The Repentant Demon Trilogy Book 1: The Demon Calumnius (4 page)

All he had to do was distract a wealthy customer at the coffee shop to the point of leaving their purse or wallet where she could see it.  He did not care if she were caught, in fact—he would even hope for that.  So much the better—the public disgrace, perhaps incarceration—these would harden her soft, lovely heart.  He might as well entice her to rob a bank.  In desperate situations, it would be surprising to most how many upstanding citizens had considered such a thing.  Or he could use that newspaper she reads, the
Riverfront Times
, to attract her attention to a recent ad for exotic dancers.  That would place her into a world she would hate.  Who knows how that could change her.  If she appeared downcast now, how glorious to see her in jail—even if only for a few years—she would be ruined.  What was she without her career, without her life of studying human culture?

As he thought over all his options, Calumnius watched as she rose from her breakfast and did something quite alarming.  Abigail walked to her desk, turned off her computer, gathered her lists and papers, and then tossed them in the trash can.  Seated at her desk, she lowered her head, folded her hands, and prayed silently.

“Heavenly Father, Precious Lord, I accept your will that I will not be able to carry out my plans to travel to Iraq this summer.  I know you only provide good for me, and so I cast aside my feelings of disappointment to embrace whatever it is you have planned for me ahead.  Please bless me and help me always to do your holy will.”

That was the most extraordinary thing Calumnius had seen.  Not that he had never seen humans pray before, but not quite like that.  He had watched people pray in huge groups, at gatherings, at meals, and at funerals.  In ancient caves and monasteries he had seen devoted monks, nuns, and priests appeal to God, entering a trancelike state.  Of course, he hadn't lingered long to witness such rituals.  He had never been present at the rite of an exorcism either, but he had heard tales of their horrendous, terrifying effects.  Witnessing simple human prayer like this—one that was like talking to God—as if she knew Him—that unnerved him to the core and was somehow more disturbing to him than he would ever have believed possible.

She sighed a little breath of sadness, ever so faintly; then she began attending to her routine hygiene for the day.  Calumnius wondered at the maintenance that possessing a body required.  Such a chore it seemed—feeding it, cleaning it, preparing its appearance to acceptable standards—and then dealing with the elimination of wastes—that  presented the final and most disgusting function he could imagine, unless one considered all the issues involved in reproduction.  He wondered how an all-knowing God ever devised a blueprint for such beings.  Even I could have designed a better specimen, he thought.

Abigail Rayetta Fitzgerald gathered her books and papers, took them in a valise with her laptop to a coffee shop, and prepared for her class that evening.  She had final exams to grade and enter into the database.  That night she would pass out the grades and collect class evaluations to turn in to the administrative office.  She worked, sipped coffee, and even smiled at people.  Calumnius did not even consider his earlier plans; he could tell by her attitude that they would prove ineffective.

Abigail sat near the register, where a woman with two small children roused her attention away from her work as she noticed her fumbling for her wallet, which seemed to have been forgotten at home.  The littlest child sitting in a stroller cried for milk, holding out her empty bottle.  A huge glassful sat in a tray on the counter along with a few breakfast food items.  The situation became clear to Abigail, who immediately rose and paid for the woman's meal, receiving profound thanks and appreciation. 

After preparing the little child's bottle and settling the older child with his donut and juice, the woman came to Abigail's table, presenting a business card.

“You have no idea how much you've helped me just now,” said the woman.  “I'm Penelope Greenfield, and my husband is the dean of the Mathematics department at the university.  I’m guessing that you teach there.”

“I do,” answered Abigail. “Anthropology, evening classes.  What gave it away—the stacks of papers or the red pencil? Nice to meet you, Penelope.”

“Maybe you know how difficult it is to get out the door with little ones,” she continued.

“Not really, but I can imagine it's not easy from what I've seen,” Abigail said, smiling. “Believe it or not, I envy you.”

“Well, I've got to get back to the kids,” she said hurriedly, “but I just wanted you to know how to contact me so that I can pay you back.”

