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Defiled
Defiled
Defiled
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Defiled

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"Find me please," the girl said softly, her voice just above a whisper.

From an early age Mark Castle has possessed abilities like very few others. He can see auras, speak to animals, and make people do things with a mere thought.

From the onset of these Gifts, Mark's been having strange, vivid dreams. He dreams of a beautiful young woman floating in front of him, just out of his reach. And each time he sees her, she asks for the same thing. She begs for him to find her and release her from her torment.

In a quest to help the mysterious girl, Mark and his high school friends - Shane and Doug - contact the Netherworld and meet a spirit guide that claims he can help.

Is their spirit guide on the level? Is he really who he claims to be? Or, will Mark and his friends become trapped like the girl – suffering in the Netherworld for all eternity?

"Defiled" is the first novel in the Castle Chronicles. A series that follows the life - and afterlife - of Mark Castle as he comes to grips with his fantastic powers, and his extraordinary ability to contact beings from the Netherworld.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherBookBaby
Release dateMar 19, 2019
ISBN9781543965179
Defiled

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    Defiled - Michael S. Vassel

    p.m.

    April 30, 2017 – 10:00 p.m.

    From far away, I hear them call to me. In the back of my mind I hear their pleadings asking me—begging me—trying to drag me back. Ever calling. Ever needing. Forever in my mind. But I have a task that I must attend to – a promise that must be kept.

    Even though it goes against everything I believe in, it is everything I am now, everything I have chosen to be. I’ve asked myself a million times if I have made the correct choice, or if this was fate or destiny that brought me here. It may be that it is an unanswerable question – unanswerable, and irrelevant.

    As I travel along the path back toward where this journey began, my thoughts take me back to a time when life was simple. A time when life was pure. A time when I had no cares in the world. When I was but a child. Growing up with friends and family, hearth and home. I think back to where this all started – to where I was loved.

    April 29, 1972

    Oh Linda. Look at those eyelashes! Aunt Nancy erupted as she held me in a smothering bear hug. He’s got bedroom eyes.

    All my mom could do was stand back and smile as my aunt tried to squeeze the life out of me.

    Aunt ‒ Nancy ‒ I ‒ can’t ‒ breathe, I choked out as I squirmed in her grasp.

    You are just the cutest thing! So cute and so charming! she bellowed while releasing me, only to grab me a second later so she could pinch my cheek – nearly burning my ear with her cigarette.

    Nancy! Watch what you’re doing! my mom finally jumped in to rescue me.

    Oh, he’s okay Linda ... don’t be such a worry wart! my aunt grumbled, releasing me into my mom’s arms.

    For me, being assaulted by aunts and uncles was always the low point of my birthday parties. The pinched cheeks, the lipstick kisses, the rubbed head. All the hugging, kissing, and showing of affection, felt like a form of torture. But, these were the personal hell that a charming birthday boy must endure if he wanted to receive cake and ice cream and, of course, presents.

    The high point—the birthday presents—sat on a table near the main picture window in our living room. There they would sit until we got through greeting all the party attendees and made it through lunch. It was torture.

    Cool your jets until after lunch. Then you can have your gifts.

    But Mom!

    But nothing! Settle down or you won’t get any presents!

    I knew she wasn’t serious. But, on the off-chance that she was, I did as I was told.

    As my relatives and friends arrived, I smiled and greeted them, and suffered through all their poking and prodding, waiting patiently for present-time to arrive. Finally, about an hour later – what felt like a year to me – my mom called all the relatives into the living room so I could start opening my gifts.

    When I sat down in front of her and looked at the veritable mound of presents, I was elated. But, I couldn’t help feeling sad that my dad wasn’t there to see me open them.

    It’d been six months since my parents had separated. A no-fault divorce they called it, but that’s not what I called it. I called it strange and unnatural. It felt abnormal not having my father around – like I was missing something or I’d forgotten something. Special occasions like this were the worst.

    I inspected the pile of presents – trying to choose which to open first –wondering if the pile would’ve been as big if my parents hadn’t separated.

    Which one do you want to open first? Mom asked after seeing the indecision in my eyes. Reaching over, she picked a package off the top and handed it to me – and the ritual began.

    I got all the normal gifts – shirts and pants, toys and candy, a ball, a mitt, and some other stuff. It would’ve been great for some eight-year-old – an eight-year-old that wasn’t me.

