The Product Line (Book 1): Product Read online

  --I understand.

  As the sun’s final rays dipped down past the horizon the night air filled with the villagers’ gasps. They all watched in stunned disbelief as the skin and beauty began to return to Eliska. The torn and bruised corpse flesh so recently pummeled by stones began to heal. The sagging greyed skin of her breasts tightened and they returned to their teardrop shape so often thought about by the husbands of the village. Every aspect of this withered wretch was returning to a level of unparalleled beauty. There was no doubt among any of them. She was a witch, a demon, a walking incarnation of the devil’s guile and trickery.

  The men nearest the pyres threw their torches on to the gathered wood and watched closely as the flames began to lick at the feet of Eliska, the beautiful demon. The priest began a loud prayer thanking the Lord for His grace as the flames grew higher and higher.

  However, Eliska did not burn as they expected. The flames that should blister her skin created only temporary marks. Bubbling skin simply receded back to milky flesh. Finally her dress caught aflame, sending a corridor of fire up the trunk of her body, charring the hair on her head and burning the garment into her skin. At this, Eliska changed. Those with a clear view of her face watched as her sapphire-blue eyes turned dark, as if blood had been poured into milk. The nails on her hands grew thick and long, splitting apart the nail bed from which they emerged.

  Then the sound came. The deep guttural scream of what could only be pure evil.

  Eliska exploded free from her bindings, throwing the enormous piece of lumber she had been secured to into a hay bale nearly twenty yards away. It had taken four of the village’s strongest men to place the log for her execution and this burnt female frame threw it as if it were weightless. The bales were immediately ablaze. Before any of the men knew what had happened the demon had killed the two who had lit the fire, ripping the throat out of one of them, biting through the top of the skull of the other.

  As she let out another menacing shriek, the priest signaled with his arms, gathering together the women and children, urging them to head to the chapel. Even in the chaos most were able to follow this guidance and a stream of bodies poured into the humble earthen church. Those who had wanted a closer view of Eliska, of her execution, were not so lucky. She had killed six more by the time the doors to the chapel were closed.

  ***

  Antonios’ fear grows with each grunt and spit from the creature. By the time he is able to see through the edge of his mother’s dress, which she has pulled over his head, ten more people have been eviscerated by the beast.

  His mother’s scream shifts to a fluid-filled gurgle as the demon rips into her throat. Just inches above his face the monster feeds on his precious mother.

  --Mama. No…

  The demon reels back to tear into him, but a decorative candle holder plunges through the creature’s chest and pierces the corner of Antonios’ cheek, creating a thumb-sized hole in his face and filling his mouth with the blood of the demon. The man wielding this makeshift weapon screams at the beast. The creature pulls back to strike, but its turn is met with the stroke of the woodcutter’s axe to its throat.

  The first strike only goes halfway through its throat, exposing the white of its vertebrae and articulating tendons. The blow brings the creature to its knees. Within moments the wound starts to knit back together. Before the demon can stop the bleeding a second strike from the axe lands, cleaving the demon’s head from its body, sending a surge of blood up through the neck hole.

  Its severed head rolls on the dirt floor of the church and comes to rest near the dismembered bodies of its earlier victims, its red eyes staring back at the few villagers left alive.

  The pain in Antonios’ face is horrible but the pain in his heart is crippling. As he lies there, cradled in the arms of the mangled and bloodied remains of his sweet mama, he weeps. His tiny world is destroyed.

  He has never known, nor will he ever know again, such sadness.

  Chapter 8

  The room is darker, but Ernie can see much more clearly now, as if his vision has been highly tuned, some sort of “laser shine job by one of them fancy eye doctors on the Upper East Side.” The ones operating out of the old brownstones, the “Jew-name Center for Eye Research” or some such nonsense. For years he has been able to witness the growing fog of a cataract creeping in on his right eye, when he himself isn’t in a booze haze.

