Round 5 - This is a Blurb (Jor v Inkdrinker)

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

Write a story based on the following blurb/synopsis:

The best of friends since Sunday school, Kyle and Quint do everything together. After spending the summer as door to door Missionaries, they were chosen to continue to do the Lords work in South America.

Exotic locales, exotic food, exotic girls; seemed like a no brainer. But shortly after arriving in a small unnamed village in northern Chile, Quint has disappeared and none of the residents seem to recall he was ever there.

With only his brains and the Good Book to guide him, can Kyle navigate the dark underworld of this small town and find his lifelong friend? Or will he, too, become just another statistic?

[Inkdrinker]

Words of prayer trickled out of Kyle’s mouth, from beneath his canvas hood. He was on his knees, with hands bound and a gun to his head, in a lonesome cave somewhere in the Atacama Desert. Quint lie beside Kyle, silent as the grave. Out of nowhere, a gunshot rang through the air, nearly deafening Kyle. Kyle’s life, the life of a good kid, the life of a humble servant of god, flashed before his eyes. With grim horror, he watched the chain of events that had led him to this godforsaken place, unable to change any of it.

***

Kyle sat opposite Quint in the back seat of a rugged little jeep, bumbling madly over the uneven, meandering mess of a road. In unison, Kyle adjusted his sun hat, and Quint his sunglasses, for he had no hat. In fact, Quint hated hats, as he would often remind Kyle. It was one of their many differences, but somehow, despite them, they were inseparable. When the two tired of word games, Quint reached into the pocket of his button-down shirt and retrieved his perfectly travel-size pocket-bible. He began reading his favorite verse aloud.
“Colossians three-twenty-three: whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not human masters,” he read, with a smirk forming on his lips.

“Amen to that,” said Kyle respectfully, before bursting into laughter. “That’s the eighth time you’ve quoted that in the last hour, you know!” Quint laughed too, but soon they caught a quick glare from Charles, the senior missionary in the passenger seat. Quint just shrugged.
“It’s a good quote, I like it,” was all Quint said in his defense. Yes, in many ways they were different, Quint shaved his head and Kyle kept an orange mop, for instance, but they were the same too. They both had wildly interesting ancestry, for instance, Quint being the offspring of an African-American Creole and an Australian, while Kyle was the son of an Irishman and his Polynesian lover, and they had both found God in the end. The rest of the drive devolved into talk of sports rivalries, and the weather. It was determined that the American style was the better football, and that it was far too hot.

***

Kyle and Quint quickly unpacked what little they had brought with them in the stocky hut Quint lovingly referred to as ‘the barracks of the lord’. They tested the cots, finding them to be surprisingly comfortable. The evening was almost over, almost conceded into full on night, so of course Quint wanted to go out. He was a proper servant of the lord, humble and pious and all that, but let it never be said that Quint didn’t enjoy a good party. There are many ways to enjoy a party without sinning at all, he always said. This time Quint defended his position by claiming he just wanted to get acquainted with the locals, and it would practically be rude not to indulge in their local nightlife while he was at it. Kyle begrudgingly agreed to come along.

Leave it to Quint to find a night club in a village of less than one thousand. Some flashing lights, a frankly abused disco ball, and the devil’s music pumping through obscenely large and filthy speakers in a makeshift shelter on the outskirts of town. Kyle looked miserable, but Quint was smiling and drinking the juice of exotic fruits. “Praise the lord!” Quint shouted. “And praise the DJ! And praise the bartender! Praise everyone!” Kyle laughed a little at that, and a little at the general craziness of the situation. Here he was, away from home, in a grubby little disco in northern Chile. If that wasn’t worth laughing at, he didn’t know what was. Somehow, Quint goaded him into dancing, the crowd cheering him on. Quint had a way of being the center of attention, of being able to conform the crowd to his will. And quint said dance, so Kyle did. He even found himself having fun, in an awkward sort of fashion.

Strange men in fantastic animalistic costumes came flooding in when the clock struck twelve. The electronic music of before cut off abruptly, replaced by tribal drumming from somewhere Kyle could not locate, and Quint didn’t care about. The crowd cheered again, as their previously spastic dancing transformed into something more primal. One of the animal-clad men looked to be covered in blue flames, but he didn’t seem to mind. Quint whooped, Kyle swallowed nervously. Stars could be seen through the holes in the tattered roof. Suddenly, and all at once, the crowd began chanting. “Sangre! Oscuridad! Supay!” Quint didn’t miss a beat, and started chanting along with them. Kyle recognized the first two words, ‘blood’ and ‘darkness’, respectively. Well, probably. His stomach churned and a chill wormed through his body. Blood and darkness? Something didn’t feel right here.

Kyle left the odd and alien dance hall hastily, making his way back to the barracks of the lord. Quint would be alright on his own, he always was. But Kyle muttered a prayer for him anyway, before climbing into his cot for the night.

