Ripping herself from the twisted claws of her dream, Deborah pulled violently at
the air with her lungs.  No breath came.   Heart pounding with the intensity of a diesel
engine being pushed beyond its limits, she sat erect in her old cot as the night’s cold air
attacked her smoldering face.  Still trying to inhale, she peered out through eyes that still
held the images of the beast which stalked her.  Deborah stared into the darkness.  No
breath came.  She knew she was alone, and although the blackness seemed to span out
past the depths of understanding, she could feel the walls of the cell creeping in on her.
She felt imprisoned.  And no breath came.  A bead of sweat -or perhaps even a tear-
streamed down the soft skin of her face and into the corner of her upturned mouth, like
that of a two year old who doesn't know what it wants, but concludes that tears will
suffice.
         Blowing out, she sent the drop of terror on her lip soaring into an oblivion.  At
this, Deborah was able to steal a breath from the chill night air.  In that horrifying
moment, panic had doomed her to the binding act of trying to inhale past the capacity of
a full lung.  An act that only captured the scattering images of the dream, pulling them
deeper into her subconscious prison.  She breathed out a second time, and the terror in
her soul went with it.
         The chill of her tiny prison gripped Deborah’s body like the icy hands of the dead.
Her eye slipped out of focused -Not now, her thoughts were a hurricane of panic, Not
ever again.  It had been nearly a year since their last occurrence, yet once again the
dreams had whittled their way into her unconsciousness.
         Like always it started with anticipation.  Anticipation because she knew, she
knew, what was going to happen, but still the dream teased her with an eternity of waiting
in the darkness of an empty abyss.  Then, somehow, she was blind-sided and it had
already begone.  They were everywhere.  All the demons she had buried so long ago all
rose from their graves to torment her once more.  She kicked and flailed, but it was as
useless as the songs of a mad man.  Even if she did break free he would still be there in
the back of her head.  One of them even spoke his name, the sound of a harpy calling her
young.  Deborah tried to shield her ears from the booming, but her arms were restrained
and she was doomed to hear the explosive echo of the word within her mind.   Hearing
him -no- feeling him laugh inside her head.  He was laughing at her.  And although her
body burned in the flames of pain, the thought of his laughter scarred her the most.
  -     *     -  
         Abigail's body rippled with a chill in the cold room, and for a moment she was as
blind as a woman in a prison cell at midnight.  Light flooded her sight, and she fluttered
her  ‘lids until she could handle it.  "Cain?" the girl called from the mattress that laid
upon the floor.  "What time is it -where are you going?"
         Cain hastily pulled a pair of blue jeans over his frozen flesh,  "Abel has been
killed," if there could have been a voice with less emotion, it would only have been by
the devil himself.
         "Abel, the Lord's Guardian?" she repeated in disbelief.
         "Yes, he was found dead on the steps of the Church a few hours ago," he told her
as he struggled with the zipper to his leather jacket.
         "Well,” her voice faltered for a moment, “Well so what!" An unprovoked rage
exploded from her lips, "He deserved to die!  What does that have to do with you?" The
idea of the Lord and his men disgusted her, she spat the words as if they were poison, and
perhaps they were.
         "The Lord has requested a service with the three congregations.  I must attend."
Abigail imagined his words as an icy mist that didn't disperse in the cold room.
         "Cain," her voiced faltered once more, "Cain, you don't have to go." Her pleading
tone surfaced just as fast as her original rage had.  He shook his head.  "The Lord works
in mysterious ways, " she continued, "he could plan to kill you -and in the name of justice
no less!"
         "Kill me?"  He repeated in an I-don't-think-so tone of voice.  "I am the head of
this branch.  When called upon, I must answer."
         "Damn it, Cain!" she screamed,  "This isn't about your little gothic gang,  He
doesn't care!  Abel, Peter, Cain, there's no difference to Him!  You're just another pawn."
But when she saw that her words meant nothing to him, her voice fell to a whisper, "How
can you trust him with your life?"
         "That's where faith steps in," he answered flatly.
         "Faith? He's a crime lord!! The only thing he cares about is money!"
         "Shut up!" he reared around as if to hit her, "All you've done is try to shake my
faith, and I'm tired of it!  From now on stay out of my affairs and stay out of my bed."  At
that, Cain slammed the door to the small apartment and literally plugged his ears to her
pleads of mercy.
  -     *     -  
         When Deborah awoke again, it was like that of a kitten coming into the world.
She slit her eyes just enough to see the light of morning, then she immediately closed
them again.  The thin framed woman slowly uncurled her body and stretched out her legs
and arms for a long moment, giving a silent drawn out yawn.  Her black hair tenderly
stretched out across her exposed flesh and shielded her from the morning light as she
hoped to drift back into the soft arms of sleep.
         When the embrace did not come, she gently opened her eyes to the world.
Surprisingly it looked as if the sun had long been up.  Deborah's lips formed a soft smile
as she extended her limbs for a second time.  Then, with the dexterity of thousands of
times of repetition, she reached under the mattress and pull out a small black book and
pen.
         For the longest time she only sat there with the book in her hands, remembering.
Sarah, a cell mate long gone, had once taught Deborah how to read and write, using only
an old poetry book which contained Dickinson, Poe, and Whitman alike.  At that time
Deborah was afraid to talk to anyone within the prison walls.  She had come close to
death in a few knife fights, simply for bearing a small red teardrop marking on the
outside corner of her left eye, a tribal symbol.  Sarah was different.  Although she was
old and decrepit after countless years of captivity, the women wielded a certain motherly
love that drew Deborah in.  Sarah was grateful for Deborah's company and told her, "God
has brought me laughter again, and everyone who hears will laugh with me." Before long
Deborah was writing poetry.  At first it was to please Sarah.  Later it was to please
herself.  After Sarah passed away, Deborah was once again alone, but her out look on life
was no longer in shambles.  Today that would pay off.
