The Paradise Prophecy

4

Ten minutes before those screams, Gabriela Zuada stood onstage with her bandmates, their hands locked together as they took their final bow.

The crowd was cheering, many of them on their feet, some even chanting, “Santa Gabriela, Santa Gabriela, Santa Gabriela . . .” as they showered the stage with flowers and candies.

Scooping up one of the flowers-a bloodred rose-Gabriela threw it into the air, then lifted her chin toward the rafters and shouted, “Gloria a Deus, nosso Pai!”

The crowd went wild, hands thrusting heavenward as they repeated her words in unison, over and over, tears streaming down their faces, tears full of joy and hope and the promise of salvation.

And in that moment, Gabriela-bone weary, drenched in sweat-thought:

They would do anything for you.

Anything at all.

Then the thought was gone, skittering away like a roach exposed to a kitchen light, and Gabriela felt a chill run through her.

Where had that come from?

How could she think such a horrible thing?

It was true that she wasn’t feeling well tonight, had been concerned that she was coming down with a cold and fever and might not make it through the entire show, but was that enough to put such thoughts into her head?

Before she could take any time to analyze the moment, Francisco, Rafael and the others waved to the crowd and headed offstage. Gabriela fell in behind them, blowing one last kiss to her fans as she disappeared behind a wall of amplifiers.

By the time she reached the ramp at the back of the stage, the thought was forgotten, overtaken by the sudden realization that her feet were killing her. All she wanted was to get out of these shoes, into a limousine, take the short ride home to her penthouse in the heart of Sao Paulo, then swallow a handful of aspirin and go to bed.

That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

As she reached the bottom of the ramp and handed her headgear to the sound technician, Alejandro and her bodyguards surrounded her, escorting her toward a dimly lit hallway behind the stage.

Alejandro handed her a towel, a bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade and her cell phone. Their usual ritual.

The phone was Alejandro’s idea. He thought it absolutely essential that she have one with her at all times. A security precaution.

It was true that Gabriela had ruffled some feathers by speaking out against the drug lords here in Sao Paulo, but she sometimes felt that Alejandro was too paranoid for his own good.

“Outstanding show, querida. We’ve finished the tour on a high note.”

Gabriela tucked the phone into her back pocket, wiped her face and neck, then returned the towel to him and took a swig of Gatorade. “I was off-key half the night. I think my ears are going.”

“Nonsense.” He reached out and squeezed her hand. “They loved you. We all love you.”

She gave him a small squeeze back, feeling a tiny twinge of guilt. Their history together would always be a source of discomfort for her, and she quickly withdrew her hand as they moved into the hallway.

Alejandro didn’t seem to notice. He had his own phone pressed to his ear now and was calling for the limousine to be brought around back. He was in fine spirits tonight, but Gabriela often worried about him, feared that she had broken his heart.

It was easy to admit that she loved him, but there were things about her that Alejandro could never know. A secret she couldn’t reveal. And the closer she had gotten to him, the more she had wanted to share that secret.

So she had stepped away. Just as she had stepped away from the streets. And the parties. And her addiction to Poeira do diabo.

Devil dust.

They veered left, taking an adjoining hallway, and Gabriela was surprised by this. She had played this venue many times before, yet the layout seemed different somehow. Backwards. She could’ve sworn that the last time she was here, it had veered to the right, following a straight line to a set of double doors that led to the loading dock.

But not this time. And it occurred to her that either she was crazy or she was simply confused by the many weeks of touring and the hundred other backstage passageways she had traveled.

Up ahead, the fluorescent lights were flickering, and Gabriela was suddenly struck by the memory of a much darker time in her life. A time when she and her best friend, Sofie, would get high in a gas station bathroom, the light above the cracked, graffiti-laden mirror flickering endlessly as they shared a pipe.

It was Sofie’s death that had brought Gabriela to God. And every night, when she spoke to Him, she made sure to include a prayer for her lost friend.

She was remembering one of their better times together (riding their bicycles on the streets of the favela) as she and the others passed under that harsh, flickering light.

Then something odd happened.

Gabriela felt a short, abrupt tug, as if she’d been hooked to a wire and yanked forward. For a moment she thought she was still wearing the harness she donned at the top of every show-the one that allowed her to make her entrance by swooping over the audience liked a winged angel as she sang the opening bars of “Paradise City.”