    I tried to be gracious and thankful for each gift, but none of them were what I wanted. I hugged or gave handshakes to everyone but it sucked. None of my family really knew me.

    Are you ready for some cake? Mom asked, breaking me out of my funk. Smiling, I nodded, and we headed to the dining room.

    When the last of the visitors were out the door, my mom let out a sigh of relief and joined me on the couch. I stared at the open pile of gifts, trying not to be disappointed.

    Well, now that they’re gone, do you want my present?

    Yes! Finally, maybe something decent?

    What’s that?

    Yes please! I corrected and ran to her for a hug.

    She pulled a large box from the buffet table and handed it to me. I ripped into it before her hands were even off of it! Houdini’s Magic Kit, boasting 75 Real Magic Tricks inside. It was perfect.

    Last month, when I saw it on TV, I’d mentioned it to my Mom, but I never dreamed she’d get it for me.

    Well, how’d I do?

    I threw the box to the side and jumped across the couch to hug her again.

    Can I open it? I asked, turning the box over in my hands, inspecting each side.

    Of course! she said as she gathered the torn wrapping paper from the couch. But take it to your room. I need to clean up.

    Not caring about the other gifts, I grabbed the box and made a beeline for my bedroom. As soon as I was in my room, I shut the door and threw myself – and the present – on my bed, dumping the contents onto my comforter.

    There were a dozen or so bobbles that now rested in a pile in the center of my bed and a forty-page instruction manual. On the cover, in a slightly smaller print, were the words:

    Contains: magic rope, vanishing coin box, deck of cards, magic wand, 4 disappearing balls, 3 disappearing ball cups, 2 mysterious linking rings, disappearing handkerchief with bungie string, and instructional booklet.

    I decided to teach myself the disappearing ball trick, since it looked simple enough to learn quickly. Maybe I could master it and show my dad the trick the next day.

    The trick mostly consisted of misdirection. The magician started by showing the ball and cups to the audience. He then placed the ball under one of three cups and moved them around while the onlookers tried to remember which cup contained the ball.

    After swirling them around a bit, the magician then lifted the cup that contained the ball to show the audience he knew where it was. Placing the ball back under the cup, the magician would again swirl the cups to enthrall the audience. This time, though, the magician would palm the ball as he shuffled the cups. As soon as he stopped, he’d wave the magic wand over the cups, say the magic word, lift the cups one by one, and voila! The ball would magically disappear.

    I practiced the trick for more than an hour. It was about the time I felt I was getting pretty decent at it when I heard the call from the kitchen.

    Mark ... dinner!

    Be right there, Mom!

    Jumping off my bed, I bounded toward the kitchen.

    Mom! I learned a trick! Can I show you?

    Scooping up two waiting plates filled with macaroni and cheese, she walked to the table, placed one in front of each of us, and sat down. Folding her hands under her chin, she smiled, Sure thing! Dazzle me!

    Placing the ball under the middle cup, I ran through the routine. Except for almost dropping the ball once, the trick went off well.

    Tada! I said as I knocked over the last of the empty cups.

    That was amazing! she said as she held out her arms for a hug. Good job!

    I smiled ear-to-ear as I hugged her. I was now a magician just like the guy in the infomercial. I could now go onto bigger and better things like Las Vegas, or back to my seat to eat my rapidly cooling mac-n-cheese.

    April 30, 1972

    The next day, Sunday, was my usual day with Dad. Since the split and the judge’s decision, Sunday was the only day he was allowed visitation. I wished I could’ve seen him more. It seemed so unfair. Even though it was a little cold outside in the morning sun, I waited in my church clothes on the porch, thinking about all the things we’d do that day.

    First, we’d go to St. Matthew’s church for Noon Mass. It was my least favorite part of our Sunday routine. Then, as soon as we left church and got in his car, he’d tease me by asking me where I wanted to go to lunch, although he already knew what I would say: Burger King.

    Burger King was my all-time favorite. Although I didn’t always get my pick, knowing it was my birthday, I was sure I’d get my wish.

    Then, when we were finished eating, we’d go to his apartment to watch TV, bike ride, or maybe go to the park.

    When it was finally time to go home, we’d pile back into the car and head for ice cream. I knew he knew it spoiled my dinner – Mom scolded him more than a few times for doing it – but he’d do it anyway, just to piss her off.

