Bad Blood

by Ren Hamilton

  “And almost get burned alive by your wingless boyfriend.”

  “It’s getting old, Copie,” Patrick said.

  “Not to me.”

  Father Carbone buried his face in his hands and sighed. Patrick looked at him expectantly, but the priest remained silent. Copie continued to taunt. “So in a nutshell, Patrick, no pun intended, this thing comes through the wall from God knows where, no pun intended again. They take a hack saw—”

  “Power saw,” Patrick corrected him. “I think it was an orthopedic saw.”

  “Excuse me, they take a power saw, cut off its wings, give it a Band-Aid and they’re good to go?”

  Patrick ignored Copie. His focus was on Father Carbone whose face was still buried in his hands. “You believe me. Don’t you, Father Carbone?”

  Father Carbone lifted his head. “I believe you’re telling the truth about what you saw.”

  “And? How would you interpret it?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t believe in angels, I can tell you that.”

  “But you’re a priest! How can you not believe in angels?”

  “I’m sorry, I just don’t. I had to do very discerning studies of religious texts on the way to earning my degree, and angels just never seemed credible to me. The priesthood was a personal choice I made, but it doesn’t mean I no longer think critically.”

  “Great. You don’t believe the hype you feed to your flock every Sunday in church. So who told the Virgin Mary she was pregnant with the son of God? Elvis?”

  “I agree with Father Carbone,” Copie said. “Angels are bullshit, not to mention way too trendy. My mother collects little figurines, they’re all over the house. The things are definitely over-exposed. They’re on mugs, bumper stickers, they’re just tacky.”

  Patrick stood. “I don’t give a shit if there are too many angels on fucking coffee mugs. And I’m not suggesting what we saw was related to anything biblical. These winged beings of mythology might have been aliens or cryptids or some shit all along. Trust me, there is nothing divine about these creatures.”

  Robin groaned. “I’m already trying to accept that I was dating a murderer, now I have to chew on this? That I’ve been fucking an alien for six years?”

  “I’m just speculating, I don’t know,” Patrick said.

  Agent Litner came back into the room, executing his usual habit of tapping his temple with a pen. He’d been so quiet that Patrick had nearly forgotten he was there. “So Patrick, we need to discuss your upcoming infiltration of Forest Bluffs.”

  Patrick studied Litner. “What?”

  “We have to review our plan. We need to send you out there right away.”

  “Are you nuts, Litner? You still want me to go out there and live in that house with those…people? Have you heard a word I’ve said? Those house guests of Joey’s, Shep included, are not exactly normal.”

  “I don’t care,” Agent Litner said.

  “You don’t care?”

  “No. I don’t care. I don’t care if they’re evil fairies or little green men from outer space. It’s still a matter of national security, and I still need those crop samples. We had a deal, Obrien, and I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain.”

  Patrick couldn’t believe his ears. At this point, he’d rather gnaw his own arm off than go anywhere near Shepherd, never mind live in the same house with him. “Are you truly a heartless robot, Litner? You weren’t there! You didn’t see it. It was carnage! It was the stuff of nightmares! Just look what it’s doing to Robin.”

  Robin rocked back and forth, her eyes distant. Agent Litner leaned against the doorway twirling his pen like a baton. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Patrick sneered. “What’s wrong with her? Do you mean beside the fact that she’s just witnessed a murder? Go arrest someone! Arrest Shep.”

  “Shep’s crimes will be dealt with, it’s already under investigation. But we get the crop samples before any action is taken. If we grab Shep now, Joey could continue his plan. You said Joey was not there last night. He probably has an alibi and could deny all involvement.”

  “But Shep is a killer, I don’t want to have a sleepover with him.” Patrick shook his head. “Or should I say Zirub is a killer.”

  Father Carbone narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”

  “Zirub. That’s the name Shep used to refer to himself in the cave when he was speaking to Klee.”

  “That name’s in that crazy little journal he wrote. It still rings a bell with me. It did when I first read it. I know I’ve heard that name in the past.”

