Chapter 5:Vaticide
Jake was exhausted. Thirteen hours was far too long for anybody to work, especially someone in the high stress area of police work. Usually he could pull off everything that needed to get done in a standard eight hours, less than that actually if you considered the amount of time they goofed off. But that was with Sara pulling her share, and sometimes more. Now he was alone and overwhelmed and had wasted half the day worrying about her.
As he pulled out his keys he noticed something. Sitting on the floor right next to his door was a goldenrod envelope with a rectangular bulge in it. As soon as Jake picked up the package he realized that someone had left him a video and as soon as he pooped it into the VCR he realized it was more for Sara than it was for him.
Her phone rang eight times before she answered, and when she did her voice sounded thin, strained, like she had been crying. "Yeah?"
"Sara, I've got something you've gotta see."
"Jake," she said, as if she were a mother with a headache addressing a small, annoying child. "I'm not up to . . ."
"Sara it's serious, it's about Gabriel."
"Gabriel?" Sara said, her voice was trembling.
"There was a tape out my front door," Jake explained. "He's on it."
"He's on it?" She sounded like she was going to cry.
"Are you alright?" he asked compassionately.
"I'm fine," she insisted, pulling herself together. "I can be there in about twenty minutes."
"Ok," Jake said, a bit uncertainly. "You sure you're alright to travel?"
"Of course I am," Sara snapped. "I'll be right there." She hung up the phone, leaving Jake to feel sick again, it was a feeling he never quite got used to.
* * *
"Hey Chief," Gabriel said. The young man looked like hell, or more accurately, like he had been drawn through hell. The whites of his eyes were such a bright red that they seemed to be glowing, Jake wondered how he could possibly be keeping them open. The skin around his eyes seemed to be red too, Jake recognized it as a rash that usually developed after being sprayed by quality mace. He now understood how they could have kidnaped him so effectively, there would have been no way for him to fight if he were blind. There was blood on his face too, it looked like someone had punched him, and a cut on his forehead somehow lost in his bangs, was creating a red river down the side of his face. But the most striking thing about Gabriel was how calm he was. He kept his eyes trained on a point behind the camera, assumably the kidnappers, and only glanced at the screen occasionally, as if to make a point. "They, ah they want me to read off this card which is totally ridiculous. You'd know I was only telling you what they wanted me to and it would only piss you off more. I tried to explain that to them but, ah you can see where that got me. They want you to know that this is your fault," he looked at the camera, it felt to Jake as if the boy was looking directly at him, seeing his part of the crime, comprehending his guilt. "But it's nat," he coughed. "Sorry, I mean it's not," he glanced away again. "They also want you feel helpless, which is absolutely ridiculous, because you're not helpless Sara, I know that. And I'm not helpless either." He looked at Jake with his piercing red eyes again, " I mean this situation, it's Toph." He coughed again, "Tough." He looked down at his hand for a moment. "They ah, probably don't want me to tell you this, but I think you should know." When he looked at the camera again his eyes weren't afraid, but they were filled with a determined bravery. Jake couldn't understand how a kid so young could be so unafraid. "They're not gonna kill me, they're not that stupid. But I have an awful lot of bones and, ah, there's a high probability that a bunch of them will be in more than one piece." Jake could feel Sara choke back a sob. He turned his head and saw that she was trembling, holding back tears, for the rest of the video message. "So this is probably gonna lead to a broken jaw or something but you do what you have to do. No matter what, Sara.," he actually managed to crack a smile. "I've got nothin' left to lose."
The tape ended like that, with Gabriel smiling, as if he were in total control of the situation. And then nothing but white static. "That's it," Jake said, grabbing his remote and switching off the TV. "There's nothing else on here." He glanced at Sara, who was sitting next to him and saw that she wasn't paying any attention to him. Her eyes were closed, yet tears still seemed to be able to force their way through and stream down her cheeks. One of her hands covered her mouth, but choked sobs were still coming through, and her other hand was wrapped around her waist, as if to hold her steady, but she couldn't keep herself from shaking.
