Chapter 14: Marcy

Friday, November 3, 2023

We sat around the dinner table on Friday evening, but no one spoke. We were all waiting for my mother, Diane, to speak. She had gathered us. Her cell phone blinked off to prevent any disruptions. My mom stared and scratched at the tablecloth as though it had a fascinating pattern, but it was a dull green.

“I think it’s time to stop the infusions,” Diane finally said.

Phoebe’s head shot up. “No! It might be the one thing helping you live longer!”

I was too stunned to say anything. My mom was giving up.

My mom took Phoebe’s hand and squeezed it. “It’s so expensive. You won’t have a dime left to your name if we keep spending this kind of money. And to be honest, all things considered, I feel fine. I’m tired and have some faint feelings of illness, but otherwise, I am well.”

“That’s probably because of the infusions, Mom,” I offered. “Who knows how shitty you’ll feel if you stop?”

Phoebe tried to hold back tears.

“It’s my life,” Mom said. “My decision.”

Phoebe started to argue, but Robin, of all people, spoke up. “She’s right. Diane is right. It’s her life to decide how she wants to spend her last moments, however many she has.”

Phoebe glared at Robin. “No offense, but I’m not sure why you get a say in this. You’re a pet.”

“Phoebe!” my mom barked at her wife in such a way that even I jumped in surprise. I had never heard my mom use that tone to anyone, let alone my other mother. “Robin has every right to offer her opinion. Apologize.”

Phoebe’s expression soured, but she looked at Robin and mumbled, “Sorry.” Then she left the table and went to her room, closing the door behind her.

“What was that?” I asked.

My mom sighed and shook her head. “She’s not going to be easy to deal with during all this.”

Diane’s decision had been swayed by the news we’d gotten earlier in the morning at the cancer center. Her tumors had spread, and she didn’t have much longer to live. The oncologist did not believe Diane would make it to Christmas. Her cancer was such that she would be okay until her rapid decline at the end.

“Okay,” in this sense, meant not feeling well most of the time but being functional until the final week or two.

It wasn’t fair. My mom was a good person. There was no sense in this- no sense at all. Why my mom? Why such a good person? These questions consumed my thoughts for the rest of the day.

Hours later, I lay in bed wide awake. Robin breathed softly next to me. I considered waking her for another round of sex, but I’d already worn her out trying to unravel my frustrations on her body. Her poor pussy needed a rest, even though I knew she wouldn’t deny me if I asked.

I got out of bed as gently as I could so as not to rouse her. I slipped on some sweatpants and a coat and left the house. I had my truck key in my pocket but didn’t feel like going for a drive. I walked down the street, passing house after house, my breath creating a small cloud in front of me with every puff of air.

I needed answers. I needed to know why my mom had to die so young. And I only knew one place to get them.

“Michael,” I said out loud, feeling dumb at first for even thinking of saying his name. Then I said it even louder. “Michael. I need to talk to you.”

I expected him to pop out of thin air, but I wasn’t sure it worked like that.

“Michael, please.”

A man in a well-tailored suit of orange and white stripes stepped out between two houses. His hair was well groomed, even the shock of white hair that ran down the middle of his head. I sighed with relief when I saw him.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

Michael smiled apologetically. “Not my intention. I came as fast as I could.”

I fought back tears as I looked into his kind face. “It’s okay. I need your help.”

“Your mother.” Michael’s expression changed to one of sad understanding.

“Yes!” I declared, falling to my knees on the cold cement. “I need you to save her. Heal her from her cancer. She’s a good woman. She helps people. She is kind. She is a good mom. Please don’t take her. I know you have the power to heal her.”

“I do have that power,” Michael conceded.

Hope flared in my chest. I choked back tears.

“But that doesn’t mean I can use it.”

My heart broke all over again, and rage filled the spaces between the pieces. “Why not? You claim God is good and on the side of light. Then why doesn’t He help out a little more often? Huh? Why does He let my mom suffer? Why does He let all these horrible things happen? What is the point of His power if He does nothing?”

