The Defector Part 1

Chapter 1

January 2002

Undisclosed Location in the Colorado Rockies


The hearts of the three sorcerers pounded as they analyzed the corpse of their dead "brother." His neck had been broken, and his dead eyes looked blankly at them.
He was near.
The cult had tried its very best to finish him off, but it became abundantly clear that he was finishing the cult off.
They feared what was going to become of their trembling bodies and depraved lives.
He had made a clear declaration that he would kill none of so long as they would abide by his terms that they also kill none. They had not given into his demands.
All three men were murderers, and so was their dead friend.
They had seen the blood of men, women, and children pour down the altars of sacrifice, but now they felt the irony of it all creeping up upon them.
This time no altar was needed, and this time no innocents would die. They had been found guilty before God and man. Above the law of man made they themselves, but subject were they unto the law of God.
Vengeance was not his goal, nor hate his motivation. He simply could not allow such abominations to continue, and though each man had a very rapid pulse, not one of them doubted that he was already dead.
He was faster, and far more adept. He had never known defeat since he had left their organization of evil.
No pentagram offered protection for these miserable dregs. They could not ward off the power of this man's God by any of their enchantments.
The cadaver before them was a testimony of this.
Who was next? The hunter already had his prey in the scope of his rifle. What was he waiting for?
Those that said he could not hide were the ones in want of safety. One after another they fell. Body upon body. Corpse upon corpse. Death was in the air, and getting closer. The axe was about to fall. They had seen it fall before, but now they lay in its unwavering path. Cold steel, hot lead, and the gloved hands of fate. It was payday, and in his mind they deserved a raise.
He watched them from afar, let his steir oug fall down around his torso hanging by the strap, and clinched his gloved fists in satisfaction.
Kill them? Another day perhaps.
He knew them, and they knew him. Their secrets were open to his eyes. He knew them, for he had once walked among them. He knew them because he had once been one of them.
They looked at each other in fear.
Then they glanced up to see his shadowy figure in the trees. Then they heard his scratchy voice. In a loud whisper the words, "I warned you!"
He faded into the blackness of night.
They felt fear. Fear. Fear of pain. Fear. Fear of judgment. Fear. Fear of death. Fear. Fear of the man in the black gloves. Fear. Fear of his lack of fear.
He would be back. His power was greater than their power, for his God was greater than their god.
Somehow this man was always a step ahead of them. The training that they had given to him was about to fall upon their own heads. He needed no wizardry; only faith.
Some would question whether he was doing the right thing, for even he wondered. He did not know whether he was doing good, but the body-count told him that he was doing something.

* * *

January 2002

New York City

The police gathered round about the body of an elderly man. It was the sixth murder in less than a month. Someone, or something, was on the prowl. Sometimes the people had been tortured, sometimes, their hearts ripped from their chests. The coroner had confirmed the last of such horrors to be the work of a very human hand. But how and why? Were they really looking for a man, or was some darker force at work? He knew. He had seen this before. He had stood toe to toe with this brutal hunter. He was about to take this brutal hunter down, if God would permit. It would take more than a gun to put this beast to death, more than a spear, more than a sword. He was no ordinary abnormal, and the police did not have a prayer. The one that did have a prayer, stood atop the apartment building praying. He looked down toward the alley where beyond the yellow tape, cops made room for the FBI. He watched their lips move in the flashing strobe-light, as they shouted amongst themselves.
"Another one!"
"Same guy?"
"Or whatever!"
"Damn!"
The detective lit a cigarette.
"A homeless guy came upon him! Didn't waste time getting help either. He ..."
"What the hell is going on!"
"Well, that's the big question, Sir!"
Seal off these two buildings, pronto! The suspect could still be around!"
"Already done!"
"Good!"
Two officers made it up to the roof where the man had been moments before. He had vanished into the night like the shadow that he was; a dark hero, dressed down to his steel-toed boots in black.
He had gone to the police, but regretted it, as he knew he would. They would not believe him, nor hear his tale, a tale dating way back to his birth, an unbelievable tale. A tale of good and evil, of light and dark, of black and white. It was the sort of tale that the even the tabloids were afraid to print.
The man in the black gloves reminisced over the past. It seemed as if it had an eternity since he left, bound for better things, forsaking the old man, and becoming a new. Things had changed as he knew they would. Things became tougher, rougher, more terrible, but for his enemies, so had he.

