PREVIEW: Undeniable
CHAPTER 1
DUNCAN JAMES TOUCHED THE tender, bumpy flesh around his
eyes. Carefully, he trailed his index finger from the outer rim of
his left eye socket to the middle where his eyeball once sat. A
razor-sharp sting of hot pain pierced the fragile area the second
his finger made contact. He sharply tugged his finger away. The
pricks of tears instinctively formed at the corners of his eyes
but he wasn’t sure if they’d even leak out. The openings of the
tear ducts were no doubt seared shut. And he was right. No
tears came, but he’d give anything for even a few drops,
anything to let him know he was still human.
DUNCAN JAMES TOUCHED THE tender, bumpy flesh around his
eyes. Carefully, he trailed his index finger from the outer rim of
his left eye socket to the middle where his eyeball once sat. A
razor-sharp sting of hot pain pierced the fragile area the second
his finger made contact. He sharply tugged his finger away. The
pricks of tears instinctively formed at the corners of his eyes
but he wasn’t sure if they’d even leak out. The openings of the
tear ducts were no doubt seared shut. And he was right. No
tears came, but he’d give anything for even a few drops,
anything to let him know he was still human.
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The LOST GENRE GUILD
Biblical Speculative Fiction
| A.P Fuch's short story "undeniable" can be found in Light at the Edge of Darkness along with 26 other stories of Biblical speculative fiction.
Read more about the author, A.P. Fuchs. |
Bowing his head, he carefully rested his forehead on his forearms, his arms on his
knees. The corner seemed warmer today, more comforting. The way one wall pressed
up against his back and the one running perpendicular to it was flush against the side
of his thigh—it was almost like a hug. One final embrace until they’d kill him.
His son, Kyle, was somewhere in the cell with him. If Duncan remembered correctly,
Kyle was over to the left, lying near the door. But only if he remembered correctly.
Before the soldiers took his eyes, he made an effort to take a quick mental picture of
the room. Then the lights went out. There hadn’t been much to remember,
thankfully. The cell—if this was a cell—was roughly twelve feet by twelve feet, the
ceiling a stout seven feet from the cold and rough cement floor. The walls were made
of concrete, worn and cracked, as if this place had been around for decades. Maybe
longer. In the center of the room, on the ceiling, was a lone light bulb within a small
circle frame, the light socket connected to a long and thick black wire that ran along
the ceiling and out the door somewhere. The door was the only thing of color and
even then it was a dark, rusty red, the paint peeled and chipped in places, revealing
the dark gray of the metal beneath. There were no windows.
Taking a lungful of stale air, Duncan let out a sigh. Then, “Kyle?” His voice was barely
a whisper. After having not eaten in four days, even mustering the strength to speak
was difficult. He swallowed, cleared his throat. “Kyle?” A little louder this time but if
Kyle wasn’t awake, he knew his boy wouldn’t hear him. Kyle had always been a sound
sleeper. You could crash a pair of cymbals by his head and he still wouldn’t stir.
Oh, Lord, please wake him, Duncan thought. But God had seemed suddenly absent
ever since the arrest.
Six days ago Duncan and Kyle had arrived in Hong Kong for a vacation. They’d heard
the rumors of Christian persecution but trusted the Lord to protect them for the
month they were to spend there. The arrest occurred almost immediately after
getting off the plane. He had brought his Bible on the plane for the long flight over
from Canada and didn’t think he should have left it with the rest of his luggage. Their
carry-on bags were scanned through customs for any hazardous materials and it was
then the official in charge saw the dark, rectangular shape of a book on the scanner’s
screen. She opened the bag, pulled out the Bible . . . and just held it, as if captivated
by it. The small woman placed the book back in the bag and waved Duncan and Kyle
through. To this day, he didn’t know how she did it but somehow—perhaps via some
sort of secret airport employee code—notified the guards standing at the gate to the
main airport. After that . . .
A loud ka-chunk echoed throughout the tiny room as the metal door was unlocked
from the other side. It screeched on its hinges and footsteps let Duncan know that
he and Kyle were no longer alone.
Kyle let out a grunt as he was startled out of sleep.
“Kyle!” Duncan shouted. Immediately after crying out his son’s name, footsteps
rushed toward him and a pair of hands scooped him up from under his arms, hoisting
him to his feet.
“Dad!” Kyle said.
The scuff of a shoe against the stone floor followed by a sickening smack of bone
against stone made Duncan’s insides jump. Kyle yelped.
“No!” Duncan screamed and rushed toward where he thought his boy lay. Four pairs
of arms held him back—two under his arms, two coming out of nowhere at his front.
His son moaned somewhere across the way.
“Oh Jesus, please let me see,” Duncan said softly, but blackness remained his only
sight.
