By His Wounds

I was excited. More so, I was thrilled. You see, every hundred years or so Master separated the Select from the Crowd. The Crowd was the majority if us: just your ordinary, run-of-the-mill demons. We sat on shoulders and pushed buttons and tempted people, just causing general mischief. We focused on small evils like affairs, depression, rage, disobedience…the ordinary, run-of-the-mill evils. The Select, on the other hand, is what made the real trouble. They didn’t just sit on shoulders; they climbed in and took control. They dealt with the ultimate evils: murder, most crimes against children, that kind of thing. Every demon wanted to be part of the Select, and finally, finally, I was called. Of course, it wasn’t easy. Over the last decade alone I had caused 4,238 divorces, more stillbirths from drugs and alcohol than I can count, about 2,010 people to lose faith, and on and on. I earned my place in the Select. My first job as one of the Select was grand. I was to become Frank Culotti. I was well-acquainted with his shoulder already: the shoulder of a hothead with Italian descent, three kids, and a wife who was terrified of him and terrified to lose him. An easy job, if you will.

Frank A. Culotti was not an unlucky man. He had achieved the American dream, complete with three beautiful children and a wife whom he loved. He really did love her, she just didn’t understand him as well as he thought she should, which led to the occasional fight. He hadn’t ever hit her; he couldn’t really, but he sure craved that sensation of his firm hand on a relenting victim at times. Like now. He was at the edge of a cliff, held to the ground by a measly weed.

“Stop trying to control me, Elaine! I’ll come home when I damn well please!”

“Your children need you home, Frank! I need you home!”

“You go ahead and need what you need, but you’ll get what I give you. I need my time out with the boys, and I’m gonna’ get it. Maybe I should have stayed out all night. Maybe I shouldn’t have come home. Maybe, next time, I won’t! Is that what you want? Because that’s what you’re about to get, Elaine. All this harping; that’s what you’re about to get.”

Elaine’s voice dropped a shade. “You’re a class A jerk, Frank. “A” for “Ass.” She turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, leaving him alone in their seven-year marriage bedroom.

Frank kicked off his shoes with a heavy sigh and plopped down on the bed, his anger quickly dissipating. Why did his temper always flare up so much? It was like he turned inside out as quickly as a Christian started screaming in Roman arenas. Why couldn’t he just keep his big mouth shut? He didn’t mean those things he said; they just popped out. He loved Elaine, he really did. If this was what love looked like though…. He couldn’t bear to finish that thought. He had to be missing something; there had to be something more. He thought he had found what he had been looking for before in religion, but that was not so much his thing now. God was a joke. Another big sigh escaped from his parted lips. He’d have to apologize now, and that usually meant seeing the look of disbelief and heartache when he told Elaine that he loved her. Another wave of anger rose up before Frank could stifle it. Of course he loved her! He’d stayed with her this long, hadn’t he? As quickly as it had come, it was gone. Calm down, Frank, he told himself. Just apologize. It’s what she wants.

I sat on his shoulder, inching closer to his ear. Round one over, round two begin. This one would require a little more than a shoulder-squatter though. I could already taste his soul. It would be bittersweet, just right for me to come in and chew up the sweet part, leaving him with just a dour black. I slipped over his eyes, transparent, and then flooded his body with my being, reaching out to fill every limb and thought. It felt good, impossibly good, and we were one. Now for some fun.

We walked into the hallway to find Elaine, and down the hallway, and down the stairs, and in the kitchen, living room, and bathroom; she wasn’t anywhere. I pulled at Frank’s inside. What right has she to hide from us? He welcomed my anger with open arms. This surge of crimson was no stranger. Ask the kids, I whispered. Frank stopped, shocked to hear my voice. Ask them, I repeated. They’ll tell you if you say so. He shook his head, mildly confused, but he went to do my bidding. We found Alexander, the youngest at four years, in the kitchen playing with his matchbox race cars.

“Where’s your mom?” we asked. Frank’s voice sounded gruff, still riddled with confusion. Alex stared back at us blankly. He’s not answering, I hissed.

“Where is she?” Frank asked again, a little more urgently. You fool. Asking politely gets nothing accomplished. I drew myself up, filling Frank’s mind. My anger pulsed, buffeting his awareness with

we yelled in unison. The younger boy’s eyes widened.

“I...I think she’s in with, um, with Annabelle,” he stammered out.

We turned around and went back up the stairs. “Elaine!” Turning the corner into Annabelle’s room revealed Elaine building a puzzle with her seven year old daughter, pale and not quite focused on the piece in her hand. “Elaine,” Frank gurgled out. “I need to talk to you. To…to apologize.”

