Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father

by Laveen, Tiana

  “That back massage must’ve done the trick,” another woman offered.

  Xenia nodded, a smirk on her face.

  “Okay, so we will get started and I’ll just set the food over here, but you two really ought to try out these chocolates.” Saint peeked closer and looked at the wrappers to see what kind it was. One of the masseuses noticed his glare.

  “They are called Chocolate Kitties! They are to die for. Have one, I bet you will eat it right up.” She plopped one in his hand…and then, he lost it. The irony was his undoing.

  “Chocolate…kitties…eat it…right…up?” He could barely breathe. He laughed so hard, he thought he may pass out as he thumbed the foil-covered candy in his palm. He felt giddy. He felt in love. He couldn’t help it. As soon as he settled, Xenia suddenly jerked and shook, as if she’d caught a draft, and he lost his cool again. Another orgasmic tremor…oh my. He caught his image in a side mirror. The vein in the middle of his forehead was protruded and he was red as a beet as the laughter got the better of him once more.

  “I’m,” He put his hand up, tears welling his eyes. “I’m so sorry, ladies. I just had a thought is all…you know how that is.”

  Both women looked confused but nodded and smiled as they set their items out to complete their work. Saint and Xenia sat up and exchanged glances. Now, they both were laughing. He scratched the side of his mouth, still tasting her essence on his tongue. Just then, the tiny blonde that was working on him looked up and stared at his erection that hadn’t yet subsided. Another cue that had him break in laughter until tears came out of his eyes.

  Xenia got a hold of herself first. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. We were uh, having a discussion right before you came in and it was sorta funny.”

  Both women nodded. Saint tried his damnedest to get serious. Sporting a grin, the blonde pulled up a stool and sat in front of him, preparing to begin his pedicure and foot massage.

  Xenia winked at him and blew him a kiss. He pretended to catch it and winked back.

  Damn, I love that woman…

  ~***~

  “Are you sure about this?” Saint was starting to have reservations as the outside noise grew stiff and quiet. It seemed as if a massive, invisible vacuum came and sucked all the sound out of the world as soon as they pulled up.

  “Yes,” was all Lawrence offered as he secured his army green vest, pushed his wallet into his back pants pocket, and got situated on the car seat.

  They’d arrived in a place that seemed to have no first name, no existence of life, the scene reminiscent of a Van Gogh painting. Surreal, creepy. Saint felt his reserve of patience diminish by the second. He’d waited impatiently for weeks, and now that the moment had arrived, he experienced pangs of regret. “Where the hell are we anyway?”

  Lawrence got out of his snow white Jaguar XK 120. The ride over had been a blast. Saint laughed and joked, believing it would be a simple procedure, such as going to the doctor’s office to get a check up and then leaving with a red lollypop. He even dared to play with Lawrence’s radio settings on the way over—a no-no, but the man let him do it. That was Saint’s first indication that his friend knew something fantastically bizarre and shocking was about to go down. All of that jovial banter and mood dissipated. Jagger got out from the back seat and looked at the small, dilapidated brick building with a worn, barely legible sign that read, ‘The best bread in town’.

  “This is where he wanted to meet? Looks like something out of a horror movie, damn.” Jagger slid two loaded M 1911s out their holster, clicked them, and secured them back to his hips. Lawrence and Saint looked back at him, the cracking noise alerting their attention. “Don’t look at me like that. You can never be too careful. You’d be happy I had these puppies if you found out this was some sort of set up. I’m always strapped. Remember that.”

  All three men approached the building, jagged concrete pebbles crunching under their feet. The sky turned into a murky gold with streaks of vibrant orange, and the silhouettes of pitiful trees, clutching on to a leaf or two, dotted the grass barren area. Soon, the sun would be gone, and everything would be pitch black for he could see no streetlights. There was no sign of civilization, minus the small black Fiat parked nearby. Ahead, two doors from the building slowly swung open with a creak, showing nothing but darkness beyond. It was the type of blackness you have to see to believe…a midnight sort of darkness on a starless night. A darkness full of mystery and causing instant trepidation.

