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[anthemverseduology]

The Stranger and the Priest

“Tell us a story, Uncle Ven! Something really scary,” Valentine said, looking up at me from the pile of candy he'd just dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. He shared a name with another candy-adjacent holiday, but the boy was obsessed with all things Halloween. “Something with blood and guts and ooze!”

“Ew! Nothing gross!” Francine swatted Val on the shoulder, a look of annoyance twisting her features. “You always get stories about gross things! This year Uncle Ven should tell us something really spooky, not just icky.”

I leaned back in my chair, surveying the tiny audience that had gathered in front of where I sat next to the fireplace. My own daughter sat in the middle of the bunch, looking up at me expectantly. “Tell them the story of The Stranger and the Priest,” she suggested, opening her third mini box of Junior Mints before tossing three of them back at once.

“Cece, I don't know that everyone here is ready for that story. You know why,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her slightly.

“How come I don't know this story?” Taylor grumbled. My brother's son was the oldest of his generation of kids, but still not old enough to join the party upstairs with the older family members, and he was disgruntled at having to spend his pre-midnight hours with 'the babies'. “Dad's told me all of these old stories anyway.”

“You've never heard this one,” Cece said, rolling her eyes. “I know.”

“We know that you know, know-it-all,” Taylor snipped.

“Alright, cool your jets, Lore,” I said, holding up a hand as I leaned forward in my chair. “You're all sure that you're ready to hear this?” A chorus of happy shouts and rustling candy wrappers filled the air, and the flames in the fireplace roared a little higher.

“Tell them, Dad,” Cece said, sitting up straighter.

I took a deep breath, picking up my coffee from the table next to me taking a sip of the dark liquid. “It was many years ago, and a man of the cloth found himself sitting side-by-side with a dark stranger that he'd never seen before...”

***

The stranger's black hair was matted to his head, ribbons of rain ran down his face, and droplets gathered and steamed off of his warm skin. He shivered, wrapping his denim jacket around himself further, though it seemed to do the man no good. The bartender, Sal, walked over to lean his hands against the edge of the counter, eyeing the priest for a moment before taking the stranger's order. “Double whiskey, neat, and keep them coming,” the man said, the timbre of his voice low.

The priest turned to the man, offering his hand, which the man looked at suspiciously. “I'm Father Michael,” he said, smiling though he withdrew his suggested handshake, picking up his glass of whiskey on the rocks to tilt in the stranger's direction. “You look like a man with troubles.”

“You could say that again, padre,” the stranger said with a scoff as Sal set a glass down in front of him, filling it half-full with bottom-shelf whiskey. He shuddered hard before picking his glass up, draining the alcohol from it in one gulp. “I hate getting caught in the rain.”

“That's not all that's bothering you, is it?” Father Michael said, leaning back in his chair a little to study the man a little further. Every stitch of clothing the man wore, from his jacket down to the tips of his hard-heeled boots, was black; made darker by the amount of water soaking him. “Only priests, nuns, marauders, and mourners wear that much black. Which one are you? If you tell me you're a nun I'll eat my collar.”

“I gave up my habit for lent,” the man said with a humorless, curt laugh. Sal walked over to refill the stranger's glass, but the man held up his hand. “Listen, Sal, just leave the bottle.”

Father Michael watched curiously as the stranger pulled out a gold money clip that was full of large bills. The man took two-hundred dollars from the clip, handing it to Sal before shoving it back down into his pocket. “You intend to drink that whole bottle by yourself?” Father Michael asked, raising his eyebrows as Sal walked away with wide-eyes.

The stranger looked at him curiously before uncorking the bottle, pouring liquid into Father Michael's glass. “I find that having to depend on other people to pour my shots gets tedious. Don't mind so much pouring shots for other people, though,” he said almost wistfully.

“Forgive me for prying, but I've seen that look in many a soul's eyes. You've lost something or someone important. Might help you to talk about it. It's part of the gig to listen,” Father Michael said with a smirk as he raised his glass. “Even after office hours! I won't charge.”

