by Curtis Berry
could in turn bestow upon him such wonderful gifts. He had long ago given up trying to find the answer; he could only accept it as part of his lot.
He turned sharply and crossed the road under the watchful eye of an overhead street lamp. On the other side, he continued in the direction he had been going. After only a few steps, he stopped and glanced back across the road. There stood old St. Eisley Church, tall and proud. The one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old structure, built in the Gothic Revival style favored at the time, rose over three stories tall. Long, elegant spires of marble stood guard along the roof, beckoning toward a sky crowded with low, threatening clouds that were softly illuminated by the city lights. Like so many who came to pray within the sacred walls, the steeples looked up in hopes of somehow touching the distant kingdom of Heaven.
For several long minutes, he was so fixated upon the church that he failed to notice a soaked bum who nearly stumbled into him before wobbling aimlessly down the sidewalk. His eyes narrowed contemptuously and a slow, burning anger rose in his chest as he considered what the building represented--hope and faith in the One who would welcome his bleating flock into the bliss of eternity. He had hope and faith once–not anymore.
The day he had been stricken with his disease was the day God had forsaken him. There was no place in His perfect world for such a walking pestilence. There would be no compassion or understanding from the Almighty--no hope, no salvation, no forgiveness. The day he discovered he had no place in God’s eyes was the day he realized God had no place in his. His religion had become a hopeless quest for a quick release from a disease that had only one cure ... death. But his overwhelming desire to live on far outweighed his eagerness to end his existence and his misery.
The door to the church opened and out stepped a priest in a tan long coat. He secured the lock and with a final tug hurried to his car at the curb. The middle-aged opened the car door and then stiffened abruptly. He turned slowly and looked across the street. His eyes swept the empty sidewalk only to see scrap of paper, blown along aimlessly by a stiff breeze. The priest shuddered from the chill that ran through his bones. He pulled his collar up, quickly slipped into the front seat of his Buick, and starting the engine. It was colder outside than he had thought.
A while later, a tall man in a black overcoat and derby appeared at the transit station. He stopped and surveyed the waiting area. Traffic was slow at this time of night, and only a few waited for the train to arrive. Some stood impatiently checking their watches, others chatted quietly among themselves, while still others simply stood with blank faces, lost in their thoughts.
A low rumble from the north began to grow louder. It hailed as a signal for everyone to amble toward the tracks. Most of them regularly commuted by train and knew where to stand so they could step right up into the cars that ground to a halt. Nobody wanted to waste any time.
He joined them, seeking a car holding the most people so he could have some company. He sat heavily into a form-fitting plastic bench, his head dropping once more into his hand as dizziness swept over him. Only his neighbor’s shoulder prevented him from tipping over completely. As the spell passed and he sat straight again, he looked over to thank the man, who gave him a dirty look and hastily moved to another seat.
He exhaled long and slow while fishing a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and dabbing the humidity from his pale brow. It seemed as though the motion not only wiped away the fuzziness in his head but also allowed his body to regain a little strength and composure. He gritted his teeth in frustration and stuffed the cloth back into his pocket.
Looking up once more, his gaze fell upon a young woman sitting across from him, her head cocked slightly and her dark, brown eyes watching him with concern. A thin, empathetic smile touched the corners of her full lips. She was pretty--not glamorous--but pleasing to the eye. Her long, blond hair parted at the shoulders, causing some of it to flow down across her ample breasts and the rest to spill down her back.
Seeing him staring back, she averted her eyes with a slight blush and began fidgeting with her purse strap. Several times, though, her eyes kept flicking back to his thin, handsome face. His dark, piercing eyes are what finally caught and held her gaze.
He rose to his feet and moved closer to her, stopping to bow with a friendly smile. “May I sit with you and talk?”
She gawked at him for several seconds before blinking and laughing nervously. “P-Please do!” She motioned with a gloved hand toward the empty seat on her right.
“Thank you,” he said charmingly and sat down. “You are most kind. Please forgive my little … episode.”
