A Change is Gonna Come

            Elliot faced the twelve across the courtyard. He kept his hands at his sides, trying to adopt a non-threatening posture. His eyes drifted to the twisted metal shell of the tower where it lay in the courtyard, surrounded by shards of yellowed glass. When had that happened? How had that happened? ‘You don’t need to hurt them,’ he said, ‘I’ll come with you peaceably,’ not entirely sure that was the right word to use.

            One of the twelve raised his hand in the air, fingers spread out towards the boy. Then one of his companions leaned in to say something quietly. Why did they seem familiar? Where had he seen them before? The club? Or was it... They exchanged glances and then the man with his hand raised seemed to give a reluctant nod. He squeezed his hand closed, making a fist and Elliot felt his grasp on reality spiral free. The ground was rushing up at an angle to his face, and then there was nothing. The ground dropped out from under him, and then even that awareness fled from his attention.

            Nuit sat smugly in her high-backed chair this time. Things had gone well. She waited for the eleven other monitors to flicker to life, letting each of them see her waiting for them.

            ‘Well?’ One of the portraits demanded.

            ‘I have his head,’ Nuit grinned wickedly.

            The golden haired woman beamed. ‘You see what a little co-operation can accomplish?’

            Nuit gave a curt nod and brushed a strand of hair off her glimmering black dress. ‘Thank you, by the way, for the new oracle. I’ll be keeping this one here for now. We don’t want her getting terminated like the last one.’

            ‘You’re sure you have the right boy, Nuit?’

            Her smoldering eyes fell on the speaker. ‘Yes. He came without much objection this time. Perhaps he realized it was inevitable.’

            ‘We’ve heard disturbing rumors that Mahan is aware, and indeed searching for him.’

            She let her lip curl gradually into a snarl. ‘Well he can stop looking, can’t he. I’ll send your Reapers back to you right away.’

            They accepted her finality and allowed her to switch her screen off. Though, one or two kept their gaze fixed firmly on her empty screen fro some time, even as the others began to end their own broadcasts.

            As soon as her screen was off, Nuit spun in her chair to face the darkened wall. A section of the black drapes moved forwards into the dim light. ‘You’ll want to see the new oracle, mistress.’ He said.

            She rose and followed him from the room, heading down a lush hall trimmed with black velvet and silver chrome. He held open one of the many black glass doors to allow her entrance. The inside room had been modeled like a child’s bedroom. A bed, soft chairs, stuffed animals and toys dotted the room, arranged around a low circular table in the centre. A young girl sat, her tongue protruding ever so slightly from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. A set of paint brushes was spread out before her, but the paints themselves were absent. As they entered, Nuit saw her raise a fresh brush to a blank sheet and begin to pain with the dry, clean brush. Never the less, color appeared on the page, spreading out from the brush tip. The picture was crude, but in a style far different from most children’s scribbles.

            Nuit approached the table and looked through the other scattered pictures already finished.

            She picked up one of Elliot facing twelve figures in a stone yard. The little girl began humming quietly to herself. Nuit picked up another painting.

            Elliot lay sprawled on a stone floor in a small room; a headless man lay spread on the floor, bleeding out a pool of red paint. She looked over her shoulder at her second. ‘Babi, go check on him will you?’

            As he left, the girl finished her latest work and pushed it aside nonchalantly. Nuit swiped it up. The paint seemed to still be resolving like a Polaroid developing before her. The man that had just departed stared up from the page, arms spread out on a wall as if crucified. Flames licked around the edge of the painting. Nuit folded it in half, and then half again and slipped it inside her dress at the breast. The girl looked up at her for the first time.

            ‘Can I have some more cookies and blood?’

            Nuit smiled. ‘Of course, Cimerone.’

            Babi took the elevator down into the basement of the tower, tapping his foot absently in time with the muzak. As he sunk lower, nearing the deepest floors, he heard something rattling over the soft tunes, growing louder as the lift slowed and halted. The doors chimed and he stepped quickly to the side as machinegun fire cur across the back wall, ringing dully against the glossy metal. He caught a glimpse of a body just outside the elevator, pooling in blood, before he hit the button to close the door and send himself skywards to his mistress.