  Saint briefly closed his eyes and caught his breath. His nostrils detected the strong aroma of various incenses, burning candles and the unmistakable scent of fresh blood. Jagger turned and paused, his nose in the air, picking it up, too. The men drew closer until, out of the shadows, a ruddy-faced man appeared, his cheeks the color of Georgia dirt. The scent of wet Earth seeped from the stranger’s pores. His pupils were dark coffee and the whites of his eyes glittered. Dressed in a crisp white shirt and pants, paired with sandals, the Healer leaned against a clear glass staff that he obviously didn’t need. His wavy cropped salt and pepper hair suited him, and several strands of colorful choker necklaces were wrapped around his long neck. The older man’s dark eyes moved from one man to the other, starting and stopping again with Saint. His face cracked a smile, showcasing his teeth, one noticeably crooked on the bottom row.

  “Saint….”

  His voice sounded like waves washing ashore, and out the side of his mouth escaped a small wisp of red smoke.

  Saint nodded, then bowed his head in reverence. His heart thumped loudly below his flesh, as if he were feeling the vessel for the first time. Overcome in mere seconds, and the man hadn’t even touched him yet.

  “Come.” The man stepped aside, allowing the three to enter the strange dwelling. They did in single file, and Saint couldn’t help but smile at the sound of an enchanting African beat of basic drums and humming coming from the darkened quarters. As he moved about, he could barely see his hand in front of his face, then, finally, the scent of several matches being struck filled the air and the dancing flames of numerous torches lit the area. They all sat on the dusty ground, forming a small circle before an unlit fire.

  “You’ve come a long way for my friend, Krishna. Thank you,” Lawrence said, then removed a black raven feather from his pocket and handed it to the man. Saint felt a strange energy around him, one that was familiar, but morphing, heating. He turned to Jagger and spotted the man in some sort of daze—scanning, breaking down walls with his mind. His eyes, a vibrant purple, sparkled like jewels. Krishna looked at Jagger as he got ready to kneel before the piled sticks to light a fire.

  “Your friend here, Jagger…” The Healer laughed and nodded. “Very funny…strong, powerful. Good friend. Protective of you, Saint.” His dialect was thick. “He is doing something to look in my mind. Doesn’t trust me. That is good.” He laughed lightly as sparks flew up into the air, swirling, twisting and biting one another like angry, venomous snakes amongst a ricochet of fireworks for the 4th of July.

  “You must trust me however, Saint. Give it to me now.”

  “Give you what?” Saint looked at Lawrence, perplexed. Lawrence pointed back to Krishna.

  “You don’t know the process. My apologies. Saint, arm...give me your arm.”

  Saint paused and reflected on what was being asked. He sighed, a bit apprehensive, but complied. He rolled his shirtsleeve up and pushed his arm toward the flame. In a flash, Krishna gripped his wrist hard, his dark fingers digging into Saint’s wrist—the touch was painful yet soothing all at once. Saint let out a slight grunt and repositioned himself as the man held up a serrated piece of red glass and sliced his flesh clean open. Saint gasped. Blood dripped into the dancing flames, making them jump and scream. Krishna took the raven feather given to him by Lawrence and ran it lightly over the open wound, then began to chant in a strange, unintelligible language.

  Krishna did have the same power level as Saint; Lawrence had been right. He possessed a seasoned, ripe powe
r, coated in the thick, gray paint of wisdom and humility. Saint overdosed on the man, seeing a more refined version of himself in him, and it did his soul good. It was amazing to feel that sort of energy in someone so good and holy, unlike his cousin who’d squandered the rare gift. Red smoke began to fill the room, cottony soft like a woman’s flesh, and sweet like pussy perfume… Saint smiled as he drifted in fantasy, becoming high off of something—of what, he wasn’t sure. Willowy hands and feminine laughter echoed in his ears. All the shit that gave him comfort surrounded him now, and he drowned in the moment, loving it all. After a while, he sleepily looked to his left—Lawrence was gone. He looked to his right—Jagger was gone, too. He looked ahead, and there Krishna kneeled, now with a snow white hood over his head, his body contorting as he chanted and the flames continued to crackle and dance, screaming in bloody rage, agony and release. Saint’s eyes hooded. The drum beat intensified, reminding him of Steely Dan’s, ‘Kid Charlemagne.’ He was sure he was losing his mind, and he loved every moment of it as the damn red smoke choked him like lingerie covered thighs locking him in a tight embrace…

  “Shiiiiiit…,” he slurred as he fell back against the cold wall. “Xenia, baby…,” he murmured, convinced she was sitting on his chest, her pussy close to his lips… and he longed for a taste. Krishna held Saint’s arm out, allowed the blood to keep on dripping.

