Dark Advent (Vatican Knights Book 8)

by Rick Jones

  As Kimball took the stairway that led to the second and third floors, the steps felt soft and spongy beneath his weight as they groaned and protested with every footfall. There was no way anyone could mount these stairs without alerting the tenants within, he considered.

  When he reached the top level he came to a door that looked poorly fitted in its frame. Not only was there a gap at the bottom where there should be one, but there was a space at the top as well, an opening of at least two inches where the top of the door was supposed to meet with the frame. Kimball could hear everything that was going on inside.

  Hearing Becki and Dennis, his knuckles rapped against the door.

  Then silence.

  After a second hard knock that threatened to knock the door loose from its aging hinges, Kimball called out: “Becki, it’s Kimball. I know you’re in there.”

  Shuffling. Then: “Kimball, we’re busy.”

  “Too busy to see family?”

  “Kimball, please.”

  “Open the door, Becki.”

  “Hey, man,” it was Dennis, “did you not hear what she just said. We’re busy.”

  “Open the door, Becki. Or I’ll smash it in.”

  Dennis again: “Dude, we’ll call the cops if you do.”

  “Go ahead. I’m sure you’d love to have them visit.”

  After close to thirty seconds of silence, the bolts were finally pulled back and Becki opened the door. A heavy stench of spoiled garbage assaulted him. When Kimball stepped inside the room, he couldn’t believe that people were capable of living like this. Opened trash bags with food rotting were lying about as if they were pieces of furniture. Roaches clambered along the walls and across floors. Dishes were piled high and probably had been for weeks. This was home living at its absolute worst.

  Kimball watched where he had to step, since the floor was gummy in some areas.

  “Dude, what do you want?” asked Dennis. The man looked clearly wasted away, his limbs like broomsticks. “We were kind of busy, man.”

  “Obviously not by cleaning,” Kimball returned.

  “Kimball,” Becki sounded reserved, “what is it? Why are you here?”

  “I’m here to check up on you,” he said just as evenly. “I’m worried about you.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s fine,” said Dennis, then he pointed to the door. “So have a nice day.”

  Kimball ignored him. “You don’t have to be here,” he told her.

  “And where would I go?”

  “Come home with me,” he said.

  “Hey! What? Whoa!” Dennis intervened. “She’s not going anywhere, dude. She’s staying right here where she belongs.”

  Kimball gave Dennis a sidelong glance, one that told him that his patience was running thin, which caused Dennis to stumble through his next few words before going absolutely silent.

  Then to Becki: “You gave me your word,” he said. “You told me that you’d get clean.”

  “You know I can’t live with anyone like your father. He’s impossible.”

  “You’ll have me and my mother.”

  Then she looked at Kimball with eyes that were red and raw and beginning to well with tears. Her chin became gelatinous and began to quiver, her face threatening to break. And it was here that Kimball could read between the lines. His mother was right. Becki didn’t want to be found. As bad as things were, she hadn’t hit rock bottom yet.

  “Becki, you can beat this. I’ll help you. Your debt with Cooch is paid in full. Or did you lie to me about that too.”

  She nodded. “We’re current.”

  We’re current? Does this mean that you’re going back into debt with Cooch? You’re already stepping precariously along the edge of the Abyss.

  Becki fell away from Kimball, putting distance between them and closing the gap between her and Dennis. Then she leaned into Dennis, and Dennis swept an arm around her and pulled her close. His chin was tilted in a manner of arrogant victory over Kimball.

  Kimball appeared stunned. How could people choose to live like this?

  They looked like living skeletons from a Nazi internment camp during the Holocaust. They were wallow-eyed and sickly looking. And if neither got help soon, Kimball was sure that they’d be dead within weeks.

  “Becki, please. I’ll take care of you.”

  Becki started to cry as shame and guilt engulfed her. She turned her head and sobbed into Dennis’ shirt, the fabric taking her tears with absorption.

  Dennis raised a corner of his lip into a triumphant smile, then pointed to the door. “She’s made her choice, Kimball. So now you can leave and don’t come back.”

  Kimball turned to his cousin. “Becki?”

  She looked at him with an appearance that said it all: This is what I want. This is what I choose.

  Kimball shook his head disapprovingly. If this is what you choose, the next time I see you might be at your wake.

  “I’m so sorry, Kimball,” she said.

  He turned his back on her and began to walk out the door. “Yeah, well, not as sorry as I am.”

  With that statement she broke completely, crying and wailing as if grieving a great loss. And then the door slammed shut. But Kimball could still hear her crying through the gaps of the ill-fitting door, as if she was singing a dark hymn. It would be a song he would hear throughout his entire life---that haunting melody of suffering.

  And for Kimball Hayden there would never be an escape from this particular sound.

  Never.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  By the time Kimball returned home it was late afternoon. His father was sitting at the kitchen table reading the Herald, which was more of a tabloid newspaper, while his mother tended the stove making tomato sauce with mushrooms and diced sausage.

