Saturday, December 29, 2012


    "In a vault lies a book, a book that has inspired countless more like it for hundreds, thousands, of years. It spawned blood wars across nations, divided people, races, cultures and inspired world wars that nearly burned our planet to the ground. It shaped the world's leaders, turning men into god-like titans who drove their sheep with iron fist, preaching The Word while spilling the blood of women and children. No remorse. No regret. Only The Word. So much blood and violence over one man, whose words and story have been twisted since the dawn of his birth. So much pain and suffering, the throws of advancement with our race have brought us to the brink of our extinction. Demons walk among us. Angels have fallen. Hell has become the staple of life on earth and God...The Word continues to inspire."
In the dim of the room, a hand pushes a golden key across an oak tabletop.
     "The Holy Bridge has spent a great deal of time and focus on keeping things buried, while exposing some others for the greater good. Ha. I see the doubt in your eyes. I assure you those things which appeared out of their control was very much on a tight leash. Like everything else in this world, God has a plan."
     "You don't believe that though, do you Father?"
     "What I believe is The Word."
     "The Word, father, is for children and people of lesser intelligence."
     "I speak not of that fiction tripe your loyalties lie within! You think I asked you all the way here, at the bottom of the world, to talk Sunday School with you?"
A second hand took hold of a half empty bottle of stout, washing down the grief and anger rushing up from the pit of the speaker's stomach.
     "I appreciate your skill and commitment to this. I even envy your continued faith in Him, even after the numerous times he has failed you, but this is not about God or The Coming of Christ. The Motel was just the beginning, a failed experiment of mind, body and souls, a spiritual segue into Revelations and I don't mean Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. John Writhe found something inside that Motel that only he and one other man knew about. It's existence was smothered by current events, hell opening and the Horde flooding our world, and all of that."

The speaker's guest sat across the table, shrouded by both cloak and shadow, listening to his words, its silhouette never moving throughout the conversation. Was his words falling onto deaf ears, or was this just his guest way of coping with what he was saying? After all, up to this point, he was preaching to the choir on both the Motel and the Holy Bridge knowing very well how the two worked together. The speaker knew his guest would not be entertained for too much longer, without something of substance to keep its focus trained on him instead of the armed guards flanking his sides. He drank the remaining stout, and then quickly lit a cigarette. His face lit in an orange glow, full beard, wrinkled brow, a long scar running from the corner of his right eye down to his chin, pulling smoke, for what felt like an eternity, from his cigarette.

     "During his initial investigations, John mapped out his checkpoints, charting the locations of the Motel and its activity within. John sent this to Bishop Verrelli before his...before all hell broke loose."

     "What we now know is that the Motel was a kind of conduit to some kind of portal, but only John knows to where...The work Father Writhe compiled has brought the Holy Bridge closer to the Ark than ever. Recently, we have pieced together his findings with the checkpoints, and we understand now each room was not its own individual gateway, but a continuous link to a network of parallel portals that all lead into one singular existence."

His guest posture seemed to stiffen in the shadow it was at home with.

     "So my offer is simple. Absolutes. Transparency in and outside the Holy Bridge, along with complete access to the Archive. Anything you need is yours."

The silence at the table was enough that one could hear the speaker's throat swallow his second thoughts in front of a mouthful of stout. The risk was great, but the payoff in having his guest on his side was more than worth his life, and the lives of those he was now exposing.

     "I'll take your still being here as a sign to continue."
     "The three circles not filled in?"
     "In order to explain them, you must first understand what you're looking at. We thought each circle represented a manifestation of the Motel, moving from one place to the next, but we were wrong. Again, John warned us that the Motel was a time portal, which did not make sense until we finally broke the seal on the last remaining Archive. We then learned about the Gospel of Judas, which foretold the recent events with Father Writhe; but, it also warns of a beast who bears the mark of the Lord. The text speaks of the mark, referencing it with the end of times; however, I believe the text is a play on words. The Gospel was not talking about an actual marking, it was speaking of an actual being, Mark, The Lord."

One of the armed men then leaned into the sliver of light dividing the table, placing a silver briefcase onto it and opened it. A screen flickered to life. The seal of the Holy Bridge displayed on its screen.

     "I do not have all the answers, and the circles are still a mystery. As I said, Father Writhe saw things, experienced things, the Holy Bridge only hypothesized about for decades. We know now there is much more to our existence than one man's preachings, bigger than his disciples, and more powerful than the impression he left on humanity. Not even I have the kind of knowledge and experience John had with the Motel...only one other person has ever come close to understanding the obstacles and challenges ahead of us. The Holy Bridge needs you to continue where John left off."

The guest had heard enough. It rose from the chair, a sliver of metal shone under the dim light at its side.

     "Your candor with me, as well as your trust in divulging such secrets, is well respected, Patriarch. Since the Gospel of Judas came to fruition, I have also done my own brand of research and learned a great deal about this place, about you, about your Archive. You said something earlier about my devotion, how its tripe lead me down a road of lies and misguided passions; however, what you fail to understand is that my devotion is not derived from a book of tales, but from a love that roots beyond my flesh. And you're right, I have seen many horrors, fighting alongside John Writhe; but, my battle focus is elsewhere.  I respectfully, decline." 

The guest turned and started for the door.

     "Sister Aeglaeca! Do not let John's death be in vain. Our people are dying. The world is slowly burning and you know as well as I that Lucifer has no equal here on earth. If we do not break the riddle of The Word, there will be no hope for any of us...including you!"
     "I'll ask this once more. If you fail me again, I will leave and you will never see me again, unless I am called upon you by contract, and I think you know what that would mean. The three circles are blank, but someone has marked them. One. One. One. What does it mean?"

The Patriarch consider this. He commanded his guards to leave and, once he was alone with Sister Aeglaeca, he poured them both a drink, pushing it across the table.

     "I believe that if we can connect the remaining three locations together, whatever the Motel is will unveil a path to the beginning. The Holy Bridge has longed believed, as did the author of The Word, god's children would find their way back to him. Our evolutionary clock would reset. We would finally join our Father in Heaven,  'Thy Will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven'. The Motel was never a means to an end, but a bridge from Hell as well as to Heaven. Day One. Year One. The One."

It was a lot to take in, but each knew at that moment, God's plan was slowly unraveling. Sister Aeglaeca knew better than to accept it for face value, and that was exactly the kind of doubt the Patriarch needed, for the moment she came toe to toe with the truth, provided one waited for her, she could not waste a single second on faith alone.


  1. Is anyone reading this?

  2. Doubtful, Anon. In fact, you're not even reading this. This is just a dream that will lead to your eventual session with an middle-aged therapist, who is not only trying to "cure" you, but is likely engaging you, under hypnosis, to make you question your sexuality as well as your affinity of feathered pillows.

    Thanks for stopping by.