But that made no sense. She had discarded the harness by her second number and had gone through six costume changes since.

Yet she felt the pull of that wire as plainly as she had felt the squeeze of Alejandro’s hand. And without warning, she stumbled forward into sudden darkness-seemed to be drowning in it-only to emerge on the other side to find herself alone. Standing in yet another dim corridor.

Gabriela stopped, whirled. “Alejandro?”

But Alejandro wasn’t there. Neither were any of her bodyguards. One minute she had been surrounded by them, listening to their voices reverberate against the walls-

– and now, nothing.

The corridor was empty. Silent.

What was going on here?

They would do anything for you.

Anything at all.

The thought again. Slipping without warning into her brain. But like the corridor around her, it was different this time. She couldn’t be entirely sure that the thought was her own.

She felt her forehead. Warm.

A fever. She was definitely coming down with a fever. She needed that bed more than ever now.

“Alejandro?” she called again, wondering for a moment if he and the others were hiding somewhere and this was some kind of prank. Retaliation for all the times she’d slipped away on her own.

But, no, Alejandro would never do such a thing. Could never be so cruel. Even after she rejected him, he had continued to stay loyal to her. Always kind. Always loving. Always supportive.

Alejandro was her rock.

He would do anything for you.

Anything at all.

Gabriela stiffened, her gut tightening. She was no stranger to voices inside her head, but they always came to her in moments of prayer-not like this. This one wasn’t friendly. A voice she thought she recognized.

What have you done for him, Gabriela?

And what did you ever do for me?

Sofie. It was Sofie.

Not the young, vibrant Sofie that Gabriela had met in middle school, but the raspy-throated powder monkey who had huddled with her in that dirty, foul-smelling gas station bathroom, sucking in endless hits of Devil Dust.

You left me to die.

Why did you leave me to die?

Sofie was right. Gabriela had left her. Had found her on the floor of that very same bathroom and watched her choke on her own vomit. But instead of helping her, instead of calling an ambulance, Gabriela had followed the rules of the jungle and fled. Had abandoned her best friend, leaving her to die in a puddle of urine.

It had taken Gabriela many months to come to terms with this. To find herself again and beg for the Lord’s forgiveness. For Sofie’s forgiveness. When her career had taken off and money was easy to come by, she had formed a charity in Sofie’s honor. Several charities.

And when God’s heavenly messenger spoke to her and asked her to be one of His soldiers, she had readily agreed. Had sacrificed her future with Alejandro for the honor.

Yet none of this absolved her.

She knew that.

She would live with the guilt of Sofie’s death for the rest of her life. A constant reminder of what she had come from and who she had once been.

Someone laughed, and Gabriela whirled again, her heart lifting slightly as she looked toward the end of the hall.

“Alejandro?”

There was an open door there. One she hadn’t noticed before. More flickering light inside.

Convinced now that she was in the midst of some kind of fever dream, that she had passed out from exhaustion and was probably, at this very moment, in Alejandro’s arms, Gabriela moved cautiously toward the doorway and stepped inside, surprised by what she saw.

The gas station bathroom.

Just as she remembered it.

The dingy walls, the toilet splattered with feces, the smell of urine and dried blood, the filthy sink, the splintered mirror with the words VA SE FODER spray-painted across it in big red letters. Go fuck yourself.

And sitting on the edge of the sink, beneath that flickering light, was a familiar-looking glass pipe, once translucent, now scarred and blackened by years of abuse.

Sofie’s pipe.

And lying next to it was a small, battered lighter. A faded sticker on its side read GOT JESUS?

Gabriela froze at the sight of them. Was barely able to suppress the feeling welling up inside her. A feeling of contempt, mixed with-dare she say it?

Desire.

She had long ago beat her addiction, had spent many torturous months in rehab to do so, but the dust was a powerful demon and it did not relinquish that power easily.

What are you waiting for, my angel?

A voice again. Not Sofie this time, but another woman. Soft. Soothing. Carrying a dark undercurrent that made Gabriela shiver.

Frightened now, she turned to the door, but it swung shut with a resounding boom. Then the latch clicked, locking her inside.