***

The metaphorically cold light of day poured into Kyle’s eyes. He rolled off of his cot, and got dressed for the day. He felt a little dazed, unsure of the surreal events that transpired the night before. It hadn’t really felt real, but Kyle hadn’t been intoxicated, unless there was more to the fruit juice around here than advertised. There was no one else in the barracks with him, not Quint, not Charles, not anybody. Kyle checked his watch: it was still early, he hadn’t slept in, not even after his night of unchristian debauchery. Kyle wasn’t worried, Quint had probably just wanted to get an early start on the charity work, or chat up a pretty girl he met last night and Charles no doubt went to supervise him. Kyle would just have to go find them. After breakfast, of course. They had a little camp stove in the barracks of the lord, Kyle flipped it on, and put a pan on the burner. He went over to his bag to retrieve the small, but impressively plump cardboard box his mother had packed him. He read her note titled ‘Day One’ and smiled. Then he found her recipe for ‘sunny morning’ scrambled eggs. It called for powdered eggs, not fresh, which she had helpfully packed for him. Kyle liked eggs, and Kyle liked to cook, so needless to say, Kyle enjoyed cooking eggs and he whistled while he did. It was hot today, and he was glad he had decided to pack shorts.

When the eggs were done, Kyle cleaned everything up, then headed outside to eat his breakfast. The barracks of the lord was situated on the top of a modest hill, overlooking the town proper. It was a beautiful sight, the morning sun rising over the village. Its golden rays mingling with the various buildings, some traditional and built to last, some hastily constructed of sheet metal and scavenged materials. Kyle ate his eggs, all the while harboring a sneaking suspicion that he had already got a sunburn. He finished his eggs quickly, dealt with his dish, then went to look for Quint and Charles.

***

The village was a bustling place, even as early as it was and lacking a significant population. People were scrambling to raise lines of colored and patterned flags from building to building. Kyle had no idea why, but he certainly supported it. It made the place look nice. Very nice, even. Some of them noticed Kyle, and they eyed him with suspicion, or at best, curiosity. He smiled at them courteously, as he walked.
Quint seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. He was not at the site they were supposed to meet that morning. Charles was supposed to give a speech in ten minutes, about the wonders of Jesus Christ, and revolutionary agricultural techniques. A girl it was then, Quint must have been talking to girl. Kyle could just picture it: Quint trying his luck, the perfect stranger, and Charles looking disapproving over his shoulder, shooing him away before anything serious happened between the two youths.

Kyle started asking around, using Spanish to the best of his ability. He would approach a group, or an individual, and ask them, “Hello, have you seen my friends?” or some variation thereof. “Quint is short, darkish skin, no hair. Charles is older, bearded, and has grey hair.” No one had seen them, not recently and not ever. A few looked concerned. Kyle began to panic, his technical isolation mixed with the localized chaos of the crowd, swirling around his body, making his stomach rumble and his head dizzy. “Quint!” he called, craning his head every which way, “Charles!” People walking by tried their best to ignore him.

Kyle wandered into the shade of one of the larger buildings in what he supposed was the town square. It was constructed of dusty sandstone, and he leaned against it with no great pleasure. Kyle found himself thinking of Colossians three-twenty-three. Had he really given the search his whole heart? No, he thought, not at all. In a moment he would resume the hunt, just a moment in the shade. It was then that Kyle felt a hand on his shoulder. At first he thought it was the hand of the lord, answering some previous prayer, but it soon became obvious that the hand belonged to a woman, native to the area. Kyle stood, and turned to face her, “H—“ she raised a finger to her lips, commanding silence. She pulled him into the alley, and he followed willingly.

“I know where your friends are,” the woman said, quite matter-of-factly. Her accent was thick, but she was speaking plain English. Kyle was finding it hard to focus on anything other than her jewelry. The red gemstones in her ears were alluring, the gold band and tarnished medallion around her neck, almost hypnotic. He managed to nod vaguely, to indicate understanding. “They’ve been taken from this place, plucked from the very pathways.” She sounded deathly serious, but Kyle could not pry his eyes from her medallion, Its intricate patterns enchanted him, especially the runic representation of a skull at its center. The woman’s voice swam through Kyle’s head, echoing and ethereal. “In a cave, not far from here, there you will find answers. Go now, be swift.” The woman leaned down, for she was taller than Kyle, and planted a kiss on his forehead. Kyle closed his eyes and grimaced, it felt like a snake had just bitten into his brain, the thick, syrupy venom running amok throughout his mind. When his eyelids peeled back open, the woman was gone. He was not entirely surprised. He was, however, going to be sick. So after a quick and cleansing vomit in an alley in a remote village in northern Chile, Kyle set about finding that cave.

***

The task at hand turned out to be significantly easier than Kyle had anticipated. His instincts led him to the cave in just a couple of hours. He hadn’t brought any weapons or backup or supplies at all. Kyle hadn’t even told anyone where he was going. It had felt like the right thing to do at the time, and besides, he had God on his side. That’s all anyone ever really needed, anyway, reasoned Kyle. He took the next few steps towards the cave, feeling confident and unworried, if a little thirsty. A couple more steps and he was at the mouth of the thing. “Hello?” he called into it like one might speak to someone unexpected on the telephone, “Is Quint there?” His own voice echoing back at him was the only response he got. Kyle shrugged, and wandered onwards, into the belly of the beast.

“Quint? Charles? Anybody?” Kyle couldn’t see the entrance anymore, but that was okay, someone had left torches burning on the wall, a brilliant blue fire it was. He shuffled forward, rubbing his temples.

“Kyle? It’s me, Quint!” called a voice that could have just as easily have claimed to be Kyle’s great aunt Martha, and he would have believed it. “I’m just a bit further, keep going!” Kyle continued walking, and he smiled as he did so. Everything turned out all right, it was just Quint chatting up cave girls again, as per usual. Kyle was distantly aware of a tiny little voice in the back of his head, screaming at him to stop, to turn away, telling him that that was not Quint speaking to him. Kyle ignored this voice, it was silly, and worrying too much. He took one final fateful step, and blacked out.

