Chapter Seven
A week passed, and I was still there. Silas had a way about him that made you want to believe him, even if you didn't. I called my work and extended my vacation. They were very understanding. I wasn't. I couldn't figure out what the hell I was doing. Did I believe Silas was God, or was he an illusionist? People made a living off of stuff like this—making it appear that they had disappeared. That one guy even made it look as if a building had vanished. Or was it the Statue of Liberty? I couldn't remember. My mind was all a jumble these days.
I still hadn't been intimate with Jake. I just wasn't comfortable getting naked around a man who had another man inside him. And I know how that sounded—don't be nasty. I'm talking about a serious issue. I wanted to be with the man I loved. Sexually. It had been too long, and he was up for it now. Very up for it. Jake made an attempt every night. And sometimes during the day.
But I couldn't get past Michael. I mean, if this were all true, the Archangel Michael was inside my boyfriend. The most famous of the angels. I'm sure some deeply religious folks would be thrilled to be in my position. Some kinky folks too. They'd be into an angel joining in, or even just watching. Not me. I hadn't read the Bible since I was a kid in the orphanage, but from what I remembered, angels were not the kind of folks you wanted to mess with. I couldn't recall anything Michael did, in particular, only what he would do in Revelations. But I knew there were angels who God sent to kill people, even destroy cities.
I didn't want to get up close and personal with one.
Even with my reservations, Silas slowly got to me. It was the little things he did when he didn't think anyone was watching. He'd play with light, casting it over his fingers and smiling as if it were some great secret or achievement. I suppose that should have led me more toward the magician conclusion. God wouldn't delight in his power like that. But it felt so innocent when he did it and in that innocence, there could be no subterfuge. I don't know. I just felt more and more every day that he was genuine.
There was none of the awkward, cringy culty stuff I expected. Well, a little. They were all believers, and that was a little cringy in itself. But when I walked around the property or sat down by the lake, waiting for Jake to come back from one of his daily Michael excursions, no one acted weird with me. People said hello and made small talk, but they didn't launch into sermons or watch me if I got too close to my car. I wasn't a prisoner. I was told that over and over. I even went into town a few times and no one tried to stop me.
And there were many people there. Those other homes I mentioned? They were basically barracks for God's “soldiers.” One woman invited me in for an evening glass of wine, and I got to see the setup inside. It looked like a normal house, just full of people. When I went to the bathroom, I had glimpsed bunk beds in the rooms, but they were nice ones, made of solid wood. A little cultish, I suppose, but more like camp, than cult. I started to relax after that day.
Then came the induction.
Part of Jake's duties, or Michael's rather, was to recruit more people to God's army. Those Michael excursions I just mentioned were Jake's job as well. He went out alone most days and always returned with at least one person. At first, I wasn't allowed to see how they were welcomed into the fold. But finally, Silas decided it was time for me to witness the induction process. His words, not mine.
“Humans are fragile,” Silas said as he led me to a seat.
We were in the main living room—a space that soared up the entire four stories of the log palace, its vaulted ceiling crossed by enormous beams that dangled masculine chandeliers composed of antlers. A fireplace made of natural stones swept up into a chimney that made a column to the roof, emphasizing the height. To either side of it, where some cowboy might have hung more antlers to go with the light fixtures, were paintings of angels.
I sat down in the leather chair Silas had brought me to and glanced around the room. People stood around the edges. None of them were newbies. I mean, not the newbies of the day. Several were men and women who Michael had collected during the last three days and the rest were old timers. Furniture stood behind the people, shoved against the walls to clear the center of the room. There, under the poky lights, stood a long, metal wash basin over a tarp. An antique, from the look of it. Like something horses might drink out of. It was half full of water.
I assumed the induction was a baptism. Very on brand.
“Now, this is going to be startling for you,” Silas said. “You need to understand that it's necessary. We're fighting hellhounds, and they have demonic power. The only way I can strengthen a human is through resurrection, as I once did with Jesus.”
“Resurrection?” I looked at the basin again. “Not baptism?”
“It's similar.”