“Well, as you're drinking whiskey I just purchased...” the man said chuckling lightly. “Maybe you're right? If anyone who's ever known me could see me talking to you right now, I'd be laughed all the way into Hell's Fire.”

“The people you know aren't big on the clergy?” Father Michael asked, leaning an elbow against the edge of the bar.

“They're elitists, and at that, I can't blame any of them. They're just following my poor examples,” the stranger said, shooting back whiskey from his glass. “And it's just the monotony of it all! The same cycles and routines, day in and day out. Nothing ever changes.”

“Well, as a person with a solid set of routines—day in and day out—I've seen that while my circumstances don't change, I change right in the middle of them,” Father Michael said, shrugging a shoulder slightly. “Maybe that's one reason you might be frustrated.”

“I know that I've out-grown my whole life, but it won't let me be. I have this job that I have to do, and no one else can be trusted with it. You certainly wouldn't approve of it,” the man said, pouring himself another glass full of alcohol.

“Eh, my approval doesn't mean as much as the guy I work for...I understand having a job that can be tough.” Father Michael frowned, tilting his head. “Sometimes I think about leaving the church. Brief moments when I wonder if there's something I'm missing. In those times, I pray and rededicate myself to what I really love above all else.”

“Heaven On High,” the stranger said, his voice barely a whisper. “I had that once. I loved who I was and what I was, and I would have done anything for a little bit of grace...”

“What changed?” Father Michael asked.

“Being on this planet is what changed me. At first, when I was young, I thought that I would get my revenge on anyone or anything that had ever wronged me. I'd be the monster they made me out to be. Over time, I don't want that anymore. I want peace. I have this dream sometimes about an angel,” the stranger said, his smile finally reaching his bright-blue eyes. “What's the use in chasing dreams and ghosts...”

“Usually when people see angels they're facing some major change in their life,” Father Michael said, holding out a hand. “It's a good thing when they appear.”

“You haven't met a lot of angels have you, Michael?” the man asked, arching one dark, pointed brow. “Why do you come to this bar? It's empty and drafty, and the only person here to talk to on a regular basis is Sal, and he's been here as long as the building has.”

“I'm not that old,” Sal called from where he stood, putting glasses in a rack above his head. “My dad was gray by the time he was my age.”

“It's definitely not your genes that keep you youthful,” the stranger said, propping his elbow on the back of his bar stool. “Why do you come here to stare at Sal's mug all of the time, Michael?”

“In another life, this was a special place for me. Before I was a priest I was a person, you know. Most of us were,” Father Michael said, hearing his self-mocking tone ringing in his own ears. “There was someone that I cared about a lot, but she went away, and I found another path.”

The stranger poured a generous portion of the whiskey left in his bottle into his glass. “Sometimes paths come full circle,” he said, staring into the amber liquid as the bell over the door chimed, and the sound of rain cascading from the overhang just outside covered the sound of an Eagles song playing on the stereo. “We're all just chasing ghosts.”

“Anabelle?” the priest said, rising swiftly to his feet, staring in shock at the woman before him. “How is this possible? I was just thinking about you!”

“It's good to see you, Michael,” Anabelle said, smiling sweetly. “I hope that you don't mind me stopping in here. It's pouring outside, and I was just in the area.”

“No, no! It's wonderful to see you,” Father Michael said, stepping forward to hug her gently. His heart raced as he drew back from her, his gaze settling on the vivid gray of her eyes. He led her over to the bar, taking a dry tea towel from Sal to hand to Anabelle. She toweled lightly at her dripping hair and her wet coat before sitting down on the bar stool to Father Michael's left.

“What'll you have, Ann?” Sal asked, putting a glass down in front of her, as if he already knew what her answer would be.

“Soda and lime?” Anabelle asked more than declared as Sal opened a bottle of cola, poured it in, and stuck the wedge of lime on the brim. “Your memory's as good as ever, Sal.”

“You know how it is,” Sal said, looking at her in a manner that Father Michael thought to be curious. “You were in the area, you said?”

“I had something to take care of in the borough, so I was around. I decided to take a walk, for nostalgia's sake, and then the clouds broke open,” Anabelle said, clicking her tongue against her teeth. “It was silly of me to go walking alone at night at all.”

