WRATH * IV * WRATH The Fortress Neither Eliphaz nor Greggory expected what wound up happening. Certainly, it was something that Greggory may have subconsciously hoped for, but never had he entertained any thoughts of its fulfillment. And even though the change between them was mostly at Eliphaz' doing, it was still he who was most surprised when the realization of it dawned on him. They had become friends. Seemingly overnight, the two of them had formed a bond as might exist between two brothers. Indeed, maybe it was that like-bond of brotherhood: a state that exists between two people who have so much shared experience. Though they had existed as strangers up till just two days before, Greggory's quest for eternal life had made him seem as a kindred spirit in Eliphaz' eyes; a person he took immediate liking to. Perhaps it was the knowledge that here, at last, was a relationship that Eliphaz could entertain thoughts of permanence with, whereas in all his other dealings with people his awareness of their temporary nature had caused obvious distance and apathy between them. Times before, with family and friends -- on the only occasion on which he had thought seriously of taking a lover -- his feelings for those others had always had to be muted by his knowledge: "I could like you, but it will not save you from death. And after you, I will continue on, remembering you, with sorrow... forever." Like a barrier, it was, between him and the rest of humanity; his painful awareness, of the mortality of others, that death was waiting for them. Now though, with Greggory, such depressing fixations were far from his mind. "Somehow," Eliphaz was saying, "You've got to defend yourself. Now defending yourself from a powerful spirit entity is going to be a tricky matter, since any obstacle or weapon you can employ will be of a physical, or material, nature. I think probably our only real hope is that I can exert some control over them with my superior mental powers. But even if I can, we're going to need outside help." Eliphaz and Greggory were standing in the courtyard of the castle they had just bought. It had been a museum most recently; a family relic, moved over, stone by stone from Germany. But the last members of that family had long since died, and the art museum that had been set up in their name was a money-wasting venture at best, so the current owners had been eager to sell. The two of them were looking out on the surrounding estate through the massive, tower-bordered gate which opened into that open-ceiling-ed square of cobblestones. A meandering path, of similar stones, led out from the courtyard and down the side of the hill that the castle commanded. Eventually, at a spot beyond the range of their seeing, the path would encounter yet another gate, in a like, but smaller wall, which encircled the entire property: all two hundred acres of it. The main body of the castle was at their backs just then; the massive iron-bound planks of the main door, and behind that the steel grill of the four-ton portcullis. The towers of the castle loomed like heaven-aimed missiles to either side of their view, each of them quite nearly a hundred feet high. "We're going to need to hire a security staff," Eliphaz went on. "I'd say, looking at the size of the place, that probably forty men should do it. With that many we should be able to position them very consistently so that all portions of the house (Greggory thought it humorous the way Eliphaz referred to the castle as a house) and yard will be no more than a head's turn from visibility at any given time. And twenty-four hour surveillance means three shifts, so we'll need 120 men for full implementation. Maybe more. Make a note of that, though: 120 men. Place an ad of some kind." "Where?" "I don't know. Television. Radio. The newspaper. The back pages of Soldier of Fortune." Greggory wrote, on the little, spiral-bound notebook he had taken to carrying (for the purpose of recording Eliphaz' spoken wisdoms in): 120 men for security. Advertising. "They'll need uniforms and guns," said Eliphaz, continuing on the subject of guards. "Get us some really destructive guns. And ammunition: explosive, armor piercing, glaziers, Teflon-coated, whatever." Uniforms, Greggory wrote. Big, nasty guns. "We'll need to set up cameras and closed-circuit monitors. And every inch of this courtyard and the surrounding land will have to be within range of a motion detector -- and maybe a thermal sensor too." Greggory wrote, Security devices. "We'll put up an electric fence, inside the wall, and have the space between constantly patrolled by guard dogs. Dogs are very sensitive to the supernatural, did you know that, Greggory?" "No, I can't say that I did." While he was writing, Rottweillers. Eliphaz read over his shoulder. "Pit bulls and Dobermans too. Excellent. Make sure some of the men we hire for security have experience handling attack dogs." He looked up, "Come this way. Out here." So Greggory followed after him, out through the gate, so they could survey the lay of the land around the castle. "On top of all