RAYMOND CRUZ: 2:22

 RAYMOND CRUZ: 2:22

(From the novel  ‘The Demon Hunter’ by Ramon Atila)

Chapter 1

Emily was 17 years old when she ran away from home. The streets had become her refuge, a chaotic labyrinth where she could disappear into the shadows. The drugs helped, too—they numbed the ache of abandonment and the gnawing guilt that followed her like a ghost. She drifted through the neon-lit nightlife, a hollow shell of the girl she once was, her blonde hair tangled and her leather coat hanging loosely over her frail frame. The city was a predator, and Emily was its prey.

Emily had always been a dreamer. As a child, she would lie in the tall grass behind her house, staring up at the clouds, imagining they were ships sailing to faraway lands. She believed in the goodness of people, in the magic of the world, in the promise that life would always find a way to make things right. But that was before the cracks began to show—before her parents’ voices grew sharp and their silences grew heavy, before the walls of her home felt less like a sanctuary and more like a cage.

The night she ran away, she was clutching a small backpack stuffed with a few clothes, a tattered journal, and the silver pendant her grandmother had given her—the one engraved with “222.” She didn’t know what the numbers meant, but they felt like a lifeline, a reminder that she was still someone, still connected to something. The streets were cold and unfamiliar, the city lights blinding and harsh. She told herself she was brave, that this was an adventure, that she was finally free. But deep down, she was just a scared girl, clutching at the fraying edges of her innocence.

The first few nights were the hardest. She slept in doorways and under bridges, her stomach growling with hunger, her body shivering with cold. She met other runaways, kids with hollow eyes and hardened faces, who taught her how to survive. They showed her how to steal, how to beg, how to disappear into the shadows. They also introduced her to the drugs—the pills, the powders, the needles that promised to make the pain go away. At first, she resisted, clinging to the memory of the girl she used to be. But the world was too cruel, too loud, too much. One night, she gave in, and the drugs wrapped her in a warm, numbing embrace. It was the first time she felt safe in months.

But with each high, a piece of her slipped away. The girl who once believed in magic now saw only darkness. The girl who once dreamed of faraway lands now wandered aimlessly through the city’s underbelly, her dreams replaced by nightmares. She stopped writing in her journal. She stopped looking at the clouds. She stopped believing that life would ever make things right.

The worst part was the people she met—the ones who saw her vulnerability and exploited it. They offered her shelter, but it came at a price. They offered her companionship, but it was laced with manipulation. They offered her love, but it was a twisted, hollow imitation. Emily didn’t know how to say no. She didn’t know how to protect herself. She didn’t know how to be anything but the girl who had run away, the girl who was lost.

October 16, 2023. 2:22am The cold bites deeper than usual. Emily stumbles through the narrow alley, her legs trembling beneath her. The alley is dimly lit, the flickering glow of a distant streetlamp casting long, jagged shadows. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, and she clutches the coat tighter around her shoulders. At the far end of the alley, a black sedan idles silently, its windows tinted and impenetrable. Inside, a dark man sits with his hands gripping the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. The radio plays softly, a British narrator’s voice reciting a verse from the Bible:

*“In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.”*  

—Ephesians 2:22.

The narrator begins to explain the verse, his tone calm and measured, but then it is interrupted by the gentle humming of a call coming through his vehicle phone. The dark man is quick to answer. “Yes…” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Emily walks past the sedan, her movements unsteady, her gaze distant. The dark man’s eyes follow her, a flicker of fear crossing his face. Then there is eye contact between them. He reaches for the volume knob and turns it down, silencing the radio. The voice on the other end of the car’s speaker is sharp and commanding:

“The girl is blonde, and she’s wearing a leather coat. You can’t miss her.”

The dark man exhales slowly, his grip tightening on the wheel. Emily continues walking, oblivious to the danger lurking just feet away. She reaches the end of the alley, where the back door of a small restaurant stands ajar. A dumpster overflows with trash, and a long crate serves as a makeshift bench. Sitting on it is another girl, her blonde hair streaked with neon colors, her leather coat adorned with spikes and studs. She looks up as Emily approaches, a sly smile spreading across her pale face.

“Hey, Em,” the punkish girl says, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

Emily hesitates, her body wracked with chills. The other girl—her name is Lila—pulls out a crumpled piece of aluminum foil and unfolds it carefully, revealing a small mound of white powder. She holds it out to Emily, her eyes gleaming with a predatory light.

