Into the Breach: Choices can be deadly...

by Lottie M. Hancock

  "She fought bravely, if that is any consolation," a man spoke with a deep resonance that reminded Faith of a foghorn. He stood at the corner of the room, his profile hiding in the shadows.

  "Who are you?" She asked shakily.

  "My name is of no consequence but if it makes you feel more comfortable, call me Camerlon."

  "Who did this?" Faith begged. She took a step closer to her mother, but her feet felt like lead weights. Finding someone else in the room with her dead mother only made her that much more afraid. The man remained silent for several minutes and Faith grew angry. "I asked you a question. Do you know who did this?" she demanded.

  "Of course I do, child," the man stepped forward, revealing black wavy hair that fell to his shoulders, olive colored skin and bright, white teeth. "I killed her myself."

  Faith's fury rose as she charged toward the man confessing her mother's murder, but as she came near, he vanished and she dove through nothingness. She screamed until the neighbors heard and called the police.

  Now, here she was, sitting in a pile of broken glass and crying about something that happened almost twenty years before. Pulling herself together, she saw the blood on her hands were the glass embedded itself. Getting up from the floor without causing more cuts was difficult, but she somehow managed it. She ran cold water over her skin and watched as the blood swirled in her palms. The water felt good and cool on her skin and she let it run until she could allow the skin to close itself once more. After only a few short minutes, she inspected her handy work and dried her now healed hands on a kitchen towel.

  Shaking, Faith looked over at the mess that she had made but had no desire to clean it up nor did she want to stay there. Instead she picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

  "Hello?" she heard a man answer.

  "Padre? Can you come pick me up?"

  Charlie had barely slept since Allison was admitted. She looked so peaceful that he would find himself afraid to wake her, only for reality to set in and he would sob into his hands.

  He had already chosen a ring and had it put on layaway. The jeweler normally wouldn't have thought of allowing it but Charlie had a third of the money in his hand in cash so they negotiated. Whistling, he went out of the store to see Allison. He hadn't been in the cafe ten minutes before her co-worker, Lisa, had come in. She looked like Hell, her eyes darting around like she was looking for someone but that she was afraid. He hated it when women were afraid. It was usually a man that did it, in his experience, and a man who would terrorize a woman wasn't a man in his eyes.

  Allison had almost had the woman relaxed enough to get a bite to eat when she had stopped mid-sentence and collapsed. The memory put a chill down his spine. He refused to leave her even after the doctor tried to emphasize that only family could stay with her. He was all the family she had and she was his. They would have to kill him to stop him.

  He jumped as his cell phone rang. Allison got it for him, so they could chat on break and she was one of the few to have his number.

  "Hello?"

  "Charlie, my boy, how are you this fine morning?" the rich voice chimed in his ear.

  "Who is this?" Charlie asked.

  "Well, I am your lady friend's benefactor, you could say. I have all of your answers and her future." The deep voice chuckled almost warmly. Fear ran through Charlie’s heart.

  "I don't understand. Do I know you, sir?"

  "Sir? Ah, yes, very nice, but no, you don't know me yet but I am about to become your best friend, for I can help your little woman wake up, you see." Charlie jumped to his feet.

  "You can fix her? I mean, you know how to help her wake up?" Charlie felt as if the world were lifting off his shoulders.

  "Why, yes, young man. I could do it in a heartbeat." Charlie ignored the rumbling of the man's laughter. He didn't care how he could do it. Just the thought that it could be done sent joy shooting through him.

  "Then please, please do it as soon as you can!" the mechanic declared as he looked at his sweet Allison's face.

  "Oh, now let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, Charles." The man's admonition drained his excitement. "Nothing comes for free."

  "Anything, I will pay anything I have!" Charlie shook as tears burned his eyes. He didn't have much to offer but he had a feeling that this man knew his situation. He listened as the stranger related his ideas and promises. The man was twisted, it was clear, but a twisted man who could bring back his lover was a potential friend, as well.