            Just as Elliot had been regaining consciousness, someone had forced him to the ground, by which he gathered he had somehow been standing. They knocked his knees out from under him and then roughly used his hair to sit him up straight.  His eyes still weren’t working properly, and neither were his ears. Was that yawning cavern a mouth before his face? Hot breath and a dull rumble like distant surf or thunder. He smelled something awful and turned his head as pain laced its way up his arm. The bright glow of a cigarette pressing into his arm, going out, replaced by another. More thunder and it finally occurred to him that they might be screaming or shouting at him. If only they’d slow down, speak more clearly—and then he was being hoisted up and set in a chair, his arms bound behind his back. He heard sparks and smelled a different kind of burning this time. He realized it was probably him again as his heart lurched in his chest and his eyes burned. He squeezed them tight against the crackles of electricity that danced across his eyeballs. Finally the current stopped and his limbs were left rigid and aching, burning from the inside. Someone spat on him.

            He had no sense of time. It could have been seconds—they could have shut the door and then come back before the lock had even clicked into place—or it could have been an hour or more. But when they did, and poured a cup of hot tea on his head, scalding his scalp and ears, he was able to hear them tell him ‘We brought you here to kill you,’ and he sobbed because he wished they would. And then they began beating him; they might have used clubs or metal rods, or even just their fists. He wasn’t sure. The pain was the same under the assault. They struck his face and head, his chest and stomach. At some point, he became aware that his chin and neck were wet and sticky and knew he must have started vomiting blood. They left him with a threat that they would have him raped, but it came through as just a whisper in the static of broken circuitry. They ripped his clothes off of him, leaving only his underwear and left him alone again in the frigid, air-conditioned room, bound to the icy metal chair.

            Again, time passed and he had no idea how much. When they came back, he was backhanded across his already swollen face. He felt something give in his cheek and burst. The force of the blow rocked the chair and he toppled, hitting the ground with no way to soften the impact. His head hit the floor and he saw a haze of colors. They told him they would keep him forever unless he told them what they wanted, that this was nothing compared to the torture that would follow. But what did they want? Someone cut the bonds away and he heard the chair dragged away, and then h was left looking into a blurred face. They held something silver to their lips and kissed it. They brought it closer. Elliot saw a glimmer of a cross before it was pressed hard into his oozing cheek so that the edges bit into his torn flesh and they told him, ‘This is a gift from Christ.’

            Then he was gasping and contorting around the foot that buried itself in his midriff. It withdrew and then connected again and Elliot heard at least one of his ribs snap. He groaned. Another blow fell and he coughed another splatter of blood across the floor. The sticky warmth ran over his chin and the side of his face, adding another layer to what had already dried and congealed. That last blow had knocked the wind from him and he convulsed, his lungs wheezing empty. Every gasp drove sharp pain through his chest and made him gasp deeper, sending the bolts out all over again. He tried to scream but there was no air to make sound. He was rolled onto his back and a fist cracked his jaw. There was a momentary connection between them and in a flash Elliot saw from the other man’s perspective. A cold, empty room. One door only. A steel chair in a corner. No windows. He saw himself curled on the floor, the burly man’s fist skidding across his lip. And all of this in a fraction of a second. Then the hand left his skin and they were separated. Another indistinguishable noise. What was he bellowing at him? Why was this happening? He told them he’d come quietly. As another blow rained down on his face and he heard something squish and squirt blood, all he could think was how unnecessary it all was. If they’d just waited until he’d woken and asked him whatever it was they wanted, they could have worked things out in perfect civility. He heard a noise, but his eyes were failing him again. Too much darkness was creeping in, clouding things over. He heard thundering sounds, maybe gunfire? A shout, and then… more warmth splashed across his face. He felt it coat his arm and side. Flashes and explosions muffled by unconsciousness blossomed above and around him and then he was moving again and something burned above him like a baleful sun.

            In the elevator, Babi whipped out his cell phone and speed-dialed his mistress. “I can’t get to him. We’re being attacked.” He heard her scream in rage and then the tower lurched.

Outside on the darkened street, the pavement buckled and the few pedestrians still about ran for cover, thinking an earthquake had struck. The tower wobbled almost imperceptibly and then glass shattered around one corner as the foundations shook. Fracture lines streaked up the glass, floor by floor, like spider webs. One of the street vents belched angry flames and the metal covering was blown off, crumpling the side of a parked car and setting off the alarm.

