Chapter 3

Chapter 3 

A House Of Ash  

        This is it. The culmination of fear and regret meeting at a juncture of hope yet to be seen. A light shines brightest in the dark, and before them was the flame they so dearly needed. Amy would be alive, that was the collective thought held by all. 

        A fleet of dark vehicles are noticed by passersby as they hurtle through the streets leaving chaos in their wake. An old man sits quietly on a park bench, as they draw near, he exclaims to himself, “What in God’s name!?” Nothing could be further from the truth. 

        Warriors come to storm the gates of Sheol, enforcing a bastion of ferocity. Men whose experience vastly overcompensating for there worries, hold only one thought, “What could possibly go wrong?” 

        The lead driver swerves and drifts his vehicle into a defense position as the rest follow his pattern. A small army forms from them and gathers in front of the small church. Each man is armed to the teeth with lethal weapons and cameras attached to each helmet, as is done in this age. “Fall in!” was the order from Captain Jones. In turn each man fell into place, “Check your corners!” said Jones. With each step a weight grew on their hearts, and none knew the source. At the far end of the room, was an altar. “Hold.” said Jones as he raised his fist next to his head. No one breathe, least of all their leader. He steps forward, eyeing the center of the stone table, and his eyes tell him what his heart doesn't’t wan’t to know. 

        There in front of him, and for all the world to see, a young girl with golden locks of hair, lying motionless, and unresponsive, the body of Amy Phillips. 

                                Seven Years Later 

        Darkness... a void, both empty and cooling. In this moment there is peace, something not easily found. A pool of water forms from ground, causing small ripples to travel across the black pond. The ripples reach the end and bounce back towards the center. A boy kneels on the edge of this darkness staring into what should be his reflection only to find nothing. He breathes an empty sigh feeling nothing. His breathe reaches the water and a new wave forms greater than those before. His eyes hypnotically follow it with great curiosity as this new change grows larger with every moment. Panic now fills him as he clenches his fists. He grabs at his shirt as the heat rises. Sweat pours down his face as the ever growing wave approaches him, promising relief from the inferno building inside of him. The wave begins to crash only feet away from him when he see’s something in the water. Fire! Inside the wave is fire illuminating the darkness all around him. He screams as the massive wave of flames consumes him overtaking everything. He should be dead now, but somehow he lives screaming in agony. As his suffering builds, he feels he can take no more, and just then he hears another scream. 

“No! Ah!” More and more build growing louder with terror. He screams back, “Where are you?” He only hears more screaming. “Where are you? I can’t see you!” He screams once more, but the voices of these tortured women have been cut off instantly, forming a deafening chill. Instead the voice of an older, angry man responds in a calm menacing tone. “I’m right here.” The boy’s breathe falls into a panic, terror gripping his senses, as he screams out, “No!” The older man replies as his voice grows darker, “You thought you could run away, did you? You will never escape!” The boy screams back, “Your’e not real!” The Man cackles a deep menacing laugh, and say’s, “Oh, am I? If I wasn't real could I do this?” The edges of a massive and gigantic figure emerges from the shadow and flame, and a fiery hand hurls the boy further into a chasm of death and despair. He screams one last time before eternity sets in, “No!” 

        Derek wakes up throwing his fists in the air as a massive fire ball leaps through the air consuming the room. Derek feels the panic rising within him, and with it the fire grows in strength and size. Death has come, but tonight it leaves empty handed. He sit’s up straight on his bed, closes his eyes, and places his fist in his hand using a meditation technique he learned. He slows his heart as he takes in a very deep breathe. The flames flicker and shrink a little. He focuses his mind and with one large breathe, the room is extinguished.  

        Other than the charred remains, and the burns all over his body, you would never know anything happened. Derek surveys the damage both on and around him, and begins to feel calm. He rises from his nightmare and walks into his bathroom, and splashes his face with cold water. The voices echo in his mind, and resonate with fresh terror and guilt, but they do not upset him as much as the voice of the man. It fills him with hatred, his fists clenched shaking with rage and fear, he shatters the mirror in front of him. Blood drips from his hand as the voice of his father rings through his mind, “You’ll never escape boy!”

