Ten

                                                                               August 15, 1918

      “Tell the police to be careful not to rile me. I take no offense at the way in which they have conducted their investigations in the past. In fact, they have been so utterly stupid so as to amuse not only me. But it be better that they never born than for them to incur the wrath of the axman.”  

      Cain laughed. So far he had killed seventeen as the Axeman. He had left two alive as he found a scared ape is better than a dead one. At least better for his objective.

      He blinked, an image of the Ambassador appeared before him. “I remember every word from you. Most things you said was to someone else. But I watched you.”

      “I watched as you advanced in the Council. No one in the Council of Light has advanced as quickly as you. You achieved it through rage, destruction and death.”

      “I watched as you dealt with QMark. I watched as you ensured she stayed on script. I saw as you hit, slapped, and beat the life out of her.”

      “I watched as you dealt with me. The beatings you gave me. You were careful as you were with QMark. Usually there were no marks.”

      “With each hit, you passed your rage to me. Just like Muah’s disciples were scattered throughout the universe, my disciples, my rage, destruction is being scattered.”

      He blinked again.

      Ian appeared.

      Cain laughed.

      “And you, little brother, you always bring hilarity. Even in that little room, you seem to take everything so seriously.”

      “You took the Ambassador seriously! You took me seriously!”

      He laughed harder. “What I really don’t understand is you took yourself seriously!”

      Cain stopped. He was now laughing so hard Thing was shaking. “Now . . .now . . .now.” Finally he was able to continue. “Now,” he changed his voice adopting a serious tone “because you are so serious” his voice changed back “the Council chose you to stop me.”

      He started laughing again.

      “You couldn’t stop me when we shared that room. All those nights while you slept, I could have killed you quietly many nights. But I preferred to hurt you. I experimented on you.” Images of long ago flashed before him. Cain saw them in their room with an ever-changing variety of scenes.

      “I didn’t know the extent of our powers, so I wanted to know. There was the night I ran an electrical current through you.” He began laughing harder. The scenes faded.

      Thing listened, remembering everything.

      “I know your limits little brother. But you don’t know mine.”

      Finishing up the letter to the local New Orleans paper, it disappeared.

*                                             *                                     *                                                 *

                                                           Domi-ium

                                                    Third Cycle Past M6

      The Ambassador would not admit he was starting to lose control. He had sat at the head of the Council for six hundred years after killing Mu:rek. The killing had been easy. Disposing of it had been easy. He had dumped Mu:rek’s body the same place he had dumped QMark years before.

      The same place he had dumped them all.

      Now he had become two. The Ambassador’s mind had split, the second creating a personality of its own. He called himself Litworth. Each conversation between the two of them was like watching two different individuals. They each had their own voice as well as different mannerisms.

      The Ambassador was facing to his right. His voice was a higher octave and slightly slower than his normal speech. “You must regain control Ambassador. You must find that center of strength in yourself.”

       He faced to the left, his voice returned to normal. “You are the reason I am losing control Litworth.”

      “It is I, my dear Ambassador, that still gives you the ability to act like you are the same as you ever were. It is I that has memorized your routine. I know which words to say when you stand before the council. I know what to do when those you meet throughout your day greet you.”

      “It is I, my dear Ambassador who knows you. The real you. I know what you will do before you do it. I know your secrets.”

      “That sounds like a threat! Do you know who I am?”

      “You my dear Ambassador is a tired old man who has outlived his usefulness. Almost.”

      The Ambassador stopped, not moving. He had learned that this was one of the easiest ways to stop Litworth.

      After several minutes he asked timidly “Litworth?”

      No answer.

      The Ambassador was scared. “Our people speak of a sickness. It affected those before they became the Ancient Ones.” He closed his eyes in thought, trying to remember. “The name for it is  . . .” He reached out his arm as if trying to grasp the word out of the air.

      Giving up, he kept his eyes closed and continued. His voice changed again, not to that of Litworth, but a deep resonating voice. “It is the Curse of Muah. I walked this planet. I walked every planet. I was the god of all. Now everyone thinks they are a god. So I unleashed my curse.”

      “This curse robs you, a little at a time. Muah giveth and Muah taketh away.”

*                                             *                                     *                                                 *

                                                       Lexington, KY

                                                      June 29, 2020

      Daddy was never a fan of stories that told a story out of order. He wanted the  beginning, middle and end in the proper order. He would hate the way I’m telling this. But like every father and son there were things we didn’t agree on.

      My earliest memory is riding with him on the farm as he made his daily rounds.  My dad, Seth McCoy Sr., got up every morning at 5. He would have a cup of coffee, two scrambled eggs and a slab of ham, or as he called it ‘cackleberries and side meat.’ After breakfast, he would ride every inch of his 56 acres. Even though I wasn’t old enough in that first memory, I would guess around two, Dad held me upright. It was there, sitting on Fontana with dad, that I was happiest.

      By the time I was five I was riding my own horse, a pony really. I named it Mack, don’t ask me why I remember that. Every morning at 5:30 after the cackleberries and side meat we would ride. That was how I started my days until dad got so sick he couldn’t ride. Although riding was never the same, it still takes me back to those mornings with him. Horses were the way dad and I connected.

      Uncle Phil however only saw horses as something to bet on. And usually to lose on. Phil and dad had many, many heated arguments about his gambling. But dad always made sure his big brother’s debts were paid. I blame him for a lot. Dad wasn’t able to take care of himself once he got cancer because Phil was always needing money.

      That was why I killed him before I left Texas.

      By now you’re probably wondering ‘what the hell am I reading?’ Or ‘why do I care about all these unsolveds? Or ‘if rhubarb is cooked in molasses will it taste more like strawberries or fried apples?’ Let me try and answer these questions.

      Well, at least the first two.

      The third is left for science to answer.

      Daddy used to say the only reason you read is for recreation. He would read and reread those mindless westerns every night. Every night after the nightly newscast, he would light his cigar and put his feet up on his ripped ottoman. As he slowly sipped his Maker’s on the rocks, smoke would swirl around his head and he would spend two hours each night reliving the wild west.

      I never understand what he saw in them.

      “It was a simple time Junior. Right and wrong was defined. The good guy always won. And there was horses in there. I was never able ta figure out why you was so stupid you didn’t know that.”

      Now you know why dad spent his time reading them.

      “Totally unlike this nonsense today. I mean come’on! Sum yahoo that travels through the cosmos killin random people in random times. And he’s a god? And his brother’s a god that needs your hep?”

      “They’s only one God Junior. And He don’t need yer hep.”

      You see why I couldn’t argue with this guy? I loved dad. He’s still the greatest person I ever knew, but he had one dimensional thinking. Even after travelling with me in all the cases I have done and all the things I have seen he still has it.

      Maybe working with Ian will change his mind about a lot of things.