    The minute I saw Dad’s car approaching, I ran to the edge of the porch, but as I watched him coming closer and closer to the house, something was off. There, in the front seat of his car – the place usually reserved for me – was someone I’d never seen before. I waited until he parked before I walked down the steps to meet him.

    Happy birthday Buddy! Dad said, giving me a hug as soon as he was out of the car. After eyeing me up and down, he said, Well, you look ready!

    Yep! All ready!

    As I turned to get in the car, a woman who I had never seen before got out and walked toward us.

    Mark, this is Donna, Dad said, gesturing to the woman.

    Hi Mark! Nice to meet you! the lady said as she stuck out her hand to greet me. I took it, of course – to be polite. I gave my dad my best, What’s going on? look.

    Donna is my ... friend, Dad replied, sounding embarrassed.

    Donna shot a glance at him, as if waiting for something more. When she didn’t receive it, she just smiled at me.

    Okay, Dad responded, changing the topic that hung uncomfortably in the air. Are you ready to head out? Do you need to say goodbye to your mom?

    I already did, I said as I looked between my Dad’s front and back seats.

    Seeing my contemplation, Donna smiled and asked, Do you want to sit up front?

    No. He can sit in back, Dad didn’t give me a chance to answer.

    When we reached the top of my mom’s street, we took a right instead of taking a left, the way we’d normally take toward church.

    Where are we going? I asked.

    I thought we’d skip church this once and head to lunch.

    So, we’re not going to church?

    Not today, Buddy.

    Why?

    Because Donna and I are hungry, okay? Dad said, raising his voice.

    Knowing Dad could get angry when pushed, I muttered a simple Okay, then turned my head toward the window.

    I was silent, hoping he could see how upset I was This was my one day – and only day – with Dad. And I didn’t like that it was now changed because of some stranger – some woman – that my Dad had decided to bring along.

    So, is today your actual birthday, Mark, Donna asked, breaking the silence.

    Uh-huh, I whispered still staring out the window.

    Well, happy birthday! she tried.

    Thanks was all I could muster.

    Fifteen minutes of silence later we stopped in Parma outside a restaurant called Pizza Palace. We’re here! Dad said brightly as he shut off the car.

    Realizing he hadn’t even asked where I wanted to eat, I asked, Can we go to Burger King instead?

    Come on Mark. It’s your birthday! Wouldn’t you like to go to someplace a little better, like a pizza place?

    No. I really want Burger King.

    After looking at Donna for a moment, he looked back at me. Well, I’m not feeding you Burger King on your birthday. We’re going to Pizza Palace.

    But Dad!

    No, Mark. I’ll take you to Burger King some other time. Now let’s go!

    In a huff, I got out of the car and reluctantly followed them into the restaurant.

    So, anything new in school, Buddy? Dad asked, not seeming to notice my mood. I only shook my head and continued picking at the chipping linoleum on the table.

    Oh, how was the birthday party? Did you get any good presents?

    Remembering I’d brought the disappearing ball trick to show him, I reached into my pocket, retrieved it, and placed it on the table.

    What’s that?

    It’s a magic trick! It’s called The Disappearing Ball. It came with the magic set Mom got me for my birthday.

    As I started to set up the trick for him, the server arrived at the table with our salads.

    Want to see how it works? I asked excitedly, finally feeling a little better.

    Wait a little bit, Buddy. The food just got here. Show me after lunch, okay?

    I reluctantly placed the ball and cups back in my pocket and started picking at my salad.

    Just as they were finishing their salads, the pizza – a large ham-and-mushroom with extra sauce – arrived. It was no match for Burger King or a magic trick.

    When we were finished eating, and the leftover pizza was removed and boxed, the server asked my dad if we wanted anything else. He motioned for the server to lean in so he could whisper something.

    Sure thing, she replied, righting herself and walking toward the kitchen.

    The minute she was gone, Dad reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a wrapped package, and handed it to me. Here ya go Mark. It’s from Donna and me. Happy birthday!

    Taking the package from him, I gave a quick thank you then started looking it over. It was small, only a few square inches, and felt like it was made out of something hard like wood or plastic.

    Well, open it! Dad prodded.

    I tore open the package. Inside the wrapping was a plastic container that held a watch with three hands: one each for hours, minutes, and seconds. I gently opened the lid so I could get a better look. It wasn’t as expensive as some of the watches my dad owned—he owned quite a few, actually—but it was really cool.