***

Hands bound, mouth gagged, head hooded in canvas: that was how Kyle woke. It smelled musty and Kyle could see the fuzzy outline of shapes through the canvas. Something about the lighting he thought, the bluish hue that permeated the air made everything clearer, even through fabric. There was someone behind him in the same situation, tied to the same pillar, in fact. Kyle grunted, and the other grunted back: it was Quint, Kyle could tell, and this time for real. Whatever had been clogging his senses and deluding his good judgment had dissipated. “Sangre! Oscuridad! Supay!” The chanting returned, as if broadcast directly from his memories. It must have been exactly the same group of people, or a recording. But through the noise Kyle picked out a few choice screams, of agony, of terror, of rapture. Quint was rocking back and forth, moaning to himself through the dirty rag in his mouth. Kyle was grunting prayers to his good, kind, merciful, neighborly, Christian God. A god that would never let anything happen to a devout follower, surely. Surely.

The chant grew quicker and frenzied, less organized. Kyle could make out more shouting, and it wasn’t just fellow prisoners, voices in the chant left it, and expressed confusion, doubt, and fear. There was something in the distance, something coming up the tunnels, and whatever it was, it was a force to be reckoned with. Kyle and Quint waited for it, rigid with anticipation. It was either their liberation, or their damnation. A figure lurched towards Kyle, and it unbound him to the pillar, pressing what was probably a firearm hard against his right temple. Kyle could only assuming the same thing was happening to Quint, from the noises of frantic shuffling. They were marched into a crowd of blurry shapes, and up a few steps. “Sangre! Oscuridad! Supay!” The crowd screamed one final time, as if in orgasmic ecstasy. Then everything stopped, a noise loud enough to suppress all others exploded through the cavern: a gunshot. Kyle tried to cry out. He felt no pain in his head, so it must have beeen Quint. Kyle began to cry, but his sobs were met with the sharp jab of a gun butt against his skull. Kyle fell to his knees, his teeth clenched tight. What sort of kind and forgiving god would permit such acts upon the innocent? Such violence against the virtuous? Kyle did not get much time to think about it, as a second gunshot splattered his brains across the cave floor.

“Now you listen up! I am God’s vengeance, a weapon in his hand to punish you for your wicked deeds! But my god is a forgiving god, so walk away now, or I will end you in a holy an’ a righteous fury!” It was the familiar southern drawl of Charles, arriving only seconds too late.

[Deleted]

"And that's when the 'gate-way' opened, Mr. Waters? Is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes!" shouted Kyle Waters nervously. He knew he was innocent, but that didn't mean he was near wetting himself. It wasn't everyday you found yourself the lone survivor in an explosion that destroyed everything in a thirty mile radius. It wasn't everyday you found yourself sitting across from a guy who made Tommy Lee Jones in Men In Black look like, well.... Will Smith in Men In Black. The agent, whose name was ostensibly, "It isn't my name that is important, Kyle Waters," had been the first one on the scene. Kyle had arisen, from the place where he knelt, his clothes and hair singed but otherwise undamaged. Ash had blown in the dry, hot Chilean wind as the helicopters touched down.

Two men in hazmat suits had gotten out, and Kyle had raised his hands in the air. "Help! Help!" The men advanced forward, looking surprisingly foreboding in their bright orange suits. Then, one of them had produced a tazer from behind his back, and Kyle had been convulsing on the ground, and then, injected with something.

He had awoken in the office which he and the Agent now sat.

"Again," said the agent. "From the top."

"Are you kidding me? I want to go home! I want to see my family, see Pastor John. Please."

"It is easy to tell a lie once. Again, or I go away and you go somewhere so nasty that you will beg to be sent to Gitmo. From the top, Mr. Waters, and spare no details."

* * *

The strangeness hadn't begun until they got to the airport. Their plane had touched town in Calama, an arid little town in the northern part of Chile, about a thousand miles from the capital or so. Kyle Waters and Quint Carl were eager as could be. They hadn't known each other that well, so Pastor John thought this would be the perfect opportunity for the 18 year olds to make new friends with one another, all while spreading the Good News to the poor souls of Chile.

Kyle smiled awkwardly at Quint as they grabbed their luggage. The two had scarcely spoken on the plane. "You pumped or what?"

Quint grinned devilishly back. "Yeah man. Get some of that sweet Chilean pussy. "

Taken aback, Kyle narrowed his brow, "Jeeze, Quint. That's not funny."

"I know it isn't. I'm not fucking kidding, dude. We're Americans man. We're gonna be, like, exotic to them. We gotta live it up!"

"We're here as apostles, Quint! If Pastor John knew."

"Pastor John isn't gonna know, now shut up and get your bag before it goes around again." Kyle merely stood, mouth agape. Quint sighed, grabbed Kyle's huge navy duffle bag, and thrust it into his chest. "Come on, Kyle."

They walked outside of the airport, and searched for their bus. A Catholic priest in full clericals smiled at them from behind some thick-rimmed bifocals. "Hello there, welcome to Chile," he said in heavily accented English.

"Hey," the boys mumbled in unison.

"Where are you of to? You do not see many tourists this far north."

"We're heading to Caspana," Kyle said.

The priest looked at them strangely. "Caspana? And why Caspana?"

The boys looked at one another, and then Kyle cleared his throat. "We're missionairies," Kyle answered at last.

