by Wood, Rick
It was a small room, but it was far more than he’d become accustomed to.
There was no stench of booze, no arguing parents on the other side of the wall, no bedsheets left unwashed for months by parents too busy wallowing in their own self-pity.
The room was a dream. A hint of lavender in the air from the various scented cleaning products, smoothed-down bedsheets, and an empty wardrobe for his things.
It was more than he felt he deserved.
“So, what was it like?” Jenny asked, sitting on the bed and staring up at Eddie. “Watching them go, I mean?”
Eddie dumped his bag and lay beside Jenny, gazing at the ceiling. Even the light had a clean, pretty lampshade around it, with some kind of flower pattern. He’d spent more than enough time watching a weakly flickering light, often choosing the dark instead.
“I don’t know,” Eddie shrugged.
Jenny turned to him, draping her arm over his body, loosely cuddling in that way they always did.
“You’ve got to feel something over it. It’s not something many teenagers go through.”
“I guess.” Eddie sighed. “I don’t deserve this.”
“Deserve what?”
“Deserve this house, this room, your parents being so nice, being able to stay here.”
“You give me one good reason why you don’t deserve it.”
Eddie went to speak, but ended up spewing vacant sounds. It was a tough question.
I’ve just gotten used to far less, I suppose.
“Look, Eddie,” Jenny began. “Your parents were lovely parents before, you know, what happened. But now… sorry to speak so badly of them, but they are scum.”
“That’s unfair. They’ve had a lot to deal with.”
“Yes, but so have you. Who was there for you?”
Eddie turned his head toward Jenny and beamed.
“You were.”
Jenny blushed, rolled her eyes, and sat up.
“You still haven’t answered my question,” Jenny observed.
“What question?”
“What was it like to see your dad led away? In a police car?”
Eddie sat up, contemplating what to say. He stood and meandered to the window, gazing at the garden below. The grass was cut, the trees were trimmed, the flowers were pretty. There was even a bench in the corner.
“I was kind of numb to it, I guess,” Eddie admitted. “It was more the cheers and the jeers from the neighbours and all that, you know? Because they will forever judge me on what my dad’s done.”
He bowed his head. Stifled his tears. Willed himself to be a man.
“Well, you’re not going to have any nasty neighbours here, I can promise you that,” Jenny offered, a chirpy bounce in her voice. “Though I can’t promise I won’t jeer you,” she joked.
Eddie turned, leant against the windowsill, and studied his best friend.
After everything; all the shit, all the grief, all the torn feelings, the fights, the tears, her sexuality, his self-defence mechanisms, their days together, the nights he’d crept in to her room.
After every single piece of grief they had faced, nothing had changed.
“Thank you, Jenny,” Eddie acknowledged.
Jenny smiled back. It was all he needed.
28
3 Feb 2003
Three years, two months since millennium night
Birds sang in the early hours of the morning as Jenny burst through the front door.
Thoughts of Martin plagued her. They still couldn’t reach him, and had no idea whether he was safe.
Had Eddie – sorry, the heir – gotten to Father Douglas first?
Had Martin seen it?
Had the heir found him?
Most pertinently, the biggest conundrum she faced, the most perplexing thought:
How am I going to save Eddie if he keeps killing?
How am I going to bring him back once he is too far gone?
She knew what Derek’s answer to that would be.
“He’s not Eddie anymore. He’s past saving. He is something else.”
Well, screw him.
She would not give up on Eddie, even though everyone else had.
She would not give in to these despondent feelings of lost hope. She had far more faith in Eddie than that.
If only she could get to him.
See him in the flesh. She could talk to him. Once she had preached to his better side, reminded him of who he once was, who he still must be deep down; maybe, just maybe, she would manage to bring him back.
Derek hadn’t known Eddie for anywhere as near as long as Jenny had.
He didn’t know.
She had memories of him. Memories of him at his weakest. She had seen what he had overcome, seen what he had managed.
However he now looked, it would not make a damn bit of difference.
She would bring Eddie back.
But she had to find him first.
She sprang into the living room, not bothering with the light. She grabbed her gym bag from the corner of the room; a bag she had not used for quite a while now, having had numerous other things on her mind other than exercising.
She tipped the bag’s contents onto the floor.
“Hi,” came a feeble voice from behind her.
Like a shot she sprang around, only to see the soft outline of her girlfriend on the sofa.
Jenny switched the light on and stared at Lacy in astonished confusion.
Lacy sat with her arms folded, her legs crossed and a deadened, narrow-eyed expression. Bags sat under her eyes with uncomfortable prominence.
“Lacy –” Jenny gasped.
“It’s quarter past four in the morning,” Lacy pointed out. She did not shout, speak accusingly, or act out of control; her voice was calm and measured, but full of sinister fury.
This was worse than if Lacy was shouting.
This was Lacy upset in a way Jenny had never seen before.
