In a sense, I wondered why the Friar had chosen to smoke, but for some reason, it seemed fitting that he embrace the pain of salvation. If all we really had was a choice of which pain we wanted to welcome into our lives, you might as well pick your battles.
“My tracking device,” he yelled, back to the two of us, “went silent for a while and then roared back to life earlier today.”
Another pull of the cigarette sent both a cloud and a thin, oily curl of smoke backward into the bucket seats. I wasn’t a smoker myself, but I was pleasantly surprised by the aroma. He wasn’t smoking shitty, chemical laden tobacco; this was home grown. I could tell, because my father used to grow his own tobacco as well. When I was a little girl, I would smell that sweet, fermented scent and all of the associations of death and dreams that came along with it.
My father died of lung disease a couple of years ago. There was always such a pride in his practice, though. He felt like connecting with the plants, and getting past all of those chemicals and pre-packaged commodity aspects of tobacco was something righteous. The smell did something to my memory; some trick of the senses.
I managed to relax.
“There’s something going on,” the friar continued. “When you pay attention to the world around us, you can clearly see that much of it has deteriorated into darkness and pain. Disease has become the order of the day.”
“How can you tell it’s getting any worse than it always has been?”
The question came from Claire.
I turned to her and looked, seeing, perhaps for the first time a bit of pain and hopelessness that I hadn’t quite paid attention to before. We had always been friends, but something was changing in my mind. I think I was beginning to see more.
“I’ve been having dreams,” the friar continued. “Throughout the majority of the past year, I’ve been having dreams. Those dreams have lead me to the three of you.”
“Just because you’ve been having dreams does not mean that there is some kind of growing and oppressive darkness,” Claire retorted.
Just then, the car swerved to the side, as a black dog leaped out of the way of the vehicle. The friar grew grim, and Claire remained quiet. The symbolism and the sudden interjection of darkness was enough to say what the friar had not been able to express. I would have told her myself that I had never been attacked by darkness before, today, and not so many times — but I remembered how difficult it was to believe.
I had to come across the darkness three times nearly dying each time in order to come to my senses and trust my intuition. The perception of the world through jaded eyes is a tragic but all to common thing.
“Where are you taking us?” I asked, after we had recovered from the near hit of the black dog.
“The only place you’ll be safe,” the friar answered. “The only place they can’t follow you.”
We drove together into the countryside, just enough outside of town to realize that we were out of the immediate vicinity for common passers by to see us. This area was quiet, and there were no neighbors to speak of — there was only an open field to one side, and highway on the other.
We pulled off of the highway, and into a gravel parking road. In front of the car, I saw a church — simple, humble, but well cared for. The friar extinguished his smoke, and opened the doors to the Firebird. Without looking back at us, he offered his hospitality.
“Welcome to my home.”
24
Roma
“As it turns out, some of the old wives tales about demons are true. Most of them actually,” the Friar insisted. “Demons can’t go on Hallowed Ground. Same goes for all manner of other spirits — banshees, faeries, pixies, ghosts, and possessed creatures.”
We all followed him into the church. I noticed that Matias remained quiet throughout this entire exchange. He was busy scoping out the environment. I wondered what it was that he saw that I didn’t see. I noticed that though he did not seem to be as on edge as he had been back in the city, he was not entirely at ease either.
“You have a lot of problems with Faeries?” Claire asked, skeptically, though obviously more for the sake of continued conversation than actual interest.
“More than you’d believe,” Fr. Sean replied. “You don’t get to be a good Irish Catholic like me without coming into a few run-ins with the spirit world; that’s where they live, you know. All of them.”
I was intrigued. A world full of demons, faeries, angels, and all of the weirdest contrivances that mythology had to offer. I stared at the world around me with a renewed sense of wonder, and fear. Suddenly, the stakes seemed higher. There was so much more to discover — and some things, I felt, that should not be discovered.
“A bit of a shame about the faeries, you’d think, but after they tie your hair in knots, or drop your toothbrush in the toilet bowl a few times, you’d be done with them as well,” he explained, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Then, Claire found a contradiction, which she happily exposed. I looked over at her, while she played her theological game with the Friar.
“You say that because this is Hallowed Ground, you don’t get any spirits here, but what about the Pentecostals?
She thought she had him, I could hear it in her tone.
“Pentecostals are a good example of a possession based cult, but they are by no means exclusive from the extension of the holy spirit,” the Friar replied.
I laughed, and looked over to see who else was laughing with me. Claire shot me a dirty look. Both the Friar and Matias looked bored.
“You see,” the Friar continued, “The possession you are referring to is in fact a form of spirit — thus the phrase, ‘the spirit moves me.’ However, it is the Spirit of God, which saturates this place. Where the Spirit of God resides, other spirits cannot.”
His last statement was made simply, and without any hesitation. We were speaking to a man of profound faith. I had to give credit where credit was due.
