Monday, July 10, 2006
Good VS Evil
A tall, gaunt man with pale green eyes and long, graying hair leaned against the old theater, staring intently at the Holy Name Catholic Church across the street. A cigarette smouldered in one hand.
A boy of about ten years old was coming out of the ornate front doors of the church. The man by the theater crossed the street, tossing his cigarette aside. They reached the sidewalk in front of the church at the same time.
"Good evening, Jake." said the man. His voice suggested that the cigarette had been only the most recent in a very long line.
"Who are you?" asked the boy. His face was red and his was wet with sweat, as if from recent exertion. "And how do you know my name?"
"You can call me Mister Briggs." he said. "And I'd like talk to you for awhile."
"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." said Jake.
"That's a good idea, but I'm actually a friend of your grandfather's. I was there when your father was born."
Jake looked at Briggs critically. "You don't look old enough for that."
"I've aged well, that' all. Come on, I'll walk you home."
Jake looked reluctant.
"I'll tell you what, Jake." said Briggs, "If it makes you more comfortable, I'll stay more than arm's length away, and stay where you can see me. I promise you I won't try to hurt you."
"Um..." Jake hesitated. "Okay, but I'm going straight home, and my parents warned me not to get in a stranger's car or take any candy or anything."
"That's fine advice, but I have neither."
This seemed to satisfy Jake. The pair started down the street and Briggs lit a cigarette.
"See, Jake, I've been very busy at my work for a long time, but I thought I'd stop by and visit. I heard that you go to church most weeknights, so I decided to walk you home. After all, who knows what terrible things could be out on these streets."
"Grandpa said it didn't used to be as bad." said Jake.
"He's right. A long time ago, before Rehnquist, this city--the whole world--was different."
Jake's eyes went wide. "Quiet! The LEMs will hear you!" LEM - Loyalty Enforcement Monitor. Rehnquist's troops drugged into unthinking loyalty.
"I'm just an old man, Jake. They don't care about me."
This seemed to satisfy Jake, but he kept glancing around.
"Don't worry, Jake, it's not as bad as it was ten years ago. These days, you can actually die from these things," he tapped his cigarette, "before the chots gun you down for griping about the good old days."
Jake hesitated a moment. "Mister, you fought in the Revolution with grandpa, didn't you?"
"I wasn't a field soldier like your grandfather, but yes."
"My grandpa still has his gun! He showed it to me. He doesn't have any bullets, though. The LEMs said that he's allowed to have the gun as a family heirloom as long as it has no bullets."
"It's an AK-98, right?" asked Briggs.
"I don't know, but it has--"
"A big banana clip with an automated loader right below the barrel. There's a CO2 canister in the stock that serves as a counterweight to the barrel and releases bursts of gas to compensate for recoil. Uses .22 caliber hollow point ammunition. Capable of semi-automatic or fully-automatic fire."
"Wow! You know a lot about guns!" said Jake, clearly impressed.
"Just the ones I had to know about." said Briggs, flicking the butt of his cigarette away and lighting up another.
"Did you use one like my grandpa?"
"No. There weren't too many actual battles in the Revolution, at least not by the time it made it to this continent--most of the fight got knocked out of us by the Great Plague. I used a Predator X-9 pistol, and a bit too frequently for my liking."
"Did you kill anyone?"
"Only those brain-dead Chot soldiers, and I don't think they count as people."
Briggs stopped walking, and Jake realized they were standing in front of his building.
"Well, Jake." said Briggs. "It's time for me to be on my way. I'm just an old workaholic, and duty calls. But I tell you what; I'd like to walk you home on Wednesday, if you don't mind."
"Okay!" said Jake, walking up the stairs. "Bye Mister Briggs!" he yelled over his shoulder.
But the sidewalk was empty except for a whisp of cigarette smoke.
A boy of about ten years old was coming out of the ornate front doors of the church. The man by the theater crossed the street, tossing his cigarette aside. They reached the sidewalk in front of the church at the same time.
