Chapter Five - Souls

The sky ripped open and disgorged Christo.

Miles below an angry sea churned and spat, reflecting back the occasional bright ray of sunlight beaming down through the clouds as the grey-blue heavens sealed back together. He began falling in slow-motion, drifting lazily toward the water, a gentle breeze tossing his long brown hair. The horizon rotated like an old turntable struggling to achieve 33 1/3 revolutions per minute.

He looked around, startled and bewildered for a moment as he tried to assess the situation and regain his composure. Clearly I must be dreaming, he reasoned. If I were really falling from the sky, the wind should blow more fiercely. This can't be real. I should try to wake up now. He closed his eyes and strained to regain control and consciousness, but consciousness wouldn't come.

Fine, he thought. I'll make do with what I've got then.

Still drifting downward, he fixed his gaze on a single point on the horizon, stretched out his arm and pointed at it accusingly, following it as it moved, fighting it as though a physical connection extended from his fingertip to the point he had chosen. As he struggled against it, the rotating horizon slowed and stopped.

Next, he twisted and contorted, struggling to shift his weight and direct his limbs until his feet were beneath him and he was falling upright. He lifted his arms as if to conduct an orchestra and beckoned gravity to his world, gesturing upward. The wind began to blow harder as he fell faster, accelerating.

"That's it... yes, that's it... 9.8 meters per second or thereabouts," he shouted aloud into the howling wind and stinging cold mist. The world around him screeched and groaned as the physics Christo knew asserted itself over the disorder. He coughed and gagged as he tried to breathe at too high an altitude against wind and brutal rain.

"How about some sun?" Chirsto shouted and pointed at the eastern sky. The previously scattered illumination drew together into a source at precisely the position where he pointed. "And some land... with fjords!" The sea drew back from the horizon revealing land to Christo's specification. "Now some fog!" The world complied, and fog shrouded the edges of the land, a light cotton blanket floating above the surface of the ocean.

A light cotton blanket that was getting closer. And surrounding Christo.

"Oh, shit."

The ice-cold water stung like ten million needles simultaneously pricking. The sun disappeared and took the ocean and the wind with it. Only the freezing cold and the fog remained. His body lurched forward in agony as he awoke to find himself in his bathtub, still wearing his clothes, up to his neck in cold water.

An open hand cracked against his cheek, stinging almost as much as the ice-cold bath. Stinging almost as much as his other cheek. His eyes tried to focus. Through a brown haze he saw an arm swooping down, targeting his face. Reaching up one centimeter at a time, he grasped the arm at the wrist, blocking its impact with great effort. He coughed, exhausted from the exertion.

He tilted his head back to get a better look at his assailant. It was her. He knew she'd come.

"I knew you'd come." He measured out the words a spoonfull at a time.

The arm wrenched itself free of Christo's grip. His arm fell, splashing in the icy water. A female figure that had been crouched next to the tub rose. She grasped the curtain rod with one hand and brushed her damp hair back with the other.

"You KNEW I'd come? You smug bastard. You're damn lucky I came! You nearly broke your skull wide open, and I don't think your landlord is going to be amused by the stain on the wall. You were burning up when I found you. 42 degrees, easily."

"Nice seeing you too."

"And have you ever thought about getting back in shape? It wasn't easy dragging your fat arse across the floor and getting you into the tub, which I might add is filthy."

"I need your help." He did. He hated to admit it, but circumstances showed he could not handle this alone. At least she was someone he trusted and loved.

"Stop that!" She hissed. "You know I can't...And stop speaking in four-word phrases!" She glared down. He gazed up. Each waited for the other to break the silence.

"I know where Jon is. I know what's happened. It's horrible!" A single tear formed in Christo's eye, but an open-handed blow knocked it away.

"Get ahold of yourself! You've got to establish control! Look at what happened. You can't let that happen again."

She was right. He held his focus on the dripping faucet in front of him. Focus! He had to focus on something. Counting backwards with alternating small primes. 511... 504... 501... 490... 483... 480... 479... The brown haze grew lighter with every subtraction until the fog finally lifted.

"I'm okay now. Let me tell you what happened. You'll never believe what I saw, but you've simply got to."

He told her all about it. What he saw at Hydrolux in the lower levels. Where Jon was. How things have gone too far, how they're spiraling out of control. Who he'd met up on the ridge. What had to be done now. How everything was wrong.

"I'll call Ethan," she offered.

"No. You know he can't do what has to be done."

