The Antarcticans

By James Suriano

Gavin Pennings and his wife, Noila, have exhausted all options searching for a treatment for their son, Joshua. Depraved personalities are battling for supremacy in the teenager’s mind, pushing him to the brink of suicide. In desperation, Gavin tracks down Lucifer, realizing he may be his last hope for finding a cure for Joshua.

When Gavin meets Lucifer, he finds he’s nothing like the cloven-hoofed Satan he learned about in his seminary training. In fact, he’s quite affable and seems genuinely interested in helping Joshua. But Gavin is sure he isn’t seeing the whole picture.

Soon, Gavin and his family are split between Lucifer’s massive aircraft carrier off the coast of South Florida and Chimeruth Village, a mysterious Antarctican outpost on the Getz Ice Shelf, a place inhabited by strange creatures and futuristic technology. Before they know it, Gavin, Noila, and Joshua are embroiled in Lucifer’s monumental quest to save the world. When Lucifer reveals his final hand, however, and demands something from the family in exchange for the help he provided, someone will not make it home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Suriano
• Release date: Jan 13, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311313546

James Suriano

James grew up in New York and was educated at Johns Hopkins University. He currently lives in Fort Lauderdale, FL and writes speculative and book club fiction in his spare time.He loves to hear from his fans at [e-mail]

Book preview

Lucifer

Gavin knew he shouldn’t follow such a dangerous man, but if he didn’t do something, his son would be dead before Thanksgiving. He sat at a wrought-iron table under the striped awning of the News Café in South Beach, Miami, staring intently at the commotion occurring in the corner of the patio. He had been here for an hour. A black-velvet rope separated the general patrons milling about from the select group he was watching. They were laughing and clinking their glasses in another frivolous toast. Lucifer, the young man in the center of the unruly party, was lounging on a white leather chair. When the breeze from the Atlantic pushed the thin linen of his shirt against his sculpted form, it exposed a rippling, tan body. His sun-bleached hair wisped about his face, never settling over the high jaunting cheekbones and supple symmetrical features. The man’s thick lips moved over his perfect, gleaming teeth, inviting the audience with whom he was holding court to hang on every hysterical, entertaining word. The man stood up and excused himself, linked arms with a woman who was adjusting her bikini top over her voluptuous breasts, and headed inside the restaurant.

Gavin followed them to the unisex bathroom then waited outside the door. A minute later, he made his way in quietly and ducked into a stall next to the only other closed door. The smell of mandarin and lilac permeated the air. Looking down at the spotless polished floor, he saw his reflection and knew this wasn’t the average dive bar on Ocean Drive. He heard Lucifer and the woman murmuring and laughing. They were bumping against the metal wall of the stall. He waited until he heard the latch turn; then he counted to ten in his head and made his way out to the long marble sink. He turned his head toward the woman, who was still giggling, in time to see her wipe the last bit of cocaine from her nose.

She looked over at Gavin. What’s up? she said, mocking him with a smile.

I was hoping I could talk to him. He pointed to Lucifer.

Lucifer, do you know this guy? she asked.

Lucifer was baring his teeth for the mirror. It looked like he was checking for cavities. He looked at Gavin in the mirror and shrugged. I wasn’t expecting him, but he’s welcome to join us.

The woman’s eyes started at Gavin’s khaki pants then made their way up to his thick leather belt and through his starched polo, ending on his angular face. His eyes were squinty, as if he were looking at something in the distance or wincing. He could thank his Filipino father for giving him a lifetime to explain that he wasn’t doing either. She took a step toward him; grabbed his collar above the three buttons, which were tightly secured; and yanked. The top two buttons launched into the air, and his smooth, tanned chest poked through the newly created opening.

Better, but I still feel like he wandered in here from a cornfield. She blew a kiss to Gavin and headed out of the bathroom.

Lucifer turned to Gavin, leaned into his ear, and whispered, First impressions are important before exiting the restroom.

Gavin caught a whiff of the man’s expensive cologne and the fumes from his cigar. He was shaking, and he didn’t want to join a group of people partying—he wanted to talk to Lucifer, alone. He would wait. He left the restaurant, making damn sure not to look in the direction of the small party, and found his way to a flat piece of beach nearby where he could spread out a towel and soak in some sun. He could think through his next step here; his whole afternoon was free, and he knew there was more than one way to get what he wanted. He pulled off his shirt and sat down on the beach towel, his skinny forty-five-year-old body looking awkward in his khakis and socks. He’d never cared, though, what anyone thought about his physical appearance.