“That’s okay!” she replied quickly with an understanding smile. “Are you ill?”
He took in a deep breath. “Yes. I am traveling to the city for treatment now.”
She lowered her head with a soft “Oh” in reply.
“And what might such a lovely young lady be doing out at this time of night?”
She blushed, flashing perfect white teeth. She wasn’t used to such handsome men showing interest in her. It made her feel somewhat giddy. “I’m going home from work. I live near the Civic Center.” Her last statement made her wince and look down self-consciously as her instincts flared. Although he was interesting, she didn’t know him, yet she had just told him where she lived. Well, not quite. But he was so nice; it just didn’t seem like such a horrible breech of protocol.
He nodded, a frown crossing his pale features as he contemplated something troubling. The train continued on, rocking and clattering as it plowed on through the night. His eyes closed tight, his mind wrestling with itself over a myriad of different Hells that had been thrust upon him. He considered the worst of them and pursed his lips.
Her gloved hand touched his arm, and she leaned close with concern. “Feeling bad still, Mr. ...”
He opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted when the train bucked and began to slow, its metal wheels squealing and throwing up small showers of sparks on the cold, iron tracks. Several people rose expectantly, as did she.
With effort, he gained his feet and noticed her gazing up at him in surprise. “Um … this is my stop, I’m afraid.”
“It is mine as well,” he replied, for a moment showing visible distress as he looked past her out the window.
They both moved toward the double sliding doors, filing out with the other passengers debarking into the coldness. She moved close to him, searching his pale, ghostly face for something.
After a few awkward moments, he looked down at her. “I am new to this area and was wondering if you could point me in the direction of …” He stopped and turned away as if embarrassed. “I apologize. I am imposing on you, and we have only just met.”
Surprising herself, she grabbed his arm and then quickly withdrew her delicate hand. “Directions? What are you looking for? I would be glad to help.”
“I seek a pharmacy.”
Warmth flooded her smooth cheeks. She brushed a lock of hair from her eye. “There’s one not far from here, at all. In fact, it’s on my way!”
He raised his thin eyebrows in delight and gallantly offered his arm. “Well then, please lead the way, my dear.”
With a giggle, she took his arm and together they walked down the street and chatted as the night swallowed them.
Pruitt sat in the morning darkness in a comfortable easy chair, his worn face blank as he faced the television. It continued to fill the room with the enthusiastic sounds that could only be associated with an infomercial. The butler slowly looked up at his master, who had returned and stood at the edge of the television’s shifting glow. Several moments passed by while Pruitt peered into the dark pits that held trapped a pair of tortured eyes.
He reached out toward Pruitt, offering a white paper bag stapled shut. “Your usual brand, my friend.”
The old man took the bag with a gentle nod and set it on the table, his eyes never leaving his employer’s face. As they silently regarded one another, the picture on the tv suddenly
changed. Where the infomercial had been was now a large man in a dark suit and tie sitting at a desk and facing the camera. A graphic at the bottom of the screen displayed BREAKING NEWS in large white letters. The newsman wore a disturbed look on his pudgy face.
“This just in. Police have discovered the body of a young woman in the lower district near the corner of 4th and Copper. The body was found behind a Farmers Market by a sanitation worker about half an hour ago.” The newsman scowled as he looked down at some papers and shuffled them around as if searching for more information.
Pruitt’s eyes began to glisten with moisture as he continued to peer at the dark figure staring silently back at him.
“Although police have yet to determine the victim’s identity, they have confirmed that the body does indeed have the same type of neck wounds found on several other murdered women over the past two years. And, like before, there was no blood found at the scene. None at all.” A barely-disguised look of horror clouded the newsman’s features as he looked back up at the camera. “We’ll have more when details are available.” The pictured distorted and the infomercial popped back on in mid-advertisement.
Earlier, his face resembled a skull that had just enough bleach-white skin pulled over it to cover the bone. But now, he seemed full and alive, with cheeks full of color and