"Sara," Jake said compassionately, sliding next to her and wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders and he pulled he to himself. "Shhh, shhhh, it'll be ok."
Sara didn't fight Jake's comforting touch, instead she let him place her head on his shoulder and stroke her hair. Having Sara in his arms would have been paradise for Jake if it weren't for the fact that he knew the situation was engineered. She was drowning, without a life vest, and Jake didn't have one to throw at her. He did what he could, he tried to comfort her.
"We'll get him back, we'll find these people. Gabriel's a smart kid, I'm sure if we watch the tape again we'll find he left us some clues. And, and the phone company, you can't just hide a number, I'll take some work but we'll find these bastards and get Gabriel back."
"I can't," Sara muttered, her head was buried in his shoulder, so what she said was barely understandable.
"What do you mean you can't?"
"I'm alone, I can't alone," she cried.
"Hey, hey," Jake said, pulling Sara away from him so that he could look her in the eyes. He hadn't known her for long, but he had known her in situations much like this and she had never lost it like this. Even when Conchabar was killed she hadn't displayed this kind of hopelessness and helplessness. "You're not alone," he said forcefully. "I'm with you. I've got your back."
Sara looked at Jake, her lower lip trembling, her eyes lined with tears. He had never, never wanted her to feel like that and he would do anything to make it stop. "You don't understand."
"I want to."
Sara just shook her head, maybe she meant that it didn't matter, maybe she meant that he wouldn't be able to. She took some deep breaths, tried to pull herself together, only partially succeeding, and pushed away from Jake. "I gotta get going."
"No," Jake said. His voice was a wall that, usually, she would be able to knock down with a look. But tonight she couldn't, she felt like she didn't have any strength left. "You're in no condition to be wandering the streets. You're staying here. Until we find Gabriel this is your home."
"It's too risky, Dante could . . ."
"Sara, going outside in the state you're in now is too risky. You can't think, you can barely even breath. You're staying here."
Sara didn't say anything, she just nodded and complied as he led her to his bed and helped her take her shoes off. It was like taking care of a child, Jake thought, as he tucked her in, and he wondered what on earth could take the strongest women he knew and make her crumble before him like paper.
***
"Toph," Nat said, her voice raising to an almost innocent sounding question.
"Yeah," he muttered, his head was buried in the pillow. They had to get up and work in the morning, keep up appearances until they had enough cash to disappear to the Virgin Islands and live like royalty.
"What are we going to do with him?"
"Who?"
"The guy we kidnaped."
"I don't care."
"Well, are we gonna kill him?"
"I don't know."
"Are we just going to let him go?"
"We're going to do whatever our client wants us to."
"But he didn't really want to get the man in the cage, right? He wanted to get the guys girlfriend Sara?"
"Yeah,"
"So maybe he'll just let him go."
"So?"
"So then, what if he can identify us, you know? He could call the cops and tell them who we are."
"He doesn't know who we are."
"Yeah, but he could give them our description," she was sitting up in bed, and working herself into a panic, Toph just wanted to smack her.
"If you're so worried about this why don't I just cut out his eyes?"
"Seriously?"
"Sure, why not?"
"That could work," she said slowly. "But then what if he described us to the police or something?"
"Fine I'll cut out his tongue too."
"Get out."
"His eyes and his tongue or we'll kill him."
"You're serious?"
"Dead serious, dead tired," he said, burring his head in the pillow. "Don't worry Nat."
"Ok," she said, taking a deep breath and snuggling back into the warm covers. "Ok," she muttered as she drifted of to peaceful dreams.