Chapter 2: Walt Bronson

January 2002

New York City


With his latest adventures came more money for travel and supplies, so it was back to New York City to check up on an old acquaintance.
Walter Bronson had a nice apartment, as many who get rich off of the sin of others. Of course the man in the black gloves made his usual sneaky entrance through the shadows, after all, it was not probable that Walt would stick around if he knew that he was coming by for a chat. As he used his glass cutting tools upon the fifteenth story window he only hoped that he would not discover "The Vampyre Queen" biting the neck of some AIDS infected boyfriend.
He was home, there was no doubt about that. The lights were on and the television was blaring. It sounded like some sort of music video. Sad Iron was singing.

"We all praise the devil
He is so fine
We all praise the devil
Till the day we'll die!"

Apparently his taste in music hadn't changed since they last met. He crept silently through the bedroom which was very dark and opened the squeaky door. There was nothing that he could do to make it quiet. At least the hymns of Satan drowned out the noise. Ben wondered why the manager would let people listen to their televisions so loud. He assumed that the neighbors would complain. Maybe they were deaf. He would be deaf too if he had to live next to a man that listened to that ungodly garbage. There was a spirit about it. Much different from that old black woman singing, "There's not a friend like the lowly Jesus. No not one! No not one!" There was a spirit about that music too; a far more powerful spirit.
It looked more like a house than an apartment; rather huge.
Walt had been trying to cry out, but the pain of his broken ribs made this impossible as they obstructed his breathing. As he laid face down upon the kitchen table, naked and bloody Ben could see the back end of his leather whip sticking out of him. While the music blared in the background Ben turned the dying man over.
The room smelt of dung, and the man in black was thankful to God for his gloves, even if the fingers were open.
Whispering Walt managed to mouth the word, "Ben."
Ben did not know what to say. He was very disturbed by the sadistic horror before him. Was this some lover's quarrel gone violent? No, the Holy Spirit was speaking to his heart and telling him that this was not about the suffering transvestite in his arms. It was a message. It was a message for him. Somebody who knew that he would be in that place at precisely that time was sending him a graphic epistle of blood. Now he was the one to receive the warning.
"Ben," he moaned.
"Who?"
"John. John Jones!"
"Eagleclaw?" he muttered in disbelief.
"It's okay Ben! You know what you said about Jesus saving even the wickedest of sinners?" He coughed, weeping. "I believe. Thank God!" Again he coughed. "I believe!"
Ben lost it. He could be hard-faced no longer. To see another washed clean in the blood of the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, saved out of his wretched, vile state, forgiven for free, by God's infinite mercy which endureth forever. He began to weep. "Ben. Don't... It's a trap! John is setting you up! Don't go after him. In Jesus' name don't go after him. He will kill... he will..."
Then the new born babe in Christ closed his eyes and gave up the ghost.
Thanking God in his heart, Ben drew a Berretta from his jacket and turned around. He walked into the living room and there in the darkness he could see the light of a single marijuana cigarette. A tall man stood in the shadows. His very long black hair was up in a ponytail. He was some sort of Native American. Then a voice far older than the body that it now inhabited echoed it's deep menacing sound. "I'll be going to Vegas to have a little chat with Erin." He exhaled and said, "Such a pity! So unfortunate an ending! But, as we all know, the only good queer is a dead queer. See you in Vegas!"
Then Ben shouted with extreme authority, "The Lord rebuke thee in the name of Jesus!" and the Indian vanished.

