The False Chronicles
Epilogue – Descanso Dominical
By Nabiki GMYW
Brief summary: After all is said and done, it's time to pick up the pieces and get on with the fate you've created for yourself. Elisa and Brooklyn have a long conversation over a new case, Xanatos gets to know his baby, and Puck can finally breathe a little easier, while Dennis works out a nagging little problem. Yet the more things change…
Epilogue — Descanso Dominical
Disclaimer: Gargoyles belong to Disney. So there. Being the final chapter of the miniseries, it would be wise to read the other seven parts or else you're… well… screwed. Email at paganj@caribe.net
Accountant Marcus O'Reilly shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the hot gaze of the three men before him.
The first man was David Xanatos, CEO of Xanatos Enterprises and maybe the most powerful man alive. He was dressed in an impeccable black Armani power suit that seemed to give him a royal air to him, a cool and collected confidence —as if he needed more confidence than the healthy amount he was born with.
The second man was Owen Burnett, the second-in-command of the whole company. He favored sharp and serious business suits, and it was said that he was physically incapable of smiling.
The third, however, was a complete stranger to him. Considerably less showy than the other two, he hadn't spoken at all through the meeting. He just made lots of little notes in a yellow notebook.
"I just wish to remind you, Mr. O'Reilly," David Xanatos was saying, "That under your contract, fooling around with the company accounts can lead you to worse fates than death…"
"And I must insist on my innocence! I have nothing to do with those missing billions!" O'Reilly insisted. "Everything is on my report, sir, and in clear detail. I'm the victim of ill-founded rumors promulgated by jealous co-workers. Everything is accounted for in all my books."
Mr. Xanatos leaned forward and gave him a little disturbing smile. "Willing to bet your career on it, Mr. O'Reilly?"
O'Reilly gulped but remained under control. "Yes, sir."
The CEO exchanged looks with Mr. Burnett, and then they both turned to their third companion. "Mr. Anderson, if you would…"
"All right," the stranger said, "Everything he just said is a lie. First, he wasted $32,000 alone last year on New Jersey hookers. Second, he's so deep in gambling depths that he's been covering bills just to save his knees. Third, most of the money went right into his house and its brand-new swimming pool. Oh, and remember that time he took a loan and vacation claiming his son was ill? A cruise in the Caribbean with his wife's sister. The one that always says she wants to be an actress."
Mr. Xanatos' finger went straight to the intercom. "Bruno, would you please come to my office...?"
O'Reilly gasped in shock as several goon squad members walked into the office and placed handcuffs in his hands. "Stop! I'm innocent, I tell you! Innocent!"
"Bruno," Mr. Burnett said as he and the other two men stood up, "I believe Detective Maza is expecting you…"
"Wait! Don't tell my wife! It was just a one-night stand!" O'Reilly pleaded as the good squad began to drag him away.
"No, it wasn't," the stranger retorted, "You've been sleeping with for three months!"
O'Reilly stared at him and squealed, "Who the hell are you!?"
"I'm the company psychic," he replied, only to be elbowed-jabbed in the ribs by Mr. Burnett. "Er… I mean, detective… company detective…"
ONE
"There is something morally questionable about using a Halfling as a living lie detector, Elisa…" Matt Bluestone said to his partner while they had some coffee and doughnuts in the Precinct's kitchenette.
"It's the Xanatos approach, Matt…" Elisa Maza replied as she finished her cup of coffee and got ready to meet Mike O'Reilly, accused of swindling the company for a considerable amount of money. "And if it works, don't fix it."
Since the rich guys had cornered him in the office and scared the living daylight's out of him, the accountant gave in and confessed his crimes in a record-breaking five minutes. The charges were done and it seemed that dear Mike had a never-ending vacation booked at the nearby correctional facility.
Just in time, too. Sunset was barely half an hour away.
She took an early leave and went to the Clocktower to wait the gargoyles out. In her way, Matt stopped her again. "Looks like we have another case… some stolen chemicals or something… but here's the interesting part…"
The more things change, the more they stay the same. Take Demona, for example. A few weeks ago the city had fallen into what the media called a 'mass hypnosis'. People claimed that the sky turned violet. That it rained fire. That the castle floated on top of turtles. It was the most amazing thing since… The Lost Nights and The Big Sleep several months ago.
