Bad Blood

by Ren Hamilton

  Chuck’s smile dropped at the boyfriend comment. Nothing like questioning the sexuality of a heterosexual man to get a reaction. “Gag him,” the big blond said coldly. “I’ve heard enough of his voice too.”

  “My pleasure!” Stanley grabbed a roll of duct tape from a shelf near the wall.

  Bingo. Come to me, Juris thought. Come to me.

  Stanley walked slowly across the room toward Juris. Juris quieted his mind and felt the tingling as he summoned his energy. He focused all of it on a tiny point in the center of the little man’s forehead, trying to remember everything Shep taught him in their training sessions.

  Stanley was grinning as he strode forward, twirling a roll of duct tape around his index finger. Juris waited, silently urging him to come closer. The guard was about nine feet away when Juris released his mind and sent a wave of pure energy crashing at Stanley’s forehead. Stanley stopped walking and dropped the tape. His eyes widened and he placed both hands on his head. “Ah!” was all he managed to say.

  He was still standing when his skull exploded, sending splatters of blood, brain, and shattered bone fragments across the floor and on to the walls. With nothing but a few strands of gore and a piece of spine sticking out of his neck, Stanley’s body dropped to the floor.

  The blond guard was still seated at the little fold out table. A fan of playing cards fell elegantly from his hand onto the floor as his mouth opened to a perfect circle. A tiny whimpering sound was coming from somewhere deep within him, like a scream trapped in a closet. He appeared too shocked to move, fingers still curled in the card-holding position.

  “Chuck? I would like you to stand up and come unlock these chains,” Juris ordered. Chuck didn’t move. His eyes were glued to what was left of Stanley’s ruptured head. “Oh, Chucky? Did you not hear me?”

  The big man looked at Juris with blind terror. He blessed himself and scrambled out of the chair with all intentions of bolting for the door. Juris felt his inner power awakened now, pulsing beneath his flesh, waiting for another outlet. He waited until Chuck had his hand on the doorknob, then mentally threw himself against it. The knob slipped from Chuck’s hand as the door slammed shut in front of him. The big guard wiggled the knob desperately, making high pitched sounds. Finally accepting that the door was not going to open, he went still. Slowly, he turned around and looked at Juris, face tight in a grimace of fear. His hand started to trail to his hip.

  “I wouldn’t touch that gun if I were you, Chuck. That would upset me.”

  “Please,” the guard said in a shaking voice. “Please don’t kill me. I have a child.”

  “I have no desire to kill you, Chuck. I simply desire to be free of these restraints. So come on over here and unlock these shackles, or I’ll be forced to do to you what I did to Stanley here.”

  Chuck’s eyes flicked to Stanley’s decapitated form. The seepage of blood nearly covered the entire floor. He walked forward slowly, trying to step around the blood, which was nearly impossible. He tiptoed daintily along the edge of the wall where the blood had not yet reached. In a whisper, he prayed as he approached, “Blessed art though amongst women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death, Amen.”

  He got within a foot of Juris and stopped. He was trembling, his pink face a sheen of sweat. “The handcuffs first,” Juris said. Chuck pulled a ring of keys off his belt and began fumbling through them with shaking hands. He dropped them once, but finally found what he was looking for. He moved behind Juris and unlocked the cuffs, then the shackles that bound his wrists, then unwound the connecting chain. It dropped to the floor with a loud clank. Juris flexed his wrists. He looked down. “The ankles now.”

  Chuck did not hesitate. He came quickly around front and unlocked Juris’s ankles, removing that chain as well. He looked at the steel ropes that still bound Juris’s legs. “I’ll need to go get the wire cutters for these,” he said.

  Juris smiled. “That won’t be necessary.” He flattened his arms to his sides, took a deep breath, and snapped the wires. He did the same with his legs, and the wires broke with a ping and fell to the floor. He was free. He stood from the chair and stretched his back.

  Chuck gaped at him. “What the hell are you?”

  Juris smiled. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Does this mean that you…you…won’t kill me?”

