Blood of Hope

by Wood, Rick

  “I feel useless.”

  “We do not have the whims that hell does,” Gabrielle reminded Cassy. “When they intervene with human nature, it is at their peril. Heaven is above such things. We do not alter free will, it is not our way. All we can do, all you can do – is guide.”

  “It’s a feeble excuse.”

  “But true, nonetheless.”

  Cassy meandered to a chair that formed out of cloud. She sat on it, and Gabrielle placed herself beside Cassy, lending a sympathetic ear.

  “Does Martin even have a clue why he was chosen for this?” Cassy lamented. “He probably thinks his being picked for this was random. He doesn’t have any idea how he was conceived, does he?”

  “Do you think it would benefit him if he did? Make it any easier? Make the sacrifice any less painful?”

  “No, I guess not,” Cassy sighed.

  Or would it?

  Would it not help him to know?

  She knew it would have helped her.

  “You think too loud,” Gabrielle acknowledged. “Yours and Edward’s presence on earth was an abomination. You couldn’t have known.”

  “But that’s not fair. You killed me because of a deal with the devil. You damn well interfered with human free will then! I endured over a decade of hell because of who I was. And you expect me to just accept it? Like you expect Martin to?”

  “When the time was right, we told you.”

  “Yes, when I finally reached heaven.”

  “But you are a piece of heaven. Edward is a piece of hell. The devil made him, so we had to make sure to balance the equation, we had no choice. Surely you must understand, once you have removed yourself from your feelings or personal relation to the issue, it was the right thing to do.”

  Cassy shook her head vigorously.

  “Except it wasn’t, was it?” Cassy gestured in an accusatory manner toward Gabrielle. “Because when you balanced it out, the devil brought Eddie back without you knowing. And now here we are. About to pay for it with the potential destruction of humanity.”

  “This is why Martin is so important!”

  “He’s a pawn!”

  Gabrielle leant forward passionately, the first real input of emotion Cassy had ever seen from her. “After Edward lived, we had to balance it again – we had to! There had to be a solution for this uneven world.”

  Cassy closed her eyes for a moment of contemplative solitude. She opened them once more, gazing again at Martin enjoying the multitude of powers he had managed to control without any knowledge of why he, above anyone else, had the inherent power to do so.

  It wasn’t fair what they did to her. Conceiving her to balance life on earth. Just a pawn in their game.

  It wasn’t fair how Eddie, such a loving, caring person, had been destroyed by this part of him.

  It wasn’t fair that Martin now had to bear the prison.

  It wasn’t fair.

  None of this was fair.

  “We know that everyone who has been born of God does not keep on sinning, but he who was born of God protects him, and the evil one does not touch him. We know that we are from God, and the whole world lies in the power of the evil one.”

  1 John 5:18-19

  19

  8 January 1988

  Twelve years before millennium night

  A lucid, translucent mind sat amongst a sea of disinterested faces. Eddie’s eyes swept over them, fading beneath half-hung eyelids. The lesson bored the rest of the class, yes, but this was something else.

  Eddie was tired.

  He was so damn tired.

  Night after night of screaming and shouting, banging against the wall, inches from Eddie’s tired head, was having an inevitably negative impact. Every night he’d tried to sleep to cries of “It’s your fault!” “It’s that kid’s fault!” “I never wanted to have him anyway!” Every night he huddled up in a ball, not daring to make a sound for fear of having the wrath turn on him.

  There’s nothing that makes you feel worthless quite like hearing your father insist to your weakened, beaten mother that you were an unwanted mistake.

  The only escape were the nights he crept out, his parents too wrapped up in their busy fights to notice him tiptoeing past their bedroom door. He would find himself at Jenny’s house. Sometimes he came in the front door, where her parents were always welcoming. But, when it was especially late at night, he would climb the gutter to Jenny’s room and tap on her window. They would share a bed, Eddie falling asleep almost immediately after finally finding the rest he craved.

  Jenny rarely slept that well with him in the bed beside her, but that was okay. She would never turn him away. She cared too much.

  And, sitting in class just a few seats behind Eddie, he could feel Jenny’s worried eyes on him. As his eyes dropped with fatigue, hers avidly watched his drooping head.

  Other students sniggered. Some tried to concoct ill-prepared pranks, such as tying his shoelaces together or nicking his book. It would never work, as Eddie would jerk awake at the exact point those selfish idiots would flinch away.

  Then, within moments, his head would be lulling once more.

  It never used to be like this. He used to be so lively. He would take care of his sister and she would follow him everywhere. His parents would take them on days out as a loving family. They had the kind of close family dynamic other families craved.

  Those days were long gone now.

  He had changed a lot from that eleven-year-old boy who’d lost his sister. He was now a troubled fifteen-year-old young man, in need of help.

  Jenny had no idea how to get it for him.

  “Edward!” barked the teacher, picking on the student who looked to be paying the least attention.

  Eddie’s head abruptly lifted and he shook himself awake. In all honesty, it was a feeble attempt – within seconds, his eyes were drooping again. Even though his head was up, pointing in the direction of the irate teacher, it didn’t matter.