The city hadn't quite recovered, but Demona sure had. Apparently, she was seen stealing chemicals (insecticide? What would Demona want with an insecticide?) from a company traced to Xanatos Enterprises. The more things change…
She re-read the files a couple of times as she waited for the clan to wake up. And she couldn't help but smile slightly. Everything had worked out after all, eh? After all the pain and sacrifices, everything worked out. It wasn't bad, just different.
"You never feel more alive than when you're going to die…" Brooklyn told her once. "That's why I'm not too depressed over what happened. Nothing like a good kick in the balls to get you rolling again, I guess…"
That was one way to put it. The sheer joy of not having your atoms blown up made up for, and often made her forget, some of the things they had to do to reach this status-quo. The things that weren't easily justified. The unspoken promise was that fate apparently knew best, but…
"Doesn't it bother you, though?" she told Brooklyn that time. "That it wasn't self-defense? That it was nothing but…"
"A mafia-style execution?" the gargoyle had interrupted. "A murder? A pact sealed in blood?"
Father knows best, that's how the saying goes. She knew that Lester's actions had apparently enraged some of the big powers in the world, but to kill him like that…?
She could never see the shooter in the same light again, either. It was an execution and he knew it. I know that Seres thing overwhelmed him sometimes…but to go on with it, sacrifice one life in exchange for his own…?
The Anderson she met in Xanatos' office almost four months was reduced to a ghostly presence in the one she knew now. He was the same, but different, and it felt like comparing an old man with his middle-aged memory.
Anderson was well-aware of that too. She saw it that night, and everybody that met him and knew what happened, looked at him differently ever since. As far as she knew, he would still be under Xanatos' employ for a long time. If he's going to stick around, I'm going to have to get to know him better… she told herself …and keep a very close eye on him now that I know what he's capable of…
Even if he said his powers had waned. Elisa was no expert, but if he kept some of his powers, that meant there was a chance that Seres was still around. And it was Seres, not Anderson, the creature to fear. He changed her life by sunset and took Lester's life by sunrise.
She spoke her concerns to Brooklyn that night, as they went over Demona's new case file. "You don't trust him?"
"I can trust the human, not the god…" Elisa replied. "In fact, I'm just about to throw my hands in the air for all gods. It's just that…"
"What?"
She sighed. "The prevailing idea in our world is that some great divinity has this perfect plan for all of us and that everything that happens is for the best… but with all the things that happen in real life, it's so hard to justify it… the sad and insane things that happen all the time, all the suffering and grief…" She slowly turned to Brooklyn. "Like why do good gargoyles die? Why did Goliath have to die?"
"Why not mention earthquakes and hurricanes, while you're at it? Or the massacre of the clan a thousand years ago?" Brooklyn added. "The Greeks thought their gods were a bunch of bastards. Think there was any truth to that myth?"
"I don't know… all the really old gods had two faces…you know… 'giveth and taketh away'… but why take at all? Why let it happen?" Elisa asked, leaning against the parapets of stone and staring out towards the city.
"Evil is part of the world, perhaps, because good is not good until it's pitted against evil," replied Brooklyn. "Besides, a perfect world is a boring world."
"I like the explanation of a certain Nigerian tribe best. They say that although God means well, He's got a stupid little brother that always screws things up. Makes better sense than gods who are good all the time."
"The way I see it, it's just a matter of power," the gargoyle said in return, "I think power, like sex or love or money, transcends all moral limitations. It's just there. We're the ones who label it according to our comfort."
"So what are you saying? That there's no good or evil?"
"No, there's definitely good and evil. All I'm saying is that you shouldn't look for devils in hell or angels in heaven. Gods don't have two faces. Mortals do."
* * *
Like a slow-motion movie, Brooklyn leapt through the air to catch the precious canister. He rolled to a stop just before it hit the ground and managed to grab it just in the nick of time. "GOT IT!"
"Hurry up after her!" Broadway yelled once the canister was safe, and he and the rest of the clan chased after Demona, who was just escaping through the old church's rooftop.
