Legal disclaimer: all fiction. Don't read if you're not allowed to.
Author's note: first of all, thanks to Casey for letting me borrow the 'gators. I would use to them to make sure JC and Joey behave themselves and stay nicely and naked in bed together...but somehow there doesn't seem to be a problem with that... ;) But I'm sure I'll find a use for them. Otherwise, hope you'll enjoy this chapter. I'm Chris-obsessed at the moment, so expect more Chris-angst from me. :) And I have finally made myself a web site for my stories, the url is http://www.angelfire.com/boybands/KathFiction/Main.html Love and looneytunes from Kat.
- Chapter 13 -
In Chris' dream he was laying on a floor. Face down on a wet, cold concrete-floor. Everything was darkness, fear, anger and unbearable pain. The room he was in was filled with hungry shadows. They waited for him in the corners, dripping down on him from the ceiling, curling up next to him on the floor. Drifting in and out of reality, Chris' mind tranformed the images into a kaleidoscopical mist.
A hand clawed at his hair, a voice spoke. A voice he had once believed he loved. Now the voice spoke in harsh, hateful words. Dangerous words. His body drowned in pain.
"Slayer," the voice whispered. "Don't pass out now, slayer, we have saved the best part for last..." Desperately hanging on to the last thread of his consciousness, Chris made a futile effort to get up. A knee digging into his back pinned him down again. "Now you wouldn't spoil our fun, would you, Christopher?" the voice spoke again. Something rough and yet sharp slid across Chris' neck.
"Let's do this right, slayer." The voice transformed into an animalistic growl, aroused at the anticipation of inflicting pain. "I have your heart, remember? It's only fair that I'll take it, then."
The feeling of the sharp wooden stake driving into his body, biting through his skin, made Chris scream in pain before the last bit of conciousness was taken from his mind by a mercifull emptiness.
As so many times before Chris woke with the sound of his own scream in his ears. Forcing himself to relax, Chris rubbed his hands over his face, feeling tears mixed with cold sweat. His whole body was drenched in sweat, his chest straining in deep, heaving breaths. "Jesus," he thought to himself. " I don't want to remember this anymore..."
The nightmares had eased up on him lately, due to the transcission of time and the relocation from the scene of the crime, literally speaking. But this morning's events had woken the monsters in his mind, found all the memories Chris didn't even know existed anymore. All the things that had been pushed back into the oblivion Chris needed to stay sane, to survive.
Getting out of bed, Chris quickly stripped out of the clothes he wore and put on a wide-legged sweatpants in a thin fabric. Bare-footed he went into the room behind the bedroom. This room was divided in two. One half held various weights and excersize apparats. The other half was empty except for the mirrors dressing one wall. Stepping to the center of the floor Chris closed his eyes and breathed deeply, feeling his mind and body start to calm down.
When he felt the familiar clearness settle, he started moving. Gracefull, slow motions, acting out an ancient pattern. Chris kept his eyes closed, not needing to see to do his Tai Chi-excersices, they were like second nature to him. Being skilled in most martial arts, Chris preferred this and the more aggressive version of it, Kung Fu, when fighting. His feet moved surely on the wooden floor, assuming the next position without needing confimation from the mind, his arms slicing the air in precise movements.
Soon Chris' breathing was down to even, rhytmical breaths, his body relaxed and his senses sharpened at the same time. Meditation in movement. Speeding up the actions, the movements went from gentle to deadly, without loosing their grace. Needing to hit something more solid, Chris moved over to the punching-bag hanging from a chain secured to a hook in the roof. Picturing a face on the thick blue plastic skin he hit. Planting his foot in the middle of the imaginative face felt good. Anger made his movements rougher, not so fine-tuned, yet not less lethal.
He only stopped when every mucsle in his body begged for rest and sweat poured down his back and made the pants he wore cling to his legs like an extra layer of skin. Breathing heavily Chris stopped the punching bag from swinging wildly and held it steady. Releasing his anger like this and letting it control his actions was a violation of what all his teachers had taught him. Clearness of mind was as crucial as the fitness of the body. But still it had felt so damn good. "One day," Chris promised himself. "I'll pay him back. In every little fucking detail. Then I'll kill him." After that silent wov Chris left the room to take a shower and get dressed.
The night was still newborn when Justin had left the house, going out on his own, enjoying having his freedom back again. Strolling through the streets he passed a building strangely unfitting among the bars and cheap motels. A curved wooden door was open, showing the faint flicker of candles insides. A cross was drawn sharply aganist the dark, nightly sky. The inscription read Our Lady Of Mercy. A smile curled Justin's lips upwards, bringing a light to his eyes. Then he went inside.