    Go on. Put it on! Dad urged.

    I placed it on my wrist and snapped the clasp in place. Turning my arm this way and that, I could see all the facets of the watch, and felt how well it fit on my wrist. Seeing the second hand moving, I lifted it to my ear and heard the distinct tick – tick – tick of the internal parts working.

    It’s battery operated so you don’t have to wind it, Dad said as I lowered it to look it over again. And I already set it with the correct time and date.

    Thanks Dad! I got up to hug him.

    Don’t forget to give Donna a hug ... the gift is from her too, you know!

    Reluctantly, I went over and gave Donna a quick hug then sat back down. As I did, the server came back to the table with a small birthday cake with a candle formed in the number 8.

    As it was set down in front of me, and the candle was lit, I noticed that the cake was Vanilla – the only flavor I didn’t like.

    Donna made it for you. Do you like it? Dad asked. Before I could answer, the server, my dad, and Donna started singing Happy Birthday to me.

    At the end, Donna said, Make a wish! so I blew out the single candle on top of the cake. The server removed the candle, cut the cake into four slices, and placed a piece in front of me. I looked at it a moment and pushed it away.

    What’s the matter? Don’t like cake? Donna asked.

    I don’t like vanilla, I replied.

    Mark, don’t be rude, Dad barked, Eat your cake.

    But Dad, I don’t like vanilla!

    Just try it! He said, raising his voice again.

    Picking up a fork, I did as told while trying to keep the tears from falling. I gagged slightly as the vanilla frosting touched the roof of my mouth and the back of my tongue. I tried to ignore the taste and just swallow, but it was horrible. I quickly grabbed the water and took a couple gulps, swishing the last one around my mouth to clean out the taste.

    Mark, stop being ridiculous! Dad bellowed.

    Tears started to trickle down my cheeks. I used the sleeves of my coat to try to wipe them away before my dad saw me – he hated when I cried in public. I looked over at him to see if he noticed, and I could see his face was a little red. I thought for a moment he was going to yell at me more.

    I started feeling sick to my stomach. A cramping, like I’d eaten something wrong, turned my stomach and made me feel like I was going to lurch. But, instead of throwing up, the feeling shot out from my stomach outward along my skin. A sensation that felt like electricity ran from deep within my core, instantly leaping across and around my entire body.

    Everything and everyone seemed a little fuzzy. My Dad, Donna, the other customers—all of them appeared to have a reddish haze around them; as if they’d somehow been transformed and were no longer humans but creatures of light.

    The light right above our booth started to flicker, moving sporadically from light to dark, on to off. Then, without warning, it became bright for a moment before it flashed off with a resounding pop.

    As we sat there, illuminated only by the light of the other tables, the feeling of electricity coursing through my body started to leave me. As if, somehow, the death of the bulb above us had opened a faucet to allow the energy to drain away from me.

    Unencumbered by the lighting that was in my veins, I suddenly started feeling light-headed, so I sat back in my chair and let my arms drop to the armrests.

    Are you okay? Donna asked as she looked at me, and then my dad. Bob, is he okay?

    It’s okay Mark. You don’t have to eat any more cake if you don’t want to.

    Okay, was all I could say, feeling completely exhausted. Noticing a wetness below my nose, I reached up to see what it was, and pulled away bloody fingers.

    Crap. Another nose bleed. Dad said as he stood, pulled his handkerchief from his back pocket, and moved toward me. Placing a hand behind my neck, he pushed my head back with the other then pinch the bridge of my nose.

    Does he get them all the time? Donna sounded worried.

    Not that often. We had his nose cauterized about a year ago, so they’re few and far between now.

    After a minute or so, he released my nose and inspected it. Are you okay now?

    I think so, I replied, experimentally touching my upper lip.

    Dad signaled to the waitress to bring the check, which she did in short order.

    Ready to go home, Buddy? I nodded and we were on our way.

    As we walked to his car, it hit me that Dad didn’t say anything about going to his house. Thinking about it though, it was probably best. All I wanted at that point was to go home to Mom.

    When we got back home, my Dad followed me inside to tell my Mom what happened. After I said goodbye to Dad, she walked me over to the couch, laid me down, and then showed Dad to the door.