         Looking down at the small book in her hands, Deborah unconsciously smiled
again as she thought of Sarah's softly aged complexion.  Then she opened the black book
to the first page.  Even the smell of the old pages teased her senses with Sarah's sent,
something that couldn't be defined, but always reminded Deborah of what she guessed a
field of daisies would smell like on a warm spring day.  With thoughts that seemed to
dance through her mind, the young lady looked to the first page and read the words to
herself:
  -the heart's of kings are as pure as gold,     for they sit on the throne. while heroes are born in poverty    with the sins of kings to atone-  
         Sarah had written that, and although the book contained mostly Deborah's work,
she felt that poem just belonged on the first page of the tiny tome.  However, if one were
to ask why, she would not be able to shape the words to explain.  Gracefully, she flipped
through the pages until she found enough space on one of them to write.
   -little bird, i've held thee in my hands,  while thy brothers are perched in the tree,  and although to touch you reminds me of heaven,  i can not imprison thee so, so i set thee free.-  
         Deborah smiled to herself.  She felt good today, and she couldn't see how
anything would change that.  She closed her book, slipped out of bed and quickly dressed
herself.  When she tapped on the bars of her cell, she was still beaming.
         The guard greeted her with a look of disdain, but Deborah ignored it.  She was
soaring too high to be dragged down by a mere mortal on this day.  After floating through
the hallways and stairwells of the prison, Deborah breathed a deep sigh of relief.  When
she stepped on the sidewalk outside of the front gate, again she inhaled fully, this time
with the feeling of freedom running through her veins.  Then, with simple clothing and
two hundred dollars in one of her pockets, Deborah decided to take a walk.
  -     *     -  
         Cain looked down at the letter in his hands, "43:19:30," was scrawled on it by a
quick careless hand.  It is finished, he said to himself while staring through the paper,
Abigail was an intelligent and beautiful woman, but she had not considered the lack of
compassion he viewed her with.  Stupid slut, if you had only waited a little longer before
using His name in vain.  The Lord is not one you can disrespect without drawing
attention, and I can't risk everything I've worked for on the account of one bitch.  I'm not
going to risk being caught, or even suspected until it's too late.   And I'm sorry but I
couldn't let you ruin that.  Cain's ill mind was convinced he had just given Abigail a full
apology and explanation.  Only Cain, however, with his sharp features and blood red
tattoo of a tear dripping from the corner of his eye, could so simply disregard something
as eternal as death after a brief confession to himself.
         Like a true warrior of virtue, Cain let the whole situation slip from his mind so
that he may concentrate on the present.  Water under the bridge, he would have said if
not surrounded by watchful eyes.  It was ironic, almost funny, he thought.  Somehow he
was always the guy who ended up with the ones who yapped about how they didn't want
him in the presence of the Lord.  As if he would ever give up the honor of a seat on the
first pew with the other two clan leaders.  He gave a sharp smirk, and heaved a "humph,"
as he looked around.
         He was sitting in the huge gothic church commonly known as, 'The Church.'  The
ceilings were higher than the sky, and the windows gleamed with biblical pictorials.  In
front of the masses was an altar fit for the Lord Himself.  It was lit by over a thousand
slim white candles that dispersed across the front of the room and drew attention away
from the stain glass wall that stood behind them.  The colored glass that towered over the
flickering tapers showed a vivid picture of Jesus ascending into the warmth of his father's
light.  In its center, a solid oak cross was worked into the window so that it was part of it,
yet a simple beauty all its own.  At the foot of the smooth wood were rose bushes that
grew indoors by way of the extreme spacing in the stone floor tiles.
         Behind Cain were hundreds of faces all belonging to the three congregations; the
Red Tears, the Black Crosses, and the Misericord.  Cain looked to the leaders of the other
two congregations that sat on either side of him as he fingered the hilt of his short sword.
It was the longest blade the Lord allowed his people to possess, and Cain was proud of
the fact that he owned one.
         The Lord had come to them many years ago.  His angels swept the city, and in a
matter of seven days, the hell known as the inner city was cleansed of all guns.  Since
then, things had been simple.  The Lord spoke and the people obeyed, for they knew He
was their only chance at stopping the feuds.  Over all, this system kept the three clans
from killing each other.  True, there were still fights, but everyone carried knives in place
of guns, making confrontations less deadly.
 Music started to play and Cain rose to his feet with the rest of The Lord's children.
Cain was tense.  He could hardly hear the organ over the sound of his own heart.  Doubt
pulled at him, but he pushed it to the back of his mind and reminded himself to remain
focused.
         Like a god standing on water before a sea of non-believers, the Lord appeared
from behind the altar and every set of eyes in the room  dropped to the floor in
humbleness.  He floated slowly to the altar and in a deep commanding voice He asked
everyone to be seated.  In that discord moment when all of the people were falling back
into their places, a scream cut through the air.
         "My Lord!" the voice resounded off of every wall and beam in the building.  A
man leaped from the first pew, passed the steps, and to the altar in two strides.  The
people were gripped by awe as the lone figure advanced on their savior.  Only one of the
Lord's archangels sprung into motion to apprehend the man who was already stretching
out his left arm in front of the Lord's face.  Blood exploded from the man's palm, and the
Lord's white robes were splotched with tiny crimson drops of pain.
