Saving God

By Charles Darwin

A young woman is recruited by a clandestine organization to assassinate Satan, and to help prevent human extinction from spiritual forces of evil. 

Eve's parents were murdered when she was a child. Since then, she's been a troubled teen who does not feel the need to answer to anyone. All interventions from the state's foster-care program have failed, which makes Eve continuously succumb to the lawlessness of the streets when she runs away. None of her foster parents have been able to tame her. The fact that Eve keeps being sexually assaulted when she relocates to a new foster home doesn't help either. 

After running away from her most recent foster home, Eve gets entangled in the criminal world of a diabolical drug dealer. She's his new toy. The drug dealer doesn't know that Eve's been misleading him. In fact, She's been misleading everyone. She's not who she says she is, and she might not even be the age that everyone thinks she is. Eve is one of the young recruits of an extremely clandestine organization that might not even be commissioned by the United States government. That's something that Eve isn't really sure of. She's certain that the organization is nothing like the CIA. They have an interest in spirits rather than terrorist, and the drug dealer has a lot of spirits surrounding him that the organization needs to track. They have a bigger objective that Eve learns has more to do with preventing a spiritual plot to eradicate humans, rather than her simply pretending to be a troubled, reckless teen. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Darwin
• Release date: Feb 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386184447

Charles Darwin

Charles Darwin (1809–19 April 1882) is considered the most important English naturalist of all time. He established the theories of natural selection and evolution. His theory of evolution was published as On the Origin of Species in 1859, and by the 1870s is was widely accepted as fact.

Book preview

For my family. It was always a matter of when, not if.

CHAPTER ONE

I often think about reality, like the essence of what it truly is. Like the snap of a finger, our reality just sort of happens. I’m not talking about from the perspective of those who attended your birth, I’m talking about the beginning of your reality from your own perspective. That would mean that your reality happens at your earliest memory, and maybe that’s around ages three or four for most us. And then we live, we get older, smarter, and then we become more conscious of things. The carefree days of our juvenility become more distant as we move away from them, as we move closer to our end. Sometimes I think about my end. How will I end? Will I go peacefully in my sleep? That’s funny. I laugh to myself. I should be so lucky. Will I die in a car wreck, where my body is mashed inside a blazing folded car? I hope not, but if so, I can smell my smoldering blood and bones as I think about it. It scares me, because I know death is a surprise. Of course it is, but maybe I’d rather take death that way than knowing.

I would say that my dad knew his end when he blew my mother’s brains out. This is not a rhetorical statement. My mother’s brains and blood splattered onto the tiled floor of our kitchen. I was five. I was in the living room. The loud bang of the gun devastated me. I covered my ears with my hands. Looney tunes was playing on the TV, and I had already turned the volume up too loud like I would usually do. Although the TV was loud, the gun seemed a hundred times louder. I got up from the floor where I was sitting. I remember crying as I walked to the kitchen. I was doing the kind of crying that’s basically screaming. I saw a massive pool of blood on the floor between my standing father and my dead mother. My mother was lying on the floor. She had blood pouring out of a dark red hole in her head. My father was not done with the gun. He fired the gun at my mother more, a lot more. Later in life, when I found out more about the story of my parents, I discovered that my father almost exhausted the entire contents of the gun on my mother even after she was dead. This sounds harsh because I was only five, but I stupidly walked into my mother’s puddle of blood to see if she was okay. I could not touch her without soaking my hands in her fluid. The aroma of it felt sour to my nose. I have never forgotten that smell. The scenario of my parent’s deaths have been told to me many times by people who have tried to piece together the events of that day. Apparently, my father contemplated using the last bullet on me. I don’t know. I should know. I was there. Sometimes I hate myself for not knowing all the details. This doesn’t help me on the days where I feel like taking my own life. The last life that my father took though was his own. After this, I was passed around from one mentally unstable relative to the next. I don’t have much family, although the family that I have, all vied to be my new guardian. I developed a big round backside for my small size very early. I also had attractive curves, and nice sized breast. Because of my figure, I was rapped more often than not when I entered a new home. Now that I think about it, my name is sort of ironic. It’s Eve. Like Eve from the bible. She was created from man, for man. I guess God felt that man needed a toy, something to rule. The last family that took me in before I left for the streets would punish me if they heard me talking like this, devaluating the bible. They were religious freaks. They were semi okay. I felt stability for a while, only for a while.