Christo clutched the edge of the tub and pulled himself to his feet. Still fully clothed and soaking wet, he stepped onto the wooden floor, leaving puddles of water behind as he staggered into the kitchen. He pulled one drawer open and then another, rummaging through the contents until he found a shiny metal object no bigger than his hand, with a switch on the top.

He tossed the maser on the table and went in search of dry clothes.

"You realize you'll be caught. They'll throw you in prison, or worse..." Her voice trembled slightly. They'd do the same thing to him that they're doing to Jon.

"You know there's no time to worry about that, Love. You know this is far more important than you or me. You know I have no choice."

"It was always going to end this way, wasn't it?"

* * *

Martin Chen held the white robe up and smiled, marveling at its elegance and simplicity. "Perfect! Absolutely perfect!"

"It's a white robe." The sarcasm in the voice was unmistakable and biting.

"My dear Abagail, this is not just any ordinary white robe!" Chen strode across the cramped dressing room and stood in front of a torchiere lamp. "Come and stand behind me. Directly behind me."

She maneuvered around heaps of papers, books and trinkets to stand behind the grey-haired asian and as she did her jaw dropped. Chen gasped in excitement.

"You see! Nothing happens until you're directly in the path of the light, and then it lights up like blazes!"

"Truly a technological marvel," Abagail intoned, trying not to sound impressed. "It's the same principal as headlights on street signs, isn't it?"

"Precisely, precisely! I have makeup to match. And today," he paused, spreading his arms wide and gazing upward, "in the name of the almighty, my audience will see my first miracle, live on television!"

"Save it for your sheep, Chen."

"My dear Abagail, I am His servant on Earth! I have been hand-picked to deliver the message to the masses!" He gazed up at the ceiling, beaming. "I will carry out His mission here on this planet!" He paused and looked down. "And so what if I, shall we say, embellish his message slightly? Who will know any different? And who would dare question me?"

"You almost sound as if you've convinced yourself."

"Abagail, Abagail, Abagail..." Chen walked toward her, staring her dead in the eye. "I told you before I would not tolerate your impudence and sarcasm indefinitely." His eyes sparked and flared as he grasped the old woman by her face.

A knock at the door interrupted. "Five minutes, Mr. Chen."

"That's REVEREND Chen," he snapped back. No response. " We will discuss this later. You cannot possibly fully appreciate the powers to which I'm privy. For now, help me into this, please, Ms. Hawthorne. My destiny and the will of my master await."

* * *

Chen stood on a round dais in the middle of a dark stage, clad in his fine new white robe. The cameras had been fitted with lamps around their lenses. On cue, Chen repeated with high drama the motion he had practiced in the dressing room, spreading his arms and raising them just a bit too high. He looked the camera dead in the eye.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. Brothers and sisters! Today I have spoken with the almighty himself!" A murmur swept the studio audience. This was going to be so easy.

Chen paused a moment for dramatic tension, his eyes beaming and a smile erupting across his face. He tilted his head back ever-so-slightly and continued. This was his moment. This would go down in history as the beginning of a revolution. His revolution! All of his work led up to this very moment, the pinnacle, the climax!

"Today the all-powerful has spoken! He has given me a message which I now, as his humble servant, bring to you. The soul eaters must be DESTROYED! They must be crushed! All praise the almighty one!"

Abagail watched from stage left. He really believes this nonsense, she thought. He actually seems to think he has truly spoken with some "almighty" power.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Chen nodded to the stagehand who turned on the lamps on the cameras, causing Chen's robe and face to appear to glow for the television audience. Applause turned into oohs and aahs as the audience watched his unearthly glow on the monitors. His moment had arrived.

Chen reached out to his sides and turned his palms upward. He chanted in an upward staccato, "see the almighty's power resonating through me! Know that I am his messenger on Earth! He must be obeyed! I must be obeyed! Listen to me! Hear my words! We must sweep away the Soul Eaters!" He surveyed the audience. Everyone was transfixed, staring directly at him or the monitors. They were listening! He felt an incredible adrenalin rush at the thought of the power he now held over his audience.

What if he actually has spoken with some "almighty" power? No, that's silly. And too terrible to contemplate if it were true. Abagail crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall.

The clamour of the audience faded as the sound of his own heartbeat grew louder. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins. A faint ammonia odor replaced the damp smell of the television studio. Producers and stage hands conferred in bewilderment as Chen gasped for air and collapsed to his knees, clutching his throat.

Suddenly a column of light, bright as the sun enveloped Chen as audience members shielded their eyes. The white light stretched from the dais to the ceiling without any obvious source. His head snapped back, and he shrieked in agony like a wounded animal.