Faust 2000 A. D.

By Jeffry Weiss

Stephan Faust is a struggling attorney.  But it is not just his practice that frustrates him.  His physical deformities disgust him and make him doubt the benefit of his worth as a lawyer and even his value as a human being.

When he denounces God, Mephistopheles is conjured up.  Stephan is offered a deal: the life he has dreamed of for what he believes will require him to forfeit his soul.

As every dream, fantasy, passion and wish is fulfilled, Stephan sinks deeper into a primitive state: a man ruled by his lust and carnal desires.  Any thoughts he once held of being a benefit to mankind are quickly forgotten.

Stephan turns to alcohol and drugs in order to forget his complicity in doing the devil's work: representing the worst, most evil me in society and the world

Yet, without regard for self and his contract wit Mephistopheles, he also does the Lord's work.  And while he dismisses his small contributions, they are not forgotten by the church and by the parishioners he helps.

He fights with everything that is left in him to complete good causes before his time is up and he is taken by the Devil to Hell for eternity.

When his forty years of having Mephistopheles as his host are complete, the Devil comes for his due.  Yet an Angel, sent by God, intercedes in his favor and the Devil is cast off without the soul he promised Lucifer.

 

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffry Weiss
• Release date: Sep 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536598254

Jeffry Weiss

BIOGRAPHY Mr. Weiss attended Central High School, at the time recognized as the top High School academically in the U.S.  He then attended Drexel University where he gained a BS in History, Temple University where he earned an MA in Economics and the University of Pennsylvania where he received an MA in International Affairs.  Those studies provided him with unique insights in the realm of foreign policy, military capabilities, détente, and trade. He has been a writer for forty plus years and has penned hundreds of articles on social, political, and economic issues.  He has written position papers for the Carter and Clinton Administrations and his work on social issues has received recognition directly from the office of the President of México.  He speaks regularly with Noam Chomsky on political, economic, cultural, and military issues. Mr. Weiss writes political, military, economic and scientific thrillers.  There are now twelve books in the Paul Decker series.  All his stories come right off the front pages of the major magazines and newspapers but none of his plots has ever found their way into novel before.  His characters are ones readers can relate to: flawed, not superheroes.  His stories do not require a leap of faith or use deus ex machina. Finally, he has written a stage play, “Einstein at the Guten Zeiten (good times) Beer Garden, and an urban horror novel: “The Art of Theft”, a modern day version of “The Picture of Dorian Grey” by Oscar Wilde.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Law Offices of Stephan Faust.  Philadelphia, PA,

The view from the office on the second floor of the old building was on to an alley, beyond which a sixty-story brick and chrome edifice was under construction.

All day and partly into the night, the sounds of construction cranes changing position, workers riveting and welding, pierced the glass windows and vibrated the offices of Stephan Faust.

A trash truck entered the alley, its gears grinding as the forks lowered to pick up a bin.

The odor of rotting food and mildewing furniture parts wafted into Stephan’s domain.

He sat at a desk he had since college, not as a keepsake or memento of his school days, but because he could never afford to buy a new one.

He’d been an attorney for twelve years.  A Jewish son becoming a lawyer was a mitzvah: the ultimate blessing on the family.

Well, of course there is doctor, Stephan considered, but that was not in his cards.  Blood, bodily fluids, internal gases made him more of a patient than a doctor.

He had played by the rules...for the most part.  Sure he’d helped clients inflate their medical bills in accident cases, build up loss of wages, introduce supporting testimony from witnesses who didn’t really know his client.  Those were things every good attorney was doing...at least in his world. 

But then there was the pro bono work he’d done for indigent people and neighborhood institutions.  He was constantly being asked and rarely turned down any request, even if it meant setting aside his paying cases.

Whether it balanced out was not within his purview.

His real weakness was his raging libido.  He’d only had a woman once in his life, stifled as he was by his physical limitations.  All his desires and fascinations and fantasies were wrapped up in his preoccupied, Neanderthal brain and in his own hand.

He feared he might take advantage of emotional women in the mist of a crisis and wind up being a defendant, rather than a defender.

College, with that one physical encounter, was the nadir of his sex life.

His social opportunities were non-existent and his circle of friends too few to even make a foursome for bridge

He’d used up his small inheritance to keep the doors open and to access Nexus and Lexus: the data bases necessary to research precedents and cases.

But that left him without a nest egg to fall back on in hard times. 

In truth, all the time was hard times.  He lived in a pathetic studio apartment just a few blocks away, a necessary move after he sold his car.  At least now he didn’t have to worry about parking or gas or repairs.  And he still had access to hundreds of restaurants within walking distance.  That is if he could afford to frequent those establishments.

