by A. L. Mengel
He ventured up the stairs as the dull hum of the traffic on Washington Avenue roared behind him. He slid his key into the door, and opened it to darkness. The stench of burned wood and ash was overpowering. His footsteps clicked against the stone floor as he walked in a second set of doors into the main dance floor area. The bar was trashed, water still pooled in the corners; tables were strewn about everywhere, and even the stage was partially burned. He stared at the stage; the torn and tattered curtains, and remembered the nights that he and Darius spent in the conference room that overlooked the expansive dance floor. He did not notice the approaching footsteps until they were right behind him.
He turned around and Delia smiled. Ethan stood next to her, and he smiled and pushed his glasses up his nose.
Delia walked to Antoine with outstretched arms. “Do you see now? Do you see what they are doing to us?”
Antoine looked around the room and shook his head. “Extermination.” He walked over to the bar and examined some broken glass on the bar top. “That is a word that comes to mind. My house is the same way. A burned out shell. It’s like I am being erased.”
“They’re going after more than just you, Antoine,
Delia said, joining Antoine at the bar. “Immortals all over the world have seen the man, and they’re losing their gift, Antoine.” She looked at him directly in his eyes. “Do you know what that means? We could literally be wiped out.”
*****
Shortly after Darius died, Antoine returned to Miami, and not long after that, he received a visit from those in Rome. He knew that The Inspiriti had valid concerns about his sector. He had lost control. He had lost Darius. His home, his business. And his sanity. And there was a sense, in the back of his mind, that Darius might still be alive. Somehow, in some way. Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe denial. Or it could have just been a longing; missing him, rotting in the grave, a wish that might have been fleeting, as Antoine looked in the mirror, at his eyes, red-rimmed, puffy. His cheeks fresh clean with streams of tears.
But there was a sense, that feeling which would not let go. It was too much to think this.
He stood in the foyer of a rented condominium not far from his estate. As he stood, propping himself up from the wall, his hands flat against the slate, he hung his head down and dared not to keep looking in the mirror hanging in front of him.
“Why did you take him from me?!” He raised his hands to the ceiling and fell to his knees, hung his head and closed his eyes. “I tried to save him. Put forth all my effort. And then you take him from me!”
Antoine looked over at the door when he heard a car pull up outside. He walked over to the door, and pulled the curtain aside. A long, black limousine stood in the driveway, as a young male driver walked around the front of the car and opened the rear door. And there was the Monsignor. Here. In Miami.
Antoine rushed back over to the mirror, and wiped his cheeks. He grabbed a tissue from the small table underneath, and wiped his eyes. They still looked a little red.
The door chimed, and Antoine took a deep breath, and exhaled. “Here we go,” he said to himself.
The door opened as the Monsignor smiled. His silver hair was neatly combed across his shiny head. Antoine first noticed the man’s expansive forehead. “Antoine, may I enter?”
Antoine nodded and stepped aside, ushering the Monsignor inside. The priest looked upwards, as another man, much younger, stepped out of the back of the limousine and walked up the steps. “My assistant Ramiel,” the Monsignor said, gesturing towards the younger priest. Ramiel nodded and shook Antoine’s hand. The driver leaned against the car and lit a cigarette, as Antoine shut the door.
The three men walked into the front living room, as the Monsignor looked around. His eyes stopped for a moment on the fireplace. “Very exquisite,” he said. “Italian marble?”
Antoine shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a rental.”
“You have a very lovely home,” the Monsignor said, as he sat in a large, white, overstuffed sofa. He moved several pillows to the side and leaned back.
“Actually I don’t. My home is a few blocks that way.” He pointed out towards the front window. “It’s basically a burned out shell now. This is a rental. Would you care for a drink?” Antoine stood at the bar and held up some glasses.
“Chianti, if you have it.”
Antoine set three large wine glasses on the bar top, opened a bottle of wine, and poured a bit in each glass. He placed a glass in front of the Monsignor and Ramiel, and took his own glass and sat in a chair opposite the two priests.
The Monsignor leaned forward. “Let me get right to it,” he said. “You know why we are here, correct? Delia has filled you in?”
Antoine nodded.
“Very well then. Here is where we stand right now. Right now we know that this ‘Hooded Man’ is most active in your sector. I have received some complaints from areas in Europe, but he is most active in Miami and New York. We are stepping in because – if we don’t – we are afraid our kind will suffer a great loss. If we lose Miami and New York, we will lose our stronghold in America.”
Antoine nodded and sipped on his wine. “Did he burn down my business? And my home?”
The Monsignor shook his head. “I don’t think so. We have a team mobilizing as we speak to investigate that.”
Antoine sighed. “The cops are all over – both on Andelusia avenue and at the club. Big time arson investigation. I’m all over the news down here.”
“Understandably so.”
Ramiel set his glass on the coffee table with a slight clank. He stood and walked over to the window. “What type of clues are in that house, Antoine? Evidence of the portal that is there?” He turned to look at Antoine.
“There is no way that they could find that entrance, Ramiel. It’s impossible for a mortal to see it without a guide – someone either who has the same dark gift that we have, or a spirit from the other side.”
The Monsignor was quiet.
