Succubus Tear
By
Andreas Wiesemann
Illustrations by
Jimmy Lang
Edited by
Kelly M
Table of Contents
Preface
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1; Cain Lamentson
Chapter 2; Charlie Tsukada
Chapter 3; Despair and Dreams
Chapter 4; An Intrusion to Hell
Chapter 5; Humanistic Balance
Chapter 6; First Passions
Chapter 7; Waters and Light
Chapter 8; Reality Is Stranger Than You Think
Chapter 9; The Authority of Existence
Chapter 10; Jealousy Becomes Al’bah
Chapter 11; Wheels Within Wheels
Chapter 12; The First of Many Days
Chapter 13; Setting the Trap
Chapter 14; Works of Adoration
Chapter 15; Did I Miss Something
Chapter 16; Truth Is Not Always Gentle
Chapter 17; Close to My Heart
Chapter 18; Warm
Chapter 19; The Beginnings of Hardship
Chapter 20; Cain Meets Walter Stratton
Chapter 21; Captive Interest
Chapter 22; I Am in the Pain of Loneliness
Chapter 23; Enter Stella Fullson
Chapter 24; Answering to the Law
Chapter 25; Hat Trick
Chapter 26; New Perspective and New Direction
Chapter 27; Familiar Is Not Always Better
Chapter 28; Innocent Guilt
Chapter 29; There Is Nothing So Seductive as a Second Chance
Chapter 30; Blue-Eyed Observations
Chapter 31; Self-Destiny Comes from a Mind Made-Up
Chapter 32; Difference between Law and Good
Chapter 33; The Crisis
Chapter 34; Reunited
Chapter 35; Why Do You Tremble
Chapter 36; Plans within Plans
Chapter 37; Painful Ignorance
Chapter 38; Stella and Al’bah
Chapter 39; The Will of One Who Loves Another
Chapter 40; What Makes One Worthy of Love?
Chapter 41; A Closed Heart
Chapter 42; Next Step
Chapter 43; The Blessing of a Hateful Friend
Chapter 44; The Line Between Friend and Foe
Chapter 45; Taken Forcibly What Would Have Been Left Behind Willingly
Chapter 46; Broken Friendship
Chapter 47; Love Is Beautiful
Chapter 48; New Beginnings
Chapter 49; Wanderings in the Desert
Chapter 50; Full Circle
Chapter 51; Al’bah’s Worth
Chapter 52; Life, Warmth, and Worth
Chapter 53; Separation of Pasts
Chapter 54; Al’bah’s Fury, Cain’s Punishment
Chapter 55; Unified Dream
Chapter 56; Because He Is God!
Chapter 57; What Do You Have Left, When All Is Taken
Chapter 58; The Wellses
Chapter 59; The End of Strength
Chapter 60; Where Worth Lies
Chapter 61; Cain Explains
Chapter 62; Switched Perspective
Chapter 63; Al’bah’s Labor
Chapter 64; Pastor Ray Hughes
Chapter 65; Worth
Chapter 66; What Legacy Exalts You Above All Men?
Chapter 67; Love at Last
Chapter 68; The Wedding
Chapter 69; The Call of the Nephelim
Epilogue; Charlie and Stella
Epilogue; Walter, Jeannette, and Shane
Epilogue; Cain and Al’bah
Translations
Book two; The Greatest of all Nephelim
Chapter 1; Rinnah Lamentson
Chapter 2; Gifts from Rinnah
Acknowledgements
We all start somewhere, and I started writing Succubus Tear with many people who were not writers thinking highly of me.
I knew I needed something more, and I turned to a group of writers. www.thenextbigwriter.com
From there, I have met writers who helped me along the way; helping me unlock a potential that still has a long, long way to go. Here, I give them my thanks, and acknowledgement.
J l mo (Jeanie Morales, Author of Tierra Tree)
Dagnee
E.M. Havens(“bimmy�� Author of Fate War Alliance)
Juan G (Juan Gutierrez, Author of The Rise of Bob McDoogal)
Rain Walker (Author of Walking Contradiction)
Amy s (Author of Mandates of Magic)
Mariana Reuter (Author of Amber Eyes)
Unbar (Author of Secrets of Murienar)
Mark3535 (Author of A child of two worlds)
Seabrass (Author of Closure)
CJ Driftwood (Author of Into the Fog, dawn of the Tiger)
Memphis Trace (Author of Good at dying)
And to those who are not necessarily writers, but read and enjoyed my story.
Nancy Kintz
Frank Wiesemann
Dawn Moore
Preface
Succubus Tear was written as a need.
Funny how things work out in your life, but there it is all the same. When I started to write Succubus Tear it was during perhaps the worst year(s) of my life.
There I was, an xray tech, CT tech, father, husband, working a full time job and going to school full time as well.
My life wasn’t easy before; financial, marital, or professional. So one can imagine how much more difficult things like that become when all aspects of my life became strained even moreso.
And through it all, I had to write. Not that I wanted to, or needed to… I had to.
As a car emits exhaust, the stresses and pressure I was under produced the idea, and later the story behind Succubus Tear.
