by Athanasios
They passed stop signs, green traffic lights, red traffic lights, and Smokey continued to Want to leave you, don’t want to stay here, don’t want to spend another day here.
Each time he glanced at side roads or sidewalks, Kosta saw the Seeker. He would be coming out of a bar, or stepping into one, noting him with a backwards glance. At red lights, he walked in front of, or beside, the cab. He was almost always on foot, exiting or entering a building, though he also sat in storefronts or at restaurant tables. Adam wondered if he also heard, or even cared, that the Miracles Want to split now, I just could quit now, you’ve really got a hold on me, you’ve really got a hold on me, baby.
The fat businessman was never out of sight, and for once, Kosta was glad. He had to face this one and gather information. They were getting too close. He nearly lost Adam and he wasn’t going to go through that again. He had to find the source driving this search and cut off the head. The Four Seasons replaced the Miracles and Frankie Valli’s falsetto filled the car with his entreaty to Walk like a man, talk like a man, walk like a man, my son.
Once outside the city limits, Kosta struck out on a dry, country road until he reached an obviously abandoned stretch. All this time, Adam had said nothing. He stayed close to Kosta and held onto him. Kosta switched off the radio, ending Frankie’s advice. Adam looked up at him and asked a simple question, which he could not easily answer. “Why don’t they care about hurting?” Kosta could only respond with a partial answer.
“It’s not important to them. There is no other explanation, Adam. They just don’t care.” Kosta continued with a question of his own. “You understand that the Seeker is still with us, don’t you?” Adam nodded.
“Now, I have to learn a few things from him, and since he listens to you, you have to ask him the questions.” As he related this to Adam, he reached between them and popped the catch of his arsenal, choosing his pocket blunderbuss, a few vials of holy water and a hatchet.
He slowed and stopped the cab beside a grey, dilapidated barn. Beside the barn, he could see the foundation of another building long ago fallen to time. From behind the barn walked the fat businessman, looking like he just returned from lunch.
Kosta shifted into park and stepped out of the cab, Adam by his side. He placed the hatchet in his belt and kept the handgun by his side. All fear was gone, his implements replacing it. The physical aversion was also gone. Now, he could concentrate on the battle. He stopped, twenty feet from the barn, ten from the Seeker.
“Adam, are you ready?” Kosta asked. The boy determinedly nodded in affirmation. “Now, repeat after me. What do you want to do with Adam?” The boy repeated the question, parrot-like.
The Seeker responded in his rumbling voice. “You are to accept your rightful place with our people on earth. When you mature into a man, you will rule in the name of the Great Leviathan.”
“Who has called you into this realm?” Adam struggled with the last part, but came close enough for the Seeker to understand.
“The temporal lord, the Supreme Tribunal Balzeer McGrath. He made the necessary sacrifices and I stand before you.” The Seeker felt confident of his mission and thought that by bringing the young prince to his rightful place, he would earn glory in hell.
“What sacrifices?” Adam asked out of his own curiosity.
“The blood of three unconsecrated children brought me before you.”
“Three children died to bring you here?” Adam’s mouth gaped in disbelief.
“Yes, lord, as well as many others. I am not the only one looking for you. There are hundreds like me, all hoping to bring you back.”
“Hundreds? You killed hundreds for me?” Adam looked horrified as he internalized the implications. His young mind reeled. Now he understood what Kosta tried to explain about not caring for anything other than their love, and selfish nature of that love. Adam could never be anything than what they wanted him to be. Never.
“Why? Why did you kill and hurt so many people?” Adam began to shake and fell to his knees, crying. He could think of little besides the dead children.
“How did they die?” Kosta’s question came as a surprise, but Adam repeated it as instructed.
“They were flayed and drawn and quartered. Their arms and legs were torn from their bodies.” The Seeker recounted this with pride. “One must be very specific in the conjuring of a Seeker. Not only is the blood required, but also the proper amount of anguish, pain and fear.”
“You do it for the hurt? You want the pain?” Adam did not believe it was possible to feel sicker.
