Philip Simpson - Tribulation

Aimi’s face twisted in consternation. It hurt him to see such an expression on her beautiful face. “Pain, mostly. I hated to see you like that. I wanted to see you but every time I did, I’d only find you suffering. My heart ached for you at times like that and I would have given anything to be with you, but as soon as the mist gathered again, I’d forget. Heaven has that effect. Almost as if they don’t want you to remember how painful your physical existence was. I’d see you sometimes when you fought; the conflict that your heart and mind was going through, the loneliness and anger you felt…”

Tears were rolling down her cheeks. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her even closer. He couldn’t bear the thought of her being in anguish.

“I didn’t think angels could cry,” he said playfully, trying to change the mood.

She laughed and wiped away the tears.

“So, you’re allowed to be here. Now?”

“Yes, of course.” Her eyes darted to the right. He knew her so well he didn’t have to read her mind. She wasn’t being honest.

“Aren’t angels meant to always tell the truth?” he asked.

She slapped him lightly on the arm. “It’s only a tiny white lie. I had to deliver a message and you were nearby so I thought, why not?” She laughed happily. “Besides, I’m not all angel. My human side is still here.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Here,” she said, pointing at her head and then her heart.

“And where else?”

Slowly, she raised her fingers to her lips, never once losing eye contact with him. She smiled slyly. Sam had never experienced such a delightful rush of emotion.

They kissed again and he savored the salty taste of her tears in his mouth. They were his. The tears were for him. The kiss went on and on and gradually but inevitably turned into something else. Something wonderful.

He knew he was dreaming. He had to be although he hadn’t dreamt in years. You had to be asleep to dream and he really couldn’t risk it. Meditation had served him in its stead.

Anyway, dreams were the lovely happy visions that Aimi talked about. Since he was a small boy, all he’d ever had was nightmares. There was nothing lovely or happy about what he saw when he was asleep: flames, pain, suffering; dark voices whispering to him, urging him to release the beast within him. He’d always wake from them in a terrified sweat, screaming, his heart racing, the fear only lessened with the passage of time, and comfort from Aimi and Hikari.

This time was different though. There were no flames or pain — only an empty, featureless plain that stretched on forever. Above him, dark angry clouds surged. The ground beneath him was cracked and warped, without color.

He quelled the slight note of panic he felt. Dreams for him could be dangerous. His father lurked in his dreams and as he well knew, his father could be persuasive. He wasn’t known as the Father of Lies or nothing. That was why, when with trusted companions, he slept in a pentacle. Only then, safe in the magical symbol, warded against demons, would he have dreamless, peaceful sleep.

But he wasn’t in a pentacle, of course. A part of his mind knew that his body was in a bed in a deserted motel somewhere in Ohio. With Aimi asleep by his side.

He cursed his foolishness. He shouldn’t have been so stupid but he hadn’t been thinking. His mind was filled with thoughts of Aimi and what they’d shared together. Knowing that she was sleeping next to him. He felt so at peace, so happy. It just felt natural and right — so natural and right that he’d just fallen asleep. It was the first time he’d done that in years. It was only now he realized his error.

He tried to force himself out of the dream, back into reality but it felt like someone or something was blocking him. He willed with every ounce of his energy to wake up. To no avail. The dream landscape remained all too real. He wondered what was happening back at the motel — whether Aimi was alright. He knew she was an angel now and could probably defend herself more than adequately against demons, but it didn’t stop him fretting. The thought that she’d been highly trained with a sword by the same master that had trained him gave him some comfort. Besides, she had wings, didn’t she? As a last resort, she could always fly away.

Doubts still niggled away, though. Demons lurked around that motel too, in some numbers. He wondered what would happen to his body if demons discovered it unguarded. Finally, he let it go. It wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

Resigned, he tried to make the best of a bad situation. He never knew — he might gain something out of this. Perhaps gain some knowledge he could use against his brother. Or father. He tried not to think about either of them. Thoughts were powerful amongst demons. Just thinking about his father sometimes had the power to summon him.

He did a quick inventory. In the dreams he had experienced before, he’d always been equipped like he was normally in real life. As a boy, he’d been armed with Sinai — his bamboo practice swords. He’d learnt with some pain and terror that bamboo had no effect on the demons sent to torment him in his dreams.

This time was different. He was armed with his real swords. He was wearing his normal items of clothing and boots. Even his pack was strapped on in its accustomed position. It was vaguely reassuring.

In the distance, something appeared. Sam focused his vision, squinting, but whatever it was seemed to resist scrutiny. With a shrug, he decided to walk towards it. It was not like he had anything better to do.

He walked swiftly. When whatever it was in the distance didn’t appear to be getting any closer, he broke into a trot. The object stayed the same distance away. Frustrated, he ran faster and faster until he was sprinting. The object stubbornly resisted his attempts at a meeting.

He stopped suddenly and thought it through. This was a dream. It wasn’t reality. Physics operated differently in dreams. He focused his mind, willing himself to get nearer to this… thing. To his surprise, it worked. He wasn’t moving, but the distance between them seemed to shrink. It got closer and closer and then, finally, he could make out what it was.

A chair. In that chair sat a man. It wasn’t until he was six feet away that he knew without doubt who that man was. His father. Satan himself.

His father was dressed as he often was when they saw each other — calmly crossed-legged in a debonair pin-striped suit. His dark hair was slicked back over his extremely handsome pale features. In fact, if Sam hadn’t known better, he wouldn’t have guessed the figure was a demon at all. He supposed that was the whole point. How else was he meant to worm his way into the hearts and minds of men when he looked like a devil?

“Ah. My little horn. So good of you to join me. I wondered how long it would take you.”

Sam hated the way his father was so smug, so knowing. In fact, he hated everything about him.

“What do you want, Abaddon?” he asked, not bothering to mask his feelings. His father knew what was in his heart in any case.

His father adopted a mock affronted expression. “Is that any way to talk to your father? And I would prefer it if you did call me ‘Father’, you know. Although the old names have a certain ring to them, I don’t think there’s any call for formalities between us. You are still my son, after all. ” He smiled at Sam, all charm and suaveness. Even Sam, who knew his tricks only too well, had to remind himself who this creature was. It was all for show. He knew what dwelt under the mask of sophistication that his father liked to wear. Everything about him was a lie. So pretentious.

“Spare me,” said Sam, gritting his teeth. “Let me out of here. I need to return.”