Vatican Assassin

by Mike Luoma

"Ah. It looks like our visitor is awakening. That was quite a blow you struck, Thomas."

  Wha? Ow, ow, ow, ow, fuckin ow! My head hurts bad. Who's talking? Head feels swollen. I'd feel for a bump, but I think my hands and feet are tied. Hog-tied with rough cords, lying on the floor, somewhere on the station. Probably in the other wheel.

  God, my head's been rung like a bell! Thank you, Thomas. Gonna try to pretend I'm still out, see if they buy it. Keep still, keep my eyes closed. Probably can't see anything with my face mashed against the floor like this, anyway.

  "Do you know something, our uninvited guest? I know you. I know who you are. The last two they sent weren't known to me, but you, you I know! You've made quite the name for yourself in certain circles, Bernard Campion!" The voice stresses the syllables of his name. "You can open your eyes, now. I can see you're awake."

  BC opens his eyes.

  He's in front of a dais. Sitting on a large throne on the dais is an older man with long gray hair and a full mustache and beard, dressed in simple brown and beige robes. BC knows him from the photos in his package.

  I see "The Light." Ouch! He's got the right look for this, I guess, very biblical. More old testament, though. Who was that guy... Moses. Yeah. More like Moses.

  A man and a woman sit on small chairs on each side of the throne of The Light. The man at his right hand, the woman on the left. They're also dressed in robes, the man in brown, and the woman in purple. They're both glaring at BC. BC can feel the eyes of other people in the room beyond his sight, a crowd watching behind his back.

  The Light smiles down at BC from his throne.

  "Hello, Campion," The Light says, disgust palpable in his voice, "I refuse to call you ‘Father'. I know what kind of scum you really are." The smile disappears. "You first drew my attention years ago as a perfect example of everything going wrong with the church. Did you know that? I followed your so-called career, early on.

  "You are the embodiment, the very incarnation, of everything that made me leave the church! Did you know that? I actually cited you, you by name, when I declared my intention to separate. You are heresy, Mr. Campion, in flesh and blood right here in front of me. Heresy! People like you are just a symptom of the greater rot at the heart of what's left of the church. It's all compromised. Now this," The Light spreads his arms out and looks around the room, "this is a true church you've wandered into, Campion. Men like you do not belong here. You're certainly not a priest in our eyes here. But then, you're no ‘Father' at all, are you, Campion?"

  Lecture over? Fine. I will say nothing.

  "Trying for the strong, silent type, eh?"

  Nothing.

  "Brothers Joseph and Matthew went looking for you, Campion, and never returned. We can't find them now. We did find bloodstains, evidence of a struggle. And of course, we found you. But no sign of them. And no sign of your ship either. Did you put them on your ship and cast it off? Or did you just space them?

  "What have you done with my brothers, Campion? Where are my lost sheep? You know I won't rest until I've found them. Or do you? Do you even know your scripture? Do you have any clue what I'm referring to, ‘Father'?" The Light spits the word out.

  BC remains silent. He keeps his eyes locked on The Light.

  Fuck you. Maybe if I think it hard enough you'll hear it. Fuck You!

  The Light starts losing his patience.

  "You are Bernard Campion, are you not?" he yells at BC. He springs up off the throne and descends the dais to walk around the bound BC.

  "Of course you are! You are ‘BC' aren't you?"

  BC stares up at The Light as he paces around him, maintaining eye contact while The Light is in eyesight.

  Let my eyes talk. They say Fuck you, too, you fucking nut. I will say nothing. Got to find a way out of this, but I won't give this guy a word of satisfaction. That's funny, using the Jesus defense on a guy with a messiah complex...

  "I suppose you think you're being like our Lord, saying nothing. How dare you! God punishes false pride!"

  BC gets chills.

  That was weird... well, if you can read my mind, FUCK YOU!