“Adam,” Kosta spoke softly, not wanting to startle him. “This is the nature of those you were born to. They prey, thrive and live on misery. That is their pleasure and life. It is everything: food, love, water and the very breath they take. I was wrong when I said that they didn’t care about suffering. They want it. It is what they want, above all else.”
“Why? How?” Adam searched for a question that could explain all this horror. “How do you do it? How do you cause such pain and awful horror?”
“When you become who you are fated to be, sire, you will know the sharpness of fear, the joy of pain and the aroma of agony. One day, you will feel all of these pleasures and understand why. You are still human, however, you will evolve into your true self. Even now, the Darkness inside you knows and squirms as we speak of this.”
Adam looked up quizzically and searched within himself to see if the Seeker was right. Indeed, the Darkness did squirm, but not for the reason stated. It squirmed in an attempt to keep the Seeker from harming Adam. Adam’s pain was its own and it wanted to end the anguish.
“You’re wrong about that. Adam is not like you and he’ll never be like you,” Kosta stated.
“I’ll never want anybody’s pain,” Adam agreed.
“It is part of you. One day, you will give into it and you will know what no human can tell you. You will know what it is to feast on a soul, on someone’s life, and to feel their pain, fear and anguish. You will know.”
“Enough of this!” Kosta contained himself for long enough. As his anger exploded, he shot the Seeker in his fat kneecap who dropped to the ground shrieking like a little girl. Kosta quickly closed the distance between them and fired into the other knee. Two more shots followed, one in either wrist. The Seeker squealed and squirmed, but didn’t die.
“This will not kill me, meat. I will find you again and delight in your pain, even more than I would have before.”
“Do those shots look like they were meant to kill you, idiot? I only want your attention. Now, where do I find those who sent you and the others like you?”
“You will die like a rutting pig! We will trample your bones and grind you into dust!” the seeker spat at him and Kosta pivoted out of the way.
“Adam, I still need you,” Kosta said apologetically. “I’m sorry, but we need to stop them from hurting others. I need you to ask him where his masters are. Where is this Balzeer McGrath?”
In almost a whisper, Adam asked where Balzeer was. It was all that was needed and the Seeker instantly responded, cursing himself.
“What is the address, the city? Where are they?”
“They are in your city of San Francisco. They live in a mansion in an old section of the city. That is all I know. I do not know the address; I only know how to get there. I do not know of these things.”
Kosta took the hatchet from his belt and swung, but stopped short. Adam stood in front of him, facing the Seeker. “Adam, step away from him. I don’t want you to be hurt.”
Kosta touched Adam’s shoulder and was about to pull him away when Adam said, “No. This one hurt us. He hurt many. He must feel the pain and agony he so loves.” Adam refused to move or to say anything more. He stared at the Seeker and the Seeker screamed. It continued to scream, and this time, Kosta could hear it. Adam was always able to hear but now he didn’t care. Adam wanted to rid the world of this filth.
The Darkness took control of Adam and reache
d out and obliterated the Seeker, bit by bit. Though Kosta couldn’t see what Adam was doing, he caught glimmers of it. Since Adam was so small, he could not destroy him all at once. Rather, it happened in small increments. The torture was far worse than that which had been used to summon the Seeker.
It fed on him. If the Seeker had a soul, it would have been consumed. The seeker would cease to exist. Normally, when a Seeker was killed, it was sent back to Hell. The pain it felt was physical, a mere annoyance. Adam’s Darkness obliterated this Seeker, completely removing him from existence — past, present and future. He would not even be a memory.
It took over three hours. Kosta tried to get through to him, but Adam stood his ground. He did not even look when Kosta knelt in front of him and took his face in his hands and shouted, “Adam, please don’t do this! Stop now! Don’t finish this! I beg you!” Kosta couldn’t feel Adam’s breath and his face was cold. Kosta continued, “Adam, stop this! Stop! This will scar you forever. Please!”
Adam’s Darkness did not listen, but continued the grisly task. There were simply some things that could not be changed, no matter how hard a person tried. No fate and no soul could change it. Some things simply happened and absolutely nothing could correct them.