  But it is undeniable. He is seeing with the crystal clarity of his youth—heck, better than his youth. Earlier he watched a fly on the wall. He’s convinced that he heard its steps and saw it as if he was looking through a magnifying glass, as it cleaned its face, dragging its hairy angular legs over the sheen of its blue-green compound eye. It’s one of many things on the growing list of unbelievable oddities.

  In the previous hour, he’s watched his face change while the heat of the sun rakes across the middle of his face over his brow to the wall above him. The patch of old weathered skin shifts in line with the moving band of light cast across his face. As the final light slides off him and on to the wall, he can see with absolute clarity what his new face looks like. Thing is, it isn’t so much a new face. It’s his old face, or maybe a better version of it. This is a face that would have been ideal. The face he wishes he could have enjoyed when he was in his twenties. A face that would have allowed him between the legs of many women.

  There’s no way to deny it. He is, for whatever reason, the ideal version of his twenty-five-year-old self. His old age—every wrinkle, every liver spot, every pit and scar—has been erased from his visage.

  His mind wanders on these thoughts, tosses them back and forth. Why is he chained to a fucking cot? Why does he look so young? Why isn’t he dead? The cyclone of thoughts spin without resolve, each revolution generating more questions than answers. As his questions begin to truly wind up he can hear something coming from the doorway behind him, the unmistakable sound of shoes making contact with a linoleum floor. Not cheap ones either, these are dress shoes, wood and leather-lined soles. Men’s shoes. There is the distinct and deep heel-to-toe transition to the sound and a gap that is too long between the notes to be a woman’s foot. They are getting closer.

  Ernie’s mind is making associations well beyond anything he would have been able to do in the past, even if he had never touched a drink in his life.

  The door to the room swings open.

  For a moment, there is silence. Ernie cannot angle his head back enough to see who the man is behind him, but even without confirmation he knows who it is.

  An old metal chair slides toward Ernie. Finally Ernie is able to see his captor: Mr. Armani.

  --Feeling better?

  Ernie nods, not knowing exactly how to respond.

  --I imagine you have some questions for me?

  --Maybe a few.

  Mr. Armani begins removing the black driving gloves, loosening the tip of each finger one by one before sliding it ever so gently off his hand.

  --I saw you get shot. Heck, I saw me get shot. I got shot.

  --Ernie, right? It is Ernie that you go by?

  Ernie nods.

  --I am going to tell you a story. I want you to listen carefully to it, because I do not repeat myself. This story may seem unrelated to your circumstances, perhaps unrelated to anything at all. All I ask is that you listen. At the end of the story you will be given a very simple choice. If you choose wisely I will answer your questions.

  --I’ve never really been the brightest, so what happens if I choose wrong?

  Mr. Armani smiles, proceeds.

  --Ernie, my name is Gideon. Looking at me, how old would you say I am?

  --You ain’t really told me too much yet, so I hope this isn’t that question you were just referring to?

  Ernie eyeballs Gideon’s features. He is a handsome man—strong angular jaw line, clear youthful skin, nary a blemish or freckle on his face. Well-manicured nails. Suit, tie, black wingtip dress shoes. There is an old-world class to this
man, but his young face defies his venerable charms.

  --I dunno, thirty maybe, twenty-five. You look like you just got out of college, but you don’t talk or dress like them kids.

  Gideon removes a small leather pouch from his jacket. Ernie can smell the years of care that have gone into the pouch, the leather cleaner, the conditioning agent. It’s beautiful. He sets it on the edge of the bed.

  --I assume you are familiar with the Bible? The basics. There was nothing, then there were the stars, the oceans, creatures of the sea, the land, and so on until there was man?

  --Genesis?

  --Yes. Many believe, me being one of them, that the stories in the Bible are simple allegorical half-truths. If you step far enough away from literalism and listen to the story of Creation it seems more like a fairytale version of the Big Bang and evolution. A mix of science and history retold so as to be understood by primitive man.

  Ernie furrows his brow. Gideon’s words make more sense to him than they should.

  --The story of Adam and Eve? You know this one as well?

