Note: Chapters 28, 29 & 30 were once Chapter 16

Chapter 29

Regrets

Owen

Each morning, Owen suffered his self-imposed exile to the far corner table while he enjoyed the mundane morning breakfast of grits and butter. It tasted like sand. He drank coffee along with it; he hated the flavor, but the bitterness suited his mood.

Each night he returned to the fitful sleep in the men's quarters. He could barely tolerate the stink, but the mattress only had two sides. Often his tremors kept him awake. When he slept, his dreams wandered to memories of Abby. He sometimes woke to the feeling that she was there, right outside the window. When he turned to look, he never saw her. The drugs slowly worked their way out of his system. He found himself craving them more each day. But he didn't have the money or the will to seek them out.

One morning, his breakfast isolation was broken by Gabriella parading through the unlocked front door with a smile and rosy cheeks. She was enjoying the cold more than Owen. "How'd you sleep last night, Owen? Was it peaceful?" Burdened with Gabriella's books and supplies, Billy, the pack horse, followed her through.

"Fine," Owen answered with his face down in his bowl trying to avoid conversation. "Where's the Clark family? I don't see them anymore."

"Both Lazarus and Isabel's condition started to deteriorate," Gabriella answered. "They'll receive better care at the hospice."

Billy and Gabriella each grabbed a bowl and joined Owen at the table. They sat close together and ate one handed with their fingers interlaced beneath the table. Get a room; or at least your own table.

Father Erasmus bound into the room and joined the three of them at the same table with his coffee. He was far too gleeful. "Do any of you know what day it is?"

"The day after yesterday," Owen answered fairly confident with his solution.

"Saturday?" Billy said.

"It's not just any Saturday," Gabriella answered. "It's the second Saturday of the month. And that means youth group! What are we doing this weekend, Padre?"

Owen wondered, which month?

"I thought we'd go canoeing on the river." Father Erasmus said.

It seemed awfully cold to brave the river, "I think I'll pass."

"Nonsense," Father Erasmus said. "You need to get outside and enjoy the fresh air."

"Maybe I will walk around the city and … and...," Owen said. He couldn't really think of anything he needed to do in the city, except maybe something illegal. He didn't think he should share that with this group.

"Come on, Owen," Billy said, "If I have to go, then you should go."

"I can't go," Owen insisted. "I don't even know how to swim."

"That's no excuse," Erasmus said. "We have life preservers."

Owen could not think of a valid reason for declining. So an hour later, he found himself sitting in the front of a yellow bus with nearly a dozen screaming preteen kids singing songs. So this is hell. Isolated on a school bus – how unusual. He wished he had a book to read.

Gabriella sat down in the seat next to him for a moment, "Why don't you join in the song Owen? You should know it – Kumbaya."

Owen answered with a pain-stricken look of disgust. What does that even mean? It can't be a real word.

His sour spirit didn't stop the rest of the children from enjoying a good time. They droned on all the way to the unloading bank just east of the Lake Pueblo dam. Owen rode in the same canoe with Father Erasmus with whom he enjoyed a tolerable silence down the Arkansas. It was better than riding with one of the lively tweenagers. Gabriella and Billy drove the bus to the pickup spot. After which, they would meet them on the island with more supplies.

The expedition down the Arkansas was uneventful and peaceful. Owen made casual strokes of his paddle while enjoying the snowy scenery surrounding the river. For an hour or more they glided past the trees and ice covered reservoirs lining the river. He only vomited once. It made an interesting pattern in the flow of the river. Children skated on the frozen retention ponds. The river water was cold, but the flow kept ice from forming. Passing the trees and reservoirs Owen noticed one constant – there were no fish in the river or birds in the trees. Death was everywhere. Even the oaks and maples lining the river were leafless.

Finally, they turned south and the city of Pueblo lay before them. They beached their canoes on an island within sight of the Fourth Street Bridge. One solitary tree lorded over the island – an evergreen mocking the lifeless river. Greg once fished for aluminum cans here.

