and lick my lips and smile.

“Do you want me to stop the pain?” I ask.

She glances at the needle in my hand. “Yes! Stop it!”

I raise the needle in front of her eyes and squirt out a few drops.

“But the pain adds a certain sweetness, doesn’t it?” I ask.

Numbria stops thrashing and stares. “What are you talking about?”

I squirt out more of the drug, wasting it on nothing.

“It sweetens the blood. There’s nothing like a meal when the victim screams for mercy, before they realize there’s no chance. The pain is only going to get worse.” My grin widens. “You must know that by now?”

She shakes her head. “This isn’t you talking. It’s this thing in my head. It’s in your head too. Listen to what you’re saying. You’re not a monster.”

I grip her wounded arm and twist it so that she cries out.

“But I am, the worst monster of all. I’m a demon. That’s why I’ve lived so long. That’s what he told me. I live in his light and I feed on his darkness.” Pulling at her arm, I use my nails and rip off a chunk of skin. Her blood flows so bright, so warm, so dripping, I can hardly wait.

“No, Sita! Don’t do this! I don’t want to die!”

I open my mouth and lick. I bite and laugh out loud.

“Then you should never have been born!”

It’s been too long since I’ve fed. Her screams make it so sweet.

There’s an explosion at the motel door. Blinding light pours in, and for a moment I cannot see. A person, it is a human being, rushes to my side and grips my shoulders. I don’t know who they are or what they want, but I hate to be interrupted, and I’m going to kill them. How dare they touch me!

“Sita, it’s me, it’s Seymour. Can you hear me?”

I smile, my face cracking with dried blood. I don’t know why it’s dry. I feel as if I was feeding only a moment ago. No matter, I will feed again off this one.

I giggle. “Yes! I hear you. I know you. Seymour, lovely Seymour.” I reach out a hand and stroke his face. Such a pretty face it is. Too bad I will have to rip it to pieces to get what I want. “My, you’re so warm, so tasty. Can I have a little bite?”

“No. Sita, you’re caught in a spell. You’re—”

“Yes!” I scream as I yank him closer. “You’re supposed to say yes to me. No one says no to me! Certainly not a pathetic mortal like you! Do you know what you are? You are meat! Bloody meat!”

He does not struggle the way the other one did.

His eyes remain calm as he stares into my eyes.

“Krishna,” he says. “Think of Krishna and it will stop.”

I feel as if I have been stung by something burning.

I strike him, and he flies across the room and hits the wall, crumpling on the floor. His eyes stray to the motel door. For the first time I realize there is another one there.

“Shanti,” Seymour gasps. “Run.”

But this Shanti creature does not run. Instead, she walks slowly into the room. Her eyes remain focused on me—she doesn’t even glance at the meat on the bed. At first I’m annoyed, but then I’m glad she’s there. The more the merrier. She is smaller than the male. I’ll eat her first, in front of him, draw out his terror, and then start . . .

“Sita?” this Shanti says.

“Ah.” I grab her by her shoulders and shake her roughly. But she shows no fear, and that annoys me. It does something else to me. I feel suddenly dizzy and weak. She’s draining my power! I raise my hand to strike her, to kill her . . .

But she reaches up and strokes the side of my face.

Her touch stings. Like that damn Krishna word.

“It’s all right, Sita. Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I love you.”

“Stop it!” I yell. I will kill her, she’s hurting me. But I can’t keep my arm up. All the strength falls out of it and it drops to my side. She continues to stroke my face. Her hands don’t feel as awful as they did a moment ago. Actually, it’s kind of nice, her touch.

“That’s right, Sita. It was just an evil spirit, and it’s leaving.”

I blink, I recognize her. “Who are you? What are you?”

“Shanti, your friend. Seymour’s here too. We both love you so much.”

“But you’re . . . you’re meat!”

Shanti shakes her head. “The spirit told you that. It lied to you. Let it go, let it leave. Remember Krishna and it will go.”

I grip my head. “No! Don’t say that word. It hurts.”

“Krishna is soothing, like my touch. You know him. Tell me something about him.”

It’s a question I hate to answer. But I don’t want her to stop touching my face. It lessens the pain inside. So I say
a few quick words. “He carried a flute. He played it. . . . I remember. . . . The music was nice.”

“What else do you remember?”

“His eyes. They were blue. A beautiful blue.”

Shanti puts both hands on my head. “Say his name aloud. You’re almost back. You’re coming back.”

“Krishna. Krishna.” The warmth of the name and her palms washes over me like a healing balm. So soft, so soothing, so comforting. I feel as if my mind, which was locked in a black box, has suddenly been returned to me on a gold pillow.

“Shanti,” I whisper.

“That’s me.”

“Seymour.”

“Over here,” he says from his place on the floor. “You okay, Sita?”

I feel a smile on my face. “Yes. I’m fine. I’m Sita.”

