Author's Note: If you want a better feel for the song Penance sings in this chapter then a really, really good version of 'Matty Groves' can be found here:

watch?v=NE_NQwzB2so

Just imagine a pipe organ in place of the other instruments, and there you have it.

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"The Woman in the White Mantilla"

Philadelphia – 1984

That Sunday an inspector found pest problems in the church; apparently there were termites working their way into the base of the pews, amongst a few other unsavory things. That Monday the pest company sprayed, and the chemicals were just noxious enough to put all use of the worship space on hold for the time being.

Predictably, this didn't dissuade Penance from skulking about.

That afternoon the boy was again in the organ balcony, only this time he wasn't trying to catch a nap. He sat before the massive organ, balanced on a phone book to keep the right height. The stained glass window far above him highlighted a mischievous smirk on his lips.

Penance lazily extended his hands over the ivory keys and cracked his knuckles. The sound was deafening in the empty hall. He wiggled his fingers, positioning himself just right on his perch, and then he launched into a song, expertly flitting his fingers over the smooth keys as his feet stretched out to work the pedals. After hammering out a rollicking introduction the boy suddenly stopped playing the keys and instead took to banging one hand against the wood paneling on the side of the bench, knocking out a simple rhythm in time with his voice:

"A holiday, a holiday, and the first one of the year

Lord Arlen's wife stepped into the church the gospel for to hear."

The boy quickly returned his fingers to the keys and resumed the melody, keeping his voice precisely in time:

"And when the meeting it was done she cast her eyes about

That's when she spied little Matty Groves walking in the crowd.

'Come home with me little Matty Groves, come home with me tonight.

Come home with me little Matty Groves and sleep with me 'till light!'

'Oh I can't come home— I won't come home— and sleep with you tonight—"

Suddenly another voice interjected: it was a deep male voice, and it boomed from the ground, far below the organ balcony, singing the same melody:

"'By the rings on your fingers I can see you are Lord Arlen's wife!'"

Penance quickly stopped playing, spinning around on the bench. He peered into the darkness below the loft, where the light of the stained glass windows barely pierced. He could make out the shining glimmer of Father Kenaz's steel-rimmed glasses. The man stood amongst the pews, arms crossed, and he looked up at Penance with a gentle smile.

"Having fun, Penance?"

"A little," the boy admitted.

"You play rather well," Kenaz complimented. "Especially since your body is filling up with insecticides even as we speak."

"They're not that dangerous," Penance countered.

"You are aware, Penance, that an 'insecticide' is really just a fancy kind of nerve agent, are you not? Do you know what 'nerve gas' is, by chance?"

Penance crossed his arms and gave off a little grunt; he didn't broadcast whether he knew what Kenaz was talking about or not, but he did show the man that, either way, he was thoroughly unimpressed.

"Let me put it another way," Kenaz said. "If you don't get off that bench and get out of this place immediately then I'm going to grab you by the ear and drag you to the nearest hospital for treatment. By the by: the staff there would almost certainly have some rather difficult questions for you, my child, starting with your home address, the location of your guardian, your next of kin, your social security number..."

He wasn't impressed by the pesticides, but that little threat made just the right impression on him. Penance leapt up off the bench and took the little spiral staircase down into the narthex, just in time to see Kenaz emerge from the worship space. The man locked the doors behind him.

"Are you quite alright?" Kenaz asked.

"Fine," Penance nodded.

"You're quite sure?"

"Maybe a little lightheaded. Actually feels kinda nice, truth be told..."

The priest chuckled:

"I suppose if I left you in there long enough you might've just had a rather intense 'religious experience', my son," the man said. "But I'd rather see you enter God's good graces by your own volition, and not at the hands of a mind-altering poison."

"Six of one," Penance mumbled.