When they arrived at the island, Gabriella and Billy were already unloading the vital supplies such as hotdogs and marshmallows. A massive smokestack dominated the skyline. He had to wonder how she was doing; how much happier she was without him. Her thoughts were full of anger and hatred. The kids mostly ignored him in their self-centered conversations; those that didn't ignore him, just stared.

Owen did not belong in this world. A zoo animal, being observed by children who were more concerned about the color of their cotton candy than the troubles the exhibits face in the wild. The careless, casual cacophony of conversation was from a different reality altogether. Becky loved Shelly's new hair cut. Highlights made it shine. Bruce got a cool new video game. Brenda was soooo worried about her math test. She was sure she failed it, but she got a "B". Owen sat on a big rock on the other end of the island and skipped stones into the water.

His isolation did not go unnoticed. "Most everybody else seems to be happy," Erasmus said. "You know, Owen. You can choose to rejoin the rest of society whenever you want. Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Owen scoffed. "What a joke. Do they teach you that at priest school? I guess I must be fuckin' Hercules by now."

Erasmus paused trying to collect his thoughts. He assaulted Owen from a different flank. "You see that tree," Erasmus said, pointing out the sole, gnarled cedar tree landmark of the island. "I planted that tree when I was first assigned to Pueblo. A lot of people faced despair in this town, while others lived their lives oblivious to their suffering. The narrow slip of land between despair and joy is hope. A cedar tree is the perfect symbol. That's why they use it to line hope chests." Erasmus shrugged at his idealism. "It's just a symbol, but I thought it was a good place to start."

"I thought they used it because of the smell," Owen said. "This one," he pointed to the contorted tree, "isn't doing so well. It doesn't give me much hope."

"This may not have been the best place to plant a cedar tree," Erasmus chuckled. "On the coldest nights of winter, the sap freezes driving cracks into the bark. Then new sap flows from the crevices to coat the outside. It makes for a twisted symbol of hope, but I think life is like that sometimes. When one path isn't working, we break out and find a new one."

The kids were roasting marshmallows over the fire. One lifted up a flaming torch. "I like mine well done," he said. Everybody laughed.

"That's the way to sterilize it," another one joked. "Too bad, the marshmallow didn't survive."

Owen tossed another rock in the river. "I think you're stretching that meaning of the symbol."

Erasmus chuckled, "Maybe." Father Erasmus crouched down next to Owen and sifted through the frozen sand. "When I was a child," he continued. This priest just wouldn't take the hint; he refused to stop talking. "When I was young, my father told me that 'You can't throw a rock in the same river twice.'" The priest picked up a stone and tossed it in the water with on 'plink' it settled to the bottom.

"I don't even know what that means." Owen picked up another stone and tossed it at a very shallow angle to show up the priest. Not bad … three skips.

He noticed an orange soda can floating down the river. Damn, that's five cents wasted.

"The river is constantly changing. You only have one opportunity at certain key moments in your life. But then you move on. The world shifts around you."

This sounds like something he had heard once before. "You are the sum of the choices you make, and the choices made for you." Owen said. "I hate that idea … I hate fate. I'm not the sum of anything. I'm nothing. In fact, I'm less than nothing."

"That's the way some people look at it," Erasmus said. "Try to look at it the other way around. You are not the sum of the choices you made – you are your next choice. Right now that is all you are. You can't do anything about the choices that have already come and gone. You can only worry a little about the choices that are a long way down the road. But your next choice … how you face it … how you handle it … that is who you are."

Erasmus picked up a rock and tossed it into the river. It caught the ripple of a wave just right and bounced high. It bounced several times before it finally lost that momentum. "Four," Erasmus said with a triumphant raise of his fists. "Top that."

Owen searched around for a nice flat rock and nestled it into his forefinger. He leaned down low and tossed it along the river, but the rock didn't hit squarely … it didn't skip at all. "This is a stupid game and that is just another stupid saying. This river is dead. I can throw rocks in this same river all day long."

"Is that what you think? There aren't any fish in the river, so it is dead." Erasmus pointed to the water rushing and receding on the bank. "This river is very much alive. It rises and falls with the seasons." He pointed to the concrete, man-made bank. "We try to contain it ... to control it, but those walls aren't going to last forever. Someday even that dam by the lake will be gone. The river is going to carve a new path. It may even bring some fish along with it."

