Chapter 5: Marcy

Saturday, September 16, 2023

WAP by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion thrummed in the dance room, its beat synchronized with my heartbeat as I twerked in a g-string and nothing else, my toned ass pressed up against Pryita’s crotch as she squirmed and watched me with a mixed expression of awe, discomfort, and lust. Pryita had been my dance instructor now for four months, and I still wanted nothing more than to seduce and fuck the lithe, limber woman. Unfortunately, she was married and loyal to her husband, but I still enjoyed trying and laughing about it afterward.

As the song ended, I finished my dance face to face with Pryita, though I towered above her by a good eight inches while wearing my heeled dancing shoes. Pryita’s gaze burned into me, and she sighed softly, a sound full of longing and regret. I lingered near her face for a few more seconds, making my intentions very clear and offering her one more chance to act, knowing she wouldn’t.

“You are one bad bitch, Marcy,” Pryita said, smiling. “What would you do if I gave into your carnal charms? Would you even know what to do if you caught this tiger by the tail?”

“I’d fuck it,” I said in my most smoldering voice.

Pryita looked at me hard. “I bet you would.”

She wiped her brow and finally broke eye contact with me.

I’d almost had her that time. One day, I would seduce her.

“When you first came to my studio and said you hadn’t danced for years, I thought I had a project on my hands, but you have talent. You can dance at any level you want. Why didn’t you enjoy it when you were younger?”

I had pondered this same question. I quit dancing in my early teens because being the tallest girl in the group and standing out on stage was awkward. My mothers were disappointed when I quit because I showed talent. But something about performing solo as a dancer and incorporating a great deal of sexiness into it had revitalized my love of the art form. First, there was no one else onstage to compare to me. I could be myself: tall and sexy. Second, turning people on was both intoxicating and empowering.

I tried explaining that to Pryita.

“Sometimes we have to find why we dance,” she said. “It makes all the difference in the world.”

“What’s your reason?” I asked.

Pryita grinned wickedly. “To stay in shape and seduce my man over and over again. He loves my belly dancing!”

She instantly broke into a sexy belly dance, hips writhing and abdomen flexing. And as quickly as she started, she stopped. I was used to watching Pryita dance since she often demonstrated things I needed to learn.

“Maybe my next dance can be a belly dance?” I asked. “Not the simple stuff you had me mix in with a couple of my shows. But true belly dancing. The way you do it.”

Pryita shrugged. “It’s harder to learn than it looks, but we can start working on it if that’s the direction you want to go. Today, however, we are done. Go be carnal with your girlfriend.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “My legs are sore now, and I have to walk down the street to my truck.”

Pryita looked at me with a confused face. “Why? Trying to get more exercise?”

“No. Your parking lot was closed when I got here.”

“I hope not,” Pryita said. “I parked in the lot and don’t want to be barricaded in.”

“I didn’t see your car.”

We went out to the parking lot together. Pryita’s white BMW was right in front of the main doors. There was no way I could have missed it, but I was sure I hadn’t seen it. And more than that, there was no sign or marker indicating the parking lot had been closed.

“Never mind, I guess,” I said, feeling stupid and blind. “Don’t mind me, I’m going nuts.”

Pryita laughed and hugged me goodbye. I walked down the street to the church parking lot, where my truck awaited. On the side of my vehicle, someone had painted a line of light blue paint from the taillight to the passenger side front door.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me!” I said as I glanced around the lot. A handful of other cars were in the lot, but no cameras. No one loitered around the area. I ran my fingers along the blue spray paint trail, and my fingertips came away stained like the color of the sky. The paint was fresh.

I went to the church doors, which read: Visitors Welcome. I yanked it open furiously. A few young families carted around cleaning supplies and equipment like mops and vacuums. The nearest ones stared at me with wide eyes.

I stood in the doorway and announced, “Did anyone see who tagged my truck?”

The cleaning people talked amongst themselves, asking each other if they’d seen something. One approached me and said, “Let me check around.”

I waited for about three minutes before he returned. “There’s a gentleman in the gymnasium who may have seen something. He got here first.”