  His father didn’t look up from the paper. “So, did you happen to save the poor woman’s soul?” When Kimball walked out of the kitchen and took the stairs to the second level, his father made a final comment that was meant to sting. “Yeah. I thought not. You failed at that like you failed at everything else in your life. Ain’t you good at anything, Boooooooy?”

  Kimball slammed the door in anger and tossed himself on the bed, which appeared much too small for him. He stewed over what happened with Becki. They were family. But in the end she chose an outcast over him.

  There was a light rap against his door. “Go away!”

  “Kimball, please. It’s mom.”

  “I just want to be left alone.”

  She opened the door and invited herself in.

  “What’s the point of knocking on the door if you’re going to walk in anyway?” Kimball asked heatedly.

  Her diminutive body took a seat along the edge of the bed. “Honey, your father and I knew this would happen with Becki. I know you’re hurt and feel betrayed, but you had to find out for yourself.”

  “She chose him over me. That loser Dennis!”

  His mother nodded. “Yes, she did. But she didn’t do it to hurt you. She did it because Dennis can give her what she needs more than anything else in the world. And right now that’s a fix.”

  Kimball continued to stare at the ceiling. Then more calmly. “You were right,” he said. “She just used me.”

  “People like Becki who are lost will certainly compromise their moral principles at any cost. Even if the cost is family. And someday she’ll come to realize this. But only when things are at their absolute worst with her.”

  “She’ll be dead before then,” he said. “You should see her. She already has one foot in the grave by the looks of it . . . And that Dennis!” He was becoming visibly angry. The brows over his eyes dipped sharply over the bridge of his nose. His clenched his teeth, causing the muscles in the back of his jaw to work. And his entire body became as tense and rigid as steel.

  When his mother placed a soothing hand on his shoulder, Kimball calmed immediately.

  “Kimball,” she said, her voice steadily calm, “I’ve never seen you angry before. Not like this.
Not like last night with your father. Normally you don’t let matters get to you. But what I’m seeing is quite scary, to be honest.”

  He turned to his mother. “You know I’d never hurt you,” he said, sounding hurt.

  She gave a faint smile. “I know that, honey. I wasn’t talking about me. I was talking about you. Last night, in the kitchen with your father, I saw an unstoppable force in you when you become angered. You thought he’d hit me on purpose, so you responded because you thought you were protecting me. But there was something dark in you, Kimball. Something I’ve never seen before. You were . . . different. And I’m afraid if that Kimball comes out again, you could do some irreparable damage that could land you in serious trouble.”

  Kimball looked away, his eyes once again fixating to the popcorn ceiling.

  “But what you tried to do for Becki shows me that you have a good heart,” she added. “And I am so proud of you for trying to help her.”

  “A lot of good it did.”

  “It doesn’t matter if you succeeded, Kimball. What matters is that you tried.”

  “Yeah, well---” He let his words trail.

  “And if things don’t go well, you have to learn to keep your temper in check.” She barked a silly laugh, which caused Kimball to smile as well. “I don’t want to see that wrecking machine again. It’s getting too expensive with all the holes he’s putting in the walls around here.”

  They both laughed. And for the first time in a long time Kimball felt good about himself.

  When the moment passed she reached into the pocket of her apron, removed a small velvet bag, and handed it to Kimball.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Open it.”

  He undid the strings to the purple pouch and tipped the contents into his palm. Rosary beads as black and shiny as obsidian glass spilled into his hand. At the end of the chain dangled a small crucifix. “This is your rosary,” he told her.

  “I want you to have it for tomorrow,” she told him. “When we go to church.”

  “I have no idea how to use these.” He tried to offer the rosary back to her.

  But she gently forced his fingers over them. “You thumb the beads and roll them between your fingers. Then you say a prayer to God.”

  “I don’t know prayers, you know that. Not a single one.”

  “Then talk to God. He’ll hear you.”

  “But will He answer me back?”

  “In His way, yes.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She patted his closed fist. “Use the rosary. Talk to God. That’s all I ask.”

  “Will He tell me my future?”

  “Actually, He will. He will guide you in the direction He sees fit for you. He has a purpose for all of us, Kimball. It may take five or ten years, maybe longer. But He will show you the way when the time is right.”

  “I was trying to be funny,” he said.

  “I know. But I wasn’t. You do have a purpose, Kimball. And in time He’ll show you the way.”

  “Like He showed pop the way? And you? Both who are struggling to make ends meet.”

  She maintained her good will and smile. “Kimball, He blessed me with you. And believe me, there’s no feeling of love that’s greater than what a mother feels for her child. It’s indescribably wonderful and He has truly blessed me with motherhood. When you have children of your own you’ll understand.”

  “And what about dad? He’s the most miserable person I know.”

  “Your father provides for his family,” she said. “In many ways he feels inadequate about himself. You know that. But in the end he feels good because he knows he’s making a difference by supporting this family. Yes, it’s hard and we don’t have a lot of money. But we do have a house and food on the table every night. But most important we have family, which is something Becki doesn’t have. And you see how she is after forsaking God.”

  “We can help her.”