His lips were pursed together, and he rubbed his head and set his wine down. “Antoine, have you considered the possibility that we may have someone on the inside working against us?”
Antoine’s mouth dropped open.
“Consider it, and investigate it, Antoine. Act on it with immediacy – our fate depends upon it. And if there is a traitor to our kind, their punishment will be swift and severe.”
Antoine remembered the charter. “Crucifixion. I remember.”
“Warn them, Antoine. Warn all those in your sector. Crimes against our own will not be tolerated. I will spread the word in other sectors. If we have a traitor, they will be nailed to a cross and hung for all of eternity.”
*****
Antoine, Monsignor Harrison, and Ramiel sat in silence for a few moments as a giant truck lumbered down the street, rattling the windowpanes. Antoine rose from the sofa and peered out the window. He caught the tail end of a military Humvee, just as it exited his view. “Those have been coming down the streets quite a bit lately. It’s like they are mobilizing for something.”
Ramiel joined Antoine. “Why would the military be mobilizing for a spiritual war? That is not their area of expertise.”
Antoine looked at Ramiel. “Because the barrier has been broken, Ramiel. That’s what’s going on here, Monsignor. The barrier was broken. There has been so much confusion as to what is reality, and what is taking place in another dimension. It’s like rips in the fabric of existence and time. But the netherworld is spilling out – and people are getting lost on the other side.”
“Can you please elaborate?”
Antoine joined the Monsignor back on the sofa and Ramiel followed. “There are several. Sheldon Wilkes, Paula Tandy and Anthony Peterson – all paranormal researchers for The Astral. Mr. Wilkes was interviewing me for a book that he was writing on my life. They’re all gone.”
The Monsignor shook his head, took a sip of wine, and placed his glass back on the table. “Of course, we were not happy with the news su
rrounding Darius, and how he died, and also how you had died. We’re happy, of course, that you have returned, but what has happened to Miami, Antoine? Seems like things really got out of hand here in the past few years.”
Antoine set his wine down on the coffee table, and looked directly at the Monsignor. The man raised his eyebrows. Antoine’s eyes fell. “I lost control, dear Monsignor. When I was dragged to the altar, I completely lost control.”
“How do you mean? You had no successor?”
Antoine sighed. He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes. He had dreamed of Roberto becoming a successor. He didn’t understand what had gone wrong. His thoughts carried him back to the night on Washington Avenue that he had first met Roberto. He could still feel the stifling humidity, he could still hear the click-clacking of high heels on dirty pavement, the chatter of friends out having late night fun; the cool wall of air-conditioning still blasted his face as if he were still standing there in the hot Miami night air.
And he could still see Roberto, the shiny penny in the midst of dull and dirty coins, standing at the other end of the block, looking towards him, his eyes calling him, beckoning him to come forward, and then it stopped.
“Yes, yes,” Antoine said. “I had a planned successor.”
The Monsignor leaned forward and set his glass down. It clanked on the glass table. “Antoine! Are you listening to me?”
Antoine nodded.
“So who was your successor then? Why did Miami fall apart after you were gone?”
Antoine paused for a moment and thought of Roberto. He saw him, standing on Washington Avenue. He saw his pretty features, his olive complexion and dark hair.
Come and see me father. Come and see what I have done!
Antoine snapped out of his musing. Ramiel handed him a tissue and he wiped his forehead. “Yes, I remember. I know now.” He looked up at the Monsignor, then at Ramiel, and then down at his glass of wine. “I was betrayed.”
The men nodded. “Who betrayed you, Antoine?”
Antoine paused for a moment. He remember the nights that Roberto cried in his arms, when he stood in his room, in the same estate that Antoine now owned, the same house that sat burned and a shell of its former glory – and then he looked at the two men directly. “Roberto Perez. He had me dragged to my death. I was taken through the bodies, through the thrashing limbs in the sea of souls, and to the altar. I was burned to ashes.”
The Monsignor waved his hand. “Yes, I know your story, Antoine. We have it in your file back in Rome. But this betrayal – this is something I have not heard before. These ‘specifics’ surrounding your capture and death.”
“What was his motive?” Ramiel asked.
Antoine shook his head, but the Monsignor answered. “It’s clear, gentlemen. I have seen this before, over the years. It’s apparent that the gift went to his head. Some get spellbound with their newfound power, and become rebels. Those rebels can retaliate against their makers – sometimes in anger, or hatred, for giving them the gift if they didn’t want it –and others just for the pure pleasure of power and the kill. Domination. That sort of thing.”
Antoine looked directly at the Monsignor. “So what do we do, your highness?”
“The answer is clear, gentlemen. We find out who is betraying our kind, and we bring justice for those who we have lost.”
“And what about Darius?” Antoine said.
“Darius may still have hope. He has only been gone for a short while. We shall exhume him and I shall perform the ritual. But with even greater importance, we might be able to find out what was in the decanter. What he drank. If we can. We shall try our best.”
*****
Antoine grabbed a small bag from the master bedroom closet and flopped on the bed. The sun would be rising soon, and he wanted to be gone before the light peeked over the eastern sky. He opened the chest drawers and fished a few items of clothing out and placed them in the bag. In the bedside chest was his passport; he put that in his jacket pocket and zipped the bag, picked it up, and walked out to the foyer, placing it near the front door.
