Chapter 14 - Charlie
After a thorough shower, while listening to the live coverage on the radio, I feel worse instead of better. Even with the news of organized religion revealing all of the horrors they’ve committed and refusing last rites before ruining themselves, nothing can shake how unclean and violated I feel.
It’s not just Suriel tearing my shirt and literally leaving his mark on me. It’s the idea of anyone possessing me, filling me without consent. On top of being kissed and told it was because I was possessed, because of the Devil.
Always the fucking Devil, isn’t it?
But even before he kissed me, I couldn’t wake myself up from the nightmare. It felt too real. Despite what I saw and felt and was sure was real, every memory I’ve tried to forget was echoed in the screams around me.
“Charlie?” Suriel asks.
I close my eyes and curl in on myself in the shower. “I need to eat or something.”
Because it will take my mind off of things.
Because it’s something. It will get me out of the house and out of that bed, which feels like a trap.
When we’re here together, having a crazy maybe angel wrapped around me sounds better than being alone, even though he tried to carve something in my skin.
“Leaving isn’t wise. We need salt, but you-”
“You don’t get to tell me to be alone after watching me touch myself and I think I’m fucking entitled to food!” I lash out. It’s better than crying or begging.
Anger is the opposite of weakness.
“I have no plan to leave you alone,” he says in his ever calm voice. “There is more canned food and-”
“And I was just fucking possessed!” I jerk the curtain to the side and his gaze drops to where I’m sitting, wrapped around myself. “So, I think if I want ice cream or a fucking steak, I’m allowed to have it. POSSESSED, Suriel!”
He shifts uncomfortably.
“Yeah. The thing you weren’t going to tell me about? That seems to be what God’s good at – ignoring people and letting evil take over. At least you told me. Makes you better than him already,” I sneer. “He’s basically a CEO with less interest in success.”
“That’s blasphemy.”
“Yeah. And?” I grab the towel and stand up, flinching away from him when he approaches too fast. He pauses, then offers me his hand when I have the towel wrapped around me.
I step out, babying my ankle and glaring at him.
“The world is shit. He’s the deadbeat dad that let it happen. Possession isn’t free will.”
“Free will exists and it can be … manipulated,” Suriel argues while walking me back to the bedroom.
“Possession still isn’t the same as free-will.
And what about the other person?” I demand, hungry, pissed at the house arrest, and really annoyed with his justifications.
“What about the person who has another’s free will forced upon them?
Huh? ‘The Devil’ just used his free will on me, apparently. ”
I huff and look for something to wear. I find sweats that are way too big and a t-shirt. I drag on both and finally face him. There are too many feelings in my head and organizing them takes extra time.
“That’s different.” Suriel hardly sounds convinced of what he’s saying.
“It’s not. I didn’t consent to things that happened to me in the past. I fought.
I used my nails and my teeth. I was drugged to make it easier.
So, my foster mom could charge men to …” I trail off as his face goes white.
“She called it an exorcism. Said that the devil was in my pussy and that it needed to be drowned. Then evil conveniently moved to my throat. Where was my free will?”
“Charlie,” he breathes, stepping closer to me, his eyes far from stoic now, there’s rage there, ancient, but still hot.
“I was possessed then and it was an excuse. Seems really fucking similar to right now. You won’t let me leave, either. You won’t listen to me!” I accuse.
“I am listening,” he says gently.
I can’t stop, though. I’m too angry. “No one, not even God, listened to me when I said ‘stop.’ The men kept coming until I ran away. What kind of God would make a fifteen-year-old deal with that? Where was God, Jesus, the holy fucking spirit when I was begging for it to end? Where were angels when I was bathed in salt water to remind me of every wound that had been opened and to keep my eyes too blurry to ID anyone?”
“You don’t have to-” Suriel’s suddenly closer.
I realize I’ve been whispering, that I’m crying.
Suriel swallows. “I can’t undo that. You weren’t mine to protect then.”
“But I matter enough now to get my own angel. I guess God builds soldiers through pain and tests of faith?” I demand, shoving him.
“Well, my faith died when I got to the hospital and they called her to come get me. My hope killed itself when CPS said that I was a slut because my story was too ‘crazy.’”
“None of what you went through was right.” His voice doesn’t waver. It’s steady, firm.
“And the crosses on all the walls? The pictures of Jesus watching?” I whisper. “What am I supposed to do with that, huh?” I shove him slightly. “Tell me!”
He puts his hand on my chest.
I almost rip it off, but my chest grows lighter. The tightness of my ribs trying to suffocate me eases, like the pain was just an intrusive thought. I shiver and look down as the rune glows across my skin.
“People didn’t listen. Jesus didn’t look away. God wasn’t there even when his name was chanted,” I whimper. “You should have been there. You would have ruined them.”
He pulls me into his arms, rubbing my back slowly. I keep my eyes on his skin as the tattoos move, angels seeming to go to war instead of just inhabiting their set place. But their weapons look trained on any point where my skin touches Suriel’s.
“Can you punish them? God used to be creative that way – you know, Old Testament style?” I whisper.