Owen looked into the river and for the first time noticed the rush of water cross the bridge stanchions. This river wasn't merely alive. It chafed at the boundaries presented to it … it was angry. He picked up another stone and tossed it. "Five!" he said. Success! For a moment … a brief second ... he felt a little bit of pride in his rock skipping abilities.

The instant drifted away when he overheard Gabriella's angry outburst from the noisy crowd of children. "Are you sure it's him?"

"With his beard growing back, I'm sure," Billy whispered, but it was loud enough for Owen to hear. "It's all right Gabriella, don't worry about it."

Still celebrating the five skips, Father Erasmus didn't seem to notice the growing discord. Owen felt like running, but he had nowhere to go.

Gabriella stomped over armed with a four foot branch of flotsam. "Are you Kenny?" she demanded. "Did you assault Billy?" she waved the stick in the air with a menacing look.

"What is this about, Gabriella?" Erasmus demanded.

At the same time Billy said feebly, "Gabriella, forget about it."

"Well are you?" she demanded.

Owen crouched down in preparation for the blow. "What are you going to do with that stick?" Owen asked. Uncertain of how to react, the younger children stood around stupefied. Quiet for the first time today.

"I don't know. I may have to defend myself," Gabriella said. "Are you Kenny?"

"I'll tell you what you are going to do," Kenny said. His blood boiled in frustration with the accusation. "You're going to give me that stick and I'm going to ram it up your fuckin' ass. Then you're going swimming."

"Owen, that's uncalled for. You apologize," Erasmus said. "What is this about, Gabriella?"

"He shattered Billy's hearing … destroyed his future," Gabriella said. She was shaking. "He should go to jail. He shouldn't be allowed to get away with this." Completely unprepared for the conflict, the rest of the children were stunned at the anger.

Owen anticipated the coming swing. He was sure he could catch the stick in mid-motion and recover it for his own use. But the staff just remained, suspended in the air. Everyone was staring, watching, anxious for the outcome – expecting the priest to intercede. Erasmus broke the silence, "Is this true, Owen?"

In frustration Owen fell to his knees. "What are you waiting for? Hit me. I mugged him," he commanded. Gabriella swung the branch at Owen's head with very little conviction. Owen barely noticed the blow. "That's all you fuckin' got! Do it again. I deserve it." He looked up at the sky and presented his face to her. "Better yet, hit me in the eye. An eye for an ear, right?"

Goaded into action, Gabriella reached way back with both hands to gain momentum for a second, more forceful swing. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The air was still with the ache of silence. Even the birds that weren't roosting in the dead trees were quiet. At its highest arc, Billy grabbed the stick and ripped it away from her. "I told you to let it rest," Billy said. "It wasn't his fault." Billy tossed the stick into the river.

"How can it be anything other than his fault?" Gabriella stormed off in anger at the intervention.

With the diffusion of the tension, Erasmus knelt down next to Owen and held him. The rest of the children silently watched the altercation in fear and worry. Billy tried to corral them back to their food, but the casual conversation was over. One boy mumbled a tasteless joke about refuse, but nobody responded.

"What happened, Owen?" Father Erasmus asked.

Through sobs of anger and frustration, Owen said, "We can't escape the choices we've made. The river is dead. I killed her."

Father Erasmus pulled him close and kissed Owen on the forehead with compassion. It didn't help. Erasmus, and those like him, had destroyed his family. Owen didn't think he could ever forgive that.

Abby

Javier regained consciousness. He dangled from a rope cinched around his waist. His arms were tied behind his back. Abby and her uncle roosted on the inner walls of the furnace, just above Javier. The rope that had once been used to hang Owen's prey was now lashed to the X-shaped cross bar at the very top of the long shaft.

Cleaning up the mill to Jean-Louis' satisfaction required several days of hard work. Abby showed Javier how to work mechanical items, such as how to move the crucibles and how to manipulate the furnace door. She also showed him where the cleaning supplies were located and where to dispose of the body. Scrubbing the diagrams on the walls bleached Javier's hands, but she was forbidden to help his with his labor. Work was for livestock.

