by J W Kiefer
Sanctuary drew himself up to his full height, glowing in intensity. “If you are lying to me, I will rip you apart right here and now.”
The Musketeer sighed and shook his head. “You have not changed in the hundreds of years I have known you, mon ami. You are still all intensity and fire. Let me give you a word of advice. You should try to enjoy what you do. Well, if that is possible for a being such as you. Perhaps He will not let you have fun. No joy, only duty for the ever-vigilant angel.”
Sanctuary growled at the blasphemous statement, but he managed to somehow keep his cool. “Sorry if my idea of pleasure is not murdering women and children.”
“To each his own,” the Musketeer replied, not missing a beat. “Well, this has been enjoyable, but I must bid you adieu.”
He turned away from Sanctuary and walked toward a nearby shadow cast by a large tree. As soon as he reached the darkness, he began to melt into it.
Before he had completely dissolved, he looked back at Sanctuary. “You are right to worry, mon ami. The new bearer is in danger, but not from me. Not yet, anyway.” He said this last statement with a wicked smile, then faded into the darkness.
Twenty-Seven
The atmosphere in the small funeral home was somber. So many people had come out for Jared’s funeral that they could not fit them all into the small sanctuary. Every pew was filled, and the walls were lined with people. Most of the attendees were police officers or those who had, in some capacity, worked with Jared. Old college friends had also come, as well as acquaintances from high school and younger.
The small room was decorated with flowers and pictures from his life. At the front of the room, the coffin rested, a large American flag draped across it. The viewing had been the day prior and his parents had requested that the casket be closed for the actual funeral ceremony.
In the front row, Dana sat with Steve, resting her head on his shoulder. He hugged her close, the image of brotherly comfort. Her tear-stained face was red from crying, her slightly tattered hair veiling her eyes from curious glances.
She had barely spoken since the incident in the city and Steve was worried. He was not, however, worried for her, but rather worried about what Jared might have said the night he died. Even though she was acting polite, there was always the possibility that she was toying with him, waiting for just the right time to spring a trap. Either way, she was a loose end. He did not like loose ends.
Steve did not hear much of what was said by the endless stream of family and friends who pattered on about his dead brother. It was not that he did not love his brother; he had loved him as much as he loved anyone. It was just that it was physically painful for him to sit here and pretend that he cared. Steve wondered if he had been born this way or whether the circumstances of life had fashioned him into the monster he had become. That was, however, a philosophical question for another time. Today, he had to do his best to bring out the waterworks and solemnize the death of a loved one.
He really did feel bad that he’d had to kill Jared. Deep down he had never held any ill will for his older brother. In fact, he had liked him. Even loved him. At least, he had stronger feelings for Jared than he had for anyone else in his immediate family.
Beside him, Dana shuddered. He stroked her shoulder with his fingertips, coaxing her to relax.
Dear Dana. What should he do about her? Should he kill her? Certainly, it would most likely come to that, but it was too dangerous to kill her now. One dead cop could be survived, but two dead cops in a week’s time, now that would cause too many people to take notice. So, for now, Dana lived.
She laid her head on his shoulder. He could feel her sobs rack her body. He held her tighter. Such a sympathetic friend.
It was mentally exhausting for him to be around so much emotion and grief. For years now, he had felt nothing when it came to normal human interactions. He knew what he was supposed to feel; he simply didn’t.
Anyway, the dark-haired woman beside him was beautiful. The thought of seducing her was not unappealing, but he did not have any feelings for her other than simple lust. Oh well, maybe he would toy with her for a while before he killed her. At least to find out what Jared had told her in the last moments of his life. Certainly, if she knew it was him who’d killed Jared, she would have had him arrested already. Right? The not-knowing was driving him crazy.
He squeezed her shoulder hard, and she pulled away from him.
“What the heck? Why did you do that?” she whispered harshly. Her red-rimmed eyes were angry. “That hurt, Steve. God!”
She rubbed her shoulder and turned away to bury her face in his mom’s chest and cry some more. Mrs. Caddret shot Steve an angry glance and mouthed for him to be quiet. He shrugged in mock confusion and turned away. He hunched over and placed his head in his hands, masking his anger with grief.
Someday he would kill his mother. He took solace in the fact that at least he’d taken her perfect son away from her. Yes, he may not have hated Jared, but by killing him, he had hurt his parents. That made him happy. He peered through his fingers at the casket and his father who was leading the service. So solemn.
Oh yes, his parent’s pain was glorious. After all, they deserved it for what happened to Hope.
“I know it hurts when loved ones are taken from us before their time, but we must always remember that God is good. This was not His plan for Jared, but I have to believe He will use it for His good,” Pastor Caddret said to the congregation. You could tell he was fighting back tears, but as always, his usual mask of pious conviction remained on his face.
His words infuriated Steve. God is good? What a joke. If God was so good, then why had He allowed Hope to die? If God was so good and all-powerful, why hadn’t He showed up when Steve had prayed those many years ago?