While Kenaz busied himself with locking up the rest of the church's doors Penance wandered outside the building. He put his back to the pillar between the entry doors and craned his head up at the sky, enjoying the rays of the late morning sun. Well, that wasn't all he was enjoying; Penance actually did have just a little bit of a buzz from those chemicals in the church. They made his fingers and toes feel a little numb, and his vision was a little blurry, too. The sunlight overhead was more than just a few golden rays in the sky; it was a fascinating kaleidoscope of colors to his addled brain. He could even 'smell' all the different flavors of light, in a certain way.

His ethereal state soon took him other places, too; Penance found himself getting a little 'meditative' as he stood there, limp body supported by the column. He felt himself falling into that special black pit again, and his head swam as he felt his mind 'reaching out' through the void. The whole experience left him eminently contented.

Until, that is, his drugged out brain suddenly smacked right into another Immortal. Penance was used to feeling another Immortal's presence over many miles, or perhaps as close as a block or two, but this Immortal was a little closer than that.

In fact, he was standing about five feet away from the boy.

Penance pulled his mind back into his body as fast as he could, and when his eyelids flipped open he found himself face-to-face with that curious man from before: that Peter Lorre doppelganger who looked like he was run over by a steamroller. The squat man looked down at the boy with an unseemly smirk on his wrinkled face, jowls sloping down his haggard chin like pleats in a pair of badly-ironed pants. His faded brown eyes beamed with a strange fire to them. Penance couldn't quite place it.

But, to be certain, it was creepy as hell.

"Hi there, li'l sonny!" The man crooned. He reached into his tweed vest, fumbling with something inside. Instantly Penance's hand reached into his back pocket, and he felt the reassuring grip of his little knife.

He was a nanosecond away from yanking out his blade and slashing the man's throat when the codger produced a faux-gold pocket watch from his vest. It was just as well: in his trance-like state Penance had forgotten where, exactly, he was. If he'd done what he was about to do— strike against that man while on the grounds of St. Hubertus— there might've been very little left of Penance in the aftermath. What was left of him could probably be scraped up into a single test tube.

Hell, the rest of the city block could fit in there with him, for that matter.

Steamrolled Peter Lorre surveyed his pocket watch as Penance's heart slowly crawled back down his throat.

"Seems it's time for the 'good news', doesn't it?" The man leered down at the boy, again flashing that strange look. "So what gives, my fine young man?"

Penance licked his lips, trying to find words. Given the paces he just put himself through, however, his voice didn't come out.

The door behind him suddenly slammed shut; Father Kenaz put his key in the lock and twisted it tight, looking over his shoulder with a cursory glance:

"Unfortunately we're doing some maintenance in the worship space at the moment. No masses for the next few days. I hope we'll have everything sorted out by Tuesday, though."

"Ah!" The man raised a fat, gnarled hand in the air and wagged his head. "Isn't that just the luck?"

Kenaz offered his apologies and then took his leave, wishing Penance a good day. The gnomish man in the tweed vest, however, was content to chat the boy up a little bit:

"So, my lad: your name is 'Penance', is it? Quite appropriate, I suppose, for a young and strapping church-worker, isn't it?"

Penance gave a noncommittal shrug, still trying to find his voice. His muteness seemed to amuse the man more than anything:

"Now, now, my boy, we aren't shy, are we? That'll never do, will it? Why, there's simply no need to be shy!" Again the man went into his vest, and again Penance's heart went up into his throat.

It was a very agile little organ.

The man licked his lips, eyes scrunched in concentration as he fumbled through his pockets. Finally his face brightened, and he pulled out a Hershey bar from his vest.

"Ah, now here we are. Well, I guess there's no work for you here today, is there, my boy? Doesn't mean you can't still have a bite, or two..."

He held out the candy bar for Penance, but the boy kept his distance, eyeing the man suspiciously:

"Who says I work here?" Penance said.

The man chuckled, wagging his head:

"Oh, it's alright, sonny. I've noticed you, I have. Doin' odd jobs about the church, working with that burly fellow in the kitchen, slinging soup for the line."

"Don't remember you in the soup line..."