  Ernie nods, no idea what this has to do with anything.

  --Did you also know that there is more to the story than the King James Bible tells? That Eve was not the first wife of Adam, that in fact a woman named Lilith was Adam’s first wife. That these two beings, Lilith and Adam, were created by God together and from the same material.

  Gideon slowly slides the zipper of the bag open. Ernie can hear each click of the zipper as it tongues the teeth apart, spreading its seamed leather flesh.

  --Some say Lilith was created a little later, after Adam complained to God that he alone of the creatures of the earth had no partner. Either way, Lilith was created independently from and equal to Adam, and this led to problems. Since they were made of the same material neither wished to be subservient to the other. After a particularly fierce argument which Adam attempted to win by force, Lilith in fury uttered the mystical, ineffable Name of the Almighty, and was cast away from the garden.

  Gideon unfolds the small bag, revealing what appears to be an antique syringe and hypodermic needle kit. Nested within green velvet cloth is a small red vial.

  --Adam complained to Jehovah that he had been abandoned, so God sent three angels to return Lilith to the garden. They found her on the shores of the Red Sea in a place populated by a particularly lascivious breed of demon. Lilith had been quite the whore and was now mother to a hundred little demons, and birthing more of her brood every day.

  Ernie is perplexed at both the story and what Gideon’s intentions are with the ominous-looking hypo kit.

  --The three angels tried to coax Lilith to return to Adam but she refused, preferring instead the comfort of the demons, who had also taught her their own great magicks. After a great battle the angels managed to bundle her into the Outer Darkness and slaughter her offspring. Adam meanwhile had been provided with a new mate, a replacement bride in the form of Eve, who was fashioned from his rib in the hope that this would bind her more dutifully to him. And the rest of their tale is famous enough not to need repeating.

  Gideon gathers up the syringe and withdraws some of the thick red fluid from the vial. Ernie becomes focused on the syringe, almost forgetting altogether that Gideon has been telling this bizarre story about some fucked-up Garden of Eden.

  --In the Outer Darkness Lilith became the consort of Samael and other fallen angels. Fury with Adam and grief for her slaughtered children led Lilith to plot revenge. By mating with the rebel angels she gave birth to many of the greatest demons and plagues of the ancient world.

  Gideon stops, needle in hand, and smiles at Ernie.

  --So Ernie, what do you think about my little story?

  --No disrespect, but it’s pretty fucked up. I don’t remember hearing about Adam having two wives. Just the whole apple thing, and women being bad.

  Gideon nods.

  --I agree. It is a bit disturbing. It is also very human, how people are able to create for themselves the very stories that fill their own nightmares. As the story of the Garden of Eden goes, you can take it as fact, which I did for a lifetime—believe with all your being that each word represents a whole truth—or as I prefer to take it now, believe that each story is instead a metaphor for something more real and visceral.

  --You lost me.

  --In the beginning Adam and Eve lived at peace with nature. Moreover, they were one with nature, as much a part of the system as the rest of the creatures in the garden. They lived blissfully unaware of their own nudity, that they were somehow different from the other animals. Then one day, they both challenged the word of God by eating the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge. Instantly they were aware of themselves, their nakedness, wickedness. They were no longer a part of the peaceful garden.

  --Yeah, that’s the story I know.

  --To me this story seems more an analogy for the evolution of mankind. We came from nature and the natural world, but at some point grew smart enough to be self-aware, no longer be a part of the natural order. We could never return to being at peace with the rest of nature or just being another animal in the kingdom. It was then that mankind became destined to be the gods of the animal kingdom.

