Vestige: Vestige, #1

All of the Bible passages used in this book were taken from King James Version of The Holy Bible.

Chapter One

JON SAW BRIGHTNESS behind his closed eyelids. The sun was up, and he needed to get going. But after a long night of constant shivering, his muscles ached, and he found it difficult to move. His makeshift cardboard bed had offered him little comfort atop the cold cement, and his blanket had been too threadbare to keep him warm. The balmy summer evenings were turning frosty. Before another sundown, they would need to find a warmer place to sleep.

With some effort, Jon rolled over and ran his hand across the ground beside him. Feeling only empty space, the old-looking young man opened his eyes, sprang to his feet, and scanned his enclosure. Huh, where was Bob? Jon slipped out from the nook between the two buildings and into the alley. He turned his head left and then right. But his companion was nowhere to be found.

Bob? Here, boy. Where’d you go? As he waited for his dog to appear, Jon wrung his hands. Where had his best friend gone?

The brown pit bull mix had been with Jon for many years—ever since that night Jon found him lying next to the train tracks with blood pooled around the place where his tail used to be. Even though Jon didn’t like animals much, he did his best to nurse the wounded creature back to health. Once Bob was on his feet, he followed his caretaker everywhere. Jon grew to love the fleabag. They made a great team.

Jon put his head down and walked in a tight circle. Bob had never run away before today. Never, never, never... Something terrible must have happened to him. Terrible, terrible, terrible... He needed to find his dog, but would the voices allow it?

They were already squawking, insisting he get to work. According to the voices, he had no time to look for his dog, no time at all. As their shouting intensified, Jon struggled to understand their instructions. They were loud and rude, constantly interrupting one another.

Warn them—

It’s time—

The end—

He ran his fingers through his lice-infested hair and yanked at the tangled mess. Get out of my head!

They shouted names at him, so many names. Save my husband, Jack—

Warn, June, my wife—

Tears welled in Jon’s eyes. Be quiet. I need to find Bob first. What did these people want from him? But he knew they wouldn’t stop until he did as he was told. So he dried his eyes, retrieved the sign from his nook, and headed up the alley toward LaGrange Road. The entire time, he kept a lookout for his best friend.

Even though it was early, the street was already jammed with cars and people. The noise from all the traffic mixed with the voices in Jon’s head to create a deafening hum that reverberated in his brain. He covered one of his ears with his free hand and continued to walk. He passed Starbucks and Palmer’s Place and then crossed the train tracks before finally stopping at the corner in front of the gas station.

The voices liked this spot. They usually wanted Jon to preach here because so many would receive the message. After all, the whole neighborhood seemed to walk through this intersection—commuters hurrying to the train station, parents walking their young kids to school, and teenagers traveling in their packs.

Jon held the sign up to his chest as a man, surrounded by a white light, approached him.

Good morning, Jon. Bob sleeping in? Have you had your coffee yet? The man slipped Jon a couple of bucks. Say hi to Bob for me and have a great day.

Thanks. Jon tried to smile as he took the money.

For as long as Jon could remember, he could see a halo of light around everyone he encountered. And lately he was convinced Bob could see it too. As a child, Jon didn’t understand why he saw these auras. And the variations in the colors of light only added to his confusion. But once he figured out that the radiated shade revealed the purity of a person’s soul, he knew this ability was a gift, maybe even a blessing.

Jon always liked the people with the white lights. Bob liked them too. These people were kind, often giving him money or food. They would greet Jon with a smile and pat Bob on the head. Very few adults gave off a white aura, but all the young children had one. Bob had one too.

Jon didn’t mind the people with the colored lights. For the most part, they kept to themselves. Every now and then, one might glance at him and Bob, but—more often than not—they would hurry past with their eyes fixed on some imaginary point in the distance.

Jon and Bob feared the people with dark and murky lights. Jon could not only see the gloom surrounding them, but he could also feel it. Without a doubt, every single one of the dark lighters was mean, angry, and lost. Frequently, they seemed to go out of their way to make Jon’s life more difficult. Sometimes they ridiculed him or stole from him. Other times, they hurt him by throwing garbage at him, tripping him, or kicking him. He tried to avoid the people with the wicked auras. He didn’t even like to look at them.