Nodding, the priest smiled again. "Good. Caspana needs a reminder of the Gospel in these dark times." He raised his hand and began to make the sign of the cross over them. "In Nomine Patri-"

Quint swatted the older man's hand, "Yo, fuck off with that weird shit."

"Quint!"

"These guys worship Mary and fuck little boys. Piss off, Padre." Quint was all smiles, as if he relished the flash of fear and sadness flash across the priest's face.

The priest wrung his hands nervously, and swallowed. Then, he shook his head at them. "You will fit right in at Caspana, boys..." He turned on his heel and began to walk away. Kyle could hear him mumble. "Dios te salva, Maria..."

When he was gone, Kyle shoved Quint, "That was fucking rude, dude."
Quint shrugged, "Fuck 'im. He's a filthy idolator, man. You've heard Pastor John and Pastor Liz. He's, like, an agent of the Whore of Babylon, bro."

Not sure how to argue against that, Kyle pressed on a different path. "Well, you can be nicer. He's not gonna repent like that."

"He's not gonna repent, anyway. He probably lives in a house of gold and has sex slaves or some shit. Those guys are fucked, man, I'm tellin' you. My dad told me all about it. In the End Times, the Pope is going to convince the world to follow the Antichrist and shit. Look it up, dude, it's in Revelations."

"I thought your dad said the president was the Antichrist," Kyle inquired.

"Yeah, well he might be."

"That doesn't make sense. The Pope hasn't really been a fan of the last three presidents, you idiot."

Quint punched him on the side of his bicep. "Shut up, man. Your mom's a fucking alchy you don't know shit."

Sighing, Kyle looked at the ground. "So, what do you think he meant? The priest, I mean."

"'Bout what?"

"He said we'd fit right in in Caspana. You know, after you went all John Calvin on him."

Quint ran a hand across his blonde, crew cut hair. "Fucked if I know. They must hate little boy rapers out there, too. Jesus, Kyle, you ask a lot of fuckin' questions, did you know that? Look, there's our shuttle. The next time you open your damn mouth it better be to say something interesting." Quint hoisted his bag and started toward the van.

Frowning, Kyle bit the inside of his cheek, knelt to grab his bag, and started after Quint.

* * *

The Agent leaned back in his chair. "So far, so good. But you never told me you heard the priest praying when he walked away the first time. Don't mess around with me, kid. I can be your best friend or your worst enemy."

Kyle gasped, "I'm sorry! I didn't remember it the first time. I didn't think it would matter anyway."

"Everything matters, Mr. Waters. Now, you and your little devil of a friend arrive at Caspana. Then what?"

Kyle frowned. Quint was a shit, but he was probably dead by now. But then again, it wasn't likely that the agent was hired for this line of work because of his compassion...

* * *

Caspana was a dry, dusty town. On three sides, the hinterlands of the little village were just as arid, but on the eastern part of the town, a humid swamp somehow stood, like some sort of invasion from Kyle's childhood in the bayou. Back when his mother and father were still together...

"Welcome to Caspana, friends!" the mayor had said. Well, he had rambled out some sort of official title, but Kyle forgot it as soon as he heard it. "My name is Raoul Carrera. We have been looking forward to your arrival. Your pastor, Pastor... - John, is it? - told me how eager you were to get started."

"Yes, sir. Thank you. Quint Carl," chimed Quint, shaking the man's hand.

"Ah, a good handshake! Always a good sign!" Raoul was young looking, with high cheekbones and bold, brown eyes. His skin was weathered and windbeaten, but it made him look handsomer somehow. He looked like he might have been some Incan prince or something.

Kyle shook his hand as well. "Kyle Waters."

"Ah, this one is like holding a dead, wet fish." He smiled and clapped Kyle on the back. "I am only teasing, of course."

At that moment, two young ladies paced up behind Raoul. "Ah, yes, my daughter Ana, and her friend Ximena. Girls, this is Quint Carl and Kyle Waters, the missionaries from America I was telling you about."
The girls might have passed for sisters. Raven-haired and dusky eyed, with sun-kissed skin, they even stood at more or less the same height, with Ximena perhaps slightly taller. Both had their hair pulled back in loose ponytails. White dresses that ended a couple inches above the knee were on each of the girls, exposing just a bit of thigh, and their feet were in matching white thongs, with their toenails painted aquamarine.

Quint repeated his name, and shook each of their hands. Kyle followed suit, but looked at his sneakers the entire time that he did.

"Hi, Kyle," Ana said, poking her head down near his eye level as she shook his hand. Kyle noticed a glimpse of cleavage and swallowed.

"Hey, I'm Kyle," he said for the third time, and the girls both smiled.

Raoul, whose pearly white smile hadn't left his angular face, rubbed his hands together. "I am quite busy, boys, so I cannot show you around, but Ana and Ximena will show you around and make sure that you are more than comfortable. Won't you girls?"

"Absolutely," said Ximena as she linked arms with Quint and began to lead him. Kyle immediately picked up his duffle bag with both hands, and held it that way as he and Ana followed.

The town was beautiful, and the people waved at them as they passed. "It is very rare for us to get visitors who are Chilean, let alone American. I am sure many will want to speak with you and hear all about you," Ana explained in thickly-accented English.

Kyle saw Ximena lean over and whisper something to Quint. Quint smiled at her.

"Here is your house for the fortnight, gentleman," Ana said at last, stopping before an old adobe home, that was flanked on either side by farming terraces of the same material. "My father bought this house after the owners passed away. Their son moved to America, and didn't want to bother with it. It is fully furnished for you."