  "I don't like your attitude, Campion. I can read your face, your eyes. You communicate even though you don't say anything. You think you're better than we are, don't you? We're ‘freaks', 'weirdoes', some strange cult! How dare you judge us! You're not better than we are. You kill people! I know! I know you're here to kill me, too. I knew that before I even knew it was you, as soon as a ship docked. Whoever had come had come uninvited. No one comes here to visit, except you assassins."

  The Light stops walking in front of BC, locked eye to eye with him. He leans down close and whispers, "The other two before you tried to kill me, too, but they came to see the error of their ways. They came to understand the purity of our design. You could too, Campion. I didn't kill them. I haven't killed anyone. If they told you the same stories they told the others, and they told us, you've been lied to. No one's been killed here. No assassins, none of my followers, not even me. I aim to keep it that way. Although I never mind killing assassins, actually. That's just, well, justice."

  The Light gets back up and addresses both BC and the rest of the room.

  "This is the true church, Campion. We strive for real truth here. We actually follow the true teachings of Jesus Christ, not like the namby-pamby watered down pabulum that passes for ‘Christianity' today! That supposed ‘church' that employs such as you, Campion." He straightens up and speaks in a loud voice.

  "You stand for everything we've left behind in today's so-called church. You are heresy incarnate! You have the nerve, the audacity to come here, to invade my home. You masquerade..."

  The Light leans over him again and tears the priestly collar off his throat, "...as a priest! Who do you think you are? Huh? Who do you think you are?"

  BC doesn't answer. Not out loud, anyway.

  Who am I? For you, for today? I am the vengeance of the Lord, come to bring you that much closer to the God you claim to worship. I'm your express trip to heaven, you arrogant fuck.

  As if BC has spoken out loud, The Light glares angrily down at him.

  "Get him out of my sight! He sickens me. Throw him in one of the empty rooms for now."

  Two men grab BC by his arms and drag him out of the throne room. He's dragged down a long corridor to a small closet. They throw him on the floor, close and lock the door. He has just enough room to lie flat out on the floor. He lies there bound hand and foot in the dark.

  Well, at least I'm not dead. Not yet.

  BC tries to keep track of time, but it gets harder as the hours go by. At least 24 hours go by, as far as BC can figure, as he lies in the closet. When the door finally opens, The Light stands in the doorframe. Lights come on in the closet ceiling as The Light walks into the closet carrying a tray.

  Nice trick of the light. Yuck, bad pun. Punishment. Too easy. Gotta be careful. I'm getting punchy.

  "Campion, are you all right? I've come to ask your forgiveness." The Light's tone of voice and body language has completely changed. "I now understand you've been sent to me as a test, a challenge from God. And so far I have failed that challenge. ‘If you love those who love you, what credit can you expect? Even sinners love those who love them. And if you do good to those who do good to you, what credit can you expect? For even sinners do that much... Instead, love your enemies and do good to them.' Luke six, thirty-two through thirty-five, mostly. In case you want to look it up later.

  "Anyway, I've come to ask you to enjoy this food, to break bread with me. I've brought my Bible, too, if you're willing to pray with me. The New Jerusalem Bible, my favorite translation. Translated into English from the French. It's a poetic translation.

  "Will you eat with me, Campion?"

  I will not answer. This guy is way out there. He's unstable, clearly believes his own shit. That means he's capable of anything. Well so am I.

  "Will you pray with me?"

  Five minutes go by in silence. />
  The Light sits and waits for BC to answer, then finally speaks himself.

  "You test me. Fine. I love you, Campion, did you know that? As Jesus loves you, so do I. You are the most despicable creature I have ever encountered. Did you know that? Yes, I give you that distinction. The greatest test of unconditional love I have ever faced. But I accept the challenge."

  Oh, this is so all about you...

  "I will leave you be, for now. I leave you the food, the bread, and the book, my Bible. I'll leave the lights on. I will have one of my brothers come in and loose your bonds enough for you to eat and to read. They'll take you to the bathroom, too.