         Cain pulled the small throwing dagger out of his left hand, slipped through the
archangel’s grip, and turned to face the congregation.  Halfway down the center isle
stood Jonathan, alone and unflinching.  The man had once told Cain "Whatever you want
me to do, I'll do it for you."  You have done well, Cain commended as he returned the
blade to him with a deft flip of his wrist, I grieve for you, Jonathan my brother.  The
dagger cut the silence of the huge church in one lingering moment, as all watched the
blade sore grasfully to its target.
         Jonathan fell slowly to the ground, his hands clenching his throat.
  -     *     -  
         The sound of the panel sliding back sent chills up the spines of young and old
alike.  It was almost as if that one piece of particle board with the peeling contact paper
revealed the eyes of God himself when it sailed across its ancient track.  "Yes my child?"
the voice asked.
         "I have sinned."  she wasn't sure what kind of emotion to put in the words, so she
spoke them with an innocence that could have been mistaken for the voice of an angel.
         "Have you come for forgiveness?"  the spirit spoke.
         "I -I," she was already lost in herself, "I don't know if I can be -’forgiven’."
         "Of course you can," the voice assured her, "but only if you're truly looking for it."
         She didn't answer this.  How could she?  Deborah had never been forgiven by
anyone for anything.  What if she only thought she wanted forgiveness, when she was
really in search of something else?  "How is it that you have sinned, my child?" the voice
interrupted her train of thought.
         "Well," she held her breath between her tongue and her teeth for as long as she
could while she searched for the right words, "I was kind of in a... umm... a type of gang.
And I did a lot of...,” the young clenched the material on her thighs with tight fists and
held her eyes closed with continual pressure, “bad things."  Her mind explored farther
than her lips would allow, and she remembered the dark alley.
         "What kind of 'bad things'?" the voice sounded once again.
         "I... um... I" she stepped lightly across the broken pavement holding the lighter
fluid close to her thumping heart, "I was going to... I had some... lighter fluid."
         "And what was it for?"  for the first time the voice's tone change to concern, but
Deborah was too frightened by the sound to interpret it as such.  Instead she thought the
voice was angry with her.
         And she began to cry.  Not out loud though, she couldn't let the voice hear her, so
she bled the tears without the sound that came with them.  "I was going to... going to..."
her mind pulled her back into the dreams, "oh, I was going to burn them."  She watched
herself spray the fluid into the big  green dumpster, and then onto the old trash that lined
the alleyway.  Helplessly, she saw herself strike the match.
         "Why?  Why were you going to burn them?"
         The voice was too strong, she couldn't deny it.  "Because I -he,"  and the
anticipation grabbed her like it always did.  "Oh no.  No they're gonna get me, I can feel
them.  And, and I'm so afraid, be -because I know they're watching me,"  Deborah felt
someone from behind her punch her in the back, and she fell to her knees, still holding
the match.  "I could have stopped.  Oh, I could have stopped, but"  she watched as her
own arm refused to obey her and threw the match forward.
         Pain!  They were everywhere.  She buried her face in her arms as they hit her, and
they hit her.  And they hit her again.  Deborah was forced on to her back and she saw the
black cross that was etched into the palm as it went to cover her mouth.
         "They didn't even know what I had done," she continued, too far away to hear the
voice when it responded to her. "They were laughing."  Her breath skipped through her
throat, as she lived it again.  Deborah felt the pain when they cut her, then one of them
spoke with the only words that could have hurt her more:  "He was right, you are a sweet
little thing aren't you?" -and then she knew at that moment what was happening.
Deborah was being raped.  She tried to kick and flail, but they had hurt her too much and
she couldn't get her body to listen to her mind.
         Again the voice spoke, and again it went unheard as the little girl in the window
of the burning building began to scream.  Deborah's attackers looked up to see the entire
side of the structure engulfed in flames.  "She was just a baby" Deborah cried, "I didn't
know, I didn't -"
         "Why!?" the voice suddenly broke through the layers of the nightmare, "Why did
you burn her?"
         She smooshed her wet face around in her hands, "Because he asked me to."
         "He who?," the voice attacked her.  Deborah only cried though.  She was ashamed
and infuriated that he could get her to burn down an apartment building and then have
her raped, probably with the intent of killing her.  Deborah knew she had been used, and
that there was no hiding that from the voice, so she cried aloud.  "Did he do anything to
you?" the voice hit her again, "What about your parents?  Where are your parents?"
         No! her mind screamed in agony, not that! I can't bear to go through that too!
She clutched her temples and rocked slowly back and forth.  If she knew a song she
would have began singing it to herself to fight the evil voice.  Unfortunately, she had
never been taught such a thing on the streets, so she called on  the only thing she knew,
her poetry.
         "Where is your mother, child?"
         "a Mother through the eyes of the innocent is God."
         "In God's name child, tell me."
         "and God's name spoken in the heat of Passion is a Sin."
         "I only want to save you from sin."
         "so Sin i shall with a Passion that burns in my soul,"
         "You do not need to feel His wrath."
         "and of God i fear not, for i am an orphan and have no Mother."
  -     *     -  
         "I owe you my life Cain," the man soaked up The Lord's words as if they were the
Blood of Christ.  "So I offer you my gratitude one final time."  He paused.  "I'd be at great
ease if you would consider becoming my personal guardian angel."
         "But that was Abel's place my Lord.  How could I compare?" Cain fed it right
back to him.
         "Abel is dead." The Lord spoke softly,  "and what's worse, his pistol was stolen."