“Come on,” Lila coaxes, her voice soft but insistent. “You know it’ll make you feel better.”

Emily’s hands shake as she leans in, inhaling the powder. The rush is immediate, a wave of euphoria that momentarily drowns out the pain. She slumps against the crate, her vision blurring as the drugs take hold. Lila watches her with a satisfied smirk, running a hand through Emily’s hair.

“That’s my girl,” Lila purrs. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

She stands and disappears into the restaurant, leaving Emily alone in the alley. The world spins around her, and her gaze falls on a shard of broken glass glinting on the ground. For a moment, she entertains the thought of ending it all—of slicing through the numbness and letting the pain spill out. But before she can act, a shadow falls over her.

The dark man stands before her, his expression unreadable. In one hand, he holds a dagger; in the other, a small vial filled with a shimmering liquid. He keeps his distance, his eyes scanning her with a mix of pity and resolve.

“We can do this the easy way,” he says, raising the vial, “or we can do this the hard way.” He points the dagger at her, his voice steady but firm.

Emily’s heart races, but her body refuses to obey. She is frozen, her mind clouded by the drugs. Before the dark man can say more, Lila emerges from the restaurant, her eyes narrowing as she spots him.

“Well, well,” Lila sneers, stepping between Emily and the dark man. “What do we have here?”

The dark man’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. “You didn’t specify which blonde in a leather coat I was supposed to take care of,” he adds, shaking a fist at his car.

Lila’s features begin to shift, her skin turning deathly pale, her eyes glossing over with an otherworldly sheen. Her lips curl back to reveal long, sharp fangs, and her posture becomes predatory, her movements fluid and unnatural. She is no longer human—she is a vampire, her demonic presence radiating through the alley.

The dark man doesn’t flinch. He lunges at her, the dagger flashing in the dim light. The fight is brutal and chaotic, the vampire’s strength pitted against the man’s skill and determination. They clash in a blur of motion, the sound of their struggle echoing through the alley.

Lila moves with inhuman speed, her pale form a blur as she lunges at him, fangs bared and eyes glowing with a feral light. The dark man is ready, his dagger flashing in the dim light as he sidesteps her attack and slashes at her arm. The blade connects, drawing a hiss of pain from Lila, but the wound heals almost instantly, her skin knitting itself back together with unnatural speed.

She retaliates with a vicious swipe of her claws, catching the man across the chest and tearing through his coat. He grunts in pain but doesn’t falter, driving his knee into her stomach and sending her stumbling back. The fight is brutal and unrelenting, each strike met with a counterstrike, each movement calculated and deadly. The dark man fights with precision and purpose, his every move deliberate, while Lila relies on her raw, beastly strength, her attacks wild and unpredictable.

At one point, she manages to pin him against the wall, her fangs inches from his throat. But the man twists free, slamming the hilt of his dagger into her temple and following up with a kick that sends her sprawling. He doesn’t give her a chance to recover, pouncing on her and pinning her to the ground. With one hand, he forces her head back; with the other, he presses the vial to her lips, pouring the shimmering liquid into her mouth.

For a moment, there is silence. The man watches, hope flickering in his eyes, but it fades as Lila’s features remain unchanged. She is still a vampire, her fangs glistening, her eyes filled with hatred.

“This is the part I hate,” the man says, his voice heavy with regret. He reaches for the gun tucked into his belt, his hand trembling slightly as he aims it at her head. “I hate it. I hate it.”

The gunshot echoes through the alley, and Lila’s body goes still. The man stands, his shoulders slumped, and turns to Emily, his expression a mix of exhaustion and sorrow. The fight is over, but the cost is etched into his face—a reminder of the darkness he battles, and the innocence he can never fully save.

Emily is trembling, tears streaming down her face, her words barely audible. “Jesus loves you,” he tells her. “Get off the street! Learn to find faith in God.”

“Save me,” she chokes out.

The dark man kneels beside her, his expression softening.

“Take me home,” she continues, her vision blind with tears.

“That’s not exactly in my job description,” he says. “But I’ll see what I can do to help you. And get you home.”

His gaze falls on the silver pendant around her neck, the numbers “222” engraved on its surface. Emily looks up at him, her voice barely a whisper.

“My name is Emily.”

The dark man opens his mouth to respond, but then exhales with exhaustion and simply extends his hand for a simple handshake.

