by Ren Hamilton
The apparition turned slightly, and all of its eyes, including the multitude on its wings, focused on something to its right. Tiny bolts of electricity, like heat lightning sparked out from the white fire that encircled it, like it was charging energy.
Then a larger bolt shot out from the fiery circle and crashed into the first black FBI truck. The bolt went right through and connected with the second truck. It remained there, feeling around like a fiery tentacle. Then it pulled back suddenly, and both trucks exploded in a ball of fire.
Well, Patrick thought. There goes the last of the crop.
Apparently, the Feds weren’t the only ones who didn’t like Shep’s little sterilization plan. Shep turned to the brothers. “We have to get out of here. Now. Go. All of you. Go to the safe place we talked about. I have to get Klee. I’ll catch up with you. Go to the safe place. Go now!”
Margol and Juris sprinted off toward the road, faster than any human would have been able to run. “Allisto, we have to go,” Shep shouted. “Allisto!”
Allisto was walking toward the apparition. All four faces of the thing watched his approach.
“What the fuck is he doing?” Patrick whispered.
“Allisto no!” Shep ran for him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him back. Allisto tried tugging free but Shep held tight. “Allisto, we have to leave!”
Allisto turned to Shep, a dreamy smile on his face. “Did you feel it, Zirub? It has The Light inside! Did you feel it?”
“The Light is not for us anymore, Allisto.”
Allisto’s face twisted in anger. “Speak for yourself!” He shoved Shep away and began walking toward the fire again. The being still hung in the flames, motionless except for the gentle pulsing of its four wings. Shep grabbed Allisto again, and Allisto turned on him. “It has The Light, Zirub! The Light.”
“You can’t go to it, Allisto. It’s dangerous! That is one of the enemies that got us trapped in the void. Now get out of here, go to the safe place and wait with your brothers.”
“No!” Allisto shouted, his voice laced with tears. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. I want to go back!”
Shep slapped him hard across the face. “Get a hold of yourself. You can’t go back!”
“I never wanted flesh, Zirub. It’s disgusting! I want my wings back!”
Shep grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard. “You agreed to this, Allisto. Remember? You consented to come here with me.”
“I agreed to come here. I never agreed to staaaaaay!” he shrieked.
Shep looked gutted, his lip trembling. “You said you didn’t blame me,” he whispered. “You swore it.”
“We shouldn’t have left our posts. I told you. Do you remember? I told you it was a bad idea. We shouldn’t have left our posts!”
“You blame me!” Shep said, his voice as anguished as Allisto’s now. “All these years, you’ve blamed me for what became of us!”
“I don’t blame you, Zirub. I just want my wings back. That’s all. I just want my wings back.” Allisto broke free of Shep and darted full speed toward the apparition. “Hey!” he squealed in a maddened fury. “I want my wings back!”
“God damnit,” Shep said. “Allisto!”
Fifteen pairs of eyes shifted eerily and focused on the figure of Allisto running toward it. Allisto looked vulnerable in its shadow, a tiny form with dark bouncing curls, running toward the mountain of fire like a lost child. “I want my wings back, I want my wings back, I want my fucking wings back!”
“Allisto no!” Shep screamed in horror. “Stop right now!”
All four mouths of the being opened, and a sound came out that was a combination of shrieking bird and lion’s roar. A white light shot out and bathed Allisto in a glowing beam. Allisto fell to his knees as if he’d been struck down. He climbed clumsily to his feet, then his head and arms whipped back and he howled in pain.
Something was happening to him. Patrick, Wesley, and Agent Litner all froze, unable to believe what they were seeing. Out of the scar on Allisto’s back sprouted two black lumps, pulsing like living things. They began to grow and change. His tank top tore free and fell in shreds off his arms.
Allisto shrieked and fell to his hands and knees as the things on his back unraveled from him until they were complete. Spread out behind him were a pair of black leathery wings. They looked vulgar and reptilian sprouting from Allisto’s smooth flesh.