  "I'd help you myself, but of course, then you could kill me. Jesus says I must love you, but I don't have to trust you blindly." The Light chuckles, "God respects intelligence."

  The Light gives him a long look, as if trying to see inside him. He breaks his stare, turns, and walks quickly out the door, leaving the light on as the door clicks shut behind him.

  Two of The Light's followers show up a short time after he's gone. Without untying him, they lift him to his feet and shuffle him down the corridor to a small bathroom. They allow him to go in alone with his left hand free, his right still tied by a long rope to the binds around his ankle.

  It's awkward, but BC makes it work. He can hardly turn around in the tiny bathroom space, but he manages and sits for some long anticipated relief.

  After he's done they tie his left hand to his right behind his back and lead him to his closet. When he's inside, one man stands guard at the door while the other unties both hands so he can eat and, presumably, read the Bible. They leave him alone and lock the door.

  What incredible hospitality! And so many entertainment options!

  BC picks up the Bible, looks at it for a few seconds, and drops it back on the floor next to the tray. There is food on the tray, and BC hasn't eaten. He's hungry, so he eats; a chunk of bread, a slice of cheese, some sort of grain patty, and a water pack. It's filling enough.

  After a while the two men return. They try to tie his hands again, but BC resists. One of the men grabs the tray and raises it in the air above BC's head, threatening to strike. BC relents. They tie his hands, a little looser than they were before. Then they turn off the light and leave him alone again in the dark.

  BC feels strange. Groggy.

  Stomach's kinda queasy. They may have put something in the food. Damn, I should have known... all that talk about love and meanwhile they're... uh oh. Try to hold on... Drugging me up, that's consistent with cult brainwashing techniques. Wow, hard to focus... losing my grip, my senses merging together somehow, memory, smell, feeling, emotions, all cascading, crashing together, mental noise, no filters no way to separate all of ithappens all atonce...

  When he comes to his senses, BC can't be sure how much time has gone by. He's alone, on the floor, in the dark.

  For how long? Probably six, seven hours... I don't know. Could be two days. More. No way to know when they start dosing you. Why don't they just kill me?

  The men come back, walk him to the bathroom and feed him. Then they leave him alone in the little room. The light stays on. He's got nothing else to do, so he leafs through the Bible.

  Blah blah blah. Irrelevant ancient mumbo jumbo. Wonder where I find the part about drugging your prisoners?

  BC flips the pages of the massive book, waiting for... something. Anything out of the ordinary. Any sign that they've dosed him again.

  Hmm. Nothing.

  He falls asleep. His guards wake him up.

  "Lunch!"

  Lunch? Already? That doesn't seem right. Too soon.

  They bring him to the bathroom again, and afterwards give him a tuna sandwich and some water. They leave him. He eats.

  No psychedelic breakfast... let's see how electric lunch is. Hmm. Good tuna.

  After about an hour, BC feels his stomach twitch.

  Uh oh.

  His gut clenches. His stomach feels like it's flipping over inside.

  Oh no... can't stop...

  "Huaugrlahun!" BC drops to his hands and knees, vomit erupting up out of him. There's no holding it in. "Huaurgurgh!" Puke spews from his mouth, splattering on the floor like a tuna smoothie.

  Oh my god, this does not feel right...

  He senses more than sees the door open, and a bucket is thrown in front of him as he begins to throw up again. "Hunh!" BC heaves.

  There's nothing left inside! Jesus!

  BC tries to sit up on his knees. Another gut-wrenching heave rips through him and he coughs out bitter yellow bile into the bucket. When it feels like it's over, he sits back up on his knees again. Two guards are standing in the doorway. The one on the right has another bucket and a mop. The guard on the left steps toward him offering him a water packet.

  I don't know if it'll stay down, but it's gotta taste better than this...

  He drinks it down quickly.

  Nope.

  His stomach turns over. He hurls most of what he just drank back up into the bucket.

  But it feels better than the bile...

  "Bad tuna," the guard who gave him the water says. BC just looks at him.

