The Power: Berkeley Blackfriars Book Two

by J. R. Mabry

  “Such as?”

  “Susan burned all of his pot.”

  “Oh Jesus. I am so glad I’m leaving now.”

  “I actually think Toby has the right idea. If I had half a brain, I’d go with you, too.” Brian slapped at his back. “Godspeed. Bring us back a bishop.”

  “I’ll do my damnedest.” Richard snatched the keys from his hand.

  45

  THE CROWD of the possessed was about a hundred strong when Susan and Kat approached the house. They parted like the Red Sea before them, and Susan was glad for the car’s protection, dilapidated as it was. Once within the warded area surrounding the house, they parked and got out. The damned stood lining the street as if they were a choir about to sing. It occurred to Susan that since some stood in the street and some up on the curb, it was as if they were standing on risers. What would they sing, if they did sing? she wondered. “I Feel Possessed” by Crowded House seemed too obvious. Some of them were even working their mouths in wild, obscene motions as if lip syncing to a soundtrack only they could hear.

  “There’s more now,” Kat said. “Where are they all coming from?”

  Susan just shook her head.

  “Hey!” called a voice. Susan looked at Kat, who was also looking around. Then a woman broke free from the pack of Occupied Americans. Susan expected her to hit the wall of the warding when she got to the middle of the street, but she didn’t. She just kept coming, her face flushed and her hands on her hips.

  “Do these belong to you?” she asked Susan, gesturing at the possessed.

  “No,” Susan answered. “You live across the street, right? I’m Susan.”

  “I don’t give a fuck who you are. I want these…animals off my lawn. Now!”

  “Have you tried saying ‘Please don’t stand on my lawn’?” Susan asked.

  “Have you tried talking to them?” The woman barked the question, one red vein straining to burst free from her forehead. “Make them go away!”

  “I can’t make them go away,” Susan said.

  “Then tell those weird monks to make them go away,” the woman demanded.

  “The Blackfriars can’t make them go away, either,” Susan answered. “We don’t know why they’re here. We don’t know what they’re doing. And right now, we can’t do anything about it.”

  “I’m calling the police, and you’re going to answer for it!” the woman said. “And you’re going to replace my lawn!” She turned on her heel and walked back across the street.

  “Does she know that she’s walking into a horde of possessed people?” Kat asked.

  Amazingly, the possessed shuffled to either side to let her pass unmolested.

  “Even they’re scared of her,” Kat said, clearly impressed. “You handled that well.”

  “That’s nothing,” Susan said. “It’s my husband I’m worried about.”

  Kat squeezed her arm. “Let’s go face the music.”

  Susan blew air out of her cheeks and followed Kat to the front door. Once inside, she saw Mikael sitting by himself in the chapel, his eyebrows so high he looked as if he’d just had a facelift. With his eyes, he indicated the kitchen. He was very still and very quiet. “Oh shit,” said Kat. She padded over to Mikael and kissed him.

  “Maybe you should wait here,” he suggested in a whisper.

  “No,” Kat said. “Gonna stand with my sista.”

  “You’re a braver man than I,” Mikael said.

  Susan joined them, wiping the sweat from her palms onto her jeans. “How bad is he?” she whispered.

  “Well, he’s stoned, so he’s not in too bad a shape,” Mikael said. “But he’s mad as hell.”

  “How could he be stoned?” Susan asked. “I was sure I got all of his stashes.”

  “Dregs,” Mikael said, wrapping his arms around Kat’s waist. “He’s scraped every wooden pipe down to the new wood, and every metal bowl in the house looks as shiny as the day he brought it home from the head shop. He’s also smoked a couple of roaches so old I think they came from joints rolled by Junipero Serra. They ought to have been in a museum.”

  “Oh Jesus,” Susan breathed. “I didn’t think of any of that.”

  “It’s all gone now. I give him a half hour before he’s smoking turnip tops and catnip.”

  Kat disentangled herself from Mikael’s embrace and took Susan’s hand. “Let’s go, Honey,” she said. “Power.”