Standing on shaky legs, Allisto looked behind him. He fanned the wings twice, then gazed up at the apparition. “These are not my wings,” he shouted. His confusion switched to rage, and he charged at the thing. “These are not my wings!”
Shep went sprinting after him, diving forward and taking Allisto down by tackling him around the ankles. “Get away from it, Allisto!”
Allisto fell to his belly and clawed at the earth, still trying to get at the apparition. “These are not my wings! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!” he screamed as the bizarre being loomed over them.
Shep struggled with all his might to pull Allisto back away from the apparition and out of the beam of light, but Allisto kicked and fought. The beam of light that engulfed Allisto fell onto Shep now, as he was practically on top of his brother. Shep’s tank top split open and a pair of black leathery wings, identical to Allisto’s, sprouted grotesquely from the scar on Shep’s back.
Undeterred, Shep continued to struggle to retrieve Allisto, even as the reptilian wings grew and spread. A trail of blood ran down Shep’s back, making a red stain at the top of his jeans. He managed to drag Allisto back several yards, but then Allisto caught Shep square in the nose with the heel of his shoe, a solid kick to the face.
Shep let go of Allisto for only a second, and Allisto was out of his grasp and sprinting full speed toward the apparition, vowing to kill it. When he finally made contact, his body exploded in the flames and a shower of sparks puffed out into the air like fairy dust.
Then Allisto was gone.
The human faces on the Cherubim frowned. The lion head roared, and the sound was somehow sad.
Shep remained there on the ground, face down on his hands and knees. The horrible black wings seemed to undulate on his back, and that was when Patrick realized Shep was sobbing. Raising himself to his knees, Shep took in a deep breath, then let out an echoing howl. “Allistooo!”
It was the most heartbreaking sound Patrick had ever heard, and his own eyes filled with tears.
“Allistooo!” Shep cried out again, then dropped his head into his hands and wept with unspeakable sorrow.
“I have to go get him.” Patrick tried to get up and found that his ribs would not hear of it. He winced painfully and looked at Agent Litner. “He’s still too close to that thing. You saw what it did to Allisto. You have to go get him.”
“Me?” Litner shook his head. “Are you out of your mind? No way.”
“He saved my life.”
“He’s the one who shot you!” Litner snapped. “It was the least he could do! And he killed Agent Rourke!”
“Klee killed Rourke.”
“Under Shep’s command!” Litner screamed. “It’s the same difference!”
“I’ll go,” Wesley said.
****
Both Patrick and Litner gaped at Wesley, shocked. After all, Shep had just attempted to kill him.
“You?” Patrick said. “You’ll help him?”
Nodding once, Wesley jogged out into the field toward Shep.
“Jesus Christ,” Litner said. “That kid is brave.”
“He’s not a kid, remember? He’s sixty-two.”
Litner gave Patrick a sharp look. “Don’t fuck with my head. Not now.”
Wesley had reached Shep. He glanced briefly up at the fiery apparition, then leaned down, reaching around Shep’s new black wing to take his arm.
Shep did not fight Wesley as he lifted him up and swung an arm over his shoulder. Shep’s head hung miserably as Wesley led him back to the shadows where the rest of them waited.
The appa
rition lifted its wings up high, clasped its human hands to its chest, and faded until it was gone. The white fire faded too, and now there was only a slowly burning guesthouse again. Patrick breathed a heavy sigh of relief. It was over. Except that Shep now had some interesting new appendages.
Wesley eased Shep to the ground where he hunched over with his face pressed to the earth, weeping sorrowfully into the grass. No one dared speak. Patrick glanced over at the cluster of agents still tied together. They looked like they were going to need some serious therapy, their eyes huge and haunted.
Agent Litner grabbed a knife off the ground and went over to cut their ropes, untying them all and removing the gags from their mouths. None of them moved, though they were free of restraints now. They just sat there, all eyes all turned toward Shep, mouths slack as they gazed at this strange, weeping creature with the black wings.
