Behind the Spiritual Lines: Curse of the Gifted Child

By R.J. Ellis

Ellis takes readers into a supernatural realm, similar to limbo, where good and evil fight for control. Cliff, a 16-year-old boy, has been chosen by warrior angels to carry out a mission—save his possessed sister and conquer evil. Demons possess him in the process, and Cliff, an angel in human form, soon lands in an asylum, desperately searching for a grip on reality. This book is a story about good and evil and, through Cliff’s journey, delves into what happens behind spiritual lines—what happens in everyday life that isn’t visible to the human eye. Vivid descriptions of heaven, the Garden of Eden and angels provide insight into what “the other side” actually looks like. These battles not only well illustrate what happens in a heavenly battle, but they also symbolize the binary decision-making process between right and wrong, often represented by a demon on one shoulder and angel on the other. --Kirkus Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.J. Ellis
• Release date: Mar 12, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301247813

R.J. Ellis

R. J. Ellis was born in Mesquite, Texas. He has been included in the Stephen F. Austin’s Pen and Pigment for Poetry and Fiction projects. He has published a collection of poetry for the undergraduate magazine HUMID. Furthermore, Richard was the Nonfiction Editor for HUMID in his final year at SFA. Richard has completed the BFA program at SFA. He currently lives in Houston Texas.

Book preview

BEHIND THE SPIRITUAL LINES

by

R. J. Ellis

Smashwords Edition

Published on Smashwords by:

R. J. Ellis

Behind the Spiritual Lines

Copyright 2012 by R. J. Ellis

ISBN: 9781301247813

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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To Tiffiney for believing in the dream.

and

To Tara for encouraging the dream.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Prologue

Section I: Present Day

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Section II: Five Years Prior

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Section III: Present Day

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

About the Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First, giving honor to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, without his guidance and persistent mercy, this dream would’ve never became a reality. I would also like to thank my creative writing mentors, Dr. McDermott and his lovely wife for teaching me how to put visual images into words. My creative writing peers at SFA for rigorous workshops and great editorial feedback. My family and friends who believed in my book and hounded me every minute for a deadline. Even those that didn’t believe, your doubt added fuel, which makes this even more sweeter.

Ephesians 6:12

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (NIV)

PROLOGUE

The bee buzzed its way down through the first heaven, flying through the moon’s shadow. Its wings were made of diamonds, its abdomen made of black and yellow emeralds. It flew with short and strong wing strokes as the wind bristled over its back. The city’s lights blared across the sky, illuminating perfect circles of blue, red, and orange hues. The constant thunder of machine engines, cars honking, and rail train tracks were faintly heard at this altitude, but still found its way up to the fainted clouds. The city’s smog was thick and filled the sky with white puffy clouds that contrasted against the dark sky.

The bee eased its way into the lights of downtown Dallas, swerving around the many skyscrapers. As it flew around the Bank of America Plaza, the neon green lights reflected off its wings. It kept its pace until it reached the small district of Madisonville. This particular district had low income housing extended across it. What little businesses that remained in the area were Mom and Pop shops. These struggling stores were outnumbered by the many liquor stores that sat on each corner, lights flashing and advertising their liquid addiction. The district had been in decline since the early eighties but saw a glimpse of revamping in the nineties. When the second economic crisis hit in the new millennium, the district lost most of its developments. It was only fifteen minutes from downtown and predominately a black community.

The bee kept at its efforts buzzing along one of the roads in the small neighborhood, keeping away from the cars that went about on the road. No one could see the bee in the darkness so it had little worry or fear. Up and down it went until it reached The Lincoln Center Apartments. The apartments were run down but oddly enough, they were better looking than the surrounding houses and projects. They were gentrified apartments that slipped back into their decaying days. It was a gated community surrounded by black chipped painted bars. The residents had pulled most of the gate apart and broke the sliding fence at the entrance. The apartments were divided in subsections; section 8 was placed at the front of the complex, thus allowing quick entrance for police. In this section, many young children played outside unsupervised, toddlers wobbled on the pavement in attempts of keeping their balance wearing nothing but diapers, and the elderly sat on their porches on glider rockers, rocking back and forth. The back section of the apartments held the younger generation of the community. Lincoln Center never saw full families; either the father was dead, in jail, or simply not around, while the mothers were predominately left to care for the children.

The bee continued over the broken gate that wrapped around the small community and passed the glass littered road, over the green infested swimming pool, through the boarded washateria to apartment 777. The bee buzzed its way through the window into one of the small rooms. In the room was a red wooden bunk bed, one dresser, and a desk with a computer. There was a sliding mirror which was the door of the closet. The bee landed on the computer and watched the commotion in the room.