  “Power,” Susan repeated. She squeezed Kat’s hand and did not let go. Together they walked toward the kitchen. Kat went through first, and Susan followed, seeing Dylan in his regular place at the table. Terry was massaging his shoulders. Dylan looked over his shoulder, saw Susan, and stood up, sending the bench flying behind him as he turned. Terry righted it and stood back.

  “You betrayed meh!” Dylan shouted, stabbing in Susan’s direction with a chubby, accusing finger. “How could ya do it? How could you do this to meh?”

  Susan expected to be cowed before his wrath, but the injustice in Dylan’s accusation stopped her short. Months of accumulated resentment and neglect rose within her. Bitterness at his blindness and selfish obsessiveness burst through her sense of propriety. Reacting, unthinking, she stood to her full height, puffed out her chest, and advanced on him. She slapped at his chest. “What did I do to you, Dylan?” she asked, “Love you? Care about you?” She slapped his face, hard. The sound of it reverberated throughout the kitchen. “What did I do to you, Dylan? Refuse to see you be dragged down by your own weakness? By your stupid addiction?” A huge red welt rose up on Dylan’s cheek. She slapped at his thinning hair, and her voice began to lose its certainty. “What did I do? What the fuck did I do?”

  As the tears rose up, the volume and ferocity of her voice rose as well. Dylan held his hands over his head to ward off the blows, but Susan, screaming now, just kept coming. “I stood by as you sank deeper into this fucking pit you’re in.” She slapped at the top of his head. “I supported you; I enabled you in your stupid habit. I stood by and watched as it claimed more and more of your life and you had less and less for me and for your friends and for God!” She struck at his neck. Dylan stumbled, and he went down. Susan fell on him with her knees, pinning his chest.

  “And now I’m taking you back, you ungrateful shit! You do not belong to yourself. You are not an island. You are not your own master. We are married—I have a claim on your life! And I’m not the only one—you are the fucking property of Jesus! And you have obligations to this house and this order! We have stood back and let you retreat further and further into yourself.” She slapped him, then she slapped him again. “No more! I won’t let you go, not one more inch. Because I”—slap!—“fucking”—slap!—“love you”—slap!—“asshole!”

  She got up and turned her back, leaning on the table and choking up sobs so deep she thought she might vomit. She was almost lying over the table. Dylan crouched by the stove in the fetal position. No one moved.

  Just then, they heard the sound of the front door opening. A moment later Brian walked in. “Sorry supper is la—” He stopped short as he took in the scene. “So, this is awkward,” he said, his shoulders lowering so much that his hunchback was far more pronounced than usual. “I’ll just…stand over here.” He sidled in alongside Terry and squeezed his shoulder.

  “So, listen up! This is how it’s going to be,” Susan said, turning around and facing them all. One of Dylan’s eyes stared at her from behind his hands. Red welts peppered every inch of his exposed skin. “You are going cold turkey!” She pointed at Dylan.

  “You,” she pointed at Terry, “are going to strategize order affairs and dole out assignments, and no one is going to complain about it.” She looked directly at Mikael. “Got it?”

  As if they were one body, everyone in the room nodded their assent. Then Susan turned, drew her elbows into her gut, and let out a rage-filled wail that shook the timbers of the house. Then she pounded out of the room.

  “Well, that’s power,” Kat said under her breath a
nd followed after her.

  46

  AS SOON AS Susan had left the room, Dylan rolled onto all fours and tried to stand. Mikael steadied him as he rose.

  “Oh, man, she did a number on you,” Mikael said. “Sorry, dude.”

  Dylan’s face flushed red again, but this time out of shame. The effect was a more unified field of red that made the welts less noticeable. Strands of Dylan’s remaining hair hung at all angles, and he caught at the kitchen counter to steady himself.

  His mouth worked in pained gyrations, making sure he wasn’t physically hurt. His jaw seemed to be all right. His eyes were glassy and watery, but he was damned if he was going to cry. He made for the back door.

  “Dylan, where are you going?” Terry called after him. Dylan didn’t answer. The screen door slammed, and he let himself out at the gate.