  He wasn’t there.

  “If you could perhaps wake up for one moment,” Mr Radburn rattled on, “that would be delightful. What do you say, Edward? You with us?”

  “Uh… yes, sir,” Eddie grunted, saying whatever he thought he should say.

  “Perfect. Now, perhaps you could answer the question for us.”

  “What question, sir?”

  “The question I just asked.”

  He was clueless. Stumped.

  What’s more, he didn’t seem aware enough to realise it. Or perhaps he didn’t care. Jenny wasn’t sure.

  “Sir!” she shouted out. “He’s just tired, please, I can answer the question.”

  “No thank you.” Mr Radburn frowned, astonished at the impudence of her daring volunteering. “And you can stay at break-time for speaking out of turn, young lady.”

  Jenny went to roll her eyes, then thought better of it. Instead, she willed Eddie to respond. To do something to get Mr Radburn off his back.

  “Mr King, I will try again,” he spoke with a poor imitation of an army general. “What was the answer to my question?”

  “I didn’t hear it, sir.”

  “Just as I thought.” Mr Radburn narrowed his eyes and approached Eddie, a handful of rulers grasped between his fingers. “You are pathetic.”

  Eddie bowed his head in shame.

  Eddie didn’t need to be told that. He knew it already.

  Jenny wished she could just reach out an arm, place it around Eddie, and assure him that he was worth far more than this idiot teacher was declaring.

  As it was, she daren’t speak out of turn again.

  So, regretfully, she kept quiet.

  “Alas, Mr King, I will ask the question again.”

  Mr Radburn continuously whacked his handful of rulers against the desk, emphasising every other syllable he spoke. He knew it was intimidating, and Jenny was sure the old man probably got off on it.

  “Remind us, if you would be so kind,” Mr Radburn sarcastically spat, still po
unding the rulers against the nearest desk. “Within the realms of geometry, we have the Pythagoras theorem. What does this tell us about the hypotenuse?”

  Eddie looked blank. His face was vacant. Even if he was awake enough to answer the question, or even understand it, he clearly didn’t have a clue.

  Surely Mr Radburn knew that?

  What kind of sadistic pleasure is he getting out of this? Jenny considered. Her belly twisted in sickening agony. She wished her best friend’s misery would end.

  “I don’t know, sir,” was Eddie’s vacant response.

  “You don’t know!” exclaimed Mr Radburn, thwacking the rulers against Eddie’s desk, making Eddie jump.

  A few other students laughed at Eddie’s expense as his distant mind flinched at the beating of the rulers on the desk.

  “And why is that?” Mr Radburn bent over, inches from Eddie’s face, laying into him with a snakish grin and a reptilian stare. “Because you’re stupid? Or because you’re an idiot?”

  Eddie’s eyes glared back at Mr Radburn’s.

  Those eyes widened, filling with blood.

  Eddie looked awake now, all right.

  But Jenny felt uncomfortable by the look Eddie was giving.

  She had seen that look before. It made her stomach twist into knots.

  “Could you answer that question, huh?”

  Mr Radburn slammed the rulers down on the final “huh” of his sentence.

  For a moment, there was a deathly stare between Eddie and the teacher. A stand-off, like a duel of who would back down first.

  That’s when the inexplicable happened.

  The rulers in Mr Radburn’s hand snapped.

  No, snapped would be too loose a term.

  They shattered. Miraculously burst into pieces, soaring into various directions of the classroom, making Mr Radburn yelp and fling himself backwards onto the floor.

  Everyone in the classroom shrieked, shoved their chairs backwards, covered themselves up.

  That was, everyone but Eddie.

  Eddie just remained motionless.

  Staring at Mr Radburn.

  Mr Radburn, who was poised helplessly on the floor, gaping at Eddie. He stood up, brushing himself down, and returned to the front of the classroom.

  Without any acknowledgement of what had happened he resumed teaching, picking on other students to answer the questions.

  He made a few even stay behind after the class to help pick pieces of ruler up.

  He did not make Eddie stay behind.

  In fact, Jenny couldn’t recall another moment where that teacher had been cruel to Eddie.

  Eddie just descended his head back to the table, closed his eyes, and continued the rest of the lesson in an unconscious silence.

  Occasionally, Jenny would think about that moment.

  She would wonder how the rulers shattered in that way.

  She would wonder why Mr Radburn had been so terrified of Eddie following the incident. What exactly he had seen in Eddie’s eyes, or what he thought had caused the incident.

  She would wonder whether Eddie even really knew what had happened. He didn’t look aware of his actions. His eyes didn’t feel like his own.

  After a while, Jenny’s memory of the incident faded, and she questioned what she really saw.

  Then the memory faded to a distant image, like memories often do.

  20

  2 Feb 2003

  Three years, one month after millennium night

  The sides of the newspaper scrunched in Derek’s hands.

  He couldn’t believe it.

  Another one.

  “What’s the matter?” Jenny innocently asked, laying a cup of tea down for Derek, then sipping on her coffee.

  Without looking at her, Derek held the newspaper out to Jenny. It only took her the first few lines to realise what had happened.

