I feel so helpless. I am unable to concoct enough energy to do anything. The only movement I have available is to tilt my head and wriggle my fingers. I want to scream in frustration yet I know that will not achieve anything other than waste more energy. Is this how they captured Orange? I wonder. However, at the clearing in Somalia these demons weren't there, only the gatekeeper and what seemed like the spirit demons controlling the dead bodies. The gatekeeper limps forward using the long stick as a cane. I eye it trying to see if there was anything special about it. All I see is a plain and ordinary stick about the thickness of a good-sized snake. With my angel sight in the dim light, I watch the dark, wrinkly skin sway with each movement. With his head wobbling slightly in consistent jerks, the one eye flicks briefly from me, to Cindy, to Ben; then the dry, cracked lips part into that horrid cackle. Each laugh is the same as the other, producing an unwelcome action from my body.
