by Tiana Laveen
“I can’t make Saint do anything, even if I wished to, wayward child. This is his mission, not mine. He would seek a way to go on this journey with or without me. I have indeed assisted him, and I am not ashamed or apologetic for that. I have been dying but the energy that remains within me, is my gift to this cause. I know who he truly is and his destiny. Apparently, you do too. Regardless of anything I do or say, nothing you do will stop him. Read your scripture, confused soul. Your destruction is already prophesized.”
“Bow your head!” The one in the front that most resembled his son pulled out a machete and raised it high in the air.
“I will not. You will have to look me in my eye to kill me … like a man. May the Creator have mercy on your wounded soul!”
Saint, I feel you in slumber. Wake up my son. This is our last message! I send this to you in a dream. This is my last breath, but I give it to you—enough to last you for the rest of this mission. Trust in yourself and prepare to pass your torch when needed! Watch your back, for friends turn to foes. YOUR ARMY IS COMING. UNLEASH THEM NOW!
The blade cut the air in swift ruthlessness, and the silence of death surrounded him, shrouding him in black, ivory, and gold.
A crimson gush appeared before his eyes, but he kept his smile until he felt and saw no more…
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“NO! It can’t be!” Saint awoke in a cold sweat, looking about his bedroom and hoping the imagery was all in his head. Raking his fingers through wet strands of hair, he tore off his pajama shirt so fast, the buttons popped. Gnashing his teeth, he scratched at himself like some rabid animal, his soul and flesh battling it out while his mind danced in and out of reality. Throwing the sheets off his body, he tried his damnedest to fully awaken, but he felt as if he were drowning in quicksand. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Xenia scrambling about and switching on the nightstand lamp.
“Saint!” Grabbing his arms, she shook him like a child who’d stolen from her purse. “Calm down. You had a bad dream!”
“It wasn’t a dream. It’s Krishna!” He reached for his neck, suddenly feeling a sharp pain. When he looked at his fingers, they were stained in blood. He shook free from her hold and jumped to his feet.
“Saint, I don’t like how you’re looking. You’re scaring me!”
Grabbing his cell phone, he immediately called the man, only to receive no answer. “FUCK!” Pacing back and forth, he dialed Lawrence.
“Lawrence, I had a dream that Krishna was physically attacked. I just tried to call him but he didn’t answer. He always answers. I believe Krishna has been murdered!”
“Wait a minute. Let me make some calls and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Stay put!”
The man hung up, leaving Saint with dread in his heart that made it heavy and drop down to the pit of his undulating gut.
“Saint, you have dreams all the time that are not prophetic. You’ve been quite stressed out lately.”
“Xenia.” The cold, heartless way he said her name sent shivers down her spine. “Krishna is dead. I can feel it!”
“Saint!” She leapt from the bed and held him. “We don’t know that yet, okay? Please stop screaming … please calm down.”
“He’s not answering … he always answers! I can feel him telepathically when I need to, but now there’s nothing there … just static, like an old television that will never work again. I feel a disconnection, when we’re always in tune! SOMEONE HAS KILLED KRISHNA!” The man raced out of his bedroom in a blind rage. All he could see was red as he hightailed it down the steps. He spun around, forcing various objects to rise in the air. His eyes burned and turned into dark and murky shades of gray. A feeling of hatred so ugly welled within him, and a taste for revenge made him ravenous.
“Saint!” Xenia called after him from the top of the steps, but he couldn’t control or contain himself. Glass began to shatter all around him. He must have done that, but the world seemed so disconnected. Racing to his man-cave, he retrieved several guns and a large box of bullets from a locked cabinet…
“Saint, no!” It sounded as if twenty big, strong men were in her home, tearing it to shreds…
“What the hell is goin’ on out here?!” Mama yelled. She stood in the dark hallway in her bright red robe with a tiny decal of Mickey Mouse hanging halfway off her shoulder. “What’s all that damn noise? Is it Saint’s Chinese New Year?”
“Mama, now is not the time for jokes! Please go back to sleep. I’ll handle it!”