“You should be careful. You're safe now, though,” Father Michael said before turning to the stranger. “This is Anabelle Tinas. Ann, this is—I never caught your name, mister...?”

“I'm called Luc,” the stranger said, finally introducing himself. “Anabelle knows that, though.”

“You've met?” Father Michael was starting to become a little uneasy. He hadn't seen Anabelle in years, and he'd never seen Luc in the bar at all, but somehow this man knew two people Father Michael had known for over a decade. “I must not get out often enough.”

“Anabelle works for me,” Luc said, flattening his lips as he kept his eyes on the bar top. “Sal, does, too.”

Father Michael laughed softly, looking from Luc to Anabelle, then to Sal. “Listen, I thought This Is Your Life went off-air years ago. Why am I getting the sense that you three know something that I don't know?”

“Do you remember that night in '52? I got you to walk me home because I wasn't feeling well?” Anabelle asked, gently folding the dampened tea towel in her hands.

“You had a fever, and you were tired. How can I forget? It was the last time that I ever saw you,” Father Michael said. “I didn't know what might have happened to you. No one in your building would say, and I didn't know where to look. I feared the worst for years. I thought you may well have...died.”

“I'm here, aren't I?” Anabelle said, reaching out to pat Father Michael on the hand. “No need to worry about me. I'm just collecting your debt.”

“What debt?” Father Michael asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I asked you, that night, what you would do for me,” Anabelle said, quietly. “I asked you if you would ever sell your soul for something. I asked you if there was anything so important that you would give up eternity in Heaven. You said that if there was such a thing as a price for a soul that you would pay it to live a peaceful life.”

“I was young and foolish, and trying to impress a pretty girl with fancy words,” Father Michael was beginning to realize that he'd stepped into a snare without even realizing it. “I was in love with you, Ann.”

“I asked if you were certain that you would sell your soul to live in peace and you said, 'Yes'. I wish that I could have been in love with you, but that's not how my kind works,” Anabelle said, her tone sad.

“Apologies for that,” Luc said, raising a hand, as if he was taking ownership. “You do seem like a very nice man, Michael, but now you have a choice. I don't have the power to see precisely when you're going to die, but I can tell you that it'll be soon. Being that you're a friend of Anabelle's and Sal's, and as I had nothing else going on at the moment besides sitting around daydreaming...I thought that I'd pay you a personal visit. Didn’t count on the damned rain, though.”

Father Michael moved away from his bar stool, a look of alarm on his face. “When I said that—all of those years ago—I meant that I wanted peace with you, Ann. Then you disappeared, and I had to go on. I couldn't imagine loving anyone else, so I took my vows and...”

“And you found peace,” Luc said, closing his eyes briefly as Sal lowered his head. “That's the way deals with demons work, I'm afraid. You'll get what you desire, but something always goes awry. That's Heaven On High trying to right the wrong, so the Path shifts. Anabelle has been a demon in my service for quite some time now, and you did make a deal.”

Father Michael backed away even further. “Luc...short for—”

“Yes, short for that,” Luc said sharply, standing up from his bar stool. “You can choose to perish at your allotted time, and then you'll burn in Hell Fire, or you can choose to become a demon in the service of Hell's army. I'd be honored to have you, Michael. Other than being robbed of your positive emotions, it's not really all that bad.”

“Not that bad? My whole life is countering your every move!” Father Michael said. “I'd give up Heaven!”

“Man, you've already missed that elevator,” Sal said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You've got two choices, Mike. Die and burn, or serve Hell. What's it gonna be?”

Father Michael felt his back bump into the wall, and he held Anabelle's gaze. “If I say yes, will I be able to be with you?”

“You'll barely care,” Luc said, rolling eyes that flashed with flames, and some other lonesome look that Father Michael couldn't put his finger on.

“‘Barely’ is enough,” Father Michael said, taking a step towards Anabelle. “The only questions I've ever asked myself were if you were still alive, and what would life have been like if I hadn't lost you somehow. What do I have to do?”

“That easy?” Luc asked, arching a brow. “You devoted yourself to On High, and you would turn against them because you've been in love with the same woman for years?”

