Michael
awoke in a living room. He did not recognize it, but somehow this place felt
familiar, as if he had graced this location once before and yet no longer
remembered it. The furnishings were dark, the carpet red. He was sitting
upright, odd since his last coherent memory was of falling into sleep in the
back of a large van. Was this a dream of some sort? It felt real, seemed real,
and yet made no sense.
That
unease continued as he became more aware of his surroundings. Behind him, he
saw sunlight filter through the blinds to illumine the floor, yet he felt none
of the monstrous fear that had nearly pinned him indoors just a few minutes
earlier. He also heard voices, the sound of children playing nearby.
Michael
stood up and went to the door nearest the voices. Curiosity drove him and he
opened the door onto the scene of a child's birthday party. A group of children
were laughing and playing, having a good time, with adults supervising nearby.
One of the adults, a grandmotherly figure dressed so conservatively it seemed
wildly out-of-place, summoned the children to her side. “We will play musical chairs.”
She announced to the cheers of the children.
“How do
you play?” asked one of the children, a blond boy of maybe 5 or 6. The other
children laughed at his ignorance.
“You'll
pick it up soon enough.” said the grandmother impatiently. “When you hear the
music, run about the chairs. When it stops, sit down.”
The haze
of forgetfulness began to fade. Michael remembered this. First grade, the
birthday party for a classmate. What was his name again? Gregory? Grant?
Something with a G, he knew. As the epiphany came upon him, his point of view
suddenly shifted. He was no longer observing the scene from the background. He
was once again within himself, within the child he had once been.
He
remembered what happened next. The game began. The music started, some horrid
pop song from the 70s. Olivia Newton-John, he suspected. But just as soon as it
started, it ceased. Chaos erupted. In his memories, Michael had failed to win a
seat, but now....
But the
dream denied him any outcome but what had happened 15 years before. He landed
on his rump to the laughter of his supposed friends. The first eliminated. Just
like before.
Despite
15 years of maturity, Michael still felt the sting of wounded pride, the
feeling that he'd been robbed, cheated of a fair chance. The dream brought him
back to his feet, and he stormed out of the room in embarrassment and anger.
Just like before.
Michael
knew what had happened next, but no longer felt a need or a desire to resist
where this vision was taking him. He came back into the previous room. It was
the same as before, save for a pile of party favors on the one sofa. He did not
see it before. Atop the pile was a sheet of Superman stickers, top prize to the
game winner.
In a fit
of spite, Michael tore the sheet down the middle. Just as he had as a child.
Served them right for laughing at him.
The roar
of anger from his host echoed into his ears. The birthday boy's best buddy had
won the game and the stickers were his by right. But no longer. The next thing
Michael remembered was being grabbed, spun about, and having a 6-year old fist
land against his jaw.
It didn't
hurt, not really. And the grandmother intervened immediately to break up
whatever fight might have erupted. But from the ugly tone of her voice, along
with that of her grandson, Michael knew he'd committed some unforgivable sin.
Hands roughly shoved him out the door.
The
vision changed.
Michael
knew that he had moved not just in space, but also in time. He was in the
corridor of a very familiar place, his church in Charleston. It was a clean-up day of some sort
and people were busy about the building.
David was there. David had been one of Michael's closest friends. Had been, being
the operative phrase. Michael recognized the setting. This was the day that changed.
Feelings
rushed in along with the memories. Disappointment, for he remembered Rebecca
had not been there that day. This was at least a year before they ever
considered dating, but Michael's crush on her had already begun. That feeling
was counterbalanced by excitement, excitement because David had promised
Michael a bootleg copy of Ultima V.
This was
1988; four years ago. Michael was a sophomore in high school. And he was about
to lose his best friend.
Michael
noticed a weight on his hip. His old tape Walkman was clipped on his belt, a
bootleg copy of The Choir's Diamonds and Rain album within. His parents had
largely forbidden he listen to anything but Christian music (not that he didn't
have a few Tears for Fears, Genesis, Rush, the Cure, and a few other secular
bands tucked away in his collection.)
David and Michael shared everything. If one got a tape first, he immediately copied
it for the other. Same with computer games. Hence, Michael's excitement over
Ultima.
Michael
pressed play and listened to the music as he wandered about looking for
something to do, or more specifically, looking for his friend. He found David just a few yards down the corridor, helping his father move a large sofa out of
the parlor.