Inside it was calm and quiet, the room kept in a soothing low-lit tone. Candles burned in stronger flickers here, making Justin pull his upper lip up in a half-hearted snarl at the open flames. He lifted his eyes up to see the statue of the madonna. She held the baby Jesus in her arms, smiling sweetly down at the crowned child. The pulsating neonsigns from the outside world coated their quiet haven in multicoloured burts coming through the large stained glass window behind the altar. The holy Mother and the saviour was surrounded by saints and their shrines.
At this time of night the church was empty. Only the resident priest was there, wandering about looking very much at home between his silent reasons of praise. The sound of Justin's steps on the stone floor was loud in the shy atmosphere, making the priest turn around. He was old, white hair halo-like around his head in the golden shimmer from the myriad of candle flames. His face was lined and his eyes bore the wisdom from a long life and numerous experiences, both good and bad. "Welcome, my child," he greeted Justin. "Are you here to seek absolution?" That made Justin chuckle. "Oh Father, don't offer what you can't give. I'm just here because I'm curious." Stepping closer to the altar Justin's eyes fell on the cross on the altar cloth. "They all say that we can't enter Christ's house, we can't thread on holy ground." Letting his fingers sweep through the water in the Christianing font, Justin held his hand up to the priest and continued. "This water is supposed to burn me, I don't feel more than the tingling of the drops of water running down my wrist. We're damned forever, my kind, eternally beyond the Lord's heaven. Still I'm here, and He hasn't struck me down yet."
"The Lord loves all his creations," the priest answered him. "No one is denied his love. Confess your sins, my son, and you shall recive absolution." "Pray and you shall receive, huh? Well, Father, I have long since discovered that that was just a lie. Your God couldn't care less about us." Moving closer to the robed priest Justin beared his fangs, knowing that the shimmering light in the church gave an un-earthly glow to his skin and eyes. The priest took a step back, fear fluttering across his features. "What do you see when you look at me, Father?" Justin asked, another smile playing around his lips. "Another one of your God's creations? I think not. Do you see a monster, a demon?"
"I see a child," the priest replied calmly. "A lost child." "Interesting," Justin said, looking nearly thoughtful. "I'm a vampire, Father, I kill mortals for their blood. I feed of them. Do you still see the child? Or do you see evil?" "Someone who holds that much hurt in their eyes can't be evil," he was answered. "If you are asking me if I think you are one of the devil's creatures, I don't think so. The Lord acts in mysterious ways, it's not up to us to question him."
Circling the priest and the still smiling madonna Justin held his hand up. "But that would mean that your God actually cares. You God is dead, Father. Or he has forgotten about us. He isn't listening to us, he has left you, priest." "So much anger," the priest said, frowning. He was standing in front of his altar, surrounded by the silent saints. "Open your heart to Him, child, let him take away the pain from your soul." "So I do have a soul," Justin smiled, " there are those would would argue with you there, Father." He had to laugh as the priest shrugged. "I never was an ordinairy priest, my son, why do you think I ended up here?" "I like you," Justin told him. "So I won't kill you. At least not if you stop trying to sell me that lie of a religion of yours."
"Allright," the priest said. Moving past Justin he sat down on the first of the church benches. "Come sit with me, child. Tell me why you are so mad at the Lord. He does listen to you, but he might not speak directly to you. You will have to look for his answers." "You don't quit, do you?" Justim mumbled, but he sat down. "I spent most of my childhood on my knees, begging the Lord to come save me, to take me away. I didn't care where to...just away from them, with their hands, snickering voices, from the things they did to me... It made me sick, and I pleaded with your god to rescue me. He didn't listen. After a while I realised that the only one that could save me was myself." "He listened," the priest answered, "and he gave you the strength to move on, to save yourself." "Oh yes," Justin said, his eyes hardening. "I left one hell for another. I have seen too much, father, to buy that there is a loving god taking care of us. If he's still up there, he chooses to look the other way."
"Is that why you became what you are today?" the priest wanted to know. "To get back at the Lord?" Justin's eyes was icy blue when he turned his head to look at the man beside him. "I was never asked, Father. I am what I am, I have come to terms with that. And I'm stronger this way." "You are physically stronger, yes," the priest replied. "But at heart you are still a lost, scared child. Your eyes betray you." Silent now, Justin looked away. Seeing the cabinet for confession, he asked quietly: "How can you still have faith, Father? The world moves more and more without your kind. You hear people confess their sins every day and know that they don't regret and they'll commit new ones the moment they step out on the streets again."