Each morning a group of teenagers, dressed in black leather and ripped denim, walked through the intersection. The group included three boys and two girls. One of the girls had pink hair; the other had jet-black hair. Two of the boys were tall and thin; the other was short and stocky.

One of the tall boys had a snake tattoo. On a warm day, Jon could see the body of the snake slithering down the boy’s arm from under his T-shirt sleeve. The snake’s head covered the back of the boy’s left hand. The serpent’s forked tongue extended out from its mouth and down the boy’s middle finger.

A black aura surrounded each of these teens except for the tall, blond boy without the tattoo. Instead, a golden halo of light shimmered around him. Jon had never seen anyone with a golden hue before, so he had assumed this boy was bad just like the other teens were.

Whenever those teenagers passed through Jon’s intersection, Bob would growl at them, and if they came too close, the pit-bull would bark and snarl. As a result, the teens kept their distance. Now that Bob was missing, Jon worried they might cause trouble for him. He dropped the sign down to his side and shuffled around in a tight circle. He wanted to go back to the alley and wait for his friend. I have to go, go, go...

No! You can’t leave, the voices yelled. What are you waiting for? You’re almost out of time. Preach!

Okay, okay. Jon balled his hand into a fist and punched the side of his head. With that, all the voices melded into one perfect voice. Jon lifted his sign again and repeated their words aloud. "Fear God and give glory to him; for the hour of his Judgment is come: and worship him that made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and the fountains of waters.

Little children, it is the last time: and as ye have heard that antichrist shall come, even now are there many antichrists; whereby we know that this is the last time.

As Jon’s voice boomed over the sound of the traffic, some passersby stared while others crossed to the opposite side of the street. Nevertheless, he carried on until the bad teenagers arrived. When the teens saw Jon, they pointed at him and laughed. Jon’s stomach twisted into a knot. He tried not to react as they advanced toward him, but with each step, his urge to run grew.

You must continue, the voices insisted. There isn’t much time.

The group of teenagers encircled Jon.

What does this say? The boy with the snake tattoo jerked the sign out from Jon’s hands.

Jon closed his eyes and continued to recite his lines. Fear God and give glory to Him—

The shorter boy with the green hair laughed.

Snake Boy joined Jon and read the sign along with him. The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel.

Then, Jon stopped and looked at the ground.

Come on. Why'd ya stop? Snake Boy rolled his eyes and tossed the sign into the oncoming traffic.

The voices in Jon’s head grew unbearably loud, but Jon couldn’t continue. Snake Boy’s darkness consumed the empty spaces inside Jon. A heaviness filled his chest; he couldn’t breathe. He was drowning in Snake Boy’s despair. He needed help, or he would surely suffocate.

Jon looked at the boy with the golden light and found some relief. Golden Boy wasn’t as scary as Snake Boy or the others for that matter. Sure, he looked angry—never a smile—but he also had a glimmer of something, something good. His gray eyes flashed something...hopeful. But as soon as Golden Boy noticed him staring, Jon cast his eyes down.

Snake Boy flicked his lit cigarette toward Jon, hitting him in the chest. So, you think it’s the end of the world, huh? He reached into his pocket and pulled out several wadded up bills. Why don’t you party with us then? We have money—a donation from my kindly father. Only he doesn’t know about it. Snake Boy laughed. They all laughed except for Golden Boy.

Snake Boy waved the stack of bills in front of Jon’s face. I bet you’d love to have this much cash.

Jon put his hands up defensively. The Kingdom of God is at hand...

So why don’t you take this, go into that gas station, and buy us some beer or vodka? We’ll share it with you, said Snake Boy.

The girl with the black hair grabbed Snake Boy’s arm and cooed, Cody, I’m out of smokes.

What Amber wants; Amber gets. Snake Boy grabbed the girl from behind.

Golden Boy shifted his weight from foot to foot. His eyes darted from one person to another. For a second, it seemed as if Golden Boy was going to stop Snake Boy. But instead, Golden Boy turned and walked away. I’ve got to get to school.

The girl with the pink hair ran after the boy with the golden light. Micah, wait! I’ll go with you.