Chapter 3: Sin City

February 2002

New York City


Flashes of light could be seen through the windows of the subway car as it raced through the underground tunnel. Ben sat reading the book of Leviticus, while making his way through the dark city.
`Vegas,' he thought. `Haven't been there for a while.' He did not know what to expect when he got there; only it got bigger each time he left. The city grew like a malignant tumor. He reckoned that one day it would take over the world unless some miracle cure could be found. The place was crawling with Mormons, Jehovah's Witnesses, and of course Satanists. There also was the occasional Catholic church, filled with superstitious Mexicans deceived into believing the words of their Jesuit "Father."
Erin Smith was a twenty-five year old redhead, overweight, but attractive, attractive at least as much as such a young woman could be to a mature man like Ben. In his eyes she was just a little girl. He wondered what John could want with her. She was not very powerful, and very nieve in the ways of the craft, but less nieve than she acted. Constantly fighting for "pagan rights" she claimed that she was a nature worshiper who did not even believe in the devil. This was a half truth. She believed in and worshiped the horned god of the underworld, but never called him Satan. Openly she claimed to be a worshiper of the goddess, but secretly she knew that she had crossed over into the realm of black magick, not that there really was such a thing as white magick, but her fellow sisters thought that there was, and that was all that mattered. She had them wrapped around her little finger and she was wrapped around Satan's. In 1985 her mother founded "The Temple of Isis" where other wiccans came to share forbidden wisdom.
Like the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, such fruit was to make them wise, but, except they repent they would surely die. No ability to be as gods would save them then.
Then the sound of the train came to a violently screeching halt, resulting in him lunging to his side with a jolt, and he fell clean off of his seat, and a cold air whipped it's way through the car causing a chill to run up his spine. The lights in his car went out. When he looked up he saw that the fellow passengers had vanished and he alone lay upon the floor in the dark. Then a pale bluish white light and laughter. Standing to his feet he thought to himself, I know that laugh.
It came closer as the door in the car in front of him slid open. Then the door on his car slid open to reveal in his dark glory, John Jones, eyes glowing red. He rushed toward Ben full throttle screaming an mad Indian war cry, grabbing him by the throat.
Then all was as before, he was even sitting in the same spot. It had all been in his mind, or so it seemed. Only it hadn't all been in his mind. What he had seen may not have been visible to the other passengers. It might not have even been physical, but it was real; as real as real can be.
This was no game.

In the train-yard Ben climbed up into a boxcar. It was not the ideal way to travel, but he had to make it cross country one way or another, and Las Vegas was a good many miles off. He would have to hitchhike much of the way there. It would take awhile, but he was determined to find out what was blowing in the Nevadan sagebrush.

All was coming together nicely. It would not be long before "Eagleclaw" and Ben would have to settle this mono y mono, or at least that is what Satyr hoped.

March, 2002

Just outside Las Vegas

It was early winter by the time that Ben saw those familiar lights stretched out upon the horizon. The Stratosphere, like the tower of Babel reached into heaven. The massiveness of sin city never ceased to amaze him. Only now, since he had received Christ his reaction was not one of awe, but one of terrible disgust. The valley's prosperity was based on the inprosperity of sinners who blew their children's college money at the roulette table. The flashing lights reminded him of a verse.

2 Corinthians 11:14 And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.

Not unlike the angel Moroni, the angel of light that appeared to the founder of the LDS church, Joseph Smith. Maybe Moroni was Satan. It would come as no surprise to Ben. The world was filled with Satanic cults claiming to worship Jesus Christ. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was just one of many examples. Unholy and ungodly. Ben thanked God for removing the veil from his eyes, that he might see the world for what it truly is; lost.
The man driving the Saturn was named Harold. He had seen Ben's hands, and been told the same story of him beating metal to improve his strength. This should have intimidated him, but, unknown to hitchhikers, he kept a forty-four under the seat. Little did he know that Benjamin Springer kept a switchblade in a hole in his jacket, a 22 revolver strapped to his ankle under his pants, and a Beretta in a strange pouch for cocealing weapons over his groin.
He also had an MP5K in his suitcase behind a removable panel. He had taken it from a very unpleasant lycanthropope by the name of Eddie. Of course he could not really turn into a wolf, but the lifestyle fascinated him. He even, against better judgment, ate raw meat. He unfortunately decided not to stick to members of the animal kingdom. Ben remembered wondering what type of meat it was that he had found stuck in his teeth after he killed him with his own submachine-gun. Ben was on a tight budget and was more than pleased that killing his kind did not require silver bullets. No. Lead worked just fine on people with werewolf fetishes.
But that was hard-core Satanism. Perversion, fetishes, exploring one's dark side. Ben thanked God that that was all forgiven. Gerald Gardner used scourges in ritual, as did the ancient Babylonians. In the "Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatious of Loyola" the poor lost Catholic even recommended the use of self torture to appease God. He also was into scourging. The implication however was that he found it most unpleasant. It did not "do it" for him. It was an act of penance, as if the loving Lord God was a sadist who enjoyed seeing his people in pain. It reminded Ben of the prophets of Baal when they were trying to get their false god's attention.