"Ah, no. But I'm just... well, observant, let's say. 'Specially when it comes to the matter of such a very hard young worker, m'boy. And you are a hard worker, I warrant. An' I just think, well, a hard worker should get himself a reward. Isn't that right?"

The man wagged the candy bar before Penance's face until, slowly, Penance took it, making sure that his fingers didn't make any contact with the man's skin. He pulled his hand back with force, as if the man's hand were a roiling stovetop. Penance gently turned the bar over in his hands.

"I prefer Good & Plenty," he muttered.

"Eh? What's that?"

Penance looked the man in the eyes:

"I said 'thanks'."

Again the man licked his lips, nodding appreciatively.

"You know, boy, if it's work you're looking for, well, I have my share of odd chores to have done around my own place. The work wouldn't be too demanding for you, I'm certain. And the pay, well, it would be well worth your time, I'm sure..."

Penance's eyes darted about as he considered a proper response to this. He cursed himself as he couldn't think of one on the fly; it took him several seconds.

"I'd... uh, have to ask Daniel— Father Kenaz— to make sure it was okay—"

"Ah, but, well, er..." The man gestured with his hands in a 'slow down' motion, looking over his shoulder briefly. "Now, there's no need to involve the good father in all this. I only meant, of course, if you could find the time, I could certainly find the reward for it. And I know you'd very much enjoy that reward..."

"I'll bet," Penance mumbled. He took a deliberate step backward, shying closer to the church door. The Peter Lorre look-alike clasped his hands and smiled at Penance:

"Again, only think about it, sonny. Just think about it..."

Penance watched the man toddle off, and then the boy quickly leapt up the church wall, scrambling his shoes against the rough stone. He vaulted into the cemetery and lay against the wall, catching his breath.

That was it, no question. Penance was done with this place. He'd leave tomorrow, and very early. He had enough canned food to last him a while. Long enough, at least. It was almost more than he could carry, actually. Heck, with what happened back there Penance felt he could sprint with a thousand pounds strapped to his back. It wasn't just prudent that he get out of here, now it was an absolute necessity.

And what was with that guy, anyway? How the heck did Mister Steamrolled Peter Lorre figure Penance out like that? Or was he just guessing? Impossible! Just what did he know, exactly? Had Penance somehow given himself away?

The boy snarled and wagged his head; yeah, he had, somehow. That was really the only explanation. With all this sullen moping he was indulging in recently he'd lost sight of his number one goal: survival. And the minute he loses sight of that, Penance thought, was the minute he'd fall ill with a really nasty case of 'decapitation'.

He had to be careful now, and more so than usual. Penance got control over his racing mind, and he had enough sense now to place that strange glimmer in the man's eyes. Penance knew very well what it was: hunger, pure and simple.

And if Penance wasn't clear of this neighborhood by sunup then he'd wind up an entrée.

X

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X

He tossed and turned that night, unable to get himself into a comfortable position against the rough rock of the tombstone at his back. It didn't help that it was far colder that night, so cold that even Vanki made an offhand suggestion that Penance should go ahead and curl up in his kitchen for the night.

"After all," the man told him, "you are Lumi Korvat (snow-ears), no? And not Jää Korvat (ice-ears), right?"

If it sounds like there's not much difference in those two terms one must keep in mind that Finland's a pretty cold country, and their ability to describe cold things is pretty nuanced. Penance could remember at least fifteen different Finnish words for 'snow', and nearly as many for 'ice'. Hell, nearly half the Finnish language was built around ways to either describe things that are cold, or to complain about them.

Penance declined Vanki's offer, however generous. And it was pretty generous. From anyone else it was a simple off-hand act of charity, but from someone like Vanki this offer was on par with Ebenezer Scrooge not only paying all the costs to treat Tiny Tim's illness at the beginning of A Christmas Carol, but also opening up his entire mansion as a non-profit children's hospital before the first ghost even paid him a visit.

Admittedly it'd be a different story, then. Maybe the ghosts would have to lecture Scrooge on the spirit of capitalism, instead. Probably wouldn't be as much of a page-turner.