Don’t go, Jess, begged the girl with the black hair.

Yeah, Jess, you’re gonna miss all the fun, said the shorter boy. A green chunk of hair fell over his right eye.

The girl with the pink hair looked back and shrugged but continued to follow the boy with the golden light.

What a pussy. Let’m go. Snake Boy patted Jon’s back. More for us, right, buddy? Then he forced the money into Jon’s hand.

The gloom of Snake Boy’s touch penetrated Jon’s being. He was overcome with darkness. For the first time in years, the voices in Jon’s head fell silent. He didn’t know what else to do, so he went into the gas station and bought a case of beer, a fifth of vodka, and a carton of cigarettes.

Chapter Two

MICAH STOOD IN FRONT of the gas station. Like any other weekday morning, people came and went. But unlike any other weekday morning, no one seemed to notice him. Micah’s subconscious nagged at him. He needed to do something, but he couldn’t remember what. He struggled to pull the thought to the front of his brain. He reached for it. He brushed his fingers across it. But, unable to grip it, he finally let it go.

He felt something flat and smooth in his hand, so he glanced down—a tattered piece of cardboard. He lifted it up to take a closer look.

The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand: repent ye, and believe the gospel.

The homeless guy’s sign. Why did Micah have it? And why was he on the homeless guy’s corner?

Micah jumped at the sound of barking. The bum’s nasty pit bull appeared next to him; its eyes locked onto Micah’s. Then, the sign dissolved, leaving Micah’s hand empty. Something across the street grabbed the dog’s attention. As its gaze shifted, its body stiffened, its fur stood on end, and its lip curled up, exposing a row of yellow pointy teeth.

Micah followed the dog’s line of sight to the opposite corner. A tall, dark-haired man stared back at him. The guy looked normal enough, wearing a suit and tie. He was probably on his way to work. But after several seconds, the man hadn’t moved at all. There he stood, just standing and staring. What was he doing? The back of Micah’s neck began to tingle so he looked away. That’s when he noticed all the other people were gone. Only Micah, the dog, and the stranger remained at the intersection.

Weirdo, Micah muttered to the dog. Why is he staring at me?

The dog stopped growling, looked at Micah, and tilted its head. Had it understood Micah’s question?

Micah glanced back toward the corner. The man’s mouth moved as if he were speaking, but no sound came out.

"What? I can’t hear you." Micah stepped off the curb and into the street. But before he could go any farther, the dog grabbed Micah’s hand with his teeth and pulled him back onto the curb.

Then the man opened his mouth wide and screamed like a woman.

MICAH SNAPPED AWAKE to the sound of his mother’s screams. He immediately forgot about his dream as he tried to understand the wailing coming from the other side of his bedroom door. He sat, motionless. Jesus, what had he done this time? Had he forgotten to lock up the house last night? Had he left the milk out on the counter? Had his parents found his weed? After several seconds, Micah threw back his covers and jumped out of bed. No matter what he had or hadn’t done, a scream like that meant trouble. He needed to get out of the house quick, or he’d have to endure the wrath of his mother.

Micah sifted through the carpet of clothing on his bedroom floor, looking for something clean to throw on. Within seconds, he found a wrinkled Slipknot T-shirt and a pair of old jeans. He pulled on his beat-up black Converse without undoing the laces, picked up his weathered leather jacket, and grabbed his pack of cigarettes. He checked his pocket for his phone and then, without hesitation, climbed out of his second-story bedroom window onto a large branch. He inched his way across the massive oak limb until he reached the tree house. When his family first moved to LaGrange, his dad had built this tree house for Micah and his brother. But Micah never liked it much, not until he realized it made a handy escape route.

After stepping off the bottom rung of the ladder into the yard, he ran along the side of the house and down the driveway toward the street. But he paused when he saw the empty police car sitting at the curb. Shit! Whatever he had done this time was big. So he took off as fast as he could run.

Once Micah was a couple of blocks away from home, he stopped to catch his breath. Craving his morning dose of nicotine, he pulled a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. As he watched the black tip of the cigarette turn red, a pit formed in his stomach. His mom had sounded