Elisa stayed behind, as did Brooklyn, with Jason the Hunter, Elisa's temporary partner who had just been shot in the chest. "It's ok!" she told him, "You'll be all right!"
Brooklyn's eyes shifted to the blond Hunter before him, who was staring at the laser he used to shoot his own brother. "What have I… what have they done!?"
"John…" his fellow Hunter sister was saying, "Please…!"
John Canmore started his rocket pack and yelled, "You'll pay for this! You'll all pay!" He flew away, right through the rooftop, creating a large hole overhead.
"John!" Robyn screamed with tears in her eyes as she watched him go, "Come back, please!"
Brooklyn and Elisa exchanged looks as the sister turned to faced them; her face the picture of absolute misery as she stared at her unconscious brother. "Robyn…" Elisa began, "Hasn't it there been enough hate…?"
Brooklyn would've given anything to stay, but the sound of incoming police squads told him it was time to make an escape. The sister debated what to do. She ran to her brother's side and said, "Go! Before they catch you here!"
The gargoyle silently nodded and followed his clan to the church's roof when, just in the nick of time, a Xanatos Enterprises helicopter showed up to whisk them away, beating the approaching news chopper.
That morning, David Xanatos offered the clan a safe haven after their Clock Tower was destroyed a few nights ago. "The feud is over…" he told Detective Maza, who saw the sun rise in Manhattan alone from the castle's highest tower…
TWO
Even after all this time, David Xanatos was yet to master the art of diaper changing. Alexander Fox Xanatos, his months-old son, seemed hell-bent on making it impossible for daddy to strap a new diaper to him. Personally, Xanatos' couldn't wait for toilet-training.
After the adventure with the boy, Xanatos kept him around while he watched some TV. The night was quiet, too quiet for his taste, now that Owen had to leave town for awhile.
"Don't worry…" he told the gurgling baby, "Uncle Owen promised he'd be back tonight."
Not that he trusted the giant Smurf to begin with.
In fact, the night burned away and Owen still hadn't showed any signs of life. Xanatos ended up sleeping on the couch, when his tiredness got the better of him. It wasn't until much, much later, when he was already fast asleep, that a sing-song voice whispering 'Wakey-wakey…" startled him.
He opened his eyes and noticed the Puck holding a feather near Xanatos' nose. He let out a little groan as he pushed the fey away. "Why do people think that's funny?" he grunted.
"Hard to tell, really…" Puck replied as he sat by his side.
"You're late."
"Time flies when you're visiting a magical island, David."
"No troubles leaving, I hope."
"No… no more than usual, anyway…"
Not that Puck gave his king lots of reasons to get cranky. Though a whole night had passed for Xanatos, to Puck it had been a fifteen minute visit to Avalon, his homeland.
"And, uh… how's Titania?"
"Better…" Puck said, but it was that depressing sort of 'better', the type that seemed to say that it could've been worse. "Not easy to recover after such an amazing spell… and she's pretty…weak…"
Puck didn't need to remind him. He saw her. He saw her appear out of nowhere in his main hall and it was the first time Xanatos allowed himself some compassion for her.
According to the experts in the island, the queen had given most of her magic to the two creations that ultimately let her down. She gave Lester and Dennis her all and kept virtually nothing to herself. So much work, so much pain and she didn't get what she wanted. What she wasn't allowed to have at the expense of countless lives.
Maybe he was more shocked over the care Oberon had given his frail wife. Oberon, Lord of Avalon, the bane in his life, the creature that murdered his wife and Goliath, had showed him his other face: that of a loving husband desperately trying to keep his wife alive.
Instead of begrudging him, Xanatos felt something he never knew he was capable of feeling… mercy on an enemy. Sure, he still blamed Titania for everything that happened, because it was still true, but mercy…? And understanding? Understanding why she defied heaven and earth in an ill-conceived plan to change time for their sake? Xanatos', Puck's and even the gargoyles'?
"She did repent, David…" Puck told him. "And she does love us, even if she chose a funny way of showing it… Try to forgive her stupidity. We all do stupid things in the name of love."
"Had Dennis agreed with her, we all would've been dead."
"But he didn't."
"He had no reason to. He was just toy to her. We should be thankful he woke up on time. I know what she meant to do, but the ends don't justify the means."