Ana ascended the wooden stairs, which were freshly painted and as white as her dress, and unlocked the door.

"Go ahead and get settled. We'll be back later to keep showing you the village."

Sure enough, as he was reading his Bible, the girls returned some hours later, near dusk, letting themselves into the house. Kyle threw his Bible under the bed, and exited his bedroom to meet them. Quint was already in the living room.

"We want to hear about Jesus Christ," Ana said, in a thicker accent than usual. Ximena threw back her head and began laughing uproariously.

Kyle noticed a large bottle in each of their hands, a golden liquid sloshing around in each one. "Are you guys drunk?" He stammered.

Flopping down on the couch, Ximena uncorked her bottle. "Tequila?" she asked, thrusting it toward Kyle. "We will trade you shots for Bible stories, white man!" Ana snorted and covered her face.

"Fuckin' right," cried Quint, swiping it and taking a sip.

Ana offered her bottle to Kyle, and he gently shoved it aside. "What the hell are you two doing? Quint! Jesus, slow down!"

Rolling her eyes, Ana took a drink from her bottle. Kyle couldn't help but notice how plump her lips were as she licked them after she drank. He felt his heart beat fast in his chest.

"Do you know how fucking insulting it is that you're here?" Ana asked after she drank. "What the hell do you think we are, Kyle? Dumb fucking savages. We know about the Bible."

"Yeah," said Ximena, handing the tequila back to Quint. "We're good little Christian girls." She put her hand on Quint's thigh and watched him drink.

Kyle felt his face flush. His heart was pounding, his palms getting sweaty. He couldn't take his eye off the tequila bottle as Ximena and Quint passed it back and forth. He remembered his father, holding a similarly shaped bottle. He remembered his mother, sobbing in the corner of their kitchen in the middle of the most oppressive summer Louisiana had felt in twenty years. "STOP!" she had shrieked, blood running out of her nose and onto her cotton nighty. He had peeked out from the living room, and watched as his father raised his bottle, though that liquor was darker, and took another sip. And then, he had spit a venemous curse and brained Kyle's mother in the head with it.

Shaking the memories from his head, Kyle ran into his room and locked the door. He pulled out the little satellite phone from the drawer. Pastor John had said it was for emergencies, and Kyle prayed that this sufficed. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four. "Come on. Come on!!"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Kyle opened it, and saw Ana leaning against the door frame.

"What?" he asked curtly.

She looked concerned, though the bottle still hung loosely in her hand, the glass resting against her soft, smooth, brown thighs. Kyle swallowed, and then looked back at into her eyes. "I'm sorry, Kyle," she said.

"We were just having a little fun."

Kyle shrugged, "You three do whatever you want, I'm just going to get some rest. We had a long flight."
He began to turn away, but she grabbed his hand. "What I want," she said, bright brown eyes piercing his. "Is to talk to you." She pushed herself into his room and shut the door behind her.

"You shouldn't..."

"Shh..." she said, putting a finger on his lips. "Just listen." The liquor was strong on her breath, but she didn't seem overly drunk. "You are a good man, Kyle. I can tell. You have a sweet soul."

Kyle began to talk, but she shushed him again. "You need to listen. I am sorry. Truly. The truth is, we get a lot of missionary types up here, and they're all the same. Racist idiots, chauvinistic pigs. Honestly, your friend seems like one of them. But out there... I saw something... Inside of you. You really do believe in all of this stuff, don't you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess."

She smiled. "Faith is a good thing. I have a lot of respect for someone who can look at this world and still believe." She sat down on the edge of his bed and uncorked the bottle, and took a sip. She winced as it went down.

Sighing, Kyle sat down next to her, and tossed the phone onto his night-stand.. It looked like she wasn't leaving, at least not yet. "Where's Quint?" He wanted to change the subject.

"When I last saw him? With his hands up 'Mena's dress. I told them to get a room."

Kyle was aghast. "Are they..." He paused.

"Fucking? Probably."

They sat in silence for a while. Kyle thought back on his life. His childhood had been hell. And finally, Mom had had enough and took him to California, to stay with her aunt. And then high school had been a different sort of hell. Then he had met Sara, who had brought him to see Pastor John. It wasn't really a church, just a group who met in a basement beneath the restaurant that Pastor John owned, for fellowship. And then, Kyle had stopped feeling alone, stopped feeling scared. Pastor John encouraged him, helped him, helped his mother. And then, he had chosen him for this trip.

Kyle remembered one of Pastor John's most recent sermons. "The LORD wants you to stand up, to assert yourself! This world will beat you down. Every. Single. Time. You need to be bold and take what you want! Do what you want! You are a child of God, and are no longer bound by the law! Sin is dead to you! There can be no sin in you! You are free! By Christ's death, you are set free! Don't let these False Prophets bound you back into the Law!"

Ana sat there, staring forward at the wall, slowly sipping. Kyle began to hear moaning come from the other room. He could hear the springs of Quint's bed stretch and snap back. He could hear his heart beat in his ears, which were growing hotter by the minute. He felt the blood rushing to his groin.

He leaned over, and grabbed the bottle from Ana. She looked at him inquisitively as he took a long drink. He coughed, and she smiled at him. "Not bad, for your first try." Kyle didn't answer her. He set the bottle on the floor, pulled her face into his, and kissed her.

