Nano Day 30 - The God Aspect - Demeter

[joegoda]

It's finished, except for re-writes, revisions, additions, spell checking and minor odds and ends of clean up. Thank you all for putting up with my posting. It has, indeed, been a very long and strange ride. For Capi and the Readers: YOU, whoever you are, are loved and appreciated. This is Chet, signing off on this years Nano.



The staircase going down was a bit of a challenge. To know what I'm talking about, you would have to have three ribs broken and walk down thirteen steps. Granted, I was healing very well and the broken ribs were on their way to knitting together and being whole again, but still, ache is ache. I leaned upon Angelina was we carefully wandered out and down to the circular room where Mary had played Bach for me.

I could tell there had been a party here, but a short one. More like a reception. There were empty glasses and bottles scattered around, sitting on the piano, which should be a capital crime in my country.

I grabbed one glass, still half full of red liquid, or maybe it was half empty... Half full, and tasted it. It carried the bitter sweet taste of red and bit my tongue. I was half afraid it was something other than wine. Nope, just a fairly good California Red.

I held up my hand for Angelia to stop, which she did. I wanted to see if there were any negative affects, like there had been some sort of drug in the wine. A few seconds passed and nothing happened, so I drained the glass. Waste not, want not, I believe.

I wish I had taken one of the boys watches. Of course, I had no idea if any of them had a watch, but I would have bet that Daniel did. Michael probably didn't. I don't know if he even knew how to tell time. I would have liked to have known how far past midnight we were.

I nodded to Angelina, signaling her that we could continue. I let her lead me to that hidden door, and I let her open it. Before she did, though, she raised her finger to her lips, cautioning me to be silent. I nodded, because I had no intention to be anything else.

The room behind the door was white and chrome and black enamel. There were pots and pans hanging from a rack in the middle of the room, dangling over a wood block island. An incredible assortment of knives, spatulas, spoons and cooking forks were arranged and kept separate in their own racks, sitting on the right side of the island, if you were facing away from the range top. It was a wonderful arrangement for cooking, to use the block, turn around and do your cooking.

To the left, a large, and I mean large, cook top sat on a solid black range top. They were the type of heating elements that were set into the top of the range top. You know the type... so you could run your hand across it and only feel flat, flat surface. I quickly counted twelve burners, six on the bottom and six on the top.

I marveled at it. I have always wanted a cook top like that. Next to it were the ovens, one on top of another. Perfectly placed so that they could both be used or either at a time. I didn't have time to stay and drool, though.

Angelina reached behind her, when she say my hesitation, and took my hand. She nodded forward and started to pull me. I stopped her. Something caught my eye, and something caught my wondering.

I pulled her back, and she raised her eyebrow, asking me what I was doing. I nodded to our right, where three large chrome doors stood. I knew what they were. There were thermometers on each of the door. One on the right read about forty-five degrees, for those things that just needed refrigerated. The one in the middle read about zero, maybe a few degrees higher. Frozen food, most definitely. The last one, the one on the left, had a thermometer that read a negative twenty-five degrees or there abouts.

I had my suspicions, and I didn't really want to know, but I had to open it and check. I gripped the heavy chrome handle and pulled it down. As the door swung open, cold mist flowed out and the smell reminded me of my grandparents deep freeze, that would freeze ice cream so solid, it was useful for building material.

There, among the sides of beef, the hanging hams, the ice creams and stacks of butter, was Mary Thomas. It would have been enough for James to kill her, but now knowing what sort of bastard he was, he would have wanted her to suffer. I've heard that freezing to death isn't too bad. It's a bit like going to sleep.

Before that stage sets in, though, your breath clouds and your lungs feel like they are on fire as they start to freeze. Your hands and feet start feel like they're on fire too, just before they go numb, and frostbite begins to nibble aways at them. Then, as your blood pools toward your heart, your brain starts to shut down, growing colder, and colder. Your body is still trying to live, though, so your heart continues to pump, but now it's pumping icy blood, thick crystalline stuff. Slowly, slowly your heart stops, because it no longer has the ability to pump your frozen river that was once a spring stream.

The mind has gone long before that though. You have, in effect, gone to sleep. You are living in the world of illusion, somewhere warm and far away from your physical body. You die peacefully, and hopefully, dreaming that you're sipping hot cocoa.