  Then he gave his price. Charlie laid his head on Allison's arm as he shut his flip phone, and cried.

  21

  T he world was full of fools. Camerlon knew this in his millennia of watching humans wretch themselves into nothingness. They repeated their actions until actions became repeated histories. They professed wanting to progress, while they dug themselves deeper in the chasmatic hole of despair. They would do everything possible to get away with wrongdoing and proclaim righteousness to the populous. He should just end the lives of these abominations and be done with it, he knew, but the thrill of watching the fools fall all over themselves was exhilarating.

  Unfortunately, the detective was no fool. Refusing his offer was ridiculous and he was certain that the man would change his mind. He had him. He couldn't kill him in his world, but he wanted him to suffer enough to reconsider his decision. How this human had pulled himself out of his prison was a mystery, even to the raptor. Wesson's powers were growing and he had no idea what he was wielding. Humans seldom knew what was best for them, but few had that human's potential.

  The mechanic practically begged for his help, however. They all should have begged. Then again, they knew the consequences of their inactions. What they did with that knowledge was up to them. Perhaps he wouldn't bore of the tiny blonde so quickly with this puppet on his strings.

  The raptor exited the girl's room, leaving the distraught lover breaking down his own defenses at her bedside. If they knew how close to them he actually was, they would cower. He wanted them to bend to his will and was enthralled when they would try to fight back. Their Hellbent drive for survival was a never ending clash toward their oblivion.

  His shoes fell softly on the tiled floor of the corridor and stopped. A trill sounded in a silent room. The pompous money hoarder thought he could ignore him. The beast stared at the fool. The man's phone was ringing and he deliberately let it go. Camerlon stepped up to the chairman and leaned in low so that there would be no mistaking his message.

  "Time to clip your wings," he whispered menacingly. The man jumped and looked around him in panic. He knew he had heard something. Too bad it wasn't the phone ringing, the beast thought as he strolled out of Bernice Morgan's room. He started to whistle a cheery tune as he walked down the corridor and listened to the alarm on her equipment close her story.

  Sam awoke to his watch alarm beeping. His body ached, but he felt amazing. He turned over to find Lisa smiling at him. He caressed her arm tenderly and leaned in to kiss her. The night had been incredible. She was incredible.

  "Good morning," she greeted him softly.

  "Good morning. Sleep well?" Sam kissed her again.

  "Yep, want some coffee?" she suggested.

  "You don't waste any time getting to what stirs a man's heart, do ya?" he chuckled. She smiled and grabbed her robe as she left the bedroom. Sam folded his hands behind his head. This was the happiest he had been in a long time and he was going to soak it in. His cell started to vibrate on the nightstand.

  "Wesson."

  "Hey, Sam," answered the chief. "Did I wake you?"

  "No, I was awake."

  "I can pick you up in ten minutes. The padre knows we're coming."

  "Make it twenty. I'm not at home anyway." Lisa glided into the room with their coffee. More time with her is what he really needed.

  "Yeah, I didn't figure you were," Drew responded. Sam hung up and took the steaming blue mug from Lisa.

  "You have to go?" she asked softly.

>   "Soon. We have to go see an informant that has been helpful to the chief in the past. We're hoping he can do his magic again." Another lie, Sam thought. His list of virtues was getting smaller. Sam slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her closer. Her cool skin as he kissed her neck made him burn again with a fire only she could stop, but he knew he didn't have time. "I should go."

  Sam slipped out of the covers and dressed quickly. Stealing another kiss from this firestorm that blew into his life, he reluctantly left her.

  Drew was waiting for him outside in his sedan with a sober look on his face.

  "She is quite a lady," Drew admitted as they drove away. "She hasn't changed much since high school."

  "No, she hasn't."