  Juris thought about this as he bent his neck and cracked his knuckles. “No, I’m not going to kill you, Chuck. We had an agreement. I keep my word. I will have to knock you unconscious, however.”

  Chuck swallowed hard. “Fair enough.”

  Juris swung a fist at Chuck, connecting with his cheekbone. Chuck dropped to the floor like a sack. Juris felt around on his neck for a pulse. The guard was still alive. That was fine. He had no apprehensions about leaving Chuck alive. By the time someone found him, Juris would be long gone. Besides, Chuck had laughed at his joke.

  Juris stepped around the carnage as he made his way to the door of the dusty little room. He was expecting more guards to be standing just outside, but when he opened the door, there was no one. He was in some sort of empty warehouse. He crept quietly through the place until he found an exit. Running a hand over his head, he felt wetness, and realized his hair was sprinkled with flecks of Stanley’s blood. He turned to examine a pile of junk left on a rickety set of shelves, grabbing a discarded baseball cap. Pulling the cap onto his head, he opened the door, stepping out into the early evening air.

  He breathed deeply. He had to get to Shep, but first, he had a quick bit of unfinished business of his own. It would only take a moment’s detour. He did not like being held captive. In fact, it was his least favorite thing. He had been imprisoned once before, and it had lasted for over two thousand years. Somebody was going to pay for putting him through it again.

  Tucking his tell-tale platinum curls up under the baseball cap, he made his way down the city street, blending in with the pedestrians, scowling as he read the signs. He was not within walking distance of his destination, so he hailed a cab, something he’d never done before. The driver smelled like onions, and Juris realized that he was hungry. His stomach could wait.

  “Where to?” the driver asked him.

  “Saint Mary’s Church,” he said. “Drive fast.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Copie cut the vegetables on a wooden carving board while Father Carbone cranked the handle of his pasta-making machine. Tiny tubes of linguini oozed through the holes. The priest glanced over at Copie. “You have to dice those onions very fine, Copie.”

  “Yes, I know how to dice onions, your holiness. I may not be an Italian goomba like you, but I have done some cooking in my time.”

  Carbone raised his hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to help. I didn’t know if you’d made sauce before.”

  “You think I don’t know how to make sauce because I’m black. Is that it?”

  “Yes, Copie. You figured me out. I believe you to be culinarily challenged due to your racial origins.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

  Their spirits were up for the first time in weeks. The meal was in celebration of a call they received from Agent Litner. If Litner’s predictions were correct, then they would all have their lives back soon. Though they were still worried about Patrick and Robin, they had faith in Litner’s abilities to get them out safely. Or rather, Father Carbone had faith. Copie merely took the priest’s word for it.

  A metal clanging sound echoed from somewhere outside, like a barrel knocked over. The two looked at each other. “What the hell was that?” Copie asked, wide-eyed.

  Father Carbone put down the scissors. “It’s probably a raccoon. Tis the season.”

  “I just put those veal scraps out in the barrel,” Copie said. “Maybe they’re after those.”

  “Did you wrap them in plastic like I asked you to?” Copie looked down, whistling. “Copie!” Carbone s
napped.

  “Well, I might have forgotten to wrap them up.”

  Carbone shook his head. “I’d better go clean up the mess and chase away the varmints. There’s probably trash all over the lawn by now.”

  Father Carbone grabbed a broom and a rubber glove and disappeared out the screen door. Copie hopped off his stool and danced around the kitchen to the Italian music playing on the stereo. He sang, inventing his own words. “Chela luna cacciatore Goomba uses too much garlic…la la la la la la la la he’s a chasin a raccoon!” The phone rang. It was the secured burner phone Agent Litner had left them. Copie jumped for it enthusiastically. It didn’t sound like much, but when you were supposed to be dead, any contact with the outside world was a treat. Even if it was the FBI.

  “Hello? Carbone’s kitchen.”

  “Copie, it’s Litner. Listen to me very carefully. I want you and Father Carbone to stay inside the house with the doors locked. I’m coming by to pick you up.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “Juris has escaped.”

