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  WITNESS

  1ST EDITION

  Written by L. Darnell

  November 2010

  Published by Kindle Direct Publishing

  Copyright © 2011 by Lori Beth Darnell. All rights reserved.

  About

  Marcus' childhood ended in violence. Raging fires tore his home apart, set by men in robes who swept through the village, collecting children – special children. The Church, at one time a place of refuge, had devolved into a worldwide political organization, puritanically bent on eradicating all forms of sin in the name of their God, Adoni. Kidnapped, assaulted, bound, and hooded, Marcus and the village children sailed away toward their uncertain fate. In the midst of his capture, Marcus began having his first vision, a torturously transforming experience. For the first time, he could see what was coming and it was terrifying.

  Delivered into a religious compound, the Church began training these unique collected children to become witnesses - to extract thoughts and memories from the dead, a horrifying and deadly skill to master. The final veil of secrecy lifted, not even death could save loved ones from the cleansing wrath of the Church. Alone and having lost everything, Marcus had become a slave in a pervasive cult.

  During his first day of training Marcus meets Jill, a mute classmate and powerful psychic. As they endure years of painful and difficult witness training together, their feelings for each other grow into a desperate fight to keep each other and their love a secret. Learning of the Church's plan to once again tear apart his family, Marcus and Jill become double agents of the Church; doing the work they must, while secretly undermining the Church's influence. Their plan also attracts an unexpected collaborator - the Egyptian goddess, Isis, who speaks directly to Marcus through his visions. With the help of Isis, Marcus fights to protect his family and hold tight to the only love he has ever known and cannot live without – a love that he will willingly tear the heavens apart to keep.

  But Marcus fears the rogue goddess Isis may have her own plans.

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  EPILOGUE

  Prologue

  While I was holding her in my arms, I cried. She smiled up at me, so brave. Looking into her sea foam eyes, I understood that the gods may have forced my will, but it was she who shaped my life then, without even knowing it. Wondering about the future we could have had, at a time like this, seemed a little odd. The future really didn't exist anymore, not the way we wanted it to be.

  Thinking about what could have been only made me regret all those things I was going to miss. But death had no time for regrets. Instead, I could only focus on what brought me to this point, reliving my entire life in mere moments as my tears fell upon her sweet, angelic face. Death is supposed to be the end of the cycle. It is supposed to be the final act before reaching heaven or hell. And yet, in many ways, facing my death felt less like the end, and more like the beginning of something much greater than I could conceive of – ascension from my former life and all its torment.

  To relive your life in the same instant that you realize your own mortality is a painful experience; the urgency of the moment brings into sharp focus all of your glaring failures that could never be made up for, and all the joyous moments you will never be able to feel again. Somehow, the first memories of youth are the strongest, beating a steady, throbbing, drumbeat rhythm on old wounds that never healed, and never would.

  I can’t remember the earliest years of my life; I suppose they were too happy and normal. I was sure I had been a happy child once, cared for by my parents and my neighbors. I did not have any distinctly pleasant memories, though I did have a strange sense of inner contentment that could only have come from being truly loved. But this contentment was soon clouded over by terrible events that could not be erased or forgotten.

  For all their efforts, the nature of the human race always seemed to me to be more of a viral plague than an enriching existence for the environment surrounding them; consuming, spreading, ultimately destructive. In this way, their collective culture was a part of their downfall. The overdevelopment of the areas in the west led the flames into the valley and across the land, and the Santa Ana winds fed the fires scorching across the dried up wasteland. This seemingly normal event ignited the largest wildfire known to mankind.

  The nationwide droughts turned fields and forests to kindling, inviting the chaotic, unstoppable, burning force to plow and sow the seeds of ruin. The fire spread across the states of California, Nevada, and Texas, continuing until it had encroached into the Mississippi River.

  The heat was unbearable; the smell was worse. The choking smoke and ash covered the ground like a thick blanket of black snow. Everything was dark, burned, ruined. The skies were dark and sinister. Even the sun would not break the thick clouds of smoke and ash. People all over the west coast had long since moved north and east to escape it.

  As the cities in the east grew and tried to manage the intense overcrowding, the inevitable occurred. Stress of over-population was more than many could bear. Common sicknesses that were in the past easy to treat were now killing the young and elderly. Medicines and facilities that were needed to treat so many people were stretched beyond their limits. People forced into crowded hospitals were herded like sheep to the slaughter; if someone had to go to the hospital, there was a good chance they would never come home. In our own village, the homes were more like rough shacks that would house an entire family in one room. Only the privileged had running water in the home. Electricity was used sparingly through generators and wind power.

  We were as self-sufficient as anyone could be in that time. There was a constant presence of starvation and desperation existent in the eyes of almost every person I saw. Classes meant little; money could not improve on anyone’s situation. Money was just the pretty paper that burned easily when you were cold.