(Possible Title) The Mark of Cain

Chapter 2

There is a boy sitting in his living room with his mother and father, and yet feels quite alone. Someone near and dear to him is missing. Today is Sunday, and today, John is
alone. On any other Sunday, John would be having lunch with his family and making plans for the evening, but on this day John's plans are set in stone.
Early this morning, a note found its way to the home of William and Melinda Phillips, proud parents of John and Amy Phillips, but this simple piece of paper held a dark and complex meaning. It read “We have your daughter; 150,000, or she dies.”
Amy has always been a very well-behaved child. She would brush her teeth every morning and night, make her bed, and say her prayers, so when Amy didn’t come home or call, her family became rather alarmed. At first, the Phillips' residents made calls to everyone they might know, without result. The midnight hour descended upon them; higher authorities were alerted. Since then, no one has slept, and as has been said before, the Phillips sat as close as one person might to another, yet they are all quite alone. You might be asking yourself one question. How would the Phillips pay the ransom? Perhaps the Government might help, or they would take up a collection. Not in this case. Mr William Phillips, of Phillips, Morris, and Associates, was a rather successful lawyer in his youth, and had gained such renown, he had opened a legal firm commonly known as Phillips, Morris, and Associates. So Mr. Phillips had no need for assistance, so much so, that he held the greatest confidence in his financial ability to regain his daughter. Today is Sunday, and on this day, the Phillips' residence has become a personal command center. Men and women were dressed in uniform, flitting about, sending and receiving orders, all in the hopes of finding one lost soul. Later that same evening, the phone rings in a room of people who are without breath. “This is Bill.” Answered Mr. Phillips. “Good evening Mr. Phillips.” was the return of a man with a disguised voice. “I take it that you understood the message I sent you?” Mr. Phillips replied. “Yes, and I have your money.” “All unmarked bills?” Returned the mysterious man. “Naturally, and I intend to pay every cent, but i need to speak to my daughter.” Replied Mr. Phillips. “Certainly.” Said the man on the phone. “Daddy?” Exclaimed Amy “Is that you?” Said Bill. “Yes Sweetie, I’m gonna get you out of this. Everything's gonna be ok, I love you, honey.” Bill could hear the man grab the phone from Amy. “Satisfied?” came the voice of the kidnapper. Bill replied sternly. “Yes, just don’t hurt her, I’ll do as you ask”The Kidnapper replied, “Jefferson Park, the bench by the statue, midnight, and if I see anybody in suits, you’ll find what’s left of Amy in the mail.”
The man leading the investigation signaled to keep him talking, but it was too late. “Listen, I promise to uphold my end of the deal, you have my word, just don’t hurt my daughter!” Click was the sound he heard on the other end of the line. “Hello, hello. Damn!” He slammed the phone down. “‘Did we get anything?” Asked Bill. “ Not a thing sir, he was rerouting the signal, but well keep working on it. John sat quietly; this was more than he could bear. It was
uncharacteristic for him to be so incapable, but what could he do? “I have nothing to worry about. We have the money; we heard her over the phone, but why doesn’t this make me feel better?" John shrugs his feelings of uncertainty with great difficulty. Fleeting moments of sleep travel to and fro, haunting our weary allies. That which plagues their visions, would sooner be left forgotten. All that could have been, and should have been, was swimming in a pool of regret and fear.
Somehow, when light first breaks, peace has been found. Only in that brief moment before fantasy crashes with reality, and then they remember, and relive agony once more. Stillness fills the air in just the same pattern before a storm. It is that same peace we cleave to, holding onto a hope that is all too deceptive. This morning is drenched with that very same hope. Rosalind, the housemaid and cook, prepares the morning breakfast in restricted silence, for tenants who lack an appetite. The Phillips may desire sustenance, but lack the ability to partake. “John, you really should eat your eggs.” said Mrs. Phillips. “I’m not hungry.” replied John “Thanks anyway.”
This was not completely true, John did hold a craving, just not for food. Action! Like most men John held the innate desire to be useful, that is why now more than ever, He needed to help. Hour after hour crept by as he continuously found himself stalking the minute hand through time. * For each moment that passed John lived through a new scenario, a way that he might have prevented this event. he could have gone with Amy, walked with her, watched over her. He could have fought the kidnappers and saved the day, but as had been said before, our greatest opportunities are those which are most easily lost. The clock strikes eleven and grasps there attention. “It’s time.” said Bill. The men from the FBI told Mr. Phillips that one of their agents would deliver the money, but given the nature of their demands, Bill refused the offer, and filled the necessary obligation for courier. It is now 11:50 at night, and everyone is holding their breath in anticipation for a little girl's freedom. Bill sits impatiently on a park bench feeling the warmth drain from him on this cold evening in March. Bill turns his left wrist to check the time, 11:55,
“Damn!” It is at moments like these when time moves slowest. Bill makes a feeble attempt to slow his breathing, and focuses on the task at hand. The familiar chime of a clock tower signals the end of their wait. “Finally,” thought Bill. “But there is no one here.” Bill was gripped with panic. “What if they’re late? What if they’re not coming? What if?” Ring ring. Bill reaches into his pocket for his cellphone. The phone is blank. “But if it’s not mine...” thought Bill. “The kidnapers!” Bill stood to his feet searching the immediate area. Ring ring. The recurring sound helped to locate the source. Bill reaches under the bench and finds the phone taped underneath. “Hello.” Answered Bill. “Put the money in the trash can and walk away,” said the disguised voice. Click. There was no time to respond.