“Consider it my treat,” said Abigail, “really.  I'm glad I could help you out.”

The woman tried to insist, but she needed to get back to the children.

Calumnius pondered this event and felt absolutely baffled.  Miss Abigail was not a wealthy person and, in fact, felt a current and pressing need to hold onto her money.  Yet she freely gave away some of it to a virtual stranger. On top of that, the woman's husband was in some sort of position of significance at the very establishment where she was employed, and she made no attempt to take advantage of this situation.  Calumnius considered the possibility that he may lack understanding of her particular political infrastructures, but something had just happened in his presence that seemed to give him fresh insight into the character of Abigail Rayetta Fitzgerald.  She had a generous nature.  He could see no reason for it whatsoever.  Caring for strangers, giving away needed funds, refusing compensation—these were all acts of stupidity, and it did not seem likely to him that she ranked in that category.  He had thought her to be somewhat—comparatively speaking—intelligent. 

He stayed with her throughout the evening, still studying her, watching for any trace of weakness with which to tempt her.  The longer it took, the more determined he became, assured that such virtue would be all the more gratifying to bring down.  He watched with boredom as she passed out final grades, and he noticed that the Reid person, the one who had confronted her in the alley, was not present.  She placed his grade along with a few others for students not present into a folder.  Then she briskly passed out more forms.

“I'm sure you're all familiar with these evaluations,” she recited as if from some rehearsed scene in a performance. “Just fill them out and place them on my desk as you leave.”  Then she improvised.  “But I have my own method of asking for your opinions on this class,” she said.  “I would like you to just tell me, in your own words, what you gained from taking this class, what might have disappointed you, and any improvements you might suggest for my next victims...ugh, students.” She laughed and was quickly joined by laughter from the room.  She pointed to one particular student to start the discussion.

Most of the class had typical things to say, one joked that he had gotten three credits, which was what he had hoped to get.  Then one brave soul offered a suggestion.

“Of all the cultures we studied,” asked the tall blond man, “no mention or comparison was ever made about the horrible atrocities committed by nation against nation, culture against culture, and which group may have done the most damage in history—especially those done in the name of religion?”

“That's a good observation, Mr. Anderson,” said Abigail with enthusiasm. “I wish you had asked that during the class.  It would have been an interesting topic to discuss.  Throughout the text, you saw references to various atrocities, and we could have pulled them out for comparison.  It also would have made an excellent subject for a research paper you could have done.”

“I wish I'd done those things,” he said. “And that I'd thought of it,” he admitted with feigned embarrassment. 

“I had another question that was never addressed in class,” said a young woman in the room, “and I thought it might have come up in an anthropology class.  What was with that documentary about the mitochondrial DNA—the one that got a lot of media attention a while back?  Supposedly, there is scientific proof that all of humanity evolved from the DNA of one woman in Northern Africa?”

“And here you thought the class was over after exams last week, right?” Abigail laughed.  “Although this is not a science course, I highly recommend that documentary made by the Discovery Channel.  It is called
The Real Eve
.

“Again, I wish we had had time to have discussed that.  There was so much material already, as I'm sure you would agree,” she said, waiting for the groans of agreement, “but these questions only go to prove that anthropology is a subject with never-ending questions, something you could study for a lifetime.  It is impossible to cover everything in a single course.

“And to briefly address the mitochondrial DNA, I can only say that the answer is yes, there is compelling scientific evidence showing that humanity evolved from one woman, in spite of the fact that a small minority of scientists are disputing the conclusions.  But since science is now decided by consensus of opinion, then we can legitimately say that the human race has been traced back to Eve.

“I challenge you to take a class in heredity and evolution and ask this question,” she joked amid the polite laughter. “It is that crowd who challenges this study because it disproves their theory that human beings evolved simultaneously in different places throughout the world.  Who is it now who is refusing to accept scientific proof because it violates their preconceived notions? Their theories are a kind of dogma to them, which they believe in as strongly as any faith requires.  Yet they accuse Christian scientists—of which there are many—of having a narrow view, of being blinded by their religion.

