The night air was unmoving, with a humidity that tried to supress any expression of energy, the kind of permeating stillness that created a very heavy silence. I was late getting home, Professor Beauchamp had kept me busy today, and time had melted like snow under a summer sun. Being not particularly athletic, the walk home in the muggy weather with a heavy book laden backpack was causing me to sweat. The moisture laden air was good at muffling sound, but every so often the rapid buzz of a mosquitoe would would flitter past me. With my hands grasping the shoulder straps to ease some of the weight on my back, I continued my slow pace home. The humidity up in Montreal, like everywhere else east of the Rockies had a way of sapping you, and when walking is like swimming you could forget running.
Professor Andre Beauchamp, a teacher at St. Ignatius High School. He was dark haired French man in his early forties, with a sharp mind, and tongue; who was known for being hard on the students. He had mentored me for the past year, ever since the first day in his theology class. That day he saw something in me, some spark begged to be stoked into a fire. Even though the school year had been over with for several months I continued to study with him. Often when I came to learn from him he would speak of my potential, a word I would grow to disdain. "Ian," he would say to me, his Parisian accent a slight hint on his voice, "Ian, in you I forsee a future of promise. It is your duty to yourself that the promise becomes fulfilled."
Though Beauchamp was brilliant, he was slightly absent minded when it came to affairs of a more immediate physical nature. Luckily his wife, Marie, was not. During the hours I would spend reading some large text on theology or philosophy, and then discuss them with my mentor, it was she who would sweep in at the exact moment my hunger pains would begin and offer me something to eat. I would thank her profusely, and all the while she would give a magnificent dimpled smile to me, and her husband. Andre would give her a warm smile, then take the glass of lemonade, and a small dish with cheese, crackers, and liver pate.
I was perhaps a content adolescent, but I was not decidedly happy, though who ever is? Studious as I was I did not fit in with the more robust French-Canadian boys who would compete in rugby and soccer during the warm months, and hockey when the snows had come. I had friends despite my bookish nature, I think it was my friendly manners, and that I was a good listener. It was common for my mother's friends to comment of how I was handsome like an angel. By virtue of my good looks it was that the girls in my grade found me attractive, but I was a bit too introverted to notice and keep their attention. It wasn't until later that someone would note that I looked like sun god Apollo of Greek mythology. I dreaded my lessons, more for the challenge they posed than for a dislike of the Professor. My parents, however, were ecstatic over my tutelage, and the possibilities it could give me. They envisioned me to one day be a success, something they could brag about, they could be proud of. God help me I wanted
to be an object of their pride more than anything, though I would not admit it to myself.
Today had been another lesson, though far more esoteric than any he had given to me before. "What can change the nature of reality?" he had asked me without warning, as I slung my backpack on. I was taken aback, and looked at my, my mouth slightly open. He smiled at me knowingly and then ushered me out the door telling me to think upon it. He was asking a fifteen year old boy about the nature of reality? The question he asked was not one of my normal thoughts, even in any of his other lessons. As the Professor would say, the query had left me with l'esprit d'escalier, all those clever and witty things you can only think up only as you walk away. As I trod through the liquid air towards home, my mind struggled over that question, trying to make out some intelligent response to it in my mind so that I could impress him tomorrow. With the question ruling my thoughts I never noticed the black car until it pulled beside me.
With a hiss the window slide down, and out came a woman's voice of pure honey, "Excuse me? Excuse me, are you Ian Mackenzie." With my mind yanked back to the world around me, I blinked and turned my head towards the source of the voice. You weren't supposed to talk to strangers, especially if they knew your name, but few people follow that rule. The response to the woman's question never made it from my throat, my eyes were being graced by a vision of the divine. With an audible gulp, and a silent 'Thank you God,' in my mind, I nodded as suavely as I could muster. Her sensual lips smiled, and a slim hand extended from the window towards me. I stared down at her outstretched hand for a moment, before I remembered what I was supposed to do with it. I took her hand lightly, hoping she wouldn't notice my sweaty palm.
"Y-y-yes I am Ian," I stammered, gulping again. Oh Father I thank you for this blessing I am about to receive.
"Good, I had hoped to meet you, personally," she cooed, throwing an emphasis on that word that caused me to fight off a shudder. "I am Rosalynn," she smiled warmly at me, almost seeming to purr. Her head lifted a bit, and I could see the silver crucifix hanging from a chain around her long, perfect neck. For some reason seeing the crucifix caused a slither of something over my mind, I couldn't quite explain it, though it was a bit disconcerting, and it made me release her hand, and take a step back. In response she frowned, oh Mary Mother of God even that was achingly beautiful. "Is something wrong Ian?" she asked, her head cocking to the side.