You would think that by now, I would have finally found a way to keep strange men from shoving their penises inside me. I haven’t. The things that I’ve been thinking so far, these are the things that I think about as I’m being raped. I am bouncing up and down on a man’s lap. His name is Letter. He was born with the name Tyron Jenkins. They call him Letter because when he kills someone, he sends a letter to that person’s family, apologizing for their loss. He never admits to killing the person, he just wants the family to know that he’s praying for them. It’s twisted, I know, but that’s Letter. He’s also the local drug dealer. His age is thirty something, I’m not sure. His main source of income is from crack and heroin, which he makes good money from, yet he still lives with his aunt. Sometimes I attempt to remind him of this, to feel some sense of power over him, and I usually end up with one usable eye for a week after he smashes the other. He hits me harder than he would any guy. Good? he asks, with a question mark, and Good, I respond back to him. Now a man like Letter asking me if I’m good, which basically means am I okay, seems like a paradox. Yes, but it’s not what you think. He doesn’t care if I’m okay or not. When I respond, he just wants to see if my breath is labored during the rape. This will tell him if he’s pleasuring me or not, and in return, pleasure him or not. He gets aroused by the way that I breath. I never want to let him know any feedback other than that I’m disgusted, and that this is torture for me. Sometimes I can’t help it, and it is pleasurable, but I will never tell him. Sometimes he knows, sometimes he doesn’t, and this is the sick game that we play. Imagine a slide from a play ground, specifically the end part where a child exits the slide. Imagine someone sawing off just the end piece of the slide, and using it to lay on. Now imagine someone finding a way to place that piece of the slide at the crest of a tree. This is where Letter likes to rape me and other young girls. It’s a mystery how this piece of slide with two people shaking it stays secured in this tree.

Letter grabs my hips tighter before he speeds up the bouncing. I sense that he is going to ejaculate soon, by the rapid bouncing, and his accelerated breathing. I am immensely disgusted with myself at the thought of his semen being injected into me. Now Letter wants nothing to do with me. He pushes me off. I nearly plummet thirty feet out of the slide, and out of the tree. There goes my new STD, I say to assert my strength. I’m not going to just fold over and cry. Maybe he will think that I’m tough, and that this doesn’t phase me. Maybe he will find some instant respect for me because I said that. Maybe he will realize that what he’s been doing to me is a terrible thing to do to a human being. He could possibly befriend me, then become my soul mate. I would forgive him. We could then possibly clean up our lives, maybe even get married. Why am I thinking this? I’m such a dumb hoe. I need to die and get this life over with.

What? Letter says before he grabs my neck, pulling me down towards him. It feels like he has crushed my throat. I lose my ability to breath. I feel a burning sensation all over my face. It must be the color of a tomato. What did you say? I didn’t hear you, he says. He knows what I said. It’s all about teaching me a lesson now. I’ll blank you up. Now of course his blank was an expletive, but the religious freaks beat the profanity out of me when I was with them. I tend to use blank to avoid saying an expletive, sometimes. As I’m about to pass out, Letter let’s go. I hang over the edge of the slide, sucking in fresh air as fast as I can. Gotta stop running that mouth, Letter says. For some absurd reason, I want more. I let him know that he’s a scrawny little bitch, in his little wife-beater. I may have finally surprised him because he stops still and stares at me, then he laughs. It feels like I have caught him off guard. I have a feeling of satisfaction. After this moment, I have no clue what happens.