********

Chapter 111

7:06pm. Emily stands in the kitchen, ladling warm tomato soup into a bowl. The rich, comforting aroma fills the air as she carefully places the bowl on a tray alongside a slice of buttered toast. She carries it into the living room, where a small boy with tousled brown hair sits cross-legged on the plush carpet, his wide eyes fixed on the cartoon playing on the large TV screen. The room is cozy, bathed in the soft glow of the fireplace, but Emily’s heart feels heavy with the weight of responsibility.

“Here you go, Tim,” she says softly, setting the tray down on the coffee table in front of him. “Eat up, okay? You need to stay warm.”

Tim looks up at her with a shy smile, his cheeks still flushed from the cold outside. “Thank you, Emily,” he murmurs, his voice small but sincere. He reaches out and wraps his arms around her in a tight hug. “I love you.”

Emily’s breath catches for a moment, her chest tightening with emotion. She hugs him back, her voice trembling as she whispers, “I love you too, Tim. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

She watches as he settles back onto the carpet, eagerly dipping his spoon into the soup. The sight of him—so small, so vulnerable—fills her with a mix of tenderness and determination. She’s made a promise to protect him, to give him the safety and care he deserves, even if it’s just for one night.

The doorbell rings, sharp and sudden, shattering the quiet of the house. Emily jumps, her heart racing as she glances toward the foyer. Who could be here at this hour? She hesitates, glancing back at Tim, who is now engrossed in his cartoon, oblivious to the interruption.

“I’ll be right back, Tim,” she says, forcing a calm tone. “Stay here, okay?”

Tim nods absently, his attention already back on the TV. Emily hurries to the foyer, her footsteps echoing on the polished hardwood floor. She reaches the door and peers through the peephole, her breath catching in her throat.

Standing on the other side is Raymond Cruz.

Emily’s hands tremble as she unlocks the door and pulls it open. Raymond looks… different. His dark eyes are bloodshot, his face pale and drawn, as though he hasn’t slept in days. His usual composure is gone, replaced by a frantic energy that makes him seem almost unrecognizable. He’s pacing in her foyer, his movements jerky and erratic, his gaze darting around as if expecting danger to leap out at any moment.

“Raymond?” Emily says, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sends a chill down her spine. “Emily,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I need your help.”

She steps back, gesturing for him to come inside. “Okay, okay. Let’s talk in the kitchen. You look like you need… something. Coffee? Food?”

Raymond nods, though his mind seems elsewhere. He follows her to the kitchen, his movements stiff and mechanical. Emily notices the absence of his black cross necklace, the one he always wore like a shield against the darkness. She doesn’t mention it, not yet, but the sight unnerves her.

She pours him a cup of coffee, her hands shaking slightly as she hands it to him. He takes it without a word and downs it in one gulp, his hands trembling so badly that a few drops spill onto the counter.

“Raymond,” Emily says gently, “what’s going on? You’re scaring me.”

He sets the empty cup down and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t have time to explain everything,” he says, his voice low and urgent. “But I need you to buy me a plane ticket. To London. Tonight.”

Emily blinks, stunned. “London? In England. Why? What’s in London?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps, then immediately softens, his expression pleading. “Look, I know your parents have money. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. The fate of the world might depend on this, Emily. I’ll pay you back, I swear.”

She shakes her head, her heart pounding. “The money isn’t the issue, Raymond. I’m worried about you. You look like you’re about to collapse. What’s going on? Why can’t you tell me?”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “I can’t. Not now. Just… trust me, Emily. Please.”

She studies his face, searching for the man who saved her all those years ago. The man who fought monsters and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. But this Raymond is different—broken, desperate, and somehow… lost.

“Okay,” she says finally. “I’ll help you. But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you, Raymond. You saved my life. I owe you everything.”

He doesn’t respond, his gaze distant. Emily steps closer and wraps her arms around him in a tight hug. He stands stiffly, his body rigid, as though he’s forgotten how to accept comfort.

“Let’s pray,” she says softly, pulling back to look at him. “Together. It’ll help.”

Raymond’s expression darkens. “No,” he says sharply. “I don’t pray anymore.”

Emily’s eyes widen in shock. “What? Raymond, what are you talking about? You’ve always been a man of faith. What happened?”

He shakes his head, his voice bitter. “Faith didn’t save me, Emily. It didn’t save anyone. I don’t believe in God anymore. Not after what I’ve seen.”