  “Are you sure?” Patrick asked hopefully. “If you can get any details on the name, I’d like to know. It’s fucked up not knowing who your former best friend actually is.”

  “Again,” Robin said. “I win that contest. Had his penis in me. Many times.”

  Carbone nodded. “I need to make a call. I have a colleague over at Saint Christopher’s who studies the celestial hierarchy. He may be able to sort some of this out.”

  “But you said the angel…angle…the angel angle is bullshit,” Robin said.

  “I know, but my field of study is theology. If I read that name somewhere, chances are it was in some form of religious text, whether Catholic or otherwise. It’s just a hunch. I’ll look into it and see what plays out.”

  “Hey, I have an idea!” Copie said, bright eyed. “Let’s ask him!” Copie pointed to the floor.

  Agent Litner cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Patrick looked suspiciously at Litner, then at Copie. “Let’s ask who?” Copie avoided Patrick’s eyes. “Copie?”

  Copie cringed, glancing uneasily at Agent Litner. “Well, um, you know those guys we’ve been calling the brothers? The ones with the curly hair?”

  “I spent last night in a cave watching them play with blood. What is your point?”

  “Well…” he glanced at Agent Litner, then at Father Carbone.

  Carbone nodded. “You might as well tell him, Copie. He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

  “Tell me what?” Patrick demanded.

  Copie shrugged. “We caught one of them.”

  Patrick frowned. “You caught one of them?”

  “Yeah. We caught one.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You have Juris. Don’t you?” Robin said. “It’s Juris. Isn’t it?”

  Father Carbone walked toward her. “Yes. How did you know his name?”

  “I spent a weekend at Forest Bluffs. I met him. I noticed he wasn’t in the cave with the others last night.”

  “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Patrick demanded.

  Agent Litner sighed. “It was a necessary precaution, Patrick. We found Juris spying on us outside the club the night of our meeting. He must have been following you. Had we let him go, he’d have warned Shepherd and the others about our collaboration. So we had to…detain him.”

  “Where is he?” Patrick demanded. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Patrick, I want you to stay calm,” Litner said.

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the basement,” Father Carbone said softly.

  Patrick looked at the priest. “In the basement.”

  “Yes.”

  “What? Here?”

  “He’s tied to a chair,” Copie said.

  Patrick and Robin looked at each other, then they both ran for the basement door. The other three followed. “Please, Patrick, wait!” Father Carbone called after him. “Try not to upset him. He has a hangover!”

  ****

  Patrick flipped the cellar light on and trampled down the stairs with the others following. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he stepped into the spacious basement. It was the blond stalker all right. Even with his head hung down to his chest, he looked strikingly like a brother to Shep. His body was wrapped with wire. It was a sad sight, sort of like viewing a lovely but dangerous animal cruelly caged up.

>   Robin stepped up alongside Patrick. Juris did not look up when they entered the room. He appeared to be sleeping. The only sign of life was when his long white curls moved up and down slightly with each breath he took.

  “Jesus,” Robin said. “Has he been tied to that chair since the meeting?”

  Litner nodded. “He’s extremely strong, and prone to violent behavior.”

  “Have you been feeding him?” Robin asked.

  “Of course,” Father Carbone said. “But he won’t eat anything but chocolate and he won’t drink anything but water and brandy.”

  “It appears he has unusual body chemistry,” Litner said. “He seems able to slow down his own metabolism, as though he is literally saving his strength. He’s exhibited few normal bodily functions since his arrival.”

  Patrick scowled at the brother, a chill shivering down his back. “Has he said anything?”

  “Och fee!” Juris exclaimed, and they all jumped. He lifted his head and glared at Patrick. “Och fee!” he repeated, disgust in his narrowed green eyes.

  Patrick matched his stare. “Well, well. Look who’s up. What is och fee?”

  Juris’s face tightened. “Betrayer!” he hissed. “You are a filthy betrayer!”