I wake up a bit later in the night. Unfathomable pain instantly settles on my face. I attempt to touch my eye, although the pain intensifies. Just as I thought, I have another smashed in eye. My surroundings are different. I pick up on this. I’m no longer in the tall tree. I’m somewhere else in the projects. I‘m on the roof of one of the high rise apartments. It smells like piss and dirty hookers up here. I’m not quite sure how I got here until a minuscule thought in my head tells me that I am sure. The thought frightens me, and I absolutely don’t want to think about it anymore. I gather myself and stand up. So how did you get up here? Letter stands at the door to the entrance of the roof. Two of his boys or dogs, which he calls them stand on opposite sides of him. The one on the right, his main accomplice, is Deck. There’s a lot of mystery to him, and I know more about him than Letter can possibly imagine, I just don’t feel like thinking about that right now. It’s apart of my fear of how I got up here, on top of this roof. I Don’t really know the thug to the left of Letter, except that his name is Trey. He usually does what Letter and Deck don’t want to do. The dirty work I guess. I just woke up so obviously I wouldn’t know. I never let my toughness weaken with Letter. I make sure to never cower to him with words, regardless of how much he beats the blank out of me. Perhaps this is why he makes me a punching bag. Why I don’t reverse this and cower to him, taking less beatings, is beyond me. Where were you last? he asks. Well, pretty sure I was in your predator palace in the sky, where you rape little girls, and probably boys because your dick’s too small for an actual woman to feel anything inside. Deck and Trey laugh hysterically at this, like I’m a stand up comedian. Letter doesn’t laugh just yet. At this point, he wants to give me another beating for the disrespect. The only reason he doesn’t, is because my face already looks hideous from the first beating. He would then be turned off during our next sexual encounter. He would have to stare at my gory face, which I know he doesn’t want. But this is a crucial moment for Letter. He has to respond correctly to my defiance. If he doesn’t, he could put himself at risk of losing his alpha position over his dogs, then becoming another dead gangster that someone finds in a ditch. That’s what I’m hoping for. That’s why I said what I said, to put him in that situation, but Letter’s smarter than that. He responds appropriately. See what I’m dealing with? See this girl? He’s trying to feel helpless in a comical way, completely destroying my attempt to get him dethroned. That’s going to be another beating for me. I continue. Let’s see, you came after a second or two, grabbed my hair, chocked me, and that’s all I can remember. Letter then responds. This predator palace that you mentioned, you know how far that is from this building right? Couldn’t tell you, I say. But I do know, and I also know where he’s heading with this conversation. It’s about forty yards from where we are, he says. I glance to the other side of the projects, at the tree with the slide in it, where I just was before I woke up. A chilling sensation permeates my body. It’s the fear that I have of knowing how I got up here. I quickly hide any facial expressions that could reveal this. You know what a yard is, congratulations, I say. What’s in your hand? I look down at my right hand. I’m holding two pairs of broken plastic handcuffs. This is shocking to me because I did not feel them in my hand until now. I also feel pain from both my wrist and around both of my ankles. I connect the dots myself. After Letter knocked me out, he tied my hands and legs together with the cuffs, only now, somehow I’m out of the cuffs and holding them in my hand.  The point is, I was trying to get rid of you, figured you’d wake up and fall, or try climbing down with the cuffs on and kill yourself, he says. Sorry to disappoint, I respond. So how did you get up here?" Letter asks. If Letter didn’t bring me here, and I was tied up, also unconscious, how did I get on this roof?

There is something else that Letter adds to the mystery as he nods to Deck. With the help of Trey, Deck opens up the door to the roof entrance. Deck and Trey pull out a soiled coffin, with a dirty garbage bag on top of it. The coffin looks like it was just dug up from a cemetery. When Deck opens the coffin, I see a glimpse of a rotting carcass inside. The long withered hair lets me know that the body belonged to a woman. I do my best to force down the puke that’s accumulating in my throat. Trey however, can’t hold his puke, which causes him to regurgitate on the cement roof floor. Maybe you got out of the tree, and passed all my guys in this building, but who goes to the cemetery, three miles from here, and digs up my mothers body? I see that Letter desperately wants to know the answer to this question. Apparently, the person, or me who he’s so so sure of, dug up his mother’s grave before placing the coffin outside his home, which is an apartment inside this building. I’m maybe a hundred and fifteen pounds, but Letter expects everyone to believe that I dragged a three hundred pound coffin three miles to his apartment. These are the things that he hits me over. He accuses me of something like this, I deny it, and he slams a fist into my head. You need help, I say. Oh, I need help? he barks back.

Yes, you need a lot of blanking help, I’m thinking in my head. Allegedly, Letter’s first murder happened when he was twelve. I think he’s full of blank, and am convinced that he started killing people much earlier. So the story is, he got his eleven year old girlfriend pregnant, then forced her to give birth in a bathroom. I cut the umbilical cord, suffocated that thing, and buried it in the woods. Don’t even remember where, Letter says before opening the garbage bag. He spills out the contents of the bag on the roof floor. It’s the decomposed remnants of the baby that he killed. I cover my mouth in shock, nearly beginning to ball with tears. Guess what that is? Letter says. I continue to stare in complete disbelief at what I’m seeing. How would you know that? Letter says. Listen to me, I did not do that, I say, pleading desperately. But all of this drama from me is acting. I really did do it. 