"Well," Penance mumbled to himself, "you could change the Ghost of Christmas Future's name to 'John Galt' and have him stand up and lecture Scrooge for over 70 straight pages..."

Yeah, definitely not as much of a page-turner.

Penance chastised his wandering mind and put his face up against the tombstone, huddling himself even tighter against the rock. He tried to clear his head, readying himself for sleep, but still he could find no rest. Finally, after nearly an hour of frustrated tossing and turning, Penance got to his feet and dusted himself off. He'd have to try wandering about a little, hoping that a little exercise might weaken his racing thoughts.

When he got to his feet he noticed something very strange. It seemed that a small bank of fog was forming along the fringes of the cemetery. It was thick enough to totally obscure the unfinished library next door, and the mist wasn't content to stay on the cemetery fringes, either. Soon it snaked over the grass, tumbling amongst tombstones, and when it lapped at the boy's feet Penance noticed a certain chill to it.

"I've never seen such crappy weather outside of Scotland," he grumbled.

The boy ambled about, at times having to wave the fog away from his face to see where he was going. The starlight overhead soon changed in color; the cold white light of the moon was replaced with a sickly purple hue, and the color mixed into the fog like bucket of puke thrown into a swirling Jacuzzi.

He couldn't help it: Penance had to laugh at that poetic image, a little.

That laughter brought him to the attention of another body wandering the cemetery, and that figure emerged from the mist, coming right up to Penance's side. This body didn't even reach the boy's waist, however, seeing as how it walked on four paws.

Penance blinked at the fox, and the fox stared right back up at him.

"You're a long ways from home, aren't you, foxy?" Penance mumbled.

The fox cocked its head:

"We're one to talk, aren't we?"

Penance squinted at the animal, and then he looked at his surroundings, which were quickly becoming enveloped in even stronger mist, with an even more purple hue.

"Oh," Penance muttered. "It's one of those, isn't it?" The boy stared down at his feet, and then he balled his fists, scrunching his face tightly. This made the fox tilt its head in the other direction:

"Are we... constipated?"

Penance opened his eyes, glaring down at the fox:

"No. 'We' are trying to fly."

The fox looked Penance up and down, noting his lack of progress getting off the ground:

"We cannot, it seems."

Penance stopped his efforts, and he shrugged:

"Sometimes 'we' can, in these situations."

"Situations?" The fox said.

"Dreams. At the very least I should be able to shoot laser beams from my eyes. Leap around like a kangaroo, maybe. This dream's kind of a gyp..."

"Oh. We are dreaming, are we?"

"What do you think?"

The fox slowly looked all around the cemetery, its hazel eyes blinking observantly:

"That seems probable," it nodded.

"Glad you agree." Penance wandered around the tombstones, blinking into the fog. "Well, I don't get any superpowers. Can't even see anything. What the heck do I get to do in this dream, huh?"

"We might know," the fox said. "Perhaps we should find the woman in white?"

Penance looked back at the animal, squinting.

"Huh? The 'woman in white'? What?"

"Yes. Admittedly, she isn't near at hand. In fact, she's a long ways from us, I think. But, then again, maybe she is closer..."

"What're you talking about?"

A sound rose in the mist: it was a deep and mournful cooing, kinda like a bereaved owl, or something. It warbled in the air, fading as it cooed, and Penance couldn't even tell when, exactly, the sound died out, if it ever actually did.

The fox leapt up on a tombstone, moving for the opposite side of the cemetery. It looked back at Penance, and its eyes were wide:

"Be not afraid," it said. "There's really no need. Or, I guess, do be afraid, if you think there is a need..."

The animal bounded over several tombstones, and it disappeared into the mist.

Penance scowled at the retreating animal, shaking his head. He faced the opposite way and stared walking. The mist grew thicker as he moved; he could almost taste the stale vapors in the air, and he could feel the mist curling down his throat as he drew breath. It was suffocating. His legs felt a little like lead, and a deep weight seemed to pull down on his stomach the further he moved into the mist. He passed by that timeworn gravestone— the one without a name— and just as he should have bumped right into the side of St. Hubertus he found himself somewhere very different.

