Servant of an Angry God
Servant of an Angry God
The ghosts of crimes past
Now get this, I'd been contemplating the deal of a lifetime; to actually die, get a second chance and return on a mission from God. All of a sudden my mind was settled for me when I found myself in the middle of the pile of garbage that used to be my living room. It was either the cops looking for evidence or my former employer trying to tie up loose ends. Whichever way it went the bastards knew I wasn't coming back. I had been thinking that I'd be invisible or glowing like an angel, but no such luck befell upon me. I knew that because of the way the gorilla in the suit reacted to me. Just as that relative of early man rounded the corner of the hallway, a look of udder surprise commandeered his face.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Who am I? Buddy, this is my house. Who are you and what are you doing here?"
It seemed to amuse him because he actually laughed out loud. The moment of humor lasted just long enough for him to reach inside his jacket and draw his piece. That was the last thing I needed having just returned from the dead and get killed again.
"You couldn't possibly own this house, so tell me who sent you and this will go a lot smoother."
"I assure you that I..."
"Look, you can't own this house because the poor bastard that did is lying in the morgue."
"Do you even know what the person you think owns this house looks like?"
"Judging from the picture in my pocket, not like you."
"Excuse me, but you've obviously got the wrong picture."
He reached inside his jacket and tossed the picture on the floor telling me to take a look. I took slow, deliberate steps and grabbed the photo. It was sure enough a picture of my mug. As I straightened myself to a standing position, my eyes caught a glimpse of me in the picture frame on the wall. I now understood his adamant stance on my identity, because the face I saw wasn't the one I wore for thirty-two years prior to that very moment. I was so disoriented at the time that the movement of his hands almost didn't register in my mind. He'd been screwing a sound suppresser onto his pistol, and my opportunity arrived. While his eyes were checking the fit of the threaded surfaces of the gun and gadget, I formed a perfect forward thrust kick to his sternum. What happened next even caught me off guard, as his body seemed to be pulled back by stunt wires. His head struck the wall first and a sound like an egg being cracked went throughout the room. I'd never seen anything like that before and certainly not from my doing. I examined his then lifeless body and found his head flattened in the back, as if a truck had hit him.
The feeling of amazement passed and was replaced by wonderment of what other changes were done to my physiology. I ran to the bedroom and switched on the overhead lights so I could see myself better in the big mirror mounted on the wall. I was awe-struck at my full reflection. I guessed my body to be at least twenty-five pounds heavier in the muscle department and maybe six inches taller. The skin on my new countenance was smooth and dark with a nice sheen to it. My usual five o'clock shadow was also gone, the same as the thick hair that used to cover my noggin. I finally came to grips with the new me, and decided to get on with the task I was meant to fulfill.
Proceeding to the closet, I stepped to the back wall and found the holding spot w