Puck laughed at him when he heard that. "That's hilarious coming out of your mouth after all you've done. Think about it! Derrick, Coldstone… how does it feel to be on the other side, David?"
"Lousy. I wish everything was black and white sometimes."
"Checkered clothes don't look good on me. I prefer gray."
Everything has a flip side. Xanatos' flip side was that since Oberon was too busy doting on his wife, he honored the agreement with Puck and set him free… sort of, anyway. He was allowed to visit his queen occasionally, though they were very, very short visits.
Puck wasn't very well-met in the island, but he went anyway, no matter how much everybody, including Xanatos, resisted. The millionaire wasn't quite ready to let bygones be bygones, yet Puck quickly forgave her without thinking about it too much. Yes, it was his queen, but it nagged the human that he should stick up for her so easily.
"She was there for me, when I was down in that dungeon," Puck explained, just a little less jovial than before. "The least I can do is be there for her in return and tell her that it's ok… that she doesn't have to 'fix it' anymore…" He shook his head and tried to cheer up. "Besides, I'm not ready to leave her to The Weird Sister's tender mercies…"
Xanatos wasn't sure if he felt any better after that explanation, but didn't feel any worse. Nobody can be really happy all the time, and he was reasonably content with the way things worked out. You win some, you lose some, and so the circle of life keeps on rolling. Right now, he was happy and determined to suck the good times to the marrow before the tide turned against him again. And it would. Because that's how the world works.
"You know…" the millionaire began, "…Detective Maza once told me that everything has an antithesis. Not in so many words, sure. But I think she's right, that you can't have your cake and eat it too. And that if Titania's love was used to destroy, maybe it can be used to create. Or re-create."
"Re-create what?"
"Ahdunno. Stuff. Relationships. Build something better. I think she has a point. This little adventure has helped me see things another way. The way they could be… you know?"
Puck merely stared at him. He measured his words very carefully and said, "Maybe some things shouldn't be rearranged. You could end up… spoiling them. Remember we can do really stupid things when we think we're going to die…"
Xanatos said nothing for a second. "Yes…" he ended up saying, "That's what Elisa said too."
Puck gave him a little smile. "Go back to sleep, Dave… Meeting with the Microsoft guys at 11, remember?"
"Yes, mother…"
"You better be sharp tomorrow. Dennis said he won't be joining us."
"Well, how am I going to know they're bullshitting me?"
"The old-fashioned way… Death threats."
"Hmm. Old tricks are the best tricks. Where's Dennis going to, anyway?"
"Dunno… something about meeting an old friend…"
Puck was half-way out the door when he halted. Turning around just a bit, he tried to say something that apparently had been nagging him for awhile. "We're…" the word couldn't quite come out, but he pressed on. "Still CEO and vice-president, right?"
"I restored all of Owen Burnett's authority, if that's what you mean…" Xanatos replied, though he was pretty sure that wasn't what he meant.
"Yeah… I'm glad you've patched that up…" Puck replied. He bit his lip and muttered, "All the time I spent in the dungeon… the real one and the dream one… all that time I kept thinking of you…And Alex and the gargoyles, of course… it, uh… Brooklyn used it to help me snap out of it, back in the Dreamtime."
"Yes… I do believe he mentioned it to me."
"Well…" Puck went on sounding like he wanted to put an end to the conversation, "I just want you to know that… while I appreciate everything you've done for me… " He seemed to lose himself in his own thoughts for a moment, just a second. Very slowly, he said, "That all I want now is to renew our professional relationship. It's… better that way, you know?"
Xanatos opened his mouth. And closed it again. "…yeah…" he somehow managed to whisper.
"You do…and feel… different when it looks like your life is crumbling," Puck muttered as he looked away. "But the waters returned to their level—"
"And now you can see things in their proper perspective." Xanatos interrupted.
Puck nodded, looking somewhat relieved. "Good. See you in the morning, then," he said and left, skipping back to his bedroom.