  The concept makes sense to Ernie. That somehow this story of Adam and Eve is not a story about how mankind disobeyed God, but rather how man became smarter, self-aware, rose out of harmony with nature. He begins to visualize the iconic evolution of man placard, from monkey to Neanderthal, Homo erectus, Homo sapiens. He recalls a biology course from his adolescence where the teacher discussed how Homo sapiens have a rigid pelvis for bipedal motion and how monkeys and apes do not. It is what allows us to walk upright, it is what allows us to stand on two legs and free our arms to use tools to hunt, eat more meat and enlarge our brains and capacity for knowledge. But these adaptive benefits are also the reason for childbirth being painful for women. Their narrow, rigid pelvises need to accommodate our larger heads and our growing brains. This large object passing through a small opening is the root of the pain of childbirth.

  Ernie is deep in thought, recalling that the punishment for Eve and her transgression in the garden, eating from the tree of knowledge, was that childbirth was to be painful for her and for all her children’s children and so on. But what of Lilith, what does that mean? Is Gideon suggesting that mankind has some sort of close kin, which has diverged from mankind’s evolution?

  Gideon interrupts him.

  --I take it you are not a religious man.

  --I seen enough hardship in my life to doubt that there is a God, or if there is one, to at least be confident that he’s an asshole.

  Gideon smiles, somewhat pleased with Ernie’s candid response.

  --I believe that you are smart enough to know that you should be dead by now, that your wound should have killed you in that alleyway.

  Ernie nods.

  --Ernie, here are the facts. You have been infected with a particularly nasty virus. I do not know where or how you came in contact with it, as I did not see any recent evidence of an attack on you, but I can tell you that it was recent. This infection, this sickness, it will kill you unless it is treated. Also it will, well… it will become contagious if it is not treated and you could hurt a great many more people. There is no cure, there will never be a cure, there is only treatment.

  --This don’t look like a hospital.

  --Ha. No, it is not a hospital. It is more of a… a… treatment center, let’s say.

  --OK.

  Gideon leans closer to Ernie.

  --The choice, Ernie, is whether you want to receive treatment or not.

  Ernie thinks of Marie, of how she has been looking for him, always looking for him. Thinks of his youthful appearance and how his tooth nubs have grown into teeth and filled the gaps where his teeth had fallen out.

  --Ernie, I will say this. Treatment comes at a price.

  --I don’t have any money or nothing.

  --My payment will come in the form of time. Yo
u will work for me from now until the day you die. The work will be hard, at times it will be more than difficult, it will be painful.

  No matter how Ernie runs the numbers in his head it still seems like a pretty sweet deal. He should be dead, he isn’t. He should look like a week-old shit sandwich, but instead he doesn’t look bad. Hell, he looks good.

  --OK. Yeah. Been a while since I held down a real nine-to-five, but… OK. Sure.

  Gideon lets out a laugh.

  --Very well. Ernie, welcome to the family.

  Gideon slides the end of the needle into Ernie’s forearm. What should be a painless point of pressure stings like a knife. Ernie moves back instinctually and Gideon‘s grip becomes a vice. Gideon pulls back on the plunger just a little bit to ensure he’s found the vein and then slowly pushes the contents of the syringe into Ernie’s bloodstream.

  Ernie’s arm is immediately on fire, a blissful inferno of heat that radiates out from his arm to every inch of his body. The room feels as if glowing satin has rolled down the walls around him, shimmering with love and light, wrapping around him with the embrace of a long-lost lover.

  It’s as if every cell in his body is alive with joy. It’s Christmas and first love, and sex and pride, it’s everything turned into this perfect moment, this perfect warmth. Were he a religious man, he would call this feeling heaven.

  He wants it to continue forever.

  Ernie isn’t proud of it, in fact there’s little in his life he’s proud of, but during the war, when he had lost the hope that he would ever return, he became familiar with this warm feeling, this numb blanket. It’s an embrace that only opiates can provide. He’s never mainlined heroin: skin popped, and snorted, even smoked some opium a few times, but the feeling is so similar.

  He remembers that with any opiate he should feel this way for a while. But no matter how badly he wants the feeling to stay with him, it starts to fade as quickly as it came on. The glowing love drips out of him, pulling back through his fingers and toes.

  The golden shimmer from the walls fades away and he returns from his bliss, feeling healthier and more alive than ever in his life.