Bill left the money in the receptacle and fled the scene. Every step rehearsed for this final performance, each step more than the last. Bill hails a cab driving by and directs him towards the rendezvous with men dressed in suits. He steps out of the cab and travels a block further to see a delivery truck parked suspiciously on the curb. without hesitation the door opens to welcome him in. “Good work Mr. Phillips,” was the greeting from Agent Finley. “Now we wait for the pickup.” Mr. Phillips turns to face Finley with an abundance of sincerity and says “Thank you for helping me save my daughter.” Finley replies. “Thank me when she’s safe at home.” There is nothing left to be said. The sound of breathing resonates throughout the van. Air exchanges back and forth, creating a hypnotic effect that lulls the occupants into silence. Two hours have passed; nothing has moved, and the money is untouched. “It’s getting cold in here.” said Finley. “The air’s on 90*,” it must be busted.” In fact the vehicle was in pristine condition, especially the heating system. All across the city a deep freeze was setting in, specifically on Main Street. A dark figure moves through the street mimicking shadows, drifting ever closer to Jefferson Park. The FBI had more than cameras in place, they had heat vision, both on the ground and in the sky, and held an unwavering view. A younger rookie, Agent Avery, had been watching the screen linked with thermal imagery, and if he had been a more experienced agent, he would have mentioned the strange growing cold spot on the screen. Mind you, he noticed it, he only lacked the courage to raise the alarm. As agent Avery studied the contents of the viewing screen, the cold grew more concentrated in the air and on the screen. A man cannot refrain from blinking for a great deal of time, and in this instant it was all the time that was needed. “AVERY!” shouted Finley, as he pointed at where the brief case had been. “You wanna explain to me what just happened?” “I don’t know sir” replied Avery. “I was watching, and then it was gone.” “It can’t be gone.” said Finley as he reached for his radio. “The money has been taken, I need eyes on our man! I repeat, I need eyes on our man! Did anyone see anything?” The radio’s reply was a resounding no. “I got nothing.” squawk, “Same here.” squawk, “I was watching it the whole time, and there was no one here.” Finley furrowed his brow, and said “Spread out, he can’t have gotten far. We gotta find this guy.” Hours have passed, and the sun is now creeping over the horizon to greet them with shame and sorrow. No man or woman was without vigilance, or determination, but no amount of resolution could bring comfort. In the hours since the drop-off, it had been discovered that when the money had been taken, it was no one's fault. Somehow, in an instant, the briefcase was safe in the trash receptacle, and then before an eye could shut, it was gone. It is now late in the afternoon, and the Phillips have huddled together in a broken mass. Mr. Phillips holds tightly to his wife and son. “It’s not your fault Bill.” said Melinda. “I know, it just feels that way.” replied Bill. “It just wasn’t possible.” thought John to himself. “Someone had to have seen something.” John sat in agony, imagining what he could have done differently. Maybe then, they might have a lead.