I am a dreamer. I am a Pisces. And, I am a Christian.
For Succubus Tear, I wanted a story that had a strong presence of my faith, and a strong presence of love, romance, and the struggles many undergo.
But, I wanted more for my own story. And so, I leaned heavily upon the one thing I always had; my wonderment.
This wonderment will separate me from a lot of mainstream Christians. I do not believe for one second that my particular interpretations of existence are true. I just like to believe that they are possible.
And, if you’re reading this, it means that I have achieved a dream. This great work I have done is now being seen by your eyes. Not that I use the word ‘great’ to exult what I done, but that the work I did was difficult.
Even now, I wanted Succubus Tear to be so much more. Illustrations, audio-novelization, and much more.
All the illustrations within are done by Jimmy Lang, with varying degrees of budget. As I continue to learn, and continue to practice patience, I will get to make Succubus Tear an audio novel, and a graphic novel.
Thank you,
-Andreas Wiesemann
Chapter 1
Cain Lamentson
“I love you, Cain. God loves you. I don’t know why I didn’t see that, to you, rejection of God and love are one in the same. When I chose to believe in you, I was choosing to break my own heart.”
—Cynthia Ronalds
Cain watched concrete ooze from the ass end of the truck, reminding him of wet dog food that always took its damned time to slide out of the can. It mounded as a thick, heavy, half-frozen paste that was impossible to move, thanks to the weather.
“Ice-cold gruel for you children! Please, sir, do ya want some more?” the driver of the truck bawled out with a nasal voice.
Cain started to spread the concrete, not even bothering to look up; he was in a bad mood.
It was the third day in a row that he had to work in wet weather. His mood wasn't foul because of the rain. After all, he was a construction worker; days like these were a part of the job description. What he didn’t like was the freezing cold. Winter in the city seemed to hold an everlasting vendetta against any light or warmth. The cold repaid a half-decent day with three days of hell—frozen hell, at that. Those days, with biting wind and rain refusing to turn to snow despite the subzero temperature, were particularly spiteful, freezing your coffee before you had a chance to drink it.
If one can even believe that crappy outdoor thermometer! Cain grumbled in his head while he eyed the sky. “This building will never get done if the foundation doesn’t dry and cure correctly,” he said through clenched teeth as the eternal slate-gray sky indifferently spattered his face. The other workers paid no attention to him, and it was just as well. He had no desire for the vulgar small talk which thrived at every construction site he had ever known.
Another load of cold gray concrete slopped into the forms as the driver bawled out again, “Moooore!”
Cain returned to the task at hand, his muscular shoulders and strong back burned from the effort as sweat wetted his brow and stung his dark brown eyes. He grabbed a handful of his shirt to wipe his face.
“Woo! Take it all off! Let the ladies see that six-pack!”
Cain glared at the fat jack-off in the truck. “Shut your fat face!”
***
At last, the rest of the concrete was poured and smoothed out. Cain checked his cell phone: 1:22. Good, I’m starving anyway! he thought to himself as he walked off to find Charlie, his best friend for over ten years.
Cain quickly found him, fully occupied, flirting with a pretty woman across the street from the jobsite. Cain sighed a bit in relief, hoping it was a sign Charlie was finally getting over his last girlfriend. The sigh ended in a bit of a cough as the memory of Holly brought forth his guilt over her tragic death.
A sudden wind picked up; the cold was even more intense than before, thanks to his sweat-drenched clothes. Making up his mind, Cain decided not to interrupt and went off alone. As he walked, he started to think about the next job assignment he was likely to go for. Perhaps south this time, to a warmer climate. I am so sick of the cold and—
“And you, sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal Savior?”
“You know, Jesus? God in the flesh? Lord and Savior of all mankind, who died for your sins?”
“No.”
The Christian seemed taken aback. “Would you like to hear about Jesus?” he asked, his foolish grin slipping.
Cain scowled. “No.”
“I see.” The pseudo-friendly expression on the young Christian’s face disappeared. “Well, I’ll be praying for you.”
Cain resumed walking. “Save it for yourself, or better yet—”
The world was swept into a violent blur and frantic vertigo. A flash of white blinded his sight and turned into a darkness punctuated by a starry burst.
“Oh my God, are you okay?”
Cain struggled to breathe, working his mouth to take in breaths and to get the horrible taste of metal out of his mouth. At last he was able to inhale, but the pain in his head and ribs made him wonder for a moment if he was struck by lightning. An overwhelming flood of nausea carried away the once pleasant darkness that now swirled behind his closed eyes. A savage pain filled his right hand, and Cain could swear his face and the upper part of his chest was wet with…blood?
Cain dared to open his eyes and saw that his hand was cut to the bone by some shattered glass near a patch of ice that he must have slipped on. He cried out, clutched his bleeding hand, and slowly got to his knees. Cain looked up and noticed the young Christian had a smirk he was too late to hide.
“I saw that fucking smile. Think it’s funny, asshole?” he shouted and stepped close.