“Think of your dream angel,” Father Michael said. “What would you do if you found her?”

Luc stood blinking at Father Michael for a moment, seeming to think on what he'd suggested before he waved a hand through the air. “She doesn't exist. She's just a mirage...So, you agree to becoming a soldier in Hell's army?”

“I agree,” Father Michael said. At that instant he felt like something inside himself imploded, even while he felt like he was on fire. Lightning flashed outside of the windows; bright, golden illumination that made the night seem like day time. He doubled over as wave after wave of nausea attacked, and he vomited up dark green bile, mixed with whiskey. The former priest hit his hands and knees, trying to catch his breath as pain rolled over his spine and his nerve-endings. He cried out, the air chilling his skin as the pain finally subsided. The lights from the bar were bright one moment, then dim the next, and Michael realized that Sal must have turned the lights off entirely. “Now...what happens?”

“I like you, Mike,” Luc said, tilting his head back. “I think that we're gonna get along nicely.”

“For some reason I'm not worried about what that means.” Michael turned his eyes to the floor before looking up to Anabelle. “I know what I said before, but now it all seems so pointless.”

“The ache will fade over time,” she said, stepping forward to put a hand to the side of Michael's face. “You'll serve our lord well.”

“Our lord...” Michael said, realizing that there was no way out. His fate had been sealed long ago, and now he stood in front of his new king, Lucifer, Light Bringer; the Devil.

***

“That's not scary at all,” Taylor said, flopping back to lean against the front of the love seat. “That's just one demon story in a bunch of other demon stories.”

“The grossest stuff in that story was the love parts. Blech,” Val said, bumping the side of his fist against Taylor's.

“One day you'll grow up to figure out that the love parts are the scariest parts, and the most tragic parts,” I said, shaking my head. “Anyway, that is a true story. Do you know who bought Sal's Pub?”

“You, Dad,” Cece chirped, her smile turning from bright to wicked. “And I know what happened to Michael.”

The other children turned to look at her expectantly, knowing their cousin's abilities to see things that they couldn't. “Well, where is Michael now?” Taylor asked, bobbing his head.

“He's right here,” a voice boomed as a lamp clicked on in the corner of the room to reveal Mike, smiling maniacally. Even infernal and vampire children are easy to startle at a young age, and they fled the room, the ground rumbling slightly at their involuntary flexing of power. “Every ten years I get to do that, and it's always fun.”

I stood up, looking down at Cece, shaking my head. “You set Uncle Mike up perfectly.”

“It's a tradition,” Cece said in her sweet, small voice as she climbed to her feet to shuffle after her fleeing cousins. “It had to be done. Hell Fire, they are such babies...”

“You're still a baby, so mind the language, Cecelia!” I called after her sighing deeply. “It's always somethin', huh, Mike?”

Mike hummed in agreeance, moving over to stand next to me. “It is. My kids are driving me up the wall. Hey, though...parent’s candy tax,” he said, looking down at the floor before looking back up to me.

“Happy Halloween, Father Michael,” I said with a grin.

Mike scoffed loudly, reaching down to pick up a bag of chocolates. “Save it for next year, man.”

[anthemverseduology]

Geraldine

I was four-years-old when my mother split town for Toledo. Like most people in my life, my mother never liked me much. She'd met my father, and as legend would tell it, she fell in love with him. He was around for a while, but before or soon after I was born he disappeared, too. He left me with my name, William, and his black hair and blue eyes, then he vanished like vapor.

My mother was indifferent to me, that I can remember. She sent me to every daycare facility that she could, but the children always avoided me, leaving me to play in the corners alone. When I wasn't left to myself the teachers would sit me facing the wall, as if there was something about me that they couldn't stand to look at. Finally, one day, my mother dropped me off at her sister, Geraldine's, and then without a word of farewell, she was gone.

I cried a lot in those early days, as you would imagine a little boy missing his mother might do, but Geraldine wasn't sympathetic to my feelings at all. She was a cold and callous woman, and I knew that she didn't truly care for me, even as young as I was. Geraldine set me up in a room at the top of the stairs that I was fairly certain had once been a storage closet. There was one, tiny window that looked down onto the alleyway, but the building just behind Geraldine's blocked out most sunlight.