         "Pistol?" Cain interrupted with a wide eyed gaze.
         "Yes, yes a single-shot pistol.  All of my angels have them," The Lord began to
sound irritated.
         "Then we must find it before someone gets killed,"  Cain spoke in would-be
fright.
         "You idiot," The Lord spat, "This isn't about saving lives?  It's about power,” He
said as He raised a tightened fist.
         "Power?" Cain managed a sympathetic echoed.
         "Yes, power."
         "I -I don't understand." Cain pretended to stutter.
         "You're not supposed to," He growled.  "You're as blind as the rest of them."
Then He pointed to the short sword at Cain's side, "Where did you get that blade?" He
commanded.
         "I bought it from one of your angels," the man mumbled.
         "You bought it from an angel," He repeated. "Where do you think that money
goes?"  He paused only long enough to take a breath, "To me, and do you know what?
After you and all your little followers buy up all the short swords at five hundred a piece,
then maybe I'll start selling you long swords for six hundred, and then comes the broad
sword, and possibly a bow.”
         “But my Lord, the clans make a humble donation every Sunday.  If you are in
need...”
         “Baah,” was His reply, “What it comes down to is control.  I am God here!  And
if I don't have the pistols then I don't have control, and if I don't have control, then I lose
power, and if I don't have power, then I don't get money, and if I don't have my money, I
will make life for all of you a complete hell on earth."  His rage had carried Him thus far,
but His needs brought Him back to reality.  "Now," He said calmly, "are you going to be a
lord or a lamb?"
         The Lord held his hand out to Cain, and the man looked down at the plain pearl
handle of the legendary pistol.  How ironic, Cain thought to himself, and I was worrying
about getting one.  So with a look of complete innocence on his face, and the spirit of the
devil himself lingering in his soul, Cain also extended his hand.
  -     *     -  
         Deborah burst through the doors of the church and stormed down the stone steps.
She rounded the corner and ran into the closest alley.  Panting and crying all the same,
Deborah curled up with her back against the wall.  All I wanted was a way to ease the
pain,  she thought with her face in her hands, I just wanted a way out, an escape from the
pain.  She cried for a long moment while she collected her thoughts, repeating, why did I
even try, over and over again in her mind.
         "Come on!  We want it all!"
         Deborah's body jumped in such a spasm that she fell on to her side.  "Come on!  I
said now!"  the voice rang again from down the alley, sending Deborah to her feet and
into motion.  "Now, damn it!"  She grabbed a splintered board from an over flowing
dumpster, and headed for the evil voice.  If she had gained anything from her miserable
life it was the ability to act when most would cower in a shadow.  It was her only escape,
her only chance at striking back at her ghosts.  It kept her alive this long, hadn’t it?
         When Deborah rounded the corner she saw two men attacking a third who was
laying on his back, and in that moment, she was him.  Nolonger was there a moaning
bum being convicted for nothing more than surviving, it was her.  It was her being raped
of her ignorance.
         Without hesitating, Deborah brought the old board down on one of the attacker’s
heads.  It shattered.  The man, more afraid than hurt, stumbled away as fast as his failing
limbs would take him.  The other needed no encouragement, he ran off faster than the
other could go.
         Deborah stood there for a moment and watched them go.  She was really
surprised with what happened, prison had taught her how to fight, but these two were just
plain funny.  When they were gone she turned to help up the fallen man.  Blue!
         His face is Blue!  She dropped to her knees and looked right into his wide eyes.
He's blue!  The man clawed at his throat with his hands and she instinctively pulled them
away only to find that a shoe lace had been tied around his throat.  She pulled on one of
the loose ends, but it only tightened the knot on the man's wind pipe.  His mouth was
opened in a silent scream and his eyes were pushing out of his skull.  Deborah tugged on
the knot with her nails.  Nothing.  She leaned down and used her teeth on the lace, but it
didn't help.  The man began to shake wildly in her arms and she tried again.  His chin
pushed into her closed eye as she worked the knot with her teeth.
         He fell limp in her arms, just as the knot budged.  She backed away and looked
into the dead man's open eyes as she finished the knot with her fingers.  And it was done.
Deborah sat there for a moment and looked at the man and the red line of flesh on his
throat.  "No," she whispered.
         She put both hands on his chest and shook him once.  Nothing.  "No!" she
screamed at him.  Deborah grabbed the man's nose with her fingers, she had never
learned any kind of CPR, but she'd seen it done on prisoners, so she pressed her mouth
against his and blew as hard as she could.  Deborah broke the seal long enough to breathe
in, then blew in again.  She closed her eyes and blew again, and again, and he coughed.
She turned her head and spit out his saliva, and they coughed together.
         "You all right?" she gasped.
         "Yeah." he hacked out, "you?"
         "I'm okay."  They both choked some more and slowly caught their breath.  "What
did they want?"
         "Money," he said.
         "Money?  They tied a shoe lace around your neck over some money?"
         "Yeah," he breathed, "I'm surprised.  They were Misericord, normally it would
have been a blade cutting into my throat."
         "Did they get much?" she asked.
         "Two dollars,"  he had pulled himself over to the wall and propped his back up
against it.
         "Not too bad," she mumbled as she followed suit.
         He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, "It was all I had."
  -     *     -  
         Deborah fiddled with the lighter that was in the pocket of what had been Lazarus's
coat.  After he finished thanking her over and over again, she offered him her money.  Of
course he being a man who'd never been given anything, he denied it,  and she insisted.
