Transformations - Adam Ii

Villa Calista

Outside Havana

Theocratic Republic of Cuba

This was supposed to be the happiest time of Amber Jones nee Christopher's life. Two days ago, she had become Mrs. Kevin Jones. One day ago, they arrived in Cuba for their honeymoon.

For the last twelve hours, they had endured unspeakable torture at the hands of a mad woman.

Mother Superior Calista smiled down at her as she trailed her dagger up the inside of Amber's thigh.

"Leave her alone!" Kevin screamed through his cut and swollen lips.

He and Amber were tied to beds, side by side in the basement.

Calista turned her cold, black, demonic eyes toward Amber's husband. "Your marriage is a blasphemy in the eyes of the Church of Morpheus, a blasphemy in the eyes of the one true god: Morpheus. You must be punished, cleansed. What better way than to remove the small piece of skin that gives her sexual pleasure?"

Amber sobbed and cried as the blade inched higher.

"Mother Superior?" A nun whispered behind her.

Calista raised her head, her mane of golden hair falling across her shoulders. "What is it? You know I don't like to be disturbed."

"Upstairs, Mother Superior. Mother Superior Hecate along with Sister herself..."

Calista turned away from the couple and handed her knife to the nun. "Here? To see me?"

"Yes, Mother Superior," the nun whispered as she took the knife from Calista.

***

"The woman is a maniac," Hecate whispered.

"Maniacs have their purpose," Sister replied without looking.

They stood together in the opulent foyer. Calista's villa was just as elegant as the woman herself was insane.

"This creature would take pleasure in removing the wings from flies," Hecate hissed. She had tried without success to have Sister agree to lobotomize Calista on several occasions.

"Sociopaths such as Calista can be useful. In this case, I can think of no person better suited to the task at hand." Sister smiled wryly. "Besides, Hecate, you should look in the mirror more often. Your own cold-blooded nature is barely a tick less intense."

"She is a pervert. She seeks out the basest of human depravities to feed that perversion."

Sister laughed. "You sound more and more like your pet White Witch, Cathy Greene, every day."

Hecate swallowed and looked away.

"Sister, Mother Superior Hecate," Calista said as she walked into the foyer.

Hecate saw her hands were stained red with blood as Calista went to one knee.

"Rise, Mother Superior," Sister said.

Calista stood up and smiled. "To what do I owe this honor?"

"I will come straight to the point," Sister said. "The Catholics have sent a priest to Manhattan. I believe they are close to finding the heretic Adam, if they haven't found him already."

"The false god?! They have found the false god?"

Sister nodded. "According to our spies in the Vatican and in Manhattan? The likelihood is high."

"What can I do to help, Sister?"

"You will travel via quadcopter to international airspace just outside Manhattan. Our agents are working to find this priest or one of his comrades. When they find them? You will enter Manhattan and conduct the interrogation. It is vital we determine the location of the heretic as quickly as possible."

Calista smiled. "I will gladly serve, Sister. Glory to Morpheus."

Hecate gritted her teeth. "This operation will require finesse and stealth, Calista. Manhattan is under the control of Mistress Marapova. Once she learns of our incursion, she will come for you."

Calista raised an eyebrow. "Then I will deal with her."

Hecate stared at her for a moment.

Then she burst out laughing. "Then you are a fool."

Calista's eyes narrowed and Hecate could have sworn the psychotic growled under her breath.

Hecate continued. "When Mistress Marapova comes for you? You will run. You will do everything in your power to evade capture... try to stay alive. It will be a monumental task."

Calista opened her mouth to speak but Sister raised her hand to stop her.

"Never forget: Marapova is a '

di Morpheus

' - your mental powers will have no effect on her. She is immensely strong and agile. If you face Marapova? You will die, Calista," Sister said.

"Then I will die praising the name of Morpheus," Calista whispered.

"Feel free," Hecate said. "However, your goal is to evade Marapova and determine the location of Adam.

We

will handle things from there. Are we clear, Mother Superior?"

"Of course."

Sister nodded and looked at Hecate. "If you will excuse us, Hecate? I would like to bless the Mother Superior."

Hecate stared at her. What was Sister up to?

Sister looked at her expectantly.

Hecate bowed her head. "As you wish, Sister."

She turned to leave.

***

Once Hecate left, Sister turned to Calista. "She doesn't like you."