Years before, he’d been offered employment at a job fair held at the law school he was graduating from.  It was with a large, well-established firm; a small starting salary but the benefits were good with rapid promotion possible.  At the time, it felt like a noose around his neck; now it looked like an opportunity missed.

Even after all the setbacks, he believed success was just one case away.

But with each miss opportunity, whether in the court room a night club or music concert or art exhibit he felt the world owed him more.  And the scales were now weighted so heavily against him that there were not enough riches on Earth, or accolades, or awards to compensate him for his dedication to the law or having to live without love.

He had many opportunities to go to with a bigger firm.  But thought he’d be relegated to the lowest forms of rote work.

No, he had to maintain his own practice...even if that meant sleeping on the couch at the office and skipping meals.

He dreamed of success, felt it, tasted it, so close was he.  But every time an important client, a ground-breaking case, came to him, it was taken away when the client met him.

He was a brilliant attorney, capable of greatness, but his deformities reviled people.  The significant cases, the cases that could elevate him to the heights of success and adulation eluded him; causes so important, the world would throw its arms open to him and want to bask in his aura.

But only the mundane, the trivial, the desperate came to him...with troubles that were an affront to his education and abilities and dreams.

.

* * *

Stephan became aware of stiffness in his shoulders.

He rose up and walked to the window that looked out on to the alley.

Stephan saw his own reflection in the glass: six feet, two inches, blonde hair, square jaw, sharp cheek bones, piercing blue eyes, thin lips with the slightest hint of a smirk even when unperturbed by anyone or anything.

And then the trash truck blotted out the glare.  The glass now reflected back a very different image: a man barely five feet tall, a deformed right arm, scoliosis of the spine, bald at thirty-two, with a club foot.

He spat spit at the image that confronted him and mocked him and demeaned him.

He turned away in disgust.

Others said that it was the price one had to pay.  When God bestowed a gift in one aspect of a man’s life, he took away other attributes.

And so they said Stephan’s life was in balance.

No, he thought, "God has cursed me twice.  Once by giving me intellect, but not the ability to change one aspect of myself.

God? he asked.  "If this is his work then there is no God.  Only the Devil could devise such a plan as this.

To hell with God.  Damn God and his Archangels: Michael and Gabriel, Stephan screamed.

The office door burst open and Stephan’s secretary rushed in.  She was older, a dowager - wearing a green jacket, brown slacks - with reading glasses dangling on a chain around her neck.  Sir, is everything alright?  It sounded as though you were being attacked!

Is everything alright, you ask, Gwynne? Stephan mocked.  He turned on the woman like a predator on its prey.  If there was a God, I would spit in his face for subjecting me to this.  If there was a Devil, I would sell my soul to make it end.  If there was something higher that controlled our lives, I would trade all I have, all I’d ever have, for just a taste of normalcy.

Oh, my God! Gwynne cried and turned for the door.

Your God, not mine, Stephan retaliated.

Gwynne closed the door behind her as quickly as possible, leaving Stephan to his lamenting.

He collapsed back in his chair, exhausted by the outpouring of emotion, resting his head in his hands.

* * *

By the time he regained his sanity, night had descended on the city.

He was tired, hungry and torn; torn by his fear of being too far from God and too close to the Devil.

He walked in to the outer office to check his messages and mail. 

Gwynne had already gone, but left a note for him. 

Stephan picked it up and read. 

"Dear Stephan: I can no longer work for you.  Your blasphemy of God and summoning the Devil is more than I can accept.  I am a God-fearing woman and you are calling forth the dark forces.  I am afraid that your conjuring may open the way for the Devil to enter.  I will pray for your soul.  May God bless and keep you.  I put my personal belongings in an empty box of yours.  I hope that was alright.  Gwynne Adams.

Stephan balled up the note and threw it in the trash as he walked out the door.

Bitch,.  I hope she rots in Hell.  Walking out on me after five years of putting up with her periods and bullshit and lame excuses.  Arthritis this, migraine that.  Warts on her toes, sick mother.  But she never missed a Friday when I cut her check.  Always seemed to be fine then.  I can do her work on my lunch hour.  Hell is too good for her.

Locust Street.  Philadelphia. PA

Men and women walked briskly to and from the subway while traffic was bumper to bumper and moving slower than pedestrians.

Horns blared and taxi drivers cursed.

The slowdown was due to repairs on a gas line below street level. 

The city had two out of three lanes cordoned off to protect the workers from oblivious drivers.