I Kings 18:26-28 "And they took the bullock which was given them, and they dressed it, and called on the name of Baal from morning even until noon, saying, O Baal, hear us. But there was no voice, nor any that answered. And they leaped upon the altar which was made. And it came to pass at noon, that Elijah mocked them, and said, Cry aloud: for he is a god; either he is talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or peradventure he sleepeth, and must be awaked. And they cried aloud, and cut themselves after their manner with knives and lancets, till the blood gushed out upon them."

He looked down at his gloved hands and became teary-eyed. Hours he would beat a sheet of metal and if the pain would cause him to faint he would be awakened by a hot poker or branding iron. His back was covered in scars. Now he served a different God; a God that became a man and suffered in his place. Still he beat metal, knowing that it gave him the strength to smash in skulls, but now he did it by choice. It was not because he was forced to. His new master would accept him without self mutilation, and would not punish him if he decided to give up and let his knuckles heal. It was no longer about serving the cult. It was about serving the cult what it deserved. It didn't hurt anymore anyway, except when it rained and caused his arthritis to flare up. It did not matter. He was used to it.
Then he began reminiscing on other scripture. How that the devils mutilated the bodies that they indwelt.

Mark 5:2-5 "And when he was come out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, Who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains: Because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him. And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones."

Cutting himself with stones? He obviously studied the same craft that pagans study today. Satan was a hard task master, but Jesus Christ made things easy.

Matthew 11:28-30 "Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."

Ben wept looking down at his KIng James Version in all its beautiful tattered and worn glory.
Harold said, "Are you okay man?"
"Yeah. It's just that God has been so good to me."
He handed him a tissue. "I'll be all right. The question is, Will you?"
"What?"
"Do you know Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Saviour?"
"Oh, well yeah, I was raised in the Church of Christ."
"Then you believe in baptism regeneration?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
"Do you believe that a man has to be baptized to be saved?"
"Well, there are exceptions like the thief on the cross, but I'd recommend baptism to everyone. You know. Just in case."
Ben smiled and said, "Have you never read Acts chapter ten?"
"Why?"
"Because there my friend, people got baptized only after they received the gift of the Holy Ghost."
"Huh? But then why does the Bible say that you have to get baptized to get the gift of the Holy Ghost?"
Ben said, "Isn't it obvious? When Acts chapter two verse thirty-eight was written it was a different dispensation. The kingdom of heaven was still being offered. The Jews rejected it. It won't be offered again until after the rapture. Acts two thirty-eight says, `Then Peter said unto them, Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins, and ye shall receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.' However chapter ten, verses fourty-four to fourty-seven say `While Peter yet spake these words, the Holy Ghost fell on all them which heard the word. And they of the circumcision which believed were astonished, as many as came with Peter, because that on the Gentiles also was poured out the gift of the Holy Ghost. For they heard them speak with tongues, and magnify God. Then answered Peter, Can any man forbid water, that these should not be baptized, which have received the Holy Ghost as well as we?"
"Wow! Sounds like you've memorized a whole lot!"
"I was going through some rough times. The scriptures were my only comfort." Ben paused for a moment and added, "I am still going through some rough times."
"Have you been baptized?"
Ben shook his head. "I have to find a church. Then I'll get baptized. A good church. A King James Bible Believing church."
Harold laughed. "King James Bible-Believing? Good luck! You know they have better translations now. More accurate, and easier to understand."
Ben laughed. "That's what they taught me in the church I just left!"

Chapter 4: The Dead Man

March 2002

Colossians 2:20

It was an average day in Las Vegas, but the man was not average. The sun was warm, but the man's heart was not warm. The birds sang, but the man did not sing. Children laughed. This man did not laugh.
This shaman wore his long black hair back in a ponytail. He smoked a joint, and walked in an arrogant stride. He wore pointy toed cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. He was arrayed in blue jeans and an Iron Maiden T-shirt. He had a crystal around his neck which caught the light of the sun, but there was no light about this man.
As he walked down the sidewalk a little Mexican girl ran up to him. Her face was tearstained.
"Help me! Someone's trying to hurt me! A man is chasing me!" He did not bother to look up at her. He just kept on walking. She ran towards him and he heartlessly pushed her out of the way into the street. She began to scream as tears rolled down her tender cheeks.
A black truck pulled up. She screamed as the man opened the door and chanced her down.
The Indian walked on.
The kidnapper pulled her kicking and screaming into the truck. As it began to take her away the shaman didn't even look back. He only exhaled the smoke from his joint and walked on.