“Hey!”
Michael called out.
David set down his end of the soda as his father did likewise. He turned and waved.
“Did you
bring it?” Michael asked impatiently. No need to specify what “it” was.
“We need
to talk.” replied David. No good ever came of those words in any circumstance.
“What's
going on?”
“I was
talking with Mr. Kelly on Friday.” David began. David lived in one of the
suburbs of Charleston and as such, went to a different
school from Michael and Rebecca. Mr. Kelly was his computer teacher. “Talking
about how I figured out the crack on the game.”
“Was he
impressed?” said Michael absent-mindedly. Michael certainly had been. Figuring
out how to get past copy protection had been one of their latest pet projects,
and David had proven really good at it. The Matthew Broderick character in War
Games could have been written about David. Hacking and cracking came naturally
to him.
“Not
really. He just shook his head and told me I was the most dishonest Christian
he'd ever met.” David looked grave.
“So?”
said Michael.
“So, I'm
done.”
“Excuse
me?”
“I'm
done, Michael. No more hacking. No more pirating. I'm done with all of it.”
“And my
copy of Ultima V?”
“You
don't get it, do you?” said David, getting angry. “This is about you as much
as it is me.”
“Don't
drag me into this attack of conscience, David. All I know is what you promised
to me.”
“I won't
give it to you. And you should think about what we've been doing.”
Michael
scowled. Now he was getting angry. “So this is what a friend's word is worth
then? Valid only if its bearer doesn't have an attack of self-righteousness.”
David's nostrils flared. “That's all that matters to you. Where you can cut corners.
When and where to ignore the rules when it suits you. If your faith means
anything to you, you'll not go down this road.”
“Go down
it? I'm already down it. And so are you.”
“Not
anymore.”
“I want
my copy of Ultima V.” repeated Michael. “You owe me that much.”
“And what
part of you're not getting it didn't you understand?”
Present
day Michael wanted to take a swing at him, but past Michael had long since had
the impulse to physical violence literally beaten out of him by Todd and other
bullies at school. So he stood there and stewed, walking away after a long
moment. It was the last time the two of them had spoken. Five months later,
David's father got transferred and they moved away. Michael thought it for the
better in more ways than one. Not only was David the more talented of their
pair, but he was also the one the girls always swooned over. Among them was
Rebecca, who not-surprisingly began to finally notice Michael after his
“cooler” friend was gone.
Suddenly,
Michael's eyes snapped open. He shook his head clear of the visions. Now, he
found himself within an underground chamber. Brick walls, stone floor, a
newsstand a few yards away: A subway station, in which city, he knew not, but
somehow he felt as if he were in New York City.
Michael
stepped away from the wall upon which he found himself leaning and headed over
to the stand. Offered there were a variety of magazines and newspapers: New
York Times, Washington Post, Cosmo, Playboy, Time, Newsweek, etc. The purveyor
was an older man, perhaps mid-50s, who stared bored at the potential customer
before him.
“I wonder
what's down here.” came another voice. A familiar one: Rebecca.
Michael
turned and his eyes fell upon her. Vague memories of a violent scene in a
church sanctuary intruded, but seemed a dubious fantasy, as though this was
real and that remembrance myth. But the feeling was full of doubt and
uncertainty. Michael could not tell. Was he awake at last in this strange place
and his memories of Mathias' court a mere nightmare? Or was it the other way
around?
Becca was
regarding the service corridor with some curiosity. “Probably just where the
staff...” Michael began to explain, as she darted through the door and
disappeared. Michael let out his brreath in frustration, heading to the door
and following her through.
The
hallway beyond was of hellish unreality, a firmer clue that he was within yet
another hallucination. The floor was brown stone bricks, lined with iron
grates. Spurting forth from the grates at semi-regular intervals were bursts of
flame. And Rebecca was here...somewhere.
“Becca!”
he called out, and made to step forward. A gust of flame shot before him and he
staggered back from the heat. An arm grabbed him and pulled him back onto the
platform.
“What are
you doing in there, silly?” teased Becca. “Our train is about to arrive.”
There had
been no way she could have gotten behind him and yet there she was. Michael
shook his head in confusion. This seemed so real, yet reality made no sense.
“Sorry.”
Michael muttered weakly. A train pulled up to the platform and Rebecca gave
Michael a playful nudge toward it. He went as she directed, boarding the train
and finding a seat.