Footsteps neared him, quickly followed by the smell of sweat. Hot breath suddenly
blew upon his face like a rank breeze. “He cannot hear you,” came a voice Duncan
recognized as Captain Tan’s. Duncan’s insides shook at the sound of the Chinese man’
s voice. Tan was there when the other men pinned him down. Tan was the one who
leaned over him and when Duncan didn’t deny that Jesus was the Son of God,
produced a knife from his pocket and slowly cut out Duncan’s eyes from their
sockets. Tan, who talked the whole way through the procedure, was the one who
informed him that the wounds would be cauterized by the burning red tip of an iron
poker. Even now the smell of smoldering flesh still filled Duncan’s nostrils. Despite all
prayer, the scent wouldn’t leave him, as if a permanent reminder of that day.
“Where is your God now?” one of the soldiers across the room said. He was talking to
Kyle because Kyle replied, “Here, even now.”
knees. The corner seemed warmer today, more comforting. The way one wall pressed
up against his back and the one running perpendicular to it was flush against the side
of his thigh—it was almost like a hug. One final embrace until they’d kill him.
His son, Kyle, was somewhere in the cell with him. If Duncan remembered correctly,
Kyle was over to the left, lying near the door. But only if he remembered correctly.
Before the soldiers took his eyes, he made an effort to take a quick mental picture of
the room. Then the lights went out. There hadn’t been much to remember,
thankfully. The cell—if this was a cell—was roughly twelve feet by twelve feet, the
ceiling a stout seven feet from the cold and rough cement floor. The walls were made
of concrete, worn and cracked, as if this place had been around for decades. Maybe
longer. In the center of the room, on the ceiling, was a lone light bulb within a small
circle frame, the light socket connected to a long and thick black wire that ran along
the ceiling and out the door somewhere. The door was the only thing of color and
even then it was a dark, rusty red, the paint peeled and chipped in places, revealing
the dark gray of the metal beneath. There were no windows.
Taking a lungful of stale air, Duncan let out a sigh. Then, “Kyle?” His voice was barely
a whisper. After having not eaten in four days, even mustering the strength to speak
was difficult. He swallowed, cleared his throat. “Kyle?” A little louder this time but if
Kyle wasn’t awake, he knew his boy wouldn’t hear him. Kyle had always been a sound
sleeper. You could crash a pair of cymbals by his head and he still wouldn’t stir.
Oh, Lord, please wake him, Duncan thought. But God had seemed suddenly absent
ever since the arrest.
Six days ago Duncan and Kyle had arrived in Hong Kong for a vacation. They’d heard
the rumors of Christian persecution but trusted the Lord to protect them for the
month they were to spend there. The arrest occurred almost immediately after
getting off the plane. He had brought his Bible on the plane for the long flight over
from Canada and didn’t think he should have left it with the rest of his luggage. Their
carry-on bags were scanned through customs for any hazardous materials and it was
then the official in charge saw the dark, rectangular shape of a book on the scanner’s
screen. She opened the bag, pulled out the Bible . . . and just held it, as if captivated
by it. The small woman placed the book back in the bag and waved Duncan and Kyle
through. To this day, he didn’t know how she did it but somehow—perhaps via some
sort of secret airport employee code—notified the guards standing at the gate to the
main airport. After that . . .
A loud ka-chunk echoed throughout the tiny room as the metal door was unlocked
from the other side. It screeched on its hinges and footsteps let Duncan know that
he and Kyle were no longer alone.
Kyle let out a grunt as he was startled out of sleep.
“Kyle!” Duncan shouted. Immediately after crying out his son’s name, footsteps
rushed toward him and a pair of hands scooped him up from under his arms, hoisting
him to his feet.
“Dad!” Kyle said.
The scuff of a shoe against the stone floor followed by a sickening smack of bone
against stone made Duncan’s insides jump. Kyle yelped.
“No!” Duncan screamed and rushed toward where he thought his boy lay. Four pairs
of arms held him back—two under his arms, two coming out of nowhere at his front.
His son moaned somewhere across the way.
“Oh Jesus, please let me see,” Duncan said softly, but blackness remained his only
sight.
Footsteps neared him, quickly followed by the smell of sweat. Hot breath suddenly
blew upon his face like a rank breeze. “He cannot hear you,” came a voice Duncan
recognized as Captain Tan’s. Duncan’s insides shook at the sound of the Chinese man’
s voice. Tan was there when the other men pinned him down. Tan was the one who
leaned over him and when Duncan didn’t deny that Jesus was the Son of God,
produced a knife from his pocket and slowly cut out Duncan’s eyes from their
sockets. Tan, who talked the whole way through the procedure, was the one who
informed him that the wounds would be cauterized by the burning red tip of an iron
poker. Even now the smell of smoldering flesh still filled Duncan’s nostrils. Despite all
prayer, the scent wouldn’t leave him, as if a permanent reminder of that day.
“Where is your God now?” one of the soldiers across the room said. He was talking to
Kyle because Kyle replied, “Here, even now.”
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