The lifeguards blew their whistles at a group of rowdy college students who had ventured too far into the ocean. Gavin watched the guards in their shacks wave the kids back toward shore. Although the lifeguards had posted a red flag outside their light blue hut, indicating dangerous rip currents, the kids apparently were ignoring it. Gavin saw a group of ten or so, swimming and splashing. The loud instigator, a fiery redhead who was egging on the other kids to ignore the wild rants of the lifeguards, had his hand on one of the girls. Her chartreuse bikini looked like what most of the women on South Beach wore: mere threads of fabric. The red-haired guy tugged at her bikini top, wrestled with her for a few seconds, then twirled it above his head.

Gavin chuckled to himself then pulled a book out of his beach bag. The cover was orange, with raised yellow writing that read, Winning the Next Generation: A Guide to Pastoring Millennials. He opened the cover and settled into the first words. As seagulls whined over the waves, a lifeguard blew a whistle, and then a siren sounded. He looked up. The lifeguard was sprinting for the water with a red emergency flotation beacon in her hand. Panicked kids were diving under the water, yelling, I can’t find her! She was right here! Help! A dozen or so beachgoers were gathering at the water’s edge, staring blankly at the scene, calling their children in from the rough surf, too scared to enter the water and allowing the trained lifeguards handle the situation. A large cloud moved out of the sun’s path, and the brightness made Gavin look away. He caught the heady scent of Lucifer before he heard his voice.

It’s a shame, isn’t it? These irresponsible kids can’t seem to follow rules these days. He stepped into view, his gold Versace sunglasses obscuring his eyes; his arms crossed; his manicured, perfectly muscled hands resting on each of his forearms. Oh, wait, wait. Look there. He pointed about forty feet away from the commotion in the water.

Two lifeguards were converging in vigorous strokes to the approximate location where they had seen the girl. Gavin shifted his gaze away from the teens and lifeguards and followed Lucifer’s finger. The girl bobbed up between the waves for a moment, her bare breasts just breaking the surface.

Oh, well, it looks like they’ve missed her. He made a sucking noise and, pulling his sunglasses off, turned to face Gavin. His bright-blue eyes were piercing.

Gavin yelled and pointed to her, but the lifeguards were too far away to hear him.

What did you say your name was?

Gavin…Gavin Pennings. He didn’t look at Lucifer; he was trying to find someone who could help.

Oh, yes. I don’t think you told me now, did you? Lucifer said, pondering.

Gavin’s body language was becoming frantic.

Gavin… He paused. Really, do you think she has a chance? Does she even deserve one? Disobeying the signs and then allowing some boy to snatch her bikini top while she disregarded the lifeguards’ instructions?

She’s a teenager! Gavin turned to him and put his hands up. Can’t you do something?

Of course I can do something, but why appeal to me? You have connections in higher places. He pointed up and cocked half his mouth and eyebrow in the same direction.

Gavin was exasperated with panic. Prayer doesn’t work like that.

I pity her then. Lucifer was being smug.

Only the girl’s hand broke the surface this time. Gavin watched, his mouth open. He said a prayer in his head for her. He prayed if she didn’t make it that at least she loved the Lord.

I mean, I could do something for her if I could garner your attention for an hour or so. Deal? Lucifer asked.

Yes, yes, yes, please. Gavin cringed that he might have made a deal he was unwilling to follow through on.

Lucifer bounded for the water like a gazelle, his feet gliding over the surface at the first gallops into the sea, then disappeared into the swirling currents and waves. A few moments later, he resurfaced in the exact spot where Gavin had watched the girl’s hand being swallowed up. He treaded water and held her body above the salty, roiling, blue sea. He propped her up with his arm, the muscles in his broad back flexing, and swam to shore like an Olympic swimmer before beaching her on the sand. As soon as he flipped her onto her stomach and whacked her back, she sputtered back to life. She lifted her face, which was masked in sand, and rolled to her side. Lucifer looked up at Gavin, who was calling the EMTs to the attention of the girl, and nodded. When he stood up, his white linen pants were nearly transparent, the striations of his legs rippling through.

