The Power: Berkeley Blackfriars Book Two

by J. R. Mabry

  After a couple of quiet moments, an old woman shuffled out from behind the outcropping of rock. Her hands were misshapen, and as she came closer, Dylan could see that they were mere nubs. The scarring of her face confirmed that she was a leper, and not a modern one in remission. Dylan realized he was seeing some manifestation of the archetypal leper.

  In what was left of her gnarled fist, she clutched a worn burlap bag. She held it out to Jaguar, and he received it with a respectful bow. The woman turned and shuffled back to where she had come from. Jaguar, the toes of his paws more dexterous than they had any right to be, opened the bag and dropped its contents onto the floor of the cave.

  What seemed to be a fluorescent ball of slime hit the floor with a sickening “thuck” sound. Whatever it was, it was glowing bright green. Jaguar, using both front paws, gathered it up and dropped it into the abdominal cavity of the Dylan-body. Then he began to close the great flaps of skin, sealing them together with his breath.

  Once he was finished, the locus of Dylan’s consciousness descended, and he was aware of his immediate bodily sensations once again. Dylan shook his head and sat up. “Uh, buddy, was thet really necessary? ’Cuz thet was intense. It’s not somethin’ that friends typically do to each other. You know, evisceration.”

  Jaguar sat back on his haunches. “How do you feel?”

  “Ah feel weird.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Queasy. What did you just do to me, Jaggy? What was that green stuff?”

  “Your interior life had become disordered. I…straightened things up a bit,” Jaguar said impassively.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think you’ll find that orderliness and discipline come a little more easily for a while,” Jaguar said. “It will wear off if you don’t cultivate it. It will give you a head start, though.”

  “Head start? On what?”

  “The gift is another matter,” Jaguar said.

  “Are you talkin’ about the green stuff now?” Dylan asked.

  “Since you seem to have no power over your own appetites, the Powers have seen fit to begift you.”

  “Come on, Jaggy, begift ain’t even a word.”

  “They have done this because you are important. Because your life and your ministry matter to this world. It is not for you.”

  “Ah get that. It’s the message, not the messenger.”

  Jaguar gave a curt nod.

  “So, how will Ah recognize this gift, and how do Ah use it?”

  “There is nothing hidden that will not be revealed,” Jaguar said. And with that, he turned and walked past the outcropping of rock, out of sight.

  “Cryptic motherfucker,” Dylan sighed.

  60

  GETTING INTO SARAH’S CAR, Richard was awash in regret. He didn’t know why. A vague sense of unease filled him, a sadness, a poignant desire to have lived a different life. Richard was no stranger to such feelings. Generally, there was nothing to be done other than to focus on something else until they passed.

  He watched her face as the streetlights passed overhead. Shadows crossed over in a quick succession of lines. She looked over at him and caught him staring at her. “I think someone’s feisty,” she said, her lip curling in a smile.

  Richard noted that it must be projection since he was feeling little that could be termed “amorous.” In fact, going home with her, cute as she was, was so far from the top of his list that he could barely stand to do it.

  You think too much, Duunel said. Stop thinking. Stop feeling, too, while you’re at it. You’re ruining the mood.

  Richard did not reply—partly because, curiously, Duunel only seemed to hear if he spoke out loud, but also because Duunel did not pause long enough for a response. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid? he asked, and answered himself immediately, Not since 2002, just before I took up residence in the old Dane. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had red pussy?

  Richard wished he had a volume control. He didn’t need to turn Duunel off, just down. Since that was impossible, he turned his attention back to Sarah. “So, you do this often?” he asked.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Bring customers home,” he said.

  “Whenever I get the itch,” she said. “Or when I see someone…out of the ordinary.” She scrunched her nose. “I get bored.”

  “Is that why you aren’t partnered?” he asked.

  “You know what? You talk funny,” she said. “I’m guessing partnered is a San Francisco word. Very PC. Kinda like, equally applied to normal folks and faggots.”