"Right…" the millionaire mumbled. "See you in the morning…"
* * *
Live on the news, Xanatos and company watched as all the channels interrupted their programming to deliver a special report. "This is Travis Marshall, reporting live from what appears to be a real show down between the police and the creatures known as gargoyles. The authorities haven't confirmed whether these are real gargoyles, but inside sources have told the station—"
"It appears that the gargoyles have just blown their cover…" Owen was saying.
"If the police crack down on them, they could get locked up or worse," Anderson added, "What are you going to do now?"
The millionaire didn't hesitate. "Owen, prep the helicopter. It's time to lend the clan a hand…"
They rushed to the cathedral just before a nearby news helicopter could land. Unfortunately, the chopper that was rescuing the gargoyles was a great shot to all the cameras of all the major news channels that happened to be there. "Mr. Xanatos…" Owen warned as he noticed all the blinking lights.
"I know, Owen, I know…" There was nothing Xanatos could do about it, but he cursed himself anyway. He supposed he would have to bribe someone later, but he had to admit this could be bigger than it seemed…
That morning, the footage of the events were being played on constant rotation over a million TVs in the nation and beyond; it was accusatory evidence that the world wasn't what it seemed to the humans that thought they were alone on the planet…
That morning, Demona broke all the windows of her house after seeing a thousand years of planning go to hell. Damn that Brooklyn and all his allies… Xanatos, Burnett, Elisa Maza… even that fastidious temporary assistant she met a couple of months were working against her…
THREE
Even though his humanity had been partially restored to him, he still wasn't sleeping well.
Now that he had put some three week's distance between himself and everything that happened, Dennis Anderson allowed himself the luxury to start thinking about it again. It was easier now. It allowed him to put events in the proper… perspective.
He had to admit that Titania's plan was brilliant. Take a guy, give him the power of the gods, screw around with his memories and use him to destroy the world. Fool-proof plan. Except the first sheep carried an Uzi and the second didn't want to die. But at least that was over with.
Dennis was now free to pick up the pieces and inspect the damage she had done. The worst never happened, but the storm caused considerable destruction that he wasn't sure he'd be able to repair; the worst of which was in his memories.
The spell she used was nothing more than a fancy mind-control mechanism, akin to being brainwashed to be a government killer. Trying to separate fact from fiction was a difficult process for him. She had used real partial memories to build up a fake story, and it was hard to tell which bits were real. There really was a Mary and he was really engaged to her. But the macabre part was how Titania used the old memories of Mary against him.
And then there was Lester…
Another problem was that Seres had left him, and he had altered his mind before leaving. It was the spell he used to bring Titania to him; that amazing pyrotechnics display forced him to give up part of himself to the god and he was never getting it back.
The only thing that saved him from becoming a slobbering idiot was that Seres, too, gave something in return… at a price. And the price was almost unbearable. "You bought your life…" Elisa Maza had told him "…with blood tribute…"
Yet Seres gave him back his mind, and it was rewired and remade in odd ways. He found himself getting to know his likes and dislikes all over again, like a child trying to make sense of the world. Like an amnesiac or a stroke victim, trying to regain motor functions. He also retained some other his powers, even if they were considerably diminished.
There were other things that he re-learned to cope with. Sleeping, for example. He wasn't hooked to Seres' power cell anymore and that meant sleeping like the rest of the mere mortals and eating three large breakfasts to get through the morning. He was exhausted most of the time nowadays. Burnett had explained that over time his body would adjust, but it was still frustrating to not have the energy to get up in the mornings. He decided not to use what was left of his powers unless he really needed them, even if Xanatos insisted on free psychic consultations all the time.
It was a strange sort of consultation. He would see the past and the present, but the future was blocked to him. According to the others, Lester used to do the same thing; only that as an unpleasant bonus, he got to see his own death—
Dennis was spared that gruesome vision, but he had plenty to keep him up at night. The ability to sleep was restored yet he couldn't sleep, now for considerably less magical reasons. And that was why he was here now, in the park.
It just so happened that while trying to reconstruct his past, he came upon a bit that was real yet didn't make any sense. He found it sitting by the same old stone table, with the same old chessboard and with the same old rabbi clothes Dennis strongly suspected never belonged to him.
It was a sunny day, very warm. It wasn't autumn, but it was the end of summer and winter was a few months away. But that was the future. Today was a sunny day.