The old priest leaned back. "Oh, they try. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak. I offer them absolution and they can go through another day. But for those who don't regret, they who come here to scorn the Lord... They will meet their destiny sometime. The devil does come for his own when their time is up." "You believe there is a devil?" Justin asked, intrigued by the clergical man's words. "The devil is here," the old man answered. "He tries to steal our souls away every day. Tempting us with the easy way, leading us to riches that are as hollow and untrue as he himself are. You have a choice, my son, even if you don't recognize our Lord above as your saviour, you can still choose not to follow evil."
On the priest's chest there was a large crucifix, hanging from a silver chain. The pained body nailed to it fascinated Justin. Following his young guest's gaze, the priest laughed. "You are not supposed to be able to look at those, are you?" "Not really," Justin smiled. "But as a...uhm...collegue of mine once said, I'm actually quite fond of looking at crucifixes." "Many find them soothing to look at," the priest agreed. "Now, if you will excuse me for a moment, my child, I need to take a confession."
As the priest had disappeared into the little closed room that was already occupied by a sinner, Justin walked quietly over. His ears easily picked up their hushed voices and he listened to the sinner's confessions.
About fifteen minutes later the man left the confession room and disappeared as quickly as he had eneterd the church. The priest emerged, looking dark and tired. "A regretting sinner?" Justin asked, startling the other. "He don't regret at all, Father, he just don't want to end up in hell where he belongs. Purgatory may be as bad as hell, but it's not forever." "I'm afraid he is one where the devil has been able to sink his claws in deep," the priest sighed. "You are right, he doesn't regret and he will repeat his sins." "Let me take care of him for you," Justin teased. "I will kill him for you, sending his soul to hell where it belongs..."
The priest nodded. "Don't let it happen on holy ground, child. But he is already lost." Now Justin was almost too surprised to say anything else. "You condone this, Father, a murder? I'm a killer, priest, I'll will feed on him. His blood will be on your hands too." The priest looked at him, steel seeping into blue eyes. "I've spent my time in hell, child, I've seen what the devil can do. I woved to spend the rest of my life praising our Lord, being a soldier in his army. Not in my country's army, slaughtering innocents. Now I'm fighting the devil's soldiers. By any means necessary. His blood may stain my hands, but there is a little girl who will be left alone to sleep through the night by this, and there is a wife who wounds will have time to heal. That is what is important."
A couple of minutes later, back out on the streets, Justin still heard the preacher's word in his mind. "I've spent my time in hell." "Well, guess what," Justin muttered to himself. "So have I." He had easily caught up with the sinner from the church. Anticipation made his heart beat faster, his senses quiver. This one was going to be a good one. This one he would take slow, to be sure to see the light in his eyes be smothered as the liquid of life was drained from him.
A couple of yards later, Justin stepped out in front of the man. "Tonight," he spoke, nailing the man to a brickwall, "you die." Struggling hopelesly against the much stronger vampire, the man's eyes widened in terror. But he remained still. "Your wife and daughter will be set free," Justin said, locking his fingers around the man's neck. "Silly, little mortal. Confessing your sins doesn't make everything allright...I'm here to help you on your way to hell. Where you belong. Can you feel the devil breathing down your neck? He is waiting for you, he has already started to close in on your soul."
"Hail Mary, Mother of God," the man whispered frantically, "blessed be the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..." Sadly Justin shook his head. "The blessed Mother don't want anything to do with you. Jesus is busy listening to your daughter's prayer of being able to hide from you. The angels are looking away in shame. They don't want you in their heaven." "You are an angel?" the man spoke, his eyes fixated at Justin's face. His body was too scared to try and fight, he was hanging limply from Justin's grip on him. "Not an angel," Justin spoke, "not a demon either. I walk the ground inbetween. I'm immortal, their heaven and hell is not for me."
Bending the man's head back, Justin leaned in for what the Ancient ones called the kiss of death. Thick, warm blood spilled from the sinner into his awaiting mouth. It was over too quickly. As the heart of the sinner stopped beating, Justin dropped the body to the ground. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," he thought, wiping at his mouth. "Have fun in hell."
Again the church was quiet as he entered through the double doors. The priest was waiting for him. "It is done," Justin said, searching the other man's face for his feelings. "Good," the priest said, his face a mask Justin had seen on old soldiers. You did what you had to do. It was ugly, but it was the right thing. "I'll leave you now," Justin answered. "Don't tell anybody about what happened tonight, Father. I know your secret, you know mine. You have yours to protect, I have mine." "Of course," the priest replied. He approached Justin and did the sign of the cross on his forehead. "Walk with God, my child, he never forgot you and he is always listening."
Looking into the priest's eyes, Justin could tell that the man really believed in what he was telling Justin. "I'll walk," Justin promised, "and if God wants, he can walk with me." Then he turned and left the church.