you, big bro.”
“I love you too, Samson. But what does any of this have to do with this…this contract?”
“Because it isn’t fair!”
Hurried footsteps rushed toward the confessional in response to Samson’s outburst. There was a tentative knock on the door.
“Father Samuel? Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine. We’re just about done here.”
The footsteps backed away and Samuel returned his attention to his brother.
“Sorry about that. Samson, what are you doing? What are you trying to do?”
“You’re the perfect one. You’re my better half. And God is taking you away from me. You’ve done everything He’s asked of you. You’ve devoted your life to Him and look at you.” Vestments couldn’t hide Samuel’s thin wrists or drawn face. Though born so close together, Samuel seemed to have aged a decade since their last visit. Samson neared tears. “He’s taking you away!”
“So, you want to punish Him for it? You can’t do that, Samson.”
“I can do whatever the fuck I want! And no, I’m not punishing Him. I want to strike a bargain with Him. Your life for the souls of His precious children.”
“You can’t do that, Samson. God has a plan for me. We may not understand it but we have to trust His wisdom.”
“If wanting to save my brother’s life is a sin, if His plan means that I have to watch my big brother rot and die, then fuck His plan.” Samson stormed out of the confessional. Samuel listened to his brother’s heavy footfalls as he left the church, wondering what he was going to do.
3
“You’ve got to go.” Samson disentangled himself from the woman’s velveteen embrace, the woman whose name he no longer remembered, nor cared about; his mind was already on other things. Samson rode the crests of his orgasm to an elevated state of consciousness. It harnessed his concentration and focused him for the task at hand. Whatever she had to say, she did so to his back. He already had her signature on the contract and he had taken all the pleasure he could from her flesh. There was nothing more he needed from her, nothing more she could offer. He visualized the sigil. “Don’t be here when I get back.”
Samson always believed that there was a transcendent aspect to sex, a spiritual energy to be had, a sexual alchemy that might be used to bend reality to his will. He only had to find a way to channel his sexual energy. The sigil drawn on a piece of paper absorbed the energy generated by the act. It was a symbol of his brother. Healthy. How he was meant to be. Meaninglessness in a universe that had no meaning he understood; however, meaninglessness in a universe with meaning, in a universe run by God, that was unacceptable. Samson’s plan to collect enough souls to barter for the life of his brother had only been a desperate thought, nothing more than a fantasy, until he discovered the book.
His shower was only part of his cleansing ritual. He remained naked; nothing would block the flow of his power during the ceremony. There was freedom in performing the ritual in the nude. To perform magic of this difficulty, he needed a special mindset. His fast continued, but it was the sex that truly began his act of consecrating himself. None of the bullshit about being chaste, storing up a pool of sexual energy. Sex was power. Through it he would tap God’s power or at least thwart His will.
It had been a long day for him, bleeding long into the night, but his work was not complete. Samson, finding his apartment empty, closed the red drapes across his windows. Lit only by candles, he made this his secluded place, his sacred place. Kneeling over his blade, he prayed. He drew a magic circle with the knife, carving a barrier to the outside world. Methodically, he worked with the same care and patience he used to seduce women, etching pentagrams and hexagrams along the circle. The crosses and bowls of holy water, he stole from his brother’s church. A slight indiscretion to pay if his boon was granted. His place secure, Samson crossed the room, knelt, and stabbed his knife into the wood floor again. This time he crafted a triangle to hold the demon. He inscribed the name Michael within it, then wrote the names of power on its edges. Anexhexeton. Tetragrammaton. Primematum.
In the end, the ritual came down to belief, power, and names. The rest was window dressing to focus his mind and energy.
“I invoke you, terrible and fallen god who prowls like a lion among the children of Adam, who rules under threat of damnation and eternal hellfire by the power of the Supreme God, Elohim, over all Spirits, superior and inferior, I invoke and command thee by the true name of God, Yaweh, in whose image I am created, who sacrificed His only begotten son for my sins. O the most great and powerful name of God, JEHOVAH, TETRAGRAMMATON, who cast thee out of Heaven with the rest of the faithless angels into a boiling lake of fire; by all the other potent and great names of God, Creator of Heaven, Earth and Hell, of all contained therein; by their powers and virtues; which Adam heard and spake when he was cast from the garden; by the name which Jacob learned from the Angel on the night of his wrestling and was delivered from the hands of his brother Esau; by the name which Lot heard and was saved with his family; by the name ZEBAOTH, which Moses named, and all the rivers and waters in the land of Egypt brought forth frogs, which ascended into the houses of the Egyptians, destroying all; by the name SCHEMES AMATHIA, which Joshua invoked and the sun stayed upon his course; by the name ANEHEXETON, which Solomon spake and was made wise; by the name EMMANUEL, which the three children, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego, chanted in the midst of the fiery furnace, and they were delivered; by the name ALPHA and OMEGA, which Daniel uttered, and destroyed Bel and the Dragon. Hear me and make all your scourge brethren obedient to me,” Samson screamed into the night.
The night retorted with silence. Samson knew the spirits had to be commanded, his tone certain, yet not disrespectful. A fine line to walk. In truth, he imagined this was how life was for his brother, time wasted talking to someone who wasn’t there.
“I have brought the names, those souls I have to barter.”
For an hour, he implored the empty air. Sweat glistened on his body. He sliced his arms in blood tribute. Drops of blood sizzled in the candle flames.
“Why won’t you answer me?”
“Not enough,” a voice finally murmured and extinguished the candles.
Samson collapsed into an exhausted heap of spent flesh. “I’ve failed.”
“Twenty for one.”
“Twenty souls?” Samson asked.
Samson felt his hopes sink. There was no way he could find twenty women willing to sell their souls for sex. It was impossible. Well, nearly impossible.
“Twenty for one. Their blood must be spilled for the covenant to be made.”
Samson shivered as the meaning of the words sank in.
4
Working at Matthew’s House, a hospice for those dying of AIDS, Samuel felt like he was set up to fail. There was little he could do for them since nothing he could say or do would prevent any of them from dying. It was the perfect metaphor for all of his life’s work—futile efforts while everyone around him died anyway. He muttered a quick prayer to refocus himself on his duties and responsibilities. If he could provide any measure of comfort, he needed to do so. And some of the clients brought a special joy to him.
He made his way to the back corner of the floor. From the way she sat stiffly, he knew the pains in the woman’s neck and head must be excruciating today.
“Bless me Father, for I have sinned.” She closed her eyes and put her hands together as if ready for her penance. Then she peeked out from one eye.
“Give me a break.”