  Copie’s hands went numb and he almost dropped the phone. “Es-escaped?” he whispered.

  “Yes, and he has some sort of weapon. I’ve got one dead guard and another who took a blow to the head. Now don’t panic, Copie. I honestly don’t believe he would risk going back to Saint Mary’s, but we can’t be sure. Where’s Carbone? Put him on the phone.”

  “Father Carbone just went outside to chase a raccoon…oh shit!”

  “Call him back inside!” Litner yelled. “Call him back in the house now. If he doesn’t answer you after a couple of calls, close the door and lock it. Do you hear me, Copie?”

  Copie dropped the phone and ran to the door in a panic. “Carbone!” he yelled out through the screen. He paused then shouted again. “Father Carbone! Where are you?” Still no response.

  His eyes scanned the yard fearfully. It wasn’t full dark yet. He should have been able to see the priest. He glanced over at the trash barrels. They were upright and covered as he’d left them. Father Carbone was nowhere in sight. Copie closed the door and locked it. He ran and picked up the phone. “Litner?”

  “Copie what’s going on?”

  “Carbone’s not answering. He’s not answering, man! Where the hell did he go? You’ve got to come over, Litner! I’m scared!”

  “Take it easy. Just stay put. Do not answer the door and stay away from the windows. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  Litner hung up on him and Copie let the phone drop. He backed up into the center of the kitchen, his eyes darting around at the windows. “Sure. I’ll just stay put,” he said, trying desperately to calm himself. “Just stay put. Yeah. Litner will be here in ten. Everything’s fine. It’s cool.”

  The front door burst inward in an explosion of wood and glass, as though it had been hit with an atomic battering ram. Copie dropped to the floor and covered his head. When the debris stopped falling, he looked up through a haze of dust.

  Juris stood in the shattered hole where the door had been. He looked surreal as a wind whipped at his hair and clothing while he remained perfectly still. His platinum curls were dotted with tiny red flecks that looked like blood. Copie swallowed hard, frozen where he crouched.

  Juris grinned down at him. “Hello young one. How have you been?”

  Copie grimaced as he forced out a squeaky answer. “Fine. You?”

  “Never better. What do you say we go for a little ride? We have some…catching up to do.”

  Chapter Fifty

  It was the evening sermon. Robin looked on in horror at the slack faces of the star-struck followers as Joey spewed his emphatic ramblings of meaningless rhetoric. Patrick watched her, silently amused as her eyes darted from Joey’s face to the crowd huddled before him in awe. Joey was a priest, a rock star, a teacher, and a god. He was the king of bullshit.

  “And now the time has come, that the words which have fallen on us alone will be made to pass. You, children of the time to come and the passing of the old world, will see from thy hands the storm that passes like a wind of truth.”

  The followers shouted “Amen.”

  Robin leaned into Patrick. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

  “Nobody knows. Not even him. Amusing, isn’t it?”

  “Not the word I’d use. Is he sleeping with all of them? I mean, I’d heard my cousin was good in bed, but…”

  “Not sex. It’s the power to enchant. Like Wesley said.”

  Robin looked at Patrick. “That shit is for real?”

  “Just look at them.” Some of the followers had tears in their eyes. “What do you think?”

  “I think I have seriously underestimated just how badly Shep has fucked Joey up,” she whispered.

  Shep looked over at them from where he stood on the right side of Joey. Robin leaned back away from Patrick, but Shep’s suspicious gaze lingered on them. Shep’s gaze didn’t rattle Patrick as it had when he’d first arrived. In fact, he’d gotten used to a lot of things out here at the Forest Bluffs home for wandering lunatics. But now he had a new fear.

  Margol scared the living shit out of him. Margol knew too much. So on top of everything, Patrick had to worry about getting his intestines pulled out. He had a flash image in his mind of Margol sitting comfortably on a deck chair while he delicately picked apart Patrick’s corpse.

  And there was an added tension evident in him and Robin now, an extra stiffness to their shoulders. They were waiting for the signal. The sound of Agent Walsh’s gunshots.