Melquisedec was alone. He saw him coming and smiled toothily. "Ah, Dennis! Just in time! I was just setting up the game, but I had no one to play with. Come, you must play with me. We'll chat and joke, just like the old times."
Dennis considered the proposal for a moment. The game was set up and the chair was waiting for him. He was to be the whites. He was always the whites.
He sat down anyway and saw the old man fuss with his black pieces, putting them in their correct places. Dennis didn't let him finish; he tossed a pack of battered tarot cards in the middle of the board. "I think this is yours."
Melquisedec looked up at him. "Sure you don't want to keep them? They might come useful one day…"
"I really doubt it."
The old man nodded and grabbed the cards. "Suit yourself…" Without looking at them much, he placed them inside his robe and returned to his pieces. He was done and smiled in satisfaction, then returned his attention to Dennis. "So… I heard you had a rough time lately… I was worried, you didn't even drop by to say hello… How did that new job work out?"
Dennis stared at him. A thousand things crossed his mind and he was conflicted about how to approach the creature before him. It took some will power to ignore what he understood to be an insult to his intelligence and chose to play along. Rather, keep playing the game the old man set up for him since… probably forever.
He tried not to sound cross, but couldn't help himself. "The job was something else. Bad hours. Lousy pay. Jealous assistants. And death, lots of death."
"You're alive," retorted the old man.
"I wasn't talking about me."
"I know. It doesn't let you get a good night's sleep, I know that too. But rest assured you did what you were meant to do, and that's that."
Dennis' eyes narrowed to slits. He tried to control himself, tried to, but the urge to… to stand up at do something, toss the chessboard to his face, do anything, was getting too strong to resist. "How long have you been around?" he snapped, more high-pitched that he would've wanted, but he didn't care, didn't care…
"Calm down, Dennis…" Melquisedec replied, speaking softly but firmly, maybe a little amused at his reaction. "There's no need to get upset…"
"How exactly am I supposed to feel…?" he hissed back forcefully.
"Why… I should expect… relieved, maybe?" the old man replied. He leaned closer over the table and whispered, "No need to be a brat. You're too old to throw a tantrum."
"I hate you. I hate you and all your imbecile gods…"
"No, you don't. You're just a bit upset."
"I killed him…" Dennis whispered, finally getting it off his chest. "Even if we weren't what we used to, I still killed him…"
He could've been the only living being in the whole park with the desolate emptiness that took him over. It nagged him every single day for a whole month, and it never let him rest. Even if he was dozing, it would wake him up and plead its attention and it was killing him, slowly but surely. The guilt, the almost irrational guilt.
"You worry too much," the old man replied, "Go home and take a nap."
"I can't. I was the one who pulled the trigger."
"It was Atropos who wrote his story, not you."
"But I wasn't thinking about Atropos. I didn't shoot him because of the boon you would give me!" he snapped back, "I shot him because I wanted to, because I—"
Melquisedec arched a furry white eyebrow.
"I shot him… because I wanted to get rid of the past!" he exploded, trying not to scream it at the top of his lungs, "I shot him because I wanted to get rid of it! I was back in the park, I was looking at myself as I used to be and I knew… I didn't want to kill Lester; I just wanted to kill everything he represented! And Lester knew it!"
"Dennis…"
"You know what he told me…?!" he went on with a little absurd laugh, "He said 'Be free!'… That was just what he always wanted but never got… he knew I shot him because I felt a sudden hatred for everyone and everything I ever knew, that I just wanted everything to go away, and just be free. I didn't want to be Dennis Anderson the doctor, I didn't want to be Seres the god, I just wanted to be myself! And I feel so… selfish!"
"In other words…" Melquisedec continued, speaking very softly and methodically, "You did exactly what you were meant to do."
Dennis stared at him shock and slumped in his seat. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that all his magic couldn't make go away, he said, "Why me and not him?"
The old man shrugged. "It was written that way."
"That's not fair!"
"Huh. You humans say that a lot. I wonder what your basis for comparison is."
"You bastard—" Dennis exclaimed as he began to stand up.