"N-no. Nothing is wrong Miss Rosalynn," I replied, shaking my head with the grace of a rock. She smiled again, and my heart beat faster, and I started to sweat more. Her eyes took on a knowing glimmer as she looked me over, and then those dark, lovely, and hungry eyes burned into me. "Oh... it's uh hot isn't it?" I asked quavery voiced, a hand lifted up and brushing my hair from damp forehead. If my voice broke I would have died of pure embarassment, all blood leaving to fuel the redness in my face and neck.
"Yes Ian, it is," that knowing smile still on her face. Those burning eyes of hers locked onto mine whenever she spoke, and I felt utterly naked before her. That feeling alone caused my heart to do acrobatics in my chest.
"Back Succubus!" It was Professor Beauchamp's voice, loud and harsh. It cut through the haze that I was plunged in. His hand closed over my shoulder, and he pulled me roughly away from the car, and from Rosalynn. Glancing up to the Professor I saw that his gaze was not on me, but on Rosalynn, and it was filled with steel.
"Oh Succubus is it? Feh! Can't think of anything better Andre?" She laughed softly, and it sounded like silver bells twinkling. Then her eyes flicked to me, and something rushed from the shadows and wrapped around my left arm. It was like a tentacle, my eyes went wide in revulsion, it's grip painfully tight, and I dropped to the ground, my right hand grabbing at some grass. "Go Andre, or I will kill the boy. There are others, the Masters do not need him," again she purred, though there was a clear image of menace in her words, a promise. Her lips were smiling now, the triumphant smile of a cat with a dead plaything before her.
Beauchamp looked to me, as I glanced to him, my own eyes wide with fear. "Better death than servitude to your Infernal masters slave!" he almost roared it. His hand gripped a cross as he turned his gaze back to her. In response the tentacle lifted me up until my legs dangled, by now it encircled up most of my arm, I could it's hot, slimy skin writhe against mine.
"Mother Mary please protect me from evil," I mumbled this repeatedly, my eyes clenching shut, tears forming a river down my cheeks. I could dimly hear Rosalynn making an amused snort at my pleas to the Virgin. Then something happened, I do not know what, but somewhere within me resolve formed, my eyes opened and I looked to Rosalynn yelling out, "No!" And I felt... I felt my mind lash out at hers, for a moment she seemed dazed, as if she had been slapped. The Professor seemed surprised as well, though Rosalynn recovered faster, and the tentacle sprouted sharp growths. I shouted in surprise and pain, though it soon became a scream as the appendage gave a sudden fierce squeeze. It was my exclamation of suffering that brought Beauchamp's wits about.
"Burn in Hell!" he almost commanded, and her car exploded into a ball of fire. I barely remember anything after that, except for falling to the ground, and the Professor beside me, yelling at me, his hands on me shaking me. Then reality was devoured by a cold sea of darkness.
Consciousness returned, and my eyelids parted slowly, then immediately closed again at the afternoon sun that was far too bright for me. My body stirred, my dry lips opened and I licked at them with a dry tongue. Croaking softly, a hand surrounded my right hand, and my mothers voice comforted me. Slowly eyes fluttered open and I looked to her, smiling wanly, happy to see her, and my father behind her, happy be alive. Though they smiled at my awakening, it was sad smiles. I looked at them curiously, and then they told me. A car had accidentally swerved, and hit a tree. Being the kind person I was I raced to check on the young woman in the car. Then it exploded, damaging my left arm so much that it had to be amputated. As they told me, the memories of what had happened came back in a deluge to my mind, and I bit my tongue, looking up at their faces, knowing that they would not believe what had really happened, and would simply pass it off as injuries. They stayed and comforted me until a doctor came in and ushered them out as visiting hours were over. Conciousness fled once more.
Later, I do not know how much later, I was roused again. This time it was by the familiar voice of Professor Beauchamp, and once more I was greeted with a sad smile, one with a paternal note to it. Reaching down he tousled my hair. Almost immediately I murmured out, "Knowing that the nature of reality can be changed..." He was taken aback by my statement, and then he smiled again nodding.
"So Ian, you've taken the first step towards fulfilling your potential, I am sorry there had to be so much suffering in this lesson. I wish it could have been done any other way." A sigh followed his words, and he looked down for a moment. "I promise those traitorous barabbi bastards will be left out of the Reconciliation... no matter what!" His voice shook with held in rage, and a vow to carry through with it. Then he pulled up a chair beside the bed, and started to tell me the truth. I didn't know then that he would to make a deal with some of our greatest foes to destroy others of the Chorus that had fallen to serve Infernal beings. I did not know what it would cost him to keep the promise. Had I known, I would have released him from it then and there at my bedside.