He laughs, actually laughs, then his fingers tease my side. “God gave the orders, the angels used their creativity. But, the Devil-”
“The Devil is a scapegoat, Suriel,” I murmur as the rage and hurt subsides, melting under Suriel’s touch like he’s siphoning it from me. “People can be terrible all on their own. Saying the Devil made them do it makes my experience and the fallout feel … minimized.”
Suriel lifts my chin and studies my eyes. After a brief hesitation, he kisses my forehead. It’s tender, short, but shifts something in the air between us. “We’ll get you food and restock on salt. A quick trip. Runes on the inside of the truck.”
“Take a Sharpe. No damaging the vehicle. It’s not ours,” I say, even though it sounds stupid the second it leaves my lips. The truck was left in the garage, so I doubt anyone’s coming back for it.
My stomach growls again as we get in the truck.
Suriel carefully maneuvers it down the road and around the dozens of deer that seem to be off their rockers, kicking at nothing, running, making a horrible sound when I always thought they were silent.
The town I’ve loved and come to call home is burning.
No matter how Suriel tries to talk over it, I hear the screams and the wicked laughter echoing in the streets.
Someone is straight up guzzling gasoline at a gas station. When I see someone approach with a lighter and a dead-eyed sadistic grin, I jerk the wheel to the side and tell him to hit the gas just before new screams echo.
“This is insane,” I breathe.
“Perhaps I’m a little more … Believable?” Suriel asks.
“Perhaps … Slightly. Maybe a little less crazy. But you’re hot so that … What the fuck,” I mutter, as I watch a young boy, no older than thirteen stab two people trying to help him before shouting that he’s unloved. I itch a specific spot on my arm and shake my head. “You shouldn’t seem sane.”
“Logic and sanity aren’t always the same thing,” he says gently. “Does touching calm you down?”
I pause and look over at him. I want to be prickly, but the truth comes out. “Yes.”
He rubs my raw wrist awkwardly. “An open mind might help you here, Charlie.”
I nod once and stare out the windshield as Suriel pauses for more people to run across, too wild-eyed to even notice us, but I glance up.
The clouds are thick, almost purple rather than gray.
I check to see if I’ve been ‘good enough’ to see the moon and thus to get into ‘Heaven,’ but all I see is a sliver of sunlight. It falls across the town like a beam.
“I’m not going to see the moon like other people, am I?” I whisper.
His jaw tightens. “It’s something familiar and pretty to help them welcome the peace they deserve.”
“Why don’t I deserve it?” I ask.
I think I hear his teeth grinding, but he shakes his head.
I guess lying is easier without speaking because he does know.
I’m sure of that.
The ray of sunshine falls on a scene of carnage. Someone who’s been crucified upside down with ‘Judas’ carved into her chest. At least the pigeons and one odd dove are staying away from the bodies instead of feasting.
It’s gory … Horrible.
The dove has enough of the view and flits over us towards a convenience store that’s still whole. Suriel makes a soft sound, then heads that way.
I stare down at my hands. “I don’t want to trust you, Suriel. You’re holding me hostage, even if you have good intentions,” I admit.
“The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, I hear,” he says. “An apt saying.”
Anything I can think to say dies before it reaches my tongue.
It’s all obvious. Repetitive. Angry and hurt, but useless and not worth the breath it would use.
So, I look at Suriel. I want him to understand how much believing in God or the Devil will ruin my reality.
I want him to know that I don’t want to trust him, but I need him to keep from abusing the threadbare hope I’m putting in his hands.
Suriel hesitates, then brushes his hand over mine. I see eye tattoos on each of his fingers. Three per finger, spaced by the knuckles. He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. “What’s our shared goal?”
“Stay alive,” I whisper.
“Which means preparing you properly. It’s a matter of time before the sins join. Seven entities with … unpleasant extras,” he murmurs.
“You couldn’t give me even a single silver lining?” I huff.
“There are still doves. If there are doves, there is hope, even if they’re dirty and a little broken. I think you’re a bit more durable than a bird.”
“A bit,” I laugh humorlessly, but bite my bottom lip. “Why are you here to save me?”
“It’s an order,” he answers. “I don’t question God.”
I’m not sure if I believe him, especially when he just keeps driving, focused on the closest store where a white dove is perched. It’s also the only one that’s not splattered with blood, or otherwise entirely ravaged.
He pulls into the parking lot and starts to unbuckle both of us.
I shake his hand off and speak up when he looks confused, “Obey the lines. Don’t be an ass. Especially not in this world.”
Taking a breath, he pulls back out and carefully parks between the white lines.
I jump up and follow Suriel inside, grabbing a basket along the way.
The canned food aisle is first, and almost entirely empty.
Spaghetti-o’s are left, along with some vegetables (I guess no one wants to eat peas in the apocalypse), and alphabet soup.
I pile them in, grab bread, then peanut butter and jelly.
Suriel takes the basket from me and pushes me forward when I’m on aisle four. “This should be plenty to feed you.”
“Us, dummy. You have to protect me, right? That means keeping all that muscle,” I counter.
Then I notice his entire basket is filled with salt.
I snort. “Okay, this is ridiculous. Salt isn’t a full meal.”
“We’ve been here too long,” he answers, ignoring my question while looking around.