"Sit down, Mr. Anderson," the old man hissed with a hard stare. Dennis' legs suddenly turned heavy as lead weights and he plopped down on the chair. He couldn't move. He sat there, paralyzed, with the look of surprise frozen on his face. After a few seconds, he was released and took quick gasps of air.
"You humans, always asking for more than you can handle," the old man continued, getting quite irritated. "Don't question Us, Dennis. You did what you were meant to do. There's not a lot to it."
"That's it!? I was born to kill him!? How could you do this!?"
"Excuse me?" the old man replied, this time getting visibly angry. He dropped his charming pretense and barked, "Do you consider yourself more righteous than Us? Tell me, who created the leviathan? Who created the hairs on your head? Who put Oberon on his throne? Who created the mountains? Who created everything that exists? And You dare to question Us on fate? Must We sink this city into the ocean to give you a taste of what you're dealing with, mortal?"
"I didn't—"
"Oh, yes you did!" the old man snarled intensely between teeth and his voice resounded like a low and deep drum, "One day, you humans are going to have to learn that there are some things beyond your ken! We don't owe you any explications! That is how it works; those are the facts of life! The sun, as Galileo proved, doesn't revolve around you! Hasn't it occurred to you that, maybe, We know exactly what We're doing?! Now, Dennis, you have but two options before you: either get said facts through your skull or you don't. Which one you choose, We care little, but you shall either accept it or you'll keep asking yourself the same questions forever. You'll reach old age and die, with your eyes wide open, because you shall never sleep again!"
Dennis didn't know what to reply. In fact, he was physically incapable of replying; all his muscles were frozen once again in the seat, and he was unable to hide away from the old god's wrath.
"Now, Dennis," continued Melquisedec, taking deep breaths to calm down. "You cannot measure Our will, boy, nor label Us in neat human categories; indeed, We shatter all categories and they shall remain shattered until the end! You have glimpsed the divine behind the masks and you know I speak the truth! Don't shrink and grovel at the popular representations of your gods now that you've made it so far— Understand what I'm saying to you and the world shall no longer a vale of tears but a bliss-yielding, perpetual manifestation of the Presence… Because to let the tears flow means creating the world you know, but to withhold them would be to annihilate it!"
"Sadness is part of the world. And the truth is that life wouldn't be worth living without it. There are some that look forward to some mythical day when everything is perfect, but there are many others who prefer the world as it is, because with the heartache also comes happiness, and this time of happiness is much more satisfying because you know, you've seen how rock bottom looks like. It's…like a job well done. And there are some who would rather fight for their happiness than to be granted it on a silver platter. They're the ones who understand that to laugh, you have to cry a little. That to be free, you have to make terrible sacrifices. That tears are necessary to make everything else worth it. That unless you don't make a hard choice, you're not human!"
"Don't give me that uppity look, Dennis. Don't tell me how We've ruined your life. You needed a kick out the door and We gave it to you. Because life was calling you and would've tricked you out of the cave no matter how much you resisted. Lester Kramer was coming for you, for reasons it's not in my place to say just yet. And life is calling you again when I say you now have but two choices…"
"Are you going to step to the plate and face a revelation greater than the ones that satisfied your friends? Stand up from your blind spot and behold the source? Or are you going to run away? Run away and crawl back to your apartment? Don't waste your time with regrets! Sit! Stay! Play!" he said, banging the chessboard for emphasis, making most of the pieces tumble and fall to the grass.
For a moment, his lungs stopped working. He felt like hiding, but where would he go? Where to run? What to do? He felt his presence now, and even with waning powers he could feel him encompass the whole park and who knew what else.
He was afraid, but that was ok, because only fools refused to be afraid. Brave are the ones who fear but do it anyway. They are the ones who get all the glory, because fortune favors the bold.
He took a big gulp of air to not pass out on the chair and, with conscious and coolly-planned bravado, spun the chessboard before him, knocking down a few more pieces. "I want to be the black ones today!" he snapped off-handedly and waited for an answer.
The answer was most unexpected.
The answer was that the old man reached into his robes and placed the battered tarot deck before him. "Sit. Stay. Play. You've bought them; they are yours."
The answer was, at the end, a sympathetic smile.