The temple was actually no more than a large converted house, the main room being used for macabre siminars about reincarnation, ESP, and channeling. It was in a lounge of this unholy shrine of the goddess that Susan Lemons recounted her story to her fellow "sisters."
"We all sat there at the kitchen table at Martha's exchanging information about the craft. Then we all felt something. Something weird. I just don't know how to explain it. It was like a strange power. Not magick, at least I don't think it was magick. We were all very afraid. Jenny actually started shaking all over.
It was the sort of feeling that you get when you know that you are...
Let's see... how can I describe it? It was like our spirit guides were telling us to get the hell out of there. There was something that seemed like, well I know that it can't be true, but it was like... well like even they were afraid."
Sarah said,"I know. I felt that something was going to take place during your guys' get together, but I didn't say anything. I apologize. I should have."
Melinda said,"Wait. Let her finish the story. What went on was bizarre. Tell them what we saw."
Susan said,"I was getting to that. The room felt... no the house felt like... maybe a... little..."
"I was having a panic attack I think!" Melinda interrupted.
Susan then continued. "It was just Melinda me, Jenny, and a...." She swallowed. "...and Jenny's sister. Briana I think her name was?"
Melinda nodded and said,"But I think Erin was in the bathroom."
"Yeah, she was. And of course there... there... there... was Martha, eating her health bar." Susan was visibly shaken. "Then he... a man came in. He was older, looked kinda Jewish, and his hands were all messed up, like they had been blistered. He had this leather jacket, and," she laughed a nervous laugh. "A Bible!"
Vicky said,"Wait one minute! He was in Martha's house?"
"Yes!"
"How did he get in?"
"Beats the hell out of me!"
Melinda said,"The man was dead!"
Vicky,"What?"
"Dead! D-e-a-d! He had no aura!"
Sarah blasphemed out of unbelief. And Susan said, "It is true!"
"He told us that he didn't mean any harm. He said that he was there to warn us!"
Vicky asked,"About?"
"About a someone named John "EagleClaw" Jones. He said that he had been killing people in the area and that we were probably next. He said that Dianna offered no protection from this man. He said that his magick was more powerful than ours, and that if we were going to stand a chance against him we would have to be what he called 'Born Again.' He laid this..." she pulled out a piece of paper, a gospel tract, that had a picture of a bloody Jesus Christ on the cover and the words,"All this I did for thee." "He laid this on the table, and then he asked if we had met John yet. We said 'Why?' and he just said that we needed to watch out for him."
Melinda said, "He then just left through the front door."
"And?" asked Sarah.
"And nothing. We just sat there in shock."