The Setai Penthouse. Meet me there in fifteen minutes, Lucifer told Gavin as he turned and headed toward Ocean Drive.

The Setai wouldn’t garner the attention of the casual tourist. It was just another glimmering tower of glass in the landscape of mega skyscrapers that lined the barrier island. But to locals it housed an elusive penthouse. If it hadn’t been the most expensive piece of real estate in South Beach, or if the buyer had finally come forward, three years after the tower had been constructed and sold, it might have been forgotten in the gossip mill that churned day and night. But this was South Beach, where money poured in from the Middle East and South America, swirling together with a corrupt American culture to fuel a continual party of drugs, sex, and power. Sunrises and sunsets were ignored as mere moving artwork in the sky. The background noise at the Setai was the constant shuttle of helicopter traffic landing on the helipad, which hung over the side of the building, held by an enormous sculpted hand. The rumors surrounding the owner’s motivations for this ostentatious display of art vacillated from the owner taking a great interest in the ancient Greek games to wielding a sign of power over those who landed within the owner’s hand, thus playing on his territory before they even disembarked from their aircraft.

The helicopters came at all hours, all days, some hovering while waiting for another to depart. US Air Traffic Control was silent on the matter, sworn to official secrecy. Anyone who said they knew who was coming and going didn’t, and those who knew said they didn’t.

Gavin made his way to the elevator bank and punched the button marked PH. Elevator One opened, and he stepped on. The elevator began to descend, and he looked at the panel to reenter his intended destination. When the elevator stopped, the display indicated he was on Level LL3. Please make your way to Elevator Eight, a female voice said. Gavin stepped off and looked around at the elevator lobby, which was identical to the one on which he had entered, except this one had an elevator with an 8 over it. The doors were open, and the walls inside the elevator pulsed turquoise blue. He stepped inside. His name came up on the screen, welcoming him to Lucifer’s home. Within five seconds, the elevator ascended to the thirty-eighth floor, and the doors opened. When he stepped out, he stood on a small patch of terrace outside, staring straight over the Atlantic. He never had viewed the ocean from this vantage point before, and it was breathtaking. He felt like he could step out into the open sky and float above the expanse of topaz ocean. The space was humbling and reached to what looked like the end of the earth, where the ocean and sky met.

Gavin had grown up in Florida City, his father a crooked cop shuttling goods for the local mob boss. His mother was loving and quiet. She didn’t ask questions and poured her affection and attention onto her children and the family’s small house. When Gavin’s sister, Emily, died suddenly from a heart defect, two days before Gavin’s tenth birthday, she fell apart. When Gavin started asking questions about where his sister had gone, his mother, teetering on the thin line between grief and depression, took him to Father Jake’s office. She couldn’t answer her son’s questions and was hoping a man of God could.

It’s the reason I fell in love with the place. Lucifer was standing behind Gavin with his hand outstretched, his smile breaking through the intense sun.

I… Gavin started to reply then realized he had nothing to say.

Probably not in the priorities of a minister.

I’m a pastor.

Lucifer shrugged. Since when are titles important?

He showed Gavin through a set of glass walls that were parted to make an entrance. The living area was swathed in white leather and fur, and Gavin imagined his mother’s bichon frise being mistaken for a throw pillow here. The woman from the restroom was lounging on one of the couches, fully occupied by the thick Tiffany catalog she was slowly flipping through.

My good friend, Carmen, Lucifer said as he walked by her.

Nice to meet you, Gavin said.

She didn’t look up or take any notice that they were there.

Drink? Lucifer waved his hand in front of the full bar.

Scotch.

A preacher who drinks. I like that.

Pastor, Gavin corrected him.

P-a-s-t-o-r. Lucifer mouthed it out slowly and silently as he dropped the ice cubes into the glass and poured the dark, rich, amber-colored Scotch over them. Enjoy, he said, as he handed him the glass.

Gavin took a sip. It tasted like liquid love.

Where did you get this?

France. The prime minister brings it to me when he visits. Nothing like it, eh?

He led Gavin through the master suite to the side of the building where the sun was blocked and the humid air was washed away by the ocean currents circling through the buildings.