There was always dust in the air, and all that I was allowed to keep on the shelves in my room were two thrifted pairs of jeans, four pairs of underwear that I'd have to wash myself by hand, then hang to dry (she didn't want me using too much water or power), and two t-shirts, that were over-sized on me to start with. Eventually, I grew into them, but by that time they'd been worn threadbare.

I remember Geraldine like a dark shadow in my life. She was tall and imposing, with long, dark-brown hair that she kept drawn back, half-up in a tight knot at the crown of her skull. Her eyes were small, almost appearing black at times when she was particularly filled with brimstone. Her clothes all seemed like they were de-saturated, with the exception of two dresses; one in blue, and one in red that she would wear on her outings to meet with men that she called her 'friends'.

Geraldine had spoken many times about the ungrateful nature of my mother, saying often that she had run my father off, instead of convincing him to stay so that we would have money. As I grew older, I realized that all Geraldine cared about was being well-off, and when I reached eight years old that became more and more apparent as I finally found my first friend.

“Hey!” a kid around my age shouted, just before Steve's fist connected with my jaw again. I'd never done anything to Steve, Gary, and Dave, but they hated me all the same, and they made sure that I felt it on a daily basis. Sometimes it was my ribs that they pummeled, but that day my face had particularly offended them. “Let him go!”

Steve turned, looking to his right, pausing with his fist drawn back. “Stay outta this, MacFerrily.”

The other boy let out a loud scoff. “I don't think I will! You really wanna try me, Stephen?”

“Screw it,” Gary said as he and Dave turned my arms loose, and I fell to my hands and knees, spitting blood from where I'd bitten down on my tongue from an uppercut to my chin. “See you tomorrow, Willy.”

“It's...'Billy',” I said, coughing a little as Steve reluctantly followed Gary and Dave down the sidewalk. “Assholes.”

“What's those guys' damage?” The boy that Steve had called MacFerrily helped me to my feet, before grimacing as he looked at my face. “They do this to you a lot?”

“Every day since school started,” I said, wiping the back of my hand over my chin to get some of the blood off of my skin. “Thanks for stoppin' them.”

“You woulda done the same for me...I'm Frank,” he said, putting his hand out to shake mine before noticing the blood on my knuckles. “Get a lick in on them?”

I looked down at my own hand, shaking my head. “Took a swing at Gary and hit the wall.”

“Is it broke? You need a doctor or somethin'?” Frank asked, looking concerned.

“No, way. My aunt would kill me for goin' to a hospital,” I said, flexing my fingers, unable to help the hiss that escaped through my teeth. “Doctors cost too much.”

“Yeah, but if it helps keep you from havin' a messed up hand, don't you think she'd want you to go?” Frank asked, clearly confused. “My mom takes me to see the doc if I blink wrong.”

“I've never been to the doctor. I just know that she says it costs too much,” I said, inspecting a new rip in the collar of my shirt. “Damn...”

“What happens when you get sick?” Frank crossed his arms over his chest, seeming as though he was angry on my behalf.

“I get a can of soup and some crackers, and she leaves me in my room,” I said, shrugging. “Why?”

“Look, I don't mean to be nosy or nothin', but is your aunt poor?” Frank looked uncomfortable, but there was still concern in his eyes.

It was the first time that I'd really thought about that. Geraldine had always had nice new things, she was always out on the weekends, and she always had her meals after I went to bed. In the mornings, when I'd take out the garbage, I'd find the remnants of T-bone steaks or whole chicken meals, while I'd been sent to bed with oatmeal or broth. Something in my head and my heart clicked at that moment, but I needed the confirmation. “I have to go, Frank. Gotta see about somethin',” I said, turning to walk away. “Thanks again for the save.”

“Hey, listen, Billy,” Frank said, stopping me. “You could sit with me at lunch and recess. Those guys are cowards. I've been scrappin' with my older brother and his buddy, Rick, since I was little. I'll help keep Steve, Gary, and Dave out of your hair.”

