The Killing of Miguel

by Christopher Mcafee

  Father Patrick snatched the piece of wood from my hand. “Yes! Yes! Steven, what would make a better weapon than this? Killing Miguel with a piece of a Holy Cross would be most just!”

  Father Patrick would continue to call my makeshift weapon a “Holy Stick,” and I would continue referring to it as such.

  Father Patrick spent the rest of the afternoon training me to throw this Holy Stick at a crude target. I got pretty good at it, often hitting the “bullseye” or coming close. I wasn’t sure if it was my ability or the power that the stick possessed.

  “A warrior must be ready to fight without the aid of his Battle Ring.”

  I continued practicing, then grew weary and realized that Father Patrick was nowhere to be seen. I heard noises from a separate prayer room. I eased open the door and saw Father Patrick kneeling before a cross, praying and crying.

  “…Lord, please protect this young warrior as he continues the legacy of Michael. And forgive me for not following the wishes of the church elders, for I know this young man bears the traits we need to end Evil.”

  I cleared my throat, startling Father Patrick. He stumbled to gain his balance. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his robe.

  “I’m sorry you have to see me like this, Steven. Fighting Evil is all I’ve ever known. I’ve been in denial for a long time. But now I realize my journey is over.”

  I felt the need to console him but thought maybe using a little humor would cheer him up.

  “Whaddya mean your journey is over? We’re gonna kick Miguel’s ass! You’ll see! Then you’ll be back on top!”

  Father Patrick managed an awkward smile, embraced me, and thanked me.

  “Go on home, Steven. We’ve done enough for today.”

  Chapter 11

  I had decided to take a few days off from Father Patrick and enjoy some solitude. I rode my bike and enjoyed some time alone. I thought of my dad, and I wondered if he knew everything that was going on in my life. I was still a nonbeliever in God, but I was hoping for some kind of afterlife so we could meet again. Like most people who have lost a loved one, I was thinking of suicide. If I only knew that I would be reunited with him, I would do it. There had been an incredible void in my life since his death. And Alexa, sweet Alexa, my love and soul mate, was she gone forever?

  I was thinking that my life had no meaning. I was depressed, and I needed something to spark my interest―some reason to get up in the morning. My mom was preoccupied with her work, and I had decided to skip college for at least a year. I needed something to dedicate my life to.

  In my mind, I retraced the day I had spent with Father Patrick throwing the Holy Stick at the target. After leaving, I had been hoping that he could recover and be the warrior he used to be. I still felt like a kid, and the thought of killing anyone was beyond comprehension.

  Then one night, my thoughts changed.

  ***

  Fast asleep, I was awakened to a burning smell. I jumped from bed, only to be thrown back against the wall. The smoke cleared.

  It was Miguel and his two bodyguards.

  “So, Steven, you and your old friend are going to kidnap my son and make him take a false savior as a God?”

  I was stunned and speechless. I glanced at Father Patrick’s Battle Ring on the nightstand next to my bed. It was glowing bright red. I quickly grabbed it, placing it under my pillow and remembering Father Patrick cautioning me that if Miguel got the ring it would be “catastrophic.”

  “Foolish boy!” Miguel yelled.

  He grabbed me by the throat as I tried to scream.

  “Don’t you know what I have done for you? I provided you with a loving father who took care of you. And this is the thanks I get?”

  His words confused me.

  As I was being held by his two henchmen, he came to me, nose to nose.

  He motioned for them to loosen their grip and instructed me to sit.

  “When your father was your age, he came to me. He was exactly like you: small and afraid of life. I told him that, for his soul, I would grant him strength and power over others. He used that to become the man you know as your father. Unfortunately, everything comes with a price, and it was his time to pay!”

  I jumped to my feet. “You’re a liar! My dad was a great man! He loved me, and he would have had nothing to do with you, you sonuvabitch!”

  Miguel chuckled. “Believe what you will, Steven. Your father sold his soul to me. Now I’m giving you the same chance. You can be like your father. You can be your father: popular, handsome. You can have any woman you like.”