  "Sam, I know this is none of my business, but take it easy with her, will ya?" Drew’s brows knit as he looked over at him. "This job, being a cop, is hard enough on couples. What we do is worse."

  "I've seen that," Sam felt the familiar guilt that had plagued him since the walk in the park with Lisa. "The raptor wanted me to notice that he could get to her. That's why he got the girl."

  "That's what I was afraid of. Sam, just be careful with this one."

  They pulled up to the curb in front of a small Victorian home. It gleamed white with new paint that couldn’t have been more than a few months old and blue shutters lining arched windows. A well-tended flower garden trailed the sidewalk up to the house and branched off to follow the porch, vanishing behind hedges dividing the front and back yard. Several leaves left highlights of reds and golds along the path. It looked like a postcard from New England except for the small yellow coupe parked near the corner of the almost deserted street.

  Father Donovan opened the door as Sam and Drew reached the top step to the porch. He was wearing a beige golf shirt and jeans, surprising Sam without his collar. The padre’s familiar smile was gone, reminding him of the grave situation they were in. They followed him down an entryway with mahogany walls and white wainscoting. A long blue paisley rug lined the hallway that led into a grand dining room to their right and a cozy parlor to their left where they sat on an overstuffed rose printed couch. The surroundings were well suited for the man pouring the tea across from them. Faith suddenly made her appearance, drying her hair with a large towel.

  "Good morning," said the redhead.

  "You stay here last night, Faith?" asked the chief.

  "Yeah,” she said cautiously.

  Drew knew she didn't want the spotlight put on her. He just hated the idea that she was always so afraid to go home.

  "Drew tells me you had quite the adventure yesterday," related the priest. "Care to tell us about it?"

  "You could say that again," Sam began, staring at his clasped hands on his lap. "I took a walk through Union Park with a friend. Kept seeing this guy ahead of us. Figured out that this might be who the chief was talking about with the comas. After my friend left, I led him into the park. Thought I could trap him, but he trapped me instead."

  "He brought in reavers to do his dirty work," added Faith, "but we got them. The demon got away."

  "Go on," urged the priest. "I doubt you would be here for a simple demon take down, hmm?" Sam took a deep breath through his nose, trying to control his memories.

  "I got where I saw the things Faith was fighting," Sam confessed. Drew and Father Donovan exchanged glances, but didn't interrupt. "Then we get the call that there was another coma. A retaliation."

  The angels remained quiet as Sam related the events from the time he reached Lisa's apartment until the instance with the emergency crew. The priest set his empty cup down on the glass table top and sat back. His eyes were on Sam, but the detective felt he was far away.

  "What do you suppose the raptor wanted you to do for him, Detective?" asked the priest.

  "I don't know, to be honest. It could have killed me at any time."

  "Perhaps in the apartment, but not in the other realm," the priest informed him. "It would be as if you were injured in a dream. You would feel the pain, see the injuries, but death would be a distant fear. He could have consumed you, I suppose, but he seems to want you alive. Why is that, I wonder."

  "He started in on the same rhetoric that I heard from all of you," Sam’s irritation bled through his voice. "Said I was special and I had a quality he liked. I don't believe any of it. He just likes to torment people. He wanted me to feel vulnerable."

  "Don't be so sure." Father Donovan was still looking at Sam as if he could see through him. Unnerved by having his soul analyzed, Sam stood and paced the room, trying to regain control.

  "Padre," added Drew, "do you remember Charles Smith?"

  "There is nothing wrong with my memory, son," the priest chided gently. "I was pleased to find one of us here in Boston when I arrived. It made your transition much easier, if you remember."

  "Yeah, I remember. Well, his son is a cop now. He told us that there was a possibility that Sam was something called an Ascendant. Do you know what he's talking about?"

  "An Ascendant," the priest repeated, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Interesting theory. We haven't had one in over fifty years. Yes, we are due."

  "But what is it?" Drew persisted. The priest's brow furrowed deeply. He was a man who had learned over the years to make his words count.