“Go back to sleep? How can I sleep with all of that racket? Sounds like a bull in a China shop, well, in this case, Korean shop! And I ain’t tryna be funny. What kinda kinky shit you and Saint got goin’ on now? He pretendin’ to rob the place or somethin’ then gonna turn around steal him a little coochie on the way out? Y’all doing some ridiculous roleplaying at all of our expense, ain’t you?!”
“Mama, no! It’s Saint. He—” Hassani and Isis’ doors began to open almost at the exact same time. “No! Kids, get back in bed. Do not come out of your rooms!” She watched as their doors closed. Mama remained at her bedroom door, refusing to budge and demanding answers. “Mama, Saint got some bad news… I can’t explain it right now. Just give us a minute.”
The woman rolled her eyes and closed her door, then locked it. Xenia made a mad dash into her bedroom and snatched up her cell phone.
“Xenia, hey girl. It’s super early. What’s going on?”
“Erika, please get Cruz over here to my house right away!”
“What’s wrong, Xenia? What’s going on?”
Suddenly, she heard Saint race up from the basement, his footsteps pounding and echoing throughout the house. Then followed a sound that put her in mind of a piece of furniture being launched and hitting the ground in a thud.
“I think something has happened to Krishna and Saint is going ballistic.”
“Shit. Cruuuz! Saint is—” Xenia hung up and dialed Traci.
“You have reached Traci. Please leave a voicemail. Thanks!”
“Traci, this is an emergency. Tell Jagger to come to my home right away. I think something has happened to Krishna and Saint is losing his shit!” Clutching her phone, she made her way down the steps. The house seemed unbelievably dark, despite the sun making a full appearance outside. Saint stood by their red piano, dribbles of blood streaming down his neck as if he’d been cut from ear to ear.
“Saint,” she stated calmly as she cautiously approached the man, her hands up in surrender. “Please … stop.” His eyes were blood red, glowing like flashlights. His bare chest heaved hard and fast and objects floated around him, as if he were the sun and they were in orbit. Her slippers crunched on pieces of glass and plaster. “This isn’t helping, baby…” Her heart flipped when he raised the gun in the air.
“I’m getting on a plane to India. As soon as I land, I am going to shoot each and every Demon Child that I see in the head. No questions asked.”
“Saint… please listen, baby… I need you to calm down. Our children are scared, and now you’re scaring me, too.” Just then, her cell phone rang. Keeping her sights on him, their gazes locked, she answered it.
“Hello?”
“It’s Lawrence,” the man said in a huff. “I tried to call Saint back but he didn’t answer.”
“He probably doesn’t have his phone… Just tell me, is it true?” Saint stared daggers at her, waiting for the answer. His muscles were twitching in strange ways and an odd glow emitted from his body.
Please say no, please say no, please say no, Lawrence!
“Unfortunately, yes. He was murdered in his home about an hour ago.”
“I see… Uh, I need you to get over here, please. Immediately,” she said, her voice trembling. Her husband’s lips curved in a gruesome grin as he casually placed several bullets in the chamber.
“I’m on the way.”
Xenia disconnected the call and laid her cell phone on the piano.
“Saint, I am not asking you. I
’m telling you. Put that gun away! We’ve got babies and my mama is here!” she cried out to him. “I know you’re hurting, but this isn’t the answer. Krishna wouldn’t want you to do this!” He focused on a floating silver fork and bent it up as if it were made of bubble gum. With his mind. Her knees grew weak at his energy, his strength born from pure rage. She’d never seen him do such a thing, and it terrified her. He next set his sights on destroying several sheets of music, tearing the pages out of a book, and ravaging a vintage painting. All with a mere glance.
“I’d be dead without him.” Quick tears streamed down Saint’s face. “And now, he’s dead because of me!” He marched past her and grabbed his coat.
“Oh no, you don’t! You’re not goin’ anywhere!” Grabbing her courage around the throat, she chased after the man, almost tripping over and hurting herself. She grabbed at his arm, but he yanked it away so abruptly, she almost fell back and landed in a pile of broken vases.