I don't like to lie, not to myself, and not to another. Though when people ask me about my arm I have to tell them the lie that my parents told me, the lie they believe. And so it becomes the lie that most everyone else believes. Only a few people would believe the truth, all others would doubt my sanity. That I cannot have if I am to help the people around me. Though, though I often wish I could tell others what had really happened to me. Because I don't like to lie, and because I am also afraid of what will happen if I believe the lie too.
Professor Andre Beauchamp, a teacher at St. Ignatius High School. He was dark haired French man in his early forties, with a sharp mind, and tongue; who was known for being hard on the students. He had mentored me for the past year, ever since the first day in his theology class. That day he saw something in me, some spark begged to be stoked into a fire. Even though the school year had been over with for several months I continued to study with him. Often when I came to learn from him he would speak of my potential, a word I would grow to disdain. "Ian," he would say to me, his Parisian accent a slight hint on his voice, "Ian, in you I forsee a future of promise. It is your duty to yourself that the promise becomes fulfilled."
Though Beauchamp was brilliant, he was slightly absent minded when it came to affairs of a more immediate physical nature. Luckily his wife, Marie, was not. During the hours I would spend reading some large text on theology or philosophy, and then discuss them with my mentor, it was she who would sweep in at the exact moment my hunger pains would begin and offer me something to eat. I would thank her profusely, and all the while she would give a magnificent dimpled smile to me, and her husband. Andre would give her a warm smile, then take the glass of lemonade, and a small dish with cheese, crackers, and liver pate.
I was perhaps a content adolescent, but I was not decidedly happy, though who ever is? Studious as I was I did not fit in with the more robust French-Canadian boys who would compete in rugby and soccer during the warm months, and hockey when the snows had come. I had friends despite my bookish nature, I think it was my friendly manners, and that I was a good listener. It was common for my mother's friends to comment of how I was handsome like an angel. By virtue of my good looks it was that the girls in my grade found me attractive, but I was a bit too introverted to notice and keep their attention. It wasn't until later that someone would note that I looked like sun god Apollo of Greek mythology. I dreaded my lessons, more for the challenge they posed than for a dislike of the Professor. My parents, however, were ecstatic over my tutelage, and the possibilities it could give me. They envisioned me to one day be a success, something they could brag about, they could be proud of. God help me I wanted
to be an object of their pride more than anything, though I would not admit it to myself.
Today had been another lesson, though far more esoteric than any he had given to me before. "What can change the nature of reality?" he had asked me without warning, as I slung my backpack on. I was taken aback, and looked at my, my mouth slightly open. He smiled at me knowingly and then ushered me out the door telling me to think upon it. He was asking a fifteen year old boy about the nature of reality? The question he asked was not one of my normal thoughts, even in any of his other lessons. As the Professor would say, the query had left me with l'esprit d'escalier, all those clever and witty things you can only think up only as you walk away. As I trod through the liquid air towards home, my mind struggled over that question, trying to make out some intelligent response to it in my mind so that I could impress him tomorrow. With the question ruling my thoughts I never noticed the black car until it pulled beside me.
With a hiss the window slide down, and out came a woman's voice of pure honey, "Excuse me? Excuse me, are you Ian Mackenzie." With my mind yanked back to the world around me, I blinked and turned my head towards the source of the voice. You weren't supposed to talk to strangers, especially if they knew your name, but few people follow that rule. The response to the woman's question never made it from my throat, my eyes were being graced by a vision of the divine. With an audible gulp, and a silent 'Thank you God,' in my mind, I nodded as suavely as I could muster. Her sensual lips smiled, and a slim hand extended from the window towards me. I stared down at her outstretched hand for a moment, before I remembered what I was supposed to do with it. I took her hand lightly, hoping she wouldn't notice my sweaty palm.
"Y-y-yes I am Ian," I stammered, gulping again. Oh Father I thank you for this blessing I am about to receive.
"Good, I had hoped to meet you, personally," she cooed, throwing an emphasis on that word that caused me to fight off a shudder. "I am Rosalynn," she smiled warmly at me, almost seeming to purr. Her head lifted a bit, and I could see the silver crucifix hanging from a chain around her long, perfect neck. For some reason seeing the crucifix caused a slither of something over my mind, I couldn't quite explain it, though it was a bit disconcerting, and it made me release her hand, and take a step back. In response she frowned, oh Mary Mother of God even that was achingly beautiful. "Is something wrong Ian?" she asked, her head cocking to the side.
"N-no. Nothing is wrong Miss Rosalynn," I replied, shaking my head with the grace of a rock. She smiled again, and my heart beat faster, and I started to sweat more. Her eyes took on a knowing glimmer as she looked me over, and then those dark, lovely, and hungry eyes burned into me. "Oh... it's uh hot isn't it?" I asked quavery voiced, a hand lifted up and brushing my hair from damp forehead. If my voice broke I would have died of pure embarassment, all blood leaving to fuel the redness in my face and neck.