- Vantage -
TIME: FEBRUARY 8TH, 1963. HALL OF RECORDS, SAN FRANCISCO, U.S.A
Serita Peres looked at the four people waiting in line then addressed the person in front of her. The vieja pouta, old whore with a coiffed beehive of tired, blue hair, eyes hidden behind black, horn-rimmed glasses, wanted to know why her neighborhood was being taken over. They were moving in all over the place, she said. She turned slightly then leaned closer to Serita and whispered, “The one in this line stinks of fried chicken and watermelon.” Her wrinkles jiggled as she chuckled at her joke.
“Excuse me?” Serita stepped back from the blue-haired lady. “I would appreciate you being more civil with your choice of language, Mrs…” she looked down at the name in the request form, “Oh, Mrs. White.” Mrs. White. It was just too funny, too much. “Now, that attitude might be fine where you live, but here in the hall of records, we are required to overlook everyone’s ethnic background. Is that clear?”
“Oh yes, that’s fine.” Mrs. White knew that she must agree. She just wanted this fucking spic to do her job and not get all high and mighty.
“It’s just that they’re not like you and me. They don’t take pride in their surroundings. Even their little nigglets run around like animals.”
“What did you say?” Serita’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. “Nigglets? What’s that?”
“Their kids. Their little ones. They scare me. They run around unattended, their fathers out stealing or getting high, their mothers whoring and drinking.” Mrs. White continued to speak under her breath, not wanting to take too long, or for the blackie, standing behind her in line, to hear.
“That’s enough, Mrs. White. Now, I will not warn you again. You need to stop referencing people of color in that manner.” Serita completely agreed with Mrs. White, and secretly, she stifled a laugh when the old crow referred to little black kids as nigglets. She’d have to remember to tell her husband about that. “Do I make myself clear?” She had to put this one in her place though. If it wasn’t the blacks, it was the Hispanics. If it wasn’t either of them, it was the Irish, the Chinese, the Protestants, anybody who was different.
“Here are the documents you requested, ma’am.” She had to push the woman away. Gringos were all like old Mrs. White, hating anybody who didn’t look like them.
She motioned for the next person in line to advance and was surprised when a tan, athletic man stepped up to the counter, holding onto a little boy. She thought that the next person in line was black. The vieja pouta must’ve thought that too, otherwise, she wouldn’t have spoken so quietly.
“What is it that you require Mr…”
“Russell, ma’am, just Russell.” The little boy could not see past the top of the counter, so he turned around and watched the line of people, queuing to be served.
“I am looking for various buildings, or residences, that would fit the following requirements.” He handed her a list and Serita scanned it briefly.
“This is quite a request, sir. It will take some time and it will not be free.” Serita thought that this might dissuade Mr. Russell from pursuing his request further.
“How long and how much money would it take?” He didn’t seem to mind the wait. Serita looked at the list, then jotted a few points of her own on her notepad.
“It will take about a week and will cost eighty-seven dollars, sir.”
“That certainly seems reasonable.” His reaction was devoid of surprise or irritation. He conveyed none of the negative emotions that Serita was used to dealing with. “Do you need the money now, or upon completion of the task?”
“No, the money is required upon completion of the task. Is there a telephone number at which you can be reached?”
“No, ma’am, not yet. I just arrived and I’m looking for a place to stay. That’s what the list is for.” At that, Russell smiled slightly, putting Serita at ease. “I’ll be back next week. By that point, hopefully, you’ll have the addresses. Thanks for your time.”
TIME: FEBRUARY 6TH, 1963. OUTSIDE TONY’S TVS, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, U.S.A
Mildred Palfreeman was confused. She stood, watching a television through a store window. She was trying to figure out which program was on those new color TVs on display. On the screen, people walked toward to a man behind a table, looked surprised, then at times, laughed and walked away, obviously embarrassed.
She watched only the best shows on her black and white television. The variety shows were her favorites. Red Skelton was still a riot, and in her books, Ed Sullivan would be king till kingdom come.