I nodded my head once, feeling my head pounding with the ache setting in from having my face used as a punching bag. “I will,” I said, raising my left hand to wave goodbye to him as I made my way home, to Geraldine's house. Normally, I would have crept inside the front door, trying to make as little noise as possible, hoping that I wouldn't incur her wrath. That afternoon, though, I wanted to get her attention.

“Geraldine!” I called down the hall, my voice echoing off of the walls that were covered in gaudy wallpaper. “Where are you?”

Geraldine's face appeared around the kitchen doorway. “Who do you think that you're talkin' to in that tone, William Anderson?”

“I'm talkin' to you! Are you rich?” I asked, my voice coming out in an embarrassing squeak.

“What did you just ask me?” Geraldine asked, stepping into the doorway, holding a plate of chocolate cake, which I was never allowed to have.

“Are you damned rich?” I shouted, pointing at the floor.

“How dare you use that language with me, young man!” Geraldine shouted, throwing the plate she held, spattering chocolate frosting all over the wall. “Look what you made me do! Clean that up!”

“You clean it up! You're the one that made the mess. Answer the question. Are you rich?” I yelled back, even as she charged at me.

She grabbed me by the jaw, never questioning where the lacerations on my face and lip came from. “You insolent little shit. I should throw you right out on the street! See how you fend for yourself!”

“I might do better,” I growled.

“Oh, you think that you'll make it in the world alone? No one can stand the sight of you, William! You're a pustule on the face of the Earth. You shouldn't exist! You're the bastard son of a drifter and a weak-willed whore, and you're lucky that you're even alive!”

Any argument I had ready was silenced by her slapping me hard across the face. With the injuries I'd already sustained, and the pain in my head, I lost consciousness immediately. When I woke up I was in a dark space. I could see, but only just a little; enough to know that I was in the storage space underneath the basement stairs. I pushed on the door in a futile attempt to get out, then I started pounding. “Let me out! Open the door! Let me out!” I was left in the room with nothing but a Bible, a jug of water, and a loaf of bread. No one ever came to rescue me. Finally, the door creaked open, and I scrambled out, facing Geraldine in her finest red dress.

“I'm goin' out. Don't leave this house or I'll lock you right back where you belong,” she said, batting me across the face for good measure. “You'll obey or you'll go to Hell...What do you say...?”

“Yes, ma'am,” I said, resisting the urge to put my hand to the wound on my cheek that had been split open again by her strike. Blood had dried on my face, and it itched, but still I didn’t move. “When'll you be back?”

“That's not your business! Read four chapters in your demonology book,” she said, leaning towards me so that her nose was close to mine. “You need to remember your place, you little shit. You're lucky that I took you in or you'd be on the streets.”

“Being on the streets would be better than having to deal with you,” I said, feeling unusually bold.

Geraldine inhaled deeply through her nostrils, her eyes wide and glaring as if she hoped that she could kill me with a look. “You're lucky that you're lucrative.”

“There it is,” I said, feeling vindicated and still sick to my stomach. “What do you get out of keeping me? Tell the truth.”

“You want the truth?” Geraldine asked, laughing. “Your mama and papa couldn't stand you. No one can. You're an insufferable child, and you have no redeemable qualities to speak of. You, Billy, are a waste of flesh. Heaven couldn't possibly want you, so you must be bound for Hell.”

“And where do you think that you're gonna go, Auntie Geraldine?” I asked in a mocking tone.

She raised her hand as if she was going to strike me again. “No, no. If my hand is red I'll have things to explain...Get out.”

“What?” I asked, incredulously. “‘Get out’?”

“Get out of my house. I don't care where you go,” she said, crossing her arms. “You're not staying here while I'm gone.”

“I have school tomorrow!” I argued.

“Well, you should have thought of that before you decided to be so disrespectful!” Geraldine growled as I backed towards the front door.

“No! I need somewhere to sleep! You can't just leave me out here!” My back hit the front door, then like a malicious tower Geraldine was looming over me. “I'm just a kid.”

“You've never been ‘just a kid’. You're a cancer on this planet, and if I could eradicate you, I would.”

