In sheer terror he took a motorcycle from under the very hands of its owner and sped off east down Monroe. His enemy followed incessantly. Simon’s only thought was of perhaps returning to the priest. As if he could help any longer.
He nearly lost control of the bike as a truck crossed at 18th street. Simon avoided slamming into it by bouncing himself off the car by his side. The recoil turned the whole bike sideways and redirected his momentum, just edging behind the truck. Again he looked over his shoulder to see the stone floating stock still above the intersection. Whether in his imagination or not, Simon could envision blue and green rays emanating from the Word of God Christian Center on one corner and Masjid Ahlul on the other, holding it in place. He gunned the engine to a high whine even as he realized that he was lost.
The delay given him by the churches did not last. He felt a curious pulling on his back. The stone was trying to slow him down enough to capture his body. It had reformed, no longer as a cloud but a streaking comet. Tiny lights of all colors could be seen like fireflies as they were torn from their natural elements. It was gathering all the like-minded matter into itself. Soon there would be no stopping the thing.
Road construction at 20th street blocked his path, forcing Simon to mount the curb and cut across the corner of a lawn. The far side retaining wall launched him far into the air, barely missing a plum tree. He landed hard and whipped south, opening the throttle full. A blue and white rocket shot through Langdon Park with a fiery red meteor on its tail, pieces of the brick recreation center coming off like shingles in a tornado.
At this speed Simon did not have much time to think. The briefest swell of gratitude that this was spring break and no kids were present to be hurt passed through his mind as they hurtled by an elementary school before he had to skitter on the brakes, just following the road as it jogged left. In this hyper-perceptive frame of mind he swore that another stone was ahead of him. He wobbled but breathed easier when it turned out to be just a house painted a garish pink.
Traffic once again became a concern at the merging of 22nd street. He swerved and banged into the cement rail, only saving his leg by pulling it up quickly. He overcorrected and entered the bridge on the wrong side of the median.
“Please oh please no cars no cars!” he screamed out in prayer. The bridge’s steep drop left him four feet in the air and about to land on his front tire. Simon threw himself as far back on the seat as he could and pulled up on the handlebars with all his might. His front tire bounced off the ground and he jack-knifed. The bike landed on top of him and they skidded for a dozen yards before coming to a halt in the middle of the street. Just then a strip club on his left exploded with the force of a large bomb. Every bit of it lifted in a huge gaseous cloud and then drew immediately into the red stone. The concussion threw Simon and the bike fifty feet to the side, crushing them against the roll-up door of Coosmans’.
In the odd way that time slows during stressful events, Simon could feel the blast of heat from the explosion; the shockwave wrapping itself around him in a gentle caress. Then he was tumbling through the air and falling onto a trampoline. The steel cargo doors gave way under him and cushioned his fall. Then they rebounded and tossed him sideways onto the concrete where he rolled heavily, tearing the skin off both forearms.
“Wow! What a ride. They don’t have anything like that at Busch Gardens.” He lay there in shock for a number of seconds before opening his eyes. At first he saw nothing but a pulsing red light. Slowly, as his eyes focused, he perceived a truly frightening sight. The stone had become large as a basketball and throbbed like some grotesque mockery of a heart.
He crawled desperately to the bike and prayed it would still run. The stone did not approach, at wasn’t moving at all. A cool cultured voice rang in his ears, “Every time a stone transforms, takes upon itself more intelligences, then they must struggle to determine which of them will dominate.” This took time.
Simon grabbed the bike mercifully it roared to life. He tore off down to Bladensburg road and slid right, missing a bus by inches. As he drew near Mt. Olivet Cemetery the machine finally gave out. The front rim hit a low gutter and folded in two, flipping him over the handle bars before they crashed through the half-moon gates into the back corner of the graveyard. Simon landed in a crumpled heap beside a large black memorial.
Unlike his first crash, Simon felt every bump of this one. His body refused to obey him and he swore loudly. “I can’t run anymore. I can’t even move. I’m sorry Ginni. I tried.”
Simon had not prayed, really prayed since his father’s death. Laying here he felt like maybe now might be a good time to try again. The words were simple but heartfelt.
“God, I know I haven’t been that good. Maybe I don’t deserve Your help. But I want to live. I want to marry Ginni and make her happy. I don’t want to die. Please.”
As he lifted his tear filled eyes heavenward, the hated red glow poured through gaps in the wall. Over the ironwork it floated and came to rest several feet from Simon. Waiting for some unknown reason.
The ground began to tremble and then broke in a hundred places. Pearly white hands lifted from the grass followed by arms, heads, torsos and legs. His mind almost unhinged Simon weakly said, “Ghostbusters? God protect me, it’s Judgment Day!”
The spirits began to crowd around him and he dragged himself a few short yards to put his back against a nearby monument, erected for an infant who died a hundred years before.
Reduced to insanity he cried out, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” Great sobs wracked him. “I’m sorry”.
Then a presence rose behind him and a warm embrace encircle his body. The soft and loving voice of his Grandmother whispered in his ear, “Be calm Little Simon. All will be well.”
Though only hanging on to reality by a thread all his fear vanished.
He turned to see his Gertrude, not the old and wrinkled woman who used to babysit him, but young and beautiful as in the wedding day photo she’d shown him so many times.
“Gramma, what’s happening? How do I…?”
“Shhhhh!” she said, pressing a very real finger to his lips. “Watch, and understand.”
The stone vibrated furiously and then hurled itself at Simon. As it drew nearer it took on the shape of a man, small, ugly and unimpressive in any way except for the immeasurable malice pouring from him. Simon flinched instinctively but Gertrude’s arms held him tighter in that loving embrace.
Brilliant light burst forth from every tree, rock, headstone and blade of grass. Trillions upon trillions of tiny lights appeared and grafted themselves to the demon. It slowed rapidly and halted mere inches from his face. The spirits flailed and sunk away from the bright and wholesome light surrounding their master. His arm reached forth and touched Simon’s heart.
For the third time a painful tearing enveloped him, worse than ever before. Thousands of twinkling lights emerged from Simon’s flesh and danced up the arm of the entity, only to sink out of view. He began choking, gasping for breath. He felt light and un-solid. The most rebellious parts of his body were abandoning him for this soul-thief.
The demon’s skin began to boil and crack, like the crust over a live volcano. Then it whispered, “Step away from her Simon. I can give you all you ever wanted.” The surrounding ghosts began to enact scenes of riches, power, sex. “All this is mine to give. You can even have her. Just…come…to…me.”
Simon buried his face into his Grandmother’s shoulder and cried out, “Noooooo!!!”
The demon howled in inexhaustible rage before breaking into countless sparks. Each red light held close by two white ones which zoomed back into their original places.
The cemetery faded into a natural, moon-lit hue. And Simon collapsed atop his Great-Great-Uncle’s final resting place.
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