He then walked back through the kitchen and out to the garage, and to the breaker box. He snapped the breakers to the OFF position, and slammed the door shut. Back in the house, he examined each room. Furniture was covered in stark white dust cloths. The curtains were all pulled tight. The damper was closed. The air conditioning was set at 80 degrees.
It was time to leave for Europe.
*****
Antoine waited in the front driveway of his condominium for the airport limousine. His fished his phone from his bag and dialed Delia. After a few rings, she answered. “I am waiting for the car. We’ll swing by and get you next. Are you all packed? Are your breakers shut off?”
“Yes.”
“Very good then. Monsignor Harrison and Ramiel will meet us at the terminal. We’re all on the same flight to Frankfurt. The plan remains the same – get to Lyon and we’ll all hole up at the Chateau. I’ve already let Giovanni know that we’re all on our way. Then after that…”
“All we can do is our best, Antoine. We will try to save him, if we can. The Monsignor is going to try his best.”
Antoine shook his head as he saw a long Town Car pull up in the circular driveway. “I just wish there was a way we could still use our powers. I used to be able to fly and cross the ocean in minutes. Now I am cursed to fly in an aluminum tube.”
“It’s like we are being drained,” she said.
“Let me go, I’ll see you at the airport. But I’ll tell you one thing, Delia. I think there is something bigger going on than we know.”
FRANKFURT - LYON
The flight was bumpy, and Antoine attempted throughout the nine hours to get some rest. But it did not come easily, nor without fitful dreams.
Roberto.
Antoine could not get him out of his mind. And the nights they spent together. He remembered the night he transformed Roberto, as he plunged through his neck, drinking his blood, as Roberto’s small, muscular frame shook beneath him.
“I will now be the same as you,” Roberto had said after Antoine had come down from a state of euphoria. He reached over and turned on the lamp next to his bed. “I am going to be just like you, Antoine!”
Antoine leaned back and reached for his shirt. “Where is the sudden confidence coming from? Just a few minutes ago you were crying on my shoulder.”
“That was before I drank from you! Your blood gives me so much confidence! It was exactly what I needed my whole life!”
Antoine raised his eyebrows and looked at Roberto. He was standing next to the bed in a small pair of boxers. His muscles flexed as he spoke to Antoine, such an animated young man. “This gift is great Antoine! Now I can be all who I want to be. And I won’t have to die, ever!”
Antoine stood and held his hands up. “Wait a minute, Roberto. There’s a lot that is going to happen to you. Especially in the first few days. You can’t just go and take over the world from the start. There are a lot of things you will have to learn. About yourself. How to interact with other immortals, everything. And you will need some time to self-reflect, shed your skin, so to speak.”
Shed your skin.
“It’s exactly what Darius told me,” Antoine said, as he watched Roberto pull a shirt on.
“Screw that!” he said. “Thank you man!” He kissed Antoine on the cheek, slapped him on the back, and walked out of the bedroom.
Antoine woke as the jet touched down on the runway in Frankfurt. What a mess with Roberto. Could he be the betrayer?
*****
Antoine waited at the end of the baggage claim terminal as the sun faded. Giovanni was waiting for Antoine with his car and driver, leaning against a black sedan wearing dark sunglasses. His hair was tied neatly in a pony-tail. Antoine looked over at the Monsignor, Ramiel and Delia who were getting into a separate car. Delia looked over at Antoine and nodded.
Once inside the car, Antoine looked over at Giovanni as th
e diver pulled away. “I wanted to travel separately, Giovanni, so we could talk privately.”
He nodded. “What is it, dear Antoine?”
He looked out the window and saw Delia looking at them, shaking her head as the car pulled away. “I had to speak to you about Roberto. How he betrayed me. Do you think he is murdering our kind?”
Giovanni leaned in closer towards Antoine. “Murdering our kind? What has led you to think this?”
Antoine looked over at Giovanni and shrugged. “Look what he did to me, Gio. I mean, betraying one’s maker. Isn’t that grounds for crucifixion?”
Giovanni shrugged. “I know there are rules. Written by the ancients, apparently. I’ve never heard of an immortal actually being crucified. But I know there are books out there that talk about it.”
Antoine shot a glance over at Giovanni. “So is it something we do or not?”
Giovanni placed his hand on Antoine’s knee. “My friend, I don’t know. Since The Inspiriti, a lot of things have changed.”
*****
The Town Car pulled up in front of the Chateau and Monsignor Harrison stepped out in a two piece pinstripe as Antoine and Giovanni stood on the front porch and looked on. Ramiel got out of the car after his highness, and then Delia. Antoine leaned against a cement pillar as the light on top of it automatically turned on as the sun set.
Delia looked over at Antoine and smiled. “Are you ready for this? To see Darius again? You know what to expect?”
Antoine shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the three others. Monsignor Harrison looked at Antoine. “You have the equipment ready?” Antoine nodded. “I have it out in a barn out back. I haven’t used it for years, but it’s all there, and should be ready to go.”