“Alejandro!” she shouted, pounding her fists against the wood, suddenly afraid that this wasn’t a nightmare after all. “Alejandro, help me!”

He won’t help you, my darling. He doesn’t love you as I do.

Gabriela spun, searching the small room, looking for the source of the voice. “What do you know about him? Who are you? What do want from me?”

Only that you return my love.

Gabriela shifted her gaze to the pipe again. Was it the dust speaking? How could that be possible?

No, no, she thought. Like before, the voice was inside her head. Brought on by the fever. What else could it be?

Tell me you love me, Gabriela.

Gabriela turned, searching the room again. “I love only the Father.”

Oh? Do you see Him anywhere? He cares for you even less than sweet, attentive Alejandro.

“You’re wrong,” Gabriela cried. “He believes in me. He trusts me.”

And how do you know this?

“Why else would he send His angel to . . .”

She stopped herself. All at once, she knew what this was about. And it had nothing to do with fevers or dreams at all.

To what, my darling?

Lowering her voice, she said, “Go away. You’re wasting your time. I’ll never give you what you want.”

And what would that be?

“To betray my oath.”

The voice laughed. You make it sound so serious. But people break promises every day. What about all those promises you made to Sofie?

“Leave me alone!”

Not until you tell me what I need to know. Don’t worry about the Father. He abandoned us all a long, long time ago. There’s no place in his kingdom for you. You’re one of the forgotten.

“You’re wrong,” Gabriela cried. “He believes in me. Trusts me. And I won’t betray that trust.”

And what about all the scribbling in that precious book of yours? If that isn’t a betrayal, what is?

Gabriela felt fingers skitter along her spine. “How do you know about that?”

I know everything about you, my darling. I’m part of you. I always have been. I’m the desire you feel when you look at Alejandro. When you stare longingly at Sofie’s pipe.

Gabriela shifted her gaze to the sink again and looked at the pipe and lighter sitting there, perched on the edge, calling to her. But she knew she had to resist. “No. I’ll never give in to you. Never.”

Never is such a strong word, isn’t it? Your pathetic old friend said much the same to me, but in the end he was willing to compromise. Everyone is.

“My friend?”

The collector. One of your brethren.

Mention of the collector startled Gabriela. If this woman knew about him and was now coming to her, then they were all at risk. And so was the secret they held. Despite the fear rocketing through her bloodstream, Gabriela could not let herself give in to her weaknesses. There was too much at stake.

“No-you can’t seduce me. I’ll tell you nothing.”

What harm would it do, my angel? Who would know?

“I would know,” Gabriela shouted. “I would know.” Then she turned again, pounding her fists against the door. “Alejandro! Where are you? Help me!”

But no one answered.

Suddenly remembering the phone in her back pocket, and silently thanking Alejandro for his paranoia, she pulled it free and fumbled it in her hands, nearly dropping it. Clutching it tightly, she pressed speed dial, then put it to her ear, waiting for it to ring.

But it didn’t. Went straight to voice mail.

Damn him. Why was he always on the phone?

Then, without warning, Gabriela was confronted by a blur of motion. Something swung out at her, knocking the cell phone from her hand. It flew to the floor, bounced once, and settled faceup under the feces-stained toilet.

Startled, she snapped her head up and discovered that she was no longer alone in the room.

Sofie was there, standing before her, the pipe and lighter in her hands. Her skin was bone white, festering sores on her cheeks and forehead. A dribble of vomit on her chin.

It was far and away the most horrifying sight Gabriela had ever seen. She brought her hands to her mouth, stifling a scream, and backed away.

Then Sofie spoke.

“Look at you, so sweet and noble now. All those fools calling your name. What do you think they’d say if they knew you left me here to die?”

Gabriela shook her head violently. “It was the dust that made me do it. You know that as well as I do.”

“The dust? The dust was our friend, Gabriela. Remember how happy it made us feel? Remember how we laughed?” Sofie lifted the hand holding the pipe. “If you won’t tell us your secret, then why not take an offer of compromise? The same compromise the collector made. All we ask for is the name of one of your brethren. Nothing more.”

“Stay away from me.”

