by Joey Ruff
“Can you find out?”
“I know a guy. From the old days.”
“One of your secret pals?” I asked. There was a part of his past that he didn’t talk about.
“No. From the Hand. I’ll put in a call when we get back to the house, but I don’t think he’ll see us until morning. We should see him before we go to the Siren’s Song. It’ll be best to face Lorelei knowing what we’re up against. If she is involved…”
“She’s not.”
“Jono, she used to partner with Bogeys. If one really is behind this…”
“She’s not involved. She may have been mixed up with some sodding idiots in the past, but not now.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I hoped so too. I took a deep breath and clicked the radio on, rolled down the window and let the cold night air sweep across us. I could smell the sea air as we drove, and it was comforting. “I know I am,” I said.
I had to be.
28
I didn’t sleep long before Ape woke me, shaking me until I rolled over and half-opened my eyes. “Are you awake?” he asked.
I moaned something incoherent.
“You need to wake up. I called my guy. We’re meeting him downtown at eight. I thought you might want some breakfast.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” I grumbled.
“Just get up.” He stood, moved to the door.
“Where are we meeting him?”
“Downtown.”
“You said that already. Where at?”
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s near a coffee shop.”
“This is Seattle, Mate. Everything’s near a coffee shop. You’re avoiding my question.” I cracked my eyes open and looked toward where he’d been standing. Gone. “Fucking brilliant.”
I rolled out of bed and into the shower, feeling better as the steaming water massaged my battered body. I fought not to fall asleep standing up. One more day, I told myself. We’re close. I just need to get through this, put it to bed, and then hopefully I can get some rest. I was taking a four-day weekend when this was done, hibernating in my basement until the pain and fatigue was replaced with something…fucking happier.
I shut the water off, put on a fresh pair of jeans and a grey shirt. I ran a brush through my hair, laced up my hiking boots, and grabbed my Kevlar vest from the closet before I headed upstairs.
Ape was already waiting outside with the Lamborghini idling and ready. I tossed my gear from the El Camino in the back. As I threw on my jacket against the brisk, chill air, I looked past Ape to the barn. No candles burned. No signs of life stirred within.
“What’s the deal with Crestmohr?”
“What, like how much do I pay him? I’m not sure I want to share that information with you.” He’d dressed in black slacks and a white buttoned-down shirt, worn casually open at the neck, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a black fedora on his head.
“No. Why would I care how much you were paying him?” I stopped for a second. “How much are you paying him, anyway?” Ape just shook his head. “Nevermind that,” I said. “I mean, like what’s his deal? Who is he?”
Ape shrugged. “He’s a Chinook groundskeeper. I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”
“Why did you hire him?”
“He came with the house. Why are you so curious all of a sudden?”
“He talked to me last night.”
“Nobody allowed to talk to you now?”
“Shut up.”
“Are you ready to go? Get in the car.”
“You’re awfully antsy today.”
Conversation was scarce on our way into town, and that was fine with me. I started off watching the trees and houses roll by for a few minutes before I shut my eyes and turned the world off, finding comfort in the warm air blowing out of the vents in the dash and the mechanical purr of the engine. When we got into town, we hit a drivethru and Ape bought me a greasy breakfast and a large coffee.
Yes, I eat nothing but shit food and coffee. So what? Guys in my line of work, there’s no retirement package. Sooner or later, the fatality rate was a hundred percent. My unofficial motto: eat crap food, bed beautiful women, and slaughter as many unholy sons-of-bitches of the Midnight as I can. Life is short. Insert your favorite slogan here.
As he pulled out of the parking lot, I asked, “So you never told me where we were going.” I took a sip of coffee and registered the hesitation on his face.
He looked over at me, lifted an eyebrow thoughtfully. “I guess you can’t go anywhere now. You’re already in the car.” He paused and said, “We’re going to St. James.”
“They have a memorial hospital now?” I asked through a mouthful of egg and cheese. “Or maybe it’s a cemetery?”