***
Sara was being led through a mob of people screaming at the tops of their lungs in some horrible, guttural language. She recognized it as English, but still, she could only understand one of the sharp words that assaulted her ears, 'witch!' She had been told by a priest that it meant sorcerer, and that that was what she was. She had tried to explain to the priest that she was not a witch, that she was just a simple girl from Orleans and that God had given her a gift. She was not vain, she did not think that all the French victories she had overseen were a result of her particular cleverness, she was only a girl, what could she possibly know about war? She admitted that there was a supernatural force behind her, any fool could see that. But it wasn't the devil, it was God. God wanted France to be free, and as proof of his will he had chosen an innocent country girl to lead the army. The English priest didn't believe her, he called her a witch and said that, to save her soul, she must be burned at the stake. Sara started crying, she was so confused. She believed in the priesthood, she believed in the holiness and authority of Christ as manifested in these black-cloaked men. And yet, here was one such man telling her that her gift had not been from God, it had been from the devil. She felt obligated to believe him, yet she knew he must be wrong. If only her gift had not been stolen from her she would have been able to transform into her true self, a holy warrior, right before his eyes.
But she no longer had her gift, which was the true point of her uncertainty. If God had really meant for her to do what she had done, would he have let the English take her gift away? What if the sword of righteousness really was a sword of the Devil? What if the English priest was right?
These doubts crippled Sara's spirit as she was led to the pile of brush and kinder that would be her grave. Her faith in God and in what she had done was still vibrant, but she didn't want to even try and fight back or escape for fear that her faith might be misplaced. If that were true and she had, somehow, unwittingly, been the tool of evil, she wanted those sins burned off of her, no matter what the cost.
The priest who had told her she was a sorceress was standing in front of her as she was tied to the post. He yelled to the crowd in the messy grunts and howls that composed the English language, if it could even be called a language. The crowd screamed and the priest turned to her, speaking a mangled half-French with an English accent. "Do you confess to being a witch and the murderer of thousands of godly Englishmen?"
"I am a servant of God," she said. The words, so simple, so elegant, spoken in beautiful French, tasted like honey on her lips.
"Than you deny these charges and align yourself with the king of liars, Lucifer himself, who gave you the power to commit these heinous deeds!"
"I have done what I have done by God's will alone."
"Then God alone will have mercy on you," the priest said, then he spat on her. The crowed cheered and, as soon as the priest was a safe distance away from the pile of wood and brush, it was lit.
"God forgive them," Sara said as she smelt the first wisps of smoke. "And God forgive me for any transgressions against your spirit."
She started reciting the 23rd Psalm, but soon she could not speak for coughing.
***
It sounded like Sara was dying. Screams were mixed with violent fits of coughing the likes of which Jake had never heard before. As he bounded up the stairs two at a time his mind searched for possibilities. She could have been drowning, which seemed impossible, or surrounded by fire, which also seemed implausible, or very, very, sick, which seemed possible, or having a hellish nightmare, which was likely. And indeed, when he burst into the bedroom, she was safe, relatively, writhing in the sheets, consumed by some nightmare. "Sara," he said, hoping to pull her out of it. "Sara, Sara wake up!"
He climbed onto the bed and grabbed her by the shoulder's and holding her still. "Sara!"
Her bright green eyes snapped open and were filled with such a terror that, for a moment, Jake felt afraid. Sara pitched forward, leaning on Jake's shoulder and gasping for breath. "It's ok," Jake said, his voice shaking a little as he put his arms around her and started stroking her silky brown hair. "Shhhh, shhhh, you're safe, it's fine." He could feel his t-shirt slowly become damp as tears flowed out of her eyes, but she wasn't sobbing, she didn't have enough breath for that. "That must have been one hell of a dream."
"It was real," Sara said, her voice was scratchy from yelling so loud. "All my dreams are real."
Jake didn't know quite what to make of that so he just continued stroking her head. "What was it about?" he asked, hoping his voice sounded kind.
"I was Joan of Arc. I was alone."
"Joan of Arc?" Jake said, licking his lips and racking his brain to remember who that was. "Didn't she save France?"
"Only to be burned at the stake by the English."
"You dreamed you were being burned at the stake?"
"I was," Sara said, knowing a dream that vibrant had to be real. Then she remembered what Elizabeth Bronte had said about time, how every moment is infinite, even the horrible ones. "I am."
"Shhhh," Jake soothed, stroking her hair, discounting her revelation as the mutterings of a very frightened person. "It's ok. Everything's gonna be Ok."