“I’m so sorry,” Jenny pleaded.
“I haven’t heard from you since this afternoon. I had tea ready at eight, but it went cold. I was one minute away from calling the police.”
Jenny bowed her head and closed her eyes in shame. She had screwed up, she knew it.
Then again, she had good reason.
“I’m sorry, Lace.” Jenny lifted her head and approached her partner. “I’m sorry, but we had a real big issue. Someone was killed, and it might be someone who had Martin with him, which means–”
“Enough!” Lacy screamed, and turned her face away.
Lacy was the cool and collected one. She was the voice of reason, the one who kept Jenny calm; the one who pointed out why Jenny was being irrational.
She had never been angry like this before.
It smashed Jenny’s heart into pieces.
“Lacy, honestly.” Jenny crouched down in front of Lacy. “I would not have screwed up like this if it wasn’t really, really important.”
Lacy’s eyes shook, growing red and wet.
“I was really important, once.”
Jenny bowed her head once more. Desperately exhaled. Tried to cling onto that piece of her that belonged to Lacy, that piece of her that no one else could ever touch. Tried to find a way to show that piece to Lacy.
“Look, Lacy, there’s a lot at stake here,” Jenny cautiously asserted. “I should have let you know.”
Lacy huffed.
“Let’s just go to bed,” she decided, “and we’ll deal with this in the morning.”
Lacy stood up and made her way toward the door, but froze once she heard Jenny’s next two words.
“I can’t.”
Lacy poised at the door. Hostility etched over her face, her fists clenching, her muscles tensing.
“What?”
“I know this is just going to make things worse, but… I have to go to Israel.”
“Israel?”
Jenny looked around the room, frantically trying to think of the words to say. She needed to
leave quickly if they were going to get to London in time to get their plane. She didn’t have time to stay here and explain everything, to go into the detail needed to justify herself to Lacy.
But Lacy deserved that.
And Jenny didn’t want to make things any worse.
“When I get back, maybe we can talk about this. There are real reasons I have to go, reasons I just don’t have the time to go into right now.”
“Of course, you don’t have the time for me.”
“Lacy, please, the whole world is at stake. I need you to understand.”
Lacy peered back into the eyes of the one she loved. Almost half her life had been spent with this woman. So much love shared, so many memories created, so many warm evenings spent cuddling and making love.
She tried to show that, but couldn’t.
Lacy saw Jenny waiting for a response, waiting for reassurance that it would all be okay, that Jenny could explain herself when she got back and that would be fine.
But Lacy couldn’t give her that.
So she said nothing.
She turned and walked away, trudging up the stairs and into bed, where she lay awake for the rest of the night.
Jenny packed her bag and, within minutes, was gone.
29
The Vatican had already covered the whole thing up.
Various builders, repairmen, and people who do God-knows-what flooded into the building. A sign was lodged onto the entrance to the Church of Nativity, saying that it would be temporarily closed due to a few health and safety issues and repairs.
Martin scoffed. Health and safety issues?
It had been a little more than a few health and safety issues.
Martin watched as the hurried operation quickly implemented a slick overhaul of the remains of the courtyard. Within hours, the sheer amount of people and their obvious impeccable training had managed to restore most of the church, and in complete incognito. Though people may had heard the noise and smelt some smoke the previous night, the sign on the entrance indicated that there had been a few issues and their feeble, happy minds would be content with that explanation.
The less they knew, the better.
Martin took a stroll away from the rubble and repairs. The grey skies had left and the sun had returned. Even though the locals were in jackets and coats, Martin was in shorts and a t-shirt. The temperature was cold to them; but to Martin, this was a warm winter. Far warmer than he would be used to back in England.
He walked for hours. Past tourists, locals, restaurants, beggars, religious nut-jobs – everyone he had come to be aware of living in this part of the world. Passing stone steps, cobbled streets, and various run-down businesses and homes, he somehow found himself crossing the main road beside a large hill and arriving at the coast.
There was no one else around. Just him and the sea.
A cool breeze flickered his t-shirt and he wished he’d brought a jacket.
Still, he could have been killed a few hours ago. Best be grateful for what he had.
Martin didn’t need to turn around to realise he was no longer alone. He could feel the presence beside him.
Despite having been seeking solitude in his meandering to the sea, he was grateful for the company he found himself in. He had never felt more alone, and it was good to be able to know there was still one person following him and protecting him.
“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Cassy said.
Martin absently nodded.
“For what? You didn’t kill him.”
“Yes, but we should have foreseen it. Father Douglas was such an obvious target, it was foolish for us to not have thought.”
“Yes, but again, Cassy, you didn’t kill him. Eddie did. He’s the one to blame.”
“That thing is no longer Eddie.”
For the first time since he had felt her beside him, he turned and looked at her. She was as angelic as ever, beaming white light, elegance personified.
But, for the first time, he witnessed a spark of hesitance over her face.