  Patrick laughed, a high-pitched guffaw that edged on madness. “I’m the betrayer? That’s certainly an interesting perspective. Do you even know what your precious Shepherd has done to betray me?”

  Juris spit at him, just missing Patrick’s face as he ducked to the right. Patrick grimaced and took a step back.

  “He does that a lot,” Father Carbone said.

  Patrick looked at the priest. “I want to see his back,” he said. “Robin said they all have the scar. I need to see it with my own eyes.”

  Juris grinned at Robin. “It’s lovely to see you again, Robin. You are also a betrayer, but more pleasant to look at than the pig Obrien. Why don’t you run along back to my brother? I’m sure he must be missing you by now.”

  “Don’t speak to her!” Patrick growled.

  This only made Juris’s smile widen. “She does not belong to you, Obrien. She belongs to Shepherd. I have more right to speak to her than you.”

  Robin’s face flushed with anger, and she approached Juris. “You listen to me, Goldilocks. I don’t belong to anyone! And if I were going to belong to someone, it sure as shit wouldn’t be that murdering freak you call your brother! You can tell him that.”

  Juris glanced over at Litner. “I would love to, Robin. But I don’t think I will be telling Shepherd anything anytime soon. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve gotten myself into a bit of a bind.”

  “I need to see his back,” Patrick repeated.

  “We can’t risk untying him,” Carbone said. “I’ll get you a pair of scissors. You can cut his shirt if you want.”

  The priest clomped up the wooden stairs and returned momentarily with a pair of kitchen shears, which he handed to Patrick. Juris simply stared. Patrick rounded the back of the chair and held Juris’s shoulders while Robin cut down the back of his shirt, skillfully avoiding the steel ropes. She dropped the scissors and tore the shirt open, exposing his bare back. Patrick gasped. The scar was there. It was nearly identical to Shep’s, if not a bit fresher looking.

  “My God,” Patrick said.

  “I told you,” Robin said. “They all have them.”

  Patrick moved around the chair to face Juris. “Where did you get the scar?”

  “Fuck you.”

  Patrick turned away. “Fine,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Then I guess you don’t want to hear about what happened to Klee.”

  Juris looked like he’d been punched. “You-you have seen my brother Klee?”

  “Maybe,” Patrick taunted.

  Rage flashed in his green eyes and Juris trembled. “You tell me! Damn you! If you have seen Klee you must tell me. Is he alive?”

  “Where did you get the scar, Juris? And don’t tell me your daddy branded you with a horseshoe. That one’s been used.”

  “Fuck you! Dirty betrayer!”

  Patrick moved in closer and leaned over so he was face to face. “Have it your way. If you won’t tell me anything, then I won’t tell you anything.”

  “He’s a good interrogator,” Copie whispered to Agent Litner. “He’s much better than you were.” Litner gave Copie a scowl.

  Father Carbone strung a crucifix around the prisoner’s neck. Juris grinned. “Do you think I am a vampire?”

  “I don’t know what you are, Juris. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “Why don’t you bite me?”

  Robin grabbed a handful of Juris’s hair and tugged his head back. “What the hell are you?”

  Juris smiled up at her sweetly. “Oh, just a regular guy.”

  “Who is Wesley J. Shepherd?” Patrick asked, remembering the name the old doctor wrote in the dirt.

  Juris whipped his head around and stared at Patrick with open shock. “What did you say?”

  “I said who is Wesley J. Shepherd?”

  Juris looked at Patrick as though he’d performed a magic trick. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “From a dead man. Do you know the name?”

  Juris shook his head. “He does not exist.”

  “If you don’t know the name, then how do you know he doesn’t exist?”

  “Do not play mind games with me, Obrien. You will lose. Tell me where you heard that name.”

  “Shep told me all about him. I just wanted to see if you knew.”

  “You lie poorly. I know it was not from Shepherd.”

  “How?”

  “Because Shepherd will not speak that name aloud. Shepherd will never speak that name again.”

  “Why? Who is Wesley and what is his connection to Shep?”