  They’d come up with a half-assed plan to get Joey out to the guest house when the time came. It was not a good plan, but neither of them could think of a better one. When the gunshots sounded, Patrick would tell Joey he’d only be safe in the guest house. He would behave desperately, be persistent and incorrigible, acting pained as though the blood pact was guiding his decision. Joey would have no choice but to take Patrick’s word for it.

  The followers formed their now familiar line and came forth to have Joey touch each of their heads. Regardless of Kelinda’s suspected coup, the followers did not seem any less enchanted with Joey than they ever had. Patrick was just glad the sermon was over. With luck it would be the last one he’d ever have to witness.

  A shiver of fear and apprehension gripped him. He held Litner in high regard, to the point of near worship in his admiration of the seemingly unstoppable tough guy. Yet he was still skeptical as to whether or not the stoic agent could outsmart Shep. And if someone as smart as Agent Litner couldn’t outsmart Shep, what chance did Patrick have?

  With the sermon ended, the small company walked back up to the house. Klee had missed the sermon, Shep having ordered him to stay behind and ‘practice his strengths’ while they were gone. Russell had also missed the sermon, and no one mentioned his absence. Patrick knew it was because Russell had taken his advice and split town. He wondered how long it would take Shep to notice Russell was gone, or if he ever would. Patrick envied Russell. He wished he could just walk out of here and not be missed.

  It was almost full night, but the brightness still clung to the earth in a blue twilight. As they were nearing the house, Klee came bounding out the back door, sprinting like a crippled deer toward the group, his white hair a beacon in the falling darkness. “Zirub! I mean Shepherd!” he screamed across the field.

  Patrick and Robin risked a glance at each other.

  “Shepherd!” Klee’s voice was a high-pitched squeal edged with laughter. He was clearly delighted about something as he came stumbling up, stopping in front of them and doubling over with his hands on his knees.

  Margol held Klee’s arm as he struggled to catch his breath. “What’s wrong, little brother?”

  “What is it Klee?” Shep asked.

  Still panting, Klee smiled up at Shep, his boyish face lit with joy. “It is Juris. He is back. My brother Juris is back!”

  Icy fear weakened Patrick’s legs then spread to his entire body. Robin went very still beside him.
>
  “What?” Shep beamed, then began running toward the house. “Juris!”

  Allisto and Margol followed behind him. “Juris!” Allisto screamed in delight as they chased Shep up to the house.

  Klee turned to Patrick and Robin. “Come Patrick! Come Robin! You will meet my brother Juris. You will love my brother Juris!” Klee took off, leaving Patrick and Robin cemented in their tracks.

  “Oh, joy,” Joey said sarcastically, then moved off more slowly toward the house, leaving the two of them finally alone.

  Robin grabbed Patrick’s arm. “We have to get out of here. We have to run! Now!”

  Patrick took her by the shoulders. “I can’t leave, Robin. It’s physically impossible for me to leave without Joey. You go. Find Litner and tell him what’s happened.”

  “No! I’m not going by myself. They’ll kill you!”

  “Robin, I can’t leave. Find Agent Litner. Tell him Juris escaped.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “If Juris escaped then Litner already knows. He’ll come for us! He’ll come for us right away, won’t he?”

  Patrick looked into her terrified blue eyes and knew he’d give his life to keep her from harm. The thought quieted the fear for his own safety, and a calm fell over him. “You have to go Robin. I’ll be fine.”

  “I won’t leave you. We’re in this together.”

  “Juris is going to tell Shep about us. He’s going to tell Shep everything.”

  Robin took a deep breath. “Then I suppose we’d better go face the music.”

  “Robin please!”

  “We can stall, Patrick. You know Shep. It will take him a while to digest the information. Then he’ll spend hours trying to figure out what to do with us. It will buy us time. Agent Litner will come for us. He promised to get us out of here! You heard Agent Walsh. He promised.”

  “That was before this, Robin. I’m sure they didn’t figure on this. Juris being free means Litner’s team no longer has the element of surprise. Their plans may have changed.”