Her brother was clearly her weakness.
He turned back to the sea and peered into the horizon, where the ocean melted into distant ocean.
“What am I going to do now?” Martin asked.
“Derek is on his way,” Cassy informed him. “Derek is gathering an army, an army that you will undoubtedly lead.”
Martin sniggered ironically. “I can’t lead an army.”
“Really, Martin? After everything you have accomplished, everything you have found that you can do, you continue to doubt yourself?”
“I just got my arse handed to me.”
“Yes, but you survived. You fought and lived through a battle with the heir of hell. That’s more than you can say for anyone else this creature has faced.”
A sudden tinge of pain in his ribs reminded him of what the battle had cost him. True, he had survived. But he had come nowhere near winning.
The power of the thing… The evil that exuded from it…
They are asking too much.
“Why do you call him that?” Martin mused.
“Pardon?” replied Cassy, not quite understanding.
“Eddie. You either call him the heir of hell, or the creature. Why not Eddie? Is it because you can’t bear to face what this thing is?”
“This thing is not Eddie.”
“Yes it is!” Martin punched the air in frustration and spun around to face Cassy.
“You have done brilliant things, Martin, but you still have a lot to learn. Just make sure you’re listening.”
“I’m the one who’s not listening?”
Martin stormed away from her, toward the sea. He halted when he realised he had nowhere to go. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, his hands on his hips.
Cassy stayed where she was. Watching him. Studying him. Wishing she could tell him everything.
“Why me?” Martin turned around and gesticulated to emphasise his question. “That’s what I keep wondering in all of this. Why me? What is so fricking special about me?”
Cassy peered into his deep, sorrowful eyes.
“I only wish I could tell you.”
“I’m going to need better than that,” Martin aggressively chuckled. “You want me to wage a war, risk my life, lead an army – you are going to need to give me more than a request to take a leap of faith.”
“Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith.”
“Oh yeah? And when was the last time you took a leap of faith, huh? When was the last time you risked it all for the sake of the world?”
“The day I appeared at your side and told you to kill my brother.”
Martin didn’t move. He remained conflictedly static, stumped to the spot.
Heaven had taken a leap of faith in him. They had bestowed so much into him, putting all their hope on his shoulders.
But he had never asked for it.
He never asked for a leap of faith.
All he ever asked for was a quiet life. With his ma, maybe even with his dad. A younger sister, maybe. A good job, a sweet woman, and a nice house.
Not this.
“I’d better go,” he grunted.
With a final menacing glare in Cassy’s direction he staggered forward, fists still clenched and muscles still tense.
He didn’t need to turn around to know that Cassy had gone the moment he walked past her.
30
4 Feb 2003
Despite being restored, the church felt empty. It was strange how just one other person had made the grand chambers feel so full and welcoming. Now Martin was on his own, without Father Douglas, the immaculate architecture just felt empty and dark.
He sat on the pew farthest away from the altar at the rear of the church, staring angrily at the cross standing prominently at the front of the church.
Martin had never believed in God. Or maybe it was that he did believe, but just thought God was a dick.
He silently snorted, amus
ing himself with his blasphemous cogitations.
Footsteps echoed from the entrance. Martin turned around to see Derek approaching, wearing a sympathetic smile. He was impeccably dressed, as always, and was accompanied by a woman he’d met a few times. He remembered her name was Jenny.
“Martin, my boy,” Derek greeted him.
Martin wearily approached Derek, who grabbed hold of Martin’s hand and shook it firmly.
“Are you okay?” Derek asked out of clear, genuine concern.
Martin shrugged. How was he meant to answer that question?
Jenny stepped forward and gently hugged Martin.
“I’m really pleased you’re okay,” Jenny softly observed.
“Thanks,” Martin replied. He appreciated the concern, although he felt very far away from being ‘okay.’
Martin guided Derek and Jenny into one of the smaller rooms of the church. Martin offered a coffee, but Derek insisted on making it, protesting that Martin needed to rest. Within ten minutes they were sat around the table, each of them with a coffee in front of them and a gentle breeze floating from the open window.
Martin didn’t realise how much he had been sweating. The cool night breeze felt good against his warm face.
It was at this point he realised how long it had been since he’d had a shower.
“Well, I know this is only coffee, not necessarily the good stuff,” Derek observed, raising his cup. “But I would still like to propose a toast.” He beamed affectionately toward Martin. “To Martin. Who fought the heir and lived. And to Father Douglas, who was a great man.”
Jenny echoed Derek’s raising of the cup and sipped hers. Martin gave a gentle nod of acknowledgement.
“I’m so sorry about what you have had to endure,” Derek preached. “It was an error on our part that we didn’t foresee such an obvious attack.”
“That’s what Cassy said,” Martin grunted, not sure what he intended to accomplish by pointing that out.
“You’ve seen her?” Jenny piped in, astounded.
“A few times. Now and then.”