That, however, is not what happened to Mary Thomas. Before she died, before she mercifully froze to death, some imaginative bastard opened her belly, placed a live rat in it, and then stapled it shut again. A rat will burrow to the warmest part it can find before it dies, and it doesn't care how it gets there. I will not describe the details of what that does. The results are not pretty, and they show on the face of the sadly deceased.

"Mother..." I said, stopping before I got to far with it.

"What?" I put out my arm and stopped her before she had a chance to see the body.

"It's your mother, Angel," I said, sadly. "You don't want to see her. Really, you don't."

Demeter used a bit of her Aspect to forcefully push me away. She stood there, looking in the door of the freezer. I reached up to her shoulder, but she shrugged me away, and none to gentle.

It was then I heard the sound. A bass note, coming from deep inside of her. I started to tear up, and my heart rose into my throat for her. I have heard that sound before. I have made that sound. It is never a good sign.

The pitch of the bass note rose quickly, as it always does. It stays a few long moments down low, in the belly, near the diaphragm and hovers there, not knowing what to do. ONce it decides, though, it races up from the diaphragm, gaining speed, gaining pitch an volume until it finally escapes from the mouth, a scream of such intensity that it can break glass, an of such volume, that it can be heard over an orchestra in full swing.

It can also break hearts. Tears welled up and flowed down my cheeks, splashing on my borrowed shoes. I listened to Angelina's shriek of rage and sadness and blind anger and misery and horror. I listened for it to drop down when she ran out of breath and build back up when she caught her breath again. This cycle ran through three times. I let it. I couldn't stop it, and I didn't want to.

I knew that if I had made any sound of comfort, if I had moved in any way to offer any form of sympathy, Angelina would have not only rejected it, she would have hurt me, and badly. She was in full Aspect, regardless of daddy's sphere of protection, regardless of any sort of damping field he had to keep Aspects under control.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand it. The strongest emotions we humans have is love. It can truly conquer all. Just like Huey Lewis says:

Tougher than diamonds, rich like cream,
Stronger and harder than a bad girls dream.
Make a bad one good make a wrong one right,
Power of love that keeps you home at night.

Yes. It's exactly like that. Love is the strongest because it never dies. It just changes.

Much weaker, though some may argue is anger. Anger burns bright and quick. It can burn hotter than the sun, hotter than a billion suns. When it takes the form of rage, it is an unstoppable force until it burns out. And it does. It burns out, leaving the owner of the anger weak and tired and old feeling.

Stronger than anger is grief. Grief consumes. Grief enters and takes occupation. It holds on until the owner of the grief lets it go. It holds on until the grief releases the owner. There are people that can grieve their entire life, stuffing their husbands and propping them up in their favorite chair. There are those people that get over grief very quickly, and get their crying over and done with and move on.

Less strong than grief, but equally as devastating is sadness. Sadness will occupy a body forever, and regardless of the the circumstance, the person may never, ever, find joy again, and wander through life, lost and alone, wondering where their life went wrong.

What Angelina was feeling was all of it, all at once. I saw her from other eyes, the ones that don't see normal things. I watched as she blazed, burned, and flared, but never flickered. I saw her Aspect grow in size, and in dimension, in strength.

I had to step back. The energy output was incredible. I waited for the sobbing to start. It usually comes fairly quickly after that tremendous vocal release. I underestimated the amount of anger Angelina had built up.

I couldn't keep up with her as she flew out of the room. I don't mean she ran. I mean she flew. She leapt into the air and sped away like a rocket. Her Aspect, Demeter was in full force and man, was she pissed. I heard the sound of doors being torn open, and raced to follow.

I chased her down a short hall that was not quite hidden at the back of the kitchen. The double doors that led into the hall were destroyed, ripped from their hinges and hanging, partially embedded in the wall.

There were four doors in the hall, two on each side. I was wondering which door to go into. I didn't have to wonder very long. Soon the screaming started. I stood against the wall and waited. Sometimes you just have to let them have a little girl time.

If that sounded nonchalant, then tough. You've just never seen a Goddess in action. Trust me, you do NOT want to get in her way. Like I said, women can be much more nasty than any man ever thought about.

I lit a smoke and waited. I finished the cigarette, which takes about seven minutes, and wandered casually down to the door where the screams had come from. It was now very, very silent. It was over, whatever it was.

I peeked into the door, and looked around. At first, I didn't see anyone there. The room had the standard evil altar, black walls covered in red and green smears, the highly misunderstood pentagram on the floor. There were the flickers of black candles on tall candle holders or whatever they're called. Red Smears... yeah. Some of the candles were missing. I did not want to know where they went.