“Ah, I
can't wait.” she said with delight. The train began to move.
Michael
was almost afraid to ask his next question. “Where are we going?”
“To swim
camp, silly.”
Now,
Michael knew this was another dream. He'd gone to camp with Rebecca before,
specifically to the Creation festival in central Pennsylvania. But never to any “swim camp.”
The train
emerged from the dark underground into the blazing sunlight. Then, Michael saw
they were above water. The train rode a trestle above the waves, heading out to
sea.
“I can't
wait.” repeated Becca.
A slow
recognition came upon Michael. This was no memory, but it was familiar in one
sense. It was what Michael called a “travel dream.” He had these periodically
throughout his life. An imagining of a journey to someplace unknown. He would
visit cities, towns, shopping malls, parks, even universities, all within the
confines of his own mind. Frequently, the dreams would fuse known qualities of
places he'd been with the fantastic conjurations of his subconscious. Also, at
times, Michael could not discern the dream from reality, even upon waking. And
even when the truth would not be denied, Michael always felt a profound sense
of loss. He always wanted to go back to those places, shop in those malls,
visit those universities, walk the streets of those cities, even though none of
what he remembered was real. For years, he would hold onto the memory of those
places in his head, long after most other dreams would be forgotten. But a
specific dream would never return. He never traveled to the same place twice.
This was
another such dream. He was going to swim camp with Rebecca, via a train
traveling across the ocean.
Best to
enjoy the experience. It would never come again. And in that thought, for the
first time, Michael did not want to awaken from his reverie. He wanted to
experience this one to the fullest.
An island
appeared on the horizon and almost as quickly as it appeared, the train was
pulling into a station upon it. Rebecca gathered up her bags (from whence they
came, Michael did not know), and headed outside. Michael followed.
Instantly,
he found himself poolside. No train station, no platform, no hotel or bunkhouse
even. Instant transport to the next “episode” of the travel dream. Michael
accepted it manifestly, especially since it gave him a chance to ogle Rebecca
in a swimsuit.
Her suit
was not overly revealing or sexy. Just a simple black one-piece. Michael found his
own behavior in this moment a little odd; after all, he'd seen her in far less
clothing quite recently.
“You
there! Allens!” barked a voice. A giant ogre of a man marched over to him. “You
didn't hear a word that I said.”
The
coach, Michael presumed. “Sorry.” Michael replied quietly.
“You'll
learn the price for disrespect.” The coach slammed a fist hard into Michael's
gut, doubling him over with pain.
“What
the hell?” Michael screamed astonished in his mind.
“Let this
be a lesson to all of you!” barked the coach. “Dismissed.”
Michael
felt graceful hands take him and bring him back to his feet.
Presuming
them to be Rebecca's, he was surprised to look into Deborah's eyes as he stood.
“He's a nasty one.” she said. “Best do everything that he tells you.”
She
walked away, letting her fingers linger on his arm a bit longer than was
polite. Michael didn't mind.
He turned
back to find Rebecca only to find the episode changing again. They were
gathered in a line, Rebecca at his side. Across the pool, maybe 15 yards away,
was Deborah. The coach was sitting at a desk nearby also. Michael felt a sense
of imminent danger. He looked about for a weapon and his eyes fell upon a
Philips head screwdriver in a nearby tool box. He fetched it up and slipped it
into his pocket.
“Allens!
Front and center.” barked the coach. Michael stepped forward timidly towards
the desk.
“You
don't seem to be taking this seriously enough.” The coach continued. “It seems
I'm going to have to find new ways to motivate you.”
Hearing
the words of Darth Vader echoed back at him did not make Michael feel any
better. Four athletic young men emerged from behind the coach. Todd, Shawn,
David, and a fourth that he did not recognize yet somehow knew was Grant or
Greg or whatever his name was from 1st grade.
“Let's
see how you fare against these. I'll give you a 5 minute head start.” The
murderous glare in the eyes of the four made no secret of their intent.
Michael
bolted from the pool and headed off into the jungle.
He dashed
down the wooded path, not entirely sure why his dream had taken this turn, but
all he knew was that his life was in danger. To let those four or the coach
himself catch him now would be deadly.
Now he
wanted to wake up. His travel dream had turned swiftly nightmarish, and yet no
awakening was forthcoming.
