by Michael Todd
He looked at the trail of blood and ash. “The demon who started this is safely in the bowels of hell at this moment. Those remaining and the infected work for him, but they didn’t make the choice to do this. You want revenge, and I know that feeling. Even as a priest, I know it all too well. Every time one of my brothers or sisters died I wanted revenge, but there is no escape from what you feel except to allow yourself to feel it. You could go down to hell itself and kill the leader, but you would still feel that pit of despair that was just created in your soul.”
Abraham tightened his jaw again. “But these motherfuckers are the ones who took her. They dragged her out of her own home, terrified, did ungodly things to her, and put a demon inside her. That monster ripped her body apart from the inside out. He shredded everything perfect about her.”
Damian shook his head. “No! Her body wasn’t what made her perfect. Her guts and her veins weren’t what made her the woman you loved. They could never touch that part of her, trust me. They could never take that from her or you. It’s eternal and belongs to God. He would never let that be stolen by some demon. You were given the best of her, and she received the best of you. Don’t let this turn you. Please don’t let this destroy you and bring out the worst in you. She would never have wanted that for you.”
A tear trickled down the man’s cheek. “They murdered her in the worst way possible.”
“I know, brother. I know.” The priest exhaled slowly. “This war is far worse than anything we could have imagined. Now, come on. Let’s take our stuff and get out of here. There is nothing left for you to destroy.”
Abraham’s gaze darted up, and he pulled the gun from his colleague’s belt. “Almost nothing.”
A demon shrieked behind Damian, and he winced as his friend aimed and pulled the trigger to stop the attacker in mid-stride. The rogue fighter looked into his face, his eyes a little lighter. “Okay. Let’s gather our shit and get out of here. There’s nothing left to do, and there’s nothing left for me here.”
He released the man’s collar and stepped back, reclaimed his gun, and holstered it. The battle had been brutal, and he knew that the other man would never be the same. He nodded toward the room where his wife had been. “Come on. I want to get you something.”
The priest walked back into the classroom where Elizabeth had died. His companion stopped at the door and stared emotionlessly at the ashes on the table. Damian looked through the boxes in the room and finally found a beaker with a cork in the top. He removed the stopper and swept Elizabeth’s ashes carefully into the bottle with his hand. While he wasn’t able to collect everything, he did succeed in gathering most of them. He hated the thought of leaving her remains there in that dank, dark place, although he knew she was no longer there.
He made the sign of the cross and kissed the small crucifix around his neck. As he turned, he could see the deadness in his friend’s eyes. He wanted to help him, but he knew there was nothing he or anyone else could do for him. His fear was that the man might be lost for the rest of his life on Earth—a fate almost worse than death for men like him.
Damian handed Abraham the bottle. “Here. That’s the best I can do. When we get back, I will find something lovely to put her ashes in. Something you can carry with you.”
The older man looked at the bottle, and after a moment’s hesitation, hugged it close to his chest. The priest put his arm around Abraham’s shoulders and led him out of the room. They traversed the silent hallways past the derelict rooms and down the stairs. The rogue fighter used one arm to steady himself against the wall as he limped across the old floors. A layer of ash and dust coated the entire place.
They both paused at the entrance to the gym and stared inside. The candles had melted into thirteen puddles of wax around the symbol on the floor. A couple of them still had small flames that flickered eerily and struggled to stay alive.
No more demons were left to harass them, and they were able to walk straight through the front doors. Damian patted Abraham on the back as they made their way into the cool night air. They took their time as they walked down the path leading from the school to the SUV. He propped his friend against the vehicle as he took all their weapons, bagged them, and stowed them safely in the back.
The last thing he wanted was to be caught with all that ammunition by someone who didn’t understand what they did. His friend’s eyes were completely glazed, and he didn’t say a word. All the anger had been expelled, and now he faced the backlash of the real emotions. He would have to deal with it, but the priest was sure that at that moment, all he felt was numb. The only real sign of life was that he clung tightly to the ashes, his knuckles white from holding the bottle.
The priest let his gaze drift over the landscape and the sky, which twinkled with stars. It was late—or early, he supposed—but the sun hadn’t started to lighten the sky yet. “Come on. I’ll take you to one of my favorite pubs so we can get a drink. You could probably use one right about now, and I know I could.”
Abraham’s gaze shifted to him, and he put on a fake, tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, old friend, but I don’t think I’m interested in anything like that. I simply want to get back and take a shower. I don’t think they would really want to serve me covered in blood anyway.”
He chuckled, but the other man didn’t. They climbed into the SUV, and Damian put it in drive and pulled away from the school. His companion leaned back against the seat and stared out the window. Damian watched the lines in the road rush toward him and disappear behind him. His mind went to his past, recalling the faces of all the people he had lost along the way. After fifteen years he was still able to remember every teammate he’d lost, whether they had fought with him for two days or ten years. Their faces were forever ingrained in his mind, and they were the ones who motivated him to continue fighting. They were the ones who kept the guilt away when he had to kill an infected or a demon.
