Chapter 8
“We’re high!” Steven exclaimed, surprising both Marc and the naked cult leader. He hadn’t even realized his other alter was awake until the body was suddenly being propelled at the man behind them. Their hand pointed the same way an old timey detective would upon solving a case. “You drugged us! You slimy- drugger.”
The man, who Marc struggled to remember as Bilith, gave a mirthful laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry, I went a little overboard, didn’t I? Let me fix that up for you.”
Both alters backed away, though apparently the move wasn’t necessary. Not even a finger was raised before a rush of sobriety took hold. The thick fog around their head cleared, and in its place was a gentle sense of relaxation. Something more subdued, but noticeable enough to where he could feel the lack of tension where there normally was nothing but. Marc took a sharp breath in, unsure whether he should be throwing punches at the man tampering with his mind, or at the ten-foot-tall bird god behind him. In the end he simply shook his head, lowering his clenched fists.
“What the hell did you just do to me?”
Bilith scoffed, turning back to the erotic set up behind him. Over all the chaos going on, he’d almost entirely forgotten the men and woman still currently naked, and staring at him through confused eyes. He made no move to address them though, and neither did Bilith. “Nothing bad, I can assure you. One of my many abilities includes hooking on other people’s minds, and if I’m going to be talking to someone for a long period of time, its more enjoyable for the both of us if we’re all in a nice headspace. Would you like some wine?”
He could use something a lot stronger than wine. If he wasn’t in the middle of an Apalachin cult camp, he wouldn’t have been opposed to drinking himself blind. Instead of responding he instead turned his head back to where the god had ‘conveniently’ disappeared from. The bastard, of course he’d be too much of a coward to stay. Steven piped up with an answer, “No, no thank you. We’re good.”
The leader hummed, reaching for what appeared to be a brown robe. “Is that so? Someone else in there would say otherwise. Who is it I’m currently speaking to?”
Marc tensed. How had the fucker known he’d wanted a drink? A telepath was the last thing he needed right now. He shook his head, “Uh, I’m Marc, and the fella with the British accent is Steven. – ‘Ello there, - And I have no idea where that other dirtbag went. How could you read my mind?”
“I don’t know where the other man went either, but honestly, I’m a glad he’s gone. You two seem much more sensible. Sensible and relaxed, hm? Let’s get you that wine that Marc wanted-” Before Bilith could reach for a bottle, Marc grabbed a hold of his wrist. He leaned in close to his ear, “I said, how did you read my mind?”
Though any reasonable person would have shrunken under the scrutiny of such a fierce gaze, the young leader only seemed amused by the reckless show of dominance. He laughed, leaning in just as close.
“Because I was chosen by god.”
~★✡★~
The bilith excused himself shortly after, and requested both of their presences that night at their Monthly Feast of Ascendence . Apparently, the entire community would be there for a dinner worthy of “holy people” such as themselves. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact he was simply left to his own accord. For someone who, according to Jake and Steven, wanted them dead, he sure was trusting.
“Well, he’s definitely a cult leader, but at least no one seems actively unhappy.” Steven observed from the front of the room. After Bilith left, all interest in them had vanished, and the people once again returned to their lazy love making. His nose scrunched up, clearly uncomfortable with the graphic public displays before him. “I’ll never get folks who feel comfortable with more than one person at a time. And why are almost all the ladies pregnant? That feels extra sketchy, though I suppose that’s a by product of doing the deed raw in the middle of a bloody forest.”
Marc hadn’t even noticed the large portion of pregnant women in attendance. Most of what Steven had been saying over the past few minutes had passed under the radar. The only thing he could think about was Khonsu, and the low broiling sickness in his gut that came with knowing the bird was there. After all this time, after so many sleepless nights working at the bar and bickering with Steven over trivial matters, Khonsu was still here. He couldn’t believe he actually thought freedom was a possibility. He let out a soft huff, finally bringing it in themselves to begin walking towards the exit.
“Marc, where are we going? – I’m going to try talking to the Egyptian liar still controlling us. – Is he going to respond? – He better.”
Marc busted through the tent flaps, and stomped out into the open night air. “Hey, Khonsu, I know you’re here. You have some explaining to do.”
There was, unsurprisingly, no response. The only sound he could hear was the music spilling out from the fort, and the loud bugs buzzing up in the trees. Steven straightened their posture and took a shot. “Hey, you oversized buzzard! Come out here and talk to us like a real god would!”
No response. Steven grunted, “Buzzard, more like a chicken.”