I found myself speechless. I'd felt unwanted before, but I'd never had anyone tell me so specifically how expendable I was. I moved away from the door in quick steps, letting Geraldine pass. She sneered at me as she walked out into the evening, slamming the door behind her. That was the last night that I cried for myself until many years later.

That's a whole other story.

What's important here is what happened to Geraldine.

***

It came as a surprise to me when twenty years after the afternoon that Geraldine had locked me in the closet I found myself once again in her presence. I was out on the road with some new friends, riding our motorcycles cross-country, seeing what trouble we could stir up wherever we went. Some nights, though, I got to dwelling on everything that I'd left back home, then bitterness and loneliness would settle in my chest. Those nights I allowed my three friends to do what they might, and I tried to hide myself in the darkest corner of the darkest upscale bar. My friends loved the dives, as did I normally, but they avoided any place with class. The denizens of those kinds of bars tended to have money, they would be missed, and many of them had contracts with Hell, so they were off limits, anyway.

I could go into the details of how I knew about the contracts, but this story isn't about me.

This story is about Geraldine.

That night she sat at the bar across the room from me, flirting with a man who was much older than her, but his wristwatch was expensive, and he kept ordering the most costly scotch they had on the shelf. He projected old money, and he had the distinct appearance of a man who had never done any real work in his life besides pointing a finger as he shouted.

He was perfect for her.

Unfortunately for the potential future of the couple, fate had smiled on the old fool, and my Path and Geraldine's had crossed once more. I waited until the man had gone to the bathroom for the fifth time that hour, then I tossed back the rest of my vodka, heading over to the bar. I sat my empty glass down on the counter, standing next to her as she adjusted the straps of her red dress to attempt to hide the wrinkles of her shoulders. “Hello, Geraldine,” I said, fixing my eyes on the rack of glasses above my head.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see her head snap over to look up at me, her eyes widening. “William? What are you doin' here?” she asked, looking around her quickly as the other people in the room froze right where they were. The only sound still filling the air was Geraldine's nervous breathing, and the music being piped in over the bar’s stereo system. Electronics have no respect for the way that time works. If you've ever had a song skip ahead for no reason, consider if you might have been frozen in a moment and didn't even know it. Geraldine was starting to shift away from me out of her seat, careful to snatch her purse off of the bar top as though her life depended on the object. “How are you doing this? What do you want? I gave you over to those people so that I wouldn't ever have to look at you again.”

“Ah, yeah. My family...” I bowed my head a little as I looked down into my empty glass before reaching over the bar to grab a cheap bottle of whiskey. “I'm not really welcome at home right now—not the way that I am. See, what you always said was true. I'm a curse on the Earth, and lately I've been leaning into the curve, so to speak.”

Geraldine screwed her features up into a scowl. “What does that mean?”

I turned down the corners of my mouth, closing my eyes as I shrugged slightly as the televisions mounted behind the bar that normally showed live updates on the stock market, all switched to different national news stations reporting on the same thing. “Maybe you should watch more TV, Geraldine,” I suggested, taking a swig from the whiskey in my hand.

“Multiple murders, assaults, and destruction have been reported now across the eastern United States. Authorities in all of the local areas and the FBI say that they are certain that there is a tie to a group of individuals on motorcycles. Witnesses at each scene said that these people were calling themselves 'Horsemen', though they say that one of the group is a female,” the reporter said, looking grim. “No one is certain if she's being held against her will.”

I couldn't help but let out a snort of mild annoyance. “Agata’s problem is that--against her will--nobody's holding her.”

“What is this?” Geraldine asked, holding up a hand to gesture at the televisions. “Are you sayin’ that you're one of the people doin’ this?”

“No, no, no. We're not people,” I said, shaking my head as I gripped the neck of the whiskey bottle, pointing at Geraldine. “'I looked, and behold a pale horse, and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.' I'm sure that you remember the verse well. You know, I used to skim the bits about the Horsemen. I thought it was ridiculous, you know? Not scary, at all! Let me tell you, though, Geraldine, there's a lot of horsepower in a motorcycle.”