  Whoo boy, Richard thought, sliding down in his seat. If there had been any lead in his pencil, it was gone now. He squirmed in his seat and began to panic about what he would do when they got to her house. There was no way in hell he could have sex with her. Her redneck attitudes repulsed him.

  No fair, Duunel said, noticing his reactions. You are not ruining this for me, asshole. I’ll fucking take you over.

  “I’d like to see you try it,” Richard whispered.

  “What was that?” Sarah asked.

  “Nothing. Um…how much farther?” he asked.

  “You are randy. I like that in a feller.”

  The hair on Richard’s neck stood up. He fought down a momentary feeling of panic. Something was not right about this. Sarah was acting like something out of a “Penthouse Letters” wet dream, not a real young woman. Of course, he knew that actual nymphomaniacs existed, but that they were also really rare. He also knew that the hookup culture among Sarah’s generation was far more casual than anything he had known at her age. That could account for it—but he didn’t trust it.

  Jesus, something isn’t right here, he prayed silently. I need you to stand with me now. Give me strength and wisdom—because I don’t trust what I’ve got.

  A couple of minutes later, Sarah drove through a gate that read, Rancho Ecbatana and pulled up to a small house set back a quarter mile from the road. In the flash of the headlights, Richard could see the outlines of a chicken coop and a large barn behind the house. Getting out, Richard noticed that there was not a single star in the sky. Intellectually, he knew that it just meant it was cloudy. Irrationally, however, the darkness around him seemed portentous. The fingers of his left hand started twitching, and his stomach was tied up in a knot. He willed it to relax. It refused.

  “C’mon then, sunshine.” Sarah waved toward the house. “I been runny for miles now.”

  Richard pursed his lips grimly. He didn’t know how he was going to pull this one off. He supposed he could think of someone else while they were doing it, but he hated doing that and had never been good at it. Just as they got to the door, she placed one hand on his shoulder and with the other felt for his cock through his cassock. She had a hard time finding it. She looked at him uncertainly. “We gonna have a problem, here, cowboy?”

  Richard just smiled in response, not sure what to say. He wanted to say, “Thanks for the lift. I think I’ll just walk from here,” but he knew Duunel would scream bloody murder, and he really didn’t want to hear it. Logic dictated that with about twenty minutes of honest effort he could satisfy both the demon in his head and the curious moisture problems of this young woman, and he could then get what he really wanted—a good night’s sleep, on the cheap, indoors. “Just gotta get the mood right,” he finally said.

  “Okay,” she said uncertainly. “Now before we go in, I got to prepare you. I forgot to mention that I gotta introduce you to the family. My mama and daddy are pretty strict about such things. And my brother is a little…slow…so the rules are very important for him.”

  “You introduce your one-night stands to your family?” Richard asked, aghast.

  “Them’s Daddy’s rules,” she said. “It’s the only place I got to bring you, so we gots to obey the rules. Daddy is the spiritual head of the family, after all, just like the preacher tells us.”

  “I…hadn’t taken you for a religious person,” Richar
d said.

  “I’ve had my doubts ’bout you, too,” she said. “Even if you do wear funny clothes.”

  Without bothering to unlock anything, she pushed the door open. The door squeaked on its frame, and it looked to Richard as if it might fall apart just by touching it. He followed Sarah into the house and was surprised to see that it was lit by kerosene lamps rather than electric lights. He wondered if this was a concerted effort on the part of the entire family to create an amorous mood for Sarah’s dalliances or whether they really lived that way. Both options seemed incredible.

  Sarah hung up her sweater on a coat rack and turned to face Richard. “I’m so happy to have you meet my folks!” she said and waved toward the couch.

  And that was when Richard saw them. Two figures, hand in hand, leaning in toward one another on a couch that looked like it had been in place since the 1970s. The figures had old, weathered skin, stretched tight and dry as dust. The eyes had long since rotted away, and their mouths hung open in a perpetual scream of despair.