He had grown up on stories of how God waited to deliver people from evil, but when he had really needed God to show up, He had not. In fact, if his father had not been so preoccupied with God’s business, then perhaps he would have been home where he should have been, and Hope would not have died.
But for all his hot air, his father was right about one thing. It had not been God’s plan for Jared to die; it had been his. I guess God is not so powerful after all.
Dana looked over at Steve. His long hair hung down over his face, but she could still make out one eye. She felt sorry for him and could only imagine what kind of grief he was dealing with. If she felt survivor’s guilt, how much more must he? After all, he had been the first one on the scene. It must have deeply affected him. How could it not? As a homicide detective, she was used to seeing the terrible things people did to each other, but for someone who did not do what she did for a living, it must be absolutely life changing. He turned his head slightly to look at her and she blanched. The one eye she could make out was glowing a faint angry red.
She blinked and looked again. This time there was no glow, only the sad eyes she had seen earlier. It must have been her imagination. The grief getting to her. He smiled mournfully. She reached out her hand in comfort. He gave it a light squeeze. At just that moment, Pastor Caddret asked everyone to stand for the ending prayer. They released their hands and stood with bowed heads.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” Pastor Caddret said, his voice thick with emotion, “we know that Jared is with You now, and we thank You for Your Son who came and died to make that possible. We know that death is not the end, and that it is no small comfort for those of us who are left behind as Jared leaves this mortal realm and enters eternity with You. Though we may miss him, we know that we will see him again. The Holy Spirit comforts those of us who mourn this terrible loss. Be with us as we walk through this dark time. Thank you, God. We love You and thank You for the time we did get to spend with Jared. In Jesus’s name. Amen.”
Jared’s favorite worship song played softly over the speakers as the pallbearers came forward and took their places next to the coffin. All of them were police officers save Steve, who was positioned near the rear o
n the right side. As they walked, he passed his mother, sister, and Dana. Upon seeing his mother’s tears, he smiled ever so slightly. Everyone was too overcome with grief to notice his smirk.
Everyone, that is, except Dana.
Twenty-Eight
Once Jared’s casket had been placed in the hearse and all the attendees had retreated to their cars, the procession left the small funeral home and headed toward the cemetery. It was a long procession, and police officers on motorcycles went before the cars, blocking streets and making sure that the way was clear. Before long, the procession wound its way to a large cemetery sitting on a series of hills just outside the town.
As each car parked, passengers got out and made their way up to Jared’s casket. Old Glory was draped over the casket and three officers waited with their rifles at the ready as the family and friends took their places near the gravesite. Chairs had been set out for the family, but Steve declined his seat next to his parents, offering it to Dana instead. She graciously accepted and took her seat. Steve took his place standing behind his parents as Dana watched him out of the corner of her eyes.
Had she really seen him smirk earlier? No, she must have been mistaken. Why would he smile like that? She shook her head ever so slightly at the thought. After all, she was sure she had seen his eyes glowing red during the service earlier. No, her grief was affecting her more than she realized, and it was causing her to see things.
Steve noticed her glancing at him, and stiffened. Why was she watching him? Did she suspect something was amiss with him? Maybe he had not been careful enough in his play-acting grief.
Calm down, Steve. Keep your head about you or you really are going to slip up and give something away. How do people act sad in movies? Just do that.
He lowered his head and brushed away imaginary tears. Relax! he told himself. No one knew anything and no one suspected. As always, It had removed any evidence that Steve may have left at the scene. There was nothing to worry about.
Gunfire cracked as the color guard fired off a three-volley salute. When had the order been given to fire? He cursed his inattention.
Had Dana been watching him just now? No matter, his quiet reflection could very easily be construed as grief. He sighed heavily, attempting to release the tension that had been building up inside. Steve continued watching as Dana held his sister as she sobbed. His father’s head was down, and he had one arm gently resting on his mother who wept inconsolably. A lone officer lifted a bugle to his lips and the strong, lonely notes of “Taps” flowed. There was not a dry eye to be found as his brother’s casket was lowered slowly into the ground.
The rest of the burial was a blur. He was glad when it was finally over. Feigning sorrow was exhausting, and he had a headache. Close family and friends were all gathered in his parents’ small house, eating and reminiscing. The place was packed. Steve desperately wanted a beer, but the fridge was a dry zone. The strongest drink he’d find here was soda.
He was just thinking that he’d spent enough time hugging people when he spied Dana quietly slipping out the front door. Great, he needed a break too. His parents were busy talking to some obscure relative and no one noticed him quietly step out to follow her.
It was getting dark and Dana was nowhere in sight. Angry at missing her, he kicked the ironwork railing that framed his parent’s porch. “Fuck.”
“Watch your language,” came a voice from around the side of the house. “You know your mom would be upset if she heard you talking like that.”
He bent over the side of the railing and found Dana resting up against the house. She had her legs pulled up to her chest and a small wisp of smoke meandered up from a half-burned cigarette.
“When did you start smoking?” Steve asked. He put his hands on the top of the railing and vaulted over it, landing next to Dana.