The familiar chime of a grandfather clock rings throughout the estate, and reminds everyone that it is six o’clock. Their house, more and more, became the center of organized chaos. Men and women of the FBI continued their plan of attack, feeble as it was grim. The hardest part of not seeing who made the pickup was that the Phillips had no choice but to trust the morality of the kidnappers. They had the money and the girl, and now all they can do is wait. “Ring, ring.” Here it is, the phone call they had been waiting for. “Ring, ring.” The FBI prepared to start a trace. “ Hello.” said Bill “Yes Mr. Phillips.” was the reply. “Your Money checked out.” Bill responded. “That’s great, now when can I see my daughter?” “ Why wait? Come and find her!” said the kidnapper. “What does that mean?” said Bill. On the other end, the man in black placed the phone down on the table and walked away. “Hello, hello!” screamed Bill. “We got it.” said Finley. “The corner of 12th, and Charleston. Let’s move people!” A wave of relief fell over Bill as he collapsed into a chair. At last there prayers were answered. Now all that's left is to find her. An agent placed his hand on Bill’s shoulder to comfort him, as an extraction team made their way to a fleet of black SUV’s, where all involved were filled with hope for the rescue of dear, sweet Amy. The world is most cruel when we need it the least, and nothing could prepare them for the darkness to come.

Untitled Book

Untitled Book

By Levi Mixon

11/17/10

Chapter 1

The War

Before Time

War has sounded. The drums beat and turn the blood of my ears with a storm of chaos. One man has started a war, not for vengeance, or for peace, but something far more trivial, greed. He turns about, thrashing at any one he can, wildly like an animal. No control, or wisdom, nothing worth redemption. In an instant what began as understanding, led to a selfish pursuit of power, and now on this eve of destruction, I witness the end.

The sound becomes louder, deafening, swords masked with marching, and death. They were brothers made to serve, and now a blade separates us all.

Noise fills the air, but something else has now mixed with it.
Light, I know not from where, yet it is there still. Shining on their armor, it distracts them; it calms them. The skies echo with silence, and they wait, for what, they do not know, but they wait.

A voice, so calm and quiet, it would have been missed, but for its power. One word, and in the dead of silence, none could comprehend its meaning.

Minutes pass in what seems like years... something has changed. Many stand, unknowing in victory, some have fallen, lacking the understanding of defeat.

He takes hold of his prize, what was once a maelstrom of power, is now as worthless as the sand under his feet. Through chaos it began, and in darkness it shall end: malice wrapped in cold metal, dripping with blood.

One by one, this plane holds empty, as the tides of war sweep their last. He walks into the distance, unable to accept what has happened. “There must be a way!” He says to himself. “I had the power; victory was at hand.”

Since that day, I have lived a thousand lifetimes, and I shall live to see a thousand more; and unlike my brethren, I am the only one of my kind. Guardians were made for war, they fight for the will of our Maker, the First, the Pre-genetor to us all. I exist for one purpose, that for which I was named. I tell of the first war: The War Before Time, for I am known as Scribe.

In chaos it began, and in darkness it shall end, and that is exactly what it has done. All of existence, that which is dark, was begotten from this blade. The Pharaohs worshiped it; the Huns guarded it, and today, it holds an even darker purpose.

There she is, young and beautiful, a child no older than twelve: Gorgeous golden locks of hair, curls wrapped tightly around her fingers. Every young man who laid eyes upon her, belonged to a heart full of desire.