The very last step, Javier handed the rope to her uncle hoping that it would purchase his admission to the immortal club. Jean-Louis thanked him for his labor and slapped him unconscious.

Javier shook from the cold inside the shaft, "I'm willing to be bitten. You don't have to do it this way," he said. He struggled with his bonds and his face was pale white. He held a look of fear to Jean-Louis' enjoyment. Javier started wheezing while his face grew even whiter. "I can't breathe," Javier said with a quiet, husky voice.

Jean-Louis gave Abby a quizzical look. "His asthma," Abby said. "He needs his tube from his pocket."

Abby climbed down the wall and rifled through his pockets to find the inhaler. With a few puffs Javier started consuming huge gulps of air. Abby dropped the medicine on the bottom of the furnace with the bodies. "You won't need this anymore," she said.

"Go ahead," Javier said, "I'm not scared."

"This one is so eager." L'oncle leaped from the wall onto Javier's shoulders. Javier grunted from the exertion. He crawled around the top of his shoulder with dagger like nails scratching the skin.

"Oh, small and whiny one, I wish that were true," Jean-Louis said. "I love when the look of fear blossoms in your face like a flower just discovering the sun. And keep in mind," Jean-Louis stuck his face into Javier's trying to intimidate him –in the way Abby now realized is just cheap theatrics. "I can smell fear."

Abby couldn't smell any special fear. She didn't believe her uncle could either, but Javier looked frightened. He made furtive glances to the weapon in her uncle's hand. "Oncle, s'il vous plaît ne faites pas cela," she begged. (Uncle, please don't do this.) It was expected of her – it was her role.

Jean-Louis leaped back to the ceramic wall and beckoned Abby over to him without a word – using only a crook of his finger. With his sharpened nail, he sliced into Abby's wrist and drew her blood into his own being. Abby's skin and face changed rapidly into the creature she had come to despise. The cravings drove her anguish with the lust of hunger. Where are you, Owen?

Jean-Louis brought a chain weapon with a metal cylindrical attached to the end. On the tube were hundreds of sharp, nail-like blades. "It's time to discover the limits of your courage."

L'oncle swung the weapon onto Javier's back. It stuck where it landed next to Javier's angel bone, penetrating at least a quarter inch. He grunted from the impact and his breath came more quickly. Jean-Louis tugged on the weapon and raked all the way down Javier's back, peeling skin as it went. Javier sobbed and screamed in agony. Jean-Louis chuckled and looked toward Abby for her response.

Breathing heavy with a low, steady purr, Abby howled but held her cravings in check. The blood called to her – it sung for her pleasure. But she tried to refrain from bending to her uncle's base desires.

"You've grown willful without me, haven't you? We'll have to mend that attitude."

He retracted the flail from Javier's back and swung it a second time. Javier's shriek grew even louder if that was possible. "This tube carries sound all the way up to the heavens like a pipe organ," Jean-Louis said. "Does your God enjoy the sweet melody?"

Three more times, Jean-Louis raked the weapon across Javier's back before Abby could no longer restrain herself. She bounded from the wall to a perch on Javier's shoulders. She licked his flayed back, and then pierced the lining of his neck. Abby drank her fill of Javier.

Bored following the activities, L'oncle retired to his accommodations. He took charge of one of the crucibles and all of the blankets. The moment was over; his desire was satisfied.

"What about Javier?" Abby asked. "We can't just leave him there. He'll burn when the sun crosses the top of the stack."

"Do what you want," Jean-Louis said. "If he's as strong as he claims, he'll get free – or if you are as weak as you look. As for me, I've mollified my appetite. I need to rest."

The painful cry of the new voice penetrated Abby's thoughts. She was tempted to leave Javier there. In the end, she relented and pulled him in the mill. Not out of weakness, but out of contempt for her uncle. He's a shallow man.

"We will need to get help from other people; the unchanged," Abby said.

"Help?" Jean-Louis replied before his sleep. "We don't need help. We need slaves."

