Brethren

by Shawn Ryan

  Chapter 22

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  The Boeing 757 taxied smoothly down runway number two at Atlanta's Hartsfield International Airport. Stephen stared out the window as the hostess reminded passengers to please stay seated until the pilot signaled all clear. As that message came over the loudspeaker, several people already were up and getting their belongings from the overhead compartments.

  One of these days, Stephen growled to himself, the stewardess is going to say that, people are going to stand up anyway, and the plane is going to smash headfirst into the terminal and all these jokers will be flopping in the aisles like chickens hit by a Mack truck. Serves 'em right.

  Stephen was not in the best mood of his life.

  After a week in the hospital, he'd had enough. Fatigue still ruled his body, but he damn sure wasn't going to spend any more precious time lying on his back in a near-paralyzed state of exhaustion. Dr. Janokowski never figured out what was wrong with him, but Stephen knew. The beast was buying time, playing games, torturing his intended victims. No more, Stephen swore to himself.

  Besides, there was no more time to waste.

  At three that morning, Stephen was shocked out of a deep sleep by a horrible dream. All he could remember about it was that Jason was in trouble and he was unable to help, unable to wake up. When he finally pulled himself into wakefulness, the sheets were drenched with sweat and his hair was plastered to his temples and the base of his neck. A familiar, evil taste lay fresh on his mind.

  During his three weeks in bed, Stephen told his daughter Anna to bring him a suitcase containing a couple of changes of clothes plus his toiletry items. He said he wanted them when he was strong enough to use them. He also told her to bring his wallet. When he left the hospital and climbed into the taxi he had phoned, he had everything he needed.

  Stephen knew the doctor would refuse to release him, so he released himself. He simply got up and walked out He was already in the elevator when the phone in his room started ringing.

  "Logan Airport," he told the cabbie outside the hospital. At three in the morning he boarded a direct flight to Atlanta.

  As Stephen waited for the plane to unload its passengers, his nerves remained tightly drawn. The muscles in his jaw clenched so hard they were making the top of his head hurt. The dull heat of exhaustion burned his eyes.

  Damn, damn, double damn. If I had told Jason everything when I should have, this wouldn't be happening.

  Of course it would, another voice inside him said. The beast hasn't given up in five hundred years, why should he give up now?

  Well, then, damn, damn, double damn for not telling Jason sooner so he could have been more prepared.

  The other voice was silent.

  Stephen stood up, pulling his coat and suitcase from the overhead compartment Walking off the plane and into the disembarking tunnel, his head hung low. God, he felt old, weak, and helpless. The picture of his own death kept flashing through his mind. Despite his fervent belief in an afterlife and his hopeful belief that he would end up in heaven, he wasn't sure he wanted to see God just yet. It wouldn't hurt to spend a few more years on earth, would it?

  He caught a taxi in front of the airport, gave the driver Jason's address and lay his head back on the seat. He fell asleep instantly. The cabbie woke him an hour later.

  Stephen walked slowly up the stairs to Jason's apartment.

  The sun was beginning to rise and birds chirped happily in the nearby trees.

  I wish I felt so happy, he thought as he dragged himself up the steps. Stop that, he quickly told himself. It won't do Jason any good if you're looking defeated.

  He straightened his posture, put rigidity in his spine and firmness in his jaw. Look the part, he thought, even if you're not sure you're capable of playing it.

  Standing before Jason's door, he dropped his case with a groan and looked at his watch. Six-fifteen. Would Jason even be awake? Too bad if he wasn't, because he would be soon.

  Stephen knocked. The door opened less than ten seconds later. A shocked look split Jason's face when he saw his father.

  "Dad!" he exclaimed. "What… how?"

  "I had this feeling you needed to talk to me," Stephen said with a weary smile. Then he collapsed into Jason's arms.

  When Stephen awoke, the first thing he saw was a beautiful woman standing over him. He smiled weakly.