Klee began to stir on the ground, coming out of his unconsciousness. This got Shep’s attention, and he lifted his head. His green eyes were swollen and bloodshot. He wiped his tears and assumed a responsible air. Like a grieving parent who’d lost one child, yet still had another to look after, he stood up, brushed himself off and regained his composure. Ignoring the rest of the company, he walked over and knelt down to Klee, easing his hands beneath his body and lifting him up like a baby in his arms.
Klee hung there, his legs dangling, and looked up at Shep. “Zirub. Are we all right?”
“Yes, Klee. Everything’s fine.”
“My head hurts. Why are you wearing those wings?”
“We have to go now, Klee. We can talk later.”
Klee seemed to accept this, and closed his eyes. Shep turned around with Klee in his arms, then stopped dead when he saw the rest of them staring, seeming to have forgotten they were there. He looked directly at Patrick, his expression one of vague embarrassment. “My other wings were much nicer.”
A breath shivered out of Patrick, and he nodded. “I’m sure they were beautiful.”
Shep smiled sadly and started to turn away, then he looked back. “Obrien, you were right, you know.”
“About what?”
“The chickpeas. I love those fuckin things.”
Shep turned away then and the ugly black wings spread out. Still holding Klee like a child in his arms, he took flight, a staggering, off balance affair at first, then smoothing out to a rhythmic glide as he lifted higher off the ground into the night sky.
It was the most disturbing sight any of them had ever witnessed. People weren’t supposed to fly, and it grated against all that their minds were willing to accept. Patrick watched him until he was far off in the distance, indistinguishable from a bird.
Then a gunshot rang out, and Shep’s distant form went spiraling downward like a damaged fighter jet. Patrick screamed as Shep’s winged silhouette fell earthward and disappeared somewhere over the bluffs.
He turned around and saw Agent Walsh standing behind him with a shotgun. Walsh limped forward on what looked like a broken leg. Half of his long gray hair had been singed off, and blistering burned patches covered his body. He stumbled, then fell to the ground. Litner ran to him.
Patrick felt the wound on his side burst open, and warm blood spread across the front of his tee shirt. Wesley saw it too, and ran to him. Patrick heard somebody screaming for an ambulance, then he passed out.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Patrick drifted in and out of a haze of painkillers. During his brief bouts of consciousness, he was aware that he was in the hospital, and that he was alive, but that’s about as far as his thoughts progressed. There were swimming images of Robin there sometimes, the smell of her hair as she kissed his cheek, the softness of her hand on his. A couple of times he awoke to see Father Carbone praying at the edge of his bed, and where he should have been comforted, he found it unsettling. Nurses came in and out, changing his bandages and checking his blood pressure.
He awoke again and Agent Litner was sitting silently next to him, tapping his gold pen to his temple. He leaned forward when Patrick opened his eyes. “How do you feel?”
Patrick scratched his face. “Drunk.”
“They have you pretty doped up. What do you remember?” Patrick shook his head and tried to scratch an itchy spot on his abdomen. Agent Litner stopped his hand. “You had surgery to get the bullet out. You’re going to be fine but you’re still healing.”
A rush of memories came charging into Patrick’s mind like an army of panicked horses. He sat up and grabbed Litner’s arm. “Is he dead?”
Litner tried to ease Patrick back down on the bed. “Patrick, there’s plenty of time for talk after you’ve fully recovered.”
Patrick grasped weakly at Agent Litner’s collar. “Litner, is he dead? Tell me, damn it!”
Litner sighed and Patrick fell back, too weak to hold the threatening pose. “All right. We think Agent Walsh’s shot caught Shep just as he was heading out over the ocean cliffs near the bluffs. We found some blood on one of the rocks, as well as a lock of blond hair, and um...a piece of wing. We assume he and Klee smashed into the cliff and then tumbled into the ocean. Their bodies were not recovered, but they are both presumed dead.” Patrick rolled over onto his side, giving his back to Litner. “Patrick?”
“I need to be alone.”
The next time he saw Litner he was in less of a haze. He’d lost track of time but guessed it had been three days. The doctor informed him that they had lowered his pain meds and that he was recovering nicely.