I prefer the cold inside, but I thought this might be more comfortable for you. Lucifer took a seat on the long chaise and stretched out his legs. He had changed into a tuxedo, minus the jacket. His black patent-leather shoes looked out of place in the casual surroundings of white sand and tanned bodies. Oh, these, you’re wondering? The opera is in a few hours, and I have a particularly boring cocktail party to attend first.

Gavin looked away from his shoes as though he hadn’t been thinking the question that had just been answered.

But why are you here, Gavin? And why stalk me with such brash, unencumbered enthusiasm? He raised his cocktail glass in the air. Cheers.

Carmen sauntered onto the terrace and sat down next to Gavin. I hope you don’t mind. This is where I think it’s going to get really good.

My son, Gavin said matter-of-factly.

Could you be more specific?

He’s tormented. He tells me he sees demons and hears voices. I’m not sure how much longer he can continue like this.

And you think I have something to do with this? Lucifer looked skeptical and annoyed.

You’re the head honcho down there, right? Gavin asked.

Down there, Lucifer repeated, chuckling to himself. I think there’s somewhat of a misunderstanding here. I have nothing to do with your son. And the fashionable notion that I command a legion of wicked demons set out to torture the human race is as fanciful as Santa Claus sliding down the chimney on Christmas Eve. Really, Gavin, what are they teaching in seminary these days? I’d written those schools off as a lot of uneducated mystics searching for certainty in a lie. But it seems it goes much further. He sighed, stood up, and headed toward the bedroom. I’ll be right back.

So what’s your boy’s name? How old is he? Carmen was twirling her blond hair. Her see-through gown revealed black lace lingerie beneath and a body made for seduction.

Joshua. He’s seventeen.

Has he been to a doctor?

Yes, my wife, Noila, and I have been through all that. For years, in and out of hospitals and treatment centers. Medications make him sleepy, but nothing dulls the voices.

Carmen shook her head. Sorry to hear that. It’s hard for me to sympathize, though, since I’m not a mother myself.

It’s okay. Gavin took another sip of his drink. A drop of Scotch dripped onto his pants.

Before she could reply, Lucifer walked back on to the balcony and dropped a small spiral-bound book on Gavin’s lap. On the cover, black letters in Times New Roman read, The Gospel of Thomas.

Ever heard of it? Lucifer asked.

Of course. But it’s a heretical gospel. There’s no point in reading it.

It might help if you looked it over before we meet next. I suspect you’ll find it more revealing than you might imagine. Lucifer sat down on the chaise and picked up his drink.

Gavin stared at him, not breaking his gaze. I wasn’t planning on coming back.

You were going to give up? Your son is at his end, and you thought to research me and then…what? Track me down and convince me to cast a demon out of him? Did I disappoint you? I’m not some evil, lurking man hell-bent on the wholesale destruction of human souls. Lucifer leaned forward and took one of Gavin’s hands in his. Humor me, will you? Imagine for one second that it isn’t your son who’s in danger, but you, and your son is only a symptom of your great peril. Then think about everything you know about how problems are solved, problems that twist a spirit, wrench a family apart, and grab hold of your son at his inner core and shake him until he cracks and falls into tiny pieces before your eyes. Imagine these lies—the ones you’ve come to bet your eternal existence on—are nothing more than a cosmic blip. His breath was sweet like lilies, his hands strong and commanding. Gavin wanted to inhale his essence forever.

I think it was a mistake to come here. He stood up, pulling his hand away from Lucifer’s and breaking the trance. He stepped inside the master bedroom, noticing the walls appeared icy and metallic. He moved quicker, feeling a cold pulsing vibe move through his body. His stomach turned, and by the time he made his way to the elevator, the Scotch was tumbling around in his gut. Lucifer had followed him and was holding out two antacid pills. You might need these. I’ll be here tomorrow. Same time? Remember, you promised to hear what I had to say. He pushed the elevator button for him.

Gavin pushed his glasses up on his nose and held his hand up in protest. Not interested.

The elevator door opened, and he stepped inside. Lucifer maintained eye contact as a trickle of urine ran down Gavin’s leg.

Your son doesn’t have long, he said. If he did, you wouldn’t have come here. Do it for him, won’t you?