Marc groaned. He was left at a complete and utter loss for what to do. He couldn’t remember another point in his life where didn’t have something to grasp onto. Even before, when Steven had no idea of his existence, he at least had that. He had a strict routine that kept him grounded. Here though, in the middle of Tennessee, he found himself with nothing but the vague knowledge he was supposed to kill a man tonight. A man who, technically, hadn’t done anything wrong yet. Everything was unbelievably shady, but Steven was right. Everyone seemed perfectly content in their lustful stupor. The thought of raising his crescent blade once again for that left his stomach churning.
After a few minutes of silence, Marc reluctantly turned back into the tent. Before Steven could ask, he retorted with: “Getting a drink. If its poisoned or something, Khonsu will flush it out of our system soon enough.”
“Well, ignoring how terribly irresponsible drinking at a time like this is, shouldn’t we find a mirror or something? This seems like a great moment to try and contact Jake-”
“Fuck Jake, we’ll go to the dinner tonight. If Bilith seems harmless, and Khonsu’s just throwing a fit over false idols, we’ll leave them be. If not, and he’s actually hurting people, I’ll find a way to finish the mission myself.”
~★✡★~
Steven wasn’t sure when he took control of the body.
Marc had been calling most of the shots for the hour or so they had before the feast. Several glasses of wine had been drunk, and in the meantime, little had been achieved other than the occasional chit-chat with one of the various party goers around them. It was crazy to think the man he looked up to so highly would sink to such an apathetic stance, though after everything that had just happened, he figured some time to process was necessary. Even if he didn’t agree with the way he was doing so.
By the time dinner was announced, Steven had been given full reign of the body. His head was slightly buzzing, and when combined with the addictive relaxing nature of the camp, he found himself even more eager to get something done. As if to make up for the hour spent drinking away, Steven was compelled to aid in whatever way he could.
Trucks had apparently been hired to bring and cater the evening. It made sense, and answered the question of where they were going to get the food. It didn’t seem like there was any farm land to speak of, so he supposed delivery was the only other option. The cultists themselves arrived at the beautifully decorated town square with wide, excited eyes. Everyone seemed thrilled to grab a plate, and load them to the brim with everything the tables had to offer.
Brown robes, similar to the one Bilith had dawned, had been handed out to everyone. It surely didn’t cover everything Steven would have liked to be covered, but it did make the move to actually start a conversation with one of them just a bit easier. After a bit of waving back and forth, he decided his first person would be a seemingly friendly enough pregnant woman sitting alone near the edge of the eating area. He recognized her as one of the more modest orgy-attendees, and quickly made the move to sit down beside her. “Hello there, the name’s Steven. And you are?”
“Molly.” The lady hummed, not bothering to look up from her massive plate of food. It brought quite the contrast when placed beside her rather thin stature. He gave a friendly, albeit somewhat inebriated smile. “Charming to meet you. Would you mind answering a couple questions about your- erm, time here?”
The woman gave an apathetic shrug, dragging a stray piece of chicken through her mound of mashed potatoes. “Sure, shoot me.”
“Well, for starters, how did you get about joining this? Have you been here for long?”
“Almost a year,” She explained, “I joined after hearing about it from a friend. I was reaching a low point, and I was kind of reaching out for anything that could help. Fentanyl is expensive, but so was going to rehab, and I just- didn’t have much left, ya know?”
“Oh, wow.” Steven gasped. Though he’d asked the question, he still hadn’t expected such a level of honesty from the other woman. It all came oozing off the end of her tongue like it was nothing. Her eyes had this glossy sheen to them that made the explanation all the more eerie. She continued, “Yeah, well, it worked out I guess, because in the end I wound up here! Best decision I ever made, a week in and I decided I would never need to touch another pill again.”
“Oh, and why is that?” He asked with genuine curiosity leaking through. A hopeless druggie, to a happy soon to be mother, the transition was too good to be true. Before she could answer though, another voice answered for her.
“It’s because she doesn’t need a drug to feel numb anymore.”
Steven’s head whipped around, only to find the leader himself standing at his side. A mix of pride, and something unreadable resided on his charming expression. He rested a hand on Molly’s shoulder. “You don’t need them, don’t you my wonderful patient?”
The woman smiled with a sudden burst of energy she hadn’t quite had before. “Sure don’t, Bilith! Thankyou again for the dinner!”
“Of course. Would you mind if I took Steven and showed him around a bit?”
“Not at all!” She sang, turning her eyes back to the food once more. Steven huffed, though he rather reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled up into a standing position at the leader’s side. “Nice to see you mingling with my lovely patients. I can see you’ve been enjoying the complimentary booze; you know we have a lot of people here who indulge in the same tendencies.”