Purity- that’s the word one would have used to describe her, as white as snow, in body and in mind. But today is different, today is Saturday, and Amy is looking forward to seeing her friends out in public. She loves the attention, and others love to arrest their minds on her, but today is different. Today someone else is watching her, someone older.

He has not seen the sun for many years, nor has it visited him. The shadows, it’s where he stands; it’s where he belongs.

“Hello Peter,” said Amy, “How are you today?” “Better,” replied Peter, “Now that you’re here.” What girl could have resisted the urge to blush, certainly not this specimen. “Oh don’t be so silly,” said Amy “You know how I feel about games.” Given the chance, Amy would have said many other things, for instance: “ I feel the same way about you.” Dash the human condition! For the greatest opportunities are those most easily lost.

Instead, they walk, the destination holds nothing in comparison to the journey. Perhaps just once, two people can achieve happiness. Peter takes her hand, and she gladly accepts, and tenderly, their stroll slows to a stop.

Amy turns to face Peter without loosing her grasp, and joins her other hand with his. They are two children on the verge of a new world, and their greatest fear is not knowing. Experience is what stops them, but new curiosity enthralls them. He closes his eyes, and she follows him in perfect symmetry. Closer and closer.

WHUMP!

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Amy opens her eyes carefully, afraid of what this new noise would mean. Blood! Amy had seen accidents before, mild scrapes, but this was different, there was more than a person could imagine, and almost as much as one might hold. Peter lay limp, and asleep on the ground, more bleeding than anything, but useless nonetheless.

“Scream, yes, thats what I should do!” Before the sound could be made, something had grabbed her. Prick! “What was that?” Amy thought to herself.

As Amy fell, she managed to turn around, and see what might have been the face of her plight, but he was wearing a mask, dark brown leather, with straps on either side of his face, his lips were exposed, as well as his eyes, thin and cruel lips, holding a lifetime of malice. Eyes so dark they buried the sun.

Without hesitation, a van approaches, and engulfs their presence, vanishing once more into the shadows.

Drip, drip, drip. “Water?” Amy thought to herself. “Why do I hear water?” Indeed it was water she had heard. In the far corner of the room, there was a steady leak, and outside a storm stirred about on what might have been the darkest day known to man. Now, if only she could open her eyes.

“What happened?” She thought to herself “where is Peter? Oh no! He was bleeding, and then something jabbed me in the neck, it must have been a needle.” She’s been drugged, all of her ability holds incapable, but as it has been some time since her power has been arrested, she has regained a small amount of control. Slowly, Amy lifts her hand, and quickly realizes restraint. She has been tied down, hands, feet, and mouth, but not her eyes. If only she’d been blinded too, then maybe she would be spared a small amount of torment. Amy opens her eyes with great difficulty, and becomes sentient of her dim situation.

Amy had seen bigger rooms, much bigger, her house alone would have swallowed this one whole, but yet there was something familiar about this one. Stone, plenty of stone; it looked like some ancient cathedral she’d been in years before. “Was that a gargoyle?” Amy thought to herself. Yes, in fact it was a gargoyle in a stone-laden cathedral, built in the late 18th century, but right now, Amy has far more pressing matters to attend to, such as the strangely clad men gathering about the altar she has been lain upon. “I think they're chanting something,” Amy thought, “What are they saying?” Amy’s mind was still clouded with drugs persecuting her system. If she had been able to hear them, this is what it would have sounded like.

“In chaos it began, in darkness it shall end.” They chanted growing in number and volume. “In chaos it began, in darkness it shall end.”

The drugs had almost lost their effect, and Amy could hear the words more clearly. “In chaos it began, in darkness it shall end.” Gripped with fear Amy’s heart began to race faster and faster.

“How did this happen? Why am I here?” She thought to herself. “Is Peter alright? Is he alive?” All good questions. “What do they want with me? I wouldn’t hurt anyone. Maybe I can reason with them?” Amy began to talk, but the muzzle, wrapped firmly around her mouth, made sure there would be only silence. “SCREAM!” only a muffled noise escaped, not even her captors noticed the change.

