XIX THE SUN

Three Russian women serve a lord, in this case, the sun god. Be him, Apollo, in Greek Mythology or Sol in Roman Mythology—they served him as his followers, at his beck and call as one would say. Although they served a being whose nature was supreme, they too serve a different purpose in life. Warmth and light cascaded around them, shining it over the world—bringing about the knowledge of intellect, creativity, and love. In times where there is darkness, they will come to shine upon it. Everlasting positive energy is here to serve as bliss. New relationships and encounters are in order. If denied such turns of events, creative blockages will commence.

* * *

—Ray—

“Inanna,” I yelled to whoever the hell was Inanna.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. I’ll never leave my house ever again. I promise, dear lord, out there in the sky above, watching over me. My body was glowing. I leered at the stranger, kidnapper, possible serial killer trying to take me for his slave or traffic me to hell knows where—he was also glowing. Why were we glowing? Looking at this crazy man holding me hostage’ shoulder. Overwhelming rage. I’ve seen her angry before; this was different. Her fingers had claws; they were an inch away from my face. She yowled, ready to eat me alive, cut me into mincemeat; Mrs. Hatchet had finally lost her marbles. This thing wasn’t her. It wasn’t Mrs. Hatchet. What happened to her? Why was she chasing us? What about the people at the diner? They were screaming. Oh, God! Marnie. I can’t get her out of my head. The smell of burnt flesh. Her breath gurgling went very still. The bones… crushed under the toppled bug still spinning its wheels. I heard a hiss and quizzed at the stranger’s face. He squinted his eyes, hunched his back. Something warm soaked my fingertips around his neck. A lump fell in my stomach. I swallowed the roiling bile. He groaned yet tightened his strong arms around my waist.

One moment pouring rain surrounded us; we were being chased by a raging Mrs. Hatchet, blaring alarms from busted-turned-over trucks. Next thing we knew, we were falling on top of a cross sign, read: This is the house of God, welcome ye lost lambs.

“Hold on!” The stranger’s gruff voice warmed my ear, making it itchy.

He twisted in midair, and I closed my eyes. My life fell into a movie clip, only I wasn’t watching it, I was starring in it. The movie shuttered clip-by-clip. I could picture the white concrete roof crushing us into mooch, reaching my lap—this was the end. Our clothes flapped fast; I swallowed the scream down my throat, the stranger held my face in his warm; calloused palms on my cheeks, and glinted into my eyes. I wondered what he saw through them. Was he scared? He didn’t shiver, pull back, or stuttered.

“It’s going to be ok, I promise,” he declared, a hint of something in his eyes assured me I was going to be as he put it, ok.

It was so fast. The sound of our crash into the building, rubble burst everywhere, caving us. Bits and pieces of rock and dust littered on our garments. I heaved and coughed nonstop. Did we die? Good God, I think I broke everything, and I might have peed myself a little. My ribs were like lead—swollen and tense—I blinked at the stranger. The clouds of dust coated my eyelashes. He never took his eyes off me, never let me go, even when he looked worse than me. The stranger groaned and had a gash on his head; blood dripped and coated his eye red. I turned my face to the ceiling. There was a rather odd gaping hole, debris kept dropping down. We fell from high up—you’re kidding me. Sweet Jesus! I hope this church got insurance coverage. We must have fallen about twenty to thirty feet—broken the benches underneath us. I tried to move my ankle, but it hardly budged. Most likely, I broke it in the fall—going by the weight pressing on it—it’s no wonder I couldn’t move the darn thing. I pushed myself off the stranger. He groaned in pain.

“Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I squeaked, watching him furrow his sleek yet rather dusty brows and pursing lips.

He patted my back, his hands were nice, warm even.

“It’s fine, just don’t move,” he rasped.

Watching him smack his lips made me swallow dry spit. I could use some water. He moved his eyes and snorted. What was so funny? How could he laugh at a time like this?

“You brought us to a church,” he said.

“What do you mean I brought us to a church? You’re the one who kidnaped me! What do you plan to do with me? I’m not becoming anyone’s kept slave or being fed drugs until I die of an overdose. Did you escape from a nuthouse because they juiced you up with a lot of Red Bull? You’re part of a cult, aren’t you! I ain’t drinking no Kool-aid,” I continued coming up with anything.

As I understood it, he kidnapped me—for what—it better not be a cult. He raised his brows and set an amused smirk. As ridiculous as it sounded, this could happen to me or anyone. Some stranger, I narrowed my eyes at him; could kidnap us, drag us to God knows where with the neighbor going all banshee, and a psycho killer on me; wanting to poke my eyes out because she’s holding a grudge over me crushing her gardenias. As I said, this could happen to anyone(me, totally me).

“What? Why are you looking at me as if I’m the crazy one?” I narrowed my eyes at him.

I’m onto you. Once I’m out of your grasp, I don’t care if my ankle is stuck—aching and burning like hell—I’m dragging myself back home and forget this day ever happened.

“I was just admiring your wild imagination. Some things never change,” he said, leaning a little too close, clearly amused.

“Hah….” I wanted to say: why, thank you, kind sir, but seeing as you have me (literally) restrained in your arms, and I have no way of escaping with my damn ankle stuck and most likely swollen underneath us—it looks like I’m your prisoner(for now). I do not trust a man with a chiseled chin: strong biceps, wavy-slick hair, and a suit. It’s the suit. Definitely.

“No to everything. I promised to keep you safe, that’s all.”

He got my attention. What promise? And to whom? Yeah, right. Sure, I’ll take your word for it, Mister stranger with a manly chisel and gruffly voice.