“What would be the point of life if only good things happened to us? How could we enjoy life if there was no death? We wouldn’t be able to appreciate everything. In fact, we wouldn’t appreciate anything. Since contracting her illness, your mother has become more grateful. She has grown kinder, softer, and more empathetic toward the people around her.”

“I’m sure she’d rather have her life!” I said forcefully. “It’s not a worthy trade.”

“How can you say that? You don’t know.”

“What’s the point of life?” I asked. “Why do we need to experience all this shit?”

Michael put up a finger as he sat on the cement next to me. “Now you are asking the right questions. Unfortunately, I cannot give you those answers. To do so would make our side suffer an enormous cost. One I am not sure we could bear at this time.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Just fix my mom!”

“There is a rule called the false faith rule. I can explain it to you. Let me give you an example. If I were to tell you that if you pledge yourself to God for the rest of your life, then I could save your mother, what would you do?”

“I would do it in an instant. I would kneel right now and say any promise you ask.”

“But would you keep it?”

“Of course!”

Michael surveyed me with disappointment. “Marcy. Think. Are you ready to devote your life to God? Do you even know what that means?”

“I don’t care!” I begged, jumping back to my feet and glaring down at him. “Just fix my mother!”

“Aha. And there it is. You don’t care.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

Michael stood and took a step away from me. “I’m afraid you said precisely what you meant. The rule of false faith is that when people are unprepared for a miracle, the miracle does not create a lasting change in their behavior. If anything, that person’s Fausti score will worsen because after seeing something miraculous, they now have the burden to demonstrate more righteous, altruistic behavior.

“Sooner or later—sooner more often than you’d think—those people return to being who they were before the miracle happened. Time erases all things, not only pain but also our memories of desperation, wonder, and hope. On the other hand, people who are already walking a godly path—people with high Fausti scores—a miracle only reaffirms their faith and pushes them toward greater devotion.”

“But why my mother? Why the good people?”

“Do you think only good people get cancer?” Michael asked over me. “Do you think bad people never have bad days? The world was created, and cancer was part of it. And depression. And diabetes. And mosquitos. And hangnails. And all the other less pleasant parts of it. These things happen to every single person. By the nature of this world, humanity will all suffer. That is one of the points. To see what kind of person we are when we suffer.”

“But it’s not fair!” I cried. “Rich and poor! Black and white! The gifted and the athletic against those who are talentless and average. Why do some people get to be born to billionaires like Gavin Baxter while others have nothing!”

Michael regarded me solemnly. “Life is more fair than you realize. There are great challenges to being born wealthy.”

I barked a mocking laugh at him. “Sign me up for that challenge, please.”

“If you knew how difficult it is for a wealthy person, you might beg for poverty.”

“Just leave me alone.” I crumpled back onto the sidewalk and hugged my knees to my chest. “You can’t help me. Or you won’t help me. Fine. But go away. I don’t need a lecture from you.”

“I’m sorry I can’t help you more,” Michael said, and then he did as I asked. He turned and walked away.

I sat on the pavement until my butt was numb from the cold. Getting up hurt. My knees had stiffened from not moving for so long. When I turned around, I screamed.

“I thought that crossdressing cocksucker would never leave,” said a hulking man in loose-fitting pants and a shirt so white it shone like lightly polished silver in the moonlight. He had deep red locks that flowed to his shoulders and eyes of golden brown that pierced me like lasers. Handsome didn’t begin to describe his face. He looked like a statue brought to life with his defined jaw, flawless skin, and muscles over muscles over more muscles. And he smelled faintly of lemons.

“Who are you?” I asked.

He smiled at me, but it wasn’t warm or welcoming. If anything, his look reminded me more of a leer. This man was sizing me up and down with his eyeballs like he wanted to pick me and plant me right down on his lap for a ride I didn’t want.

“Malathazar,” he said. He uncrossed his arms and offered me a hand to shake.

I didn’t take it.

“I didn’t catch all the details of your conversation. You might say I got nothing. Would you care to tell me what you and pretty boy talked about?”

I took a step away from him. “It’s safe to assume you are from the other side?”

Malathazar’s smirk told me everything I needed to know. “That would be a safe assumption. I come from the better side.”