Calista smiled. "If I may, Sister? Hecate is too enmeshed with Whore Caste. It has softened her."

Sister smiled. "

If you may

? You may

not

. Hecate is the heart of our army. She is my most trusted lieutenant and the greatest general I have ever known. Hecate will lead us to victory against mankind. I have every confidence in her. Morpheus himself has sent her to us. Do we understand one another?"

Calista lowered her head. "I meant no disrespect, Sister. Surely you know best."

"I do. Hecate is a general, a planner. A strategist; however... this situation is a crisis of faith, not of military strategy. I need a devout follower of Morpheus to carry out this mission."

Calista nodded slowly.

"Now," Sister said. "Hecate has outlined the first part of your mission." She stepped forward and stared into Calista's eyes. "Listen closely to the

second

part..."

***

Hecate stood outside the villa and paced.

She didn't know what Sister was planning but she had the overwhelming feeling that, whatever it was? It was a mistake.

A mistake so significant Sister knew Hecate would oppose it vehemently.

"

I love you

," a low voice said nearby.

"

Kevin, we're going to die here

," a woman said.

Hecate walked toward the side of the villa. There were basement windows set in the stucco and one of them was open exposing a screen.

"If we die? I want you to know: I love you. I love you more than anything else. I don't regret anything," the man said.

"I love you too. I'm sorry I ever suggested this damned island."

"Hecate?" Sister called out.

Hecate turned toward the front of the house to see Sister and Calista walking toward the car.

"We will escort Calista to the airport," Hecate said.

Hecate nodded. "Just a moment." She waited till they were inside the car.

Was she becoming soft? Was Cathy having this effect on her?

She turned away from the car and pulled out her cellphone. "Cathy?" she said. "Villa Calista on the beach road. Do you know it?"

***

Upper Manhattan

David Pritchard Memorial Mission

Commissary

Adam was nothing like Father Richard Miller was expecting. He wasn't a giant with a face made to be sculpted by Michelangelo.

He was just a boy.

"You look confused, Richard," Adam said as he sat across from Richard sipping a cup of coffee. There appeared to be a great deal of cream in the cup and a massive amount of sugar.

Father Miller's was black. "I... Well, I wasn't expecting the 'Angel of 176th Street' to be so young."

Adam laughed. "What part of England are you from?"

"Brighton."

"Well, I wasn't expecting to meet a homeless person from Brighton this morning, either," he leaned back in his chair and held out his hands. "And, as for the 'Angel of 176th Street'?" He looked around. "This is the

angel

, Richard. I'm just part of the machine."

Richard nodded. He wasn't expecting any of this. He certainly wasn't expecting modesty. "You're doing good work here. All of you. I've seen it."

"Enough to go back and tell your superiors in Rome we're not the devil?"

Richard's eyes grew wide. He had said nothing about who he was.

"Relax, Father Miller. I can't help but read your mind. Sometimes I wish I couldn't. I know who you are and why you're here..."

Father Miller laughed. "If you knew I was from Brighton, why did you ask?"

Adam smiled. "Because that was me being polite."

"And are you sometimes

unpolite

, Adam?"

"I have my moments."

"Is that why many of my brethren have failed to report back?"

Adam frowned. He stared at Father Miller. Then he leaned back.

"You read my mind again," Father Miller said. A statement, not a question.

"I did. I apologize." Adam looked deep in thought. "Father, you have my word: I have never caused harm to anyone in your Church. I attack three groups of people who come here seeking me out: agents of the Church of Morpheus, agents of Mistress Maria Anastasia Marapova, and United States Government agents. No one else."

"I see. And the nature of these attacks?"

"For Marapova's people and the feds? I make them forget and send them home. As for the Church of Morpheus people? I'm a little less forgiving."

"You haven't stopped anyone from the Catholic Church?"

"No, I have not. Do you believe me?"

"I do. Is that part of your power? Can you make me believe you?"

Adam nodded. "I could... yes. I'm not. You'll just have to trust me on that."

"Then who...?"

"My bet would be Marapova's people if they return... changed. If they've been physically harmed? Most likely the Church of Morpheus or, possibly, the drug gangs blocking the entrance. I didn't know they were there. I apologize. I'll make sure the gangs don't hurt anyone again."