The Gospel of Thomas

Gavin reached Joshua’s school as the digital clock on his dashboard flipped from 3:59 to 4:00. He looked up at the car’s ceiling. Thank you for no traffic, he said under his breath. He spotted Joshua scanning the parade of cars edging up against the curb at Fort Lauderdale High School. His hand hovered over the horn, but he knew it would embarrass him, so he waited silently until his son’s eyes spotted the silver Camry. Joshua bounded to the car, his small frame and corkscrew hair bouncing in different directions, giving him the look of a perky, enthusiastic teenager. Gavin looked over to the passenger seat to make sure it was clear before Joshua opened the door. The spiral-bound notebook Lucifer had pitched into his lap was sitting there. He was sure he had left it at Lucifer’s penthouse. Quickly he stashed it under the seat.

Dad, hey, thanks for picking me up. Can you bring me back here after dinner? There’s another exam practice I’d like to go to. He bounced into the car and threw his backpack in the rear seat.

Sure. You sure you’re feeling up to it? This morning seemed a bit rough for you. Gavin looked at him and ruffled his hair.

I can still hear the voices, but I’ve been trying really hard to ignore what they say. There’s a new one now…a woman. He looked at his father for a reaction.

Gavin felt sick. Joshua’s condition was getting worse, not better. He had prayed for his son during every free moment his mind gave him. He worried that his visit with Lucifer today had brought Joshua closer to his demons and that God was now backing away from him since he had entertained God’s archenemy for help.

It’s not bad. She told me to ignore them. And then I heard her quieting them. Telling them to shut the F up. She has a gutter mouth. He laughed.

She’s funny?

Joshua nodded. Yeah, she’s pretty funny.

As they drove toward the house, the sun was just starting to edge behind the tall buildings of downtown.

Did you go to the beach today? Joshua said, pointing at the sand on the floorboard.

Yeah, and I met someone. I mean, I went there to meet someone who might be able to help you. Eventually I think he’ll want to see you.

Another minister? Joshua said with a sigh.

No.

Another shrink?

Nope. Gavin tightened his hands on the wheel and stared straight forward.

Someone you met on a mission trip?

Let’s not play the guessing game. He’s just…well, he can probably help you, Gavin said, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead on the road.

An elderly driver zoomed out of her driveway without looking, and Gavin slammed on the brakes. My gosh. What is she thinking? he said, exasperated.

The notebook slid from under the seat, and Joshua picked it up.

The Gospel of Thomas? He held it up, arching his left eyebrow. You’ve been warning me about these Gnostic Gospels since I was a kid. Are you reading them now?

It’s for something I’m working on. Put it back. He wanted it out of his sight. He didn’t like that he was being dishonest with his son. The lies were bundling up inside him like twine and being yanked every time he thought about it.

Let me level with you, he said. The man I met today isn’t a fan of what I do, and he gave me that book. He told me I should read it before the next time we meet. Under normal circumstances, I—

Joshua cut him off. Really? No, I don’t think so.

What? The word escaped Gavin’s lips before he realized his son must be talking to one of the voices in his head. For the most part, Joshua kept the conversations quiet; he knew they drew attention and seemed to make things worse.

He turned to Gavin. She said I should go with you. She said you want me to go, and she can help me once I get there.

Can you ask her what her name is?

I know her name already. It’s Margie.

You don’t know what they look like, do you?

That’s really hard to explain, because when I see them, sometimes they change what they look like. Their voice is always the same, so it’s usually the voice I recognize.

Can you be sure they’re just voices?

You know, mental illness runs in families. Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Dad? Joshua reached over and poked his father’s side.

The rest of the drive was silent, and when Gavin pulled into the driveway at their house, he got out of the car quickly, took the Gospel of Thomas with him, and went directly to his study. He peeled back the thin film of plastic that lay over the cover page. The document looked like it had been printed at a local chain print shop. He put his glasses on and said a prayer. Then he tentatively dove into the text. His undergraduate degree was in classics, and he had learned to read ancient Greek; he kept those skills sharp by reading the New Testament in ancient Greek only. It was a struggle for him to translate some of the passages for the congregation into twenty-first-century American English. On many Sundays he’d find himself fifteen minutes into the contextual meaning of a passage before he could even get to the lesson he had pulled from it. It was one of the few churches in the area where worshipers were encouraged to raise their hands and ask questions during the sermon. Gavin wanted to make sure everyone understood what the authors had intended to say when they had put their message down on paper.