I heard a sob. Finally, a sob. Somewhere far back, in the dark, Angelina had burned her anger out and was touching the edges of guilt. I followed the sound of the sobbing, and stopped at the black door at the back of the room and listened.

The sobbing continued, but it sounded odd. Not quite... Angelina like. I cautiously opened the door and went in.

I found James Thomas. He was in the middle of the room, laying on his belly, naked. Angelina, in full blaze as Demeter, stood above him, her bare foot on his neck. She must have lost her shoes or kicked them off somewhere. Or... well... I don't want to think where else they might be. She looked at me, expecting I think, another attacker. When she saw it was me, she smiled, evilly, and waved me in.

In that cultured Romanian voice, she explained her problem to me. Regardless of what else she had done, meaning there were going to be maybe half a dozen people in the world that had suddenly gone missing without an explanation, she couldn't harm her father. Well, more than she already had. She couldn't kill him. Angelina, you see, still loved the miserable, insane bastard.

"So, what am I to do, Chester." Demeter shook her head sadly. "I cannot go against my core personality, no matter how much I would love to see this horrible, horrible man skinned alive and then fed to a field of maggots. Angelina will simply not allow it."

"That, Demeter, is because Angelina is a good person. Good of heart and soul." I looked at the ceiling. "I assume she's safely asleep in there, somewhere?" I pointed at her chest.

"Hmm?" Demeter looked confused, then nodded, "Oh yes, she's snuggly not seeing any of this. I'm sure she'll have some nightmares from this, but generally, she's well insulated." A sly smile escaped her lips. "You are right, mister Chester. I have a very good host. She is a very good girl."

I nodded, looking down at James Thomas, bound and gagged with his own clothing. An idea bloomed. "I think I know what you can do with him."

"Oh?" she asked. "And what would that be?"

"Take the gag off of him," I told her, "then come over here to me."

She did as I asked and then joined me. I looked over at James Thomas as he struggled with his bonds. "I'll be right back," I told Demeter.

I walked over to James Thomas, and kicked him in the ribs. Not too hard, mind you. Not enough to break ribs, like his sons did me, but enough to get his attention. I knelt next to his head, and he strained to look up at me.

I bent my lips down to his ears, and I whispered to him. I explained how much I hated him, an how much I would love to simply do to him what he did to his wife, only doubled. I explained to him, in extreme detail, what I would love to do to any man who treated any woman the way he had. I told him that the fact that he had done it to his own flesh and blood only meant that I would love to take my time.

Then I told him that I wouldn't. I told him that his daughter loved him too much to do to him half of what she wanted to.

I pointed to where Angelina stood, proud as a Valkyrie coming home from battle and told him, "That is a Goddess. Everything you thought you were, she is, everything you dreamed you were, she is. Remember her, because everything you had dreamed for your sons is in that one little girl." I let that sink in, and then I said, "Oh yeah. By the way, your sons are dead."

His struggles started anew but I told him to stop. To reinforce my command, I kicked him again. And one more just for fun. Remember, I am not a nice guy. Then I bent down, and whispered one more thing in his ear. I stood up, patted the top of his head, and walked over to Demeter.

"It's taken care of, Angel," I told her. I left the room, and she followed me.

"oh?" She looked dubious.

I explained to her the concept of a demonkiller. The concept is the same as a dimensional gateway in that it creates a path between here and there. A demon killer stops somewhere between the two, dumps whatever it was carrying and closes up, neat as a whistle, stranding it's passenger not-here.

Back in my college days, the demonkiller I had to use did that, but with a twist. It opened up a two way link, one that drew the beastie that was tracking me down and one that pulled whomever it was that sent the demon to me. Both of them were drug through the gateway to that between the universes hell, or whatever it is that lies between. As far as I know, it's just another universe. I don't really care.

A whistleto is a callme spell. It comes when you call it, and you call it by whistling a preset combination of notes. It can be programmed to come to any particular tune, and once it's job is done, it over and done with, and disappears.

I told her that I gave her father the key to his escape. I told her that all he had to do was guess the correct tune the whistleto was set to and it would open a gateway and release him from here. It would release him directly to that totally dark and depressive hell I found when I was stranded just outside of Sprague River.

Demeter chuckled. "How long do you think it will take him to guess it." We closed the front door behind us and stood outside in the cold night, looking at the stars.

I shrugged. "I don't know, dear. He might guess it fairly quickly, considering the generaton we came from. I gave him a hint, though. I'm not a total bastard. I told him it was something I have been, somewhere I will be, and somewhere he never went."