"Good evening, Jake." said the man. His voice suggested that the cigarette had been only the most recent in a very long line.
"Who are you?" asked the boy. His face was red and his was wet with sweat, as if from recent exertion. "And how do you know my name?"
"You can call me Mister Briggs." he said. "And I'd like talk to you for awhile."
"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." said Jake.
"That's a good idea, but I'm actually a friend of your grandfather's. I was there when your father was born."
Jake looked at Briggs critically. "You don't look old enough for that."
"I've aged well, that' all. Come on, I'll walk you home."
Jake looked reluctant.
"I'll tell you what, Jake." said Briggs, "If it makes you more comfortable, I'll stay more than arm's length away, and stay where you can see me. I promise you I won't try to hurt you."
"Um..." Jake hesitated. "Okay, but I'm going straight home, and my parents warned me not to get in a stranger's car or take any candy or anything."
"That's fine advice, but I have neither."
This seemed to satisfy Jake. The pair started down the street and Briggs lit a cigarette.
"See, Jake, I've been very busy at my work for a long time, but I thought I'd stop by and visit. I heard that you go to church most weeknights, so I decided to walk you home. After all, who knows what terrible things could be out on these streets."
"Grandpa said it didn't used to be as bad." said Jake.
"He's right. A long time ago, before Rehnquist, this city--the whole world--was different."
Jake's eyes went wide. "Quiet! The LEMs will hear you!" LEM - Loyalty Enforcement Monitor. Rehnquist's troops drugged into unthinking loyalty.
"I'm just an old man, Jake. They don't care about me."
This seemed to satisfy Jake, but he kept glancing around.
"Don't worry, Jake, it's not as bad as it was ten years ago. These days, you can actually die from these things," he tapped his cigarette, "before the chots gun you down for griping about the good old days."
Jake hesitated a moment. "Mister, you fought in the Revolution with grandpa, didn't you?"
"I wasn't a field soldier like your grandfather, but yes."
"My grandpa still has his gun! He showed it to me. He doesn't have any bullets, though. The LEMs said that he's allowed to have the gun as a family heirloom as long as it has no bullets."
"It's an AK-98, right?" asked Briggs.
"I don't know, but it has--"
"A big banana clip with an automated loader right below the barrel. There's a CO2 canister in the stock that serves as a counterweight to the barrel and releases bursts of gas to compensate for recoil. Uses .22 caliber hollow point ammunition. Capable of semi-automatic or fully-automatic fire."
"Wow! You know a lot about guns!" said Jake, clearly impressed.
"Just the ones I had to know about." said Briggs, flicking the butt of his cigarette away and lighting up another.
"Did you use one like my grandpa?"
"No. There weren't too many actual battles in the Revolution, at least not by the time it made it to this continent--most of the fight got knocked out of us by the Great Plague. I used a Predator X-9 pistol, and a bit too frequently for my liking."
"Did you kill anyone?"
"Only those brain-dead Chot soldiers, and I don't think they count as people."
Briggs stopped walking, and Jake realized they were standing in front of his building.
"Well, Jake." said Briggs. "It's time for me to be on my way. I'm just an old workaholic, and duty calls. But I tell you what; I'd like to walk you home on Wednesday, if you don't mind."
"Okay!" said Jake, walking up the stairs. "Bye Mister Briggs!" he yelled over his shoulder.
But the sidewalk was empty except for a whisp of cigarette smoke.
*
For the next two weeks, Briggs met Jake on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, on his way out of the church. The two talked about many things, but Jake seemed to enjoy Briggs' war stories the most.
On the seventh time they met, Briggs asked Jake why he was at the church so frequently.
"Oh, Father Brown has me come in to help him. I'm an altar boy."
"Must be hard work. You're always all sweaty every time I walk you home."
A tear appeared in Jake's eye. "Yeah, it's hard work."
"What exactly does he have you do?" asked Briggs, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lip.
"Stuff." Jake looked more and more uncomfortable.
Briggs took a drag. "He told you not to tell anyone, didn't he?"