The priest knew the rogue fighter had a huge task on his hands. He had never married, and never would. Still, he had lost many people he deeply cared for. Experience had taught him that the hardest part about all of it was coming to the realization that they were gone and nothing anyone could do would change that. There was no battle, no number of bodies, no hours spent training that would bring them back or ease the pain Abraham would feel in the coming days. Darkness would engulf him, and he would have to be incredibly strong to push through. Those were the defining moments. They were the times you finally realized what you were—or weren’t—made of. Were you able to push through to the other side, or would you let the weight of the grief bury you?
Damian could still remember the younger Abraham and what he had been like. He had been reckless and cocky and hated demons with a passion. He did terrible things to them, things the priest had never even thought of. The man wanted to see them suffer and watched the pain in their eyes reflect the pain of the innocent he had seen die horrible deaths. He could understand it to an extent because he had seen children ripped apart, women torn limb from limb, and brave men sent to their graves. Demons didn’t simply kill. They murdered. They ripped a human’s soul from their chest, and they loved every minute of it.
He could only hope that the Abraham who had been didn’t come back to the surface. Deep inside, he wanted so badly for his friend to go back to the home where he’d loved and lived with his wife—and start over. He wanted assurance that he would grieve like everyone else and pick himself up and create a life as beautiful as he could make it without her. Damian knew that was a long shot. He knew that the rogue fighter wasn’t the kind of man who would be satisfied with a quiet, lonely life. More than likely he would let the darkness get the best of him, especially since he had allowed his demon to come back to the surface. The two of them were a recipe for disaster.
Even Ravi could tell that from where she was perched. His demon is low-level, but he is a maniacal sonofabitch. He doesn’t care that he’s killing his own kind. He simply wants carnage.
&nbs
p; The priest glanced at the man’s red eyes. I know. Abraham has always controlled it somewhat, but now I don’t know if he can.
I don’t blame him. I’ll be honest, I don’t like the guy. I like his style as far as ripping shit apart, but I don’t like him. That being said, right now, I feel bad for him. I have never felt a human radiate that kind of pain and hurt.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly. Let’s hope it doesn’t turn to something worse.
Chapter Twenty-One
Damian woke early the next day to find the sun shining brightly against the thick curtains in his room. He made a cup of coffee and took it outside, hoping that the morning warmth would extinguish the leftover angst and guilt that simmered in his chest. All night he had tossed and turned, seen Elizabeth’s face in his dreams, and heard Abraham’s screams as he ran manically through the halls and ripped demons apart. It had been a difficult night, something that felt like a bad dream when he woke up to the birds chirping outside.
He hadn’t heard a peep from upstairs, so he assumed his friend was still asleep. He wanted to check on him but decided to give him his space. The man would need it. He was the solitary type, not one who wanted to talk through things. When they had arrived home the night before, Abraham hadn’t said a word. Instead, he walked straight inside, grabbed a tall glass, filled it with whiskey, and took it to his room. Damian didn’t hear anything else from him for the rest of the night, not that he had expected to. He hoped that whatever he was doing up there would help to settle his heart. This, he knew, would be the greatest struggle he’d ever face.
Even Ravi allowed him to have his moment. Normally, she would have complained to the death about him stealing her liquor, especially the expensive stuff. That night, though, she let it slide. She knew he needed that drink. It showed Damian that there was a little more of a human side to the demon than he had expected in the beginning. It was strange, but he had become accustomed to it with Pandora. Katie’s demon had become one of them, and even showed emotions on a regular basis when it came to humans. He’d always chalked that up to her being a fallen angel, but now he started to wonder if there was something more to it.
The priest jostled from his thoughts at the sound of Rose fumbling with her keys. She wore her Sunday best, which included a wild-looking hat with a large flower on top. He’d never fully understood the English and their obsession with hats, but then again, he had never understood fashion at all. Her dress boasted a bright floral print and reached her calves. She wore white stockings and her normal lace-up orthopedic shoes. Her hair was white and curly and waved a little in the breeze. If she hadn’t had a demon in her, he could imagine her as one of those old ladies you wanted to hug every time you saw her. Part of him wondered if the demon kept her health up, since she had to be in her seventies but moved like someone half her age.
Rose managed to lock the door and turned. “Oh, good morning. I’m off to church.”
Damian smiled and lifted his cup of coffee in greeting. “Very good. And remember what I said the other day. Anytime you need my help, don’t hesitate to ask.”
She looked away, and after a moment, glanced at him like she was about to do just that. Suddenly, her eyes flashed, and she chuckled nervously. She lowered her head and hurried past him toward the gate. Her gait increased until she walked so fast that he could only assume she was trying to get away before her demon could say anything to him. Still, knowing he’d got through to her human side was good enough for him, at least for now. Eventually, he would have to approach the subject more strongly, but that day would not come soon.
“Well, hello there,” a friendly voice said behind him.
He turned to see Max pull his luggage into the courtyard. “Max, you made it back!”
The young man smiled broadly, and his cheerful face helped the thumping in Damian’s chest disappear. “Yep, and I did it in one piece too.”