“If only John knew where I was?” John, her brother, always looking out for her, annoying as hell, but then again, what sibling isn’t? When Amy was born, John immediately loved her, and swore to protect her no matter what it would cost him. He was never a brutish fellow, tall and handsome certainly, but kind, and clever. Once when Amy was little, a boy in their neighborhood liked Amy more than he ought to. Amy held no such reply. John sat the boy down and explained, that if a girl doesn’t like a boy, he must respect her wishes. Needless to say, the young lad didn’t take kindly to this advice, and began to swing rampantly at John, but John was five years older than him, and easily dispatched of him.

Over the following months John needed to have a sit down with the boy many more times, each event ending in the very same manner. Eventually the boy moved away, and was never heard from again. John was exactly the type of brother one might wish for. A shining knight, shimmering in the sun, at least that's how Amy felt about her older brother. Always there, always protecting her, but not today. Today is different; today Amy is alone.

Clop, clop, clop. Footsteps, very distinct footsteps, so far everyone standing had tread carefully, but not him; he was different. He was tall, taller than the rest, but dressed the same. Every man had worn a robe, dark as the new moon, and as thick as night. At the center of their hoods were two red stripes about two fingers width, which ran straight down the back, and one stripe on each arm. The red was dark, menacing, the same color as Peter's blood earlier that day. Amy shuddered once more as this thought passed her mind, but who was this man approaching her? His face was covered with something, something dark. Amy could see the skin of every mans face, but not his. There was something familiar, something recent about his face. “IT’S YOU!” At least that's what she meant to say, but that infernal muzzle clamped her mouth shut once more. It was the same man who had grabbed her, a dark leather bound mask with straps and buckles to make sure it couldn’t be easily removed. “What does he want?” Amy asked herself. Amy began rocking herself back and forth, attempting to break her bonds, but with no avail. “Be still,” said the masked man. Chills ran down her spine. There was something unnatural in his voice. Needless to say, Amy was not still; his very presence unsettled her. “Do you know why you're here, child?” He asked her. “You’re very special; you are the greatest gift anyone could ever ask for.” This did not ease Amy’s fear. “You are the key to something far greater than anything that has ever existed.” He said. “So do not fear, because, all mankind shall benefit from your sacrifice.” Amy began to struggle harder. “Tisk tisk, we won’t have any of that.” He places his hand down on the center of her abdomen, and with very little effort takes away her last movement. He raises his hand as if to make a request, and without hesitation a different robed man appears bearing something new. A blade, one unlike anything she had ever seen before. There was something familiar, yet dark about it. Amy could hear nothing but her heart beating in her ears. Thump-thump, thump- thump. It grew louder still: thump-thump, thump-thump, deafening. The masked man drew closer with this strange weapon; it was made as though two blades were to meet at the center and never join. As he drew in a deep breath, Amy could feel her warmth leave where his hand was placed and joined with him. “Prepare the way.” The masked man drew the blade towards her heart, thump-thump, thump-thump. Silence more deafening than her heart could handle, yet it beat faster still. Thump thump, thump thump. Amy gazed into the eyes of her captor, as if to beg for mercy. He stared back into hers, and for a moment, there was hope. An eternity has passed in this instant; he breaks their gaze with a smile, and Amy knows one thing: this man has only known evil. With his icy hand, he grasps her belly, and she feels it’s lack of love.

The masked man plunges the blade into her fear-stricken heart. Amy shrieks in a cry of panic, a weak whimpering cry, as she breathes her last. Amy is still; Amy is silent.

He smiles upon his work, planned longer than he would care to admit, but its culmination bears fruit on this eve. He says the words he has waited to say all of his lifetime. “It has begun.”

Welcome

Hello Blogger's, if you are reading this, then hopefully you're here to beta test my new book.

I've talked about writing a book for years, and many times I have started to write, but never really got around to it.

Perhaps this time I'll finish, it