The text of the Gospel of Thomas was short and, unlike the other gospels, devoid of any real narrative. It was just a group of sayings attributed to Jesus. At first glance, the sayings didn’t seem blasphemous or heretical, as his seminary had taught. His professors had instructed the students to avoid them and had described them as thoughts of a layperson, not the inspired writings of those closest to the divine source. Gavin read through them with interest.

Jesus said, Images are visible to people, but the light within them is hidden in the image of the Father's light. He will be disclosed, but his image is hidden by his light.

Jesus said, Those who know all, but are lacking in themselves, are utterly lacking.

Jesus said, Whoever blasphemes against the Father will be forgiven, and whoever blasphemes against the son will be forgiven, but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will not be forgiven, either on earth or in heaven.

When Gavin reached the end, he flipped back to the beginning and read them over and over. There were 114 sayings in total. Two hours passed, and he stood up from his soft leather desk chair to brew some tea in the kitchen. The sayings moved through his head as he made his way around the kitchen, putting the loose tea into a cup and pouring the scalding water into it. The mint and lemon aromas burst into the air. He felt the sanitized English version of the Gospel of Thomas he’d read wouldn’t let him through to its true meaning. He felt something living just below the words. He needed to see the original text. Although he couldn’t read Coptic, he knew the complete Coptic text existed, and getting a copy wouldn’t be difficult. He would translate it word for word into Hellenistic Greek then decipher it.

A text came through to his phone. It was Lucifer, with instructions on where to meet him the following day. How does he have my number? Gavin wondered.

He checked on Joshua, who had fallen asleep on the couch watching an I Love Lucy marathon. His hand was buried in a bowl of cashews, and an empty Coke bottle lay on the coffee table. Gavin shook his head; he knew the caffeine made the voices quieter, but Joshua’s psychiatrist had recommended against it because it could cause overall agitation. Seeing him peaceful among his demons, he let him lie there; he wouldn’t wake him up for the practice Joshua had mentioned. He walked toward his bedroom and stood outside the door, unsure if he should go in.

Noila was in their bedroom; she had kept somewhat to herself over the last couple of weeks. Gavin knew it was because of the argument they’d had over moving. She had found a research position in Costa Rica, a dream position as she called it, working for a famed biologist. She swore Gavin would be able to do God’s work there, even more than he could do in Florida. She argued her point well—he knew that—but he also knew what the answer to his prayer about this decision had been. He would stay at his church, and his wife and son would reside with him; it was the final answer—the answer she didn’t want to hear. She sat on the bed, her long brown hair falling over her slight shoulders, her incredibly gentle eyes reading a novel by her favorite author. Gavin said hello, but she didn’t look up.

…

He met Lucifer the next day at a dock off the Intracoastal Waterway. The water was a brackish blue, washing over the seawall on which the dock had been built. The rising ocean waves had begun their march over the lowest-lying strips of land in Miami, and street flooding was becoming the norm even with no storms. Gavin parked the Camry in the numbered slot Lucifer had mentioned in his text message last night. He sat there for a couple of minutes, sipping his third cup of tea and Googling the original texts of the Gospel of Thomas. He stepped out into a sunny day and looked down the docks at the glaring white hulls assembled to form a parking lot of mega yachts. Anything—and anyone—can be Lucifer’s, he thought.

A deckhand in khaki shorts and a starched white polo with something embroidered over the breast pocket was waving Gavin around a bend in the seawall and a line of eucalyptus trees. Gavin turned away from the long dock and walked toward him. When he cleared the grove of trees, he saw white rotor blades bending in four directions on top of a blue-and-white helicopter. The nose was sleek and capped in gold, giving the machine the air of a Tiffany brooch. Lucifer was leaning against the small winglet just behind the aircraft’s door, talking on the phone and gesturing. He looked up at Gavin and waved, then gave him a one minute hand gesture and kept talking. He was wearing all white again, along with Ferragamo calfskin loafers, with their signature gold buckle across the top, and a matching belt. After the deckhand ushered Gavin into the helicopter and guided him to his seat, he helped him fasten the dial seat belt; the round emblem in the middle