Gabriella Agosto

Just a short while after the disastrous youth group expedition, Gabriella sat in the shelter common room with Billy. Father Erasmus entered the room with a determined stride and a rare, serious expression. "That was not a lot of fun," he said with rueful sarcasm as he sat down at the table. "Is there anything to eat? I never did get any hot dogs."

Gabriella rose to get some cereal while Billy asked, "It seems like we've been waiting here for hours. What have you been up to?"

"I've been trying to settle a dozen angry parents. Let me tell you, that is no small feat."

Gabriella returned with the cereal and placed the bowl and silverware on the table. "What could they expect? We had no idea of what he was capable ... the violence. I'm sure they understood."

Padre crunched through a spoonful of Raisin Bran and took a sip from his coffee. "I'm not upset about Kenny or Owen or whatever his name is. I can always explain sympathy for those considerably less fortunate than us. There is no denying he fits that category. If the parents can't handle that, then they haven't been listening to my sermons." Padre leaned back in his chair with a frown. He pulled out a wad of snuff and placed it in his mouth. A little bit of euphoria glazed across his eyes.

Gabriella was dying hear the story. She wanted to know what happened with the parents ... a little of the parish gossip to whet her appetite. "Well, what were they complaining about? His sodomy insult … his violent streak."

"How can you claim that he is the violent?" Padre asked her. "He did nothing. He just sat there and took it."

Like she was taking a cold shower, goosebumps formed on Gabriella's arm and a tingle ran up her back. "They were complaining about me?" she protested. "Kenny mugged Billy. He ruined Billy's future."

Resigned, Padre answered, "Yes, they were complaining about you. You're the shining example of our parish. The parish pays your college tuition." Tears of exasperation rose in Padre's eyes. "For crying out loud, Gabriella, the vice president of the parish council was out there. They approve all of our spending. That includes your scholarship. He's questioning the wisdom of that investment."

"Of all the nerve," Gabriella said. "Don't listen to him. ¡Él es joto estǘpido! (He is a stupid faggot!) He has never liked me because I'm Mexican."

"I think it's best if I pretend that I don't understand Spanish." Padre said. "With every swing of that stick, you validated his prejudice. I had to explain to a dozen parents why our stellar example of righteousness struck a defenseless homeless youth – right in front of a group middle school students."

"Why didn't you defend yourself?" she asked Billy. "You just accepted it."

"Don't bring me into this," Billy said with an angry scowl irritated. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Please do," Padre said. "I'd like to hear the explanation. Why don't you seem angry about losing your hearing?" Billy sat there quiet for a few minutes. "It's all right," Padre added, "You're among friends."

Billy made a guilty glance toward Gabriella. "Of course I'm angry; but I deserved it," he said. Padre and Gabriella looked at him expecting further explanation. "I used to hang out with a couple of idiots, whose idea of a good time was drinking beer, making ignorant comments to girls, and stealing money." Billy rubbed his chin stammering over the best explanation. "It made us feel better than them … stronger. One time, they stole money from Kenny. I was with them … I was part of it. And worse … I thought it was fun."

"That just makes me feel wonderful," Gabriella said. "Were those friends ever welcome at your house?"

"Sure, all the time."

"That's just great," Gabriella said. "They let violent juvenile delinquents into their home, but not someone who is Catholic."

"Look at the bright side," Padre said. "Maybe you'll be welcome there now." Padre's mind began to wander. Gabriella could see his wheel's spinning. "I've been distracted all day by something Kenny said on the island."

"Yes, Padre?"

"When Kenny first arrived, didn't he say something about a little sister?"

"Yes, now that you mention it, he did. He said she was sick and very contagious. What do you think happened to her?"

"I'm not sure, but out there on that island, he said 'I killed her'. I wonder if Kenny feels responsible for his sister's death. Billy why don't you check on him? See how he is doing?"

A few minutes later Billy returned alone. "He's gone … flew the coop."

"I wonder if he'll ever be back," Padre said. Gabriella was shamed by the expression of blame on his face.

It was already late, well past nightfall. "Can you walk me back to the dorms?" she asked Billy. "I think I need to clear my thoughts."