  "I'm going to assume you're a friend of Jason's," he said. "I'm his father. My name's Stephen."

  "Hi. I'm Alex," she said. "How do you feel?"

  "Like hell. But that's an improvement."

  "You gave us quite a scare," Alex said. "But I'm glad to see you're okay. Is there anything I can get you?"

  "Some hot tea would be nice," he said.

  "You got it," she answered.

  Stephen looked around. He was lying in bed. Jason must have carried me in here, he figured.

  "How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

  "About eight hours," she answered. "Jason's been pretty frantic. He's phoned his work, told them he won't be there today. Now he's in the other room, talking to your doctor."

  Stephen frowned. "Damn. Now I'm going to get it from both Jason and Janokowski. I feel like a little boy who did something wrong."

  She laughed. "I'll try to keep Jason from lecturing you. Let me go get that tea," she said and started to leave.

  "Alex?"

  She turned to face him.

  "Something awful happened here last night, didn't it?" Stephen said. "Something neither one of you understands."

  Her eyes widened and she shivered. Wrapping her arms around her chest, she nodded slowly.

  "How did you know?" she asked.

  "It sort of runs in the family. After you get that tea, you and Jason come in here. I'll try to explain."

  When she was halfway through the door, he spoke again.

  "You're a brave woman to stick around," he said.

  "I love Jason," she said simply. "What else could I do?"

  A few seconds later, Jason raced into the room.

  "Are you okay? How do you feel?" he asked. "Do you need a doctor?"

  "Easy, easy. Calm down," Stephen said. "I'm fine. Just a little weak. The flight took it out of me."

  "Dr. Janokowski is incredibly pissed at you," Jason said. "He said you must have a death wish. He says to keep you in bed even if we have to nail the covers down."

  "We don't have that luxury," Stephen said somberly. "You and I have a lot of things to talk about. A lot of ground to cover. Starting with: What happened here last night?"

  Jason jumped slightly. "How did you know about that?" he asked in a whisper.

  Behind him, Alex entered the room carrying a tray holding a steaming cup of tea, a bowl of sugar, and a slice of lemon. A can of Coke also sat on the tray.

  "I didn't know how you liked it so I brought everything, Stephen," she said.

  "A dab of sugar and lemon is fine, thank you," Stephen said. He liked this woman already.

  Alex handed the Coke to Jason and began to prepare the tea. "Did you tell him about last night?" Jason asked her.

  "He already knew," she said.

  Jason looked at his father in amazement.

  "I'll explain later," Stephen said. "First tell me your story."

  Jason started speaking in a numbed monotone, but the horror of it soon crept into his voice. The story chilled Stephen, but didn't surprise him.

  As Jason spoke, Stephen noticed Alex stood behind his son, massaging his neck, stroking his hair. They often leaned against each other.

  His son was in love again, Stephen thought. How wonderful. And what shitty timing.

  "So what does it all mean, Dad?" Jason asked after finishing. "Alex and I stayed up all night talking about it, trying to reach some reasonable conclusion. We couldn't. Nothing was reasonable; nothing made sense. But you know what's going on, don't you? You can explain it, can't you?"

  Stephen sighed deeply.

  "Yes, I can," he finally said. "
But I doubt if the truth will seem any more reasonable or believable."

  Stephen looked at Alex.

  "You're a strong, courageous woman, Alex," he continued. "Even looking as rough as he does right now, I can tell how much you've helped my son and I'm grateful for it. Because of that, I'm giving you the chance to get out while you can. Whatever you thought happened last night, the truth is worse than anything you've imagined."

  Alex's face drained of blood, but she looked into Stephen's eyes as she handed him the tea. They were calm, unjudgmental, but compassionate, too.

  "I'm staying. Until the end," she said.

  Stephen stared hard at her for a few seconds, then nodded.

  He still felt hesitant. Ever since Jason's birth he had dreaded this moment, and here it was, staring him down. But the expressions on Jason's and Alex's faces were strained, drawn tight by worry, fear, and fatigue. They were good kids, Stephen thought. They deserved to know. To have a chance. Dammit all, he had put it off long enough.