The ground dropped off into an infinite abyss; grass and soil simply disappeared, exposing a vast, unending emptiness yawning out into the dark. All along the fringes of that dark plunge a host of fireflies danced in the void, their bodies shimmering with plainly impossible colors. Penance leaned over that drop and carefully surveyed the scene. For a moment— just a brief moment— he thought that sight was just about as good as having superpowers.

And that's when he suddenly realized that he wasn't alone.

A body stirred beside the boy. At first it was bathed in shadow, but then the darkness seemed to part around it, much like a curtain rising off a stage. A woman gazed out at the void, much like Penance did. She was clothed in a white dress, very fancy, with lace and frills abounding over every possible inch. There was something sticking out the back of her collar, pointing into to air and rising above her head. It was like a giant white comb, and its prongs pointed straight up into the air. Penance recognized the device: it was a peineta. Along with that, dangling off the tips of the combs, was a covering of delicate white lace. It was translucent, bunched up all around the woman's hair like a shawl, falling down partially over her forehead.

"A mantilla?"

The woman slowly turned her head and looked at Penance. Hers was a face he surely didn't recognize. He thought she was very beautiful, though. Her eyebrows were thin and delicate, curved just right for her face, like tiny slices of black crescent moons. Her eyes were radiant blue things, with a certain golden luster in the edges, like a still shot of fresh seawater pounding the shore. In her lips there was only warmth, and when she gave him a small smile Penance felt his face burning with a curious flush.

Yeah, hers was a face that Penance didn't know. Of course, in his time Penance had forgotten far more faces than one could imagine.

But this face? No. It was definitely one he would've remembered.

The woman's small smile fell away, and she reached out to Penance with one calm, deliberate hand. The boy's first instinct was to do nothing, but then he felt a slow and steady burning in his legs. He looked down and found the host of fireflies buzzing all around him, their luminous bodies scorching his skin as they touched him. Penance leapt back, shooing the things off his skin, and then the woman in white began moving after him, stepping with purposeful strides.

The fireflies grew more aggressive, and Penance screamed as they began swarming his arms and his neck, singing his flesh as they went. He struggled to move away, fully enveloped by the swarm, and as he struggled to escape them that mysterious woman continued pursuing him.

All at once the ground fell out from under Penance's feet. The boy tumbled down, coming to rest in an ominous, dark hole. He looked up only to find that unmarked gravestone looming overhead. Now, however, that tombstone had a name etched into it, and the letters were cut very deep into the rock:

"'PENANCE CAMERON'."

A sea of fireflies swarmed above him, blocking out the sky. When they parted, however, there was only the woman in white, and she was leaning down over the hole, hand outstretched, leering at the boy with purposeful eyes.

Penance screamed as her hand came down over his throat, and when her fingers finally touched his skin—

X

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X

This time he did awaken with a start, and his whole body lunged with a terrible spasm.

Unfortunately he was huddled up against a tombstone, so his head went straight into the rock. Penance saw stars, and he nearly lost consciousness again.

But, when he thought about having to face that horrible woman again, Penance found enough strength to stay awake.

He rolled onto his back, eyes vacant and wide, and he panted. He looked up at the tombstone, atop which Galabeg perched, eyeing the boy vacantly.

"What a bitch, right?"

He managed shallow breaths, still orienting himself to time. Despite his little night terror he'd slept quite long; it would be dawn in less than half an hour, from the look of things. Penance gathered his gear together, taking one last inventory of his provisions, and lastly he bundled Galabeg into the inner pocket of his backpack.

"Guess escaping Philly'll be a lot easier than escaping my own nightmares, huh?" He chuckled uneasily.

Here Penance was wrong: escaping the St. Hubertus neighborhood alive would not be easier than escaping his own nightmares.

In fact, it would be a nightmare in and of itself.