            In the lift, Babi heard a rushing sound rising towards his metal box. He tilted his head and he recognized the roaring voice of flames and smiled. He let fire drip from his hands and engulf the small chamber as the cable car started shaking. He directed a gust of flame to rush upwards and blow off the hatch off the lift and send him rushing up into the conflagration. Fire swirled around him, carrying him upwards. He craned his neck and looked up to the doors of the top floor as he rose. The force of the flames billowed him ahead of the lift and he grasped onto the edge of the door as it streaked past. Flames rushed around him, singeing his clothes as he wedged his body into the small alcove the doors created. Above him, the flames had reached the ceiling and become blocked, broiling and building, unable to escape. He forced his fingers between the doors and pried them apart, air shrieking in to fuel the explosion further. He wedged half his body though the door before the security guard on the other side grasped his hand and helped to pull him through. Babi stumbled out and pirouetted on the spot, brining his hands up before him. The fire was feeding on the new source of air and already was rushing like an angry dragon towards the parted steel doors. He willed the fires back and yelled at the guard to force the doors closed once more. Orange tongues licked around the metal doors, desperate to escape and race down the hall to wreak havoc. With a bang, a ventilation unit for the shaft exploded on the roof and the roiling mass vacuumed out through the top of the tower. It erupted out in one massive fireball and then everything was still again.

            The elevator car arrived finally; its inner doors opening with a soft ding. Sirens were screaming throughout the building now. Water sprayed out on his shoes and he took several paces back. The sprinklers inside the elevator itself, evidently, were still operating.

            He felt a rush of air behind him and heard her materialize out of her darkness. He turned, straightening his suit jacket. “I think we just got hit by Mahan. What would you like to do?”

            When he looked at her though, her outline was indistinct. The edges of her form kept flickering and tremoring. Tendrils of inky smoke wafted around her and trailed out behind her in the air. She was struggling to keep from erupting into furious pitch.

            ‘Send the other reapers home. I don’t want them being used to meddle. I’ll tell the others what’s happened as soon as their pets are safely in the air again.’

            Justin had stood staring at the once-more closed gates. It was as if Jason and the twelve Reapers had never been there. Byron had stepped up behind him to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Alyssa had darted in to catch his arm before it fell. She’d shaken her head and Justin and turned and wandered past them into the factory, not saying a word to anyone. They’d followed him inside anxiously, at a distance, as he’d made a beeline for a dark sedan on the factory floor, climbed into the back seat, closed the door and curled up on the pleather surface.

            Byron had whispered to his sister, ‘Does he know there are no front doors on that car?’

            ‘I don’t think he cares right now, By.’

            Tess chose that moment to let out a peep behind them, her lip trembling. ‘Do you think they’ll let him go?’ She’d asked, and they both had looked at her until she pursed her lips and her shoulders sagged. ‘Right.’

            Now, several hours later, during all of which Justin had remained encapsulated in the vehicle, Tess finally approached the sedan and knocked softly on the glass. He didn’t stir. She could see vaguely through the tinted glass that his face was wet and shiny, but she didn’t need to. She knew it would be. She waited, counting slowly to ten before she went around to the other side of the car and opened the door. She lifted his head gently and slid onto the set, letting him down again into her lap and then shutting the door as quietly as she could.

            He shook with sobs and fresh tears coursed down his face. She stroked his hair and tried to lend what little comfort she could, rubbing his back. She didn’t say anything though. There was no point. She knew how he felt. Exactly. She knew there was nothing she could say to comfort him.

            She sat with him silently for another hour before he stopped crying. She could feel his breaths still shaking his body though so she knew he’d merely run out of tears for the time being, not that he was done.

            She lifted his cheek from her thigh and slipped out of the car. She kissed his cheek and whispered, ‘I’ll go make you some hot chocolate.’

            He sniffed and nodded his head across the upholstery. ‘Thank you,’ he rasped.

            She’d mixed the cocoa in and was just stirring in a portion of blood when she heard a shout from the floor above.

            ‘Guys,’ it was Arkell. ‘There’s something on the news you should see.’

            She heard the clatter of footsteps running on the walkways. She tossed the bag of blood back in the fridge and took the mug, rushing upstairs as fast as she could without sloshing the contents.