the existing walls," Eliphaz said, "I'd like to mount coils of barbed wire -- really dense coils. None of that wussy, thin, World War II style stuff. I want it really packed in." He watched Greggory write, Barbed wire. "No, no, no," he said. He took the pen from Greggory's hand, shaking his head with irritation. He scratched out Greggory's 'barbed wire,' and in its stead wrote, 'lots of barbed wire.' He handed the pen back to Greggory. "And I want a mine field, fifty feet out from the house's perimeter. Mines of the kind that can be activated and deactivated electronically by radio or remote. Then there's the matter of what we need to do inside." Greggory was scribbling furiously. They turned back and went inside. Being a castle, most of the construction of the "home" was stone. There were, however, still areas where improvement could be made. "All the doors will need to be replaced by blast shields with a lead core, that can be closed and locked by remote," he said as they entered the entry hall. "And here," he pointed to the different far-reaching corners of the room. "Any darkness could well be concealing death, Greggory. We need to get light in here. Bright light. Into every crack and corner. Fluorescent lights. They produce magnetic fields, and that's good, because magnetic fields have been shown to disrupt spiritual and psychic energies. Did you know that?" "No." Scribbling, scribbling. "A lot of these rafters and support timbers show signs of age and rot, Greggory. The real estate agent said that the museum here was going to have to close down for repairs soon in order to replace those. Make a note: steel girders." "Our money is going to be running drastically thin with all this, Eliphaz." "Well then, It's a good thing I just happen to know what all the brilliant business minds down on Wall Street are thinking." His tone was full of stinging sarcasm. "Let's not be too concerned with money here, Mr. Clefferts. One thing you've got to learn, if you're going to live forever and all, is not to sweat the small stuff. Don't get so worried about such trivial matters as money. Money is not an eternal concept. Someday people will transcend money." "Right," said Greggory. "Okay." "Next then," and Eliphaz led the way through the castle, outlining his plans for remodeling and conversion as they went. Greggory's list of demands, supplies and desires kept growing by leaps and bounds. Once, when Greggory questioned whether or not it was really necessary to make a section of the roof retractable and purchase jet packs, Eliphaz let him have it. "Last time I checked, I was the consulting specialist here. You had left me in charge of planning and outfitting. You were an above average mortal who needed help in preserving his cleverly extended life, and I was the eternal mastermind that you had sought help from. Let's not argue about this Greggory. I don't want to get mad, but I will if you leave me no choice. Besides, jet packs are cool." It was obvious, from the tirade, that Eliphaz was not used to having his authority challenged. So, acquiesced, Greggory nodded, and added 'jet packs' to his list, right underneath 'nerve gas.' "In terms of transportation, we'll need three open-sided jeeps, one armored limousine, and a helicopter. To fit for the helicopter I want a new roof access -- in fact, make the roof accessible from that elevator we're going to add. And then we'll need a helipad. And if we're going to control any amount of air traffic at all we should have radar. Yes. Radar. Besides, you never know when radar will be handy. "Read those last items back to me." "Elevator access to roof. Helipad. Radar system." "Excellent. You got the part about the jeeps and the limo, right?" "Open-sided jeeps and an armor plated limousine. Yeah, I got 'em." "Okay then. That should be everything. Tomorrow, we start putting it all together. In a week's worth of time we should be as ready as we're going to be." "You expect to get all this done in a week?" "We've got to move fast, Mr. Clefferts. The Champions of Death are going to be coming for you, and they won't waste any time. Being ready for them, just as little as a minute in advance, could be the difference between your living and dying." "I'm having a bit of trouble with what good all these weapons are going to do. I mean, we've got plastic explosives on this list. What good will plastic explosives do against spirits?" "Anything which can cause them the slightest delay, or provide for us even the smallest distraction, Mr. Clefferts. Every second could make a difference. And it is your life we're gambling with." * * * So the next day, they began. The construction crew arrived and began to gut the building of its old wooden doors and supports, and started on bringing in the blast shields and girders. The security specialists came and began work on the cameras, detectors, sensors, lasers and thermographs. The arms dealer they'd met through an advertisement in Modern Times Mercenary brought in his truckload of guns and explosives they had ordered. Eliphaz went downtown to a job service agency and