I entered the gym and found a short man sweeping the basketball court. His clothes were way too nice for someone cleaning church floors. He wore purple pants with banana-colored suspenders over a lime green shirt. His shoes were yellow suede.

“Excuse me,” I called out, “someone said you might have seen who sprayed paint on my truck. It’s the 2015 black F-150 Supercrew Cab XLT.”

The man didn’t turn around. He was pushing one of those extra-large janitorial brooms in a straight line. “Yes. I might have some information for you.”

When he reached the far end of the gymnasium, he shook out the broom and turned around, then began walking toward me in a straight line. The closer the man approached, the more familiar he looked. When he was about ten feet away, he stopped. His smile was friendly in a grandfatherly way. He had a stripe of white locks running in the middle of his dark, well-groomed hair.

“You,” I said as I recognized him finally. This was the creepy, well-dressed guy who had pretended to live at one of the homes I’d worked in a few weeks ago. “What are you doing here?”

The man waved at me. “Hello, Marcy. Unlike our last meeting, I was here first this time. That means the question is, ‘What are you doing here?’”

“Someone painted my truck,” I said. “I came inside to see if anyone here saw something.”

“Don’t you buy a truck with paint already on it?” he asked.

I gritted my teeth and ignored his lame joke. “Did you see anything or not?”

The well-dressed man set the long handle of his broom against the wall. “I painted your truck, Marcy. But before you get angry at me, the paint has already been removed. I also blocked off the parking lot and hid Pryita’s car from your view. I have manipulated you quite a bit today.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?”

“I needed to speak with you. My name is Michael, and I am an angel. I have been trying to communicate with you for some time, but there are rules in place. Even now, I am breaking them and may face serious repercussions for this conversation.”

“You are an angel?” I repeated. “Like a real flying angel with wings and a halo over your head, angel?” I surveyed him with obvious skepticism. “Because you look like a guy who spends too much money at Men’s Wearhouse.”

“Men’s Wearhouse...” Michael repeated as though I had said a vile word. “No, ma’am. I’ll have you know these clothes are top of the line.”

“I don’t care about your clothes. I want to know why you are fucking around with me.”

“I’m not doing anything of the sort. I’m here to talk to you. To tell you what is going on in your life and why you need to start being more careful. Can we go somewhere else? Perhaps a place we can sit and talk? Would you follow me into the chapel?”

“Why should I trust you?” I asked him. “You just told me you painted my car.”

“And I told you the paint is gone now. Tell you what. Go inspect your truck; if it’s not satisfactory, leave. And if it is, come back and talk to me. Or you could look down at your fingertips.”

I held out my hand and saw that the fingers that had brushed the paint were now clean. That was impossible. Michael watched me with a bemused expression.

“Fine,” I said.

He led me through a short hall into a room of cushioned pews. I sat on one, and he sat in the next so he could turn and face me. “You ought to spend more time in places like this.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just talk.”

“You almost died. You know that? You should have died, but a demon sacrificed himself to save you.”

“A demon?”

Michael nodded once. “And let me tell you, that is not a common occurrence. There are still a lot of things going on I don’t understand. But you are wrapped up in something called the Nexus. Have you heard of that before?”

I hadn’t.

“In the battle between good and evil for the souls of humanity, the Nexus is an anomaly that occurs as a side effect of the tension between the two powers wresting for control of our world. The light and the darkness. When this world was created, it was a joint creation between those two powers. It has to be that way. If there was only light and no darkness, or darkness and no light, the inhabitants of the world have no purpose—no meaning. Can you imagine if your life was free of trouble or hardship?”

“Sounds nice, actually,” I said.

“It does sound nice until you study the children of the rich and powerful. We tend to create problems if we don’t already have them. I’m getting off track now. Let’s talk about the Nexus.

“This anomaly pops up every few decades. Sometimes longer than that. It’s been almost twenty years since the last Nexus occurred in the town where you grew up. When it happens, a human near the Nexus event absorbs the Nexus energy into them, eventually awakening inside that person and changing their very nature. The person with the Nexus becomes uniquely powerful enough to disrupt the balance between the two sides. Some of the previous Nexuses you may have heard of. Others you probably haven’t.