She looked at the cigarette in her hand, shrugged, and took a drag. “I don’t.”
Sitting down next to her, he reached for the cigarette. She handed it to him, and he took a long drag and exhaled, reveling in the relaxing effect it had on his brain. He handed it back to her, but she ignored him. He shrugged, took another drag, then flicked the butt onto the driveway. “You gonna be okay?”
She hugged her legs tighter. More tears welled up in her already red eyes. “I doubt it.”
Steve felt a twinge of pity for her. That made it a bit easier for him to feign concern. He knew that he had to pretend to care long enough not to arouse her suspicions. He placed his arm around her and drew her close. She resisted at first but eventually gave in, letting her head come to rest on his shoulder. Steve said nothing for a long while as he sat there holding her. When he finally felt that he had shown enough concern, he brought up the subject of Jared’s death.
“I still can’t believe he is dead.”
Dana said nothing but continued to sit quietly next to him.
“It all happened so fast and the whole night is still a blur to me. Any word on what the police found out?” he said, doing his best to keep the anxiety he felt out of his voice.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Steve,” she said, pulling away.
Shit, he’d moved too soon and now she had closed up. He decided to take a different approach.
“I just wish I could have spoken to him one last time before he died. You know, to tell him I love him and all.”
She sighed heavily. Another tear tracked down her cheek. “Yeah.”
Steve waited for her to add to that sentiment, maybe tell him what he needed to hear. He didn’t want to spook her a second time by asking too many questions too quickly. But he was getting impatient.
“You were the last person to speak to him. Did you get to finally tell him how you felt?”
Dana turned on him angrily. “I said I didn’t want to talk about it!” She jumped up to her feet. “He died in my arms, Steve. I watched as the light left his eyes.” Her voice cracked and she began to cry again, like women do.
Steve stood up and put his arms around her, pulling her close. “I know, I know. I am sorry. I just miss him.”
She sobbed in his arms as he held her. Damn, she was too upset right now for him to get any definitive answers from her. It was okay, he had time. When everything finally calmed down, he would try again. At least he had a believable excuse to stay upstate. No one would question why he stayed, and his bandmates would understand his prolonged leave of absence. He could stay up here as long as it took for him to get the information he needed. He would find out what his brother had told her right before he died, and if she even had a hint of what had really happened, he would kill her too.
Twenty-Nine
All there was, was darkness, complete and total. It was like nothing he had ever known or believed possible. Not darkness as in night or a shuttered room, for even in those places there was some small measure of light. Here, it was as if light itself had never been.
Had he ever known light, or did he just imagine it? The darkness smothering him was all he knew. It swirled around him, pressed in on him, a dank sea threatening to drown him. Just when all that he knew had nearly faded, a glimmer of hope sparked in his heart. It was faint and barely noticeable, but it was there, nonetheless. He grasped at that hope, refusing to be consumed.
The oppressive darkness suddenly shook and raged around him as brilliant tendrils of illumination tore through it, obliterating great swaths of blackness. The light was nothing more than a glimmer, no brighter than the faintest of stars in the night sky, but it shone with such power and force that the darkness fled from it. In the complete blackness, all he could see was that light. It grew in intensity and chased away the shadows and the despair that had almost claimed him.
He reached out to it, grabbing hold of it the way a drowning man reaches for a life-preserver. He knew he had to reach it before the darkness claimed him. He knew it with every fiber of his being. If he did not, he was sure that everything he was, had been or ever could be, would be lost. With an internal forti
tude that he never knew he possessed, he pulled himself from the clutching coils of the writhing darkness and embraced the tiny star.
His eyes opened to... darkness.
But it was different.
His senses had returned. Even if he couldn’t see his surroundings, he could feel them. Before, there had been nothing, as if he were floating in a formless void. But now his fingers touched silk. His hands felt something solid. It was soft and padded like a pillow but on something solid. He tried to move but found he was constrained on all sides. He couldn’t shift his body more than a few inches in any direction. He reached his hand up and it struck something hard. Where was he?
“Hello,” he said hesitantly. His voice sounded strange and unfamiliar.
“Hello?” he repeated, louder this time. The voice he heard startled him. It was not the voice he remembered, but he knew for certain it originated from him.
“Welcome back,” another voice said. The voice was deep and strong, and even though it did not speak loudly, it shook him.
“Where am I?” he asked the voice. Again, his own voice seemed strange to his ears. Ethereal and wispy.
“You are in the mortal realm,” the voice replied.
“The what?” he asked, shaking his head to try to relieve the confusion he felt.
“Do not worry, the disorientation will pass.”
He tried to raise his hand again and it once again struck the hard surface. He tried his feet and found the same result. Was he in a box? He wished he had some light so he could see where he was. As if something had read his mind, a small light appeared above his head, illuminating his surroundings.
Strangely the sudden explosion of light did not hurt his eyes. Somewhere in his mind, he thought that it should have caused him pain, but it did not. He gazed at the small light and saw that it was a tiny locket. The locket hovered just above his face, shining with pure white light. Wait—he knew this locket.