Her heart breaks at his words, tears welling in her eyes. “Raymond, please. Don’t say that. Don’t lose your faith. It’s the only thing that keeps us going. Let’s pray together. Just once. For me.”

He stares at her for a long moment, then sighs heavily. “Fine. If it’ll make you stop asking.”

She takes his hand, her grip firm despite his reluctance. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I’ll save you, Raymond. The way you saved me. Because of you, I found my purpose. I serve God now. I help people. Like the child in the living room. You wouldn’t believe it, but—”

Raymond’s hand jerks out of hers, his face turning ashen. “What did you just say?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

Emily blinks, confused. “I… I said I’m helping a child. He’s in the living room. His name is Tim. He’s staying with me tonight, and I’ll take him home tomorrow. Why are you looking at me like that?”

Raymond’s expression is one of pure horror. He pulls out his dagger and gun in one swift motion, his eyes blazing. “Emily, what the hell is wrong with you? You brought a child into your house? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

She steps back, her heart pounding. “Raymond, stop! You’re scaring me! He’s just a boy! He needed help!”

“You don’t understand!” he shouts, his voice cracking with desperation. “You don’t know!”

Before she can respond, he strides past her, his weapons drawn, and heads straight for the living room. Emily follows, her mind racing with fear and confusion. “Raymond, wait! Please, you’re overreacting!”

He doesn’t listen, his focus entirely on the living room. Tim is still sitting on the carpet, his back to them, his small frame silhouetted by the flickering light of the TV. Raymond raises his gun, his voice cold and commanding.

“Turn around,” he orders. “Now.”

Tim doesn’t move.

“I said turn around!” Raymond barks, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Slowly, the boy begins to turn.

**********

Chapter 222

2: 22pm. The sun hangs high in the sky, its warm rays bathing the rooftop in golden light. Raymond Cruz stands at the center of the rooftop, his sword gleaming as he clashes blades with Kael, the archangel. Kael’s massive white wings shimmer in the sunlight, his movements graceful and precise, a stark contrast to Raymond’s more grounded, human technique. Their sparring is fierce but playful, the sound of steel ringing out as they parry and strike, their laughter mingling with the clang of blades.

“Ephesians 2:22,” Kael says, his voice calm and melodic as he deflects Raymond’s swing. “*In him you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit.* Do you ever think about what that means, Raymond?”

Raymond steps back, catching his breath, and smirks. “Oh, I don’t know, Kael. Maybe it means I’m God’s favorite Airbnb?” He feints left, then swings right, his blade clashing against Kael’s with a spark. “Five stars, clean sheets, plenty of holy water in the mini-fridge.”

Kael chuckles, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement as he parries Raymond’s strike. “You’re impossible, you know that? Always deflecting with jokes.”

Raymond grins, spinning his sword in his hand. “What can I say? Humor’s my spiritual gift.”

Kael shakes his head, his wings flaring as he counters Raymond’s next move. “You can’t joke your way out of this one, Raymond. Your body, your spirit—they’re not just tools for battle. They’re a dwelling place. A sanctuary. You know that.”

Raymond dodges a swift swing, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “Yeah, I know. Trust me, I know. God lives in me. I’m well aware. Doesn’t mean I have to make it easy for you to preach at me about it.”

Kael raises an eyebrow, his movements slowing. “So you admit it?”

Raymond rolls his eyes, sheathing his sword with a dramatic flourish. “Of course I admit it. I’m not an idiot, Kael. I’ve seen too much, fought too much, to pretend there’s no God. And yeah, I get it—He’s in me. Always has been. Even when I didn’t want Him to be.”

Kael steps closer, his wings folding behind him. “Then why the act? Why the jokes? Why the constant deflection?”

Raymond shrugs, his grin returning. “Because it’s fun. And because you make it too easy, Mr. Holier-Than-Thou. Besides, if I agreed with you right away, you’d have nothing to do up here but flap those pretty wings of yours.”

Kael laughs, a deep, resonant sound that seems to echo across the rooftop. “You’re incorrigible, Raymond. But I’ll take the win. Even if it comes with a side of sarcasm.”

Raymond claps him on the shoulder, his tone turning more sincere. “Don’t worry, Kael. I know what I am. And I know *Who’s* in me. I just like keeping you on your toes.”

Kael smiles, his gaze softening. “Fair enough. But don’t forget, Raymond—this isn’t just about knowing. It’s about living it. Letting it shape you.”