He
hastened up a tree, hearing the scramblings in the brush of his pursuers just a
few short yards behind him. Five minute head start indeed, of course, time
flowing somewhat randomly within the dreamscape didn't help.
He kept
his perch and made no sound as his four enemies paused beneath him. “Split up!” barked David, and each headed
off into the brush in a different direction. All save Todd, who stood below him
as if waiting.
Opportunity! Michael dropped down right on top
of him. The impact of his feet upon Todd's head and shoulders stunned his foe.
He rolled off onto the trail and grabbed the first thing he could find, a large
tree branch. One swing and he felt it connect, sending Todd sprawling.
“One
down.” thought Michael. “Three to go.” Now the hunted would become the hunter.
Michael
kept hold of his crude club and headed off into the wood . He hadn't actually
paid all that much attention to which direction his foes had gone, but he knew
without knowing that this was the direction Shawn had taken. He would be next.
He came
out into a clearing, seeing Shawn before him. His opponent turned to face him,
brandishing a set of nun-chucks.
“You know
how to use those?” taunted Michael, wielding his club.
“You just
don't get it, do you Michael?” replied Shawn. A curious comment. “This is all
your doing.” He continued.
Michael
charged forward and felt the ground give way beneath him. He stumbled down a
set of rough stone steps and landed in a puddle of mud. He quickly came to his
feet to stare into the lifeless eyes of Kris Keller.
Michael
screamed at the shock and backed away. But there she was, as he last saw her,
dead by his hand.
“All your
doing.” repeated Shawn. He had followed him down the stairs.
Michael
lashed out with his club blindly and felt the wood connect. There was a dull
crunch of bone and Shawn went down. Now his eyes stared at him just the same.
The floor
of this macabre tomb gave way and Michael dropped down some 50 feet to a catwalk
suspended over the ocean. To his side, a mighty waterfall cast its waters down
into the sea below, its roar near deafening and its mists so thick as to blind.
Michael
took back to his feet, uninjured despite the fall. Despite the din, he could
hear a voice faintly, calling his name. “Michael! Michael!”
A shadowy
form emerged in the mists ahead. As it closed, Michael could make out the form
of his old friend David. But he was not alone.
“Careful,
Michael, you might slip.” he warned. Before him, wrapped in the chain David brandished as his weapon, was Rebecca.
“Let her
go.” Michael demanded.
“You
never could keep your balance.” said David, as if he hadn't heard. “Neither
could she.” With a shove, he pushed Rebecca over the side. Michael dashed
forward, but the rain-slicked platform betrayed him. His feet slipped out from
under him and down he went.
Rebecca
fell and fell and came to the end of the chain with a sickening crunch.
“Too
bad.” said David, looking down. “There's always others. Ones far more worthy.”
Michael
came to his feet in a rage, charging down the catwalk. This time, he kept his
feet and slammed his body hard into his former friend. David was hurled back
by the tackle and vanished into the mists.
Michael
grabbed the chain and pulled it up. There was no Rebecca on the other end. No
body to recover. It was as if she had simply vanished into thin air.
“Todd.”
came another voice. “Then Kris, then Shawn, then Rebecca.” Michael began to
twirl the chain expectantly. “Where does it end? Who gets justice for them?
Dead by your hand.”
“Not
you.” He knew it was the last of his pursuers. And he remembered his name at
last: Gideon.
“But I'm
the one you've feared the most. The one you've hated the most. I'm the one with
the most power over you. The one you've never beaten.”
“You were
a child last I saw you. And even now, you're just a figment of my demented
imagination.”
“I'm real
enough to best you.”
Then all
went black.
Michael's
eyes snapped open again. He desperately hoped this vision had come to its end
and that he was off on another. But that was not to be. As swiftly as his
visions and remembrances had come and gone, he was surprised and dismayed that this “swim
camp” nightmare lingered.
He was
back at the pool. Only now, all was dark. All he could see was the coach, lit
dimly in the twilight, and a bench upon which was tied and bound the form of
Deborah. Michael tried to move, but found that he himself was bound by his
wrists and suspended above the floor.
“Useless.”
said the coach. “Still doesn't get it.”
“Let me
go.” said Michael feebly.
“You have
much yet to answer for, Michael.” said the coach. “For instance...”
The
bruised and battered body of Todd tumbled before him. He was not as Michael
left him in the forest. The wounds, the bruises, were as they had been on the
floor of another forest.