    Returning a minute later, she sat down next to me. How are you feeling?

    Okay now, I guess. I was just relieved to be home.

    Do you want me to get you anything?

    Can I have a pop?

    Sure thing, Baby.

    As she rose from the couch, she noticed the watch on my arm.

    What’s that?

    Dad bought it for me ... see?

    I stuck out my arm to display the watch, turning it this way and that so she could get a good view. When I stopped, Mom reached down and took my wrist to see the watch more closely, scrunching up her face.

    Honey, did you forget to wind it?

    No, it has a battery and doesn’t need winding, Why?

    The second hand isn’t moving.

    When Mom let go of my wrist, I moved my arm around so I could see the watch face. Sure enough, she was right. Lifting it to my ear, I no longer heard the tick – tick – tick I’d heard just an hour before.

    The hands, including the second hand, had all stopped, and were now displaying a time of 1:15 p.m.

    When you talk to your dad later, make sure you tell him about the watch. Maybe he can get it fixed, she said as she moved toward the kitchen.

    Yeah, I replied as I continued to stare at my watch.

    After resting on the couch for a bit, I got up so I could change out of my church clothes. When I got to my room, I threw on my jeans and a Star Trek t-shirt.

    As I emptied the pockets of my the pants, I noticed that the ball from the disappearing-ball-and-cups trick was no longer there. The cups were there, but the ball was nowhere to be seen.

    Although I was positive that’s where I’d placed it, I checked my shirt pockets anyway just to make sure. It wasn’t there. I checked my coat pockets, but still had no luck. Following the same path I took to the bedroom, I looked everywhere I could think that it could’ve rolled. It was nowhere.

    Mom, did you see my magic ball from my magic trick?

    No honey, I haven’t. Did you maybe drop it in your Dad’s car?

    Maybe, I replied then headed for the phone.

    No Buddy, I haven’t seen your ball. Dad said.

    Are you sure? I can’t find it anywhere.

    You sure you didn’t leave it at the restaurant?

    No, it was in my pocket in the car ... I remember that!

    Okay ... okay. I’ll check my car in the morning, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve seen it.

    Oh, and the watch.

    I’ll make sure to take a look at it next Sunday, Buddy.

    That night while lying in bed, I thought about all the things that’d transpired that weekend, and all the cool gifts I received from my family. Somewhere, between the real world filled with birthdays and toys, and the dream world, my mind drifted back to the faulty watch and missing magic ball, and I couldn’t help but wonder ...

    April 30, 2017 – 11:00 p.m.

    I so rarely travel out of the darkness anymore that, when I do, the glare is painful. I reach into my breast pocket and pull out sunglasses as if they are always there, just awaiting use, and place them over my eyes so I can make the white clouds and sunshine tolerable.

    Along my journey, I give greetings to the occasional passerby to maintain the deception of friendship; the happiness I try to preserve here.

    Here, where there are only blissful people with joyful thoughts. A place where even the idea of pain and sorrow have become a distant memory; a place of make-believe where there is always happiness and delight.

    It is an illusion, of course. It is an illusion of life everlasting. It is an illusion of content and contentment.

    It is all an illusion, of course. Nevertheless, it is an illusion that must forever be preserved.

    October 25, 1976

    I saw a girl standing in front of me, but I wasn’t sure if she was real or just an image. Everything around us was hazy, or foggy, like in a dream. But was it a dream? I couldn’t be sure. It felt like a dream, but, then again, it felt real too. Like the kind of dream you have when you have the flu, you know, like when you’re feverish.

    Reaching out to see if she – this – was real, I tried to touch her, but couldn’t. Each time I tried it was like she was just out of reach.

    Knowing this, I then tried to move forward to reach her, but, as I did, I noticed a chasm before me – a chasm that separated the two of us. But it didn’t really separate us, because she seemed to be floating above it – floating just out of reach.

    Find me please, the girl said softly, her voice just above a whisper. But I wasn’t sure if she actually spoke, or if it was just her thoughts appearing in my head.

    Find me please! she repeated a moment later, this time sounding slightly louder.

    I wasn’t sure if she was getting closer or not. Maybe she was ... I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t quite see her features. She had long hair; that I could see. Long, light hair ... maybe? And blue eyes. Sky blue eyes. Blue like a clear summer afternoon. And she had on a white dress – a white dress that flowed and floated all around her. Almost

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