Chapter 5: Eagleclaw

March 2002

Las Vegas

Susan and Martha embraced each other as they sat upon the bed; their hands gently caressing their warm bodies as the incense candles cast dancing shadows upon the walls. They kissed one another with sinful pleasure. Their vile affections being shamelessly demonstrated in front of the tall menacing character before them.
Martha opened her eyes and saw him. Her heart began to pound and her pulse began to race.
Both women were shocked by the tall Native American standing at the foot of their bed. The candle flames accented his features, as his long black hair draped round about him like a shawl.
His Satanic smile revealed his white teeth like those of a hungry wolf about to devour his prey.
He looked at the startled witches as they trembled holding each other close.
From within his belly and out through the hellish pit of his mouth came a deep droning as he moved his thin lips. "Please continue. I'll just watch."
Susan said with eyes wide open, "Who the hell are you?"
As he answered his nostrils flared while black smoke rolled out from them.
"John Jones!"
Susan gulped and said,"Eagleclaw?"
He laughed a morbid laugh of perverse amusement. "Benny nicknamed me that when we were still friends! Back at the Temple of Cernunous after I tore a disobedient slave's heart out!"
Martha began to visualize her spirit guides.
"That arrogant bastard decided to challenge me! I can still taste his blood in my mouth!"
Susan began to visualize the white light protecting them.
"White light?" Could he read minds? "But everyone knows that Lucifer is the true light bearer! You wiccans have the annoying habit of complicating matters. You say Isis, I say Satan. You say potato I say pototo."
Susan said in a stern voice, "Isis is not Satan! Satan is a Christian concept!"
John laughed a mighty bellowing laugh tossing his head back in delight. "Do you think that I am a Christian?"
Susan tried to comfort Martha by saying, "The goddess shall protect us."
"EXACTLY WHY I AM HERE! I offer you both protection. Protection from the most horrible deaths imaginable! Forsake the right hand path and you will live! Forsake it not and you will beg to die!"
Susan began to chant an incantation which this devil of a man finished. "Yeah. Pretty words. But if only you knew the power of Satan!" She about leaped out of her skin at his lack of fear. He knew the incantation and it meant nothing to him. He was either very powerful or very stupid. The devil-worshiper continued, "Isis, Diana, Lilith, Venus. Call her what ye will, but they are all just feminine masks worn by his unholiness."
Both the women were about ready to believe that "his unholiness" was real. Could Lucifer, the angel of light, the god of this world, really be the Biblical Satan?
"All you ladies must do is bow down to the devil and I will let you live!"
They refused. "Do you think that you two can have children by screwing each other? Martha, is that a bun in the oven?"
She screamed as her abdominal muscles contracted. Her belly became morbidly large. She began weeping.
Susan begged the goddess to end what was happening through her tears, but still her lesbian lover suffered. Martha began to weep oily black tears which burned her brown eyes like acid. As she screamed the corners of her mouth began to split and bleed. She was begging Isis, pleading, for relief. She fell to the floor as the contractions caused her to violently convulse.
"Stop it! Stop it!" Susan screamed grabbing Martha in her arms.
Martha felt a pain unspeakable as she began to tare. The oil ran down her face and she could taste it in her mouth. The offspring ripped slowly out as the woman bled. She could not even bring herself to breathe. Snot ran down her nose as she began to feel the skeleton of an infant open her up beyond what she could endure. Her heart stopped. The skeleton began to bawl like a new born babe. It was covered in its mother's blood. The large umbilical cord was attached to a navel which was not there, for he had no flesh upon his bones.
The sadistic shaman shouted, "Looks like a boy!" Susan looked up as she still held Martha's warm corpse to see "Eagleclaw," celebrating with a Cuban cigar.

Chapter 6: Self Sacrifice

March 2002

Las Vegas

Ben went to Erin Smith's street in order to tap her telephone. He was in broad daylight, but this was of no consequence because he wore a power company uniform. He started his way up the telephone poll. He was talking to God in his heart as he fiddled with the wires. He then felt a great sorrow come over him, a great burden. God was trying to tell him something. Up there upon the poll he begged God to do something about the heaviness he was feeling. Something was not right. He had felt this way before, and it was always when his old nemesis was near.
After praying long and hard he managed to finish his job.

Erin was wiping up the mess that her daughter Cheryl had left when she spilt her milk. The telephone rang, and she shouted to Pete to get the phone. He was busy shaving and didn't hear his wife. "Yeah Erin. You cook, clean, hold this family together. You might as well let the milk dry and answer the damn phone!" she muttered in destain.
"Hello?"
"Erin?"
"Yeppers."
"This is Brianna. Remember the man at Martha's?"
"Yeah?"
"Well the guy that he spoke of, this John Eagle something or another? He is real! He killed her! He killed Martha!"
"What the hell?"
"And not only that, he's some sort of crazy Satanist. He killed her because she wouldn't worship the devil! We're all in danger. We are going to the temple to seek insight into what to do next. You need to come too!"
Erin said in fear, "What about my family?"
"They'll be safe. We are enquiring of the goddess. We've got every coven in town using their combined strength against this evil."
March 2002

England

Eating a ham sandwhich an effeminate young man with extremely long red hair up in a ponytail sat watching Faces of Death within one of the emaculate rooms in his enormous castle estate. It always amused him, and he couldn't help but smile as he stared at the screen. However he was getting tired of it. It no longer aroused him like it used to.
His butler said, "It's for you. It's a Greg Thomas?" as he handed him the telephone.
"Oh thanks!" he replied in his Irish accent.
"Not this movie again," the butler said shaking his head as he walked away.
"Greetings! What's happening!"
"Listen," Monty said with such seriousness that it made a funeral look like a circus. "We've found the defector. He's in Las Vegas. We are not sure of his exact location though."
"I know. He's hunting John Jones. Last night I took a bloodoath. A very unusual bloodoath. I swore that if Satan did not give me what I wanted that I WOULDN'T kill myself. I offered myself as a sacrifice, under one condition."
"Benjamin Springer!"
"And it was revealed to me that Satan would deliver him into my hand. He is in Las Vegas. He wants to kill John. John is out gallanting around killing people that he does not find worthy to practice the dark arts. He just murdered a certain lesbo named Martha King. Now Ben plans to kill John. This will be the end of them both. I have forseen it."