  Nearly mummified now, the man looked far older than he must have been when he died. He was dressed in overalls and a plaid shirt. A gold-plated wristwatch hung limply from his bony arm. His wife wore a dress with a faded flower print. She must have been quite heavy in life, but decay had taken the cheese out of her, and Richard noted how her dress hung in bags around her.

  “This is my daddy,” Sarah said proudly. “He has one of them weird bible names—Raguel—but we just call him Daddy. You can call him Ragu, like the spaghetti sauce, or hey, just call him Daddy like I do.” She turned slightly and curtsied. “And this is my mama, Edna. Mama, say hello to…what was your name?”

  Richard could not look away from the couch. He could not speak. All he could hear was the voice of Duunel screaming in his head, Get the fuck out of here! There was a sane and oddly detached part of his brain that noted that if a demon is overwhelmed by a situation, it is a bad situation indeed. Richard said nothing. He felt nothing. His heart hammered in his ears.

  “There’s no reason to be rude,” Sarah scolded him. “Mama and Daddy, this is a priest-feller I met at the diner. I asked him to come home for a little bit of hospitality. I knew you’d understand. Y’all have a good evenin’, now.” She took Richard’s hand and pulled him deeper into the bowels of the house.

  Run, you little shit, run! Duunel screamed.

  “This way, sunshine.” Sarah waved him on. At the thought of what was behind the next door, Richard’s blood turned to water. He felt his knees buckle, and he grasped at a door handle to steady himself.

  Run, fuck you all to hell! Duunel screamed. Run, you bastard Christian cunt! Run!

  Richard mustered his will and sprang away from Sarah, toward the front door. Just as he was reaching for the handle, however, it opened by itself. Stepping into the frame was a hulking ox of a man, who scowled down at Richard with the amused curiosity of a child “experimenting” on an insect. His shoulders were misshapen, creating the effect that the man was the walking equivalent of a listing schooner.

  “Sarah, is this your new beau?” he called past Richard.

  “He is, Gabe. Do you like him?” Sarah appeared from the hallway.

  Gabe studied Richard’s face and clothing. “He’s old. An’ he’s wearin’ a dress.” He apparently decided that was funny because he started snorting.

  “He’s also trying to run away,” Sarah said.

  “Nobody likes rejection,” Gabe said, looking very disappointed in Richard. “You gonna make Sarah sad.”

  Do something! Duunel shrieked.

  “You do something!” Richard responded.

  “Who’s he talking to?” Gabe asked Sarah.

  Without thinking, Duunel raised Richard’s body into the air. Watching him rise, Sarah’s eyes grew large, and her mouth gaped open. Gabe jumped up and down and clapped his hands in glee. Unfortunately, Duunel raised Richard a little too quickly—his head struck the ceiling, his eyes rolled back, and his body fell into a crumpled heap at Mama’s and Daddy’s feet.

  61

  SUSAN RUSHED into the emergency room, with Brian struggling to keep up with her. She was breathless when she stopped at the desk. “Susan Melanchthon, here for Dylan Melanchthon. You guys just called.”

  The middle-aged brunette behind the desk pursed her lips and nodded. She looked down at her computer but then noticed Brian approach. Her eyes flitted to his hunched back and then to his eyes. Then back again to his back. “Do you…need to see a doctor?” she asked.

  Brian straightened up in surprise. Susan turned to face him, and they looked at each other. Then they both looked at the woman behind the desk. “Uh, no,” Brian responded. “Do you?”

  This apparently confounded the woman, so Brian clarified. “I’m with her.” He pointed to Susan. “Can you tell us where to find Dylan?”

  The woman looked down at her screen again. “Room 27. But please stay in the waiting room—the doctor will want to speak with you before you go in.”

  Susan and Brian exchanged worried glances at this. Susan nodded, and Brian, his hand resting paternally on the small of her back, walked her to the waiting room. They sat, knee to knee, and Brian held her hands.

  “He’s going to be okay, Susan,” he said.

  “Please don’t talk out of your ass,” Susan said, struggling to keep her tears in.

  “I’m sorry,” Brian said, looking down. “I’m saying it because I need to hear it.”