Steven’s face scrunched up with a childlike sense of disgust. “I wouldn’t call it a tendency. Sure, Marc can be a little…careless, at times, but its nothing I would call a ‘tendency’.”
Bilith laughed, ushering him through the various picnic tables and food trays. “You don’t have to be bashful here, Steven. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help making it through the day. That’s why here we have an unlimited amount of wine and other alcoholic beverages, 24/7.”
“Hey,” Steven stopped dead in his tracks. He jabbed his fingers right into that hairy chest of his. “I don’t know what yur implying, but Marc damn sure isn’t a bloody alcoholic. He can go days without even touching a drop. I won’t stand for that kind of slander-”
“Wow, wow, wow! No one’s accusing anyone of anything!” He exclaimed, slowly nudging the finger away from his chest. “I never said anything about Marc, or dependency. I don’t know what you, or Marc do when you’re in private. I just know from what I saw earlier, and what I heard running through your heads. It seemed to me you had no trouble allowing him to indulge himself. Perhaps a small part of you, too, wanted to relax the tension built up inside you.”
Steven wanted to fight back. Everything in him screamed at him for even implying such a thing. He didn’t come to the dinner to be on the interrogation end of the evening, and he sure as hell wasn’t enabling shit. Before he could open his mouth though, yet another wave of dopamine ran through his veins. A wave strong enough for him to lean onto the table beside him for support. “Shit- what are you doing to me? Why can you read my mind?”
Something dark flickered across the cult leader’s eyes. The type of look that both drew one in, and made one fear coming near. “I already told you, its because I was chosen.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know you were chosen. So were you and Jim Jones, and all the other hokey-pokey cultists out there. What specifically are you doing though? What is this camp?”
Bilith sighed, taking a seat directly on top of one of the picnic tables. The people eating payed no attention in the slightest. “I like to consider myself a doctor of sorts. Yes, I’m a man of holy power, but rather than being chosen to carry on my god’s good will, I’ve instead been sent down on this planet to aid the sick. To help ease their pain, and make their eventual trip up into heaven an all the more welcomed.”
Steven scoffed. It had to be the largest load of dookie he’d ever heard, and though there wasn’t any obvious reflections, he could almost feel Marc agreeing with him. Bilith laughed, “I know, I know, you’re fully rooted in your Judaism-Egyptian what have you, but you don’t need to believe in the same principals I do to feel the result. Steven Grant, don’t you feel nice right now?”
Though Steven refused to vocally admit it, he did feel pretty damn good. Against all the realizations, and stress that came with the past few weeks, he didn’t cease to feel a nice warmth in his gut. There was a pleasant smell in the air that persisted throughout the sea of natural body odor, and he couldn’t shake away the content that came with not having to think completely straight. Concerns about boundaries had vanished. All of the sharpest edges seemed muddled, harsh arguments caught in his throat. He simply couldn’t find the anger in himself to argue.
Thankfully, and surprisingly, Marc did. Their posture stiffened, arms crossing. “And what’s the price, huh? What do you get out of having all these people around here worshipping you?”
“Ah, Marc, I was wondering when I’d get to see you again.” Bilith grinned. “That is a very good question, and hopefully I’ll be able to answer that for you in six minutes and thirty-two seconds.”
~★✡★~
A sonorous bell caught the attention of everyone in the camp. Bilith took his place on the make-shift wooden stage, and only the light of the moon was allowed to illuminate the evening’s peak event. Though Marc knew it wouldn’t make any sense, he could have sworn there was a soft glow emanating from the rosary around the young leader’s neck. “Attention everyone! I hope you’ve enjoyed all the food and festivities this night has provided! I’m pleased to say we’ve reached the final few moments of the night. Would the fallowing twelve patients please come to the front, and take your final does.”
Marc watched as each person stepped forward and took their place on stage. The variety was quite diverse, with men and women of different ages and ethnicities all gathering together in their rugged old robes. None of them appeared concerned in the slightest, which seemed to be the consensus among most of the members. The air around everyone was filled with excitement, and happiness for the friends and family currently on the stage. Two out of the seven women present were pregnant, and one appeared to be crying tears of joy. He quickly recognized the latter to be the same woman Steven had been speaking to earlier,
By the time the last person was called, the town was cheering. Not a single voice could be made out of the mass of hoots and hollers. This would continue on for almost a solid minute, before the bell would once again break through the mass. Everyone fell silent.
Bilith smiled, and took a step forward in front of the line. “These stunning twelve individuals have all been here for varying lengths of time. They come from different backgrounds, different histories, different trauma. They’re all completely unique, and yet, when faced with whether or not they should continue living in a world not meant for them, they all made the same decision. They chose happiness, and quality, over misery, and quantity.”