“Vengeance.”
said Michael firmly.
“Does my
crime merit this?” coughed the body beneath him. Blood spouted from his lips.
“And what
of her?” said the coach.
Kris
appeared beneath him as Todd vanished. The bullet wound on her chest gushed
blood. “I loved you.” she whispered. “You killed me.”
“Stop
it!” demanded Michael.
“And
him?”
Frat boy
made his appearance next.
“Her?”
The girl
at 7-11.
“Stop
it.” Michael demanded again, feebly.
“And this
one?”
Shawn
appeared, his skin pale and grey. He said nothing, but stared blindly upward.
“Enough.”
Michael half sobbed. He knew who would come next.
“No, not
enough. Not yet.”
Rebecca.
Unlike the others, she appeared before him uninjured, unharmed, perfect. She
looked upward at him, then her eyes filled with fear. She screamed and Michael
watched as she burst into flames and vanished into ash and smoke.
“NO!!!!”
he cried. “No! No more.”
“We're
not done.” said the coach. “We've only touched the surface of your crimes.”
“Please.”
he pleaded.
“And what
of this one?” the coach motioned towards Deborah. “How you've betrayed her.
Left her to a fate worse than these others.”
With a
fluid motion, the coach went over to her bound form and mounted her. With each
thrust of his pelvis, Deborah cried out, sobs of pain and regret.
“No
more.” said Michael.
“Not
yet.” repeated the coach. “I think she's starting to enjoy it.”
Michael
grabbed hold of his own chains. With a quick tug, he pulled himself upward and
felt them slacken. He could get loose.
He
dropped to the floor. The coach, enthralled with his ravishing of Deborah, made
no notice. Within his pocket, he felt the bulge of the screwdriver. It was
still there.
Michael
yanked it free and struck. He aimed for the base of the neck, right where the
brain stem lay hidden. It was a killing blow and he knew it.
The
screwdriver glanced off harmlessly.
“Did you
think me so easy to destroy?” said the coach turning towards him. His voice had
changed. He recognized it, the same grandfatherly tones as Prince Mathias. “Now
comes your reckoning, Michael.”
Michael
screamed.
He bolted
to his feet and stumbled upon the floor. Darkness was all around him. Was he
awake at last? His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he looked about. His
surroundings were unfamiliar once again. Another vision, another dream, another
nightmare.
“No
more.” said Michael aloud. “Enough.” He half sobbed.
Terrible
pain tore through his belly, all-consuming agony ate at his flesh. He tried to
stand but the room spun and he crashed to the floor. Then, a scent, a sound.
People nearby.
“No,
not again.” his mind screamed as the beast within him took over. He tore to
his feet and out the door. He vaguely registered the sand beneath his feet or
the waves crashing beyond. All he knew was that blood was near.
A couple
were laughing and playing on the beach. Young lovers oblivious to the danger at
hand. Michael roared like an animal and the two stopped short. The woman
screamed. Then the man.
Michael
tasted sweet release.
----
“There
you are.” said a voice.
“Solomon?”
queried Michael. His voice seemed off, distant, alien. “Where...” He tried to
sit up and saw the blood. It was everywhere, all over him. “What...”
Around
him were the bodies of two people, or at least, that's what he thought they
were. They looked as though a wild animal had mauled them.
“Not a
vision. Not a dream.” said Michael.
"Few
of us can maintain control after awakening from torpor." said Solomon.
"More
death." sobbed Michael. "And
at my hands again."
“No time
to fret about that now.” Solomon picked up the man and tossed him into the
waves. "They drowned. The sharks got them. Whatever." He mused aloud,
tossing the woman in next. "At least this way, we can cover our tracks.
The tide'll wash away the bloody sands and even if the corpses wash back up,
the authorities will write it off as sharks chewing on the carrion of two
drowning victims."
"You
should throw me in next. Let them eat me." said Michael with grim humor.
"Up to ten dead now."
"You
keep a more accurate count and you'll drive yourself mad with guilt."
warned Solomon.
"And
what should I do?" snarled Michael in frustration. "Forget about
them? I've spent my torpor haunted by each one of their faces. I dreamed of
every one of them. Deborah and Rebecca and Kris and the girl at 7-11. Dreamed
of Shawn and Todd. Of that damn frat boy and even people I hadn't seen in
years. And now I've got two more faces to add to the list. Ten lives destroyed
because of me. I've done better than Jack the Ripper. Not quite up to Ted
Bundy, but I'm getting there."