            The news channel was playing footage of a black glass tower being rocked by an explosion. Fire burst out at one of the ground floor corners and then several seconds later, a fireball blossomed like a perverse flower from the roof of the tower.

            The newscaster read her report over further footage from other angles. ‘Earlier tonight, an explosion rocked a corporate tower in downtown Los Angeles. Nearby tourists captured the explosion on film after the street buckled. Fortunately, the building was empty for the night save for a lone security officer who escaped unharmed, and there were no other injuries or casualties.’ There followed a brief interview with a shaken, but excitable security guard who explained how he’d felt the building lurch and thought it was an earthquake. The newsreader resumed her spiel. ‘Authorities are blaming the explosion on a gas leak in the basement, and say there is no evidence to suspect foul play. Emergency response teams were on the scene in a matter of minutes and have already confirmed structural stability.’ There was another brief interview with a man in a hardhat.

            ‘We were very fortunate actually,’ he said in a gruff smokers tone. ‘The explosion burst into the elevator shaft and it directed the force safely upwards and away from the foundations.’

            Newscaster again; ‘However, police have curtained off the sidewalk below and around the building because of the danger posed by falling glass.’ The screen showed yellow tape around the corner of the building and a team was working through the night to carefully replace the cracked glass panes. The camera panned across the front of the building. Byron sat forwards in the seat he’d taken. The doors bore a silver emblem set into their darkened surfaces; a silver halo of an eclipsed sun. Then another newscaster started in, ‘In the United Kingdom, Scotland Yard has issued a statement seeking witnesses and information concerning the recent burglary of the British Museum, although museum officials are still uncertain if anything was actually taken…’

            Danielle spoke for all of them. ‘Byron, that’s one of…’

            He nodded. ‘I know. That’s Nuit’s emblem. That’s one of her buildings.’

            Tess, hovering just inside the doorway heard a noise and turned. Justin was stood behind her, as if drawn by the implications of the newscast. His eyes were red and puffy. His voice crackled hoarsely when he spoke and the rest of the family whirled in surprise. ‘He’s alive.’

            ‘Justin…’ Byron started.

            But the boy turned cold, red eyes on him. ‘He’s alive. He escaped.’ Then he turned and left them.

            They stuck their heads out of the door to watch him walk, swaying slightly on his feet, down to his room. He slid his door open and stared inside for a while before shutting the door again. He carried on down the hall to his sister’s room and called back up to them, ‘Alyssa, I’m sleeping in your room tonight.’

            She didn’t argue, but took the mug from Tess’ hands and hurried down to her brother and her bedroom.

            Elliot swam in darkness.

            It extended around him in all directions; impenetrable darkness. Waves rippled and lapped against something, somewhere. But where? Was there something in the darkness? Was he floating? Something blossomed in the sky above him. Or was it beneath him? Was there even directionality in this place? The blossom resolved into two glowing orbs. He reached towards them but they remained high above and out of reach, burning like brilliant twin suns. Periodically, they would vanish briefly, only to reappear just as strong. Eventually he became aware that what he’d at first taken to be the lapping of waves was in fact someone speaking.

‘Do you know why I saved you?’ They were saying. ‘No, you don’t. Of course not.’

            Elliot felt a hand gently brushed the sodden hair from his forehead. He reached out for it, but his hands found empty space

            ‘You see,’ the voice was saying, ‘you were a gift to me. After all these years…’

            A heavy sigh, and then;

            ‘That’s how I know what they did doesn’t matter. You take your time. I know that you’ll wake up again when you’re ready. When He’s ready. I’ll be waiting. Find your strength. Shan achshav.’ Sleep now.

            He tried to reach for the owner of the voice again and screamed. ‘Don’t leave me! Help me!’ But the darkness was filling his mouth and choking him, gargling his words until they were unintelligible. He felt himself sinking, but wasn’t sure how he knew. Then darkness misted over the orbs and they rippled. He realized he must have sunk under the surface now and struggled, kicking his feet to send him upwards, but it was no use. The suns were dwindling, fading. Cold began creeping into his bones and he let himself go limp, watching as the last glimmers of light vanished. Was that a bubble rising from his mouth, flitting its way upward?