“I always knew that if you survived you'd grow up to be a wicked, sinful, monster,” Geraldine growled through gritted teeth, leaning towards me slightly, as she used to do when I was much smaller than her. The intimidation would no longer work. She had no power at all, and I stood a whole foot taller than her. I took a step forward, looming over her as she had once done to me, seeing fire flames flash in front of my vision as Geraldine's expression changed to one of horror. “You said that I was bound for Hell, but it seems to have turned out that Hell was bound for me. I've tried to leave it behind me, but it follows me wherever I go. Do you understand?”

“I don't...What happened to you, Billy?” she whispered, tears of terror running down her face.

“Oh, ho! So, now it's 'Billy'! I thought I was a pustule?” I asked, hopping up to sit on the bar top, knocking off her martini glass. I looked down after it briefly before turning back to her. “Oops. Eh, you break a glass, you destroy a few cities—same difference in the long run. Except when it isn't. What do you know about that, though? You just tried to destroy an innocent little boy.”

“You were never innocent. Clearly, by your behavior now,” Geraldine said, her voice quaking as she tried to inch backwards away from me. I wasn't quite done talking yet, and she found herself locked in place where she stood. “Why can't I move?”

“I'm in a mood,” I said. “If you were anybody else I might have let you try to run. I'd have let you think that you were getting away, and then I would have made some great gesture of power to show you that you're just a little, tiny thing in the grand scheme of the Universe. Not even a blip on the radar, really, and that's strictly down to you.”

Geraldine reached down, jerking at her ankle, as if simply pulling her foot from her shoe would allow her to flee. “You stop this right now, or I—”

“Or, you'll what?” I growled, the vibration of my voice rattling the glass in the bar. “Throw me in a closet? Toss me out on the street without so much as a jacket, or a place to sleep? I sleep wherever I want now. I dress how I like. I drink, I smoke, I've done a few drugs, and boy is it all fun! I've killed angels and I've made the Devil laugh. You...you're still dressing up like a two-bit floosy, just trying to find her next free ride.”

Geraldine raised a hand, slapping me hard across the face, but I didn't flinch. She grasped at her hand, looking from her wrist back up to me as she broke into sobs. “What are you?”

“I'm what you'll think about every night when you're trying to sleep. 'Will this be the night he comes for me? Will it be tomorrow?'” I asked, mockingly. “You'll wait every day for that moment when I'll appear again. One day you'll start wishing that I would come. You'll wish that I'll appear to you and just get it all over with—whatever it is that I'm going to do.” I hopped down off of the bar, moving to stand just in front of the spot that she was still frozen in. “The next time you see me, Geraldine Sharp, will be at the moment of your demise, for I am Death, and Hell waits for you.”

“No, please, no! I've prayed! I've gone to church! I've done all that I was supposed to!” Geraldine pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

“You tortured and neglected a little boy in your charge. A little boy, I might add, that you probably shouldn't have been a dick to, being that I inherited some serious power,” I said, turning the whiskey bottle up to chug from it for a moment as gold lightning flashed outside the windows of the bar. “I see where your time-line ends, Auntie. You keep a watch out. You never know when I'll be coming for you. Could be in twenty years...could be tonight.”

Geraldine jerked to a stumbling run, screaming at the top of her lungs, as if she was on fire. The other patrons in the bar looked after her in disgust or confusion, watching her push past the man she'd been flirting with earlier, nearly knocking the elderly gentleman to the floor. Her shrieks could still be heard from the entrance as she ran towards the elevator bank.

“Good Heavens, boy,” the old man said, coming over to stand next to me as I feigned bewilderment. “What on Earth was that?”

“Sir, she seemed to believe that I was the Angel of Death!” I said with a smirk. “I guess it takes all kinds, am I right?”

The old man let out a choking laugh, the stage four lung cancer he wasn't telling anyone about suffocating him a little further. “I suppose that you are right!” he wheezed. “Shame, I was going to move her into my manor house, in Vale.”

“Is that right, Marvin?” I asked, the wheels in my head beginning to turn. A house would be nice, and Marvin wouldn't mind dying early.