  "Detective Wesson, you were in the military, were you not?"

  "Yes Sir," Sam replied. "Army, 101st Airborn."

  "Good, then you can relate to this. Think of an Ascendant as a super-soldier. He is still human, but with abilities that other soldiers lack, so his duties are called upon in different ways than our other soldiers. An Ascendant varies in his special abilities. Some develop strong mental skills, while others are influenced by strength. An old friend of mine was blessed with both."

  "And what happened to him?" Sam asked.

  "He is alive and well, somewhere in Tibet the last I had heard. The stress of his position had almost taken its toll until he relocated and found his peace there," explained Father Donovan.

  "Thought there wasn't an Ascendant in over fifty years, Father," Faith interjected.

  "That is true. Jonus is eighty-three years old."

  "I was afraid you were going to add a couple of hundred years to that," Sam sighed with relief. "That’s the last thing I would need. Your immortality isn’t for me."

  "Detective," the small man corrected. "he hasn't aged. It is different than with us, of course, but aging is still slowed."

  Sam paled, and it took him a moment to realize he was gaping at the priest. He had to face facts soon if he was going to be able to get through this.

  "How do I know if I am one of them?"

  Father Donovan got out of his chair and moved to his desk at the corner of the room. The large mahogany desk had a stained-glass table lamp with sprays of cherries on its shade, and seemed somewhat large in comparison to its owner.. In the center was an old style ink bottle, blotter and fountain pen with a large book lain open in front of the leather desk chair. Shutting the book, he brought it back to where the team was sitting and sat it on the coffee table in front of them.

  "Open it," he instructed.

  Sam reached over and with his thumb about half way down the depth of pages, slowly opened the book. The priest chuckled lightly but his face was joyful. Faith and Drew just stared.

  "What?" queried Sam. "All I did was open it. Anyone can open a book."

  "Not this one, Sam," Drew responded slowly.

  "I don't get it."

  "Detective," Father Donovan's eyes were lit up like fireworks. "Only angels can open that book."

  Sam jumped from his seat in disbelief. He felt as though he was on sensory overload.

  "No disrespect, Father, but I damned sure ain't no angel."

  "Perhaps not like us," the man continued. "but as an Ascendant, you would have the same abilities. Look at the page you opened to."

  Sam uneasily sat back in the chair and peered down at the heavily illustrated book, glaring at
the drawing alongside the unfamiliar script that made up the text. There was a man with a sword, surrounded by a bright aura, and standing behind him was an angel. It looked like the man was guarding him.

  "So, what am I? A glorified bodyguard for you guys?"

  "Don't take the illustration so literal, Detective. According to this, you fight with the angels, not for them."

  "I guess it's luck that I opened to that page?" fished Sam, although he doubted it was so simple.

  "No," he chuckled. "I used the same method to single out your chief some fifty years ago. The book knows you better than you do. Now, as for what an Ascendant is, that is something that this book describes as rare. Rarer than when an angel is born. You have to think of the human race as a hierarchy. There are four kinds of humans. There are the humans that we are used to seeing in our everyday lives and there are the angels. We live our lives just as the humans with jobs, hobbies, vices, and loved ones. We are not much different than them. Another branch of that family tree is smaller, but no less important and that is of the Ascendants. These are humans who are born with a seed, if you will forgive the allusion. This seed grows as the person grows, melding itself into the person's psyche and physical being. Usually the person has no idea what is happening, just as with you. Other times, it grows more rapidly and as a developing teenager, all becomes an inner war. It usually works out fine with guidance. Without it, it can cause insanity."

  "The raptor told me that I would be insane when I got back from that Hell he had me in. Especially once I saw what he looked like. I think I did okay. Wouldn't want to face that along with puberty, though," Sam jested dryly.

  "I think he underestimated your powers. Even you haven't seen what you can do."

  "I don't think there has been anything," Sam admitted.