Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dash opened his eyes.  He looked around.  He was in his room, at his house in Pasco, Wa, known to local Washingtonians as part of Tri-cities.  For a moment, he couldn't figure out why that felt wrong.  Then he realized what his problem was: he was supposed to be in a shop in Montana.  At that instant, there was a blinding flash of light, and he was thrown down hard against his bed.  When he looked up, he had to shield his eyes; the light was so bright and somewhat...intimidating.  The light seemed to take on shape, resembling a large man.  The angle, for Dash had been around Christians long enough to recognize one when he saw one, held a sword in his right hand.  Dash suddenly felt fear stronger than any other fear he had ever felt in his life.  Then the light spoke, the voice booming in both his ears and his head.

"Do not be afraid, for you have been chosen for a great task."

Dash felt a peace inside of him, but he still felt uncomfortable, almost naked, before this angel.  Dash had spent enough time listening to his parents talk that he knew that this must be an angel, but a part of him still wondered how it could be.  His parents—they had always been the religious ones in the family—should be the one getting this visit, not him.  The angel spoke again. 

"Fear God, and have faith, for the times ahead will be dark.  Sharpen your sword, for you will soon have much need of it."

Dash frowned, but finally got a word in edge wise.  "What are you talking about.  I’m not even a Christian."  But the words sounded weak and empty, even to him.  If this was really happening, he was pretty certain his entire religious viewpoint would be changed…again.

“You once were.  Remember, for you were once passionate about the Lord.  Return now, or face great danger.”

The angel looked at him for a moment, and Dash began to get more uncomfortable than he already was.  Suddenly, Dash was outside his room.  Images and sounds began to flow around him.  He saw a pit, with massive snakes slithering the entrace.  Then he saw what was at the bottom: fire.  It scorched up and around thousands of shapes that flashed suddenly, and then disappeared, only to reappear moments later.  The pit, though it had enough fire in it to light the streets of New York ten times over, somehow appeared dark.  Cries of pain and torture rang out, and Dash realized that the shapes were humans.  Then the image changed.  A figure loomed up in front of Dash.  It filled all of his vision, and he felt great fear inside of him, and a great anger coming from the creature.  Than it snarled: a cry that somehow increased the fear inside of him tenfold.  He knew then that no matter what he had told himself in the past, this was no joke, and the supernatural was alive and kicking.  Still, what did he have to do with this.  If God wanted him, well, he was already leaning in the general direction of Christianity, and this convinced him that God, angles, and demons existed, but surly this was a little extreme.  The monster suddenly vanished, and he was back in his room. 

“You were created for such a time as this.  You can resist this path, and you will be given permission to leave, but you and all of creation will be hurt by it.”

Dash suddenly realized what the angel was talking about.  He suddenly knew what the angel wanted him to do, and he didn’t like it at all.  Suddenly, anger at the situation arose.  Didn’t he get any say in this?  He didn’t even have a clue how he was supposed to do this crazy stunt, or where the creature was, or even if it was on earth.  His resolved suddenly strengthened, and he suddenly spoke out in anger and fear.”  

“Permission to leave.  Fantastic.  I’ll take it.” 

The angel paused.  "So be it.  You must learn to rely on God.  You will be taught.  Let it begin.”

The angel then reached out and gently touched Dash, and his eyes closed.

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Dash sat up, gasping for breath.  He looked around him.  He was not in pawn shop, nor was he in his room in Washington.  He was lying in his family's hotel room.  He looked around him.  His parents were both asleep in the other bed.  He looked at the digital clock on the nightstand.  It read 12:48 A.M.  Dash paused, doing math in his head.  He had left at around 3, which meant...what?  Was all that a dream.  If so, what did he do for those hours after he had left.  Dash shook his head.  Normally, he was big on figuring out the problems life though at him, but this was too much.  He lay down, and in a few moments was asleep.

The next day, Dash shook off the dream.  It didn’t take much effort.  It quickly seemed to disappear from his mind, until the only thing Dash could remember about it was the fact that it had disturbed him greatly. 