* * *
The first thing that Dennis heard in the office the morning after the so-called Hunter's Moon was the rumors that Xanatos Enterprises was somehow involved in all of it. "I recognized that chopper on TV," Tiffany was saying, "I just don't understand!"
The whole company was on alert after watching the gargoyles come out into the open on the 11 o'clock news. The phone hadn't stopped ringing from journalists trying to get their side of their story. Investors were pulling out their hairs and the employees were very, very worried that their company could be involved with some sort of terrorist monsters.
Dennis heard it all as Tiffany confessed all the worry and anger floating around the building. He said nothing, because there was nothing he could say to people that had already made-up their minds about the monsters. But he was a little surprised at hearing Tiffany's scared and angry comments about the whole thing.
"Weren't you the one saying to be a couple of months ago that there were more things between heaven and earth?" Dennis told her as he accompanied her to lunch.
"Yes! Real-life demons, for example!" Tiffany replied. "I sure hope the government does something about it! Those things need to be locked up. They're a menace!"
He wished he could explain to her that there was nothing to fear, that they weren't monsters, but it wasn't his place to tell their secrets. And even if he told her the whole story, would she believe that they just saved humanity from the virus that would wipe them off the earth?
The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Even after all that had happened, it stopped nothing; didn't make a dent on the final destiny of these people.
Funny… Dennis was thinking, In a world of infinite possibilities, it's very likely that somewhere out there, the Hunters actually manage to kill all the gargoyles in a raid, and there is no one to stop Demona. Humanity is wiped out in less than six months and only the gargoyles survive. Except that the virus mutates. And slowly but surely, the cockroaches inherit the earth.
But this morning is just like any other morning as far as anyone is concerned. Humanity will never know it had just escaped death by magical insecticide. Instead, it will keep hunting it's saviors for a long, long time. In a universe of infinite possibilities, I have to wonder why am I stuck in this one, and not something worse?
Nothing had changed, had it? It was still the best of times and the worst of times. It's wasn't good nor bad. Just… different.
Lester Kramer was coming for you, for reasons it's not in my place to say just yet…
And it wasn't going to end soon, their story, for the simple reason that they were still alive. He felt the upcoming weeks were like the type of Sunday mornings spent sleeping in before the week started; before the tide turned and the leaves fell and winter rolled around again.
But that was the future.
Today was a sunny day.
FIN
Author's Note: Whoa. I can't believe you ate the whole thing.
Well, what can I say that a thousand other fanfic authors haven't said already? I hope you liked it, and I hope you'll wanna send me comments even more, so check me out at paganj@caribe.net and tell me what you think. Special thank yous go to Nemi, Edmodia Dantes, Aria Nightshadow and Caboose for reviewing and editing and yanking my ears when I needed it. *my poor widdle ears*
I'm really proud of this whole series basically because it took me so damned long to write. As for the story itself, I started this in the beginning of June 2002, originally as a four part story. But then it got longer. And longer. And longer. I had foolishly believed I could've finished it by August, but the joke was on me: the end result met the light of day July 2003. While chapter one has been done for a while, I didn't want to publish anything until I was absolutely done. Why? Because if I posted a chapter, and later found out I needed to tweak a scene, it was too late. I saved myself from many a-pit falls like that.
Wow, what I ride. Spending so much time in this universe, I know I'm going to miss it a lot. It was such an emotional roller-coaster —I lost and regained faith in the story almost all the time— but somehow managed to end it. I thought for some time that this would be my last fanfic set in Gargoyles, but now that I'm done, I'm not so sure. If it is, at least I went out with a bang and, boy, what a bang!
It was a grand project and I'm glad I made it. The idea that we have so little precious moments in our lives, the least we can do is make them worth it, is the core of the story. That's what I had in mind when I wrote it, and although there are plenty of other ideas in there, I think that's the most important one. That what you say matters, from here to Hong Kong. Even if you're a famous author or just an enthusiastic amateur. That's what The False Chronicles are about. About making it worth it.
(It would be interesting if someone asked me why I did the things I did. There's an interesting story behind the story. Of course, this is just a thin excuse to make people mail me, so you're free to ignore it…)
J. Pagan, aka, Nabiki GMYW
(July 31, 2003)
"It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. […] There are no ORDINARY people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors." — C.S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"