  "So tell me, Dad, what the hell's going on?" Jason asked.

  Stephen shifted on the bed. The corners of his mouth set into a firm line, then he looked up and smiled humorlessly.

  "Basically, Son," he said, "you're a witch."

  Chapter 23

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  "A witch?" Jason said as the Coke supped from his fingers and onto the carpet, releasing a river of foam and fluid. He and Alex just sat there, staring at Stephen, who pulled himself up, reached down and righted the can, putting it on the nightstand.

  "Where are your paper towels?" he asked. "We need to clean this up or it'll stain."

  "What?" Jason answered blankly.

  "Paper towels," Stephen said. "Go get some paper towels or just a plain towel, Jason."

  "Oh, oh yeah," Jason said and got up. He wandered into the bathroom and returned with a hand towel. Kneeling, he blotted the mess on the carpet until it was gone. Tossing the towel into the bathroom, he sat back down on the mattress and stared at his father.

  "You can't be serious," he said.

  "I'm completely serious," Stephen said. "You're a witch. I'm a witch. Most of the men in our family have been witches, or at least the firstborn sons. Technically, we're warlocks since we're men. But the end result is still the same. You have powers that most people don't have and few understand or accept."

  Jason's mind sputtered and spit like a badly tuned engine. This just couldn't be. Even with all that occurred last night, he had secretly hoped for some sort of rational explanation, despite a little part of him that kept saying there was none. But a witch? That was insane. There were no such things as witches. He couldn't accept this. He wouldn't. He felt his face turning a deep, burning crimson.

  "Are you shitting me?" he said, his voice rising in pitch. "Are you trying to fuck with me? This is not funny, Dad. If you think it is, then you're sick. I don't need this kind of shit."

  He started to stand but Alex gripped his left arm.

  "I think you'd better sit down," she said. "Sit down and calm down."

  "Why?" he practically screamed at her. "So I can sit and laugh at my father's perverted sense of humor? I needed explanations, not jokes."

  "I don't think he's joking," Alex said. "Think about last night. Was that a joke?"

  "You believe him?" he asked. "Then you're as fucked up as he is."

  "What did you expect?" Alex asked, her anger rising. "Some sort of logical reason for everything? You're the one who's fucked up, not me. Not your father. You're the one who won't accept the truth when it's right in his face. Pace facts, Jason."

  "Why are you swallowing all this shit so easily?" he asked. "How can you believe crap like this?"

  "I grew up in rural Alabama, remember?" she explained. "For a long time there were spots where electricity didn't reach, and when it did, some of the older folks thought it was just this side of magic. My grandmother was one of those people. She believed wholeheartedly in the devil and his demons, in wood nymphs and ghosts and witchcraft. And I have reason to trust her opinions."

  Alex took a deep breath.

  "One time when I was staying with her, I heard a low thumping noise in the middle of the night," she said. "It came from out in the woods behind her house and it was accompanied by what sounded like moaning that rose and fell in volume. It woke me from my sleep and I sat up terrified, absolutely quaking in my sheets. I ran into her bedroom and jumped into bed next to her. She was awake, too, and she hugged me tight against her. I asked her what the noise was. She said not to worry about it, it would go away soon. It did and I fell asleep next to her.

  "The next morning she said she wanted to go pick some blackberries in the woods and asked me to come along. We walked through the woods for a while, passing several blackberry bushes without stopping, and came out into a small meadow, one I'd never seen before even though I'd been to her house a hundred times. In the middle of the meadow was a circular grass-covered mound about twelve feet high and thirty feet around.

  When I got a little closer to it, I saw the grass around it had been pressed flat, as if a lot of people had trampled it.