“Not here, Frank, please. When Belle and I are done with our puzzle I will come out and you can apologize to me then.”

Who does she think she is? I interjected, crossing Frank’s thoughts. Don’t let her tell you what to do. What gives her the right to say when you can talk to her and when you can’t? This is your house, your rules. I felt Frank’s own temper rising, helping to cut off whatever peaceful notions he had. His voice came out strong and clear. “Don’t try to tell me no, Elaine. I’ll talk to you when I want to.”

“Frank, Annabelle’s in here. Please don’t yell in front of her.” Elaine rose to her feet and walked towards her husband, trying to push him out of the room, realizing that avoiding him would be impossible. “Let’s go back to our room and you can talk and apologize to me there.”

I didn’t even need to say anything this time: Frank’s pride took over. “So that I can apologize to you? You’ve got yourself mixed up, woman. If there’s going to be any apologizing here, it’s coming to me, not from me.”

“Frank you just said-“

We grabbed her shoulders rather roughly and stared down at her face. Her face was blank, but her eyes were a mixture of confusion, pain, and most of all, weariness. Frank stopped for a moment, catching sight of her. Don’t stop, I warned him. If she gets the upper hand, she’ll twist it around your back, shove it up your butt, and pull your shoulder out of your throat. I felt a small surge of urgency run through him, and then he succumbed and froze back over. “I know what I said! Don’t repeat it to me! You’ve got to learn to listen to me, woman. Doesn’t your religion say something about honoring your husband?”

“Frank you’re hurting me.”

“Listen to me!” We raised our hand and brought it down heavily on Elaine’s shocked and desperate face.

What was wrong with him? What could have possessed…no, bad word. Frank Culotti truly did feel possessed. He hit Elaine. He hit his wife. What kind of monster was he? He wasn’t a wife beater, that was for sure. He was just… “She was asking for it, Frank. She brought it on herself.” The voice, that voice, the one that he heard feeding his inferno. What in god’s name was it?

Frank stumbled down the block, avoiding the pools of light bled out by streetlamps. He had to get away from Elaine, from the house. He had to think. Was he going insane?

“Of course you’re going insane, Frank. You have a voice in your head.”

“No, no, no. I’m not going insane. I’m not,” Frank muttered out loud, shaking his head. “This is just a simple, trauma-induced delusion. I may have had a temporary loss of judgment back at the house, but I am not insane. I am decidedly not insane.”

He ambled along for a minute more in the dark before crying out. “God! What is this?” Crumbling to the ground, he wept: for his wife, for his children, for himself. A slow breeze meandered by as he emptied himself on the pavement, and with it came another, small whisper.

Find Me, Beloved. Come back to Me.

Frank refused to listen to the voice again; he would not hit his wife. He even visited a church or two that promised “Lasting Peace” or “Divine Revelation;” it was all by her insistence, of course. It was the only way to get her not to tremble when he came near her again. The most recent church had sworn that “a day at the Shining Light church with the Lord” would inspire a new conscious awareness of God. So far he had been lulled to sleep, drowned in boredom, and thoroughly freaked out by people shaking and falling over and “being reborn in the spirit.” To heck with it all. He’d done the church thing for almost a month and he was sick of it all. He was sick of all the happy plastic people and the swooning teens, already brainwashed into thinking some big guy on a cloud was going to swoop down and rescue them all from this hell hole someday. He’d been one of them once; he wasn’t going back.

Meanwhile, little things like life were creeping up on him, each chipping at his patience. At first seeing Elaine happy that he was going to her churches was good; now he wanted to smack it right off her face. Only the fear of becoming a monster kept him from doing it. So he quit traipsing after his wife like a child. So what if Elaine stopped smiling at him when he least expected it? At least she was finally leaving him alone about all this spiritual mumbo-jumbo.

I couldn’t wait. I was excited, and for the second time in a month. Being one of the Select was suiting me just fine. Frank was sitting amongst his coworkers at his lunch break, who were casually discussing and comparing their love lives. I gripped Frank’s insides and pulled, hauling up almost a month’s worth of temper.

“Listen to them, Frank. When’s the last time Elaine gave you any pleasure?”

He responded immediately, and frantically. He jumped. “I thought you were gone,” he muttered, panic definitely drawing in with an undertone.

“Frank? What’d you say man? Hey you don’t look too good Frank. What’s up?”

Frank turned to the group of men staring at him apprehensively, having forgotten he was at lunch with them. “Uh, sorry guys, I’ll um, I’ll be back later.”

The group of men watched us as we got up and left the table. We disappeared around the corner.