So she ended up buying a two hundred dollar frayed trench coat off of him before she
was able to go on her way.  The coat was soiled and torn, but it was soft, and had pockets
so she had somewhere to put her book and her hands.  Plus the rusted zippo lighter that
she found in the coat was nice to fiddle with.
         After walking for a few hours, Deborah found herself looking down from the
cliffs that overlooked the Styx river that separated the Lord's city from the rest of the
world.  I thought it would be different, she confessed to herself as she peered across the
water and into the gloomy city on the other side.  How could I let myself be fooled so?
My past still haunts me after so long, and the Misericord still roam the streets, so
likewise the Red Tears and the Black Crosses probably still do too.  And the Lord is most
likely still in control as well, she looked to the city as she said this to herself, then she
looked to the sky, and how can God forgive me for what I've done?  I can't even forgive
myself.
         Things really haven't changed.  Deborah pulled her book from the old coat and
flipped through the marked and tattered pages.  The whole time she was in prison she had
managed to convince herself that things would be different when she got out.  In a way
everything was different, but at the same time, nothing had changed.  Reluctantly,
Deborah read a random passage of her work.
 
            Dreams
 
hope?:
 
O’ how i wish to be a Dreamer,
     one who visits in the Night.
Lords of another World, 
     another Love, another Time. 
Our hearts are Full,  
     no Emptiness exists in our Souls.
 
Our courage is that of a Hero,
    and we need not hide in Fright.
Our lives are always Perfect,
    and our words always rhyme
i was once a Dreamer,
    but now Emptiness fills my Soul.
 
         Hope.  That's what the book was, hope.  She had spent so long dreaming that she
couldn't tell the difference between fantasy and reality.  "These dreams are getting me
nowhere," she announced aloud as she eyed the book.  Dreaming had gotten her
nowhere.
         Deborah let the pages slip through her fingers until a single blank page was
looking back at her.  After only a flicker of a thought she recognized it.  Title page, she
bluntly announced in her mind. She closed the book and looked at the dark cover.  It was
also blank.  For a moment her poetic instincts surfaced and Deborah compared the book
to her life.  It was just like the tome.  Every page in her life was full of lessons, regrets
and dreams, but still it did not have a title.  No focal point that brought all of her
experiences and dreams into view.  It was like the whole thing was nothing but wasted
effort without something to bring it together into one light.  It's worthless, her mind wept,
worthless without a name.  For a moment she felt the need to name the book right there
and then, but the longer she thought on it, the more she realized that as long as her life
didn't have a reason, the book wouldn't have reason.  Deborah looked from the book to
the city and back again, then with the stealth of sleepy cat, she reached into her pocket
and pulled out the lighter.  For the first time she noticed something engraved on its side.
She pushed the grime away with a smudge of her hand and revealed the trinket's shiny
finish.  "In His Mercy," it read.
         Worthless, she wepted, Everything I am is worthless! Deborah was looking from
the tiny flame to the book and back again.   "Dreaming has got me nowhere."  She spoke
aloud, then she held the untitled story of her life up in front of her by its blank cover and
set it on fire.
         As she watched the pages disappear in the hungry mouth of the flames, Sarah's
words stared back at her.  "While heroes are born in poverty, with the sins of kings to
atone."  Deborah dissected the words in her head as they slowly withered away into ash,
trying to find some hidden meaning, but there was none.  Sarah had meant just what she
said.
         Her mind was lost in confusion.  Deborah dropped the book before it could burn
her hand, and stood there on the cliff side, peering into the water.  She gave the tome a
kick and watched as it fell to the mercy of the waves below.  Yet through the storms in
her head, she looked out at the city that was once her home, and one thought surfaced.  It
wasn't revenge, and it wasn't forgiveness, or even sorrow, it was a feeling of nostalgia.
Some how she felt compelled to go back.  Not to her old way of life, but back to where
she was betrayed, almost as if doing so would give her answers.
         Answers.  That was what she wanted, answers to her hazy questions, or maybe
just clearer questions.  Either way she had to go back.  Her body urged her forward, and
with the grace of an angel, Deborah dove off the cliff.  As she glided through the soft air,
again she thought of Sarah's words.  "the sins of kings to atone."
  -     *     -  
         A thousand voices echoed off the stone walls of the hellish city.  All of them
screaming in unison for their leader's victory, the man who stood in the center of the of
the festival holding his hands out for all to see.
         Abihu didn't join in with the discord sound.  He didn't feel very much like yelling
and screaming like the rest of the congregation.  So what, he whined in his head, So what
if they have some guns.  It's not going to change anything.  Me and Nadab are still going
to be on top.  I ain't even worried.  It didn't take much for Abihu to convince himself of
anything.  Both he and his brother Nadab weren't the most intelligent people among the
Red Tears, especially when it came to grasping the gravity of a situation.  As far as
Abihu's mind was concerned, they had guns and he didn't.  So with a little convincing, he
was smiling again, because he and Nadab had always been on the top of Cain's list, and
this wouldn't change that.
         Cain motioned for the noise to quiet, and it did.  "My children," he spoke, "now
that these ten men have been embraced by the arms of The Lord, justice will be met."
They met him with a roar, and he held his palms out again as if it helped him absorb their
praise.  Again he waved his hands for silence.  "Abel was a brother to me, and I know he
was a brother to all of you as well.  And that is why the Black Crosses and the Misericord
will not go unpunished!  These men will teach them of the Lord's fury by atoning death
with death!"  Again the masses sounded with approval, and the ten men were sent out
into the streets with guns and torches that burned in the name of The Lord.  His grace
powering them, pushed them and gave them justification, and as they moved into the
territory of the Black Crosses and the Misericord, that was what they were seeking,
justice.
