In the absence of light

Author’s note:

I apologize for the embarrassingly slow update, life has been horribly busy and it pretty much killed me, at least literally wise. I will be more consistent from now on.

Chapter warnings:  violence/torture and blood (nothing extreme, but pretty serious nonetheless ??)

Again, this -->  ~~~~~~~~~~~~   means a certain period of time has passed in between.

 

Chapter III:

In the absence of dreams …

 

The young man remained in the hallway a good few minutes, desperately trying to make sense of things; miserably failing to. No matter how much he strained and tortured his already shaky nerves, he could not wrap his mind around the things he had seen, heard and felt – for this time he was sure he had indeed seen, heard and felt them. He would not be making the same mistake again, he would not believe or try to convince himself it had been a dream, not this time. He was a man of faith and he believed with certainty in the existence of powers beyond his own, beyond those of all humans, powers that would guide and protect, judge and punish, both the good and the sinful; but still, it all seemed so … impossible, so unbelievable.

A sour smile graced Jonathan’s lips. How strange that now, when confronted with almost undeniable proof that his faith was true and well-placed, was he finding it so terribly shaken. He closed his eyes, deciding not to ponder on things for a while, afraid of the answers that awaited him.

The door closed behind the young priest, a sight escaping his lips as his eyes feel upon the unmoving form of father Moriarty. The older one was immersed in a deep and troubled sleep, a strange tremor shaking his entire being from time to time, but other than that, he seemed alright, or at the very least, better than before.

Jonathan pulled a nearby chair next to the bed and sat on it, his fingers softly grazing over the feverish forehead, brushing delicate locks of hair out of the way, white as the new snow.

He shivered, miserable and desperate, looking at the pocket watch once again – it was warm now, but still not ticking. All he could do was wait. 2:47 – in the afternoon? In the night? Today? Tomorrow? In a month? A year? What did it mean? Was it a coincidence, was he misreading things or reading too much into them?

All he could do was wait, and hope he would not drive himself insane in the meantime.

 

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The old clock startled the young man out of his thoughts with its twin chimes. ‘Forty-seven minutes to go.’, Jonathan thought dejectly. His back hurt, his legs were cramping almost constantly and his eyes were heavy with sleep, but still he refused to leave his protector’s side. It was out of care as much as it was out of selfishness, he realized. Somehow, here, by the father’s side, he felt more secure than in his room or anywhere else, even though the other was unconscious.

Seventeen more minutes, fifteen, twelve … The young man stifled a yawn, his eyes fixated on the clock. It would be soon now. Nine more minutes, seven … five, four … his eyelids felt so heavy, one would think they were of lead and not of flesh, he felt entirely as made of lead, heavy and sleepy and so close, it was almost time … two more minutes …

 

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Jonathan suddenly woke up in a bed, his bed, his room. A flash of lightning, a thunder and he was desperately fighting the sheet and blankets, trying to get up, a dreadful feeling of deja-vu coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Just as his feet were about to touch the cold floor a hand swiftly pushed him back down, pinning him to the bed and knocking the air right out of his lungs. He shivered at the icy touch, panic seizing him – he tried to get up, he tried to fight, to run, to get away … he tried to scream, but it was as if the very air was holding him, pressing him down, suffocating and unyielding. His voice got lost in the roaring thunder as he finally managed to voice his desperation and helplessness.

“Scream again and lose your tongue.”, was the calm reply his anguished yell had earned.

The young man’s eyes darted in the darkness, his struggle momentarily forgotten, as he searched for the voice, for the speaker, as he found nothing … just like before.

“Over here father.”, the voice chucked, a mock of their first encounter, just as the silhouette of a man seemed to tear itself right of the darkness. “Remember me? Or are we back to pretending … again?”, the man asked, a strange amusement coloring each word.

“I remember.”, was the breathless and terrified answer Jonathan managed. His breath seemed too loud in his own ears, drowning all and any logical thought.

“Good, I had hoped as much. I would have been so terribly disappointed otherwise and I am told I tend to be not the most pleasant or gracious company when disappointed.”, the man slowly circled nearer and nearer to the youth’s bed.

Jonathan squirmed under the gaze, even though he could not clearly see the eyes, he could feel them on him, burning and freezing all at once, tearing at his flesh and searching for his soul. “What … what do you want from me?”, the young priest stammered, his eyes restlessly following the moving shadow, his body helplessly struggling against the invisible holds, trying to curl around itself in a less vulnerable position.

“To talk.”, the answer was accompanied with a smile that the priest could feel even though his sight failed at distinguishing it.

“To talk?!”, Jonathan unconsciously repeated, amazement, confusion and surprise momentarily winning over his common sense.

“Yes, is that so uncommon, so strange and so unheard of?”, the man rhetorically asked, seating himself at the foot of the bed. “I wish to talk.”, he smiled viciously.

“At least for now …”, he whispered in the young man’s ear. Jonathan panicked at the feeling of another body pressing him down, he tried to move, to claw and bite at the stranger… to no avail, his body seemed paralyzed, although his senses remained unaffected.

He could feel the other man through his night shirt – every muscle, angle and curve – he could feel the soft fabric of the other’s clothes where it touched his naked skin, the silky stray strands of hair where they brushed against his arm, the coldness of the hand that pressed against his mouth, keeping him quiet.

“Scream and lose your tongue, I won’t warn you again.”, the dark stranger threatened. And Jonathan wished he would be able to say something brave, something courageous, full of spirit or at least something smart. Unfortunately, he was not one of his heroes, he was not a Hercules, an Alexander or a Sir Galahad, he was none of the great and famous names father Moriarty had told him about, and as such he found himself unable to smile in the face of danger, or be valiant in the face of certain death.