“Did you miss me Frank? I wasn’t really gone, you know. I was just letting you prepare yourself.”

Frank was at a loss for words. To be honest, I couldn’t blame him.

“Let’s go home and see Elaine, shall we? I believe she would be praying right about now.”

His resistance weakened a shred as he thought about his wife praying, her dark brown hair matting her face, glued to her cheeks with tears. She usually prayed for him.

“Maybe we should go see your boss instead. Layoffs are inevitable, and you know that knuckle-brain never liked you. He’s going to fire you.”

I could feel the rage billowing up in Frank’s chest with a lining of fear: a fear of me. I loved it. I worshipped myself at that moment. “Let’s go have a talk with your boss, Frank, just to make sure your job is secure.” We turned around and went back to work.

Frank’s boots stamped on each stair as we climbed up to the office level. Then they stamped each step to Mr. Sampson’s office where we slipped in through the open door. The poor old fool welcomed us in. “Hello, Mr. Culotti. What can I do for you?”

Frank’s voice rolled out gravely. “Are you going to fire me, Mike?”

The older man sighed, a despairing sound that elated me. “As you know, Mr. Culotti, we are going to make quite a few cutbacks to our work force.” He stopped talking to come around the mahogany desk and place an empathetic hand on our shoulder. “I’m sorry son, but yes, you will be one of the thousands of workers that we are going to have to let go.”

I tensed, ready. A flash of despondency echoed through Frank’s mind, and then he was all mine. “That-" I didn’t have to finish my sentence to get my point across. Our closed hand stretched out and introduced itself to Mr. Sampson’s skin. He dropped like a bomb. I pushed myself to the front of Frank’s consciousness and took over.

Rough hands were shoving Frank into a dirty holding cell at the county courthouse when he completely regained himself. All he remembered was red, and a walking stick, and Mr. Sampson and… oh god. That wasn’t him. There was no way he did that. It was the, the voice, that thing. It wasn’t him. It was that monster. He never would have done something like that…but he had. Oh god what was he? Anguish rose up, swallowed him. He called out to the guards, he called out to the other guy drunk off his ass, he called out to Mohammad, and Buddha, and Elaine, and her dead grandmother. Last he screamed for God. His cries echoed back to him, empty. Just one thought rose to his mind.

Seek and you will find.

Frank left the courthouse out on bail as the sky was turning various shades of orange, very distracted and very wary of himself and the truths he thought he had known. This world was a hell hole, he knew that. Now he knew that you weren’t safe from it even inside your own head. He glided to a stop as the front bumper of his car toed the line separating him from a rush of oncoming traffic. What would happen now? He should go see Elaine, right? She would take him back; after all, she paid for his bail. What about her lawyer friend… was it Michaels? Maybe he could keep an old friend’s husband out of jail as a favor. Then he’d pack up the family and leave for some secluded town way out in the boondocks, so to speak. There was no way his kids were going to grow up in this insanity; look what all the commotion had done to him.

“Do you really think they’ll be better off by themselves, Frank? Look who they’ll have to look up to: a maniac who beat his boss. They’ll turn out just like you.”

Frank shook his head. No way in hell were his kids going to grow up to crazy. He’d let Elaine teach them some of the bull she learned in church, and they’d grow up to be squeaky clean as a minister.

“There’s only one way to keep your kids out of trouble, Frank. There’s only one way.”

Shadows started to cloud Frank’s mind as he thought of what the Voice was saying. One way. What’s that supposed to mean, one way? Shaking is head again, he tried to throw off the haze, but it clung to him. His heart jumped a little and colors started to bleed into his vision. They swirled around, blending into each other and then separating back out as they started to form pictures; little cinematic versions of people and places that were being pulled into one conscious pool. The Voice started to whisper, bold and articulate in Frank’s mind. Colors rushed in and all his thoughts fled from his mind, leaving only the Voice and his pictures.

A deafening thumping on the driver’s side window snapped Frank out of his reverie. His eyes darted over to make out the figure of a small but solid man standing on the other side of the glass, shining an undersized flashlight into the car. “Is everything okay sir?”

Frank’s gaze skittered around the officer’s face before finding his eyes. “Um… uh, yeah,” he stammered out. His voice was raspy and his words disjointed.

The officer studied Frank’s red-rimmed eyes and pasty complexion before turning his head towards the intersection, flipping the beam of his flashlight onto the glaring green light. “We’ve been sitting at this stoplight for ten minutes,” he said. “We’ve sat through two green lights.”

“Sorry,” Frank whispered. He shifted his blue Honda Civic into drive as the officer walked back to his car and then pressed heavily on the gas to jump back into the flow of traffic. He was halfway through the intersection when the screaming horns of other motorists told him his light had gone red. He barely noticed the black Toyota swerving to miss him.