I stared at him, then at the tub. Then back at him, horror rising in my chest. Resurrection. That could only be done with a corpse. Silas mentioned Jesus. Hadn't Jesus been dead three days before he came back to life? Then why the water? It had to be drowning. That wouldn't leave any marks on a body. And water is easier to deal with than blood.
“Are you going to kill them?” I demanded.
Silas didn't hesitate to answer. “Yes. Michael will drown them, one at a time, and I will immediately resurrect them before their soul can leave. This will infuse their mortal bodies with divine magic. It's the only way I can even the playing field, so to speak. I will make them stronger, faster, and more resilient. In short, they will be born anew as my soldiers.”
“Oh, fuck,” I whispered.
“If it's too much for you, you can—”
“No,” I said. “Do it. If I don't see it, my mind will come up with something that will probably be much worse.”
Silas stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. He got up and motioned to Jake. Jake motioned at one of the other men—one of God's reborn soldiers. Or minions, as I called them. In my head. Because the nuns taught me manners.
Oh, damn. I wonder what Sister Hannah would think of this? The thought threatened to make me smile.
But then the minion left the room and brought one of the new recruits in. The newbie was a large guy, covered in tattoos. Not the sort you'd find in church unless that church was in a prison. But he stared at Silas with deep reverence. He was a believer. It always surprised me when I saw that zeal in someone's face. I had probably seen more “miracles” than this guy had, and yet, I was still on the fence. Maybe because that look of faith and devotion changed after the induction ceremony. I could never put my finger on it—what the faith became. But now I knew. It became a certainty. Faith is believing without proof. After someone brings you back to life, you don't need faith. You know.
“Come here, Oliver,” Silas said.
That was another thing about Silas. He knew everyone's name without being told. Again, it could have been a trick, but I was leaning toward belief. Nothing as zealous as Oliver, but it was still belief. And at that moment, I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe.
Oliver went to stand before Silas.
Silas motioned at the basin. “Kneel, soldier.”
Oliver knelt before the basin and pulled off his T-shirt. Nice body. Very muscular. And, no surprise, his chest was covered in tattoos. Scary ones. Skulls and monsters. It felt appropriate, but I couldn't say why.
Jake stepped up behind him, and dread filled me.
“Try not to struggle,” Silas said.
That made it worse.
Even Oliver frowned at Silas. But the frown was all he had time for. Seconds after Silas spoke, Jake shoved Oliver's head into the water. I jerked back even though I'd been prepared for it. You tell yourself you can handle something like that, but you really don't know until you're in the moment. I thought I could deal with death. I'd been close to it for so long. Holding its hand. But this was different. It was violent. Unnatural. Dare I say evil?
Jake was a big guy, but not as big as Oliver. When Oliver started to thrash, I thought he'd throw Jake off. But Jake didn't budge. He held Oliver still, his grip so firm that barely any water splashed out of the tub. Thunderous sounds echoed through the room, the result of Oliver bashing his fists against the metal. It freaked the fuck out of me, but Jake was utterly cool. Absolutely confident in what he did. I could only conclude that drowning men was an everyday thing for Jake. Jake, who had never hurt anyone in all his life. Then he lifted his stare and met mine.
Michael. That's who was murdering Oliver. Not Jake. And it was Michael's strength holding the man under.
I shivered as Michael returned his attention to Oliver. With all the questions in my mind, there was one thing I was certain of—something possessed Jake. There was no doubt in my mind that something other than Jake was inside his body. Whether it was an angel or something else was the question. I mean, how did I know these were the good guys? Silas had healed Jake, but he did it for a price. An enormous price. He didn't even give Jake the chance to see his family before he left Washington. And yes, I blamed that on Silas. But even if that hadn't been Silas's doing, this was. And no matter how you spun it, I was witnessing a murder.
What was that saying about the Devil? His greatest lie was making people believe he was good. No, that wasn't it. It was; his greatest trick is in making people believe he doesn't exist. Well, Silas certainly wants people to know he exists. Him and the Devil, whoever that may be. Still, wouldn't it be just like the Devil to impersonate God? And if Silas was the Devil, then that would make Michael a demon. Holy. Shit.
