by Hunter Blain
Father Thomes straightened while letting his glasses drop and made a “Really?” face while nodding toward his arthritic hand.
“Oops! Sorry,” I quickly threw out as I gently let his hand drop away. “This cross,” I said, touching the black symbol that had become every bit a part of the armor as the gold that lined the ivory, “is what’s left of Da. I...I-I-I made it with his blood and ashes.” It hurt to say the words aloud, as if in doing so, I reminded myself that he was gone.
“Ah, I see. The angel Raziel was a good man. You were very blessed to have him in your life, my son. He helped pave the road in which we now walk. The light awaits you one day, John.”
My chest tightened and my fists popped like bubble wrap. I couldn’t help it; my fangs elongated and my eyes flared crimson.
“What is it, my son?” Father Thomes asked stoically. I had to give him props for facing my monster and staring it dead in the eyes.
Through tight lips, I growled, “I don’t think my soul is pure anymore, Father. Ulric made me do something.”
“Lift the burden from your breast and confess,” Father Thomes said, resting a hand on my shoulder pauldron. I couldn’t feel his touch through my armor, so I willed it away, unconsciously craving the connection. His hand was light, barely noticeable even through my coat.
“He...He made me kill a five-year-old girl...in front of her parents!”
Father Thomes stared into my eyes for a moment, processing what I had said, and then spoke, “What are the particulars of the situation? I feel that the story you are providing is one of self-damning guilt rather than the whole truth.”
“I battled Ulric just outside in the street, and the bastard tried to blow up most of Houston. I managed to stop it, but he took advantage and hurt me. He hurt me bad, Padre. When I woke up, I was in a plexiglass cell and had almost entirely bled out from my wound.” I brought up my hand and flexed it, turning it over in the sunlight.
I took in a steady, chest-rising breath through my nose, and continued.
“Then he brought in this beautiful girl...who had her entire life ahead of her.” I was trying not to break down and cry, but I also wanted to do just that because I deserved the unique pain that brought tears of sorrow. Drowning in the dark, suffocating on the despair of anguish and regret, I watched the events play out in my mind as I feebly reached toward the screen, completely helpless to alter my inescapable past. I felt like I was chained to the ocean floor with fingertips that barely broke the surface as I struggled to swim upward...so close to sucking in oxygen, yet unable to change my fate. I could only stare through the clear water, knowing I was so close to drawing breath, but a prisoner to the watery tomb that was soul-wrenching guilt. I just...I just needed a breath. One...small...breath. Please, God...please.
But it didn’t matter how much I wanted to change the past; my chains were unbreakable, and time was uncaring of my plight, content to march forever forward into the uncertainty of tomorrow.
I dropped my hand to my side, flexing the fingers one time as I remembered Ulric dismembering first my hand, and then...
“He fucking ripped one of my arms and both my damn legs off, man. I was dying, and that girl was my only chance at survival. I-I-I didn’t have a choice.”
Rosy cheeks that glistened with tears from uncomprehending blue eyes flashed in my mind. My brain played back the shriek she had produced as I crawled toward her, a monster coming to take her life before it had begun.
Everything went spinning, and the ground rushed up to slam into my knees and palms as I sobbed uncontrollably.
“Her parents, man! Her parents were right there! Watching me as I...” my voice trailed off into a wheeze as I mentally shoved myself into their shoes and forced my heart to bear witness to their pain. It had to have been so much worse than the anguish I’d experienced watching my own mother be murdered. A parent dying was one thing, since it was expected in the back corner of everyone’s subconscious mind that a mother and father would pass before the child. It was simply the natural order of things. But for a parent to lose a child that young was enough to make even the stars weep. Add in the horrible fact that a hideous monster had been the one to pillage the young life while both parents bore witness, helpless to stop it. At that moment, I was glad Ulric had killed them, and it made me sick to think that way.