“Can you heal my mother?” I asked suddenly. “That’s all I care about. Heal her, please.”

“Is she sick? Hurt?” Malathazar had drawn up his right hand to inspect his fingernails. The nails on his left hand were impeccably manicured.

“Cancer,” I said.

“Ah. The big C. That’s fixable.”

A flame lit inside my chest. “It is?”

“Here’s what I can do for you,” Malathazar said. “I will remove your mother’s cancer. I will ensure both of your mothers—” His lips formed a leering grin. “—reach a ripe old age of ninety with unnaturally good health, prosperity, and good fortune. They can pursue their desires and interests to their hearts’ content. They will die the night after your mother, Diane, celebrates her ninety-third birthday. They will each suffer a moderate stroke and pass on in their sleep while holding hands. How does that sound?”

“Too good to be true.”

“I haven’t given you the other half of the deal yet.” The hulking man’s smile grew to almost unbelievable proportions. “You pledge your body and soul to our cause.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It means you are permanently marked with a Fausti score of -100. It means you are ours. You will enjoy a life of power, prestige, and prominence. And when you die, you will be remade into one of us. And your mothers will die healthy and happy as I described.”

The thought of pledging myself to this monster was repugnant. But it would save my mom. I could save my mom and guarantee her a happy life. All it would cost me was everything.

“I—” My voice came out so shaky I hardly recognized it as my own. “I need time to consider your offer. Please.”

Malathazar took a step away. “Twenty-four hours. That’s how long I can give you. Tomorrow night. Same time. Same place. If you’re interested. If not ... don’t waste my time. Or your mother’s. She has less than you think.”

I walked home at a snail’s pace. My thoughts were so clouded. I had to do this for my mother, didn’t I? But Michael had said I was important. I was a Nexus. I still wasn’t sure what that meant, but I had an inkling it was a big deal based on what he’d told me inside the church. Was this exactly what the demon wanted? To have me forever on his side? To use me however he wished?

I needed to talk this through with someone else. I considered going home and waking Robin to tell her everything. But Robin didn’t believe in God. And I still hadn’t told her anything regarding how I got my gift. She might think I was crazy. Even if she didn’t, was she the right person to turn to for advice?

There was someone else. Someone who knew almost exactly what I was going through because she was going through the same thing.

Jade.

The urge to go to Jade was so strong that I sprinted to my truck, threw open the door, and started it up before glancing at the time—3:46 a.m. I wasn’t even tired. I didn’t care. I didn’t care if she was tired, either. I’d bang on her door until she let me in or called the police.

The drive only took a few minutes. I passed no other cars on the road. I stalled my truck in front of her apartment building and saw no lights. That was to be expected. Her car was parked in the lot.

I went to her door and knocked. There was no point in calling or texting her because she had blocked my number. As I suspected, she didn’t answer. I knocked again.

It was cold outside, but I didn’t feel much in my current emotional state. I sat down and leaned my head back against the door and waited. It was just after 4 a.m. I closed my eyes to rest them for a moment. They opened again when a car door slammed. I spotted a black town car pulling out of the lot and Jade walking toward the stairs, almost stumbling. She didn’t see me at first, so I watched her. She had no coat on but wore a black cocktail dress and pumps. I couldn’t tell if she was even wearing a bra and panties. She, too, seemed impervious to the frigid temperatures.

When she reached the top of the steps, she saw me and paused. Then she called out, “Marcy?”

I got to my feet and gave her a tired wave.

Jade took a few steps forward and stopped again. “What are you doing here?”

“I...” My voice died in my throat. It had been a mistake to come here.

“You need to leave.” The iciness in her voice cut me deeper than the November air.

There were so many things to say. But only one thing stuck in my mind. “My mom is dying!” I sobbed.

Jade somehow reached me in two steps and pulled me into her. I slumped onto her shoulders, my whole body shaking as every ounce of stress flooded out of me. Even more miraculously, Jade managed to hug me, unlock her door, and get us into her apartment while I was still a bawling mess. And even more perplexing, about a minute later, I was sitting on her sofa bed with hot coffee in my hands while Jade sat across from me in her pajamas, sipping at her mug and swallowing a milky white pill.