When Oliver went still, so did I. This wasn't right. I knew it in my bones. Was it a demon in Jake? Oh, fuck. But then I started thinking about the Bible again. Adam and Eve getting cast out of Eden. The Flood. The firstborn of Egypt. People don't realize that the Bible is full of horror stories. Worse than fairy tales. And God played the lead role in most of them.
Drowning a few people and bringing them back to life was nothing compared to all that biblical stuff. And Jesus wasn't the only resurrection in the Bible. There was Lazarus too. And I'm pretty sure Lazarus wasn't fresh. Oliver should be easier to revive, right? Hell, people came back from drowning all the time. This could simply be a case of near-drowning and resuscitation.
Except that when Jake hauled Oliver out of the tub, he didn't perform CPR. Neither did Silas. The self-proclaimed god went to Oliver's still body and laid a hand on his chest. Not to compress it. He barely touched Oliver, just established skin-to-skin contact. And then came that light, the same light I'd seen Silas play with—God's light. It seeped from Silas's hand and into Oliver's chest.
And Oliver came gasping back to life.
The sudden movement compelled me to act as well. I leapt backward, over the chair, and fell in a heap. No one came to help me. Most of them were focused on Oliver, who was falling to his knees before Silas. The hysterical woman crawling toward the wall wasn't a concern for anyone. They had a resurrection to celebrate.
The wall hit my back. I pressed up against it and watched Silas greet his new soldier with the good news that he was now stronger and would heal faster—fit to battle demons. Then he escorted Oliver out.
Another man came in.
I stayed where I was, half hidden behind the overturned chair, and watched for hours as Michael drowned and resurrected several people. Every initiation was the same. It wasn't resuscitation, although they coughed up whatever water had filled their lungs. No, it was resurrection. They died. All of them died. And then Silas brought them back.
Jake had it down to a science. He got them before the basin, held them under, then hauled them out. No, not Jake. Michael. It didn't affect him. Not in the least. These people meant nothing to him. Death meant nothing. I suppose if God created you to be an incorporeal entity that obeyed his every order, humans and their bodies would be insignificant. He only cared as far as God's orders were concerned.
But then I saw him sneer at Silas.
What's this? Michael doesn't like God? Is he bound to Silas against his will? But aren't angels given the choice to serve God? That's what supposedly turned half of them into demons, right? So, what was an angel doing looking at God like that?
Wait. No. Again, I couldn't think straight and religion had never been an interest of mine. Not any of them. But my first years with the nuns, before I went into foster care, had been full of religion. I sometimes wondered if that was what put me off it. But that's neither here nor there. The current question was about angels and freedom. Thinking it over, I recalled something about humans getting free will, but not angels. Lucifer rebelled against this and got punished.
I could be wrong. As I said, religion isn't my strong suit. But either way, if they had free will or not, seeing a fellow angel turned into a demon would make them think twice about choosing the other side. The thing is—both sides looked pretty fucked up from where I was standing.
Unless I was right about Silas being the Devil.
Yup, I was back at the start, not knowing what to believe. But things were taking shape—the nebulous getting solid. I had facts. Startling facts that seemed impossible, but facts nonetheless. Fact number one: Jake was possessed. Fact number two: the entity inside Jake strengthened his body. Fact number three: Silas could perform supernatural acts, including resurrection.
I was dealing with people who functioned outside the laws of physics and the natural world. Did labels really matter? Whether Silas was God, Satan, or fucking Pinocchio, the facts told me he could do things most humans couldn't. What he did with his power was what mattered. So far, it didn't look good for him. But I didn't know what the other side was up to. Maybe the hellhounds were even worse. Or maybe they weren't hellhounds at all. I couldn't decide who was good, evil, or the lesser evil until I had met a hellhound.
That was it. Holy shit. I needed to meet the other side. I couldn't make an informed decision until I had all the information. Only then would I know for certain what side I should choose. It wasn't really about right or wrong as much as what I thought was right and wrong. It's all perception, isn't it? Silas thought he was doing the right thing. But did the hellhounds believe the same? Were they just slaves following the Devil's orders? More importantly, how the fuck was I going to meet one?
What's that saying? Ask and ye shall receive.