Four utility men worked in the middle of the street.  Two, Tony and Stuart, at street level, standing around an open manhole cover, and two underground: Jerry and Hank.

The men on the street stood inside a yellow tripod tent with a space heater and an electric crank to lower and lift the men to and from the pipes below, with a fan forcing fresh air into the hole.  Tony and Stuart drank coffee that billowed steam into the clear, cold air.  Boy, this coffee is so hot I’m sweating up here, Tony said, stifling a laugh.

Fuck you, Tony, Hank replied from below.  I wouldn’t drink it anyway since you and Stuart probably peed in my thermos.

I put a lock on mine, Jerry said to Hank, after I found a dead rat in my lunch bucket.

Okay.  That’s enough, Stuart called from above.  Our union only allows one joke per assigned job.  And that’s always going to me mine.

Jerry and Hank began moving deeper into the tunnel. 

How come we get the underground work while Tony and Stuart get to stay topside with the space heater? Jerry asked.

Seniority.  And they said only two of us are needed below deck on this job, Hank replied.

Say, Jerry said, what’s that stuff?

Where?

Over there, Jerry replied, pointing to a pile of what looked like rubble.

It’s just a bunch of old statues, Hank said dismissively.

Jerry took a closer look at them.  But they seem ancient!

Well, we’re not paid to save or collect artifacts, Hank said.  So let’s get that junk out of the way.  He kicked at the statures, breaking them into small pieces.

Will you look at the faces?  Grotesque.  And the bodies are all deformed.  It’s evil stuff, I tell you.  Jerry genuflected before getting back to work.

Stuart positioned himself over the hole and yelled, What’s keeping you down there?  I don’t hear a lot of work going on.  Don’t make me come down there and kick some ass.

Do we get time and a half for digging up trolls? Jerry asked.

Will you let it be and get back to business! Stuart called out.

Jerry and Hank swung their pickaxes, crunching the relics.  Then the work stopped and there was silence. 

What’s going on, Hank? Stuart yelled into the void.

It smells like a sulfur pit down here.

Then put your mask on, Stuart said.

There was no answer.

Jerry? Stuart called.  Hank?

It’s evil, I tell you, Jerry cried.

Stuart didn’t hear a response quick enough for him.  He got on his knees and leaned in, listening. 

The pressure is building here, Hank called out frantically.  It’s climbing off the charts.

Then get the hell out of there...now! Tony yelled.

There was a rumble.  Flower pots on the balconies of houses up and down the street fell to the ground. 

The vibration shook Stuart hard enough that the coffee he was holding splashed all over him.  Oh, Hell! he exclaimed.

There was a tremendous BOOM, like a cannon going off in an enclosed area.  A jet of flame spewed from the manhole.  The ground turned into a roller-coaster.  Then there was a second boom, and another column of fire from the next manhole in the street.  Then a third. 

People raced in one direction, then another, trying to avoid the flames and the after-shocks.

One woman, wearing a green jacket, brown slacks and carrying a box was standing next to a manhole cover that exploded.  The metal disc, accelerated under tremendous pressure, almost decapitated her.  What was left of the lady was too little to be buried.

Police cars, fire trucks and ambulances raced to the scene, while residents ran in the opposite direction.  Some in the neighborhood wondered whether it was the end of a single incident, or the beginning of a much greater one.

* * *

Stephan stepped outside but kept his back against the door, hedging his bet.  Maybe an aftershock would open a crack in the pavement and swallow him up, then return to its original position and the next day people wouldn’t even recall his name, or if he really once existed at all.

Or maybe something simpler, like a piano dropping on his head as he stepped on to the sidewalk.  Or possibly a car veering out of control.  He couldn’t rely on divine intervention; he’d use up whatever allotment was given him years before.

After looking up, down and side to side, he thought the chances of getting home alive outweighed the chances of being run over by an eighteen wheeler and ending up as road kill for the crows that sat on the building parapets waiting for someone to press their luck.

CHAPTER TWO

St. Christopher’s Church.  Philadelphia, PA,

As Stephan walked from his office toward his apartment, he noticed that many of the street lights were out.  Must be related to the explosion that had occurred earlier, he considered.  Thank God for a full moon.

As if someone was listening, a cloud rolled in front of the moon, darkening the sky and making him slow his pace and use caution to avoid some trash cans that were rolling from on side of the pavement to the other.

The wind picked up as he turned the corner, forcing him to stop and flip up his collar.

He heard singing and realized he was right outside the entrance to a neighborhood church he had never noticed before.

Something drew him in...whether it was the singing, or the lights, or the warmth coming from the building, he did not know.