Sofie shoved the pipe toward her. “Give us a name, and this is yours. Just like old times. You can be with the ones who love you. Who love the real you, not this angelic monstrosity you pretend to be.”

“No,” Gabriela shouted, and swung an arm out, knocking the pipe and lighter to the floor.

Sofie watched them roll and land near the phone, then slowly lowered her head. She said nothing for a long moment. And when she spoke, there was sadness in her voice. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.”

Suddenly the smell of gasoline filled the air, and Gabriela spun, saw liquid sluicing down the walls, coming down in sheets, pooling on the floor. Fumes rolled toward her and she began to choke and cough, feeling them burn her lungs.

“Give us a name, Gabriela. Now!”

“No.” She gagged. “. . . Leave me alone . . . leave me-”

Sofie’s face churned up in fury as she grabbed Gabriela by the shoulders and threw her against the nearest wall. Gabriela hit it hard and pain tore through her, gasoline pouring onto her head, soaking her hair and clothes, plastering them to her skin.

“Give us the name!” Sofia shouted, then grabbed her again, throwing her against the sink.

Gabriela slammed headfirst into the mirror, splintering the glass. A shard pierced her forehead and blood poured from the wound, mixing with the gasoline as it rolled down her face and into her mouth.

She hobbled forward, gagging and spitting. “. . . Please . . . ,” she begged, weeping now, adding tears to the mix.

But Sofie grabbed her a third time and flung her toward the toilet. Gabriela stumbled into it, landing in a heap on the floor, still coughing, barely able to breathe. She rolled onto her back, and her gaze once again went to the pipe and lighter, which lay only inches from her now, miraculously dry, untouched by the gasoline.

Tell me you love me, my angel.

And despite herself, she felt that familiar urge well up inside her again, stronger than ever.

“Give us a name,” Sofie said. “That’s all we ask. One simple name and you’ll be free.”

Gabriela tried to resist. Tried with all her might. Sent a desperate prayer up to God, but got only silence in return.

“Please,” she sobbed, “please . . . help me . . .”

But no one heard. No one was listening.

Maybe the voice had been right. God didn’t love her. And maybe He had been wrong to trust her. To think she was any different now than she was back then, all those nights so long ago.

What Sofie had said was true. The dust had made them happy. So very happy.

And what would be the harm in one small hit?

The moment Gabriela thought this, the gasoline stopped flowing, leaving behind soaked walls, puddles on the floor, and a room full of fumes.

Gabriela’s gut was churning. The dust still calling out to her.

Tell me you love me, my darling.

Giving in, she reached out, grabbed for the pipe. But just as her fingers were about to close around it, Sofie’s rotting bare foot pressed against her hand, stopping her.

“A name,” she said. “That’s all we require.”

Defeated, drained, no longer feeling as if she had a will of her own, Gabriela sputtered and coughed again, then finally relented, giving them what they wanted, letting the name flutter through her mind like a passing bird. And the moment it did, Sofie was gone, leaving Gabriela alone with the pipe, the lighter, and her discarded phone.

Pulling herself up on her elbows, still crying, still coughing, but ever cognizant of the need burning inside her, Gabriela picked up the pipe and lighter with wet, trembling hands.

She thought of Alejandro, how devastated he’d be. She thought about how weak she truly was, and how easily she’d given in to them. Her only saving grace was that she hadn’t given them everything. Hadn’t revealed the secret she was sworn to protect.

That was something, wasn’t it?

But she knew that she could no longer be trusted with that secret. That the dust had too strong of a hold on her. And with this knowledge, she leaned forward slightly, whispering softly into her cell phone, hoping someone out there would hear her and understand.

It was time to let the Father take her now. If she couldn’t be useful to Him in this world, maybe she’d do better in His.

Anticipating sweet relief, she put the pipe to her lips, tightened her grip on the lighter and sent up one last prayer for forgiveness as she rolled her thumb against the flint wheel.

The explosion barely registered as Gabriela inhaled deeply, taking into herself that thing which had been missing from her life all these years.

It felt transcendent.

A split second later, however, when she realized that the smoke she was inhaling was no longer the narcotic she craved but the stinking, sweet essence of her own burning flesh, her final conscious thought arrived along with a searing, unbelievable pain.

That was when Gabriela Zuada started screaming.