Lifting myself while still on my knees, I clawed at the priest’s robes and pulled myself closer to his face with wide eyes and quick, rasping breaths laden with spittle.
“He tried to make me eat a baby, Thomes! A BABY! It wasn’t enough to eat a five-year-old girl in front of her parents, oh no, oh no! A FUCKING BABY!” I bellowed as drool spilled down my beard. Shifting toward a harsh whisper that leaned dangerously toward insanity, I rasped, “That idiot forgot about my fucking hammer though, and I was able, Thomes, HAHA, I was able to get away before that maniac killed us both! I flew away while that bastard finished the mom and dad off.”
Thomes was straining under my weight, making pained faces as he tried to steady himself on the counter with an elbow. I heard a joint pop, which sent a jolt of surprised agony into my friend’s frail body with an accompanying groan.
Realizing I was hurting him, but not caring enough to verbally acknowledge the fact, I simply let him go and sank back on my haunches. I didn’t even wipe at the drool in my thick beard.
Father Thomes’ robes were bunched in the places I had grabbed, and he ran a hand across them to smooth them out while wincing.
“Once again, you illustrate my point, John,” the priest said with a surprising amount of strength despite the clear pain he was recovering from. He straightened himself up after returning his robes to their pristine, flowing grace.
I looked up at him in confusion before he continued.
“What you just shared unequivocally proves that you were put into an impossible situation wherein either the girl died, or all of creation. That last part, mind you, includes the child.” He stepped forward and placed both hands on my shoulders, squeezing them gently in a show of understanding and acceptance. “Do you know what I heard when you shared that story, John?”
I tried to speak but my mouth refused to obey my commands, opting to hang open instead.
“I heard that you saved a baby’s life. Knowing the man that you are, I am also willing to bet that you already have plans to make sure he is taken care of for the rest of his life. I also heard, in your telling of the story, that you saved all of creation by not dying.”
I regained some modicum of verbal ability with the soothing words the priest was sharing.
“I shouldn’t have gotten into a fight with Ulric. He tried to make me join the dark side and stuff, and it pissed me off how stupid he was to believe Satan. I mean, one of the dude’s names is the Father of Lies.” I wiped my face on my trench, saw that I was only succeeding in smearing the tears and snot, and instead, lifted the bottom of my shirt to aggressively scrub at my face. A slimy John visage regarded me like the shroud of Jesus, only made of snot, so not exactly the same.
Thomes let his hands slide off of my shoulders before he turned back to his sandwich. A part of me felt bad for making him wait to eat while already starving.
“Picking a fight with Ulric was an error on your part, yes. But if you have learned something from it, then it is a lesson and not a mistake.”
Further proving that I was a man and we only heard what we wanted to hear, I growled, “Now that I have my armor...if I see that bastard again...”
“John, you clearly didn’t listen to my words,” Father Thomes said with a sigh. “Do not rush to confront Ulric without a well thought-out plan and your friends. Please. I do not want you starting the end of times because you both clearly cannot control your emotions.”
“Oh, you don’t really need to worry about that part anymore. Hehe,” I began as I yanked off my beanie and ran my fingers aggressively through my hair. “As it turns out, Lily is Lilith, the first vampire.”
“So,
there are at least three of you,” he drawled, rubbing at his chin which had a white five-o’clock shadow. The hair made a scratching sound as his fingers rubbed over his jaw in thought.
All of a sudden, his hand dropped and he locked gazes with me. “I still don’t want you confronting Ulric unless you have your allies with you. I would still rather have him alive in his cell, and I’m not sure you can restrain yourself enough to bring him in while still in one piece. I-I’m sure your doctor friend can whip up some sort of sedative to keep him under until we figure out what to do with him.”
“Or until we prove the prophecy isn’t set in stone.”
“That is on my same level of reckoning, yes.”