It was time to prepare to return home.  Dash's family began to prepare to leave.  Dash was ready to go.  The festivities were nice, but he could only take so much of his odd, if talented, family.  It was about mid-day when he began packing things into the car.  He had just finished when he noticed three men walk into the hotel.  Normally, he wouldn't have given them a second glance, but something about them felt...wrong.  He shook it off.  Next, he’d be seeing angles and demons wandering the streets.  He walked to a McDonalds across the street.  His parents wanted to say their good-bys, and he already had.  For some reason, he didn't feel like going back to the hotel, and he was hungry.  His parents had specifically told him that once he was done packing, that he should get a bite to eat, as they would be leaving soon, and they wanted to limit their stops.  Dash walked into the building, and after ordering, sat down.  Something was bothering him, and it wasn't the dream.  For some reason, whenever he thought of those men, a strange shiver went down his spine.  He shook his head.  "You’re crazy Dash.  Get a hold of yourself, Dash.  You’re just looking for a molehill to make a mountain out of."  He said to himself.  He ate his meal in silence, enjoying the taste.  Unlike some people he knew, he enjoyed fast food, not caring about the calories, or any of the supposed "health problems" that it was supposed to cause.  He had a high metabolism that allowed, to eat a lot of food, though his parents made sure that a vast majority of it was the healthy stuff.  He smiled, thinking about it.  His doctor had said he was lucky.  Dash agreed.  Apparently, it was a good thing too, as with his leg, he couldn't participate in a large number of physical activities.  There was one thing that he could do though: swim.  Dash was a fish, and he used his arms, which were very strong, to swim.  In the water, he didn’t need two legs, and he had even been able to use little of his bad leg that he had to help him.  He had more than occasionally gotten a strange look at the local aquatic center, but he was used to it.  When you had a disability like Dash had, you got used to people treating you odd.  You didn't like it, but you dealt with it.

Dash finished his meal, and walked back to the hotel.  He had been watching the doors of the hotel, and his parents had not walked out yet, which surprised him.  While his parents drove him crazy with the amount of time they could spend talking to people that they both knew and didn't know, when they wanted to leave, they were usually quick about it.  Dash entered the building, and took the elevator to the third floor, where their rooms were.  His parents had made sure his room was close to the elevator, so that he didn't have to walk very on his crutches.  While Dash was fine, and could walk long hikes without too much trouble, his parents attempted to keep him from "overexerting himself."  His parents had a room directly across the hall.  When Dash reached the room, he instantly knew something was wrong.  Even before he walked in, he could see sheets that had been thrown from the beds; clothes lay scattered on the floor, and there were red spots on the wall that could only be blood.  Dash's uncle, Jon, was on the phone.  As Dash walked in, he hung up, and noticed Dash for the first time.

"Step outside." Jon said.  As Dash walked back out, Jon did a final look around, and then proceeded to shut the door as he walked out.

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I was feeling pretty relaxed.  No one overly suspicious had entered, and the family was getting ready to leave.  So when three men suddenly walked up to me, it took me a fraction too long to recognize the danger.  I had been meandering from building to building for the past hour, and had just gotten set up in an ally directly across the street from the building.  I was dressed casually; I had several weapons (none of them lethal, sadly, as the people who cared about such things said carrying lethal weapons would scar us for life.), but all of them were carefully concealed in several inconspicuous places, such as the book that was currently residing in the backpack on my shoulder.  When the men walked up to me, and the lead fellow drew a gun, I was a little unprepared.  I had only a second to ready myself, however, as the man flicked his wrist, directing me to walk further up the ally. 

In the training I had undergone, they teach you how to survive situations like this: don’t fight.  There are those, however, who have never been in the situation I was now placed in.  They imagine themselves executing some fancy kick/punch combo, and sending all the baddies to the ground.  In reality, when you face a guy with a gun, normal humans should have no desire to end their life by doing something stupid.  The longer you remain alive, the longer you have to be rescued.  So, not wanting to die anytime in the near future, I walked.

The ally was a dead end, but the fence at the back was short enough that I thought I could be up and over it in a short amount of time.  The only bad news was that these fellows had taken my bag, so I was now weaponless.  I observed my surroundings, trying to move only my eyes.  Apparently, it didn’t work, as a gentle nudge with the gun barrel alerted me.  “Eyes forward.” The man with the gun said.  I didn’t look again. 

When we reached the fence, I began to turn around, but the gun-man instantly nudged me with the gun.  “None of that now.” 

I hadn’t intended to do anything more than turn around so I could look my enemies in the face, but the thought of a bullet going through my stomach made me hesitate.  Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.  The owner of the hand must have felt my muscles tense, because he spoke.  “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt…much.” 

That got my attention, even as I noticed that his voice had a slight Australian accent, and was slightly higher than the man with the gun.  Before I could do anything, I suddenly felt a sharp prick in my neck, and then the voice again. 

“Don’t worry.  You won’t die, but I’d hate to have your headache.”

I began to feel light-headed.  It didn’t take much to figure out I’d been drugged.  I felt my legs collapse beneath me.  I tried to focus; tried to figure out a way to get help, but I couldn’t do it.  My final thought wasn’t anything dramatic.  It was actually a little funny: I hoped that guy was exaggerating when he was talking about the headache.