  He went directly across the street, heading straight into the mass of the possessed. His face glowered, and he was so red he almost glowed. The damned seemed to notice and kept their distance—a wedge opening up in their ranks through which he passed.

  Some distant part of his brain registered how dangerous and stupid his actions were. But in the moment, he was so angry and ashamed that he would have been almost relieved if they had fallen upon him and eaten his brains. They’re not zombies, he reminded himself. They’re just possessed. Fuckin’ actin’ like zombies, though.

  He had no idea where he was going. Find pot, a voice in his head was screaming. He could already feel the effects of the dregs he’d smoked waning, and the desolation of sobriety already beginning to settle into his bones. He turned left onto Cedar Street and began up the hill toward the Berkeley campus.

  Did he have his medical marijuana ID card with him? He did. Did he have money? He didn’t. Did he have his ATM card? He did. Was there any money in his account? There wasn’t. Could he borrow any from the common funds? He hesitated. Surely, the guys would understand. They would, right? But now Kat was part of the equation. Where would she stand? And how much was in the common fund, anyway? It couldn’t be much. And Susan would skin him alive. Again.

  He looked at his feet and stopped. A wave of grief washed over him, and he steadied himself against one of the trees lining the street. Had he lost his Susan? Did he deserve to? Tears welled up, and he leaned against the tree and allowed gravity to take him down into a pile. There was no one to see him now except for the anonymous drivers passing by. He wailed, and sobs gobbed up through his throat.

  When he was calm enough to talk again, he noticed the cool of the air. “Jesus,” he spoke out loud, “Ah ain’t got much of a prayer in meh. So Ah’m just gonna say help.” In that moment, he felt a tiny flame of comfort emerge within him. Not judgment, or shame. Just a paradoxical warmth countering the cold wind. “Ah wouldn’t blame you if you just took off,” he said, but the warmth did not retreat.

  “Ah’m such a shit,” he said. “Every word Susan said wuz right. Ah got no cause to be mad at her.” His pride was hurt worse than anything she had done to his body. He was aware of this. He also knew that he had neglected her. But he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it until that moment. Fresh tears spilled out on his cheeks. “Ah’m sorry, Honey!” he wailed. When he was emptied of wails, he said quietly, “Ah’m so sorry, Jesus.”

  It was colder now, and it stung at him. He no longer felt hungry, and he thought this odd. He stood up and debated. Should he go home? No. There was pot to find.

  47

  IN THE KITCHEN, Brian, Terry, and Mikael sat at the table and stared at the wood. “Shall I order us a pizza?” Brian asked. No one said anything, so he got out his cell phone and speed dialed the pizzeria. That done, the table returned to silence. A minute later, Kat entered. “She wants to be alone,” she said and sat down next to Mikael, leaning against him slightly. He put his arm around her comfortingly.

  Finally, Mikael spoke. “Terry, I’m sorry I was such a shit to you a couple of days ago.”

  Terry looked up and couldn’t hide the hurt look that passed over his face. He nodded. Mikael continued. “I just…sometimes you’re critical and quick to judge, and it just felt like you were trying to take over—”

  Terry’s eyebrows raised. He leaned back and said imperiously, “Sorry, was this an apology?”

  Mikael pursed his lips together. “Yeah. It’s an apology. And you’re right. I was frustrated that my ordination got put on hold. It was selfish. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” Terry said. “Mikael, I know I can be hard to take. It’s just my style. You can push back. It’s okay. Brian does it all the time.” As if to illustrate, Brian pushed him over. Terry sat back up. “See? All is well.”

  “You’re a prick,” Brian said, smiling.

  “Don’t push it,” Terry warned. His smile faded, and he looked at the grain in the wood again. “I know I get on people’s nerves. I don’t mean to. And I wasn’t trying to take over. I was just trying to…get things done.”

  “I know. I know,” Mikael said. “And I think you should. You’re a type-A detail person, which is exactly what we need without Dicky here. I mean, he’s a type-A detail person, too, he’s just…”

  “Less irritating?” Terry asked.

  “I wasn’t going to say that.”

  “You were thinking it,” Terry countered.