Lucid thought failed to present itself to Frank, even as he pulled into the driveway where he had lived with his family for the past six years. Before he reached the doorway though, Elaine burst out onto the concrete porch, shooting daggers at him from behind thin glasses. “You’re not supposed to be here, Frank,” she pleaded.

“What are you talking about? I live here.”

She hesitated. “Not anymore. I saw what you did to that man, Frank. To your boss. I don’t want that to be me.” Silence filled the air between them. “He was in a coma, Frank. You put that man in a coma.”

Frank was at first confronted with a wave of confusion and then anger as comprehension dawned on him. His previous daze was gone. “You got a restraining order? What the hell, Elaine!” He took a step towards her, fists clenching and unclenching. “I suppose you’re going to tell me I can’t see my kids either? This is my home, Elaine. This is my home. If you don’t want to be near me, then you go. And leave the kids; you can’t keep them from me.”

“Frank-“

“Don’t say a word, Elaine!”

The Voice chose this moment to break in to Frank’s thoughts. “What if some one sees you here, Frank? She has a restraining order against you.”

Frank reacted quickly. “Get inside the house,” he told her, advancing up the driveway.

She tensed, drawing her hands up to her chest. “Wait, Frank. Please, just give me one minute. I need… I need to think. To pray.”

Frank’s face twisted in disbelief. The Voice broke in again, filled with a malevolence so pure, so thick, that Frank tasted the bitter ebony bile rising up in his throat. “Damn that bitch to the abyss!” Frank felt heat swelling and filling every crevice of his being as an indescribable rage flooded in. He didn’t understand why, but just the very mention of prayer wrenched his guts up. He wanted to burn and explode and rip and kill and totally obliterate every ounce of life in his path. He bounded up to the porch in a few long strides and wrapped his strong, calloused hands around her upper arms. His breath exploded in her face as he spoke with an urgent undercurrent.

“What the hell would you need to pray for, Elaine? I told you a long time ago that I didn’t want to hear about that bullshit you believe in.”

“Frank…” she stammered out. “Frank, please stop. You’re hurting me. You’re hurting me, Frank.”

Frank looked down at where he had his grip on her arms. The skin around his fingers was a dark red, laced with a more vibrant plume of the same shade. “Get inside,” he demanded.

Elaine’s face paled, but she complied, afraid to incite any more anger. The two of them stumbled into the house together, one white-faced, the other red. Frank’s gruff voice found its way to Elaine’s ear, telling her to go to the bedroom, where they had made love only a week before. He shut the door behind them, red clawing at the edges of his vision. He could feel the Voice pushing at him, still infuriated. The force of the Voice’s venom hit him and he almost froze for a moment; he was scared. He remembered what Mr. Sampson had looked like, curled up on the floor, not moving. Blood had pooled around his still form. Could he do that to Elaine?

“This bitch has ruled you for too long, Frank.” A lake of fury exploded in Frank. “She tried to pray, after you distinctly told her not to. She puts that god of hers ahead of you in anything and everything. Resentment tore through his soul. She got a restraining order against you. She tried to take your kids away from you! Wrath poured over him, cloaking him in a robe of crimson.

I exploded. I could not stand this woman. I emptied all my rage out into Frank in one big surge that propelled me to the front of his consciousness. This woman, this colossal beast, was the epitome of everything I hated, everything I wanted dead and cast into the abyss. I wanted to shred her sweet, sweet soul into a million rotting corpses. I wanted her to die the death of a demon.

She was looking at us; those awful eyes set on that repulsive face. I could practically see the glow of Life on her. She was terrified, I could smell it, and it smelled like the most glorious thing that had ever graced my presence. Frank felt me surging against him, forcing him to stay out of my way. He was almost as terrified as she was. He tried to push his way back, tried to stop me, but I was more powerful than almost anything short of the blood of the Lamb. She was mine.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit. Holy shit. What the hell? Holy shit!

“Shut the hell up, Frank,” the Voice cut in. “Do something about it. Burn it. Chop it up into little pieces and hide it all over the house and then burn the house. Do something imaginative.”

Frank’s mind blanked as his face paled. Burn it…her…it? Holy shit. He couldn’t believe he was here, in this situation. He was so tired; he felt like he had been hit by a plane. He couldn’t deal with this right now.

A tiny knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and a young voice streamed through the wood. “Mommy?” A hesitation. “Mommy, is everything okay?” Again, there was silence. “Daddy, is everything okay with mommy?”