  “Saint, this is your time. It is time to release. To purge. This is your blessing. Protection. This will carry you through your life, not just tonight and a month later. This is forever…” Suddenly, the man’s voice seemed crystal clear, no dialect at all. Saint strained to keep his eyes opened, to focus. Krishna wasn’t moving his mouth—he was speaking to him telepathically, in a way he could understand. No more confusion.

  “Lawrence brought me the raven feather. It is a bird of mystery, of magic. It will help you hide from those that wish to seek you to destroy the good within you and all that you do. We are ravens—we are the Angels’ Children, and also their clean-up crew. We pick up the pieces. Make everything right. Scavengers of the evil and half dead…that is what we are. We go down into the valleys where others won’t, and we do it well, and with pride. My job is to bless and heal, that is my calling. Your job is to teach and kill, no more stonewalling…”

  Saint realized the man was rhyming, speaking to his soul in a way he could understand…in words that matched the thick, heart-pounding beat of the drum. He was doing it in song, just like a rap, just like the children beating on the dented, metal trashcan lids along the garbage-filled streets in the Bronx on hot summer nights. To the beat of the Salsa and Gauracha music blasting from partially opened windows over a view of dirty sneakers hanging across the telephone lines… a place where cinnamon and dark chocolate brown, buttery beige, azure black and peachy tan kids moved together, their shoulders bumping into one another and moving in sync, like musical notes… slapping their hands against those damned cans, laughing and singing lyrics to things they’d not yet understood or experienced. Things like being in love, you know, having a girl on your side that all the other boys wanted. Having fancy cars like the neighborhood pimps and drug dealers, all the money in the world and fame and fortune. The chorus was the city noise.

  Bursts of strong words in Spanish, Yiddish and thickly accented just straight New York English, no chaser, blended together to make a sinfonietta of life.

  “That beat is mad stupid, yo!”

  They were children… with different names, different claims, but right now, all the same… His memory spun warm, worn thoughts but were interrupted as Krishna’s voice cut through them like the glass that had slashed his arm…

  “Your mother was a polite woman of faith; she knew your heart before she saw your face. She knew you’d be a great one, and no one could take your place. Your father was in fear of you because he loved his son. Didn’t want you to be in pain, so in return, you were shunned. Born from a woman and man that loved each other so hard, in a world so cruel, made of angels and fools; the demons left it burnt and scared. You envisioned your childhood—a portal of hell. But out of it were born angels, and inside of them, you dwell. The devil dances with delight, by your soulful tears in candlelight. But that’s only because he is blinded by the true vision, the Godly third eye’s sight. You scare the imps, your love is strong, and so is your reserve. You stand mighty tall, even up against the wall, and your bravery has the last word. You show me things; I’ll show you things, in a crystal ball covered in blood. You sacrifice, you’ve paid the price, and now your eyes will flood…”

  Just then, a burst of tears waterlogged Saint’s eyes. They burned and stung, and he sat erect, his fingers scratching hastily, aimlessly, along the sandy ground. His vision blurred from the rain that seemed to pour from deep within, down his cheeks, leaving his neck and collar bone saturated.

  Saint felt himself drift deeper into the realm of hazy hypnosis.

  “You must cry. You must purge, Saint. You must be blessed. You must self-clean. From pain comes new life…”

  Saint had once said the same thing about women giving birth…the words had now come back to haunt him…

  The stinging increased. Saint uttered a curse. His eyes felt like hot pokers were pushing into them. He couldn’t take it! Not one second longer. He yelled out, snatched his arm away from the man and waved his hands frantically. He couldn’t see, so he remained seated, but he was in a world of hurt. He prided himself on his pain threshold abilities, but this was simply too much.