“It’s the church, Jono.”
St. James Cathedral was located in the heart of Downtown, not too far from my office. The church was one of those large, architecturally impressive structures, known for the elaborate parapets and battlements, and better suited in Renaissance Europe than a big, modern city like Seattle.
Tourists stopped by to take photos, in part because it was one of the oldest, most historic buildings in the city, and because the building was so fucking pretty.
A few years back, one of the priests tried to hire me. Several members of the congregation were healed from cancer when a statue started to cry blood. A week later, someone close to each of them dropped dead. I don’t know how it all turned out.
I don’t work for the Man upstairs.
The fact that Ape was taking me there, well, made me feel a little betrayed.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “You wouldn’t take me to a church.”
He smiled faintly. “Father Austin Finnegan is a good friend of mine. That ritual, if anyone knows about it…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll wait in the car.”
“If we’re dealing with a Bogey, Jono, fear comes with the territory. But I certainly doubt a church is something you should be scared of.”
“It ain’t the church, Mate,” I said and left it at that.
“You’ve got questions. Father Finnegan has answers.”
I took a deep breath, knowing he was right, and just said, “Fuck you, Ape.”
He smiled and kept driving, pulled up a short time later in front of the impressive Cathedral.
As we got out of the car, I stood there and studied the building for a minute, feeling something strange, dark, and ominous toward the old stone structure. It felt…like a prison. “So we’re going in there, huh?”
“Suck it up,” he said, moved past me.
Ape went to the side door, and I followed, kicking my heels. He knocked three times, and a kindly nun greeted us with a smile. She must have been in her seventies, the face of a genteel grandmother with large, soft eyes who was dressed neatly in her habit. “Good morning,” she said. “How can I help you?”
“Father Finnegan is expecting us,” Ape said.
“Oh,” she said, as if just handed an unexpected gift. Then she must have noticed Ape, I mean really noticed him, as her eyes grew wider as she took in the copious amounts of coarse hair that covered him like a wool coat, especially visible on his exposed arms, the nape of his neck, the open collar of his shirt. “You…aren’t wearing any shoes,” was all she said.
Ape smiled. “No ma’am. I have sandals in the car, if you prefer.”
“It’s a house of God, son,” she mused. “I’m sure Jesus was barefoot plenty in his day, too. What with all the foot washing in the Gospels. Think nothing of it.” She looked him in the eyes and smiled. “I can tell by your eyes that you have a kind heart. Bless you.”
“Thank you,” he said humbly. I felt a little awkward, watching the exchange.
“He’ll be in his office. Why don’t you follow me?”
She turned and disappeared into the shadow of the building, and Ape followed without reservation. I hesitated. It had been a long, damned time since I’d set foot inside a church,
and kinda wanted to keep it that way. As I stood on the threshold, part of me felt like an alcoholic, sober for decades, about to fall off the wagon.
Ape turned to me after a few steps. “You coming?”
“What the fuck,” I said and stepped inside, half expecting to be smitten dead like Ananias and Sapphira in the Book of Acts. But I wasn’t. Whatever bad blood there was between me and the big guy, he wasn’t holding any fatal grudges. Thank God. Err…whatever.
The church was bigger than it looked on the outside, and the nun led us through hallways, past closed doors bearing name placards of clergy.
“What brings you by the church so early on the weekend like this?” she asked. “Are you members of the Congregation? Or…,” she hesitated, possibly noticing my Kevlar vest, “Police?”
“No,” Ape said. “Austin and I are old friends. He asked me to swing by and see him.”
“Oh, how nice.”
She stopped before a closed door, and the sign on the front told us we were at the right place. She knocked, and a voice inside said cheerfully, “It’s open.”
Ape opened the door, and we walked in.