CHAPTER TWO

So the questions are, how did I escape the plastic cuffs and climb out of the tree? And how was I able to dig up a coffin six feet out of the ground before dragging it three miles back to this building? The answer is, I am possessed with a demon. As I think about this, it makes me sick to my stomach, also a bit depressed. I’m not some kind of freak. I’m sort of a regular person. Every now and then, I have this demonic spirit that takes over me. When it commandeers my body, I somehow go away. I’m not quite sure if my soul or the thing that makes me who I am is pushed away to some other uninhabited space in my body or mind, but when it happens I’m gone. The demon does what it wants to do for how ever long it wants, then lets me come back. When I return, I usually find myself waking up in some strange place, like now. Where ever I wake up, it’s usually not the last place I was before the demon possessed me. When the demon is doing what ever it does with my body, I have no recollection of it. I’m pretty much just taking a nap. When I wake up, I have no idea what I’ve done. I just see the aftermath of the things that the demon has done with my body, sort of like what’s happening now. So although I don’t remember what I did, I know what I did, or what the demon did.

I know that the demon broke the cuffs and climbed out of the tree because I hate pain, and I would never do something to cause my wrist or ankles to throb like they do now. I know the demon took my body out of the tree because I’m extremely afraid of heights and would never climb out of that tree myself. When Letter brings his victims to his rape tree, he uses a bucket truck that lifts him and the victim to the tree. Deck or Trey usually operates the lift. I know the Demon made me dig up the bodies of Letter’s mother and child. I didn’t even know anything about Letter having a mother and child until now. Obviously he had to come from somewhere, but when someone is such a psychopathic animal, how could they come from a person? I think about Letter’s mom for a moment. When did she know that she raised a deadly virus? I guess the question really is, did she know? She had to have known. He didn’t just become an animal over night. There had to be signs leading to what he became. There had to be at least an inkling of a sign that said, my son is going to kill me one day. I digress, so sad for her. I digress, me using big words. I laugh at myself. I’m considered trash from the streets, now look at me, using that kind of word.

Every time a possession happens, I learn more about the demon inside me. I have no idea when it’s going to take over, or for however long it’s going to take me. I just feel myself being removed right before it comes. I get an instant numbing sensation all over my body. In my mind, I may want to do something, like reach for a can of soda, but that ability is completely shut down. Everything stored in my brain from birth, like memories, thoughts, I start to lose my grasp of. I can feel it too. In my mind, I try to reach for them and grab them but they keep pulling away from me as the demon comes. When my mind, and motor abilities are completely gone, I pass out. I’ve heard that before I pass out, which is the point right before the demon takes over, I look like a real life zombie. People have tried to talk to me at this point, to get me back, but I’m already so far gone that it’s pointless. I remember when it first started happening. I was in my early teens. I was with the religious freaks. As you can imagine, they immediately knew what was happening. This mess of a child who they’ve adopted, who’s seen the worst possible side of the foster car system, and with the story of my parents, of course they knew that moment would come. They probably expected it. Or maybe they wanted it to happen. If you think about it, that would solidify their belief in God. If demons exist, there certainly must be a Satan and a God. And then the things that they’ve been reading in the bible would all make sense, and would have to be true. I could see them now, sharing their testimony with churches across the country about the demon that they had to cast out of their troubled foster child. It took them years but they finally did it by the Grace of God, which is what my religious dad would say. I imagine that they would be celebrities. My religious Dad always wanted to run his own church so that spotlight would surely draw a lot of members right from the start. They could write books for Christians all over the world about how they got rid of my demon and make millions. Combine that with tithes from all of the members my religious Dad would gain, and he, and my religious mother would never have to worry about money again. They were modest, and had integrity for the most part so they probably wouldn’t sell out like that completely. It’s just hard to believe that they didn’t have at least a minuscule thought about those possibilities.

We were at the dinner table, the very first time the Demon came to possess me. I was eleven. It was sloppy Joe night. I hated sloppy Joes but my religious mom insisted on having them once a week. I think she did sloppy Joes once a week because they were so filling and cheap to make. The moment before the first possession, I’ll never forget it. I remembered thinking, I’m going to die. From what, I didn’t know. I was so scared and confused, trying to process what was happening to me. I wasn’t chocking on food so I knew that wasn’t it, but what was it? I couldn’t figure it out at the time. I do remember thinking that maybe I was having a heart attack. At age eleven, that was the only thing that I knew caused people to die, and also what happened to my parents obviously. I felt myself drooling as I began to lose control of my mind and