Clifford Jr. thrust himself toward the creature. He grabbed the creature’s waist and locked his hands together. The creature raised its right hand in a tight fist and pound it against Cliff’s back. Cliff immediately dropped to the ground. The beast then kicked Cliff’s slumped body with little effort which caused Cliff to fly across the room.

This beast of a creature had a massive form, two stocky arms that grazed the ground as it walked. Its legs were short and thick and bent inwards at the knees. It had two broken wings that looked as if they were about to snap at any second. Its wings constantly shuttered. Its body was completely black like smoke. In the middle of its chest was a ball of light orange fire that burned and churned inside of it.

Cliff rolled over attempting to catch his breath. He tried to rub his spine where the pain throbbed and shot down to his legs, but it didn’t help. He lifted his head and saw the creature walking with a limp toward his little sister, Tinka, who was unaware of the commotion going on one dimension from her.

Tinka played with a black baby doll in the small corner of the room. She made sure that she was far from Cliff’s things, which was on the right side of the room. He really didn’t have much except for the shamble of a desk that held the computer that Tinka knew she wasn’t allowed to play with.

With his last ounce of strength, Cliff raised himself from the floor and took one last lunge at the creature before it could reach Tinka. He landed on the creature’s back sinking his nails into its skin. The wings flapped across Cliff’s face making his head jolt back from the force. He smelled the foul scent of the beast which smelled like a rotten rodent carcass. Cliff dug his fingers into the beast’s outer core; it felt like dead flesh peeling from its back. Its hair was thick and straight with chunks of flesh stuck in between each hair fiber. Cliff could feel the warmth of the creature against his chest. He mounted himself for better leverage as the realm around him began to pulsate like a beating heart. Cliff saw red as the room around him started to heat up and spin. Everything turned into liquid.

I give myself to you! Cliff yelled, sinking into the creature’s outer core. Slowly each part of Cliff began to enter into the beast. His head went first, and then legs, chest, until his back was the only thing that stuck out from the creature’s back. The beast screamed from the pain. The scene was similar to reverse child birth.

Not far, Tamara lay on the ground holding her arm. She rolled back and forth grunting from the pain. The beast howled and Tamara turned to it. She witnessed the creature and Cliff become one. Tamara couldn’t do anything now. She turned and looked once more at the little girl playing with the doll before she wobbled out of the apartment. The creature bulked, bracing itself on his arms and kicking its legs in the air. The creature tried to thrust Cliff from its body but the more it tried the deeper Cliff entered.

El-lo-mac-de-getti! The creature yelled in an angelic language.

Tinka continued to play with her doll quietly making sure not to wake her sleeping brother on the bottom bunk. She turned and saw Cliff sleeping with his chest arched in the sky. She frowned as she realized that he stayed in that position for a moment. She put her doll down and tiptoed to him. When she got close enough, she saw his chest jerking sporadically.

Cliff, you okay? She paused. You better not be joking.

Cliff’s convulsions began to get worse. He started to gag and buck wildly until the blankets that once covered his body were now on the floor. She ran into the living room and found his cell phone on the kitchen’s counter. She quickly picked it up and dialed 911.

SECTION I: PRESENT DAY

CHAPTER 1

The room was dark. It gripped Cliff, tugging at his insides. He felt suffocated in his room, like drowning in a black sea. His room had one bed, one pillow, and cotton sheets that covered a springless mattress. Everything was white; the sheets, the pillow, the walls and even his clothes. The only color in the room was Cliff himself, his golden brown skin faded in the darkness that surrounded him.

There was only one door that led to the hallway from his room. It was locked from the outside to prevent patients from leaving during the night. If there was any problem, Cliff had to knock on the door and the guards would assist him. The guards had constant night patrol switching between morning shifts and night shifts. They also had easy access to any of the rooms at any time of the night.

Bakersfield Hospital was ran like a prison, all males, no females except for the nurses and doctors. There was no privacy at the hospital. Each doctor carried a key to their patient’s room and the guards carried the master keys to each room and section of the hospital. The hospital was located in Seagoville, Texas, fifteen miles from Seagoville Penitentiary. It was first used as rehabilitation for prison inmates, but after the prison massacre in 1991, it was turned into an asylum for young boys. The hospital even changed its name for fear of a media out cry about the new location.