Father Miller nodded. "Can I ask you some questions?"

"Yes. That is what you came here for, isn't it?"

"Are you Jesus Christ?"

Adam laughed. "People keep asking me that. I'm not, Father."

"Do your powers come from God or the devil?"

Adam shook his head and shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. I was never particularly religious. But I don't worship Satan."

"You honestly don't know where your powers come from?"

"I honestly don't."

"What do you want?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What do you want, Adam? Do you want to save the world? Do you want to rule it?"

"I... I don't want anything. I just... I want to save these people here. The people in this mission. I want to help them. Other than that? I want to live a normal life." He sighed. "As normal a life as I can lead."

"You don't want power. You don't want to be worshipped?"

"God, no. I'd love to be anonymous. You have no idea what it's like. I want to help people but... they can't just let me do that for them. They're looking for something more."

"Salvation," Father Miller said. "They want a savior."

"They do. I'm not it."

Father Miller nodded and sat back. He sipped his coffee. He came here expecting a demigod or the Second Coming. Instead, he found a boy who was praying for a cup to pass from his lips.

Not a wizened sage on a mountaintop, no. Father Miller had found yet another lost sheep.

***

They came back

, Prissy thought.

The motherfuckers actually came back

.

She stood in the cold light of dawn in the park and looked toward the mission. Fog rolled in and she could only see a hundred feet in any direction. There must have been over a hundred gang members standing at the edge of the park.

"That's her!" A man yelled. His arm was in a cast.

One of the arms she broke last night.

"I told you to go away!" Prissy yelled at the men.

Weapons started to appear.

Not knives like last night: pistols, shotguns, even rifles.

Prissy could here voices murmuring from the fog behind her. She turned toward the sound of the homeless who were stirring from their slumber in the park. "Everybody up! Move back!"

She turned back toward the gang.

This was the problem with being a bimbo - even after she kicked everybody's ass? Still no respect.

"Them tits are a big ol' target," one of the men said and the others laughed.

"Ain't never shot a bitch that pretty before."

"You're not shooting anybody," a voice called out behind her.

Shapes moved in the fog.

Tall shapes.

Dozens of shapes.

"Who the fuck are they?"

"Piss yourselves," a sultry voice said from the fog.

And they did. Every last one of the gang members grabbed at their crotches because they were pissing in their jeans.

"That smells like fear," a deep male voice said. "I can work with that."

Whoremasters and white witches walked up behind Prissy.

A huge hand swallowed hers.

"Behind me, honey," a whoremaster said.

Prissy stepped behind the whoremaster.

There was a white witch with each whoremaster, standing close.

"Hey, Zeke, what the fuck do we do?" One of the pants pissers asked.

A tall man near the center of the gang raised his rifle. "Let's find out if these fuckers are bullet proof."

Prissy winced as a shot rang out.

Normal eyes couldn't follow the path.

Transformed eyes could.

The bullet headed toward the whoremaster Prissy stood behind.

The white witch beside him, a towering blonde in a white latex pantsuit, waved her hand to the right.

The bullet curved, then its path bent downward.

The bullet kicked up sod as it buried under the ground to Prissy's right.

"Naughty boys," the white witch said. She held out her hands. She pointed with her index fingers toward the gang.

Then she pointed the tip of her left index finger at her right and vice versa.

The gang members jerked like puppets on strings.

They pointed their guns at each other.

"The fuck!"

"Stand down, asshole."

"You stand down, I can't move!"

The blonde white witch laughed. "Boys and their metal penises. Silly boys, we can give you big cocks of your own to masturbate with. Or else, well...

suck

."

The men moved jerkily toward each other.

They sucked the gun barrels of the men beside them into their mouths.

***

"Holy fuck, Adam," T. J. said as he ran into the commissary. "You gotta see this! I've never seen anything like... Come on!"

Father Miller and Adam ran out of the commissary after T. J. He stopped at the front door and opened it.

Across the street in the fog shrouded park were at least a hundred armed men.

They were sucking each other's gun barrels.

***

The white witches advanced.

They moved through the terrified men.

Prissy watched as the big blonde walked up to two men.

"You boys don't want to do that, do you?" The blonde white witch breathed.

They shook their heads and mumbled the word 'no' around their gun barrel filled mouths.

"I thought not." She caressed their faces and their eyes relaxed. "Put those silly things down."