placed a notice that they were interested in hiring security guards. The lady who entered the information on the company computer asked for details but Eliphaz withheld them. He said, "You find people on your list who are interested in the job and send them over. We have a very strict criteria these men have to meet, so we will be conducting our own extensive interviews at our headquarters." The job-service secretary further asked about pay-scale and benefits. Eliphaz said, "All medical and cost-of-living expenses will be paid for, and in addition, twenty dollars an hour will be earned. Those who qualify will, of course, be living on-site." Eliphaz and Greggory both went to a place called 'Wellington's Guard Dog Academy' and bought two dozen blood-thirsty brutes that had been trained to attack upon use of the word 'Ghandi.' Greggory picked out a silver-blue haired Doberman as his personal companion. He named him Coldlove, and bought him a spiked leather collar with a license-shaped charm that had, 'If you can read this, you're lunch!' engraved on it. By the time they returned from Wellington's, the first of the interviewees from the job-service company had already arrived and was waiting. Eliphaz conducted the interview in a brusque, humorless manner. First question: "Are you afraid of dying?" Then: "Are you superstitious? Do you believe in luck? "Do you believe in the incarnation of evil in physical form? "Have you ever killed anyone? If no, do you believe you are capable of the deed? "Have you ever served in the armed forces, or as a mercenary in a freelance army? "Do you have any experience in unarmed combat? Firearms? Assault weapons? Handling explosives? "Can you pilot a helicopter? Drive a heavy vehicle, such as a semi or bulldozer? "Have you ever worked with attack animals or had experience training them?" Eliphaz found only eight, of the forty that originally applied that were suitable for hiring. Of those, only six found it within themselves to stay and work for such an obviously insane employer. So the next day, he placed help wanted ads, in three local newspapers, on two billboards alongside busy highways, and on prime time television. The television spot went like this: A helicopter mounted camera makes a low pass over a walled in estate, approaching a sinister, gray castle. The sound of its rotors and distant machine guns firing do a smooth blend with a more constant, predictable sound: that of a snare drum, pounding out a sadistically macho marching cadence. The camera zooms in on a figure standing in the center of a colossal gateway, the teeth of a heavy portcullis serving as a backdrop for him. It is Eliphaz, wearing a look of volcanic intensity on his face. The camera continues to zoom in on him until the center of his expression, eyebrows to lower lip, fills the entire screen. He says, in a voice electronically modified to sound a hundred times bigger than his usual tone, "Are you a live-for-the-moment, go-for-the-gusto, grab-the-bull-by-the- horns, on-a-quest-for-danger, laugh-in-the-face-of-death, stare-down-the-hideous- countenance-of-your-own-inevitable-demise type? "Have you ever served in the armed forces or ever seriously contemplated becoming a soldier for hire? "Do you thrive on conflict and confrontation? Does a personal death-wish drive you to manic and violent celebrations of life? If you've answered yes to these questions, you're the type of man we're looking for. We know you're a hard kind to come by, and we know how to reward the kind of behavior that has made you such a misfit among those persons of regular, pusillanimous, day-to-day society. Call this number now," and a number flashes in bright yellow across Eliphaz' lips at the bottom of the screen, "and set foot on the path of danger and defiance. Wimps need not apply." * * * At a bar named Murray's, sitting at the table in the farthest corner, there was a person, the perfect picture of androgyny -- the embodiment of Bob Seger's singing, "The same old clichés, is that a woman or a man?" -- that suddenly sat up and took notice when Eliphaz' commercial aired. The sudden movement, the chair legs moving against the floor as they slid abruptly back from the table, caught the attention of the men at the next table. They turned to face the person who stood, rigid, suddenly wide- eyed and alert, looking at the TV screen bearing the face of Eliphaz Montrego. The androgynous one's lips quivered, very slightly, as he watched and listened to Eliphaz' message. His bald head shone like a glass dome in the flickering blue-silver light of the TV. One of the four men noticing this said, "Goddamn. Look at that faggoty freak. He ain't even got eyelashes or eyebrows. And lookit. His lips are so red, he must have lipstick on. Goddamn." Another at the table said, "He's probably waitin to meet his loverman here." Chewing on an unlit cigar, just to relish the bitter-strong taste of it, the third of the four said, "Make's me sick just ta look at him." Eliphaz' commercial ended. A preview for an up-coming miniseries took the place of his face on the screen. The