  “I don’t want any woman. I wanted Alexa.”

  “Nevertheless, Steven, you have an opportunity to become a better person. Wise. People will look up to you. You could be a pillar of society just like your father. You can’t tell me you’re not interested.”

  “You killed my father, you bastard, and you turned my wife’s soul into dust!”

  Miguel was enraged. “You don’t understand, Steven! Your father knew of the consequences! He came to me! I gave him what he wanted! Now it is your turn! And don’t worry about your little tart, Alexa. She’s fine. Good luck ever finding her unless you’re planning a trip to Hell!”

  Once again, I refused to succumb to his will. One of his henchmen whispered in his ear. He leaned in closer and asked, “Where’s the Battle Ring?”

  I claimed that I didn’t have it.

  He instructed his henchmen to “Tear the room apart!” and “Find it at any cost!”

  They started going through my chest of drawers and my closet. I quietly reached under my pillow and slid the ring on my finger. By now it was crimson. I pulled my hand out and pointed it at Miguel.

  He hissed and cussed at me and moved away from my bed. “You’ve dug your own grave, Steven!” Black cindery smoke filled the room, and he and his cohorts disappeared.

  I lay in bed with my heart feeling like it was exploding through my chest. I looked at the Battle Ring on my trembling hand and vowed to never remove it.

  My thoughts raced as I thought about what Miguel had said. It was all starting to make sense. No wonder my father and I were total opposites.

  My dad had sold his soul.

  I took to the bathroom to wash my face, and I realized that my mom was in the nearest bedroom. Certainly she could not have slept through all the noise and yelling. I slowly opened her bedroom door and peered in. She was sound asleep with the covers pulled over her head.

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  I waited until dawn, then rode my bike to the Catholic Church. I entered and found Father Patrick in his study. He had several books open and reading glasses on his nose. An ashtray full of smoldering cigarette butts sat on the desk. He had been up all night.

  “Miguel’s back,” I said.

  “I know,” he replied.

  “We have to kill him.”

  He looked up from his book. “At least.”

  I returned home to grab a couple of hours sleep, only to arise and find my mom readying herself for her job at the church. The morning newspaper was open on the table. The headline read: “Local Youth Pastor to Return.”

  I looked at my mom. “Happy?”

  She turned and looked at me, saying nothing and looking uneasy.

  Did she know?

  ***

  I returned to Father Patrick’s. He was still at his desk.

  “How did he know of our plans?” I asked.

  “When I had all of my comrades over to discuss our plan, I made a point of it to invite a few that I suspected weren’t very loyal. I knew they would tell Miguel of our plan and he would return.”

  “Are you crazy?” I asked. “Now it’s going to be twice as hard to pull this off!”

  “On the contrary, Steven,” he replied. “It’s the perfect plan. We can kidnap the infant. Miguel will follow us to the church where you can kill him.”

  “Me? What about you wanting to battle the Devil again?”

  “Steven, the plan i
s set. You have the Battle Ring, and from now, it’s up to you to keep it in your possession. When you enter the church with Miguel Jr, you hand him to me, and I will baptize him. Miguel will be so enraged, he will enter the church, and inside these walls, his powers will have weakened. You can take the Holy Stick and kill him.”

  I felt in over my head.

  After further discussing our plan, I mentioned to Father Patrick that my father had sold his soul to the Devil.

  “Ah, that makes sense,” he replied. “I wondered why he has been so focused on you. You are a legacy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Since your father sold his soul, you are considered a legacy, or one who could easily be swayed to follow suit. It normally works.”

  Father Patrick grabbed my hands and looked me square in my eyes. “Steven, you must be strong at all times and resist temptation. Keep wearing that ring I gave you. If Miguel can’t have your soul, he will try and destroy you!”