  -     *     -  
         "Mommy?"
         "Yes Grace," the women with the dusty face whispered gently as she lowered the
child into the dumpster.
         "Where's daddy?"
         "I'm sorry honey, he's not here right now " she said as she handed the child a
bottle of water.
         "When are you coming back mommy?" the child's bottom lip was pushed out.
         "I'm sorry about this Grace, do you understand that?"  The child only looked at her
with her bottom lip showing. "I'm sorry sweetheart, but we'll be together again real soon,
don't worry"  With that, the woman disappeared and the child was left crying in the damp
steel prison.
         That night there was a storm.  It started off as a light drizzle, but within minutes it
was raging.  The little girl could do nothing.  So she curled up in the corner and
continued to cry until she fell asleep.
 
     i wait in Darkness
     for the Sun to rise   
     but the Night grows long  
     and i can't live on lies
 
    for the Sun has set
    and the Dawn may never come
    but how -oh how
    can i move on
 
         Deborah shivered slightly under her damp clothing and opened her eyes.  The day
was growing older, and the sun had just passed overhead, but the light warmed her face
as she stared up into the heavens.  She didn't look at the sun, but more around it, or quite
possibly even through it.  Either way she was remembering her mother's face the last time
she saw her.  Her dark brown hair dangled passed her shoulders and had not been washed
in weeks.  Her eyes were blue, nothing extravagant, just blue.  Her face was as soiled as
her hands, but to touch it would be like caressing an angel to Deborah.
         She wasn't sure whether she were angry or content when it came to her mother,
but she didn't like to think about it much.  She'd been through enough suffering already
without having to relive that every day.  Yet still, every once in a while, she'd recall the
experience and wonder.  Not why her mother left her, or where her father was.  Deborah
wondered what she was like.  Did her cheeks pinch with dimples when she smiled?  Was
there more to her soul than plain blue eyes.  Did she have a name to call her by, or
perhaps find her with.
         Deborah blinked the tears away from her eyes.  I cry too much, she thourght as
they worked their way down her face.  They were the kind of tears that didn't come
because of sadness, or anger, or joy.  They were just tears, so Deborah let them go.  She
pulled herself up to a sitting position in the empty dumpster, and stared at the brown
walls for a moment, again thinking of the past.
         A rat on the other side of the dumpster squeaked in its endless search for a way
out.  In Deborah's eyes, it was a saddening sight, so she caught it in her coat and shook it
out once she was out of the steel prison.  It scurried off squeaking with delight and
disappeared into the tiny labyrinth that the cracks in the walls made up.
         Deborah wandered around looking for something she could take hold of.  The
streets were old, but familiar and they held her hand through it all.  Then she came upon
a structure that somehow seemed to have pulled her toward it.  The windows were
boarded along with the door, but when she looked in, she saw all the books that made up
the library still on their shelves.  Curiously, she pulled off one of the rotted boards and
crawled in.
         The place was as old on the inside as it was on the outside.  Yet everything was
neatly placed and attractive to the eye, despite the ages of dust and cobwebs.  Deborah
wandered around, overwhelmed by the sight of so many books.  She lightly ran her
fingers down the spines of a dozen or so as she walked by, not ready to choose just one.
She looked around at the many shelves as she found herself ascending the circular
staircase to the second floor.
         The beams of light shone in through the windows like shafts from a bow and lit
this floor much better than the first. Deborah was pulled to a small clearing where she
approached a large tome that sat on a podium, reflecting the sun's light.  Almost by some
magic, the great book didn't have any dust on it.  Unconsciously she read a passage at
random. "If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge,
and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing."  Deborah
repeated the words in her mind and thought on them.  She had never known love.  At one
point she thought she had, but all that had changed when she was curled up in a prison
cell wondering why he had betrayed her.  That was when she realized she had been used.
         Deborah gripped a good amount of pages in her left hand and flipped through the
pages backward until a page caught her eye.  "When he looked and saw the traveler in the
city square, the old man asked, 'Where are you going, and where have you been?"  This
held her mind at bay much longer than the first passage, for she couldn't answer.  She
knew not where she was going, and her past was a confusing tale in itself.  Yet the
question itself fascinated her.  She had never stopped and asked herself such simple
questions that held complex meanings.
         And so it was like this that she spent the rest of the afternoon.  Reading,
remembering, pondering -she couldn't help herself, and before she knew it she was
reading pages at a time with no effort at all while the sun was setting outside.  She didn't
care though, she was too absorbed in what she was doing to notice the passing of time.
         Then, like a gun shot ringing out through the streets of a dark city, she sprang into
motion for the stairs leading upward.  She leaped up the grated steps and headed for the
roof, leaving the book behind, open to the pages that were marked "Judges."
  -     *     -  
         Barak looked down at the blood on his hands.  It wasn't his, but still it burned to
the touch.  He watched as the crimson heat ran down from his fingers and over his palms,
hiding the dark X's that had been tattooed on his hands behind the red hate.  Barak
dropped his hands to his side and looked to the dead bodies in front of him as he
unconsciously wiped the blood off on his pants.
         There, on the cold cracked street, lay two men.  Their bodies lay in odd positions,
as if they were in a deep sleep, and couldn't find a relaxing way to rest.  Barak's gaze fell
to his smooth steel daggers, each protruding out of the neck of one of the men, he looked
at the red teardrop tattoo that forever hung from the left eye of each man, and he looked
at the blood that had exploded out of their mouths and covered their lower faces.