“Please … don’t hurt me.”, was his version of a ‘heroic’ reply, once the hand was removed. Blue eyes locked with his own, holding his gaze and seemingly searching for hidden truths that Jonathan himself did not recognize or understand.

“Beg me again.”, the man ordered, his voice soft and amused, and the young father closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing the dread choking his throat.

“Please, please sir, please don’t hurt me.”, he added in a small voice, feeling much like a small child again, come face to face with the monster lurking in the dark. A chuckle turned to laughter was his answer, the beast comfortably stretched above him breaking eye contact and turning his face away as mirth rumbled deep in his chest.

“Oh, but we are so proper and well mannered. I must say, I am impressed.”, the other added with a sneering smile, while the youth’s eyes blinked confused. “We shall see, my little dove, for tonight I won’t.”, he continued, a clawed finger following the contour of Jonathan’s lower lip with a gentle touch, mocking a loving gesture. The young man could not suppress the shudder that ravaged his body at the wrongness of such an act, repulsion and disgust painting over his face as the desire of moving his head away burned deep in his eyes.

The stranger’s eyes matched his once more, no signs of amusement in them; just a cold harshness, his eyes looked violent, accusing, ready to rip him apart and Jonathan could only blink at the sudden change, unable to understand it, afraid to try.

“How did you get here? What are you?”, he breathed out before he could stop himself, regretting his words as soon as they left his mouth, and, to his surprise, a moment later the man was sitting again at the foot of his bed, looking as if he had never moved at all. Jonathan shivered, his body only now registering the cold in the room, muscles contracting and longing for the fast vanishing warmth.

“Explaining that would be pointless as it is rather complicated, I am afraid you wouldn’t understand, as to your second question - I might be what you are afraid I am, Jonathan.”, the stranger added, his face once again unreadable, hidden in the shadows.

“But this is a church. “ the young man reasoned. “Really? Strange, I hadn’t noticed.”, the stranger’s voice mocked in surprise and astonishment.

“A place of faith and God. How can you be here?”, Jonathan continued, questioning himself as well as the stranger.

“Perhaps I am special, or perhaps it is the hearts of the people that bless the place and not the name.” the stranger replied in a cold tone.

“What do you mean? What are you saying?”, Jonathan whispered, confused. “And perhaps it is the hearts of the people that allows me here as well.”, he continued as if the boy had never said anything.

Realization dawned, as Jonathan understood just what the man was implying, just what he was suggesting and just what he would have him believe. His brow furrowed, he knew these people, he trusted them, all of them, he would not betray them by acknowledging what this creature said.

“I don’t believe you, I won’t believe you. You lie. You are trying to deceive me, to cheat me, I won’t trust or listen to a thing you say. Your tricks will not work on me so give up already and leave me alone. Leave me alone!”, the young father’s voice grew in volume and conviction with every new word he spoke, righteous and demanding. He closed his eyes and started praying softly.

“You think too much of yourself Jonathan. Be careful priest, I hear pride is a sin.”, the man added in a condescending tone, moving closer to the head of the bed.  

As if sensing the other’s proximity, Jonathan’s eyes flew open; desperately hoping the stranger would no longer be there once he did, that he would see just empty space, just darkness before him. Unfortunately, his hopes were soon turned to ashes as a lightning illuminated the small enclosement, clearly outlying the man’s form - menacing and vicious, a monster in the moment right before the kill. There was no doubt in the young man’s mind as to what his role was and in that moment, he understood what was about to happen.

“Please, no! Please! You promised! NO!”, he desperately begged, eyes glossy with unshed tears.

“You were right priest. I lied.”

He didn’t feel pain in the first moments – perhaps it was the shock of the act, or his mind having problems catching up with his body – he felt razor sharp points pushing into his chest, shredding his night-shirt and breaking his skin, pushing through the small layer of fat, down to the muscle and deeper still, he felt those claws tearing his chest open. He heard the ripping sound, the sound of flesh being slashed.

And then the pain came. Pain as he never felt before – deep, burning, horrible, sick. No words to describe and no experience to compare to, the burning gashes freeing his life’s blood, metallic and warm as it flowed down his chest, soaking the bed in big rivulets. It burned it hurt and he couldn’t move.

He was drowning in his own blood, a sea of red around him, it stung his eyes and he was almost out of air. He tried swimming one way and the other, going back on his own tracks, desperate, confused, not knowing which way to go, which way was the surface. He was afraid, he screamed and it filled his mouth, suffocating him…

 

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Jonathan woke up in a lake of cold sweat, his breath ragged and uneven. He ran a shaky hand through his damp hair, looking at the clock, just as he had done the entire night. 2:48 -  just one minute, only one minute had passed, and yet to him it seemed like hours. He searched for the small pocket-watch, wanting to check it as well, finding it on the floor, it showed the same time, 2:48 and ticking, working …

The young priest gazed a final time at the sleeping old man, concern and love shining in his eyes. He got up and made his way outside, fearing for his life as well as for his sanity – he was shaking with both fear and nerves.

The sky was clear and the moon was wrapping everything in a pale, soft glow; a lazy breeze was cooling the air and rustling the leaves. His chest was cold and wet.

Jonathan’s hand went to the front of his vest, feeling the damp material there – in was slightly sticky and almost clotting. He moved his hand away, horrified, and stumbled a few feet farther in the church’s courtyard, inspecting it in the moonlight. It was dark, it was blood. His.

The man quickly unbuttoned his vest, throwing it on the grass; he then discarded his shirt with shaky, unsteady hands. Looking at his chest, Jonathan felt his legs give in and his stomach empty it’s contents.

Five deep gashes ran across his chest, from left to right, red and still slowly bleeding, just as if someone had tried to tear his chest apart. His hand went to clutch around the cross at his neck as black spots swam menacingly all around him, but found … nothing.