  Fuck you.

  The other guard moves into the room and starts mopping up the vomit. The smell is pungent, almost overpowering, like a steaming pile of rotting fish and vinegar. BC feels his stomach clench, but it eases. He sits back up. The guard with the mop looks at him.

  "C'mon!" He thrusts the mop handle into BC's hands. "Clean up your mess!"

  Fuck you. Ah, what the fuck.

  BC begins mopping up the floor.

  I've gotta stay here, might as well.

  He cleans up best he can. When he's done, the guard takes the mop back from him, and the other guard motions for BC to follow him out the door. BC complies, shuffling into the corridor. They lead him to the bathroom again, only this time the guard has a gun.

  What, lead pipes now going out of fashion? Wait... Is that my gun?

  "We're going to untie you, but I warn you, try anything and I will shoot you," the guard says, pointing the weapon at BC. He nods to the other guard, who bends down and begins untying BC.

  Tempting, but no. Foolish.

  The guard with the gun holds out a bundle, tossing it to BC when his hands are untied.

  "Clean clothes. Go ahead inside the bathroom, get cleaned up and changed. You have ten minutes. Any longer, I come in after you, and I will shoot you. Go ahead."

  Cool, my very own robe! Fuck. Might as well.

  BC cleans up and changes, gets tied back up and escorted back to his closet. Someone's come while he was in the bathroom and finished cleaning the room. It's better than it was, but it still reeks of sour, rotten fish.

  Did they do that to me on purpose? Hard to tell. Wonder if I'll be able to eat when dinner comes?

  BC waits for dinner. And waits. It seems like hours go by.

  How long has it been? I thought it'd be an hour or two at most.

  He paces the length of the closet a few hundred times. Bored, BC picks up the Bible again.

  I could read it, I suppose. Might help keep me sane, keep me focused.

  BC finds he can't really focus on reading.

  Ah, whatever. Can't concentrate. I'll try later.

  He sits and waits.

  This is ridiculous. I don't even feel nauseous anymore. Where are they?

  After another couple of hours, a guard opens the door.

  "Here's your dinner." He leaves a tray like the one the night before and leaves BC to contemplate whether or not it's dosed. And whether his time sense is off.

  Was it really that long a time? If I was talking I'd have asked him what kept him! The guard acted normal enough, not as if he was late. Damn, I'm hungry, though. Gotta eat this crap even if it is laced with some kind of holy bug juice.

  He waits again after eating to see if there is any strangeness.

  Hmm. Nope. Nothing. I don't think so. I...

  BC drifts off
and sleeps soundly.

  They serve him breakfast, lunch and dinner, over the next couple of days. Each time he eats he has to wonder if they dose him. They do dose him the second night, and BC finds it hard to focus the day after at all. He tries to clear his thoughts.

  The intervals of time between my ‘meals' don't seem regular. They lengthen and contract. They may be trying to fuck up my sense of time. Time is fluid, changing, unfixed and uncertain. How long have I been here, really?

  They leave the light on in his closet and give him day, turn it off for night accordingly, but BC is growing sure the intervals aren't consistent.

  Neither are the intervals between the times they wake him up, take him to the bathroom, and feed him. Sometimes it seems like only hours between his feedings and bathroom runs, sometimes it seems like a day or two.

  It might be four days, I don't know. They're definitely fucking with my time sense. I don't think they're giving me real "nights" and "days." And the food. I've tripped out at least a couple times. However long it's been... I haven't seen The Light again.

  Finally, The Light returns. It feels like a week later to BC, but he can't be sure.

  "Mr. Campion! Will you talk to me yet? Hello?"

  No.

  BC says nothing. After five minutes of silence The Light proclaims, "Very well, then. I'm having you cleaned up and brought to dinner with us tonight, whether you'll speak to us or not. I've been failing my Lord with you. I haven't had you at my table! We'll see you there tonight."

  Chapter Seventeen