  Mikael didn’t refute him. Instead, he said, “Can we, like, have a meeting? I mean, I know everyone isn’t here, but…there’s a lot of stuff to talk about.”

  Terry nodded, but nobody said anything. Then Terry got up from the table and left the room. In a moment, he came back with a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Let’s take stock,” he said. “We’ve got a growing nation of possessed people on our doorstep, and we can’t do anything about them without a bishop.”

  “And Richard is on that,” Mikael said.

  “And Toby,” Brian said. They all looked at him. “It’s true. Toby insisted on going with him—or the angel did.”

  “Hokay,” Terry scrawled that last bit of info. “Do we have any idea why we’ve got a growing nation of the possessed congregating around our house?”

  “Nope,” Kat said.

  “Intimidation?” Brian asked. “Normal people would be intimidated by such things.”

  “Normal people?” Terry asked. “Who would want to intimidate us?”

  “Anyone with cloven hooves and a tail?” Mikael suggested.

  “Point,” Terry said. “But why?”

  Brian drummed his fingers. “Could it be misdirection?”

  “You mean, keep us focused on the slobbering horde so that we miss something more important going on?” Mikael asked. “But what would that be?”

  “If we haven’t noticed it, then maybe it’s working,” Brian said.

  “That’s a frightening thought.” Kat said. No one disagreed.

  “Maybe we just haven’t put it together yet,” Terry said. “Maybe we have all the pieces, but we don’t see how they connect.”

  “Or most of the pieces,” Brian corrected.

  Terry shrugged. Then his eyes got a faraway look. “Something odd happened while we were on our way to Hell this morning,” Terry said.

  “That sounds like the beginning of a joke,” Mikael grinned.

  “We were crossing the desert on our way to the Abyss, when it started raining animals. Like I told Kat and Charlie, I saw that happen once before, but it was only one animal then.”

  Kat leaned in. “There were thousands of them today—maybe hundreds of thousands,” she said. “I thought they were going to crush us.”

  “If it weren’t for the Sandalphon, they would have,” Terry said.

  Brian’s head snapped up. “Just a minute,” he said, going out through the back door. A minute later he came back, pecking furiously at an iPad. “Okay, listen to this, from the medieval Islamic theologian Al-Ghazali: ‘On the Day of Resurrection, meanings are bared. Then form takes on the color of meaning. If a person had been dominated by passion and greed in the wor
ld, he will be seen on that day in the form of a pig. If he was dominated by anger and aggression, he will be seen in the form of a wolf.”

  Terry nodded. “There were lots of other animals, too.”

  “Well, there are ninety-nine names of Allah—all of them represent a divine attribute which is also manifested in human beings. It’s what it means to be made in the image of God, according to Islamic theology. Any one of the attributes out of balance with the others renders it a vice, and whichever vice is dominant is represented by a different animal. Al-Ghazali suggests that everyone is out of balance somehow and so will manifest as an animal while awaiting judgment.”

  “But is this the Day of Resurrection?” Mikael asked.

  “Resurrection happens in various stages,” Brian said. “First, there is the manifestation of the attributes—I think that’s what you saw today. Next is judgment, where each soul will be weighed and assigned an eternal destiny. It could be that there are thousands of years separating the different stages.”

  “So, we saw an Islamic resurrection?” Kat asked. “Does that even make any—”

  “Dearborn,” Brian said. They all looked at him. “Dearborn has the highest concentration of Muslims in the United States.”

  “Had,” Terry corrected him.

  “Exactly,” Brian nodded slowly. “You were in the desert at the exact same time that the Michigan governor bombed Dearborn. You witnessed all of those souls—”

  “Coming through the other side,” Terry nodded, getting it.

  Kat held her hands up to her mouth, not daring to breathe. “Oh my God,” she said. “That’s horrible.”

  Mikael nodded. “That must be it,” he said. “But what do we have to do with that? There’s nothing we could have done; no way we could have known it was coming; no way we could have stopped it.”

  “I don’t know,” Terry admitted. “It’s just…sad.”

  “It makes me angry,” Kat said, her hands balling up into fists. Mikael pulled her closer to him, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.