This time it was Frank’s turn to hesitate. “Um, Kennedy… no, no, everything’s not okay.”

“Should I call the police, Daddy?”

“No.

“No, no, don’t go. I’ll do it, I’ll listen. I need you here though, with me, to do this. I don’t have the guts to do it on my own. It’s real easy to see red though,” Frank replied. His voice quivered slightly, reiterating the feeling in his gut. He was really going to do this. Holy mother of god.

We waited at the school to get the older two kids, Annabelle and Kennedy. They were surprised to see their dad here, but none too unreasonably. “Get in the car,” we said. Neither of them argued. “Annabelle, how old are you?” I heard Frank ask.

She hesitated. “Seven. Daddy, why didn’t Mommy come get me and Kennedy after school today?”

Frank ignored her. “Do you know right and wrong, Annabelle?”

Another long silence. “Of course I do Daddy.”

“Shit.”

“Of course she does Frank. Don’t second guess me. Do what you have to do. Do you really want your kids to go through what you’ve gone through? Save them from it. Don’t be a selfish creep like you usually are.”

Frank stopped arguing. I could feel a “but” resonating around in him, though it never rose to surface.

When we got to the edge of the bridge, we pulled over to the side of the highway. We put the safety on the black revolver that rode shotgun and stuffed it in our pocket. “Out,” we told the kids; a simple, easy, one-word command was the most likely to get attention. They clambered out of the back seat without a word.

Frank faltered again as we met the two girls around the other side of the car and found tears streaking Kennedy’s face, mystification plastered against Annabelle’s.

“Are we going to walk the bridge, Daddy?” Annabelle asked. Her upturned face caught the sun and Frank turned away.

“I can’t do this,” he murmured.

“Don’t make me angry, Frank.” I warned him. We started walking towards the walk on the side of the bridge.

Kennedy’s voice stopped him. “Are you going to shoot us?”

“That’s for me,” he whispered. “Come on. Let’s take a walk by the bridge.”

I took over at this point, fighting my way to the front of Frank’s consciousness. We walked about halfway across, where the water was deepest. We grabbed Annabelle. “Do you want a seat, honey?” we asked.

She stared up at us with trepidation. “Your voice sounds funny, Daddy.”

“That’s okay, sweetie pie. Let’s take a rest. Have a seat up here on the guard rail.” We picked her up and set her there, careful not to let her fall in. Now wouldn’t that have been a pity. Kennedy stood by numbly, unable to move. I looked straight into Kennedy’s nine year old face and told her to say good bye to her sister. Annabelle’s feet hit Frank’s stomach when she fell.

I rushed back away from Frank’s consciousness to let him feel the rush, the glory, the power and exhilaration of the kill. He screamed sheer terror as he lunged over the railing to try to catch his baby. I screamed over him for the purely primal feel of the air tearing through my being.

I was at my prime now. This was what I was meant to do, to be. I rushed back to the head of control again and went to grab for Kennedy. This time though, I could feel Frank pulling back, fighting me. “What do you think you’re doing” I shrieked.

“You killed my daughter! You killed her! Go away! Leave me! I never want to hear your rotting voice again!”

“This is no time for a morality check, Frank. Embrace it. This is who you are now. This is who we are now!”

Frank recalled thousands of words Elaine had spoken to him: words of faith and demons, and the one thing that was stronger than any dark force there was. Call on the name of God,” she had told him, and now he shouted it, bawled it, at the top of his lungs. “God!” he cried out, in pure anguish, whimpering the holy name again as in affirmation. “What have I done? ‘Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels!’”

I shrieked, feeling for all it is the fury of Hell. Terror seized me. He didn’t, he couldn’t have just used His name. Opening up before me was the Abyss, too horrifying for words. I screeched my dreadful blast and lashed out at anything and anyone near. My claws tore at the insides of Frank and broke out of his skin, still reaching for anything to cling to. I was condemned to the Abyss, and failed as one of the Select.

Frank collapsed on the ground, sobbing, heaving up blood where claws had dug straight through his flesh. “Oh God, my God. Forgive me. Let me come back home.” He watched as the blood stopped throbbing out of his laid open stomach and the flesh smoothed back together, covering the tracks of an angel of darkness. A breeze came surging over the bridge, and on it rode a still small voice.

“By his wounds you have been healed.”

A/N: Please please please give me lots of constructive criticism! I am not satisfied with this story, but I have no idea how to fix it to make it better. Thanks so much for reading this, my lovelies :) My goal is to turn this into a story that will bless some one. With God's help, and hopefully with some help from you, we can do that! Have a wonderful day, and be blessed! Love in Him,

gabriellafaith