They pulled their lips from the barrels and laid their weapons on the ground

She ran her fingers through their hair. "This isn't a life, is it? Do you really want to live like this? Hurting people, selling poison? You can be more than that, can't you?"

They looked at her, longing in their eyes. They nodded.

The white witch smiled. "There's a magical place. It's called the Red Zone. You know where that is, don't you?"

They nodded again.

"You need to go there right now. You need to find a clinic - there are lots of them in the Red Zone." She leaned close and the men's wet jeans tented with erections. Their eyes danced over her body, lingering on the lips, the huge breasts, the full hips. She smiled. "Tell the people at the clinic your deepest desire. They make dreams come true there." She laughed and Prissy was fairly certain one of the men came in his pants. "You won't have to play with silly metal cocks anymore. You can be better. Go on now."

Similar scenes played out across the park. Gang members would drop their guns, listen intently to a white witch. Then they would smile and run off toward the distant Red Zone.

The whoremasters picked up the guns and began twisting them into pretzels with their bare hands.

"Stop!" A voice called from the mission.

Prissy stepped out from behind a whore master.

Adam was crossing the street toward them.

She ran to the street and met him, throwing her arms around him. "I did it! I did what you asked me to do!" She waved over Adam's shoulder at Father Miller who smiled from the stairs to the mission. "I did good, didn't I?"

She leaned back and smiled at him.

Then she frowned. "Oh... oh, you don't know who I am. Silly bimbo brain. You're not the same Adam. I just seem like a wacko to you."

Adam stopped. Then he smiled. He touched her face. "I... sent you here?"

She nodded.

"Prissy, right?"

Her eyes lit up. "Prissy Pussy at your service, Adam!"

***

Adam took Prissy's hand. Time travel was fucking confusing. If older him sent her, there must have been a good reason.

He looked out at the whoremasters and white witches.

They dropped to their knees.

The gang members were all running away.

The weapons were now a mass modern art sculpture near the edge of the park.

"Stand up! Don't worship me!" Adam said. He pointed after the fleeing gang members. "What did you do to them? What... what is my commandment?"

The blonde white witch ran to him. "No! No, we didn't make them do anything except go to the Red Zone! We told them to go to a clinic and tell them their heart's desire. If they want to be one of us, they can. But, if not? They can just go home. We wouldn't disobey you. We love you."

"We follow you," a whoremaster said as he stood up.

"We all follow you," the white witches and whoremasters said as they smiled toward him.

Adam staggered back.

Prissy held onto his hand and steadied him. "I brought them here. They're going to work in shifts to make sure the gangs don't block the mission ever again."

"But, Marapova?" Adam whispered.

"She'll never know. We're good at keeping her from knowing things she shouldn't - at least not yet. She's not a god, just very nearly so," Prissy whispered.

Adam took a deep breath.

He looked out over the crowd of Whore Caste.

The fog was clearing.

Behind them he could see the homeless, coming closer.

The Whore Caste came to him.

***

"What's happening, Mr. Fix It?" Beatrice asked as she walked up beside Father Miller on the steps.

"Well, does Beatrice see that young man in the leather jacket down there?"

"Yes, Beatrice sees him."

"That is the Angel of 176th Street."

Beatrice shrank back. "Beatrice is afraid."

"Shh, shh," Father Miller soothed. "Beatrice doesn't have anything to fear from that young man. He would not harm a hair on her head, I promise Beatrice. Can't you see? He's the one who's afraid."

Beatrice leaned her head on Father Miller's shoulder. "Why, Mr. Fix It?"

"Because he didn't fully comprehend the mess he was in until now. Not fully.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown

, Beatrice. Heavy indeed."

***

Adam walked back to the mission still holding Prissy's hand.

She was beaming. She waved at Father Miller and Beatrice and Father Miller waved back.

Beatrice was trying to hide behind the priest.

Adam could feel waves of fear coming off her.

Behind him, most of the whoremasters and white witches had left, leaving behind only a few to protect the park. They were trying to fit in and be inconspicuous... as much as nearly seven-foot-tall perfect human specimens could.

Adam looked up to see Helen Pritchard staring at him. She was confused, not only by what she had just seen but by the Amazon princess in latex clutching his hand.

This would not require explanation.

There were some perks to having the power to control minds.