* * *

"Alright," snapped the Agent. "I don't want you getting aroused in my interrogation room."

Kyle shrugged, "You said not to leave anything out."

"Don't get smart with me kid. How much more did you drink, that's all I need to know."

Once more, Kyle Waters shrugged. "When I woke up in the morning, there was maybe an ounce or three in the bottle, but I can't say how much she drank and how much I did."

"But you had enough. You were drunk."

"Yeah, I got drunk after we had sex, and then I guess stayed drunk."

"Even though you have a history of alcoholism in your family?" The Agent narrowed his eyes.

Kyle slammed his fists on the table, his manacles jingling with the motion. "I didn't blow up that town!"

The Agent's cold eyes narrowed. "I'll be the judge of that. Now, you woke up. Then what?"

* * *

When he awoke in the morning, Kyle's head was pounding. His bed was a mess, and the bottle lay on the floor, uncorked, though there wasn't enough liquid to make it flow out of the mouth of the bottle. Ana was gone, but Kyle's nakedness and the aching in his loins and the sting of his back were proof that last night hadn't been a dream.

He felt elated, and a little bit guilty. But mostly elated. He knocked on Quint's room. "Quint. Hey, Quint! Are you up?" There was no answer, so he opened the door. Quint's bed was made, the sheets pulled tight with military precision. Kyle furrowed his brow. He had seen Quint's bedroom back home. Quint never made his bed like that.

"We must have a cleaning lady," he mused aloud.

He checked his watch. 2:00PM. Jeeze. He was never drinking again.

Stumbling out of the house and into the oppressive heat and light of the midday Sun reinforced that previous thought. He glanced around town. It was mostly dead. He remembered that it was common for people in this part of the world to go indoors and nap or relax at midday, when the Sun was at the height of its rage.
Kyle stumbled down to the saloon. He had heard the expression, the hair of the dog that bit you, and thought he might as well try it out. Besides, that'd probably be the most likely place to find Quint, and perhaps even the girls.

Sure enough, Ana and Ximena were there, sharing a tray of diced cubes of fruit, an array of cheeses, heels of bread, and a bottle of red wine. Ana waved to him as he poured, smiling. Ximena turned.

"Wine, Kyle?" Ana asked. Today, her dress was aquamarine. Like her toenails from yesterday. Her hair was down and, despite the fact that they had made love until the edge of dawn was visible, he found himself desiring her again. He wondered if she would let him again tonight.

"Sure," he said, slouching into the booth beside her. He took a sip of wine and felt that he was going to vomit. But then he took another, and found that the adage rang true. "Where's Quint?" he asked, shoving a hunk of bread into his mouth.

The girls exchanged confused looks. "Where's who?"

Kyle laughed. "You know, blonde, cocky asshole with a mouth full of shit."

Ximena frowned, "Watch your mouth, Kyle." She glanced nervously at the proprietor, an elderly man polishing glasses behind the counter.

Taking a sip of wine, Kyle swallowed the bread and wine together. "Sorry, but seriously. Where's Quint? I should probably see what he thinks we should do for the day."

"Kyle," said Ana. "Are you feeling alright? We don't know anyone named Quint."

Kyle looked at her. "Cut the shit, Ana. Come on, where is he? Ximena? Where's Quint? Or did you ride him to death last night?"

Ximena almost choked on a piece of fruit. "Excuse me?"

The bartender slammed his glass down. "GET OUT!" he roared. "I thought you missionary? Get out!"

Kyle got to his feet. "Ana, Ximena...? What is going on?"

Ana sighed, "Kyle, just leave. We'll talk to you later."

He started toward the door, and then turned. "No. No! I want to know where Quint is! Tell me, Ana! Where is he?"

The mayor's daughter only frowned at him, as if she pitied him. By now, the owner was coming around the counter, his fists clenched. The old man advanced toward Kyle. "Kyle..." Ana murmured, but she didn't finish.

"Ana, please, where is Quint?"

Strong, sinewy arms grabbed him and began pulling him toward the door. "Filthy mouth, get out!" the old men bellowed, shoving him out the door.

A few people were on the street, and they peered at Kyle as if he was some sort of alien creature. "Where's the mayor's office?" he asked them, but they waved their hands at him and shook their heads.

"No English. No English."

Sighing, Kyle tried a different tact. "Raoul?" An old woman nodded knowingly, and pointed.
Kyle found the place easily enough. A bell rang as he entered, and Raoul looked up from his computer.

"Ah, Brother Kyle! Welcome, what can I do for you? How are you finding the place so far?"

"Fine, fine. Ana and Ximena have been great. Everyone's been great."

When Raoul smiled, crow's feet appeared on his eyes, but they faded away with the smile. "Good. I am glad. There is one family I think that would really benefit from your work. I can drive you over in a few minutes, if you'd like. Introduce you."

"Yeah, sure," muttered Kyle. "That'd be great. We'd, uh, just have to grab Quint first. Do you know where he is?"

Raoul wrinkled his brows. "Quint? Did you meet a new friend already?"

Kyle swallowed nervously. "Quint... You know... He came here with me."

"Kyle, my friend. You came alone."

It was if his bones had turned to ice. No. No! They were lying to him. Why? What had happened? Where was Quint?

