Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father

by Laveen, Tiana

  “Hassani.” He sighed heavily. “Come ’ere.” The boy got to his feet and did as told. Saint cupped the boy’s cheeks in his hands as he looked down at him. “Everything is going to be okay, all right? I promise.”

  “I love Grandpa. I don’t want him to be sick.”

  “I don’t either, Hassani. That’s why I’m doing this.”

  “I like Kyung Mi. Did I say it right? Is that his girlfriend?”

  Saint laughed. Xenia gave a weak smile, stood behind her son and put her hands on the boy’s shoulders.

  “Yes, you said her name perfectly. That’s grandpa’s girlfriend. I like her too, Hassani. I have to go. I will see you in the morning, okay?”

  Hassani nodded and hugged his father around the thighs. He’d had a growth spurt that had taken Saint by surprise. He leaned over Hassani’s head, placed a soft kiss on Xenia’s lips and cupped her chin.

  “I love you,” he said, looking deep into her eyes.

  He opened the door to find Jagger standing right outside in a black tank top and black jeans, leaning casually against the hotel hall wall playing with his cell phone, dark shades covering his eyes.

  “You ready, man?” he asked, sliding the phone into his pocket.

  Saint nodded, looked back into the hotel room and winked at Xenia before closing the door behind himself…

  ~***~

  Saint and Jagger sat practically on top of each other on the small couch, looking across at Osaze and Kyung Mi. She returned Saint’s gaze, her expression tight, like a fist about to punch a wall.

  “I—I don’t understand,” she said.

  Osaze sighed and took her hand. “Saint figured you may have this reaction. He thought maybe showing you would make it easier, than telling you. You see, Kyung Mi, my son has the same gift as I and so does his friend, Jagger here.”

  Jagger nodded in her direction, offering a smile.

  “Actually, Saint’s power is far stronger and more advanced than mine. We are all born with different levels of the gifts.”

  “I believe in spirits.” She clasped her hands together, looking rather serious. “I believe in psychics. I’ve just…never heard of it quite this way. I’ve never heard of Angel Children.” She looked around at everyone, her eyes suspicious. “I’m not sure of what to make of this.” She looked down into her lap and shuffled her feet around nervously, bunching up the worn, threadbare rug beneath them. Saint took a moment to collect his thoughts.

  “And this is why I invited you to be a part of this tonight. Normally, it would have been just my father and I. My friend here,”—he glanced at Jagger—“is here to help monitor that things are going smoothly and should you feel uncomfortable at any point, you let Jagger know, and you will be free to go. Just don’t try to interrupt the process. I’m taking a big chance here.” He glanced at his father. “But, it’s worth it if it will help you. Seeing is believing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go to the restroom and wash my hands. Dad, as we discussed, I need you to undress down to your shorts. We will do it right here in the living room.” Saint got on his feet and pointed to the table.

  Jagger stood and effortlessly picked the table up from the floor, with all of its contents, without spilling or causing one item to slide, and carted it off to the kitchen. Kyung Mi looked at the man in amazement. Osaze sighed and stood. Saint couldn’t help but notice that the old man was shaking. He walked up to his father and placed his hand on his shoulder, smiling at him. “She knows now. So, let’s begin.” And then he disappeared while Jagger took care of the rest of the preparations…

  ~***~

  Xenia looked at the clock and twisted yet another thick ringlet of hair around her finger. The children were asleep, and she was holed up in the master suite of the hotel apartment. Room service could only distract her so much. She looked absentmindedly over at the tray with a half eaten bowl of red seedless grapes, thinly sliced pieces of sharp cheddar cheese and the remains of a fresh mozzarella and tomato salad. She’d polished off half the bottle of Godello Alma De Blanco.

  ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s played on the television in high-definition while she hiked the crisp, white sheets around her. Keeping her long black gown on, she felt cozy but she hated sleeping without him, especially during times like this. He didn’t need her giving him the blues about this, but she’d wanted to scream, ‘Don’t go!’ Was it selfish? Possibly, but her first priority was her children. She didn’t want them to end up like her, growing up without a father. She was relieved that Jagger was there and the man had pulled her aside, assuring her he would not allow Saint to put himself in harm’s way, to reach that point of no return. She trusted Jagger implicitly, and though she didn’t like that Traci had no idea what the man was capable of, she understood why. It wasn’t the sort of thing a person may necessarily be comfortable disclosing. Nevertheless, according to Saint, he’d agreed to do the right thing and for that, she’d be grateful so she could start the Angel Child Wives Support Group. Right now, she was all-alone and she wished so badly she could speak to someone just like her who could soothe her and make it all right.

  Mama would never understand. Porsche would think she was taking drugs. Stacey would believe she’d gone crazy and she and Donna were not close enough where she felt she could reach out to her in her time of need. Xenia hoped that would change soon for in her interactions with Donna, she recognized they shared that sort of pain. Yet the woman had a wall up, one Xenia guessed was there to keep hurt away. She was married to a wonderful man like Lawrence, yet that didn’t stop the taste of past tragedy from lingering inside.

  And besides, the woman was dealing with a complicated pregnancy. Xenia didn’t want to burden her with her problems. She lay back, crossed her arms and pouted as she looked at the television screen. Not even Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard could cure this funk. She snatched the remote from off the bed, taking hold of it as if it had cursed her, and pressed the red button. The screen went black. Then she picked up the loaded tray and placed it on the floor. Yawning, she punched her pillow to make a nice indent, and plopped her head onto it, hoping and praying to get a little sleep though she knew it would be an uphill battle. She’d set her clock to wake in two hours, just in case she fell asleep, so Saint could get that kiss goodnight he’d requested. As the hotel grew pleasantly quiet, a strange noise moments later caused her eyes to flutter. It reminded her of two wine glasses clinking lightly together, a toast of sorts. She sat up and hitched her breath so she could be one hundred percent certain she hadn’t dreamt the entire thing up.

  No. There it was again, and again…

  Xenia flung the sheets off of her, slid on her house shoes and opened the double doors. She was sure she’d find Hassani and Dakarai horsing around.

  I’m used to Saint having to do this shit. She gritted her teeth as she made her way through the living room and past the kitchen area. She popped open their door, ready to tell them to get their behinds back in the sack, but all she saw were two sleeping boys in a Queen sized bed. Dakarai was snoring. She stood there for quite some time, wondering if they’d gotten back in their beds before she’d arrived but that was impossible. They were definitely asleep.

  Clink…clink…clink…clink…clink

  There it was again…

  Xenia raced toward the hotel door. It was closed, secured and locked. Sighing, she went to Isis’ room, believing perhaps she was awake and had gotten her hands on a toy or two. She opened the door, and her suspicions were correct…only Isis wasn’t holding the toys, she was making them spin around and around and around. The little girl looked at her, then started to giggle and coo.

  She pointed up in the air at the clear balls, swirling around her tiny head.

  “Ma-ma! Fly! Flying, Ma-ma!”

  ~***~

  When Saint re-entered the living room, a thin trail of smoke from an incense holder carved out of jade and ivory traveled the air in the all-too-familiar yet comforting aroma of Nag Champa. On the couch sat Kyung Mi,
her legs pressed together and her knee-length Band-Aid colored skirt vibrating from her jerky, nervous movements. Her hands were flat on her thighs, and her dark eyes took everything in. Jagger stood off to the side, his jacket removed and shoes off. On the floor, over a red silk blanket, lay his father, stiff as a board. The old man’s eyes were closed and his hands were folded across his bare stomach. Saint cocked his head to the side as he glared at him. He looked at rest, as if he were in a casket, and he found it disturbing. Pushing that feeling out of his mind, he knelt to the left side of his father and began to silently pray over him.

  As he did so, he could feel Kyung Mi’s stare boring into his back. He knew she wanted to run away, but her curiosity compelled her to stay. This was a rare opportunity. She would get to witness a healing—something Angel Children did in the privacy of their homes with no audience to speak of. It was a secluded matter and treated with respect.