Owen

Owen wandered aimlessly along the lonely streets of the city craving contact or at least some conversation with Abby. He crossed the Fourth Street Bridge ignoring the view of the island and stared in the direction of the mill. He could feel her. She still lived there, but it was day time. She was sleeping. He felt her anger and hatred radiate through the bond erasing any temptation to stroll into the mill.

He needed to replace his pixie dust. That was all. It would dampen the tremors and quiet the noises in his head – give him a chance to think. Unfortunately, he didn't have any money and he didn't have a ready weapon to smash in glass. He abandoned his tire iron in the mill; snow made rocks difficult to find.

By nightfall, he roamed through most of the familiar east side of the river. He walked by the house on Goat Hill, but it was dark and empty. He found himself near the train station where the nightly festivities were just beginning. Women patrolled the sidewalks prowling for customers just like they used to along D Street. Without the balance provided by the street preacher, the scene was somehow seedier – which didn't prevent cars from stopping and picking up a girl or two.

Replacing the cry of the preacher, an older woman surveyed the sidewalk holding out a large photograph. Owen's heart went out to her. "Has anyone seen my daughter?" she pleaded, but the prostitutes ignored her. "Please, help me find her. My beautiful girl. She goes by the name Moira."

"Hey lady, quiet down! You're scaring away the customers," said one of the streetwalkers. Owen remembered her. She was the lucky one. Her name was Destiny. "Nobody gives a flying fuck about your daughter." Encouraged by the catcalls of her peers, Destiny continued her scorching chastisement. "Go home, old lady. She's found better pastures."

Owen stood in place, observing the altercation. He wanted to help balance the injustice. Destiny had no right to call out the mother like that. She missed her daughter; that was all. But like those who passed by when Owen was begging, he did nothing. It was what he was best at. Someday soon, this mother will realize the futility of her search. Today, all she owned was hope, and Owen wasn't going to defeat that. Stung by the bitterness of his shame he left B Street to roam around other areas of the city.

Before long he found himself positioned at the front door of the Blazing Crescent. The lights inside the store were so dark that he almost didn't recognize it. How long had it been since I was here? Another place and time that belonged to his prehomicidal past. He just stood there trying to decide if he should knock. He noticed the faded printing on the front door – "A Gateway to a New Reality" stenciled beneath the store name. He finally decided that he could use a new reality and pounded on the glass door.

Owen waited for a few minutes before the lights came on in the store, the door swung open. Owen was inundated by an abundance of Selkie. "Owen where have you been? I have been searching all over town for you." She started crying – touching his face and hands like he was a mystical spirit. "The mill was deathly quiet. I didn't know where to find you." She placed her arms around his shoulder and kissed his neck. "I thought you might have traveled to the land of the faerie, but I didn't want to return there."

Owen was stunned by the idea. "Promise me you'll stay away from the mill," he said. He felt the cold tingle of metal ear art countered by warm wet tears dripping on his neck. So upset by his actions, so consumed by thoughts of Abby his mind crowded out Selkie. He whispered, "Sometimes, I don't feel like I belong in this world at all."

"That wonderful," Selkie said wiping away a tear. She withdrew from the embrace. "I feel like that all the time." She fingered his whiskers as if she wasn't sure he was real, and played with the short curls in his hair. "You trimmed your beard," she said. "I'm going to have to make new sketches."

"They cut it at the hospital," Owen said, embarrassed by her fascination.

"You were in the hospital. Are you okay?" she asked worried. "I was certain you stopped coming because you were disgusted by me. I let loose evil on the world. I understand why you couldn't forgive me."

"I've been in the hospital, that's all," Owen said. Of course, the hospital stay was only one night.

"Why didn't you tell us? I would have come to visit."

Owen didn't know how to answer her. He felt warmth of embarrassment rise up his neck and was sure Selkie could see his flushed expression. If she did, she ignored it. "Selkie, I've done a terrible thing. Please don't judge me."

"Why would I judge you?" Selkie wondered. Without giving him the chance to explain she grabbed his hand and pulled him into the shuttered store. "You need to come upstairs," she insisted. "Jane is going to be so excited to see you!"

She wasn't.