Solomon
turned and grabbed Michael by the shirt collar, yanking him up into the air and
putting them face-to-face. "I did not drag you out of the sunlight a week
ago so you could mope around in self-pity. You are a vampire. You have been a
vampire for over a year. You have seen our world and it is not a world where
the weak last long. The Michael I know is not weak. Foolish, impulsive, but not weak. You're feeling guilty and depressed will not bring
the dead back." Solomon tossed Michael back onto the sand. "The
choice is yours, Michael.”
Michael
picked himself up and followed Solomon back towards the strange house. As if
divining Michael's next question, Solomon began to speak.
"When
I was first embraced, I traveled all over.” His anger appeared to be gone. “I
set up a series of these little bungalows, little safehouses, places I could
stay." Solomon noticed Michael's distraction. "Hey, you here?"
“I don't
know.” said Michael. He felt strange, still sick from what he had done on the
beach and still confused and bewildered.
Solomon
chuckled. "You were in torpor for about a week. Now you know its effects.
Muddles the mind. You don't remember me quite right. Something seems different.
Well, nothing's really changed, just the way you perceive the world around you.
It'll pass soon enough. You weren't down long enough to really get your brain
scrambled."
"So,
this is your place? You were saying..."
"Yeah,
we're outside Williamsburg and Yorktown. On the coast. Obviously, I haven't
been back to this place in a while. So it'll take some work. Make this place a
little more homey.”
“This is
real?” Michael said. He still wasn't certain.
“Yes,
you're back.”
Michael
looked as if he was about to say something else, but the words did not come.
“It'll
pass in time.”
“Was it
like this for you?”
Solomon
nodded. “I've not been in torpor much, but yeah. Strange dreams, visions of
past events, guilty consciences, all mixed together with vivid imagery so real
you can't tell it's all happening in your mind. You had only a week of it.
Imagine decades of it and you can see why elders like Mathias and Ernie are not
all there.”
“Why? Why
did I go into torpor sleep?”
“The
shock of it all, I would guess.”
“What
happened?”
“Mathias
knew. He knew about Rebecca and he struck first. We didn't see it coming.”
“How did
he know?”
Solomon
shrugged as they headed inside. “He did not penetrate my mind, if that's what
you're thinking. I would have known.”
"We
were betrayed." said Michael flatly. "Ernie."
"You
think so?"
"He
was screaming something to Mathias at my trial. Something about a broken deal
or some such. He sold us out. Sold us out so he could have me."
"And
when Mathias condemned you, he broke the deal." Solomon paused, as if
thinking. "Would explain why he wanted to rescue you so badly."
"So
why did you help him?"
Solomon
stopped and turned to Michael. His posture indicated hostility. He began to
speak, but Michael cut him off.
"You
heard what Ernie said just as clearly as I did. You knew it was him. I know you
did."
"I
don't like your tone." said Solomon angrily.
"Deborah
said she wanted you by her side in a fight more than anyone. Said I could trust
you. Well, can I?"
Solomon
threw the question back at him. "Can you?"
The two
vampires stared at one another for a long time, neither moving nor speaking.
Then Michael nodded.
"Yes,
I can trust you."
"And
why do you believe that?"
"From
what you and her have said, you've been allies for years, decades even. But I'm
willing to bet you used to be more than that. I've the seen the way you look at her from time to time. Why else aid her in this crazy
coup when she offers you nothing that you want? You offer loyalty for your
remembered affections. The same loyalty that now drives you to salvage what
remains of Deborah's plan. It wasn't by Ernie's request that you saved me. You
did it because you need me to save her."
Solomon
was as stone, but then he spoke. "Now the question remains for me, can I
trust you? Your folly gave Ernie his opportunity."
"Rebecca
is dead. I have no more vendettas, save Mathias."
Solomon
nodded. "And Ernie?"
"We
need him. And if he's desperate enough to double cross all of us to claim me as
a prize, then I think we've been given a powerful tool in controlling
him."
Solomon
nodded again, a devilish smile crossing his lips. “So it begins.” He offered
his hand. Michael took it. “Our retribution and Deborah's deliverance. Glad to
have you on board.”
Act Two Chapter Ten
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