Dead Religion Read online

  “No, ma’am. If this is an emergency, you should dial nine-one-one or seek an emergency room.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “No. That's fine. Tomorrow at ten, thank you.” A day—they could do that. Nothing would happen in twenty-four hours—maybe one more dream? That's nothing. Years passed last time; years full of dreams and night terrors and a hundred worse things. Another dream? They'd be fine.

  She dialed Alex’s number to tell him.

  Alex opened his briefcase. He should have been reading the email open on his computer, but couldn’t stop thinking about the notebook.

  Wait until tomorrow. Open it with Nayek.

  He opened the book once before, when he was going through treatment—read a piece, closed it, hid it, and never spoke of it to anyone. So why read it now? You already know what's there. Insanity lay on the pages of the green, spiral bound notebook. A belief that infected everyone it contacted; a thought so powerful, Alex nearly ruined his life running from it.

  He closed the briefcase. “Don't fucking read it then. You know what she was, what they both were. Give it to Nayek tomorrow, and be done with it.” He didn’t mention the notebook when Brittany called. Didn't tell her he had brought it with him and maybe held the intention to read it.

  You know the words in it are wrong, that they don't make sense. There's nothing to fear.

  Unless you're infected again. Unless that little germ is growing and you start believing again.

  He opened his briefcase again and reached under the papers on top. He took out the notebook and placed the case on the floor.

  For Alex

  The words were large, written with a purple marker in his mother's scrawl. The first time he had seen the notebook, after his parent’s death, when separating their possessions—discarding the unnecessary and keeping the inseparable—he had opened it with optimism, then closed it quickly. Now, two years later, he opened it with fear.

  I couldn't put everything in here, I wish that I could have, wish that I had spent more time on it now—now that all our time is gone. Our end is here, your father and I know it, and honestly: we're tired of running. This will tell you the things I never did. We were so full of hope, Alex.

  If there's any advice, do as we have, simply run until you can't any longer. If there was any other way, we would have tried it. So run, Alex, and don't stop.

  He read the paragraphs on the inside cover, dated a few days before their death—written after the rest had been filled. Alex read the last two words again and thought of his dream. The voices in his dreams sang about it being too late; that It had arrived. Run. Don't stop.

  His mother left those words for him. Those words, the fucking notebook, and a whole lot of shit inside his head that wouldn't go away.

  Does everyone who begins something start with the intent to change the world? If anything happens and we fail, we'll be little more than two delusional immigrants. Understand, I am not delusional: I mean to change the world.

  This is the record of how we fair. Seems like there should be an account of a Deity’s rebirth, right?

  Our bags are packed, hotel reservations made, and we're heading to Mexico tomorrow morning. None of that is the beginning though, no where near. Feels closer to the end, really, even though we have accomplished little yet.

  It's still there, your father and I have no doubt of that. Somewhere underneath Tenochtitlan, asleep or close to it. Even now our people, the Aztec, are known best for the blood that ran down our temple stairs. Hearts are shown being pulled from living men, but yet the God they fed is hidden—implying his nonexistence. Even with the sheer genius of what our people built, they’re looked at as primitives who believed blood flow would keep the sun rising. It was never the sun we wanted and the term sacrifice cannot describe what the ritual death meant to our people. We've studied. It's very important for you, and whoever else reads this, to understand that point. Your father and I have spent countless hours reading, pouring over documents that professors don't realize exist. In the centuries since the Aztec flourished, the essence of our people has been forgotten.

  That's what our searching found. They spilled blood, but the blood called to us to spill it. The men that were sacrificed, cut open in front of thousands, wanted it. Even prisoners felt their highest duty was death for Huitzilopochtli. Every death at those temples, every drop of blood that ran down those stone stairs, was given willingly.

  That matters, to our people and to the larger society.

  Even if all those deaths were murder, we would still be heading to Mexico tomorrow. That matters too.

  We forgot Him. Our God, our Deity, the one who gave the world life. Forgotten by those he protected and allowed to live under His grace. Europeans can take some blame; they killed and enslaved, forcing another religion on us that our people eventually accepted. Still, the fault always falls to us because we let Him die. We forgot what we once knew, and over time, He could not survive without us. Now our people are dead, or our bloodline so thinned that no one cares to remember.

  We're going to Mexico to remember Him; we're going so that He might remember us.

  Alex closed the notebook. He pushed his chair back from the desk, his eyes staring at the words on the cover.

  Insanity always believes itself sane. Always.

  The words he had read were not written by some stranger—but by his mother. She fed and raised him, sent him to college, and (moved you all over the goddamn country every couple years—run and don't stop, Alex) called him the night before she died. This notebook was his mother's words; the last she could give him.

  Leave it alone. That's why you didn't want to read it, because the little germ might start growing again.

  He wouldn't let it grow. Brittany wouldn't either. Nayek would help them stop it.

  If that's true, why are your hands shaking?

  Daniel Nayek read his computer screen, seeing the name for the first time in years.

  They're back?

  He clicked the mouse a few times to bring up the entire patient history. Alex Valdez and his wife—who, while not a patient, was intensely intertwined with Alex—Brittany Valdez. Daniel skimmed quickly, knowing the couple waited outside: two years of intense therapy, six months of moderate, six more months of once a month. Three years total and it had been a success.