  DENTAL RECORDS PROVE IDENTITY OF MAN BURNT TO DEATH

  Yesterday in Canada, one of the worst cases of arson in the country’s history left a man completely unrecognisable. The man, who was later identified as Jamile Arshad, was later recognised by dental records, from only a few teeth that were left not charred with the rest of his body.

  “Shit,” exclaimed Jenny.

  He threw the newspaper across the room in a burst of rage.

  Derek stood with his back to her, facing the wall of his study that held his map. His head was bowed, with one hand on his hip and the other running through his hair.

  “What are we going to do?” Jenny asked.

  Derek didn’t reply.

  He withdrew a chair, sat down, and knelt forward, burying his head in his hands to conceal his face.

  “Come on, Derek, we can’t just sit around. We need to figure out our move. We can’t let Eddie – sorry, the heir – just kill everyone before we even recruit them.”

  “It’s not as simple as that,” Derek mumbled.

  “How? We need to get these people and–”

  “And what?” Derek rose his voice, leaping from his chair and turning to Jenny full of hostility.

  Jenny was stumped. She had never seen this reaction from Derek before. Derek was the cool, calm guy who had all the answers. Not the one who got annoyed with her for asking the important questions.

  “Derek, come on. Don’t lose your cool now.”

  “Don’t lose my cool?” Derek repeated in angered astonishment. “That’s two dead. The next recruit is…”

  His sentence lingered off into the air.

  He was tired of speaking. Tired of hypothesising. Tired of fighting.

  “We don’t stand a chance,” he grumbled, immediately regretting it, and hoping Jenny hadn’t heard him.

  “Come on, we just need to figure out who’s next to be targeted and save them from getting killed. Right?”

  “How are we meant to figure–”

  He froze mid-sentence.

  “The list,” he whispered in rapid realisation. “The list!”

  “What about the list?” Jenny asked, not following Derek’s trail of thought.

  “The list Stella sent me, it was in order of who was the most powerful and most important for us to recruit first,” Derek pointed out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Stella was first on that list,” Derek declared. “Jamile Arshad was second.”

  “So you think they’re being killed in order?

  “Well, of course. It makes sense. The heir would kill them in the order of the biggest threat, wouldn’t he?”

  Jenny flinched at the mention of Eddie as the ‘heir,’ then quickly shook herself out of it.

  “Right,” she acknowledged. “So we find out who’s next on the list, then we let them know or protect them or something.”

  “But that’s the thing. How on earth are we meant to protect them?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Surely, if we go to protect them, we’ll put ourselves in the firing line and we’ll be dead, too. We won’t stand a chance.”

  Jenny nodded. Derek was right. They were helpless.

  “Well, look,” she suggested, “let’s just find out who is next, then we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

  She realised she was making the plan, not Derek. It made her feel unexpectedly uncomfortable, her having to be the one to encourage him.

  He rifled through papers on his desk, pushing various notes and scribbles aside until he eventually withdrew the list.

  He stared at the piece of paper.

  He read the next name on the list.

  He couldn’t move.

  He grasped the note, his hands tightening it into a screwed-up ball. Mortified.

  “Who is it?

  Derek didn’t answer.

  “Come on, who is it?”

  Derek’s eyes closed and his head bowed. His reluctance, his frustration, his hindering pessimism; every bit of it spread across his face.

  “Derek?”

  Derek lifted his head, looked to Jenny, then looked bac
k to the list.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s – it’s Father Douglas.”

  21

  The church was serenely quiet at night, just how Father Douglas loved it. It was his home, his sanctuary. He treasured it like a child.

  It was where he fed his congregation, where he homed those on a pilgrimage to the birthplace of Christ, and it was where he trained humanity’s hope in harnessing his gift.

  As Douglas blew out the final few candles at the chancel, allowing the stone walls to be illuminated by a few fading lights, he cast his eyes upon the lonely boy who sat on the front row.

  That was the only way he could truly describe Martin. Yes, he had degraded him and attacked his character, but that was to give him the fuel to become what he was now becoming. In truth, Martin was clearly lonely, and in need of someone to care for him.

  Douglas could care for him, but only as he did God’s other children.

  Martin did not belong to him.

  Martin did not belong to anyone, not even his real parents.

  They were not the ones who created him.

  Douglas leisurely strolled up the nave, passing the aisle between the pews until he finally stood behind Martin. They both cast their eyes upon the large cross standing prominently before them.

  “It’s funny,” Martin spoke. “I don’t even believe in God.”

  “Really? After all you have done? Are you not astonished enough to believe in God’s power?”

  “I know what I’ve done is awesome and all that. But it could be given to me by anything.” Martin looked over his shoulder at Douglas. “Not necessarily God. I see no evidence for that.”

  Martin stood and zipped up his jacket. Churches were cold places, and this was no exception. Douglas, however, was used to it. He embraced it. It meant he was home.

  “I think I’m going to go to bed,” Martin revealed.

  “Well, son. I hope that if there is one thing you do choose to believe in, that it is yourself.” Douglas placed a reassuring hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Because you have truly proven that power.”