“Don’t touch me, Xenia! I don’t want anyone touching me! Everyone dies who touches me!” His voice was so loud, a nearby planter broke, the rich soil spilling forth.
A door from the upstairs opened and then her mother screamed, “Dakarai, don’t you take yo’ ass down them steps! Get in here!”
Xenia turned back towards Saint, crying, shaking, pleading her heart out. “Saint, stop it, stop it, stop it! That’s not true. Nothing you’re saying is true! You’re in shock, you’re in pain!” He ignored her and grabbed his keys, then reached for the front door, but she couldn’t let him go. She jumped on him, clawing, scratching, and biting. He yelled out obscenities when her teeth broke the skin on his shoulder, and yet she bawled for having to hurt him so. He’d left her no choice. Desperate times called for desperate measures.
If he gets in his car and drives off, it’s going to be too late not only for Saint, but for everyone.
“Xenia, let go of me!”
“No!” she screamed. “I can’t let you do this. I can’t let you leave this house, damn it!” He shook her off like a mere inconvenience and opened the front door with a hard tug of the knob. A gush of cold air rushed at them as snow drifted inside from the front stoop. The white flakes floated about in the air, as if suspended in slow motion. The sound of what appeared to be church bells could be heard in the distance.
Church bells at this hour?
As Saint took his first step, he started to jerk as if he’d gotten a jolt of electricity. A low, deep guttural moan escaped his lips, followed by slurred, incoherent words.
“Saint, are you okay?”
Getting to her feet, she dusted herself off and looked out the open doorway, only to see Jagger getting out of his car and softly closing his car door. The man’s mouth was wide open, his eyes full of wonder as he gazed around. Cruz walked slowly up the steps of their home until he got to the front door stoop, less than two feet away from Saint… Smoky red wisps of air moved through the snowfall. The world was fuzzy around the edges, as if she were looking out into a snow globe. More crimson swirls of smolder rose into the air like steam from a sewer, reminding her of thinly sliced pieces of Christmas ribbon blowing in a soft breeze. This had to be one of the strangest things she’d ever seen. She peered closer at the odd wisps of smoke, and saw they looked a bit like people… She covered her mouth to stifle a gasp.
They’re ghosts!
There must’ve been hundreds of them, and they were all staring at Saint.
She looked around when she heard faint gunshots, the sound like a memory imprinted on the sky. Music played at an eerily low level, barely perceptible, as well as laughter and crying. As she listened more closely, she could make out the song as it played so faintly: Ice T’s “Colors.”
Cruz’s lips curved in an all-knowing grin.
“Saint, the army is here…”
Saint sat in his favorite chair in the living room with a bandaged neck and a newly sprung bout of sorrow, one so deep that it drowned him…
He wished to get completely sloshed, the type of intoxication that could cause a blackout or two, but he couldn’t succumb to such foolishness. Besides, Hell Night was coming soon, and he needed to be alert, on his Ps and Qs. Xenia had taken the children out of the house that morning and taken her mother with her. He didn’t know what excuse she came up with to convince her to go, but after several apologies, he promised her that the house would be cleaned up by the time they all returned. He’d already called to have the vases replaced as soon as possible, and the cleaning service they used once a week would be over in the next couple of hours. He could only recall bits and pieces of what had happened during his rage, but his heart refused to slow down. After drinking several cups of water, he was informed of the details regarding Krishna’s death.
That made matters worse—much worse.
“So,” Cruz leaned against the fireplace. “I’ve counted them. We have 365 gang members.”
“One for each day of the year.” Jagger said.
“Well, it just so happens, 310 are Bloods from L.A.,” Lawrence said, laughing. “Wow, this gets better and better.” The Indian ran his hand along his chin, sporting a wide grin.
“Lawrence, I’m surprised at you. What’s so damn funny?” Saint asked, annoyed that he could laugh at a time like this.
“I’m not laughing at any of this. It’s far from funny. I just find the irony incredible. That’s the area code for L.A.—specifically, Compton.”
“Ah,” Saint said. Interesting. “What are the rest?” Saint inquired, growing a bit restless.