They both stayed in his bed the rest of the night, she didn't want to be alone and he wouldn't dream of leaving her. Eventually, they both drifted into a shallow doze, and then a more substantial sleep, neither of them realizing the suggestiveness of the situation and both of them too tired to care.
***
When Sara woke up she could smell bacon. She wanted to roll over in bed and tumble back to sleep, because, at least then, the hollow, empty aloneness that filled her hurt just a little less. But her stomach was also hollow and empty, so she rolled out of bed and started heading downstairs.
From the door of Jake's bedroom the entire apartment was visible, she could see the bacon sizzling in a cast iron pan on the stove and Jake sitting in the living room watching the TV. He had the remote in one hand, a pen in the other. He was taking notes on the tape they had watched last night, writing down everything he said, noting where he was looking when, and trying to listens for sounds that might betray where the victim was being held. This was what good cops did, Sara thought as she looked at Jake's dedication. I should be down there with him, I should be the one to save Gabriel. She was, after all, the reason he had been kidnaped. Sara wanted to go down the stairs, she really did, but something held her back. It felt like someone was holding her heart in an iron grip. So instead of going and helping Jake do the job she knew she should, she sat on the stairs and curled herself in a ball, her head on her knees, watching. After a couple of minutes the sizzling bacon started to smell less appetizing and more burnt, Jake didn't seem to notice.
"Hey," she said, her voice raw and scratchy. "The bacon might be done."
"Hey," Jake said, looking up from the TV. "Thanks." He slowly got up and walked towards her up the stairs, ignoring the bacon. "You alright?"
"Yeah," she said, softly. "Fine."
"You weren't fine last night."
Sara didn't say anything, she just, somehow, managed to pull further into herself.
"You've gotta open up," Jake said, kneeling down on the stairs in front of her. "Whatever's going on you can trust me."
"No, I can't."
"Sara.."
"No, Jake, I can't."
Jake nodded, "Fine, fine," he said kindly. "I just want to help you."
Sara considered that for a moment, "I'm so frightened," she confessed. "All the time, I'm so frightened."
"Of what?"
Sara laughed bitterly, "What do you think? I'm being hunted by the White Bulls, I can't even go home, my friends are being kidnaped by people who don't even have the dignity to ask for a ransom. The world's against me, Jake, and I am so scared."
"I got your back, Sara," Jake promised. "We will get through this, together."
"I'm all alone,"
"No," Jake said forcefully, "No your not, I'm with you."
Sara looked up at him, the weight of the world was on her shoulders, and more fear than she had ever dreamed she could feel was behind her eyes. "You're not enough."
To Be Continued . . .
Dear Reader,
I've had an extremely hard week. I've had to tune in no less than two papers over ten pages each (and I would have had to turn in a third if my professor had not been a huge softy and pushed back the due date for a second time). I've had to totally re-read Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone so I could write a review for the movie at the school news paper. I've had to tally surveys for my day job and sort slippers for my night job. Add to that time with friends and family and I think we'll all agree that I've had to do a lot this week. And yet, I still found time (whether it be on the bus as I rode from one job to another, or in class while I was supposed to be taking notes, or during times when I should have been writing my papers) to create this fan-fic.
I'm not telling you this so you feel sorry for me, I set my own schedule, crazy as it is. I just want you to know I'm busy, extremely bussy. As I'm sure you're busy. That having been said, and with full understanding that this is by no means a brilliant piece of fiction, or even fan-fiction, don't you think you could take a couple of seconds out of your day to review it? I mean, wow, with the exception of Iceani, no one's commented on the last chapter. I'm discouraged. Do you know how long it takes to write approximately 3,000 words?
So, with the full support of Meghan (the most wonderful roommate anyone has ever had, who edits these stories and saves you from my abysmal spelling and damned run-on sentences and who is also disheartened -- the word strike has crossed her lips . . .) I'm going to barrow the review-o-saurus and demand that I get at least ten reviews until I post the next chapter. It's a holiday weekend, I don't think it's asking that much.
Is this begging, yes. But, I hope, begging with an air of dignity.
Sincerely
Harri Vane