Then I’m all the way back inside my body.

I sense a black cloud flee the room. It leaves behind a faint stink, but the more I focus on who I am, and my friends, and Krishna, the more I sense a perfumed odor fill the room. I remember everything.

The memory gives me the strength to look at the bed.

At what remains of Numbria.

A mass of torn flesh. It leaks onto the floor.

I feel I will be sick. “No,” I moan.

Shanti and Seymour both hug me. I hear him talking.

“It wasn’t you, Sita. It was the Array. Brutran and her cronies waited until now to attack.”

“But why? How?”

“I don’t know how,” Seymour says. “But I think the why is becoming clear. All this time we’ve assumed we were dealing with a single enemy. We were wrong. The IIC is composed of normal people who have stumbled onto some great power. These others . . .”

“They call themselves the Telar. They’re immortals.”

“The Telar are their enemies. It makes sense. That’s what Brutran was offering you in her home. Protection from the Telar. But you turned her down, and it pissed her off.”

“I wonder what she wants in exchange for her protection?”

Seymour turns and steps toward the open door. He’s going to close it.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be good,” he says. “Anyone who would focus the Array on you and force you to do something like this has got to be pretty sick.”

I put a hand over my eyes, to shield them from Numbria’s remains.

“Wait till you meet her,” I say. “She’s cold as ice.”

“I hope to God I never meet her,” Shanti says.

I hear Seymour closing the door. Then it bursts open.

“Alisa?” I hear Teri’s gentle voice. “Are you there? Matt and I didn’t mean to pry, but we decided to follow . . .” Her words trail
off, and she screams. “Oh, God! Alisa! The blood . . . What’s that on the bed? Oh, no!”

I leap to my feet, see Teri and Matt standing in the doorway, frozen in shock, their faces pale as ghosts. Teri’s eyes are the worst. The horror inside them, I don’t know if I can bear it.

“Teri! Matt! It’s not how it looks!” I say, even as my lips crack on the dried blood that covers my mouth. “I was attacked by a group. They’re the same ones who are harassing Lisa and Shanti. It’s a long story, but I swear to you I didn’t do this. Tell them, Shanti. Tell them, Seymour.”

“It’s true, she didn’t do this,” Shanti says.

“Listen to her,” Seymour says.

Matt stares at them. “You guys just got here. What do you know?”

“We know she’s telling the truth,” Shanti says.

“Matt! Damn it! Just listen to her!” Seymour snaps.

The setting is too sick. The gross mass on the bed wipes away any chance at reason, as do my blood-soaked face and clothes. I hold out my hands, trying to calm the air, and speak in a gentle tone.

“Matt, get Teri out of here. But please let me explain later. It will all make sense then. I promise you, this is not how it looks.”

Matt steps in front of Teri, who’s on the verge of fainting, and pushes her outside the door. Then he turns to me, and I can’t help but notice how cool he remains in the face of such horror.

“It makes sense now,” he says. “There’s no need to explain.” Taking Teri by the arm, he turns his back on me. “Stay away, Alisa. Stay far away.”

They walk away. I hear a car start.

Red tears pour over my bloody cheeks.

Deep inside, I feel a pain in my heart I have never known.

But I cannot call on Krishna to fix it.

Lucifer was right about one thing.

I deserve this pain . . . for I have sinned.

A week later, Seymour and I sit on the deck of a massive ferry and gaze out at the blue-green beauty of the warm Mediterranean. To our left and right are a handful of rocky islands, but our boat’s next destination is straight ahead—Santorini, one of the most lovely spots in the Aegean Sea.

The sun is bright and hot and has the effect of making me sleepy. But Seymour is charged with energy. Today is a dream come true for him. Years ago he wrote about a Hispanic woman, Paula Ramirez, who gave birth to a remarkable baby named John. Now Seymour’s finally going to see the child. In describing John, Seymour and I went so far as to hint the child was divine, a possibility that is still very much open to debate. What I can say with a clear conscience is that John is special. He gives off the greatest vibe. Sitting with him is like bathing beneath a waterfall of peace.

“How old is the boy now?” Seymour asks.

I yawn. “He should be sixteen.”

“You tired?”

“Just feeling lazy. The sun, you know.”

“We can go inside.”

“Not at all. You like it out here, and the water is beautiful.”

“It’s so clean and clear. I can’t wait to go swimming.”

“You mean you can’t wait to visit the nude beach and check out the scenery.”

He nods. “Nothing wrong with that. I can swim afterwards.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to go skinny-dipping.”

“It’s the main reason I came here. Since when are you shy?”

“I’m not shy at all. Except around you.”

“Why?”

“It’s a secret.”

Seymour smiles. “When was the last time you saw the boy?”

“He was a toddler. They were living in Tahoe at the time.”

“At least I got that part right.”

“You got most of the story right.”