Father Austin Finnegan was probably in his midthirties, athletically-built, clean-shaven, and his sandy hair was cut short, brushed up and off of his forehead. He was dressed in priestly black with the traditional white collar and stood in the middle of his small office atop one end of a two-foot wide strip of fake green putting grass, club in-hand.
He looked up as the door opened and broke into a wide grin, all polished-perfect white teeth. He leaned his club against the front of his desk and said, “Terry!”
“Austin,” Ape said. “Thanks for seeing us.”
“Come in, come in.” He moved toward us. “Close the door.” He looked past us to the nun. “I’ve got it from here, Sister Margaret. Thank you.”
She closed the door, entombing us all in the parish office.
The priest noticed me and said, “Ape, you brought company.” Then before Ape could say anything, he held out his hand and said, “Father Austin Finnegan.”
I took the proffered hand. “Jono.”
“Any friend of Terry’s… Have a seat.”
“Wish we could.”
He shrugged. “Your message said something about an urgent question? I take it this isn’t just a social call?”
Ape shook his head.
“So, straight to business?”
Ape looked at me. We didn’t have too much time to play catch-up. I gave him a look that said so. I didn’t exactly feel comfortable here.
“I promise,” Ape said, “we’ll meet up soon for coffee.”
Austin’s smile never wavered. “Fair enough. Business then. Do you mind if I play through while we talk?” He moved to his putter.
“No, of course not.”
“Wait,” I asked. “How do you guys know each other?”
“I told you. We were in the Hand together.”
“Of course, it’s been some years,” Finnegan added. “Long, long ago.” He turned to me. “You know of the Hand?”
“Allons, Dieu ayde,” I said, quoting the motto in French.
“You were in it.” He looked at me for a moment, studied me. “Of course you were.” Then he looked at Ape. “This is Swyftt.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or impressed. Apparently, my reputation preceded me.
“Wait,” Ape started to say, but Finnegan cut him off.
“It’s fine,” the priest said, motioning with one hand toward Ape. “Without going in to too much detail, Jono. I’ve heard Ape tell stories. But it’s all good, don’t worry. The way he tells it, you’ve had his back more times than he can repay.”
I looked at Ape, but he didn’t meet my eyes. Then I looked back at Finnegan, slightly bewildered. “Glad to know that hasn’t escaped him.”
Finnegan glanced at Ape curiously. Then nodded and turned his attention to the floor, rolled a golf ball into place on the mat with the head of the club.
“So you were in the Hand?” I asked.
He chuckled a little, took a practice swing with his club, the tip inches away from the ball. He didn’t look up as he said, “In many ways, I still am. I’m just not in the militant branch of it anymore.”
“I didn’t know there was a Diplomatic wing.”
“You could call him…Human Resources,” Ape said.
He paused and looked up at us. “Think of me as a recruiter.”
“Oh,” I said. I understood exactly what that meant. “I knew a guy that did the same. In London, back in the early nineties.”
He’d lined up for his putt and drew the club back, but didn’t swing. He looked at me instead, a light going on in his eyes, his brow raised in a hint of surprise. “So you’re also that Swyftt,” he said. “Tobias Finn’s boy.”
I nodded.
He flashed me a smile. “I’ve heard stories about that thing at the Vatican.” He looked down at the ball, took the putt.
“Well, to be clear,” I said. “I’m not that Swyftt anymore.” I turned to face the door, realized there was nothing there to pretend to study or look at, and then turned to the nearest bookshelf, after giving Ape a look of “Let’s move this along.”
“For what it’s worth,” Finnegan said. “I’m very sorry for what happened.”
“We don’t talk about that,” Ape said.
I don’t tell that story. I didn’t like being around when other people told it for me. They weren’t there. They don’t know how it went down. I was a priest and ended up in a coma for three fucking months. At the end of it, I had a vision or some shit and met God, just like Job. I turned in my collar after that.
“Ask him about the ritual,” I said, not bothering to look at them.
“Ritual?” Finnegan asked. “Right. Business.”