  Why were they back then?

  He left his desk and walked to the window. The sun couldn't make it through the clouds today, turning the world into autumn instead of spring. The grass was green though; autumn held yellow grass—so there was that. Still, the world looked gray to Daniel. They shouldn't be here, and truthfully, he had never wanted to see them again. Alex Valdez held the trophy for most confused psyche, no doubt. The levels of his paranoia, the complexity of his delusions, and the power with which they manifested—textbooks were written on these things. As an undergrad, Daniel longed for that type of patient: one who practically came with a book deal. In his post grad years, he realized those patients rarely existed and were mainly movie fodder. When he had that patient type, Daniel only wished him gone, and two years later there were no book deals and he wanted none.

  Even so, Alex Valdez—wife in tow, most likely—waited down the hall for him. When Daniel walked down to receive them, he would walk into a world he never completely understood and one he thought himself rid of.

  There was more though. Partly the resemblance of his own parents and the things Daniel had seen. Partly…but he wouldn’t think about that now.

  Daniel brought them to his room with only a few words. All three sat in their chairs, Daniel behind his desk—the computer to his right, not impeding his vision to the patient.

  He typed worthless words on his keyboard, gaining a few more seconds for himself. Remember, you're not human to these people. You're something more, a God even, because you helped them when no one else could. You control this. Except he didn’t feel like it, because He’s Mine—No. Not because of that.

  He turned f
rom his computer and faced the couple. Time could wither people, but it hadn't here. Brittany looked as if time might, in fact, never touch her flawless skin or slender body. Alex still looked as if he ran every day; his head still bald and his skin the same dark tone.

  “How is everyone?” he asked.

  Brittany looked at her husband, and Alex chuckled. “Probably not as good as we want, huh?”

  Daniel smiled back, in spite of the gloom he felt. “Well, let’s see about that. What's going on? I'm honestly surprised to see you both.”

  “I'm dreaming again. Twice in the past two days.” Brittany reached over and placed her hand on his knee; a move Daniel had seen countless times with patients—her support, telling Alex he was not alone.

  Daniel placed his hands back on the keyboard. “Tell me about them.”

  “He’s in them-”

  “Who? Hu—forgive me. My having brown skin would make you think I could pronounce words outside the English language. Unfortunately my ability with that trait hasn't changed much these couple of years. Huit, that's what I used to call him, right?”

  “Good ole Huit, yup. He's in both dreams. Different than before, but the same God. He's come for me, but He knows I've hid for the past few years. Like...He knows He hasn't been able to contact me and now is laughing about it.”

  “What's It saying? Do you remember Its words?”

  “Last night, He, or rather, I dreamed that He told me I couldn't run anymore. He said nothing I did would work...would hold him back.” The smiles in the room all disappeared.

  Daniel typed, almost continuously, inputting as much as he could without allowing the conversation to drown. “Medicine?” he asked.

  “The usual: two pills every night.”

  “Any other side effects? Sex drive, other dreams, drowsiness, or anything else abnormal?”

  “No. Nothing else.”

  Daniel typed on. His eyes squinted and he started thinking through it as his fingers moved. Two dreams at the same dosage? The dopamine levels should remain stable, blocking the dreams. It took only six weeks and the meds would be at optimum levels. Shit, after two years the entire system was pretty much dependent on the medicine to function properly. This shouldn't be happening, but what Daniel really thought, what caused fear, was that it couldn't be happening.

  He didn't want to up the dosage; Alex's was already high.

  He could issue a different prescription, but that came with different chemical makeups and other side effects—also, if it failed to work, dreams would be the last thing Alex need worry about. Death by suicide, for one.

  “You know they aren't real, right? The dreams are only that, dreams.” If Alex began believing, a different scrip probably wouldn't matter—he would be lost.

  “Yeah, of course. It's only in my head, but we don't want any of it back in our lives,” Alex answered.

  “We're just a little nervous about how far this could go, ya know?” Brittany asked, speaking for the first time.

  “I understand, just wanted to make sure we're all together on this.” Daniel tapped his hand a few times on the desk; his brain double-checking his decision. “We're going to change your medicine and see if a different prescription will work. I also want to have your blood checked this week—my secretary can give you a form, just have the hospital fax it to me. It should come back fine, but we need to be sure. With the new medicine, the dreams should disappear over the next month; but I still want to see you once a week. Will you be able to make that?”

  Alex looked at his wife, who was already nodding. He turned back to Daniel. “Yeah, shouldn't be a problem.”

  “Good.” Daniel scribbled the prescription on a paper and signed it. “Here you go. We'll do three times a week for the next month, and see if we can't fix this.”

  6

  Alex’s Parents

  Julianne & Lucas

  Julianne Valdez stared upward at the hotel as two bellboys carried their bags from the car. Living in America for twenty years had morphed the meaning of 'big' for her, but the hotel challenged even that notion. It stretched into the sky, dwarfing the buildings around it.

  That's appropriate, she thought.