  As the wildfires on the west coast raged eastward, burning precious resources and crops along the way, our government was scared. The baron wastelands served as a warning to the globe. However, we were not given any help during our most despairing need. There would be no humanitarian aid for us – there was none to give. Devolution of our society began quickly as the state’s borders bled together, spreading misery and anguish over what had been lost.

  The people felt these unexplainable events, one after another, must be signs from God that their world was ending, sacrificing all the lives it once sustained on the flaming altar of its crust.

  It was at this time that the Church stepped in, prophesying that these times were what God spoke of in Revelations, and if the people would come back to the Church and follow their ways, their torment and suffering would finally come to an end. But, in order to appease God’s wrath, it was said we must first show God our willingness to obey his word, to follow him in our faith. And with this doctrine in hand, they began the Cleansing Fire March.

  Tall, robed figures advanced on our village with armies of people, rioting and lying waste to everything and everyone in their path. They had become powerful with the promise that they could cleanse the world of the fate that had befallen it – the searing heat, raging winds, and fire
that spread like disease and ravaged the Earth, turning everything left in its aftermath to black and ash and signaling the start of an uncontrollable worldwide spread of plague, famine, and death.

  At the beginning of the Cleansing Fire March, the flames began to subside. The people rallied at the side of God’s chosen representatives, praying harder with closed eyes to all that was happening. But the Church knew that once the world reclaimed its health and good fortune smiled on it once more, their hold on the people would slip, as it had so many times in the past. In their own fear of losing their tenuous hold, the Church conspired to use fear to retain control.

  The Church claimed their success was due to the power of God and the faith of the people, and that they had to be vigilant, ferreting out those who opposed the new order of things, or the world would risk another rash of God’s vengeance - an excuse they used to search for and acquire people for their own purposes, mainly, to assemble against their will those possessing unique gifts of power and control. My people possessed such gifts. We hid for as long as we could, but the Church found us toward the end of their crusade.

  The things we were compelled to do in the name of God were indescribable. At the time, I could not fathom that the God who created her, my glorious, amazing angel, could be the same God capable of leading his Church to such acts of terror and bloodshed. But soon, I would know beyond doubt that he was.

  Chapter 1

  My first memories of that night began with the screams.

  The bone-chilling, horrible cries of anguish seemed to be coming from every direction at once. I couldn’t see what was happening; at the time I was too young to understand what was causing terrible noise outside. My body was reacting with such force to the sound that I was unable to control my own shaking. There were moments of intense pain that would subside as suddenly as they appeared, as if my sympathy helped me share in their fate. My entire body vibrated with the tension of unwelcome change. I couldn’t speak without a constant chatter in my teeth, and waves of nausea swept over me as the waves of sound flowed past the locked and shuttered barriers of our home. I tried to hide my reaction to my fears from my parents; they had too much to worry about right now.

  But my mother knew. She looked at me, frightened, as though I was possessed or having a fit. I was right to hide my condition as much as I could - she wouldn’t be able to help me now. She was just as scared as I was, and unusually silent. The house was dark without electricity, the water in the well was tainted, and we only had a limited supply to keep us alive – it would soon dry up, and we’d have to leave this village – the only home I had ever known.

  My father walked over to me, shaking as he pulled me up from the floor. His eyes were red and swollen as if he had been crying. I tried to think of a time I had ever seen my father cry, but I couldn’t think of a single instance. This made me even more nervous that I had been moments ago, and despite my efforts, the shaking convulsed through my body once more. If my father noticed, he gave no outward sign, absorbed as he was in getting us in motion.

  "We have to go, it's time." He spoke softly as we walked toward the door. As a tight group, we walked out of the front door and down the steps of our home for the last time.

  Escape was critical to our survival. Even though my mother and father never spoke the words out loud, I was old enough to understand that it wasn’t safe here anymore. It was time for us to leave the village in search of a new hiding place, or to join in the screaming.

  My mother and father walked closely together in the shadows, keeping my head turned into my father’s chest to shield my eyes. The sounds were muffled, but I could smell the thick smoke in the air and an overpowering smell of burning incense. I wrapped my arms tighter around my father, trying to ignore the confusion and fear, which was equal to the anticipation of escape surrounding us.

  We were headed to the coastline. I could hear the rush of water thundering in my ears, and tried to turn my head toward the noise to confirm my suspicions, but my father’s grip would not let that happen. As we continued, I heard the faint echo of wood clattering under my parents’ feet. We were on the docks, miles from our home. The last time I was on these docks, I was fishing with my father. The happy memory was now a faint echo, tainted by this new experience.

  Over the thick incense scenting the shore, the pungent smell of saltwater was rising in front of us. The rushing sound of the tide coming in was growing louder as we walked on. I could not imagine why we would be going this way. On the shores of southern Texas, the only logical escape would be to head toward Mexico, but that was impossible. The borders to Mexico had been closed for years. No one dared go near their shores. There was no escape this way.