Cliff lay on his back with his eyes concentrating on the ceiling. He was the only quiet one in his section of the hospital. The sounds were horrifying. Boys screaming at the top of their lungs for an ounce of condolence. Their cries sunk into Cliff’s body. He felt their moans in his core, vibrating against his chest until they sank deep into his stomach. He clinched his sheets with a tight fist. The scratching in his mind made him grind his teeth until his jaws ached. He closed his eyes tight trying to block his thoughts; they were filled with aches to go home. He knew this wasn’t home, but he could no longer figure out what exactly was home. All he could remember was the hospital. The daily routine of waking up talking with different doctors probing for an answer to his so called sickness. He didn’t feel sick until he took the medicine that the doctors prescribed for him. He took countless colorless pills day in and day out. This wasn’t new to Cliff, but seeing a different doctor every month was. The doctors would ask him different questions pertaining to his past the average teenage boy would easily remember, however Cliff couldn’t recall any of it; such as family members, dates of birthdays, and holidays. Cliff came to the conclusion that it was the medicine that caused his lapse of memory, but he couldn’t be for sure. He strained to remember why he was in the hospital. He remembered his first night, and the awful cough he had. It felt like he was throwing up a lung.

One thing that remained vivid was his dreams. He could remember his dreams, horrible as they were, he remembered them. Horrendous dreams of him hurting himself and those around him. He hated such dreams; they couldn’t be something he’d actually do. He’d never harm people.

Cliff turned to his left side facing the only window in the room. He stared at the window until he couldn’t fight the sleep and the heaviness of his eyes got the best of him.

•

Cliff sat in his wheel chair, hands clinched on each wheel. A black rectangular table separated a male doctor and his female assistant. Two clipboards and a tape recorder were the only things on the table. Cliff looked at the guard to his left; he stood with arms folded and stared back at him. Cliff rubbed his hands against the gritty wheels of the wheelchair. He sat upright and tensed. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He touched his face softly forgetting about the grit on the wheels which was now on his face. His breathing increased and his hands felt heavy.

Hello, Clifford. How are you feeling today? The male doctor asked.

Cliff took a deep breath, I feel fine.

That’s good Clifford. Do you feel like talking today?

Cliff looked at the guard then down to the floor. He heard the doctor clear his throat and fiddle with his pen.

Okay, Clifford, let’s take a walk, shall we?

Dr. Johnson was a tall man, a man that was an athlete during his college years. He kept in shape, his broad shoulders always filling his dress shirt and jackets, his long slender legs giving his body the perfect proportion. He had the lightest blue eyes Cliff had ever seen on a man and his hair was a mixture between brown and silver.

Dr. Johnson pushed Cliff through the yard, which had many white and yellow tulips in the middle of it. The yard was encircled by a concrete pavement that allowed patients to walk around. Directly in the middle was a tall light pole that turned on at night during shift changes. Cliff reached for one of the tulips and rubbed his palm against the bulb.

Clifford, do you remember my name? Dr. Johnson leaned toward Cliff.

Cliff continued to gaze at the tulips and thought hard for a moment. It’s Johnson, Dr. Johnson, right? His answer even surprised himself.

Dr. Johnson nodded with excitement. What about my associate? Do you remember her name?

Cliff thought about the woman from the room for a second. Mrs. Lawton, Mrs. Sonya Lawton.

Dr. Johnson smiled, Good, good, Clifford. I am very proud of you. Is there anything else you remember?

Cliff yanked the bulb from the tulip, I have horrible nightmares.

What type of nightmares?

Violent ones of me hurting people, Cliff took a deep breath, killing people. He looked at the two guards that followed behind them.

Dr. Johnson sighed and massaged Cliff’s shoulder. Don’t worry Clifford, we’ll get to the bottom of these dreams. We will take our time, okay?

A buzzing bee caught Cliff’s attention. He rolled himself to it. He opened his palm and to his surprise, the bee landed in his hand.

Be careful, Clifford, their stings can be very nasty, Dr. Johnson warned.

He closed his palm as if holding something delicate then opened his hand and released the bee. It flew off into the distance.

CHAPTER 2

The door’s locks clicked behind them as Dr. Johnson and Cliff entered his room. Dr. Johnson stood over Cliff trying to read his thoughts. He looked at Cliff adjust himself in his wheel chair and sighed.

Clifford, I will see you tomorrow. Have a goodnight.

Cliff smiled and nodded wishing he didn’t have to sleep in this place. He wheeled himself toward the window but couldn’t see anything. The window was purposely blurred of the outside world. Cliff assumed that the hospital didn’t want its patients to have inspiration of breaking out.

The clack of dress shoes outside his door followed by the jingle of keys interrupted Cliff’s thoughts. He turned toward the door and saw a nurse and guard walk in. The nurse looked nervous. She kept her eyes on Cliff and her back against the door. In her right hand was a small condiment paper cup and in her left was a Styrofoam cup. The guard stood next to the nurse with a freakishly large smile on his face.

You know what ma’am, I can handle it if you like, said the guard.

"Oh, thank you Billy. I don’t understand why Dr. Johnson persists on letting that boy be free from his chair