The Christian held up his hands. “There is nothing I can say that wouldn’t make you more angry at me or convince you that I don’t find your pain funny.” He backed up. “I will go, I only pray that you—”
Cain bared his teeth and snatched the Christian's Bible with his bloody hand, bringing his face close enough to see his reflection in the panicked Christian’s eyes. “Fucking hypocrite Christian! I would rather screw around with a Demon of hell before I want to know more about Christ!” he spat, emphasizing his last word by thrusting the Bible back into the rosy-cheeked blond pansy’s chest, causing him to stumble back a few feet and fall down.
The Christian seemed to have a completely new air about him. “Then I will pray that God allows this to happen,” he called out solemnly as he got up.
Cain slouched off into the cold and wrapped his handkerchief around his hand. He could hear more than one person ask if he was okay, but he didn’t even glance at, let alone acknowledge, the people around him. He walked on, cursing the entire world. Let the whole world be damned! The entire world was one big pile of filth that only deserved to burn with him along with it.
Cain had been cut bad before, and like before he would heal up—though this time, maybe a few stitches wouldn’t hurt.
His stomach growled as he caught a slight whiff of the food stand he was headed for.
Right. Food first, then stitches.
At last, he reached his favorite street vendor and ordered a big roast beef sandwich. He was just starting to receive his change from a fifty-dollar bill when a gust of wind caught the money and promptly blew it across the street and beneath a door of a large building.
“Dammit! Did they all have to get blown under the door?” he exclaimed and crossed the street with reckless abandon, causing a few cars to brake hard and honk their horns, announcing the full extent of their annoyance to the street. Cain reached the building and found it locked. He kicked and pounded on the heavy wood.
“Hey! Hey!”
No answer. Of course there wouldn’t be one. “Hey, dammit! Open up! You got something that belongs to me!” The door remained still and silent, and one of the drivers gave him a laugh and a curse before driving off. Cain looked up at the impressive three-story structure. The windows were dusty but high quality. The door was definitely a custom job: heavy oak planks lined with wrought-iron bands adorned with oversized rivets.
The building looked as though it had been abandoned for a long time. He saw an extra-large courier/package slot and looked inside toward the base of the door. There! He saw his thirty-two dollars right by the door. He looked at his sandwich, and an idea came to him. Cain wedged his sandwich like a stick to keep the large and heavy metal shutter open, and he pushed his arm through. Slowly, his reach got closer to his money. “Come to me,” Cain muttered. “Give me, c’mon.”
He just barely got his fingers upon his money when they slipped. He cursed the new wave of bleeding triggered by his hand stretching for his money. Another gust of wind blew under the door and pushed his money completely out of reach. He sighed and started to retract his arm when it brushed his wrapped sandwich. The sandwich teetered for a moment and then fell inside, rolling out of reach. Cain opened his mouth to curse again when the mail slot crashed upon his hand with a wet, pulpy smack.
Chapter 2
Charlie Tsukada
I love to fight—I hardly ever lose.
—Charlie Tsukada
Charlie grinned, taking a moment from the arc welder and watching his breath mist in the cold air. “Tsumetai resei heiwa shiso.” * He always loved the cold. It always calmed so much more than just the fanatic activity of summer. He was about to return to his welder when Cain's voice caught his attention.
“This building will never get done if the foundation never gets the chance to dry and cure correctly!”
Ah yes, Cain was complaining about the cold and the rain yet again. He chuckled. Cain's foul mood was more likely to
be improved by a drink than warmth and dry clothes. The way Cain could put away the booze was amazing. He even began to worry for the sake of Cain's liver, which by now might be more correctly called Cain's “pickled” liver.
“Does the asshole never stop complaining?” one of the older workers grumbled.
He looked up again. “I dunno. Do you, baka-sha?” * Charlie countered, standing up to his somewhat unimpressive five foot ten.
The man turned his head. “Oh, right, you two are homos, ain’tcha?”
Charlie shrugged. He loved how angry people set themselves up so easily. “Now seriously, I’m flattered. Although I don’t swing that way, I know a few people who do. If you’d like, I can set up an arrangement for you.”
The man started to walk toward him, picking up a large crowbar along the way. “Care to say that again, son?”
“Don’t do it, Barry. The Jap will kick your ass,” another coworker said off to the side.
Charlie grinned, savoring the adrenaline rush. Do I really wanna do this? I mean, this will be the second time since arriving in the city.
Barry, on the other hand, seemed to have his mind made up already, and brought the crowbar into a vicious swing. But Charlie had already moved.
“Tsukidasu yasashī!” * Charlie laughed, using Barry’s momentum against his swing and pushing his shoulder and hip slightly to have him slip and fall into the mud.
“C’mon, man, we shouldn’t fight, eh?” Charlie said, holding out his hand with a large grin, and he pointed discreetly to his left.
“What the hell is going on here?” the foreman shouted and drew close.
Charlie turned to the foreman and tried to disarm him with a jovial demeanor. “Hey, boss! Aw, don’t worry about Barry here. He just slipped in the mud—”
“While trying to take a swing at you!” the foreman said with a cross expression. “This is the second time I had to put up with your crap, and I don’t give third chances. Charlie, you and your friend are fired! Get the fuck off my—”