  “I know. It’s okay.” Susan looked out the window. “This is an excellent time for spiritual practice.”

  “It sure is,” Brian nodded. “What did you have in mind?”

  “Trust,” Susan said.

  “Let’s do that,” Brian said. They sat together in silence for several minutes. Finally, Brian said, “Trust is hard.”

  “No shit,” Susan said, looking away and wiping at her eyes. Her right leg bounced nervously.

  “Do you want me to pray?” Brian asked.

  Susan’s face bunched up with emotion. She nodded, finally looking at him. Neither of them closed their eyes, but Brian looked toward the ceiling. “Adonai, you’ve had your hand on Dylan for as long as we’ve both known him. Neither of us believes that you’re done with him. But we’re scared for him—and we’re also scared for us. Please help us now—give us courage, give us strength, and give us hope. Blessed are you, King of the Universe, for you have never abandoned your people.”

  “Amen,” Susan said.

  “Amen,” Brian echoed.

  “Susan Melanchthon?” a diminutive Asian woman called from the doorway.

  Susan and Brian rose together and rushed over to where the woman stood. The woman looked down at her clipboard as they crossed the room. As they approached, she looked up and gave them a grim smile.

  “I’m Susan. How’s Dylan?” Susan asked.

  “He’s resting comfortably,” the woman said. “He was assaulted earlier tonight.” She rifled through some of the papers on her clipboard. “He was in the People’s Park public lavatory when police found him. They called the paramedics immediately.”

  Susan’s hands went to her mouth, and she nodded at everything the woman said. Brian stood behind her, his arms around her shoulders, holding her tightly. “Is he all right?” she asked.

  “He’s suffered severe blunt-force trauma to his nuchal region.” She reached out and took Susan’s arm. “But please don’t worry. We did a CAT scan, and there’s no discernible spine or nerve damage. My guess is that he’ll make a full recovery, although there is the possibility that he’ll experience some cervicalgia or occipital neuralgia—those are some pretty fancy words for severe or persistent neck pain. He may also experience some headaches.” She withdrew her hand, but the worried look didn’t leave her face. “There is…something else. Something we can’t explain. Does Mr. Melanchthon have any drug allergies?”

  Susan shook her head. “No, not that I know of. And we’ve been married ten years. Why?”

  “We
administered some non-steroidal anti-inflammatory medication soon after he arrived, and he had a massive reaction to it. So much so that we had to administer epinephrine to combat the reaction. Then…he had a reaction to the epinephrine.” She looked chagrined and troubled.

  “Oh my God, what does that mean?” Susan asked. “Is he all right?”

  “We actually thought we might lose him, but he rallied. We’ve purposely avoided any medication beyond a simple saline drip. He’s just starting to come around. He’s likely to be very disoriented and might be frightened. I suggest only one of you go in for now.”

  “When can he go home?” Brian asked.

  “We want to keep our eye on him tonight, but if the swelling goes down and he doesn’t display any further signs of injury, you can take him home in the morning. Just…be careful with any medication you might give him. Even aspirin or acetaminophen might be life-threatening for him given his reaction to the ibuprofen we gave him earlier. I suggest you check in with his GP and get a referral to an allergy specialist as soon as possible. His drug reactions are…troubling. They’re not normal.”

  Susan nodded, and Brian squeezed her shoulders. “This way, please,” the doctor said and held the door for Susan.

  “I’ll be right here,” Brian said.

  Susan patted his hand and nodded, turning to enter the doorway. Once she did, the doctor rushed ahead of her and led her through the bustling ER, finally entering a room alive with electronic instruments and bisected with a teal-colored curtain. Sprawled spread-eagle in a bed was her Dylan, a nasal cannula resting on his upper lip.

  She rushed to him and sat on the side of his bed, taking his hand. She was careful not to move it very much, not wanting to disturb the IV. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the doctor pull the curtain to give them some privacy. A tiny, out-of-the-way part of her brain registered gratitude for that.