"Yes Ian, it is," that knowing smile still on her face. Those burning eyes of hers locked onto mine whenever she spoke, and I felt utterly naked before her. That feeling alone caused my heart to do acrobatics in my chest.
"Back Succubus!" It was Professor Beauchamp's voice, loud and harsh. It cut through the haze that I was plunged in. His hand closed over my shoulder, and he pulled me roughly away from the car, and from Rosalynn. Glancing up to the Professor I saw that his gaze was not on me, but on Rosalynn, and it was filled with steel.
"Oh Succubus is it? Feh! Can't think of anything better Andre?" She laughed softly, and it sounded like silver bells twinkling. Then her eyes flicked to me, and something rushed from the shadows and wrapped around my left arm. It was like a tentacle, my eyes went wide in revulsion, it's grip painfully tight, and I dropped to the ground, my right hand grabbing at some grass. "Go Andre, or I will kill the boy. There are others, the Masters do not need him," again she purred, though there was a clear image of menace in her words, a promise. Her lips were smiling now, the triumphant smile of a cat with a dead plaything before her.
Beauchamp looked to me, as I glanced to him, my own eyes wide with fear. "Better death than servitude to your Infernal masters slave!" he almost roared it. His hand gripped a cross as he turned his gaze back to her. In response the tentacle lifted me up until my legs dangled, by now it encircled up most of my arm, I could it's hot, slimy skin writhe against mine.
"Mother Mary please protect me from evil," I mumbled this repeatedly, my eyes clenching shut, tears forming a river down my cheeks. I could dimly hear Rosalynn making an amused snort at my pleas to the Virgin. Then something happened, I do not know what, but somewhere within me resolve formed, my eyes opened and I looked to Rosalynn yelling out, "No!" And I felt... I felt my mind lash out at hers, for a moment she seemed dazed, as if she had been slapped. The Professor seemed surprised as well, though Rosalynn recovered faster, and the tentacle sprouted sharp growths. I shouted in surprise and pain, though it soon became a scream as the appendage gave a sudden fierce squeeze. It was my exclamation of suffering that brought Beauchamp's wits about.
"Burn in Hell!" he almost commanded, and her car exploded into a ball of fire. I barely remember anything after that, except for falling to the ground, and the Professor beside me, yelling at me, his hands on me shaking me. Then reality was devoured by a cold sea of darkness.
Consciousness returned, and my eyelids parted slowly, then immediately closed again at the afternoon sun that was far too bright for me. My body stirred, my dry lips opened and I licked at them with a dry tongue. Croaking softly, a hand surrounded my right hand, and my mothers voice comforted me. Slowly eyes fluttered open and I looked to her, smiling wanly, happy to see her, and my father behind her, happy be alive. Though they smiled at my awakening, it was sad smiles. I looked at them curiously, and then they told me. A car had accidentally swerved, and hit a tree. Being the kind person I was I raced to check on the young woman in the car. Then it exploded, damaging my left arm so much that it had to be amputated. As they told me, the memories of what had happened came back in a deluge to my mind, and I bit my tongue, looking up at their faces, knowing that they would not believe what had really happened, and would simply pass it off as injuries. They stayed and comforted me until a doctor came in and ushered them out as visiting hours were over. Conciousness fled once more.
Later, I do not know how much later, I was roused again. This time it was by the familiar voice of Professor Beauchamp, and once more I was greeted with a sad smile, one with a paternal note to it. Reaching down he tousled my hair. Almost immediately I murmured out, "Knowing that the nature of reality can be changed..." He was taken aback by my statement, and then he smiled again nodding.
"So Ian, you've taken the first step towards fulfilling your potential, I am sorry there had to be so much suffering in this lesson. I wish it could have been done any other way." A sigh followed his words, and he looked down for a moment. "I promise those traitorous barabbi bastards will be left out of the Reconciliation... no matter what!" His voice shook with held in rage, and a vow to carry through with it. Then he pulled up a chair beside the bed, and started to tell me the truth. I didn't know then that he would to make a deal with some of our greatest foes to destroy others of the Chorus that had fallen to serve Infernal beings. I did not know what it would cost him to keep the promise. Had I known, I would have released him from it then and there at my bedside.
I don't like to lie, not to myself, and not to another. Though when people ask me about my arm I have to tell them the lie that my parents told me, the lie they believe. And so it becomes the lie that most everyone else believes. Only a few people would believe the truth, all others would doubt my sanity. That I cannot have if I am to help the people around me. Though, though I often wish I could tell others what had really happened to me. Because I don't like to lie, and because I am also afraid of what will happen if I believe the lie too.