Jake nodded.
"I'll tell you what, Jake. I know another boy about your age. His name is Paul. I want you to talk to Father Brown and tell him that Paul wants to meet him in New Liberty Park on Friday, after your Bible Study session. Okay?"
"I don't know...I mean, I don't want Paul to...to get hurt or anoything."
"Don't worry. I'll be there, and You and Paul will be just fine."
"Well...okay. I'll tell him."
On the seventh time they met, Briggs asked Jake why he was at the church so frequently.
"Oh, Father Brown has me come in to help him. I'm an altar boy."
"Must be hard work. You're always all sweaty every time I walk you home."
A tear appeared in Jake's eye. "Yeah, it's hard work."
"What exactly does he have you do?" asked Briggs, a fresh cigarette hanging from his lip.
"Stuff." Jake looked more and more uncomfortable.
Briggs took a drag. "He told you not to tell anyone, didn't he?"
Jake nodded.
"I'll tell you what, Jake. I know another boy about your age. His name is Paul. I want you to talk to Father Brown and tell him that Paul wants to meet him in New Liberty Park on Friday, after your Bible Study session. Okay?"
"I don't know...I mean, I don't want Paul to...to get hurt or anoything."
"Don't worry. I'll be there, and You and Paul will be just fine."
"Well...okay. I'll tell him."
*
Claude Brown was nervous about leaving the church--he hadn't stepped off the grounds for more than a year. But Jake had been emphatic that he meet the boy, Paul, and Brown was always eager to find another...helper. Besides, the meeting was in the park, a public place with lots of people around. He had nothing to fear in such a public area.
"We're supposed to meet him at the fountain." said Jake.
"Yes, I know." said Brown.
Sure enough, there was a boy of about eleven years flipping coins into the fountain.
"Hey, are you Paul?" called Jake.
But Brown was standing still, looking around frantically. "Jake, come back here! Something's not right!"
"What's the matter, Father?" said the boy by the fountain.
There were no people. No one was in sight except for the two boys. And...a man, standing in deep shade from beneath a tree. Pale green eyes stared at Brown, set in a face framed in long hair tempered with the gray of early middle age.
"Jake!" called Briggs. "I think you should go home now! Paul and I would like to talk to Father Brown in private, all right?"
"Don't go, Jake." Brown whispered frantically. "I think he wants to hurt me, Jake!"
"Nonsense." said Briggs. "My days of hurting people are long behind me. You know that, Jake." he casually pulled a cigarette and lighter from his coat. His face was fully visible for a moment as he lit up. If Brown had to guess, he'd say the man was about forty-five.
"Don't leave me, Jake! That man is the Devil!"
"Your word's a little weak, Father. I've been his friend, while you've only placed demands on him--unreasonable demands! Go on, Jake, go home. Maybe I'll see again some time!"
"Okay." said Jake. And with that simple word, he left, ignoring Brown's pleas.
Paul and Briggs walked up to the man from the church, now on his knees and weeping. When Paul reached him, there was the sound of a camera shutter clicking, and the boy was replaced with a muscular man of perhaps twenty with a thick mane of black hair trailing down his back.
"Tsk tsk." said Paul. "You're out of character. A real priest would be praying, not crying."
Paul kicked Brown in the shoulder, sending him sprawling.
"Save it, Dahl." said Briggs. "I have some words for this one."
Briggs reached down and grabbed Brown by the shoulder. With one hand, he hauled Brown to his feet and used the other to tear off his clergyman's collar. He threw it away in disgust.
"We're not going to lie to each other, Claude. My real name is Darrus, and this my acquaintance, Dahl. I think you know who we are, and we we're here."
"That was clever, by the way." put in Dahl.