            The cold dark could have lasted for days, for years, or just seconds, and then there was a rushing, roaring, gurgling sound as if a plug has been pulled from a drain and he was being sucked down in a vortex of impenetrable darkness. The sound swallowed him whole and crushed his head. His ear drums felt like they would explode and then—

            Elliot was falling. He hit the ground with a muffled thud and groaned, rising to his feet shakily. He spat grains of dirt from his mouth and brushed dust off his front. He froze. Light poured all around him, giving an almost too-clear view of the packed earth beneath his feet. He raised his head. He was on the edge of a field. His chest tightened as he turned on the spot, knowing already what he’d see.

            And there they were, waiting for him—the two brothers working in the field. They tilled the ground as always with their jawbone tools. He braced himself for the raging havoc of the storm, but it never came. The sun was bright and golden. The wheat stalks gleamed like bows of honey all around him. The sound of birds chirping filled the serene moment. The ground rushed under his feet brining him closer to the two brothers. They grunted as they labored. He reached out to grasp the arm of the fairer, to warn him of the betrayal that was coming, but his arm stopped just short of touching the man. No matter how hard he strained his muscles, he couldn’t get his fingertips closer.

He watched unable to intervene as the shorter of the two brothers raised his till high and struck the other soundly in the head. The taller, younger brother fell to the ground and tried to crawl away, but his brother struck him again, and again, until his blood splashed across the broken earth.

            Elliot scuffled backwards from the torrent of blood that poured out. There was something so vastly malevolent about this murder that he felt as if allowing any part of it to touch him would make him a guilty accomplice; if bearing witness had not already done so. He squeezed his eyes tight, trying to block out the dream. This was usually where it ended, where he woke up and was granted the blessed confirmation of reality. But it didn’t come this time. He willed a return of the darkness—even that was better than this—but the glow through his eyelids told him the sun was still shining.

            He opened his eyes again in time to see a single raven fly down from the sky and land nearby. It scratched the ground with its talons, breaking apart the earth and pushing a seed into the depression with its beak, and then covered it over again. It cocked its head at the remaining brother and cawed before rising in a scandal of feathers. Having watched this, the older brother, hands shaking, dug a shallow trench in the earth and rolled his brother’s body into it. He covered it over again with soil, and then scattered seeds on the mound before picking up his tools and moving away. Elliot didn’t move, he didn’t to go with him, but he followed all the same. Stowaways have no say in where the ship is headed. Even if they know the iceberg is coming, they cannot change course.

            As they passed through an orchard, a voice filled the air, making the leaves tremble and rustle as if disturbed by a breeze.

            ‘Where is your brother Abel?’ It asked.

            The man stopped and tossed down his tools. ‘I don’t know. Am I my brother’s keeper?’

            The branches tossed angrily as if in a storm. ‘What have you done? Listen!’ And the voice grew louder, echoing off the trunks of the surrounding trees. ‘Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.’

            The sky grew suddenly dark as unnatural clouds rushed up from the horizon to block out the sun.

            But the voice rang out again. ‘Now you are under a curse and driven from the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it will no longer yield its crops for you. You will be a restless wanderer on the earth.’

            The earth shook beneath them and the man fell to his knees. He threw out his arms and cried, ‘My punishment is more than I can bear, Today you are driving me from the land, and I will be a restless wanderer on the earth,’ And at this, he hung his head. ‘And whoever finds me will kill me.’

            The trembling earth fell still, and the branches stopped tossing. The leaves still rustled though, as the voice spoke once more. ‘Not so; if anyone kills Cain, he will suffer vengeance seven times over.’

            Elliot watched as the man fell backwards on the ground. He writhed in pain, and then arched his back, opening his mouth in a terrible scream. Elliot clapped his hands over his ears, but the scream rang inside his skull and set his nerves on edge. Elliot saw in Cain’s mouth, two teeth descend from his gums and force out his old canines. The new teeth were longer and pointed like daggers. The man’s veins bulged obscenely, lumps running up from his capillaries and arteries like insects crawling under his skin. His hands stretched out and then dug into the soil, grasping handfuls of dirt. But the grass around his hands browned and withered, dying in seconds.

            Finally, when Elliot thought he could bear it no longer, the man fell silent. He lay on the ground, gasping for breath; the grove around them was quiet and still as if the world was holding its breath. Slowly, he climbed to his feet. He looked to the blazing sun, which had returned above as the clouds receded as fast as they’d come. Head bowed, he struck out Eastwards.

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