  " Indians were dancin' here last night, child,' she told me. 'It was their drums you heard.' I couldn't see any footprints, not even in the bare spots, so I said, 'Where are the footprints?' 'These Indians don't leave footprints,' she said. 'They ain't nothin' more than shadows that float above the ground. Been gone from these parts for 'bout a hundred years. 'Cept for that burial mound there. They come out every so often when the moon is right and the stars are lined up.'"

  "And you believed her?" Jason asked.

  "Totally. I'm not saying I believe every story she told me, but it's not as if I think they're all bullshit, either. Even folklore has some basis in truth. And I'm not so conceited as to think the human race understands all things about this universe."

  "She's right, Son," Stephen said calmly. "I didn't come all this way to lie to you. I didn't think you'd take this well, but it's something you've got to know if you're going to protect yourself."

  "The only thing I need to protect myself from is more of your bullshit," Jason said as he stormed toward the door.

  Stephen raised his right hand, palm outward, a bright blue glow forming around it. As the glow grew to a blinding intensity, Stephen clenched his fist. The door slammed shut and a flaming yellow corona formed along its outer edges. Sibilant hissing sizzled around the opening. When the light died a few seconds later, the door was gone, only a blank wall remained—except for the doorknob, which stuck out incongruously.

  Jason lurched to a halt, his whole body trembling. Then he walked to the wall and wrenched on the doorknob. It wouldn't turn. He yanked on it with all the muscles in both his arms. It wouldn't budge.

  Frustrated, he began feeling along the wall, trying to find the edge of the vanished door. Nothing was there. He began pounding on the wall with his fists, leaving indentations where his hands pummeled the Sheetrock. Small puffs of white dust spewed forth each time his fists hit.

  "That won't do any good, Jason," his father said. "You'll only end up bruising your hands, or hitting a stud and breaking something. You could bring the door back yourself, you know. You have the power. But you have to calm down first."

  Jason slowly turned and faced his father. His face drooped as comprehension finally took hold. How could this be? Why hadn't he known? Why hadn't his father told him?

  "Why?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Why haven't you told me this before? You've known. You've known ever since I was born, haven't you? If I've got these amazing powers, why did you wait until now? Why didn't you tell me before, so I could've been prepared."

  Fury, confusion, and fear all combined, and Jason erupted, grabbing his father's biceps and squeezing.

  "Goddam you to hell, old man!" he almost screamed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  Stephen gently pulled his son's hands off his arms. He could already feel the bruises forming. He pushed himself out of the bed and m
oved toward his son, but Jason backed away from him. Disgust, anger, and hatred were on his face. Stephen stopped. To pursue his son any more was useless.

  "You couldn't have saved them," Stephen said. "Even our power cannot raise the dead. Whether or not you knew about it would've made no difference. I said it then and I'll say it now: There was nothing you could do."

  "Maybe I would have sensed what was going to happen to them. I might have been able to prevent it," Jason sobbed.

  "No, you couldn't," his father said. "We can't see into the future. There are too many variables. Our gift operates in the here and now."

  "But why?" Jason asked again. "Why haven't you told me until now?"

  Stephen's shoulders slumped as he walked back to the bed and sat down, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. Finally he looked up. Age crept around the corners of his eyes and the edges of his mouth.

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time," he said. "This power sometimes skips generations. I really didn't know if you had it until now. There'd been some indications, but nothing concrete. Sitting here, with twenty-twenty hindsight, I now realize there were times when it was obvious you had the power. I just didn't want to believe it so I attributed it to something else."

  "For instance," Jason said.

  "Remember the time you got caught out in the snowstorm? You always wondered how I could've found you so far off the trail and buried under the snow. It wasn't just luck. I felt you, felt your heartbeat, heard your calls for help. I thought it was me, my power reaching out and finding you. Still, I knew it felt different, the energy was not like anything I'd ever experienced before. I figured it was my emotional state making me feel strange. Now I know it was you. I didn't find you; you found me."

  "But you're a priest," Alex said. "How can you be a witch, too? Aren't the two on opposite ends of the spectrum?"