He stopped beside the table, stood his bags in a row, and undid the top button of his coat. After a deep breath, he removed his black-rimmed hat and set it on the table. “It’s good to be home. I was starting to miss the place.”
Damian smiled and kicked out the chair in front of him and the young man sat, still grinning. “I hope you don’t mind, but I used some of your coffee. We were out of the old stuff, and I desperately needed something to pick me up this morning. It’s been a long few days, to say the least.”
Max waved his hands dismissively. “Don’t mind at all. I actually tossed the old stuff because it was gross compared to what I’ve had recently.”
The priest chuckled. “You’ve turned into a coffee snob. Your demon has created his own little barista monster. I guess it could be worse.”
Astaroth scoffed. Sonofabitch. He drank my coffee, and it smells like the South African brew, too. That’s my favorite damn one. He sniffed and settled a little. Never mind. It’s not worth arguing about now unless I could extract it from his body, which I don’t have the energy for.
In reality, the demon could sense the despair in the air and decided to simply let things be. He had no idea what had happened; he wasn’t good at reading things like that. All he knew was that whatever it was, it eclipsed his bitching. Max stared at his mentor for a moment and noted the dark circles under his eyes. Damian never slept much but this was the first time he had seen him look quite so haggard. He was usually up and awake by that point.
Max crossed his legs and furrowed his brow. “I have to admit, you don’t seem quite like your normal self right now. You look worn out and tired. What happened while I was gone? You are still in one piece, so I assume you handled it. I don’t really know why you wouldn’t let me help, but I guess you can explain that to me later.”
The priest sighed and put down his cup. “We did handle it. However, it’s a long and sad story, and I think I will save it to discuss with you another day. I want to keep things light today.” He watched as the recognition of things unsaid moved over his companion’s face. “So, how was your trip?”
Max smiled. “It was fantastic. I learned all about the regular history and then the real history of the place. There were so many beautiful things to see there. And the people? Wow, they were so different, and incredibly kind. Apparently, back in the fourteenth century, a great battle took place there. The cliffs were actually carved out by the damaging blows of the demons against the angels. If you look closely, you can still see the burn marks in the stone and rock from the angels’ power. All I could think about was Katie fighting some enormous demon there with her golden sword.”
Damian raised an eyebrow. “It sounds like you really enjoyed your time there. I’m beginning to think you’re more of a nerd than I am. That, my friend, is not okay. I’m not sure I can handle that. I’ve held the title for a very long time.”
The young man laughed and reached over to unzip his carry-on to retrieve a book and a box, which he placed on the table. “I bought a couple of gifts while I was there. I realized when I was looking around that shopping for you is harder than shopping for my mother. I don’t know if it’s because you have different tastes, or if it’s because you are a priest. Most priests, besides the older higher-ups, don’t really ask or want anything. I perused the liquor section, but you had everything they offered there. I don’t know enough about it to ask for something really special. They looked at me funny, too, because I was a priest. Also, they didn’t sell bowties. That was my first thought. I have no idea where you buy those things.”
His mentor smirked. “I have had most of them for a very long time, since back when bowties were stylish for everyone, and not only fraternity boys and emo kids. I guess I never let it go.”
Max chuckled and handed him a book. “That’s about fallen angels. Before I left, I had a bowl of ice cream at the table and flipped through the book you read every night. I guess I was curious as to what you were so enthralled with. Most of the time, you didn’t put the thing down, and when you did, I never had a chance to ask about it. My demon said the
re was a bit of inaccuracy to the information, so I found you one that may be more helpful.”
Damian flipped through the old yellowed pages. They contained illustrations, and several pages had hand-written notes in the corners. It looked like a mercenary had at some point, many years before, used the book and made notes about the things they had learned. All in all, it was a very interesting find. He was taken aback by it. “Wow. How in the world did you find this? I can’t imagine it being at the local bookstore.”
The trainee shrugged. “I took a walk around the city and ended up wandering into an old bookstore down this alley. He had a huge selection of different books, and I guess he catered to a more unique crowd of people like you and me. I asked the owner about a book on that subject, and he retrieved it from a back room. It was covered in dust. I flipped through it and it seemed pretty legit, so I figured you could give it a try.”
Damian tapped the cover. “Thank you so much. This is an awesome gift.”
Max grabbed the box off the table and handed it to him. “I got this too. Something a little lighter.”
He opened the box and pulled out a coffee mug. On the front was a cross, and on the back, it read, Best Damn Priest Ever!
Max laughed. “I wanted to sharpie in an ‘ed’ on the end of ‘Damn,’ but I figured it could work both ways since you are my language monitor here at home.”
The priest shook his head at his companion and set the cup down. “You are trying to get me all riled up now, aren’t you?”
The younger man put his hands on his hips. “Now I can say ‘language’ every time you bring that coffee mug out.”
Damian pursed his lips. “Probably not your brightest idea. I’ve thought about having someone re-lay the stone in this entire courtyard. I know a strapping young priest who could use a little lesson in humility, and I think the hard work would do him and his coffee-drinking demon some good. What do you think?”