He walked up the six marble steps and pushed open the front door.

There were no overhead bulbs.  The church was illuminated solely by candles, throwing off an eerie, flickering light.

Stephan cautiously walked toward the alter, unsure if there was some type of service going on.

But as far as he could see, there was only himself and the music.

He wondered if he should take the opportunity to pray.

Stephan though for a moment.  Maybe it was the dimmed lights, or the music or the candles that soothed him.  He got down on one knee and clasped his hands together.

It had been so long since he’d been to church, he didn’t even remember the words he was supposed to speak, and so he just kept his head bowed.

Some indeterminate time went by.

A breeze came through the room; he thought little of it at the moment.

And then he realized that he’d been praying for quite some time.  His heart rate was down, the throbbing in his head gone, his pulse back to normal.  It was as if God had heard his prayers and answered them.  But that would be too much to ask.  It was, after all, the first time he’d prayed in ten years. 

It was a sign, he thought.  Maybe there was power in prayer.  Maybe he could find answers to his questions, relief from his doubts and fears.

He lowered his head once again and prayed devoutly.  Until...

Stephan, is that you? a voice asked.

Who...? he replied, trying to regain his focus.

He looked up, then around, and saw a nun standing not three feet from him.

Oh, you don’t remember?  I’m Jane Masters.  Well, Sister Jane now.  We were in the same sociology class at school.

The woman was wearing a habit, scapular and a veil, which covered part of her forehead, but left her face visible.  She had soft, rounded cheekbones, a tiny nose, ears hidden by the veil and kind, compassionate eyes and full lips that, God forbid, seemed to pout. 

Stephan did not remember the woman at all, but it had been sixteen years and people did change a lot in that period of time.

He thought she was pretty, too pretty to be a nun, but did not voice that reservation.

He found himself staring at Jane.  She was angelic...even beautiful...and she was talking to him!  And smiling!

I’m not sure I—.

Oh, it’s okay.  I used to wear glasses back then and I had braces.  I don’t think you would have noticed me.

I can’t imagine not noticing you.  You’re so...

Beautiful? Sister Jane suggested.

Why, yes.

Oh you are so kind, Stephan.

You’re welcome.

I am here often, helping the priests conduct services, but I’ve never seen you, the Sister reflected.

It’s my first time...I think.  I have an office in the neighborhood and I’m certain I’ve walked past here before, but I don’t recall ever noticing it.

Well, I’m glad you stopped by.

What are your duties at the church, Jane? Stephan asked, already close to the end of his social skills.

Jane subtly edged closer to Stephan.

She was wearing perfume, which surprised him.  But it wasn’t just perfume; it was some exotic scent that he remembered smelling at a fashionable affair.  It brought back memories of the woman who wore it then: a beautiful, tall, lithe woman with the body and grace of a ballet dancer.

And now that same scent was on a nun just inches from him.

He felt a stirring in his loins and needed to adjust his crotch but didn’t dare do so at that moment.

You seem uncomfortable, Stephen, Jane said.  Is it my habit?

Oh, no, Sister.  I, er, it’s just that I haven’t been to church in a long time.

Then we should pray together, she suggested and got down on both knees, her hands clasped together, head bowed.

Stephan was straining, his erection twisted in his underwear.

When he thought she wasn’t looking, Stephan reached down and adjusted his cock.

Jane saw it and said, Oh, I see you are in duress, Stephan.  Please, let me help you.

She reached over and rubbed Stephan’s crotch.

Stephan didn’t know what to do.  He was paralyzed with fear and desire and confusion.  And so he didn’t move an inch while Sister Jane rubbed his pants vigorously.

Oh, Stephan, you are in such an aroused state.  What can I do to help you?

I’m sorry, sister, I—.

You don’t have to say you’re sorry Stephan.  You’re a man and you have needs and as a Nun, I am trained to minister to those needs.

And with that she unzipped Stephan’s fly and took his cock in her hand.

Is that better, Stephan? she cooed.

Ah, ah, Stephan stuttered.

Sister Jane leaned down and took Stephan’s manhood in her mouth.

Oh, God, Oh God, Stephan cried.  I can’t...

Yes, Stephan.  It’s alright.  You can come.  It will relieve your sexual tension and you can better commune with God.

Stephan whimpered like a dog who hadn’t been petted his whole life and now was given the attention he always dreamed of.

He let go and thirteen years of pent up desire gushed out and filled Jane’s mouth.

She swallowed his offering and then laughed and said, Oh, Stephan, you are such a man!