When we settled down into the church, Friar Sean helped Matias into a back room which he occasionally used to provide space for homeless people. I watched the two of them walk off, slowly toward the back space where Matias could finally relax. Only then did I see exactly how beat up Matias had actually gotten.
He was actually limping, and there were abrasions all over his back. The shirt and pants which he had just borrowed from Claire were torn and filthy. The back of his head, where thick dark hair came out of his scalp, was matted with what looked like dried blood. Any human in that kind of situation would have been dead.
Broken bones.
Concussions.
All of what seemed like the worst circumstances a body could undergo, and Matias had shouldered them all in less than 24 hours.
“You think he feels all of the pain, in the same way as human beings do, even if he can’t die?” I asked.
I didn’t really intend to ask Claire, but the question was so powerful that I couldn’t help but give it a voice. She and I had known one another for long enough to where she was probably thinking the same thing as me regardless. When I turned to her, I saw her nod.
“You know how Christians are…” she muttered. “‘Take up your cross and follow me,’ and the like. Their God uses suffering as a tool for edification. They’ve got a rich tradition of masochism to prove it.”
I turned toward her, not quite sure how to respond. She was, of course, right. Claire was always right, even when I would have preferred that she wasn’t. I slouched down on a pew, and Claire straddled the pew in front of me.
“You know,” she said playfully. “I’ve noticed that in spite of everything that’s happened to you in the last couple of hours, you haven’t bothered to phone Dale, and let him know you are alright.”
I looked away, diverting my eyes from her all-knowing gaze.
“Damn Claire…” I swore.
“Look,” she replied. “We both know I never thought he was a ringer, but I’ll have you know I’m not pushing an agenda here �
�� merely point out what appears to be…”
“I get it, I get it…” I replied, hastily. “I guess, I just…”
She shook her head, and then swung her leg all the way over the pew. Claire laid back, and relaxed on the broad, red, cushioned surface of the pew. Suddenly, I let myself go as well.
“You’re right,” I conceded. “Something’s changed. I’m not sure what exactly.”
“If you must,” she replied, “lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself. It’s bad psychic hygiene.”
Just then, Friar Sean came back into the worship room.
“I see you’re relaxing,” he started, announcing himself. “That’s good.”
I looked over, and saw that he was carrying food in one arm, and a couple of pillows with the other.
“You’re going to at least have to stay the night. The Saint will need to rest up before continuing forward — this, is only a stopping point.”
I thanked him, and watched as he disappeared into the back rooms where his quarters were. Claire ate some of the canned food he brought out for us, and then left half a can uneaten in the aisle between the pews. She fell asleep soon enough, while I stared up at the ceiling of our Hallowed Point of Rest.
Once everyone else was asleep, I got up to go see Matias.
25
Roma
The feeling of being in a church after hours is interesting. When Fr. Sean was talking about Hallowed Ground, he wasn’t kidding around. Of course, the place doesn’t glow, but you can feel a lightness in the area. One imagines that the prayers and hopes of those who have passed through the building over the years, remain behind. Perhaps they saturate into the wood, protecting it from appearing ugly, even though there is never any money for maintenance.
There weren’t that many rooms, and I found Matias easily enough. He was sitting there, with his eyes open wide, staring at the swirling patterns of wood grains on the ceiling panels. I felt as though he were at peace, and that my walking into the room hadn’t been disturbing in the slightest.
He remained silent as I walked in and sat down on the side of his bed. Along the hallways, Fr. Sean had strung a tubular cord of LED lights — blue in color. The blue light bathed everything in these rooms in a cool, peaceful tone which only added to the overall serenity of the place. The main worship room had enough windows to where the night sky actually provided all of the light that one could hope for in the dark.
“Beautiful places like this exist all over the world,” he said, being the first to break the silence. “You can’t ever stay at them for long, because they aren’t meant to be permanent. They are only way-stations. Occasionally, you get someone like Sean, who becomes so in love with a place that they end up assuming the role as caretaker. For everyone else, this is just a place of rest, en route to another destination.”
He smiled at the ceiling, and I felt grateful that he had understood the feeling that I had so intuitively understood myself. He had given words to the realizations of my subconscious thoughts.
“You should have died,” I returned, “and yet somehow you look better than ever.”
“Well, what can I say, except that this place treats me well, and I have a mission offer my focus.”
I nodded. He was talking about me.
We fell into an easy conversation; one that reminded me of when I used to speak to him while we were both back in the facility. This time, it was different, because this time, when I spoke to him, he was awake, and was free to respond. Actually having someone on the other end of an open and honest conversation was such a treat. I quickly lost myself in the pleasure of his company.
“I’ve never been this comfortable talking to anyone else,” I confessed. “Not even Dale. I was always afraid that he was going to be judging me… you know?”
He nodded.
“Dale wasn’t your soul mate,” he replied.
“Can you tell?” I asked, leaning in closer and peering at him through the dark.
“You can tell. You know the answer to that question,” was his response — efficient, and direct.