  In my distractions, I didn't realize we had stopped until I heard my father begging. This pain evident in his pleading voice was worse than the screaming. This man was not only my father, but a strong and proud leader of our village. How could he be reduced to begging? He had the respect of almost everyone I had ever met.

  “You don’t understand - I have papers! We are allowed to go with him!" My father urgently demanded to someone in the darkness. I couldn’t hear his response, but given my father’s reaction, it didn’t appear promising. With a start, understanding hit - I was being sent away. I could feel strong hands pulling me from my father’s side. I closed my eyes in concentration, gripping harder and burying my face deeper into my father's stiff work shirt. The fabric scratched at my face, and I welcomed the familiarity of it. I clung to his shirt with all the strength I had; the stranger bruised my shoulders pulling me away. I knew that I wasn’t strong enough to hold on, but I continued to fight him, not wanting to be separated from my parents. I felt the wetness on my cheeks as the angry, futile tears spilled over.

  The stranger suddenly pulled with more force than I was capable of resisting. As I was pulled away from my father, I looked up and saw my parents crying. They both dropped to their knees, pushing away from me with complete desperation. In that moment, reason failed me. I was so scared that I had done something wrong, that my parents were sending me away. My mind wouldn’t comprehend the terrifying truth; I was being saved - they were going to die.

  I struggled to get free from the iron grip of the stranger holding me, but felt as if I had no more force than a rag doll in his grasp. Over his shoulder, the wide field was aflame, burning in large stacks. I couldn’t imagine what the stacks were for, but it wasn't long before figured it out. A large man grunted as he pulled a cart up to one, heavy with its burden.

  Curiosity warred with fear. Momentarily distracted from my own situation, I saw the man go to the back of the cart and pick up a small bundle. The object moved independently from the man, shifting with each movement he made. The strangers behind me called to him in a strange language I couldn’t understand. The man holding the bundle from the cart turned slowly toward the fire, tossing the wiggly mass into the flames. He returned to his cart to grab another parcel. This one had shaken free of its burlap sack; a head appeared to be sticking out of the top, hanging limply from the opening.

  The little girl was no more than my own age of nine. The curls of her long, black hair swayed in the hot, smoky wind, her golden skin glowing against the backdrop of the fires. She had the most hauntingly beautiful, dark blue eyes, like the ocean at night. The darkness within them was almost black, yet they seemed to glow with a strange intensity. She stared right through me, intense and blank at the same time. Her head shaking side to side in silent motion swaying with each step the man took.

  A flash of recognition brought the reality of what was happening into sharp focus. I saw all of the activity in the village and understood with horrifying clarity. The screaming, the fires, the beautiful girl, and my parents crying on the ground, reaching for me and pleading for the stranger to let them come with me, were coming together in my mind. I was trying to form the question to ask the stranger, just as the little girl was thrown into the flames. She was unexpectedly silent as the flames licked at h
er amber skin, shrinking her hair into a mass the size and shape of steel wool.

  “NO!” the word escaped my mouth, the only one that I had uttered since the beginning of our journey to the shore. But the sound of my voice no longer sounded like me. It was a double echo in my mind and in the air. I felt the echo of the word reverberating through my chest, foreign and frightening at the same time. My body began to shake violently with pain, an echo of the sound as it scratched at my bones. Abruptly I screeched, scrabbling to dig the sound out of my body as it intensified and cracked within.

  Both my parents and the stranger stopped arguing with a start. My mother collapsed to the ground, sobbing. She held her hands out to me, and I reached out for her. I felt the sudden release as the stranger stepped back. My freedom was short lived as the stranger’s foot hit my back with great force and I was roughly pushed to the ground, pinioned by his large, muddy boot. Rage took root inside me. I struggled against him, but was once again thrust into amplified spasms of pain and sound.

  Images flooded my mind, visions that came on so fast I was sick with the motion of it. I could see a boat pulling into a barren shore. Near that shore waited several people, all dressed in dark clothing and speaking, but I couldn’t hear the words they were speaking. The vision ended with much the same urgency as it had come. My eyes felt as though they may burst into flames, but once the vision was over the pain moved, burning and consuming the rest of my body.

  It felt as though my skin was on fire. I glanced fervently from side to side, to see whether I had in fact been thrown into the fires, but I was still on the ground, untouched by the flames.

  I couldn’t focus on my parents, or on the stranger struggling to hold me down to the ground. The little girl filled my head with visions again. I could see everything she experienced. I could see how she, the beautiful little girl, had died, long before being tossed into the funeral pyres. The images of the Church members walking through the village mixed with the screaming I heard from the confines of our dark house confirmed the brutality of her death.