  “Shiiiit!” Saint screamed, gritting his teeth. He understood that this was necessary, no matter how badly he wanted to stop it right that moment, to call the entire thing off. A part of him tried to will the pain to go away, to no avail. The tears continued. The drums continued. No shots rang out…Jagger was gone. No words of comfort were given…Lawrence was nowhere to be found. No sense in looking to his left and right; even if he could, they’d vacated, somehow evaporated. It was just Saint and Krishna in the old, run down bakery that had been closed since the early 1980s—out in the middle of nowhere. Instead of fighting it, Saint tried something else. He ran into the pain, as if he were in the middle of the fire before him. He extended his arm back toward the flame, relenting, surrendering completely. He felt the gentle tug from the man, and the feather running over the fresh cut once again.

  I’ve got… I’ve got to leave my body, and let my spirit do this…

  He concentrated as hard as he could, and as if slowly floating, he felt a hard jerk as he left his temple. He flew above himself, his vision clearer upon looking down at his limp image. Lawrence and Jagger were back sitting on either side of him. Saint smiled and sighed with pleasure, for now a new feeling overtook him, one that he could only describe as being kissed gently on the cheek by God Himself…

  “That pain, that was all the hurts that have happened, all the ugliness you’ve witnessed, all the evil you’ve encountered. It stung, blinded you, so hideous it was. Now, we cleanse it. You had too much inside of you, dealt with so much evil, it left traces inside of you that had to be removed, like a cancer…”

  The man continued to speak to him telepathically, and Saint remained calm as his spirit looked down upon his tired, beaten body. He watched Jagger and Lawrence lean in close to him and help him sit up. He rested his weary head on Lawrence’s shoulder.

  “You must cleanse after each kill, after each attack upon you, Saint. It was a grave mistake to not do so. I’ve never seen anything to this extent. It is amazing you have not passed out from exhaustion. The evil ones like to feast on us once we encounter them and force them to submit. What I am doing is helping to clean years of spiritual clutter, but your friend Lawrence is learned in these affairs and knows how to help you stay pure. He will teach you. We are almost finished… Come back inside of your body, please.”

  With his permission, Saint’s soul drifted back down into his temple and upon reconnecting with himself, a jolt of electricity went through him. He got back into his skin as if w
earing a shirt. His nerve endings came back alive, firing wildly, and his vision was restored. He felt so good, so lightweight now, like the feather that the Healer ran across his arm. The wound pulsated, glowing bright red. Krishna blew red smoke into the cut, and the whole room glowed. After a while, Krishna released Saint’s arm and stood, placing his hands together, and bowed his head in silent prayer. Everyone remained quiet. The man opened his eyes and motioned for Saint to stand. As he was still a bit weak, Jagger and Lawrence helped him get to his feet. The doors to the building opened, and if it weren’t for Lawrence’s car, all they’d see was vast nothingness. Saint used his friends as crutches. As they exited, he looked sleepily at Krishna.

  “Thank you so much.” Saint’s voice trembled with gratitude.

  Krishna smiled and bowed his head, giving nothing more than that.

  Lawrence and Jagger got him into the car and behind them, the double doors slammed shut, a puff of red smoke bellowing out from between the cracks as a reminder that all that transpired wasn’t a dream—it really did happen. The three got settled. Saint stretched his legs, coughed into the cradle of his arm and leaned his head back wearily.

  “You will be okay, Saint,” Lawrence said reassuringly as he started the car. “I wish I had thought of this sooner. It wouldn’t have hurt so badly, but it’s done now, and you are purified. You’re tired, but it feels good, doesn’t it?” The tires crunched slowly against the pebbles as Lawrence did a U-Turn out of the makeshift parking space.

  “Yeah,” Saint said breathlessly. “It does. Why’d you two leave me there though?”

  “We didn’t,” Jagger said as he clicked his guns, disengaging them. “We were there the entire time.”

  “You were hypnotized and no longer saw or felt us, is all. This was an exception. Normally, no one is supposed to witness cleaning rituals like this—they can get very ugly—but because of your power level and the extent of damage, he felt it was best we be there.”