Swallowing nervously, Kyle laughed. "I know... I was just making a joke. I'll, uh. Be back. To meet them. The family. I just need to go get my Bible. You know, to preach with."
Raoul waved him toward the door. "I will be here when you are ready, Kyle."
The door of the adobe guest home burst open as Kyle bolted in. He slammed it shut, and locked it, and ran to his bedroom. He opened the drawer, where he had put the satellite phone. He would call Pastor John. Pastor John would know what to do. Maybe call the embassy? The president? Kyle didn't know and he didn't care, all he knew was that he needed John, and needed him now.

His hands fumbled around in the night-stand drawer. The phone. Where was the phone? Kyle's heart was racing, pounding like a bass drum in his chest. Where did I put that fucking phone?
Then, he remembered. She had come to his room, let herself in. Sat next to him. She was beautiful. He had kissed her. She had kissed him, and taken her hand and slid it up her thigh... She had come to his room. After he had ran in there. To try and call Pastor John. She had come to his room. After he had had the phone in his hand. He had still had it in his hand when... She had come to his room. And he had tossed the phone onto his night-stand.

Ana had taken the phone. It had to have been her. It just had to.
There was a knock on the door of the house. No, it wasn't a simple knock. A loud, repitive banging. Kyle froze, swallowed nervously. The banging continued.
Slowly, he opened his door and crept into the living room. Crouching, he moved like molasses toward the door, and then arose slowly to look out the peephole. Ana was out there, tears in her eyes, and Raoul stood at her side, though all his smiles were gone. Behind them, fifteen men or so stood, and behind them a gaggle of women and children.

"We know you are in there, you Yankee son of a bitch! Get the fuck out here!" Raoul's voice was harsh, and he began banging on the door again with an animalistic ferocity. Kyle could feel the vibration in the pit of his stomach as Raoul's fist beat against the door, the vibrations transferring into the wood and into Kyle's stomach pressed firmly against it.

"I am going to kick the door down, Kyle. You raped my daughter, and that cannot go unpunished. Do you hear me, bastard? You are going to beg me to kill you when this is over!"

* * *

The Agent seemed to be enjoying this. He leaned back in his chair, one hand on the arm rest, and the other scratching his chin. He smiled at Kyle, for a while. Then, "Well? Did you?"

"Did I what?" Kyle snapped, knowing full well what the Agent was asking.

"Rape Ana Carrera?"

"I told you what happened!"

The Agent leaned forward. "Oh, you did. A young girl who has consumed a half dozen or so ounces of rum comes into your room. You take a single drink, and then you two have sex. Do you think she might have been too drunk to consent?"

Kyle rubbed his temples. "I don't know... No! I mean, she came in my room, she had that dress on and wanted me to drink and..."

"The dress? She was asking for it, you're saying?"

Stammering, Kyle tried to stood up, but set of manacles on each feet wouldn't allow him to. "I want a fucking lawyer! I told you that! I'm an American!"

"This isn't America, son. The Constitution doesn't apply here. Carrera is dead, anyway, and there is no DNA in the entire village, except whatever fell off of you when we evaced you. So relax. I just want you to
understand that there are six thousand ways I can destroy you, so tie this thing up so I can figure out what to do with you. What happened next?"

"I told you before. Raoul punched me in the mouth as soon as I opened the door. I thought if I could talk to them, to Ana and Ximena, that it could all be worked out. But no one wanted to talk. No one in that village wanted to talk..."

"So Raoul hit you, and you fell to the ground?"

Kyle nodded. "And then the men, the crowd of men gathered, rushed forward, and began hitting and kicking me, and I... I..."

"Blacked out?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you say you woke up in a... cave?"

* * *

The black bag was pulled off of his head, and Kyle found himself in a massive, underground grotto, with two large men from the village each holding him on either side. Raoul stood high on a great, stone dais. An altar, hewed from the same stone, was before him. Candles lined every wall, and strange runes and inscriptions were etched everywhere.

Raoul was naked, except for a long, black robe that draped to the floor and pooled like blood at his feet. It was cinched with a belt at his waist, just enough that his genitals were not exposed. The hood of the robe was long and, even though it was drawn over his head, cascaded down his back to a point. He began to speak in Spanish, and while Kyle had always had a hard time formulating sentences, he could understood it well enough when it was spoken.

"My people, my fellow servants of the One True God!" he cried out. "There stands the interloper! There stands the slave of the Christ! He and his friend came to our town, raped our women, brough their vile ways to us! What shall we do with him? Shall we give him to Ba'alhammon?"

"Ci!" they began to cry out. "HONOUR GOD WITH HIS BLOOD! HONOUR THE MIGHTY ONE!"

"THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN! KYLE WATERS, COME FORTH AND MEET THE TRUE GOD! MEET THE ONE WHO SHALL CAST DOWN YOUR CHRIST!"

Kyle felt himself being pushed forward, felt the throngs of people press in on him. The slapped him, spat on him, shoved him. He was sobbing, stumbling. "Just give me Quint and let us leave!" he shrieked. "Just let us go!

We won't come back, we won't ever come back!" His voice could barely be heard above the din.

At last he came to the stone table. He was stripped naked, and laid upon it. He struggled, and that only lead to another fist in his face. They bound him to four small pillars on each corner of the altar.

"MY LORD, MY MIGHTY GOD, WE OFFER THIS SOUL TO YOU! BLESS US, BA'ALHAMMON!" roared Raoul, and he plunged the knife down into Kyle's chest. Kyle gasped, and faded into blackness.
And then, a voice. A soft voice. It had almost sounded like Ana's had, that night that felt like an eternity ago, as pumped eagerly between her legs, and she had whispered breathlessly into his ear, her mouth hot and sticky. "Kyle, do you want to live?"