  “Only when she hits rock bottom and realizes that she no longer wants to be in the Abyss.”

  “Why don’t we just pull her out ourselves and bring her here?”

  “Right now, Kimball, she has to defeat her own personal demons before she accepts the Light. And sometimes, it’s not always easy. There are those who fight their demons throughout their entire lives. I pray you won’t become one of them.”

  “I don’t have any personal demons.”

  “Not yet. And let’s pray that you never will.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” he said. “I’ll take on all comers.”

  When he laughed she didn’t. “Kimball, two years ago Becki was graduating with honors. Now look at her. You can barely recognize her. So never believe for one moment that personal demons can be cast aside freely. They can’t. Once they dig their claws into you, then the battle will be one that is long fought.”

  “You’re serious.”

  “Of course I’m serious. Becki was the sweetest girl I ever met. Now she’s dying a slow death by the demons who claim her will. She’s not the person we knew two years ago. Not even close. And if there is anything at all that you want to talk about---before it gets too deep and I don’t care how embarrassing it may be for you---talk to me.”

  Yeah. Sure. Whatever.

  “I know that look, Kimball. I’m serious. Becki had no one to talk to---or she was at least too embarrassed to do so. But you do. That’s what families are for.”

  “Is this the token mother-son talk? You going to tell me about sex next?”

  “No. You can get a better education about that on the streets.” She took his balled hand and placed it---and the secured beads---over his heart as he laid there. “Use it, Kimball. Talk to God. Open your heart and He will come. Find peace as I have.”

  “You must have found peace if you continue to live with him.” He tilted his head in the direction of his father.

  “Kimball, that’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  She let it pass. Then: “Bring it with you to church tomorrow, OK?”

  “Sure.”

  She leaned over, kissed him on the forehead, and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. As soon as she was gone Kimball allowed the beads to dangle from his fingers. The crucifix at the end of the beaded chain twirled in small rotations. A moment later he placed the rosary on the nightstand beside his bed, got to his feet, and went to his closet. When he opened the door loose junk began to spill out, stuff that should have been tossed out years ago. On the hangers were dress clothes such as button-down shirts and dress pants, church clothes. In the corner hanging from a hanger was a tie. It was the only tie he had. And one with the ugliest paisley designs he’d ever seen. Hanging at the other end of the rod was a gray hoodie.

  He grabbed the garment, removed the hanger, and held it up. It was large, something he never wore before because when his mother bought it for him at the time, it was much too large. But now he had grown. So now the fit was perfect. He put it on and flexed his arms at the shoulders to get a feel of the hoodie. It was strong and flexible. Then he grabbed the hood and pulled it over his head. Even the light coming in the window from the late afternoon sun couldn’t breach the shadows that covered his face. The overlap of the hood had masked most of his features. Only the lower side of his angular jawline showed.

  After removing the hoodie, Kimball simply tossed it on the closet floor rather than to put it back on the hanger, and looked at the shirt and tie. He would go to church to appease his mother and make her feel good. He would toy with the beads between his fingers as she requested. And maybe he would talk to God, believing he would never get an answer.

  But Kimball Hayden would get an answer---and soon---about the direction of his life.

  And for some odd reason he turned to look at the hoodie lying heaped on the floor.

  He didn’t hear a celestial voice. There was no divine intervention to make him turn and look. It was something instinctive. Somethi
ng that made his interest gravitate to that particular article of clothing.

  The hoodie.

  It was the first hint that would change his life forever.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Sunday Morning

  Kimball awoke, showered, dressed and was downstairs where his father sat at the kitchen table wearing a tank-top and boxer shorts with hems that flared out around skinny legs. On his forearms were two faded tattoos, their images barely discernable. He was eating toast and drinking coffee when he noticed Kimball dressed to the hilt.

  The old man chortled and shook his head. “Didn’t know you had a tie or even knew what one was,” he said. “But I bet you know what a dress is though, don’t you, Kimmie?”

  “Stop.” His mother came to Kimball’s defense.

  “You think the church is going to give him spirit? Is that what you think?” His father then addressed Kimball. “Is the church going to give you spirit, Boy?”

  Kimball remained silent. Nor did he show the beginnings of his anger.

  His father went back to eating his toast and drinking his coffee, slurping rather than sipping.

  “You look very handsome,” his mother said.

  “Don’t you mean pretty?” said the father. “Aren’t girls supposed to be pretty?”

  The moment Kimball started to advance with a clenched fist, his mother intervened and placed herself between the two. And when she looked Kimball in the eyes he could see hers speaking to him, with her soft appearance telling him to bottle up the anger and keep the monster at bay. So he relented and fell back with his fist no longer clenched. His father saw none of this as he was finishing off the last of his toast.

  “I’m almost ready,” she told him. “Give me a minute. Can I trust you two to be alone?”

  “Yeah,” stated Kimball.

  His father said nothing as he brought the coffee cup to his lips.

  When she left the room Kimball took a seat opposite his father.

  A moment of awkward silence passed between them before his father finally spoke. “And Becki?” he said.