  Juris sat tight-lipped. Patrick had filled Agent Litner in about the name. Litner assured him that if Wesley J. Shepherd existed, either now or anytime in the past, Litner would find him. Patrick was beyond curiosity about the name now, especially in light of Juris’s reaction.

  “I’d like some chocolate please,” Juris said.

  “No. You get no chocolate until you answer one of our questions.” Father Carbone crouched down on one knee in front of Juris. “You’re quite beautiful, Juris. That worries me.”

  “Why is that, priest? Are you afraid I’m going to steal one of your little boyfriends?”

  Robin and Patrick exchanged a smirk. Juris shared Shep’s ruthlessly keen ability to vex and taunt. He was, in fact, so like Shepherd, that Patrick was finding it increasingly difficult to despise him. He feared him much more than he hated him. His speech seemed to have improved tremendously in a short time. When Patrick encountered him at Betsy’s, he spoke with a much slower and more broken inflection. It was as though his total verbal capacity had accelerated over the short time since he’d seen him.

  Father Carbone continued. “It is said a demon is never more dangerous than when disguised as an angel of light.”

  “I see. First you think I am a vampire, now I am a demon? You amuse me. So…arrogant. You know nothing. You speak of demons, and angels. You do not even know what such creatures are. You do not even know what you are.”

  “And you do?”

  Juris chuckled, but didn’t answer.

  “Have you fallen, Juris? Are you a fallen one?”

  Juris spit at him. Litner casually strolled over and handed the priest a handkerchief, which he used to wipe the spittle off of his cheek. “There is no such thing as a fallen one,” Juris said with contempt. “Your dumb brain believes everything you read in your dumb books. You are a dumb priest. A dumb man. Someone bring me some brandy. I grow bored of talking with this dumb man.”

  “Where did you get the scar?” Carbone pressed on.

  “Give me some chocolate and I will tell you.”

  “Tell me and I will give you some chocolate.”

  Juris remained silent. Father Carbone stood up and crossed his arms over his chest. “You mock m
y beliefs, yet you say it’s not safe for you in this church. Why is that?”

  “For reasons your dumb brain could not possibly understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “It has nothing to do with your dumb religion. Bring me chocolate. I grow bored of the questions!”

  “Why is it not safe for you here? Answer me!” the priest yelled.

  Juris cringed and his eyes darted around the room.

  “You said if you stay here, they will find you. Who are they? Huh? Tell me!”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Why should I keep my voice down? Who are you afraid is going to hear me?” Father Carbone yelled up to the ceiling. “Hey! Everyone! There is a fallen one in my basement!”

  “Stop that!” Juris struggled against the ropes.

  “Hey!” Father Carbone screamed again. “If there is anyone listening, I have Juris in my basement! I don’t think he’s supposed to be here!”

  Juris threw his head back and let out a sound that left them all covering their ears. It was a wild, inhuman screech, like some prehistoric creature from a monster movie. Patrick and Robin had heard a similar screech come from Klee in the cave at Pearl Chasm. Juris’s scream finally ceased and the windows in the basement rattled until one of them cracked. The room fell silent. They all uncovered their ears. Juris glared at Father Carbone, panting.

  Carbone walked over to the window, and with a trembling hand, peeled back the paper that covered it. The glass had a jagged crack down the center, like a fine spider web.

  “Juris,” Litner said calmly. “Please don’t do that again.”

  “Tell the priest to stop shouting then.”

  “Answer our questions, and he will.”

  “Fine.” Juris slowly turned his head to glare at Father Carbone. “Have I fallen, you ask me? You’d fall too, if someone cut your fucking wings off.”

  No one spoke. They were all stunned. Juris turned to Patrick. “You asked me where I got the scar. I just answered you. Tell me about Klee,” he said with desperation.

  Patrick glanced at Robin. She nodded. No one wanted to hear that scream again. “Your brother Klee is very much alive. The last time I saw him, he was wrapped in a blanket and leaving the cave with Shep.”