  Starting at the top of his father’s hair, he ran his hand lightly over the man’s face, scanning him, trying to detect any signs of weakness and pain. He continued on, occasionally hearing a clearing of a throat or someone shuffling in their seat. After a while, he could hear nothing at all…

  Saint stopped as he reached his father’s stomach. He grinded his teeth when his body felt the man’s internal angst. He pushed forward, running his hands up and down his legs until he’d reached the bottom of his feet. Saint leaned back, placing his hands on his thighs in his kneeled position. He opened his eyes and looked at his father, who still lay peacefully on the rug. He then straddled his father and placed his hand directly over the man’s heart. Osaze’s eyes fluttered, but he remained calm.

  “Dad.” Saint sniffed and leaned closer to his ear. “You’ve got more than one ulcer. There is also a clogged artery I want to address. As you know, I need your permission, so please, for the sake of procedure, just say I have permission to take these ailments from you.”

  Osaze nodded. “Son, you have permission to remove all the ulcers and unblock the artery,” he said quietly.

  “Thank you.”

  He glanced over at Kyung Mi who, thus far, appeared unmoved by the display. This looked like a chiropractor visit; nothing odd, nothing strange for those used to seeing natural medicine and healing techniques. But things were about to escalate indeed…

  Jagger moved closer to sit a few feet away from Saint. Keeping his hand pressed on his father’s heart, Saint closed his eyes and slipped further and further into trance, mumbling prayers and concentrating on the older man’s body. As seconds turned to minutes, Saint’s chest began to tighten. He pressed his palm harder into Osaze’s chest, causing the man to gasp beneath him. Like a drop of oil sliding down a wall, Saint could almost see the artery coming unclogged, the blood moving freer and his father’s breathing becoming a bit less labored. With his eyes still closed, he reached with his free hand toward his father’s face, pulled the man’s bottom lip down and in a swift motion, lowered his lips to his father’s. . Saint slowly opened his eyes. The white-hot haze left his mouth, swirling about him, taking over the room. Some entered his father’s mouth, as it was supposed to, while the rest swam about, heating his flesh.

  “Oh my God!” Kyung Mi gasped. The poor woman was probably terrified, but he had tried to prepare her. Suddenly Osaze’s chest rose and he coughed, clawed at his shirt and shook violently.

  “Dad,” Saint said calmly, “I need you to relax. I know it is painful, but this is temporary. I’m cleaning your heart, scraping all the damage away…”

  Osaze winced, coughed louder, then his body went still. Saint continued on. Red and white smoke filled the room, mingled with wispy swirls of purple mist. Jagger stood to his feet. He put both hands out, as if he were holding an invisible box, and blew lightly into the space. Cool air filled the room, helping to change the temperature to something a bit more comfortable for Kyung Mi. Again, the woman gasped, causing Saint to shoot her a glance. She looked at him and Jagger in amazement, but remained seated.

  Saint had lost track of time. He presumed that at least two hours had passed since he’d began the healing. He wanted to do the man’s heart first because that would require more work than repairing the hole in his gut and clearing the ulcers. He was hurting so badly, but he didn’t want Jagger or his father to know. They’d try to intervene. If he played it cool, he could finish the healing and rest as needed. He continued on, gliding his fingers down his father’s body until he reached his intestines. He pressed his fingertips into the affected area, eliciting a low moan from his father. So that he wouldn’t exert any extra energy, Saint came up with an idea.

  “I have…a question,” Kyung Mi said, interrupting.

  “Yes.” Jagger looked at the woman. “Saint and Osaze can’t speak to you right now. What is your question?”

  “Is there a way to have Osaze not have to feel this? He looks…” Her eyes watered as she stared down at him. “To be quite uncomfortable.”

  “Ma’am, the patient needs to be awake during the healings unless they were incapacitated previously, such as being a coma. It is deemed necessary for their full recovery. They have to feel the pain, feel the illness leaving. It is an awakening, a process. It also helps ensure they don’t find themselves in this position again, if any of it was self-inflicted, because once a healer cleanses a patient’s body, that same healer cannot go through the same process again with that patient. It is forbidden,” Jagger explained.