  Chapter 12

  The day was here. Our plan was laid out to the minute. In our little town, at 10 o’clock, the fire whistle blows. That signals all who are under eighteen years of age to be home. A curfew signal. At that point tonight, Father Patrick’s band of warriors would start setting off fireworks and working spells to gain the attention of the Randolphs and Miguel. I would enter through the side door and grab the infant. I would then drive to the Catholic Church, where I would climb the outside stairs and enter the front door. There, I would hand off the infant to Father Patrick, and he would run down the aisle to the pulpit where a basin of holy water was waiting. I would then wait for Miguel to enter the doorway, and I would kill him with the Holy Stick.

  It sounded easy enough.

  I went through the plan in my head all day, even so much that I started the car a dozen times, just to make sure it would run. Even with my Battle Ring on, I was terribly nervous, and that led me to wander about the house. While pacing back and forth, my running shoes caught my glance, and I wondered if I should wear them. Then I looked at my dad’s shoes. What a tribute it would be to my father if I wore his shoes when I killed Miguel. I put them on, and other than being a little wide, they felt great.

  I went outside and started to jog, and before long I was sprinting. I felt faster than I had ever felt. Was it the shoes? The Battle Ring? My father’s spirit? I felt stronger than ever. I was ready to execute our plan.

  I found myself sitting in my car a few minutes before 10 o’clock. I had my dad’s shoes, Father Patrick’s ring, and my wedding rings on, and my Holy Stick was by my side. It had looked overcast, windy, and a little unsettled that day. It was as if the powers that be knew of our plan.

  On cue, I heard the curfew whistle. Then a bottle rocket was set off. I jumped out of the car, quietly made my way to the Randolphs’ house, and eased open the side door. Upon entering Miguel Jr.’s room, I hesitated. There he was, an innocent baby, not capable of hurting a soul.

  I heard footsteps. I grabbed Miguel Jr. in his blanket and exited the house. As I reached my car, I heard a scream. It was Beth. They had discovered that Miguel Jr. was gone. I buckled him in the passenger seat as best I could. I turned the key, and the engine roared to life. It was four miles to the church. It would be the longest four miles of my life. I put the car in gear and floored the pedal. As the tires squealed, a bright flash of lightening nearly blinded me! I looked at my Battle Ring. It was bright red! It started pouring rain and then hail. The wind was howling and nearly blew the car off the road. I began cursing Miguel.

  Sensing there was something wrong, Miguel Jr. started crying. I missed a turn and slammed on the brakes, and the engine stalled. The baby was still crying, and I was trying to restart the engine.

  “Come on! Come on! Start, Goddamn it!” I yelled. The engine turned over, spit and sputtered, and then restarted. Just then, the wind picked up and a tree fell and blocked the road. I put it in reverse and backed onto another street.

  Another tree fell and shattered the back window! I looked at my ring. It was now crimson! Miguel was close to catching me.

  I felt lost trying to make my way to a destination that was familiar to me. Red warning lights appeared on the dash of the old Ford, and steam poured from the hood, nearly blurring my vision. I was pushing the old Ford way past its abilities.

  I managed to make it to the Catholic church. I climbed the stairs with my dad’s Ford, flattening all four tires. As I opened the car door, the wind and rain nearly ripped it off. There was a huge clap of thunder and more lightening! I grabbed Miguel Jr. and reached for my Holy Stick. It wasn’t there! I looked on the backseat and on the floor. It must have fallen somewhere while I was driving to the church. I knew time was running short. I was frantic, fearing that Miguel was close enough to foil the whole plan. I left without my weapon, and just as I entered the church, part of the old weathered church roof flew off!

  Father Patrick was inside. “Quick! Give me the baby!” he yelled. I could hardly hear him with the wind howling. Just as I handed Miguel Jr. to him, I turned my head to look for Miguel to come through the door and see me defenseless. As I turned back around, I saw Father Patrick with the infant on the floor. Miguel Jr. was screaming. Father Patrick was poised to kill him with an axe.

  “No! What the Hell are you doing? That’s not the plan!” I screamed as the sound of the storm increased.

  “We can’t take any chances, Steven! We must kill him! All of humanity depends on it!”

  “No, I can’t let you do it! That’s still Beth’s baby!”