Chapter 7: The Witch and the Shaman

March 2002

An Unknown Location
and Las Vegas



Standing in the blackness of night, with her black robe, Erin Smith could see streaks of white lightning illuminating the sky. The cracked desert earth was flat in all directions as far as the eye could see, and torches encircled her.
Out of a midst he came, shirt off, revealing his devilish dragon tattoo.
She opened her mouth and said matter-of-factly, "John Eagleclaw Jones."
"At your service!"
"You've been killing people."
"Yeppers."
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Do ye question me bitch?"
"You are giving wicca a bad name! We have everyone prepared to fight you! You cannot win! You are..."
"Erin. Let me tell you a story."
"Is it about how you killed Martha in cold blood?"
He ignored her statement. "It is about a certain Benjamin Springer."
"Yeah, he was at Martha's. I sensed him coming, so I hid out in the bathroom. I didn't want to talk to him. He, just like you, has gone rogue."
"Nonsense! I work for one man, that's me! Ben thinks he's on a quest from God!"
"Is he?"
Eagleclaw shrugged. "I can tell you one thing. Someone's protecting him. Ever since he left the Brotherhood nobody's been able to touch him. It's like he's immortal."
"So you decided to go around telling everyone that Satan is the true god of all forms of wicca? Makes since."
"Come now Erin, I know that you are smarter than you look. You know where your power comes from."
"It doesn't come from Satan! I don't believe in the devil!"
"He believes in you my dear!" he smiled.
"What is it that you want?"
"I want power. I am going to take out Satyr, and replace him, taking my rightful place at Satan's left hand!"
"What does this have to do with me?"
"I need followers."
"Ha! Fat chance!"
"You will come to know my power in time. In time you will learn to reverence me, but that time is not yet." Eagleclaw looked towards the sky as it began it rain. "I need something. If I am going to replace Aaron Lloyd I need to do what he could never do." He tilted his head down and in hatred said, "Defeat Ben, the infamous defector, and in order to do that, I need to know where he gets his power. Does it come from God? Is there a God, and if so, does he have a weakness?"
Erin's eyes became wide. "You are crazy! If there is a God you don't stand a chance against him! You think that you can take on the creator of the universe?"
"Why not? One god against another!"
"You have flipped your lid! Is this what all this is about? You think you are a god, and you have to..."she inhaled deeply. "And you have to prove yourself? That's why you killed Martha? To show how big your balls are?"
"If you are not for the devil you are against him. We have to make sacrifices. We all have to make sacrifices. She was unwilling to make that sacrifice. Her pride prevented her from giving glory to Leviathan!"
"Leviathan?"
"The devil!"
"Why didn't you kill Susan?"
"I needed a witness. I want my power to be legendary. The Golden Age is upon us, and I shall rule it with the power of my ancestors."
"What?"
"Benjamin Springer has decided to kill those faithful worshipers of his infernal majesty who kill others. That is where I come in. I kill others. Benny has to fight me. He has to."
He continued, "He has your wire tapped. Vicky thinks she lost her key to your," he raised his fingers to signify quotes and said,"Temple."
Erin looked confused. "You stole them?"
"Benjamin Springer stole them! He has been in your temple three nights in a row. He even went down to city hall and got the floorplans!"
"Why?"
"I told him that I was going to talk to you, and he is hunting me. He also wants to know everything about you and your coven, and your temple. He wants to destroy everything you have worked for, and he just might be able to do it. I mean if what I know about him is true."
She shook her head. "He would trip the alarm. What do you mean destroy everything? What are you talking about?"
"He's gunna kill you!"
"Why? I haven't done anything to him?"
"Come now Erin. Your people are not so different from my people, persecuted by religious zealots down through the ages."
"He said that he didn't mean any harm. In fact he warned everyone at Martha's about you. He seems to think that you want to destroy us."
"Join me little girl, and together we can defeat him! I can give you power beyond your wildest imaginations. All you have to do is say it. SAY IT!"
"Say what?"
"That Satan is your god!"
She shook her head defiantly. "Go to hell!"
"I will, but you first!" Then he laughed. "You'll come around my dear!"
Then she awoke to discover that it was morning. Her husband lay asleep beside her and a dream web dangled from the ceiling. That's funny. She had never had a dream web before.