“Elvis?” I asked. “Ronald Reagan?”

“No and no.”

“Paul McCartney?”

Michael offered me an indulgent smile. “Marcy, I am telling you this because when the Nexus begins to gain power, they attract people to themselves and can create witnesses. Witnesses are people with whom they share a strong bond, like your bond with Gina. Witnesses aren’t always created through sexual contact, though that seems to be the case with you and Jade.”

“Jade?” I repeated, my eyes narrowing on Michael. “What does she have to do with this?”

“Everything. And Kitt Walker, too. Angels and demons try to anticipate where a Nexus event will occur by recognizing signs that begin years ahead of the event. We also consult Oracles—beings who exist outside of the struggle between good and evil. We had your Nexus event narrowed down to two locations: your hometown and a small city in Europe.

“As fate would have it, on the day of the event, you were romantically entangled with two other individuals. Jade Seymour and Kitt Walker.”

Michael looked at me gravely, which was alarming for someone who always seemed so happy and bright. He seemed to be waiting for my response, but I had no idea what to say. I still wasn’t sure what the hell he was talking about.

“Because of what was taking place during the event, the question of who was the true Nexus became ... murky. What the other side realized before we did was how sex existed as a powerful part of your relationship. And they were able to use that sexual entanglement to create more Nexuses—something that has never happened before in the history of the world.”

“How did that happen?” I asked.

“A succubus seduced you,” Michael said with disdain. “And by interacting so intimately with an immortal being, she was able to give you a Nexus gift based on the power of sex. This meant sex became the driving power of the Nexus instead of something like teaching, healing, combat, or justice. Over the millennia, various forces have driven the Nexuses. And there has only ever been one at a time. But the demons also realized that because of the unique circumstances under which the Nexus energy awoke in you, two people could share the gift. They must have created a device to give Jade a copy of your gift. We are still unaware of why the gift wasn’t copied exactly or what happened between you two when it occurred. If you wanted to fill any gaps, I would be grateful...”

He watched me for a moment, perhaps to see my reaction.

“No? Alright.”

“You couldn’t see what happened between me and Jade that night? I thought angels were always watching, always recording what happens.”

“Well ... yes and no. Someone is always watching and recording. Not necessarily our side. And in the presence of demons of a certain power, we cannot witness what is happening. For example, demons know you are in this building, but they do not know who is here with you. They only know an angel of—forgive my saying so—extraordinary power is with you. And there will be repercussions for what I have done today. I am gambling, in a way, by having this meeting with you in hopes that the benefits will outweigh the drawbacks of breaking the rules.”

“What rules?” I asked. “None of this makes sense!”

“Angels and demons have rules agreed upon at the beginning of time before humanity was placed on the earth. For example, I am not supposed to be able to speak to you until you have a Fausti score of fifty or higher. Currently, your Fausti score is, well, nowhere near that. Your score is below zero.”

“Why can’t you talk to me? You did once before.”

“Yes, but that was in the home of a family with a very strong Fausti score—”

“And now we’re in a church!”

“True, but I didn’t reveal information to you as I am now. This conversation should only be able to take place with someone with a score of fifty or higher.”

“And these scores mean what exactly?” I asked.

“How strongly an individual associates with light or darkness.”

That statement hit me like a baseball bat to the face. I could only assume zero meant neutral. And I was a negative score? Michael watched me process the information with a sad smile.

“Naturally, these scores change every day, even hourly. They are not written in stone nor—”

“How do I even know this is real? How do I know you aren’t a demon trying to trick me?”

“You know, Marcy,” Michael said. “Deep down, you know.”

“Bullshit. I don’t know anything. This could be a trick. A succubus named Angel. Maybe she was an angel.”

“An angel sent to encourage you to cheat on your girlfriend? Does that sound like a being of light to you?”

I didn’t answer him, so he continued.

“But that is the point of the rule of visitation. It’s one of the rules to prevent false faith or unorthodox orthodoxy. It’s also why certain scores have to be met before someone can witness a pure miracle. When people aren’t prepared for certain levels of interaction with the divine, it often does more harm than good. Again, I’m taking a risk with you.”