“16 are Savage Skulls, and 5 Savage Nomads. We can thank Bomb for that, per your request, Saint. He did as instructed and gave me what I needed to perform the ceremony. Now that they are here, I can assign them; well, I won’t personally assign them. Someone else will to help lead them to where they need to go.”
“Who’s the remaining 34?” Jagger questioned.
“Believe it or not, they are Crips, right here from New York. They come from various boroughs.” Saint reached over and turned on the stereo. The rhythm of Slick Rick’s “Young World” filled the room, giving Saint a nice dose of childhood nostalgia.
“How’d they get here?” Jagger asked. “They weren’t invited. Isn’t this going to be a problem?”
“Not necessarily,” Cruz explained. “I’m not sure how they arrived, but I suspect they came along with the Savage Skulls and Savage Nomads. At the exact same time. There don’t seem to be any problems thus far, or at least, I haven’t noticed any issues. If we do encounter any, they will be fairly easily to control.”
“This is incredible. I’ve never seen so many spirits in one place at any time. I can feel them all around us,” Jagger looked about the house, then towards the window.
“They never left. They are only seen when they want to be seen, so right now, they are pretty much invisible. But they are all over the place. A few are even in your house right now, Saint,” Lawrence explained.
“I know, and it is imperative that my children and mother-in-law do not see them.”
“Saint, I’ll make that clear to them. That’s the last thing you need.” Lawrence got up from his seat and left the living room.
“Right now they aren’t doing anything, just looking around. They will receive orders soon from someone who knows what to do,” Cruz reassured him.
“Cruz, I don’t like the way you’ve been speaking in riddles for the past couple of days,” Jagger stated as he crossed his big, beefy arms. “Who have you hired, huh?” He frowned. “Me being head of military, you should have spoken to me first.”
“Please, just let me handle this, Jagger. For this, the less you know, the better.”
Saint turned in Cruz’s direction and shook his head.
Bad move…
“Cruz … you’re on thin ice,” Saint warned. “I assure you that if you want to get into it with Jagger, keep answering his questions like that. If you wish to avoid an altercation that could turn physical, I suggest you explain what’s goin
g on.”
“But it’s not like I was trying to go over his head, Saint.” The man threw up his hands, looking genuinely confused.
“Doesn’t matter what you were trying to do. All that matters is what you’ve done. I am head of military. Nothing like this is supposed to happen without me involved.” Jagger pointed at himself. His eyes turned bright green and a swirl of white smoke drifted out of his mouth.
“It would go over your head.” Cruz grimaced.
Saint looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. What was the point in having the cleaning crew come over if another war was going to break out and ruin the rest of his furnishings?
“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?! I’ve been doing this since you were in your wicked father’s nutsack! You’re inferior, a disgusting D.C., and only a part of us because Saint had pity on you! You know nothing about war. I do! Saint had to teach your candy ass how not to get killed. I rescued you from that damn fire and now you want to act like you can talk down to me like some child? I shoulda let you burn!”
“Jagger…that’s enough.” Saint said wearily, emotionally drained and hating that he might have to play referee between two big bastards.
“No, fuck you, Cruz!” Jagger pointed a finger at Cruz.
“Jagger,” Saint stated calmly once more. “I bear some of the responsibility for this. I know you felt as if he went over your head, but we just tweaked and revised your original idea a bit. The premise is still the same. I had planned to tell you, but things have been so crazy lately.” He rubbed all over his face and shook his head. Getting to his feet, he took a stretch, forcing his anger over Krishna’s slaughter into a space inside of him where it could not trigger volatile acts.
“Oh, so you’re in on this, too? Thanks a lot, Saint.” The big man rolled his eyes, clearly irritated with them both.
“Jagger, I apologize for not considering what you’ve stated. It was last minute, but let me explain,” Cruz said. The big man pursed his lips and gave Cruz a look of disgust, as if he’d already resolved to only listen halfway. “If we were dealing with civilians or Angel Children, you would undoubtedly be in charge. But we’re not; we’re dealing with actual demons, and with all due respect, that is out of your realm of expertise. Unlike Hell Nights in the past, the demons are orchestrating this event, and the Demon Children will just be following orders.”