  I charged at Father Patrick, grabbed the infant, and knocked Father Patrick to the ground. He lay motionless. Now, there was more thunder, more lightening! The wind was deafening, and I felt my ears starting to bleed.

  I yelled, “Father Patrick! Get up! Get up!” He lay motionless, and I feared that Miguel was close. I ran down the aisle, climbing over debris that had fallen from the roof. I headed for the basin of holy water and submerged Miguel Jr.

  I repeated The Lord’s Prayer over and over, each time with more vigor and defiance towards Evil! The water boiled, and the infant expelled a horrifying demonic scream. I lifted him from the basin, only to find him looking at me with piercing eyes. My arms were blood red from the heat of the holy water, and my Battle Ring was almost black. Now the walls of the church seemed to move in and out like it was gasping its last breath. The mortar between the bricks was wearing and creating a choking dust. I submerged him again as the wind increased. He screamed louder as a steamy fog-like substance rolled over the sides of the basin. The walls were caving in, and the ceiling was falling. I lifted the infant from the basin and quickly wrapped him in a blanket.

  The winds had reached their peak as the rest of the church collapsed. I held Miguel Jr. close and sheltered him with my body as bricks and wood covered us. I felt victorious that I had completed the baptism. And with the weight of the debris increasing, I also thought I had taken my last breath. The last thing I remembered was seeing the statue of Archangel Michael.

  Falling.

  Crumbling into pieces.

  Alongside the still body of Father Patrick.

  Chapter 13

  I awoke lying in one of the pews. My head was bandaged, and they had placed cotton in my ears to stop the bleeding. There were numerous medical personnel on the scene. Some were hovering over me. I panicked and tried to get up. I was restrained by fire fighters and placed on a gurney. As they rolled me out of the remaining structure of the church, I saw Beth, Miguel, and Miguel Jr. Beth was holding her baby close. Miguel had a smirk on his face.

  I passed out.

  ***

  I slowly woke up to a bright light. After my eyes were given time to adjust, I realized I was in a hospital room. A nurse was by my side.

  My head throbbed, and my whole body ached. I had numerous tubes in my arms.

  “Steven, can you hear me?” the nurse asked, removing the cotton from my ears.

  I nodded, still trying to shake the cobwe
bs from my head and trying to remember how I had gotten there. The first thing that I noticed was that my wedding rings, my Battle Ring, and my dad’s running shoes were gone.

  She left only to return with a man in a suit who had the height of a basketball player and movie-star looks.

  “Steven, I’m Jacob Swift. I was a friend of your father. Your mother called me and told me you are in some trouble. She was going to come too, but she is a little overwhelmed with everything that has happened.” His smile was reassuring. “What can you tell me about last night?”

  At that point, I felt I could remember every detail, but I didn’t feel like talking. I only had one concern. “How is the baby?”

  “Outside of a few bumps and bruises, he’s fine. You did a fine job protecting him from the falling ceiling.”

  “And my dad’s car? How bad is it?”

  Jake smiled. “It’s kind of banged up. But nothing a good body shop can’t fix. The police are looking at it for evidence. After that, I’ll have them tow it to my house.”

  “Did they find a piece of wood? Like a knife or a sword?” As soon as I mentioned it, I felt foolish.

  Jake responded, confused at the question. “Not that I know of. Usually, if they don’t find any evidence, they just throw away anything they find.”

  Damnit! I thought, then took a breath and asked Mr. Swift if Father Patrick was near.

  Mr. Swift dipped his head, then lifted it slowly. “I’m sorry, Steven, he didn’t make it.”

  “That can’t be! He’s an immortal!” As soon as I spoke those words, I tried to pull them back into my mouth.

  “A what?” Mr. Swift asked.

  “Never mind,” I said as my voice trailed off.

  “Steven, you’ve been through a lot. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

  I nodded. As he opened the door to leave, I saw two uniformed policemen stationed at the door. He stopped to talk to them and then left.

  I had a bad feeling.

  ***

  The nurses were getting me up to walk every two hours. As I passed the window, I saw numerous television news trucks out front.