  The building was shaped like a slight V, with glass elevators in the middle, and rooms stretching out to either side. Julianne stood at the front, the white stone facing her climbing to the top of the structure, shimmering in the sunlight all the way up. Windows virtually lined the building, both at the lobby—allowing the glamor inside to be seen—and to the top of the hotel, allowing each room a view of the city.

  “Here we are,” Lucas whispered in her ear. She turned her head and he kissed her on the cheek. Their son, Alex, slept in his arms, oblivious to the glory in front of him.

  It felt. For the first time in centuries, It could feel again.

  Alex slept on the bed, with his thumb in his mouth.

  His father stared out the hotel room window.

  Julianne stood by herself in the bathroom, gazing into the mirror.

  Neither spoke or knew where the other was, although only a few feet separated them. Neither remembered their son lying on the bed. None of it mattered, not since the door had closed when they entered the room. A cloud descended on them, but it came as a bright light—one they need not blink for.

  A welcome light, Julianne thought absently. For her, the light came from the bathroom—for her husband, the window. She walked towards it, oblivious to Lucas walking to the window, oblivious to everything but the light glowing from the doorway.

  They nearly bumped each other heading to their destinations, but neither noticed.

  Julianne gasped as she turned the corner and into the bathroom. The light beamed from the mirror wrapping around the wall. It pulsed from behind the glass, reflecting off the walls countless times, showing only Julianne as she moved farther inside—everything else lost in the brightness. She stopped in the center, feeling vaguely like she stood inside a bursting star. The world beyond the bathroom walls ceased to exist, and even her purpose was forgotten in that bath of light.

  Who are you? It asked, filling the room and Julianne just as easily.

  I don’t know, she answered without speaking.

  Silence and light dominated the room; Julianne felt It enter her. A needle pressing through her forehead, cutting through flesh, nerves, and bone—her mouth twisted open, her arms shot to the side, fingers contorted, and her toes curled under her feet. Just as the burrowing needle pushed past the last centimeter of bone, the pain vanished. She stood, tense, extremities still bent, but able to breathe again.

  It was inside her now, moving slowly, like a worm traveling through dirt. It ate, delving into and devouring the folds of her brain—but no pain came with Its nourishment. She felt It prying, opening her up, digging deeper.

  You’ve come for me. The words spoke from inside Julianne, but without her command. A different voice, yet speaking from her own mind. You’re…It waited, going deeper, feasting on her brain…perfect.

  Julianne collapsed, her eyes rolling back in her head before she hit the floor.

  Lucas nearly whispered, not wanting his voice to travel past their dinner table. Alex sat in a highchair, crayons and paper in hand. Julianne didn’t know if Alex had felt the same things…had felt Him. She had awoken to him sobbing and crawled to the bed to comfort him.

  He didn’t know where we were; that’s why he cried. She hoped he hadn’t felt that needle pass through his skull too. Hoped that his brain hadn’t been used for…sustenance. She had come here for Him, so had Lucas. Alex came because they brought him. Would he be used as well? Did it matter?

  “We knew that,” Julianne said. Hadn’t they? Realized a God could do as He wished?

  “Did we really though? Like we do now?” Lucas leaned forward, removing the space between them. He looked in Julianne’s eyes, refusing to let her lie, refusing to let her coat the answer with honey rather than the bitter taste of truth.

  “What do you want me
to say? Yeah, I was scared, Lucas. But what are you asking me to do, turn around and go home?” Her voice was louder than his, lined with a blunted fury.

  “That’s not what I said. I just want you to be honest: that was more dangerous than we thought, wasn’t it?”

  Something had entered her. Something had possessed their hotel room, had possessed them, and had…violated them. They had not granted It access, but It came anyways—ignorant or uncaring of their wishes. “I don’t know.”

  Lucas laughed, leaning back from the table. “You do too. You know there was nothing safe about that.”

  The anger lining her voice began to grow inside of her. They had waited for years; dedicated their lives to this, and then to see Him, to fucking feel Him in the first hour of their arrival—what more could they want? “So what? You know what this is, so why the fear? If you’re not willing to die for Him, than why start all of this?”

  Lucas looked at Alex, holding a green crayon. “Do you really want to die? Even if it means losing Alex? Is following Him more important?”

  Disbelief washed over her. She took a sip of the cola in front of her, trying to understand what this meant. Was her faith stronger than Lucas’s? She loved her son more than anything on Earth, but this was bigger than him. Bigger than any human. She thought Lucas had believed that too, that they were together on this. Her eyes held tears when she spoke. “I’m here for Him, for our God. I’m here to bring Him back and I thought you were too.”

  Alex looked up from his drawing, wearing a smile. He threw a crayon onto the table and laughed. Lucas reached for it, handing it back to Alex—who stared at it curiously for a few seconds and then went back to scribbling on the paper. Lucas’ eyes stayed on his son, watching him draw.

  “I’m here with you.” He picked up a crayon from Alex’s highchair and tried to trade with him. “I thought I could leave Alex if needed, could die for this too. After that though, I’m not sure we’ll even have a choice in it. I was powerless when He came. Is that what you thought would happen—that all our choices would no longer matter?”