  Saint pressed on his father’s gut, and the man began to pant and his eyes roved around wildly under the lids. Saint went into trance. Pushing and praying. Pushing. Praying again. He gripped his father’s flesh, twisting it to encourage the ulcers to leave his body. As the room grew colder, he felt goose bumps bud across Osaze’s body. Saint held tight to the man’s gut and lunged forward to again dispense the fog from his mouth into his father’s—this time, its color was an fluorescent green. The room began to shake as if they were enduring an earthquake. The lamp seesawed until it fell onto the ground, the bulb bursting. All of the lights in the house blinked wildly. Saint continued on.

  “Ahhhh!” Osaze screamed out, his eyes glaring up at the ceiling, glossy. “Ahhhh!” He grabbed Saint’s hand, and a struggle ensued.

  “Dad!” Saint screamed. “Calm down!” He was brought out of his trance, but soon the man let him go, and closed his eyes, regaining his composure.

  “Saint, be careful…,” Jagger warned.

  He’d been doing a good job of disguising it, but the pain was becoming almost unbearable and now, hot sweat streamed down his face and every muscle in his body was inflamed. His heart was beating out of his chest and he felt woozy.

  I’m almost finished…please don’t stop me.”

  He pressed ahead. More time passed though minutes were abstract in his mind during the wretched process. Saint opened his eyes and looked around as he drew closer to the completion. The space was in total disarray, but the lights were back to normal and the room was no longer rocking.

  “Mmmmmm!” Saint loosened his grip on his father and clumsily fell back as his heart and gut tore with insurmountable pain. “Oh God!!!” He tore at his chest, and curled into a fetal position. When he looked around him, everyone was staring at him.

  He couldn’t understand why, after healings, his pain was so much worse than even the patient endured. No wonder Angel Children healers were selective about who they assisted. This was debilitating.

  Kyung Mi moved slowly toward him. He could see her shaking hand and her eyes glazed with tears as she reached for his arm. Jagger approached her and shook his head. “No.”

  The woman recoiled, still shaking, still quiet. She had tried to comfort him. Osaze slowly rose from his lying position, muttering in confusion, then he caught a glimpse of his child.

  “Saint!” he shouted. He grabbed his son’s leg.

  “Mr. Aknaten! Please don’t touch him!” Jagger ordered.

  “He’s dying!” Osaze was frantic. “Allah!” The older man lifted
his hands in prayer.

  “No, he isn’t. I would’ve intervened if he was. He’s fine. This will stop in a few minutes.” Jagger narrowed his eyes on Saint and casually looked down at his watch.

  Saint’s eyes bounced from person to person while he thrashed around, his muscles jumping, his nerves raw and his mouth quiet, minus the occasional groan. He’d now accepted the pain, and swore to God, Heaven and Hell that he wouldn’t do this for a very long time if he could help it. To be hit with a disease in mere seconds had a way of breaking the human body down. It didn’t have time to fester, to grow, to take control. It simply arrived, in its adult, full-grown, ‘look at me now’ form, nasty and violent. As soon as his body recognized the situation for what it was, it would begin to attack the ulcers and clogged artery that now resided in his temple and that process would hurt like hell, too…

  Saint slowly closed his eyes as his body continued to twitch. He was certain he’d drooled on his father’s rug; moisture ran across his bottom lip. He hated that he couldn’t uncurl his arms and hands, as if he were a stroke patient. He hated the way his toes were curling and stiff and he hated that people could see him like this. Yes, even in doing something so selfless, he was vain at that moment. His hair was in disarray, and he now could feel bile coming up his throat. He didn’t care when others got sick around him, but he never wanted to appear weak in front of others, though he knew that was impossible to avoid at times. Before he knew it, Jagger had him in his arms and placed him down on the couch.

  “Saint, you did a great job. You need to lie down here for a few minutes, and then we’ll prepare to go back to the hotel. I’ve already sent Xenia a text message to let her know we will be leaving soon, and she has everything prepared for your rest and recovery.” Saint nodded and looked at his father who was sitting on the floor staring at him. The man had tears coming down his face. This was now the third time he’d ever seen the man cry. Once, after he’d lost his wife. Second, when they visited her grave and became closer, and now tonight. He didn’t know what to do with it, didn’t know how to process what he was viewing, so he turned back away and closed his eyes to drift into a deep sleep…