Sister Jane stood up and lifted her habit.  She was not wearing any underwear revealing her shaved cunt.

She took Stephan’s head in her hands and pulled him forward until his face was pressed to her vagina.

Stephan felt the fear of God in him for committing a sin in the church but his desire won out and he lapped her clitoris.

Oh, God, she cried, pulling on Stephan’s head until he almost couldn’t breath.

Jane came and came and came, calling out the name of the Lord while committing every sin there was.

Neither of them heard the footsteps before it was too late.

A priest yelled, Sacrilege!  Sacrilege in the house of God!

Jane started crying.  Father O’Hara, I only wanted to relieve him of his suffering, Jane pleaded, pushing down her habit.

Stephan zipped up his pants.  It was my fault, Father.  I enticed her, I accepted her kindness.

You are excommunicated from the church, Sister.  Leave your habit and go!

Please, Father, Stephan said, punish me, not her!

You have tempted an ordained church person.  This sin will weigh heavily on you.

But I only came in seeking God.  I have been tempted by the Devil and need your guidance and support.

You have sinned an unpardonable sin in the house of God.  I cannot forgive you.  You have made a pact with the Devil and now you must pay for your transgressions.

But surely you can—.

Leave now and never enter the house of God again, the priest intoned.

Stephan got to his feet unsteadily and began walking out of the church.

When he turned around, he saw the priest with his hand up Jane’s habit.  His other hand on her breast and a tongue in her ear.

The Father saw Stephan watching, he took off his Biretta.  In the limited light, Stephan thought he saw a red horn pulsing with blood.

If you can’t forgive Sister Jane, you’ll rot in Hell, Father, Stephan cried.

Leave, you sinner, before the Lord seeks his vengeance on you!

Stephan ran from the church crying like child.

He stopped when he got outside.  Stephan doubled over, panting, trying to catch his breath and gain his wits.

He threw his guts up; heaving all the food he’d ever eaten in his life.

The acid in his stomach, the bile in his throat, made him gag. 

Stephan remained on his knees, ready to throw up more, when there was a rumbling noise, then a vibration, finally a creaking sound. 

He looked up. The church steeple was wavering; then it cracked, broke in half, the pointed end falling down, gathering speed as it headed straight for Stephan.  His brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening, but at the last second, he processed enough to realize he was inches and seconds from death.  He dove to the side as the metal pole, sharpened on the end like a spear, hit the pavement next to him, driving right into the concrete.

Stephan got to his feet and ran as fast as his pathetic body could carry him.

CHAPTER THREE

The Subway.  Philadelphia, PA,

At 5:00 p.m. the car was packed.  People squeezed together like sardines in a tin.

Stephan held on to one of the polls as the train jerked, sped up, then slowed down as it wound its way to the next stop.

The lights flickered off and on as the train scrapped the rails and intermitently disconnected from the overhead electric lines.

He was going to visit his mother: something he hadn’t done in six months.  He was able to neglect her by rationalizing away his responsibilities.  His brother took good care of her and he, Stephan, barely had enough money to support himself let alone an ailing mother taking eleven different prescription medications.

Of course it was a just poor justification.  He was a selfish bastard, concerned only with his work and his out of control sexual urges.

A woman subtly took hold of the pole, her hand touching Stephan’s.

When he looked up he saw a beautiful woman: a goddess really.

She was a foot taller than him and he found himself staring directly at her chest.

He couldn’t help himself, his eyes roving over her body.

Even wearing a sweater and a thin jacket, her curves were obvious and tantalizing.

He smiled at her, but it was really a leer.

Still, she kept smiling at him.

Stephan couldn’t think of a thing to say to her.

He’s waiting for you, Stephan, she said.

What?  Why?  Where?  How do you know my name?

If you give yourself to him freely, you can have me, Stephan.

Give myself to who?  What are you talking about?  You’re not making any sense.

The woman lifted her sweater.  She was not wearing a bra.  Her chest was magnificent, defying the laws of gravity.  She took Stephan’s head and pressed it to her bosom.

Stephan suckled like a starving baby.  He didn’t care who saw.  He craved her and he was going to enjoy every second, for he didn’t know when or where he might ever get such a chance again.

With her other hand, she unzipped Stephan’s fly, took out his cock and began stroking him.

The combination of her hand on his cock and his mouth on her breast, caused an immediate and violent ejaculation.

The lights flickered, then went out as the car made a sharp turn.

When the lights returned, the woman was gone and Stephan had his cock in his own hand.

People around Stephan stared and moved as far away from him as they could in the crowded space.

The train pulled into the station.  Stephan fled the