“There are studies, papers, evidence on this subject available on the Internet.  So I encourage you to keep learning, keep asking questions and seeking answers.  It would be gratifying to me beyond belief if all of you become anthropologists.  If you do, please contact me and let me know,” Abigail said, ending her final class amid friendly laughter.

Calumnius listened and watched her conduct class, realizing she was very genuine.  He knew the details of humanity's inhumanity better than she.  Nothing she had said was untrue, but there was so much more—civilizations that she had not even discovered as yet.  The most important thing he was beginning to see was that Abigail Rayetta Fitzgerald loved to teach as well as to learn.  It was part of her giving nature. 
If anything happened to destroy her career, she would not do well.  That would break her spirit.

How could she so easily accept that she could not go on the trip she so desired?
  He had not seen such self-denial, such submission to her perceived will of God, since the Middle Ages in the austere surroundings of monasteries and nunneries.  This woman was a product of probably the most affluent society in the history of the world.  How had she developed these qualities?

Leaving the empty classroom and preparing to head for Starbucks before walking home, Abigail encountered her star pupil, Mr. Anderson, waiting for her in the hallway.  He was smiling, so she wasn't sure if he had more confrontational questions for her or not.

“I'd like to talk with you some more about being a Christian in the scientific community,” he said, “if you could spare some time.  I have very real concerns about my future—not just academic interest.”

No, no, no,
thought Calumnius to himself,
don't get involved with some Christian guy—not now when I'm so close to achieving my purpose...
Then he stopped himself.
What am I thinking?  Sex is my most powerful tool of all.  Just because they're Christians doesn't mean they aren't capable of sin.  Hah!  This could be just what I've been waiting for.
  He realized that they could share Miss Abigail—in a Christian sort of way.  Calumnius would have her soul; this Mr. Anderson could have her body.

“I was about to have some coffee,” she said, “would you want to join me?”

“Please call me Doug,” he said, walking with her. “Since school is over, let's talk as colleagues, shall we?”

D
oug Anderson was tall, blond, and his bright blue eyes stood out prominently against his tanned complexion, which, as Abigail would soon learn, had gotten that way from his many trips where he spent hours digging shirtless in the sands of ancient lands.

He offered to drive them to the Starbucks nearby on Delmar Avenue, which she accepted.  On the way, Doug Anderson explained that he had a Master's degree with a major in history and had begun working toward a double major in archeology.  He had thus far been on three expeditions to the Middle East and was preparing to leave on his fourth.

“You've got me beat,” Abigail teased. “I've only been able to join two so far—to Egypt and Israel.  I had hoped to go to Nineveh this summer, but I can't afford it.”

“Nineveh? Not the one through the University of Chicago,” he exclaimed. “That's the one I'm joining.  Too bad, that would have been great, having another Christian along.  It would have been fun to see the looks on their faces when
two
believers turned up who actually seemed to know anything.  When there's only one, they regard it as a fluke.”

“Well, maybe you can go for me, Doug,” said Abigail sincerely. “Bring back your findings, and share them with me.  I'm so interested in the period after the conquest of Thebes by Ashurbanipal II.”

“You want to find evidence of Jonah,” he grasped immediately.  “That is exactly my interest as well, though Manasseh's rule in Elkosh, near present-day Mosul in Iraq, is fascinating.  Mosul is out of the question, with all the danger there.  I'm so afraid that if the Syrians discover tablets or reliefs not flattering to their nation, they will destroy them before the world can know.  I want to see them with my own eyes before that happens.  A prophet who appears on the beach from the guts of a whale convinces them to repent, then runs to the hills to watch their demise, since he didn't believe in their repentance.  He was convinced they were such an evil people that they had to have been insincere and that God would have known it.  Someone like that would have merited some sort of mention in their writings.”