         And then Barak staggered over to the wall and vomited.
         These two had been his first, and he wasn't sure he should be proud for saving his
family with his throws, or ashamed for taking two lives.  A crowd was already gathered
around the dead.  Most of them had probably heard the gun shots, and followed the
sound, not knowing what it was.  Barak eyed one of the pistols that had fallen to the
ground.  He had never seen one in all his life, and like all the other eyes that stood over
the red men, he was afraid.  Afraid the gun would spring to life again and start killing
those that stood around in a circle as it had killed only moments before.
         "The Red Tears have forbidden arms," he spoke.  "They have stolen what The
Lord has denied, and like Eve and the apple, we shall be forsaken for it."  With the fear
that he and all who bore the Black Cross were doomed anyway because of the greed of
the Red Tears, he reached down toward one of the guns.
         "Let it be!"  a voice commanded, making everyone jump, and Barak fall over
backwards.  "You must not curse yourselves so," spoke the voice a second time.  All eyes
looked to the sky to see where the voice was coming from.  "If you touch that weapon
now, without knowing the truth, you will all die fighting for the devil."
         Barak looked up at the figure standing on the ledge of the old gothic library.
"What do you mean?" he shouted to her, "I don't understand."
         The black figure looked down at him and spoke again.  "Look at these men, they
are of the Red Tears, not the Black Crosses.  If it were at all possible for someone to steal
weapons from the Lord, then they would have been a 'Cross, not one of the simple
minded 'Tears.  No, these guns were not stolen, they were given.  The Lord has betrayed
us all by giving such weapons to another clan."
         "But what do we do?" Barak asked the wise sage.
         "Now that you know the truth, pick it up and spread the news.  The Lord has been
corrupted, and we must stop Him before the demons in His soul destroy us all."
         Barak heard the powerful words echo in his ears, his heart, and his soul.  But He
is our Lord and savior! How could this be!  He looked back to the prophetess and said to
her, "If you go with me, I will go; but if you don't go with me, I will not go."
         "Very well," Deborah said, "I will go with you.  But because of the way you are
going about this, the honor will not be yours, for the day will be handed over to a
woman."  Yet Barak would not move without her.  So she told him, "Gather as many men
as you can, and I will meet you outside of the Church," then she was gone, and in the
dark of the setting sun, he extended his hand and grasped hold of the Lord's gift.
         Delusioned minds are always the first to fight for what they believe in, Deborah
recalled as she disappeared into the setting of the sun, Amen.
  -     *     -  
         Abihu and Nadab followed Cain's confident footsteps down the center isle of the
empty gothic church.  Abihu smiled to himself and thought about how he was right,
because he and Nadab were still at the top of Cain's list, gun or no gun.  Cain himself, he
walked with his head down and his lips in a permanent smirk, but what would strike
terror in the heart of the hungriest of timber wolfs was Cain's eyes.  The green orbs
peered through anything they gazed upon, as if they could kill with the ease of a glance at
Medusa.
         "Get to work," Cain told the two with all the emotion of a pine box.  Immediately
Abihu pulled out a hammer that ended in a long spike.  He used it to cut a clean hole in
one of many containers of gasoline they had with them.  Then he broke open another, and
the two began to pour the gas on the tapestries, the windows, the floral arrangements, and
the pews.  Nadab worked his way to the back, while Abihu moved to the front.  They
tossed the empty containers aside as they went, and before long the floor was covered
with a layer of gasoline, and on the altar Abihu stacked gas cans and covered them with
the thin liquid.  He also poured the gas on the church's supply of liquor and moved on.
  -     *     -  
         Cain pushed open the door, and looked disgustingly at the man in the robes.  He
was looking out the windows at the city with his hands behind his back.  "Yes?"  He
answered the creak of the door without turning around.
         Cain smiled, at the man.  Slowly, and with much satisfaction, Cain raised his right
hand to the 'Lord'.  Then drew his thumb back on the hammer with a “chinck” of the
pistol’s cocking mechanism.
         The robed man smiled behind his hood. And turned slowly around, with his hands
still folded behind his back.  And the Lord said, "What have you done?"  Cain said
nothing.  "Abel's blood cries out to me from the ground while you do nothing."  Again,
Cain did not speak.  "If you have nothing to say then leave this land."  Still, silence.
"From this day forth you are to be a restless wanderer on the earth."  The Lord’s face was
flush with anger, “do you here me?  You are banished from this place.  Be gone!”
         Cain nearly laughed at the 'Lord's' arrogant speech.  He, however, was in no mood
to play games, "I want the money."
         "Greed is the down fall of kings."
         "As you are about to learn.  Now, where is the money?" he commanded.
         "Oh, I don't think you'll shoot me." The Lord arrogantly spoke while Cain
continued to smile.  "You poor miss-led soul, I never gave you any bullets.  What do you
take me for, a fool?"
         "In his last moments, Abel called out for the Lord."
         "Abel?" The robed man questioned.
         "He said, 'help me Lord, join with me and give me strength.'  Then I ripped his
jaw off with a swing from my sword, and killed him."
         "Murderer."
         At that, Cain squeezed the trigger of the flint-lock pistol that had a gardian angel
etched into its pearl handle, while outside, the streets filled with the anger of the
surrounding congregations.