"Yes, clever. Exchange your soul for an extra fifty years on this earth. Then, when it's time to pay up, you hide in the one place your creditors can't follow. Unfortunately for you, your...urges...got the best of you." Darrus pulled him close and spoke in a whisper. Brown could smell the cigarette smoke on him, and beneath it, the stench of sulfur. "I want you to know, that I, a lost and damned creature, find your actions disgusting. That you would force yourself upon innocent children is one thing, but that you'd use the disguise of a holy man's collar to do it...well, you already know where you're going."
Darrus threw Brown to the ground.
"I'm done, Dahl. Do your thing." Darrus said, and spat on Brown.
Dahl had pulled a sword from his coat. A beam of light danced across its surface. "With pleasure."
Darrus watched, reflecting on the events that had led to this--the goring Dahl would give him here would be nothing compared to what he would have to endure for the rest of eternity--and had to wonder at the Big Man's ways. Somehow he, a damned soul, had freed a young boy from a sexual predator, one who wore the guise of a holy man.
It was almost funny, in a way.
"We're supposed to meet him at the fountain." said Jake.
"Yes, I know." said Brown.
Sure enough, there was a boy of about eleven years flipping coins into the fountain.
"Hey, are you Paul?" called Jake.
But Brown was standing still, looking around frantically. "Jake, come back here! Something's not right!"
"What's the matter, Father?" said the boy by the fountain.
There were no people. No one was in sight except for the two boys. And...a man, standing in deep shade from beneath a tree. Pale green eyes stared at Brown, set in a face framed in long hair tempered with the gray of early middle age.
"Jake!" called Briggs. "I think you should go home now! Paul and I would like to talk to Father Brown in private, all right?"
"Don't go, Jake." Brown whispered frantically. "I think he wants to hurt me, Jake!"
"Nonsense." said Briggs. "My days of hurting people are long behind me. You know that, Jake." he casually pulled a cigarette and lighter from his coat. His face was fully visible for a moment as he lit up. If Brown had to guess, he'd say the man was about forty-five.
"Don't leave me, Jake! That man is the Devil!"
"Your word's a little weak, Father. I've been his friend, while you've only placed demands on him--unreasonable demands! Go on, Jake, go home. Maybe I'll see again some time!"
"Okay." said Jake. And with that simple word, he left, ignoring Brown's pleas.
Paul and Briggs walked up to the man from the church, now on his knees and weeping. When Paul reached him, there was the sound of a camera shutter clicking, and the boy was replaced with a muscular man of perhaps twenty with a thick mane of black hair trailing down his back.
"Tsk tsk." said Paul. "You're out of character. A real priest would be praying, not crying."
Paul kicked Brown in the shoulder, sending him sprawling.
"Save it, Dahl." said Briggs. "I have some words for this one."
Briggs reached down and grabbed Brown by the shoulder. With one hand, he hauled Brown to his feet and used the other to tear off his clergyman's collar. He threw it away in disgust.
"We're not going to lie to each other, Claude. My real name is Darrus, and this my acquaintance, Dahl. I think you know who we are, and we we're here."
"That was clever, by the way." put in Dahl.
"Yes, clever. Exchange your soul for an extra fifty years on this earth. Then, when it's time to pay up, you hide in the one place your creditors can't follow. Unfortunately for you, your...urges...got the best of you." Darrus pulled him close and spoke in a whisper. Brown could smell the cigarette smoke on him, and beneath it, the stench of sulfur. "I want you to know, that I, a lost and damned creature, find your actions disgusting. That you would force yourself upon innocent children is one thing, but that you'd use the disguise of a holy man's collar to do it...well, you already know where you're going."
Darrus threw Brown to the ground.
"I'm done, Dahl. Do your thing." Darrus said, and spat on Brown.
Dahl had pulled a sword from his coat. A beam of light danced across its surface. "With pleasure."
Darrus watched, reflecting on the events that had led to this--the goring Dahl would give him here would be nothing compared to what he would have to endure for the rest of eternity--and had to wonder at the Big Man's ways. Somehow he, a damned soul, had freed a young boy from a sexual predator, one who wore the guise of a holy man.
It was almost funny, in a way.
THE END
# posted by Andrew Michael @ 3:33 PM 