That color television sure looked good. She had no idea what she was watching, but envied anyone who had one of those beauties. It was like watching reality. The skin tones made the rest of the colors come to life.
“It’s Candid Camera.” The voice made Mildred jump out of her skin. She looked to the left and to the right, but saw no one. Then she looked down and saw a brown-haired boy no older than eleven or twelve.
“What was that? What did you call it?” Mildred asked.
“Candid Camera. That’s the show that’s on right now. They set up different situations in front of a hidden camera, film the results and basically trick and make fun of people.” The boy continued to watch the show with her.
“But that doesn’t sound too nice.” Mildred pursed her thin lips and scrunched her nose below her round glasses. “It sounds plain mean and hurtful to make fun of and mislead people like that.”
“Most people are good sports about it. Those who aren’t have the choice of not being included in the show, so it’s pretty fair. What do you watch?” he asked.
“Oh well, I like the variety shows, like Ed Sullivan and Red Skelton,” Mildred stated smugly.
“Did you ever watch Perry Como or Joey Bishop? They’re great. Como, not so much, but Bishop is really funny. He’s Frank Sinatra’s good friend, did you know that?” Mildred had to admit, the boy was engaging; he talked like all he ever did was watch television. “They’re not as big as Sullivan or Skelton, and their guests aren’t as famous, but they’re overlooked. Except for Bishop. He seems to be able to get Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis Jr. and Peter Lawson on any time.”
“Sammy Davis Jr.? You like him? He’s just not my cup of tea.” Mildred raised her slim nose at the thought of watching a colored.
“Why? Is it because he’s colored? Well, whatever. He’s a really good entertainer; you should give him a chance.” The boy’s enthusiasm was undiminished. Despite herself, Mildred warmed to the idea of allowing Sammy Davis Jr. and Joey Bishop’s friends to entertain her.
Over the last few weeks, she’d taken to standing on the sidewalk, watching the color televisions for a few minutes. She would put on her semi-for
mal dress — the one she sometimes wore to the office — and wish upon the storefront.
She was a thin woman in her late-twenties. She wasn’t married, but thankfully, she’d done well in a secretarial course and now served as a personal secretary to the executive of an insurance company. She neither loved nor hated her job; she simply went to work and did whatever was asked of her. There was no drama or excitement in her life, and this was why she loved her television and apartment. Everything was just as she liked it.
Despite not having any friends, she did not feel alone. There were a few people at work with whom she was friendly, but none who would miss her, or she them.
Even so, she shot a few glances at the boy next to her and delighted in his company as they both continued to watch the show. When Mildred heard a man’s voice beside her, she nearly jumped. She looked at him as he spoke and thought she saw a resemblance to the boy, not in countenance, but in stance and attitude.
“What’s on, Adam? Anything I would like?” the man asked. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t asked for the boy’s name, or he for hers.
“It’s Candid Camera. It’s been on for about two years now and they’ve been playing tricks on people the whole time. It’s really funny,” Adam said with a smile and nodded at Mildred.
“Who’s the rest of the audience?” the man asked, and despite herself, Mildred offered her name as requested.
“Mildred Palfreeman. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Kosta, ma’am. That young man, with whom you’ve been enjoying Candid Camera, is Adam.” He remained formal, not wanting to make Mildred uneasy with an overly familiar tone.
“Ma’am? My goodness, don’t call me that. I’m not old enough to be called that. My mother is ‘Ma’am.’” Mildred never flirted, but there was something about this man she found appealing. He was tan and walked and moved with an unconscious grace.
“My apologies, ma… miss. I didn’t mean to cause offence. Please forgive me. I’ll take Adam now and we’ll be on our way. Come, Adam, you can listen to the radio in the car. I think they’re playing a new Elvis song from his latest movie.” The man looked at the boy, who brightened up like a light bulb and walked away from Mildred, who turned, red-faced, in the opposite direction as the televisions in the store window flickered to the next embarrassing encounter.