Raymond nods, his smirk fading into something quieter, more reflective. “I’m working on it. One sword fight at a time.”

“Enough for today,” Kael says, his wings stretching wide. “Go downstairs. Your family is waiting. Take a break from your work, even if just for a little while.”

Raymond hesitates, then nods, sheathing his sword. “Yeah, yeah. You’re probably right.”

Kael gives him a knowing look before launching into the sky, his wings carrying him effortlessly into the clouds. Raymond watches him go, then heads for the stairwell, his mind already shifting to the world below—and the life he’s still learning to live as a dwelling place for something far greater than himself. 

---

Downstairs, the small community theater is alive with the hum of conversation. The room is filled with people—some sitting in folding chairs, others standing in small groups—all gathered for a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. Emily stands at the front of the room, her voice steady and clear as she shares her story.

“Recovery isn’t about being perfect,” she says, her hands clasped in front of her. “It’s about showing up, even when it’s hard. It’s about finding the strength to keep going, even when you feel like you’ve hit rock bottom. And it’s about realizing that the potential for recovery is inside all of us. We just have to believe it’s possible.”

The room erupts into applause as Emily finishes her speech, her cheeks flushing with humility. She steps down from the podium, greeted by a wave of supportive smiles and handshakes. Raymond leans against the back wall, watching her with a quiet pride. Beside him, his wife Karina stands with their infant daughter, Isabella, strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. Karina nudges Raymond gently.

“She’s amazing,” Karina whispers. “You should tell her that.”

Raymond nods, his eyes still on Emily. “I will.”

As the meeting disbands, Karina turns to Raymond, her dark eyes playful. “So, do you work tonight? Or can we finally have that movie night you’ve been promising?”

Raymond sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I suppose I could take a break. For now.”

Karina grins and leans in to kiss him, her lips warm against his. “Good. Because Isabella and I miss you.”

Before Raymond can respond, Emily approaches, her face lighting up when she sees him. “Raymond! I didn’t know you were here.”

“I caught the tail end of your speech,” he says, his voice warm. “You did great, Emily. I’m proud of you.”

Emily beams, her hand instinctively reaching for the silver pendant around her neck—the one engraved with “222.” “Thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

Raymond’s eyes flick to the pendant, and he smiles faintly. “I’m glad you’re wearing that again. It suits you.”

Emily’s smile falters slightly as she glances at his chest, where his black cross necklace used to hang. “What about you? Will you ever wear your cross again?”

Raymond’s expression hardens, his tone dry. “I thought you learned by now, Emily. It’s not a stupid piece of steel that’s going to keep Jesus in my heart.”

Emily flinches at his bluntness but doesn’t push further. Instead, she turns to Karina, extending her hand. “You must be Karina. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Raymond saved my life, you know. He’s the reason I’m on this road to recovery.”

Karina shakes her hand, her smile polite but guarded. “I know. He’s always helping people. He used to struggle with addiction too, so he gets it.”

Emily nods, her gaze flicking back to Raymond. “I was happy to pay for his plane ticket to England. It was the least I could do.”

Karina’s smile falters, her eyes narrowing as she looks at Raymond. “Plane ticket? To England?”

Emily doesn’t seem to notice the tension, already being pulled away by the crowd. “It was great meeting you!” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the throng of people.

The moment she’s out of earshot, Karina turns to Raymond, her expression darkening. “Care to explain why women are buying you plane tickets to England?”

Raymond’s eyes widen, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Karina, it’s not what you think. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation—”

“Oh, I’m sure there is,” Karina interrupts, her voice rising. “But I’d love to hear it. Because right now, it sounds like you’ve been living a double life.”

“I’m not!” Raymond insists, his voice strained. “It was work-related. I swear.”

Karina glares at him, her arms crossed over Isabella, who stirs slightly in her carrier. “Work-related? What kind of work requires a plane ticket to England that you didn’t tell me about?”

Raymond runs a hand over his face, his frustration mounting. “Karina, please. You know I’d never lie to you. Just trust me, okay?”

“Trust you?” Karina snaps, her voice sharp. “You’re making it really hard to do that right now.”

The argument continues as they walk down the street, their voices rising and falling in heated bursts. Raymond pleads his case, but Karina’s suspicion lingers, casting a shadow over the sunny day. Isabella begins to fuss, her tiny cries adding to the tension as Raymond and Karina disappear around the corner, their voices fading into the bustling city noise.

THE END