She nodded approval. "A riddle. Very good."

"Then again, he may never guess it," I said. "Doesn't matter, really. If he guesses it, in seven years Angelina will be the owner of all of this." I waved at the mansion in the cliff. "If he doesn't, than in about a week, I'd say that Angelina should call from here, in a panic. I would say she just got back from a long trip to New York and this is what she found. Evidence of black magic, dead brothers upstairs, one with his heart ripped out in a ritualistic manner. Father bound in a dark room just on the other side of an altar room with a really big pentagram." I nodded at a falling star. "I doubt there would be many questions."

Silence sat between us for a while. It was getting cold. Eventually, Angelina moved closer and I put my arm around her, to help keep her warm.

"Chester?" It was Angelina. Her Aspect had faded back into the place that personas go when they rest.

"Yes?" I didn't look at her, but I could feel her face pressing against my shoulder.

"Have you ever done this before?"

"This...?"

"You know. This sort of stuff." She shuddered, and it didn't have anything to do with the cold. "This killing, this... stuff."

I thought about the best way to answer her. Tell her the truth? Lie to her? I picked the middle road, and said, "Honeychile, your friend Chester has been around a long, long time."

"How long?" she asked. "I know you're older than you tell people. You have to be."

I shrugged. What the hell. "When it comes to me, Angel, I have a lot of memories I can't explain. I've seen a lot of things that I know never happened this life time."

"Yeah," she said, "but really, how old?"

"Think Wandering Jew, Angel. About that long, I'd guess, if I had to guess." I looked up at the moon, saw it, and watched it watching me. "I don't like to think about it, much."

And I don't. If you look backward, you tend to trip over your own feet. There are those moments, though, when my life just seems ... hell with it. Life is good.

I saw another falling star and made a wish. "Say, Angel." I waited for her to answer.

"Yes, Chester?"

"Are you really pregnant?"

"Yes, Chester." she nodded. "I'm really pregnant. I'm six weeks late. A woman knows these things."

Well, that explained that. A three week embryo would certainly hardly show up on any scan I could do. I let that lie as it was for a bit.

"Say, Angel?"

"Yes, Chester?"

"Have you ever seen the Oregon Vortex?"

"Why no, Chester. I never have."

"Would you like to?"

The End

Epilogue:

I got to see the Oregon Vortex, with Angelina. Her Aspect, Demeter, never made another appearance, which is good, because my Aspect, the imminent Pan, didn't make one either. She drove back with me to Oklahoma, where she caught the next plane out of Tulsa to New York.

I got a call from her a few days ago. She and Anthony are quite happy. He's accepted the baby as his and sometime in the future they will be married. They asked me to the wedding. I explained that I hate long trips. Angelina just laughed at me. I may go. I may not. Horrible things happen to me at weddings. Sometimes wonderful things happen to me at weddings, too. And sometimes, they are the very same thing.

As for the Crones, the Coven that was being threatened by Angelina's father? Yeah, they're out there. Angelina, accepted as Demeter, one of their supreme deities, told them the whole story. She told me, during our last phone conversation, to expect one or another of them to drop in, for a consultation or two. Apparently they think I'm some kind of wizard.

I told her to tell them not to bother me. I told her I hate magic, and circle casters are morons. Again, she just laughed at me.

Who knows? Maybe I'll make a trip up to New York, drop in, see the kids, visit some Crones? It might be just the adventure I need. But not now. Not yet.

I just got back from the pub. I sat with my best friends and we drank and laughed and had a wonderful time. It was a night to remember, being surrounded by those that love me. Sherry did bend to me once and whispered to me that she had the oddest dream about me. I laughed, hugged her, and told her I missed her too.

We raised a toast, a thing that we do more often then not, just to prove to the Universe that we're still here, still alive and kickin', chicken. It was one of my favorites.
The toast goes "To Legends!"
There were many a clink, and many a smile and that was all there was. No better example of love could be found in all the world.


Life is good.

I drove home tonight, and flipped on the radio. King of the road, Sung by Roger Miller, was just ending. I'm definitely a man of means by no means, that's for sure. I wondered if James ever figured out that hint I gave him. While I was pondering that question, which I never did get around to asking Angelina about, another song came on. Dan Fogelberg, singing Scarecrows dream. "Between the world of men and make believe, I can be found." Yep. I'd have to say that pretty much sums up the real deal.

Life is, indeed, good.