A few people shouted from the audience, but Bilith didn’t seem to notice. His attention resided only on the men and women lined up before him. It was at that moment Marc noticed how pale everyone seemed to be. For as much as everyone had ate, all of the members were frail and boney. This could be seen on the body of every person present, but it was especially noticeable on Molly. She had to be reaching the end of her term, and yet she seemed to be the most malnourished out of all of them. The realization had his heart pounding, eyes widening. “Wait, what are you-”
“It is time, for each and every one of you to say your final prayer. You may mutter it to yourself, or say it aloud. You have thirty-two seconds remaining.”
Like a flame had been lit in the line’s eyes, everyone broke into their own individual prayers. Some dropped to their knees and cried in their first language, while others merely dipped their head and whispered under their breath. The sounds of the crowd once again filled the forest, but this time Marc couldn’t hear them. He couldn’t hear his own breathing over the loud thumping in his chest. These people, these human beings, they hadn’t done anything wrong. They were sick, just like him.
“We have to save them!” His own voice shouted in his ear. He whipped around to the shiny metal tray empty on the table. Though he knew it wasn’t possible, he could almost swear he saw both Jake, and Steven looking back at him. “We don’t have time for this shit. Summon the fuckin’ suit, or give me the body Marc!”
“Punch him! Knock him out, something! There’s innocent babies up there!”
“We have to kill him, that’s the only option. Murder is the only option.”
“Do it, worm. You have seconds to save their lives. Summon the suit, Marc Spector!”
Marc stumbled away from the tray. He knew walking into the dinner that death was a high possibility, and if it were a month ago, Bilith very likely would have already been dead. He’d committed himself to change though. He’d made the active choice not to be the killer that Khonsu, or the world, wanted him to be. The severity of what he’d have to do didn’t click until that moment, when he was faced with exact faces that would likely die if he didn’t step in. Three different voices all demanded he do something about it. Three separate individuals, and none of them seemed to be his own.
At any moment felt puke threaten to spill out of his tight, tight insides.
“You have ten seconds!” A voice somewhere around him called. It seemed to be miles away, slowly counting down the last remaining seconds of these people’s lives. He didn’t need to turn around to know Khonsu was standing right behind him, pointing at the target he’d have to end. 9, 8, 7…
“Marc Spector, you are weak. 12 humans are going to die, and it’ll be your fault.”
“Marc, let me take over the body. You fuckin’ asshole, give me the body!”
“Marc, please, give Jake the body. It’ll be okay, just give it to him…”
This wasn’t who he was. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs shut down, and no amount of gasping could get the oxygen through. He was suffocating in the middle of nowhere. 6…5…4…
“This is why you’ve always been the worst of the three, Marc Spector.”
“I hate you. I fuckin’ hate you. I guess this is the end for them, enjoy that on your conscious, asshole.”
“Marc? Are you okay? Please, say something, Marc…”
3…
The suit snapped on.
2…
He bolted onto the stage.
“1…auguh!”
The whole camp fell deadly silent.
Bilith’s eyes widened. For several seconds there was no movement. No breathing, no whining, not even a tear. The only detection of life was the shocked image in those pinprick eyes, as blood poured out of the slice clean across his throat. His fist trembled around the stained blade.
“That…that…” His voice was barely comprehendible. Each torturous wheeze came out with another sputter of blood that dyed his once brown robe black. No one from the town made any move to stop the deep maroon from surging out his neck.
“I’m sorry.” Marc whispered. “I couldn’t let you do that.”
There was a pause, and then a smile. A dark, crimson smile. “From…what…this?”f
Before Marc could process the word, everybody on the stage dropped to the ground. A loud ringing screamed in his ear as the two mothers fell limp onto the dirty wood paneling. He didn’t need to check to know all life had been drained from their being. Marc’s blood ran cold, guts no longer able to take the pressure. His hood slipped off only to allow the rush of vomit out. He kneeled to the ground and emptied his stomach on the stage.
“Well, I’d hoped you’d be a little more sensible than the other guy, Marc, but I suppose I was wrong.” A voice whispered in his ear. All of the raspiness was gone, as if he’d never made the fatal move at all. When he looked up from the mess of orange and red on the ground, it seemed the only remnants of the slash was dried blood along his throat and lips. The man chuckled. “Well, that’s nothing a little change in attitude can’t fix. Let’s help you ease that stomach of yours, hm?”
Before he could open his mouth to argue, the world went black.