The Ghostwriter's Words

Sammy: Association with the Faith

Sammy wasn't sure why he'd ever allowed himself to be associated with The Faith in any manner, especially considering the circumstances of their formation and the fact that they'd stolen everything they had from him. Mostly, he supposed, he was curious about what they were up to, what their latest nefarious activities or sheer silliness might entail. Keep his enemies closer, those sorts of things. And perhaps, he felt honored at some level or just bored and desperate for something to assuage his loneliness when Sara was away.

But Jonathon Fry, who they called the Prophet, died a century before the Eldest Elder, the Father was born. So, there could be no argument that Sammy was the only living person to have spoken with the Prophet during his lifetime. Still, to further support their assertion of authority, several members of the Curia, most especially the Father, claimed that they still regularly had conversations with the Prophet and were privy to his wisdom. Seriously?

Sammy also possessed the only first-edition of The Word of God known to exist, signed, with a personal inscription addressed to him, the Descendant, by the Prophet Himself, which also made it the most valuable and cherished book on Earth. The Curia, the Father himself, begged Sammy for centuries to have the book, even on loan, so it could be properly preserved, displayed, and appreciated by all members of The Faith.

They had to be kidding,

Sammy was surprised, given all they'd already stolen, they hadn't come and taken it centuries earlier or at least tried when there was still a chance they'd have succeeded. He still expected they would attempt that eventually, even now, when their success would be impossible. No, Sara taught him well. The Faith would have no defense against Magick, especially since they weren't yet aware of its existence and wouldn't know what plague befell them. It certainly wouldn't discourage claims of his divinity.

He was perfectly happy for his great-grandfather's book to remain precisely where it had now been for more than nine centuries. On his mantle, in its sealed, environmentally controlled display case, preserved as best as money could buy, open to his great-grandfather's inscription, where he could read and cherish it every morning, forever.

Not even the Professor had met Sammy's great-grandfather in person. For many years that missed opportunity was one of Sammy's greatest regrets. But, at least for the past five centuries, his opinion was that the Professor had never deserved to meet the great man.

His great-grandfather was dead half a century before Sara was born. Although next to the Professor and himself, so far as they knew, Sara was now the third oldest person ever to have lived. This fact they were careful to keep private since being older than the Father, the Eldest Elder of The Faith, even for a few original members of the Curia, had proven fatal to those so unfortunate.

Because of her family's beliefs, Sara was born at home and never had a birth certificate. Sara and Sammy were happy to encourage the supposition that the Descendant, much like his once-upon-a-time friend and mentor, the Professor, had a particular thing for young women and taken a succession of them as lovers. All of whom Sammy had called Sara because of his loss of the first, the love of his life. It never occurred to the Curia; had that been the case, Sammy would have more likely called them all Eve. But he was the Descendant and could call the women in his bed whatever he liked. Over the centuries, when Sara was away for extended periods, there were occasionally women with different names, all of whom appeared to be older than his succession of Sara's, even if he did regularly inadvertently call each of them Sara as well. Whenever Sara returned from her latest wanderlust, Sammy had encouraged the rumor that the clock had reset. He'd found his new Sara, with a remarkable resemblance to her predecessor, who'd run off, never to be seen again. The fact that his current Sara never appeared to age was avoided by simply never inviting the Curia to come around enough to notice.

So far as there were records, Sammy was the only living person older than the Father, the eldest Elder of the Curia. However, no matter how that fact might disturb him, the Father could never explain the disappearance of the Descendant, the Prophet's great-grandson. People would notice. There'd be questions asked that wouldn't go away. Then there'd be consequences.

According to those same records, the Professor had died centuries earlier, then again multiple times since. The first was when rumors of the first Culling were proven true. Since then, he'd periodically reset his own clock, assuming the identity of the next generation of a century's old family line and the inheritor of the family trust. At least he had been doing so the last Sammy knew, and he had no reason to believe that had changed.

Sammy, the Professor (assuming he was still living), and Sara were almost certainly the only people outside the Curia old enough to remember all those eldest Immortals, many older than Sammy or the Professor, the earliest beneficiaries of Eve's procedure, who'd vanished. No bodies found. No official investigations undertaken. Hundreds of them disappeared one after another until not a single living person other than Sammy, the Descendant, was known by The Faith to be older than the Father, the founder and leader of The Faith.

Sammy had never doubted the Father would cut his throat without a qualm if he'd believed he could get away with stealing Sammy's identity, declare himself the Descendant, and finally claim ownership of that precious first edition of The Word of God. The title, the Descendant, and the book would be far more valuable to him than the immense wealth he would gain since he already had control of far more wealth than even the Descendant. Sammy was the wealthiest individual on the planet by far, with the Professor likely still a distant second; however, Sammy and the Professor's wealth combined was nothing compared to what The Faith had accumulated, selling 'forever' for entire fortunes.

Unknown numbers of billionaires reached their later years and, "ripe for the harvest," were lured by the offer of "forever for it all." The Faith was an unbending negotiator. " All, or nothing." After all, these wealthy men would have forever to earn it back, the oft-repeated sales pitch mantra. A tithe of these future earnings would be agreed to turn over to The Faith, in perpetuity, the fact of which would be the recipients' only reassurance that The Faith wouldn't simply take their wealth, then renege on their promise of 'forever.'

Sammy had no way to calculate the wealth of The Faith. One-thousand times his own, or more, all under the control of a dozen men, which, if evenly distributed, would give each of them a hundred times the wealth Sammy possessed. And the Father would have offered Sammy half of that accumulated wealth for a single book, upon which Sammy had a camera mounted pointing down from above his mantle, with a live feed of that book just sitting there, beyond the Father's reach, to torture the arrogant bastard, 'forever.' It also addressed the Father's argument concerning the accessibility of the book. Sammy told him; anyone was already welcome to see it whenever they wanted, and there were plenty of digital copies for those wanting to study it. And exact photocopies, so even the accumulation of smudges and old fingerprints were clearly discernable.

Sammy had despised the Curia long before the Culling, if only for their misappropriation and twisted distortion of his great-grandfather's words, even more than their embezzlement of his intellectual property now worth untold billions. In fact, given the interest in had accrued, it must be well into the trillions. Then the sudden disappearance over a few short years of all those older Immortals. Many of whom Sammy had known personally because he'd employed them, or Eve had, or they'd been residents of the home for the elderly. The latter who'd enthusiastically volunteered to be among the initial test subjects for the procedure that Eve had developed. What did they have to lose?

All murdered, Sammy presumed, so that twelve sick, evil men could declare themselves the Eldest Elders. Except for the Descendant. And, unbeknownst to them, a man, a decade and a half older than the Descendant, who'd been perceptive enough to have died a dozen or more times. And a woman with no birth certificate, still appearing barely of age but was less than a century short of one thousand years old herself.