androgynous one said, "That traitorous bastard!" Even his voice was gender- blurred. He grabbed up his hat from where it had been sitting on the table next to him and smashed it down hard, on the crown of his head. "What did you say to me?" Leroy was the fourth of the four men. He had been sitting there, quietly biding his time, just waiting for something to take offense at. It was obvious that the comment just uttered had nothing to do with him, but still, it was the perfect excuse. It had been a long time since he'd last beat the crap out of a fag. He stood up and thrust his barrel-like chest out, wanting to make damn-well sure that the limp-wrist at the next table new exactly how much man he was dealing with. "I wasn't talking to you," Androgynous said. With his hat on, shadows from the brim clouded most of his face. All that could be seen of him were his thin, high-boned cheeks, and full, red lips. "I heard what you called me." Leroy's hands, at his sides, were clenched into fists. They were big fists, the size of bricks; meaty and callused. The bartender shouted, "Take that stuff outside, Leroy! I don't want you breakin up the place!" "Happy to oblige," said Leroy. He grabbed Androgynous by the collar of his black, trench-length coat and dragged him towards the door. "I don't want any trouble," said Androgynous. "I've got no fight with you." "Always so concerned with what you want. I want this, I want that. Did you ever stop to consider me?" Leroy kicked open the bar-door and pushed his soon-to-be- victim through it. It was raining outside. Raining hard. The rain was bouncing back up a good foot after it hit the sidewalk. Androgynous slipped on the water-slick cement and fell to his knees. Leroy rolled up the sleeves of his plaid, flannel work-shirt. "This here, is a message from me to you and all your butt-humping friends," he said. Then he stepped up to the plate and got ready to swing. But before he threw even one punch, Androgynous looked up at him, straight in the eye, level and unflinching -- and the sickly, neon pink of a bar-light was illuminating his face just then -- and Leroy froze. His will to fight suddenly left him. Androgynous got to his feet, all the while his eyes on Leroy's; never wavering, unblinking. "Didn't you say you had something to tell me?" Androgynous asked. Leroy said, "Damn straight," but still, he made no move. His seeming inability to pull his gaze away from Androgynous was just now beginning to worry him. That and the fact of his body's immobility. In his mind's eye he was already thrashing the hell out of gay-fag-boy, but his arms and fists hadn't reacted to any of his desires yet. "I expect you were about to apologize, correct?" "Not even." Leroy's voice, at least, had retained some of the force and determination his body had so mysteriously lost. He still sounded violent. He struggled to cock his fist. He did manage a flicker of movement... but only a flicker. His fist seemed a good fifty to hundred times heavier than normal. "Well it must be a marriage proposal then." A look of anger mixed with terror came to settle on Leroy's face. "I accept," said Androgynous. He stroked Leroy's cheek with the smooth, soft back of his left hand. Leroy's eyes got big -- they bulged from their sockets. They looked like Ping-Pong balls. Androgynous put his lips onto Leroy's, caressed Leroy's mouth with his tongue. And Leroy began to scream, and Androgynous began to inhale, fast and hard. For Leroy, it was like kissing a Dustbuster. His scream left him, like a speech balloon sucked back into the cartoonist's inkwell. He felt his joints begin to stiffen. He felt his bones going dry. His eyes lost their focus, as, all over, his body began to lose its muscle tone, and his skin, sapped of its resiliency, began to sag and wrinkle. Leroy's heart shivered; his liver started to fail. In his mouth, gum began to peel away from tooth, and in his chest, his lungs withered, air sacs suddenly shriveling, like grapes turning to raisins. His bladder rebelled against him then, and just slightly-used beer leaked out of him, wetting the front of his now loose- fitting jeans. Everything got suddenly quiet when his eardrums dried up and quit responding to incoming vibrations. Finally, Androgynous broke away, letting Leroy free of his deadly embrace. From Leroy's point of view, Androgynous seemed inexplicably taller. "Take car of yourself, old-timer." "What?" When he spoke, Leroy felt several somethings fall out of his mouth. When he looked down he saw they were teeth. The rain washed the teeth away, along with a good quantity of hair, long and gray. "Get back inside before you catch your death of pneumonia." Then Androgynous turned and walked away. Leaving Leroy to stand in the rain, crying for the memory of his quick-gone youth.

In an attempt to make this story manageable, I have broken it down into chapters, so it doesn't read as one page as long as a football field. Use these buttons to navigate through the chapters, and don't be fooled by the fact that Chapter 13 is called "The End". This story is 14 chapters long!