Kyle felt as if he were floating, but all he felt was darkness. "Yes. Yes, I just want to go home."

"Do you want to live?" it asked again.

"Yes!"

"At any price?"

Kyle hesitated. He thought about his mother, his mouse of a mother. "Be safe, my baby boy," she had said, kissing him on the forehead as he left. "My knight in shining armor, you tell folk all 'bout Jesus and you come right home. You're all I got, baby."

"Yes, yes! At any price!"

The voice purred. "Good. Then live you shall."

* * *

"And then I woke up, where you guys found me. And everything was... was like.... like how you saw it. Burned. All burned up." Kyle felt tears well in his eyes and looked at his hands. "I just wanna go home, sir. I just wanna see my momma."

The Agent grimaced. He began to open his mouth, but then all of a sudden, the red door of the interrogation room was flung open. An older man, in a similar suit and tie as the Agent, burst in. "I've heard enough. We have to put him down. It is pretty clear that the Entity has made a host of him. It probably has full possession. It knows too much already."

The Agent rose to his feet, "Commander, we should wait and see. We should get in contact with Rome at least, this isn't our call to make. The boy is... flawed. But he is still one of us. We cannot just cast him aside!"

The Commander stomped his foot. "Look, Sir Anthony, the boy is as good as dead. We'd be doing him a favour!" The Commander drew a pistol from a shoulder holster in his jacket, and took aim. "Sorry, Kyle, but this must be done."

Mouth agape, Kyle froze and merely stared down the barrel of the pistol.

"I think not," came a familar voice. A man stepped in the room. A man in black, with a white collar and small, round purple hat on his head. His skin was like milk chocolate, his smile kind, and his eyes met Kyle's from behind thick-rimmed bifocals.

It was the priest from the airport.

He nodded solemnly, but warmly, at Kyle. "Good afternoon, Kyle Waters," was all he said before turning to the Commander. "Put your weapon away. I have already been in contact with His Holiness. Kyle can be saved. Move him to more comfortable quarters within the compound.

"Yes, Your Excellency." Agent and Commander bowed.

"I shall hear his Confession now... and then, on the morrow, the Exorcism will begin."

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

Ink Drinker’s Review:

Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed with this. It was rough right from the start; that first paragraph could have used some pro-nouns in a big way. You opened up with your character’s life flashing before his eyes which lent itself well to the mechanic of just flashing from scene to scene but it pretty quickly began to feel as though you were abusing it. I never really grew to like or dislike any of your characters and a lot of stuff felt just thrown in with little or no rhyme or reason. I dunno, it sort of felt like you went through the blurb and just elaborated on each phrase with a couple of paragraphs of detail; everything felt disconnected from everything else and that made it really hard to follow. Which is sort of strange since it’s basically a pretty linear piece.

As to the characters themselves; I never really got the feeling that any of them believed in their goals. Perhaps that was the blurbs fault for being a little sloppy, but every time you made mention to their religion or God it read like you were being ironic. It’s hard to believe in a character that the author doesn’t believe in. I think that was the biggest problem character-wise.

The biggest problem though, with the whole piece, was clarity. I was never really sure what was happening, what was real and what wasn’t, because you main perspective was in a drugged up stupor for 90% of the story. Then I was super-confused at the end when his brains were splattered out and –then- he saw Charles (the throw-away third character) standing over him. Big continuity issue there. Like I said, you’ve made such a strong showing thus far, this was really disappointing.

Jordoom's review:

This was much more along the lines of what I’ve been expecting from you. A good solid story, complete with interesting characters, a fairly solid air of mystery, tension, and a plot line I actually wanted to see brought to fruition. I actually cared about how it ended. I had one little gripe early on when you noted who Quint and Kyle didn’t really know eachother, since the blurb was pretty clear that they were lifelong friends, but once I got past that things got better.

I liked Kyle, I thought he was a good character and was certainly the most complete. The way he was nervous around the girls, but capable and confident when speaking with the Agents said a lot about him without it having to be explained. In fact, I think you should put some thought into how successful that particular element was because a lot of the other elements of the story were fairly heavy-handed.

Example: The priest saying a little prayer for them and telling them they’d “fit right in” was great foreshadowing. Having Kyle actively question Quint about what it all meant was a little too much. I’d also advise against preaching to the reader; your little digressions into politics and opinions on other religions, or rather, how you think other religions see your religion… whatever it was, I found myself rolling my eyes a few times and thinking, “Just get on with the story, man.”

And finally, the dialogue. I’ve seen Agro mention this a few times to other writers, but it really helps to recite your dialogue out-loud. Maybe tone down the profanity and the anger of it all. Yeah, it might be fairly realistic that someone drops three F-bombs in one sentence, but it doesn’t make for good reading and that’s really what this is all about. In fact, your whole story took a notable upswing when Quint disappeared and stopped talking.

There was a little red-herring in there (inadvertent??) which I enjoyed. The early mentions of the explosion wiping a whole town, and the heavy sexual tones and your one pure character and one not-so-pure character really had me thinking you were retelling a Sodom and Gomorrah type story and I was curious how that was going to turn out. I think those element worked, but then you twisted into this “entity” and got the Secret Church Service involved and all that and I got really interested to see where it was heading and exactly what poor Kyle encountered.

I think you chose the right place to end it, but I really want to know what happens next.

Jordoom takes this round.