I decided to take his points and pull myself out of my sea of self-loathing. I felt like a man covered in thick wool that was trying to trudge to shore from the ocean, the water aggressively attempting to pull me back in with every labored step.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I stood up and inhaled on a six count, letting my nerves settle and my emotions smooth over like a mirror-top pond. It would do Dawson, Joey, and Da no good to wallow.
Why didn’t you tell him about my part in your degradation? Baleius asked softly. I could hear the trepidation in his voice as he brought up the touchy subject.
I don’t want to give him any more reasons to distrust the demon in my head, I answered flatly. You also apologized for it, yeah?
It was a struggle to speak those words to him. My mouth moved, relaying the information directly from my brain while somehow ignoring the angry cries from my heart, which wanted to lash out and hurt Baleius in a multitude of vengeful, indignant strikes.
However, as I spoke the words, I felt a weight lifting off my chest, as if rewarding me for choosing to sacrifice my pride for the greater good. I believed Baleius when he admitted to being in the wrong. Maybe it was naive of me—actually I was quite sure it was—but it felt like the right thing to do. Hell, my friends had offered me the same hand of forgiveness after my vicious transgressions, hadn’t they?
I forced myself to lift my heavy mood, returned my consciousness to my body, and said the first thing that came to mind in an effort to segue from all the heavy emotional shit that was dragging me down, “Got the good stuff, I see.”
“Hmm?” Father Thomes asked, briefly glancing my way to see me gesturing with my chin toward the fancy ham resting atop the butchers’ paper. “Ah. Yes. I prefer the more natural ingredients to the store-bought meat laden with preservatives.”
“Makes sense. I try to steer clear of the meth heads when eating.” Though it was a casual conversation, we both understood what was really happening. I was becoming increasingly efficient at managing my emotions, even if the mechanism for doing so was blatantly obvious.
My friend slightly turned his head in my direction while keeping his focus on the sandwich. “I wasn’t aware that something as mundane as chemicals in the bloodstream would be a problem for you.”
“I mean, it’s not, but, you know, neither is picking up ham off the floor and eating it.”
“Ah, I think I see your point. It’s simply a preference.”
I started to chuckle, prompting my friend to turn a little more to face me.
“Oh, it’s...it’s nothing. Was just thinking about one of my favorite shows.”
Father Thomes looked at me expectantly, knowing I would burst if I didn’t say what funny reference I was thinking about. I think he also knew that talking about film and television was one of my coping mechanisms when dealing with wounds of the heart and mind.
“It’s a show based off a movie based off a short film called What We Do in the Shadows. It’s about vampires, and it’s freaking hilarious, man,” I explained around another chuckle. “In the movie, the dude from Flight of the Conchords is explaining why vampires like virgins and says something like, ‘Eating virgins is a lot like eating a sandwich. You’d enjoy it more knowing someone hasn’t fucked it.’”
Father Thomes barked out a laugh before immediately covering his face with a palm, almost ashamed at his outburst over something even slightly vulgar.
He dragged his hand down his face and turned back to his sandwich and stared at it for a moment.
“I suppose I can appreciate the joke.”
The silence stretched between us as he stared at his lunch and I regarded him.
He started a soundless chuckle that made his shoulders bounce up and down, prompting a welcomed smile to etch into my face. It almost hurt to smile after having the muscles under my skin tugged down into a frown for the span of almost the entire conversation.
He brought a fist up to his mouth as little titters started spilling through, making me begin my own chuckle that started off slow, like an idling diesel engine.
Then he dropped his fist to the counter and belted out chest-heaving laughter that made him almost double over as he just stared at his sandwich.
My mirth intensified until we could barely hear each other over how loud we were. I threw in a whoo-hoo-hooo or two for good measure as I wiped happy tears from my eyes.
As I brought a glistening finger down from my face, I stared at the tear brought on by mirth, and felt the weight of despair fall off of my chest. Laughter really was the best medicine.
4
After Father Thomes and I caught up on some lighthearted chitchat, I told him my plans, which he almost excitedly agreed would be good for me. Then I hugged my friend, thanked him, and left.