Matias did not put on airs for anything.
“You’re right,” I told him, “Though, I don’t know if I could have told you, or anyone else that just yesterday.”
“You’ve told me,” he responded.
I paused, and tried to think of when I might have said something to him about Dale. We hadn’t had a chance to talk about my relationship during the entire time he had been conscious.
“When you were in a coma?” I asked.
He nodded.
“I can’t believe you could hear that!” I exclaimed.
“I could hear you every time you spoke to me,” he replied. “You were never truly alone. I suspect that is why you felt a sense of satisfaction at our connection. In spite of what you might think, it’s actually not that rewarding to have a one-sided interaction and call it a conversation. On a higher level, I was engaged. I was listening to everything you said. I used to dream about the things you shared with me.”
I was so embarrassed.
I had no filter at all while I was speaking to him. In a sense, it had been a bit like prayer, except that I didn’t have to have any kind of outstanding faith. I was literally dumping all of my hopes, anxieties and dreams on deaf ears, just because I didn’t have an outlet for that anywhere else in my life.
“I hope the real me isn’t a disappointment,” I said, sheepishly.
“Even better,” he replied, reaching a hand over to grab ahold of mine.
We held hands for a while, and talked to one another the entire night. We spoke about my past, and my family. I gave him things that I hadn’t given him before, and he listened patiently the entire time. When a thought moved through him in response, he offered it, unattached to my response. He was simply sharing himself in return.
When he spoke, he told me about how it felt to be in the world, but not a part of it. He didn’t have any family. Not in the way that I did, at least.
“This world…” he said, “and the feelings that come along with having a body within this world; it’s all so deep, and strange.”
Some time passed, and then he nodded to himself, and spoke.
“I can see now,” he said, quietly. “I understand why she did what she did…”
The message was not intended for me. The context was separated. He was talking about another woman.
“Who?” I asked, not being able to help myself.
Before he could answer, there was a sound from down the hall. Fr. Sean approached, his feet padding softly on the warm, wooden floor of the chapel hallway.
“Something’s happened,” he said, in his urgent intelligent tone of voice. “You’ll want to see this — both of you.”
26
Roma
“There’s been a mass shooting at a shopping mall nearby,” Fr. Sean explained.
Never mind the fact that it was probably 3:30 in the morning; we all knew that didn’t deter people from getting out and shopping in the middle of the night. As a matter of fact, there was a shopping center that housed a 24 Hour outlet store not a mile away. I knew which center had taken the shooting, without the Friar so much as saying which one had been the target of the shootings.
As I recalled the last time I had gone into the shopping center, everything became more real for me. In my mind’s eye, I saw the bullets shattering glass, and product displays. I saw the blood sprays across the otherwise impeccable linoleum. The bodies of late night shoppers — meth addicts and insomniacs, all piled high on the floor.
I couldn’t have understood the exact details of the occurrence, having not been there — but the imagination of what it could have been like was difficult enough. My heart went out to the victims, and I felt a certain level of sickness, and loathing. I realized that while I was busy romanticizing with Matias, people were losing their lives.
Desperately, I tried distancing myself from the situation.
“That’s horrible,” I
said, trying to give it a name, in order to put it in a box.
I wanted to classify it as an event that was not related to the recent tragedies that I had encountered in my own life. I wanted to somehow distance myself from the thing, but I knew that wasn’t going to be possible; there could be no such reprieve.
“It’s them,” the Friar stated, without being prompted. “Everywhere they go, darkness spreads. And, if they stay in a place for too long, things like this begin to happen.”
They, I thought, bitterly.
I didn’t need the Friar to explain who “They” were. I knew all too well that he was referring to the demons. The creatures who had made my life a living hell were now expanding their influence to include the innocent bystanders who surrounded me. In the case of that particular shooting, ‘my surroundings’ happened to include a shopping center less than two miles away.
“So this is because of me,” I concluded.
“No,” Matias replied. “It’s because of what happened.”
Matias got out of bed, and raised his fist up to heaven.
“Hallel!” he shouted into the dark.
I watched as a glow lit around his crown in a faint halo. I stood in awe, and then sank as I watched the glow fade into almost nothing. From the miracles I had seen him perform, one would think that he would be able to manage a bit more than a faint glow. I knew then, that something was wrong.
Matias turned to Fr. Sean, and just then Claire, stumbled into the room.
“Somebody’s shouted…” she muttered. “Is everything alright?”
“Something has happened in heaven,” Matias announced, his body was on full alert.
He looked around the room in desperation, analyzing every bit of the layout.
“I can’t connect with them,” he continued, stalking forward into the main chapel, past all three of us.
We followed, uneasy, but close behind.
“I can usually feel God all the time,” he explained. “I can usually access my wings. I usually heal much quicker than this. But the gates to heaven have been shut somehow, and I’m afraid that if we don’t open them… the entire world is going to sink into hell.”
Legends of the Damned: A Collection of Edgy Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance Novels Page 302