“We’re on a case,” Ape said. “Missing children. One of the informants said something about some ancient magic. Something called the Dark Communion.”
I looked toward Finnegan in time to see his face turn ashen white. He wobbled on his feet a little, and then leaned back against his desk to steady himself. “Are you sure that’s what they said? How did they use it exactly?”
“A Korrigan said whoever was taking the children was using the Dark Communion,” I said. “Using it on homeless people, mostly.”
“Shit,” Finnegan said. I smiled. I liked hearing a priest curse.
“How does it work?” Ape asked. “And what is it?”
“Well,” the priest said. He fell silent a moment, his eyes roving across the floor. “How to say this….” He spread his hands out before him. “Ancient, yes. Magic…that’s debatable.” He took a deep breath.
“You’ve heard of the sacraments? The Eucharist?” Ape and I nodded.
“Holy Communion,” I said.
He nodded. “Mark 14:22-24. Jesus and his disciples came to Jerusalem to celebrate Passover, and in the upper room, Jesus breaks bread and passes it, saying, ‘Take it; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, and they all drank from it. He said to them, ‘This is my blood of the covenant, which will be shed for many.’ They ate together, and they drank together.”
“The Last Supper,” Ape said, looking at me.
“Jesus then instructed His disciples to ‘Do this in remembrance of me.’ There are denominations,” Finnegan continued, “Baptists and the like, that take communion as a symbol of the body and blood of Christ. To them, it’s nothing more than a metaphor. But as Catholics, we believe in the idea of transubstantiation, meaning that upon partaking, the bread, the wine, are literally transformed into the objects that they represent.”
“So, it’s not bread anymore,” Ape said.
“It’s actually the body of Christ.”
“That’s stupid,” I said.
“It’s faith.”
I didn’t have faith anymore. I didn’t need it. Faith was believing, despite the odds, a
nd I knew for a solid fucking fact that the Big Man was there. The reason I couldn’t be a priest anymore was because I didn’t like the bastard. I couldn’t shepherd people into loving Him when I hated the fucker myself.
I looked away and heard him take a slow, steady breath. “The Dark Communion,” he continued. “Is partaking of the body and blood of sinful man.”
It explained the house. The bones, the bodies. Fuck, even the half-eaten rats in the basement meant that between kids the tramp was likely eating jerky when he couldn’t get steak.
“God created man to be perfect,” Finnegan said. “Because of Original Sin, Adam and Eve’s eating of the fruit in the Garden, humanity is flawed, inherently dark, corrupted. But Jesus was perfect, and the Eucharist is a…well, I guess you could call it a ritual of the church, used for atonement.” He set his putter to the side and walked around the desk to his chair.
“That by eating the body of Christ,” Ape said, “You become more like Christ.”
“Yes,” Finnegan said. He opened a drawer and started rifling through its contents. “Because man is sinful, eating…flesh…” He said the word like it left a horrible taste on his tongue. “…is the same as giving in completely to sinful nature, in effect shunning the redemption of Christ.”
“And you become a beast,” I said, remembering that fucking bigfoot thing in Stone’s neighborhood. “A Wendigo.”
The priest shut one drawer and opened another, dug through that one as well. “At its furthest extreme,” Finnegan said. “Yes. But there’s a metamorphosis that takes place. A hibernation.”
“A cocoon,” Ape breathed, his eyes suddenly going wide. He looked at me suddenly. “Butterflies,” he said.
“Fantastic,” I said. “Rainbows!”
“No. Butterflies and moths. Their cocoons are made of silk.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Silk, Jono.” He arched an eyebrow at me.
“Like….”
He nodded. Like the room in the fucking house. “Pearson must have been getting ready to hibernate, ready to change,” Ape said.
“Ah, here it is,” Finnegan said suddenly. He held up a little business card with a single, ten-digit number printed on it. “I’ve gotta call the Hand on this. It’s big. It’s…”