As the doctor opened the door to leave, Litner came in carrying a basket of flowers. “Now that is a rare sight,” Patrick said.
Litner smiled. “Ah, you’re feeling better. These are from Wesley.”
“Wesley? Is he here?”
“No. He’s not quite ready for civilization yet, but he’s working his way out of hermit-dom, slowly. I’ve been spending time with him. Took him into Boston the other day.”
“You’re kidding me!”
Litner placed the flowers near the window and took the seat next to the bed. “Wesley and I went to the museum, then we drove around. The crowds started to freak him out, so I took him back home. It’s a start though. He’s agreed to actually read a newspaper this weekend.”
“Imagine that,” Patrick said. “And Agent Walsh?”
Litner sighed. “He’s still in the burn unit but he’s making progress. He was lucky to get out of that house. The last thing he remembers is jumping out of the second floor window. He has no recollection of making his way back over to us. Or of…” Litner paused.
“Shooting Shep out of the sky like a Christmas goose?” Patrick said.
“Patrick, I am sorry. I know grief has no logic, and you’re mourning Shep.”
“Don’t sweat it, Litner. It hurts, but I’m certainly not blaming anyone. Shep was the bad guy. I get it.”
Litner nodded, his lip tightening. “Joey isn’t doing so well.”
Patrick flinched. He’d been dreading this conversation. “I can’t feel him anymore.”
“He said the same thing about you. I guess that bond is really broken.”
“Is he still crying a lot?”
“Only when he’s awake,” Litner said, and Patrick laughed. “He is doing better than he was. He’s been able to talk to us and his appetite has increased a bit. The other day he even asked if anyone had any marijuana.”
Patrick laughed. “I guess he is feeling better.” There was an awkward silence. Patrick adjusted his bed so that he was in a sitting position. “They’re going to prosecute him. Aren’t they?”
Agent Litner brought the pen to his temple and began to tap. “Patrick, when Joey was going through his emotional awakening, he spilled his guts to anyone that would listen, including several of my superiors. Even if I wanted to help him, I’m not sure that I could at this point. He has admitted being an accessory to three murders. He knew that Shep was going to kill his family, and he didn’t do a damn thing to stop it.”
“But you know t
hat’s not fair. You know there are special circumstances.”
“So what do you suggest? That we start talking to a judge about magical blood? I had a hard enough time covering up what happened at Forest Bluffs.”
“Joey cannot go to jail. You know it wasn’t his fault. Shep did something to him!”
“Yes, he calmed his soul. I’m aware, Patrick, but last I heard the ‘I had no soul’ defense did not hold up in a court of law.”
Patrick pointed at him. “You are a very resourceful person, Litner. I know there’s something you can do.”
“Patrick, I’m sorry. I’m just not sure I’m ready to jump on this, ‘Joey is innocent’ bandwagon. I profile people for a living. I don’t get a good feeling about Joey. Even now that he has his…soul back.”
Patrick sighed. “Of course he doesn’t seem right you. He’s like Wesley; half his life was stolen from him.”
“And I believe Joey gave that up to Shep willingly.”
“Litner, you don’t get it. When I was under the spell of that blood bond, I did things that I would never have done, could never have done under normal circumstances. I know the power that Shep had, and I’ll say it again. It was not Joey’s fault. You saw those photos from Shep’s house, the ones Carbone showed me. Joey was a little boy when Shep first targeted him, a child. He was groomed by a supernatural being who fucked with his body chemistry. You have to get them to understand and let him go.”
Litner shook his head. “I don’t know, Patrick.”
“You owe me one,” Patrick said.
“Excuse me?”
“If I hadn’t jumped in front of that bullet, Shep wouldn’t have needed you. He would have let Juris kill you eventually. In fact, I stopped Margol from killing you before that by waving the detonator, so in effect, you owe me two.” He grinned smugly.
Litner scowled. “I liked you better when you were on morphine.”
“I’m vouching for his character, Litner. I’m begging you.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Patrick. I’m not promising anything.”
****