  -     *     -  
         The man was knocked completely off his feet by the blow, and as he stumbled to
the ground, he yelled out in pain.  She had tried to hit him in a quiet way, but nothing
seemed to be going right today.  At least she was able to jump successfully out of the
confession booth and cease the weapon of surprise.  Deborah smashed the heavy Bible's
spine down on Abihu once more in satisfaction.  She had been reading it in the booth
where she could not be bothered, once again caught off guard of the tome’s alluring
mysteries.
         "Abihu!" Nadab rang out from across the room.  Deborah turned around in time to
shield her face from a spiked hammer.  The smooth sharp end cut through her hand like a
spear, but she screamed as if it were a spoon.  Looking down, she saw the pick resting in
the palm of her left hand with the spike poking out of the back.  Then she looked up at
the man who threw it.  He was still halfway across the room when she heard Abihu
getting up behind her.
         With white furry burning in her eyes, she ripped the pick from her palm and
turned to face Abihu.  She ducked in time to have the Bible swish over her head, and
while he was still over swung, Deborah drove the spike into the man's throat.
         Again she ripped the spike from flesh and turned to face her next foe, only this
time she was not at all lucky.  The huge man swung one of the many liquor bottles from
behind the altar at her, shattering it over her head.  As she went down in a misty haze, she
slammed the spike into his heart in an effort to hold herself up.  So together they fell to
the soaked floor.
         Deborah, laid there for a long moment, wondering if she were dead, but the pain
in her hand reminded her of her miserable life.  She pulled the spike from the dead man's
heart, and leaned back on her knees.  The pain from her hand shot up her arm, and she
thrust it into her pocket as if that would soothe the burn.  When it didn't, she struggled in
a hazy world of bobbing images, to take the coat off.
         She slowly pulled herself up to her feet with the pick in hand.  Seemingly out of
nowhere two men walked in, one with a bleeding shoulder, and the other with a single-
shot pistol.  Deborah could not make out their faces through her blurred vision, but she
saw the two blobs moving.  Then the one with the gun commanded, "Where is it!" and
Deborah's heart nearly stopped as she suddenly saw the man without using her eyes.
         "Hello Cain," she said.
         For the first time Cain took his attention off of the 'Lord' and gave it to the world
around him.  On the floor were his men, laying in pools of blood, and standing at the altar
"-Deborah."
         "He said with the only fear he'd ever known suddenly clutching at his heart."
         "But where did you come from?  You're dead.  I had you killed years ago!"
         "Some of us refuse to die until we have first had a chance to live."
         "Refuse this." Cain pointed the gun at the women.  Immediately the 'Lord'
knocked it from Cain's hand, sending it hurling through the air and into the stained glass
wall behind the altar, shattering it.  As the glass fell Cain smashed the 'Lord' in the jaw,
sending him to the floor.
         When the colors finished their descent, only the cross remained standing in a sea
of flowers behind the altar -only the cross and Deborah.  Cain approached her with rage
burning in his soul,  and as he moved toward her, their eyes looked into one another's like
Satan trying to stare down God. Then Deborah swung with the fury of years of
imprisoned hate for his betrayal.
         Deborah missed.
         Cain was already on her, sealing her fate.  He clenched her neck and slammed her
up against the cross.  Ripping the spike from her hand, he hammered it through her left
wrist, and bound it to the cross.  Then he pulled out his dagger and held it up for her
blind eyes to see.  "Do you see this?" he asked "Do you know what this is?"  She did not
answer.  "It's a misericord.  Do you know what that means?"  Still she did not speak.
"This is the dagger of mercy, they were used on knights that were left dying on the battle
field because it was the only thing that could fit through the slits in the armor."  As he
said this he pushed it through her ribcage, puncturing her left lung.  Then he pushed her
right hand against the cross and plunged the dagger through her wrist.
         Through it all she did not scream or flinch, she only accepted the torture.
         With that, Cain stepped back from the cross and spit on her, and called her 'bitch.'
Then he turned to leave.
         Outside, the congregations that surrounded the church yelled out in rage.  They
called The Lord's name and they called Satan's just the same, and Cain found himself
thinking about the fire that he'd set once he was far enough away from the place, so that
when the flames came, it would consumed them, and they would died with their ‘Lord’.
         Deborah closed her eyes and looked to the heavens.  Somehow, of all the things
she knew and all the things she had learned, her mother was the only thing she could
think of.  Her last words lingered in Deborah's thoughts, I'm sorry about this Grace, do
you understand? she had said to her. I'm sorry sweetheart, but we'll be together again
real soon, don't worry.  For the first time in her life, Deborah understood her mothers
words, and with tears flowing down from her eyes, she smiled and thought to herself, I
forgive you.  Deborah felt her soul rising from her body as if she were suddenly lighter
than air, but she fought it.  She wasn't finished yet.  Struggling with her left hand, she
produced a silvery lighter.  As she flipped the lid up, she spoke aloud to Cain as clear as
an angel "And the meek shall inherit a hell on earth."  He paused long enough to look at
her, something she couldn't see from behind her closed lids.
         "What have you done?" she commanded as blood from the glass shards where she
had been crowned by the wine bottle, seeped into her eyes, "Listen!  Your brothers' blood
cries out to me from the ground.  I now place you under a curse and you are exiled from
the land, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand.  You
will be a restless wanderer on this earth forever!"
         Cain's eyes became large with fear as she struck the lighter, causing the tiny flame
to danced in her hand as she spoke His final words.
         "It is finished."
    -     *     -   References   Genesis 4:10-12, 17:15,  21:6 Leviticus 10:1-3 Judges 4:4,  4:8-10,  19:17 1 Samuel 20:4,  25:3 2 Samuel 1:26 John 11:1-44,  19:30 1 Corinthians 13:2