My foot froze, poised over the wet concrete, when I did a little hop over the landing, making sure to keep my eyes on the statues for fear of falling debris. As I did, I may have tripped over the watermelon-sized pile of rocks before catching myself with a “Bah!” Scowling back up at the statues, I could swear I freaking saw a smile on the angel.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t make me get my magic screwdriver thingy!”
I smacked into the wrought iron fence while my face was positioned over my shoulder, and angrily turned back to open the gate. There was a brief gust of wind that, and I’m not kidding, sounded like someone whispering into my ear, “Biiiiitch.”
I whirled to face the statues and narrowed my eyes as I saw they had returned to their normal positioning.
Walking down the street toward home, I grumbled, “I’ll pull down my pants, bend over while spreading my cheeks, and make my chocolate starfish blink all day at you. Call me a bitch, I tell ya h’what. ’Bout to catch dem hands.”
Before I knew it, I was walking up to Valenta’s Saloon when I stopped dead in my tracks. Though I really wanted a drink, I knew he would ask questions that I just didn’t have the energy to answer right now. My visit with Father Thomes had taken a lot out of me.
I licked my lips as I stood in the parking lot only a few feet away from the swinging doors.
What’s the problem? Baleius asked, noticing my paralysis.
I don’t think I have the strength to tell him about Joey. I mean, he was the one who introduced me to the twins, and they are both dead because of me.
There was a silence between us, and I knew, even without him having to say a word, that we were both thinking about where each of them was at this very moment.
I think I understand.
Maybe...maybe I can just lie? I said without conviction.
Remember what the priest said. You already have enough poison in your heart.
Shit. You’re right.
I returned to my body and decided I would let the situation dictate what I said. If he didn’t ask, I wouldn’t tell him just yet. But I needed that drink to dull my senses, which were already sputtering wounds from everything I had been dealing with lately.
As I took a step forward, a lean man wearing a tailored slim black suit confidently pushed through one of the doors, stopping just outside to place a moderately sized black case on the ground. It had four latches with a thick handle, and I knew it to be one of those fancy containers with the removable foam on the inside that allowed you to customize a space fo
r a variety of things that needed protection. Val’s cases were similar, but this one seemed more militaristic and higher end.
The man, who I saw was Hispanic, reached into his suit breast pocket and removed a pair of black steampunk glasses with rounded lenses and thick metal running across the top. I called them steampunk, but an enthusiast would probably correct me.
The man all in black—with a shiny button-up and matching tie that was done in an elaborate knot I had never seen before—regarded me from behind dark lenses. And I mean really dark. Normally you could see someone’s eyes behind a pair of sunglasses during the day; but not this guy.
A hand slowly moved down to his slacks and into his pocket, drawing my attention with a scowl.
Dramatically, the hand was yanked free as if pulling a gun, and I reacted by only slightly changing my stance into a defensive one before seeing it was just a sucker. It was one of those children’s treats with a rounded chunk of flavored sugar under a white wrapper that proclaimed what type of fruit it was pretending to be. This one said peach.
The man in black smiled with one corner of his mouth as he casually opened the treat, pocketed the wrapper, and stuck the sucker in between his teeth and cheek.
His smile faded as he leaned down to retrieve his case, and then confidently strolled toward a massive custom beast of a motorcycle. There was an annoying swagger to his step, but I also felt this man might be dangerous. Plus, I had much more important things on my mind than the subtle show of machismo that had just been demonstrated.
The man in black attached the case to the back with impressive cords that looked like they might be made of—or at least with—silver. He was definitely a player in the supe game.
The motor rumbled to life and the man mounted his all-black beast, knocking the kickstand back before taking off with a mechanical roar that screamed horsepower.
Out of curiosity, I let Mjolnir give me the sight, and I didn’t see anything out of place with his aura. He seemed to be...just a man.
