Chapter 8: Concourse
Gabriel sat quietly in the passenger seat of Ian's car. 'It was like getting into a vacuum' he thought, completely silent except for the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers. He glanced over at Ian nervously, 'Did the man even breathe? Maybe he wasn't human, maybe he was some sort of cyborg with a very basic personality program.' Gabriel looked out his window, 'That might explain the gloves' he thought 'and the general lack of emotion. Nottingham reached over to open the glove compartment and Gabriel let out a sound that was quite reminiscent of a little girl. Ian removed a cd and placed it into the car stereo, he then gave Gabriel a look that Gabe was quite sure classified as disgust. 'Maybe' Gabriel thought with some embarrassment 'I had a little too much champagne.'
"You can't really blame me," he said after a few moments had passed. I mean the last time we met you weren't exactly...how shall I put it? Concerned with my well being."
"I can assure you Mr. Bowman, that if I intended you any harm, I would have already inflicted it."
"Ya well somehow that doesn't really make me feel better you know."
Ian paused briefly before saying quietly, "I apologize for your discomfort."
Gabriel glanced over at Nottingham, detecting a hint of sadness in his voice. His face of course was a mask and gave no indication of the emotion he had just let slip. He drummed his fingers lightly on the steering wheel to the classical music that came softly from the speakers.
"Bach?" Gabriel mused, "I wouldn't have pegged you for the type." Ian did not answer and Gabriel returned his gaze to the window.
Kenneth sat solitary in his office, his statuesque appearance hiding the growing excitement inside of him. Every myth, story and legend had its variations, things that were interpreted differently or changed as they were passed down through time. It could be quite difficult to decipher which of these facts held any truth and which were purely fiction. Still, it was important for any historian to acquaint himself with all versions and variations, even those that were largely thought of as incorrect, because you just never knew when they might come in handy. The phone on his desk rang sharply.
"Hello Mr. Irons?"
"Yes, what is it?
"I think I found it sir, what you were looking for in the gem."
"Please elaborate."
"Well sir, the jewel, it's uh, somewhat…flawed."
"Excellent" said Kenneth rising from his chair. "I'll be there shortly."
'History was so often written by the winners,' Kenneth thought as he headed out of his office, 'and it now seemed that in regards to the witchblade he had not lost just yet.'
"So tell me again how you know this is the place," Jake asked checking his weapon one final time. Sara looked up at the abandoned church and felt the witchblade tingle on her arm.
"Something I remembered Jake…when you showed me the photographs." Jake shook his head, 'Vague as usual.' If he'd been inclined to give it much thought, he might have been a little freaked out by Pezzini's 'hunches'. Instead he had learned to give her the benefit of the doubt, she had a sixth sense or something, and it had an excellent track record. They entered the church from the back and then split up. Sara wasn't sure what they were up against and she preferred running into it first. Jake wandered cautiously down a dark hallway his weapon in one hand and a flashlight in the other. He hoped there wouldn't be rats, he had an unnatural fear of rats, it was a childhood thing that he didn't even want to remember and he'd heard that in New York they could be the size of small cats. He shuddered at the thought as he entered the main service room. It was huge, and decorated in ages of dust and decay. It was beautiful 'in a Tim Burton kinda way'; he thought and wondered why it had been closed down.
"Lack of attendance," said a voice from somewhere near the front of the room. Jake lifted his gun and light and shone it in that direction. In the front pew near the aisle sat a man with his head bowed.
"NYPD" said Jake "Stay where you are and raise your hands."
"There is no need for aggression Detective," said the man, not moving. Jake started up the aisle towards him.
"Don't make me have to repeat myself sir." At that the man obediently raised his hands over his head.
"I assure you I mean no harm."
"Then what are you doing here?" Jake asked as he reached the man, shining the flashlight into his face. The man squinted at the bright light.
"Can an old man not seek shelter from the storm?" Jake looked around the room, water dripped and poured in from all over the roof, he was even standing in a puddle.
"There are better places," he said doubtfully.
"Perhaps" said the man, "but that would depend on your definition of better."
Strange fellow Jake thought staring at this blonde haired man. He wore a long black jacket, which was quite similar to a priest's robe except thicker like an overcoat and he didn't seem to be carrying anything with him, which was unusual for the vagrants in the area.
"May I lower my arms detective? They are starting to hurt."
"Do you have any identification?" Jake asked, ignoring his question. "You do realize that you're trespassing?"
"Not according to that" the man said motioning to the sign over the door. 'Enter all those who seek the truth.'
"So is that why your really here?" Jake smirked.
The old man looked Jake steadily in the eye. "It is the real reason Detective McCarty, any of us are."
Sara climbed the attic stairs apprehensively. 'He was here,' she thought, 'and he was waiting for her.' She was a little annoyed actually, that he knew of her and the witchblade and yet was not afraid to face her. She entered the large and mostly empty area, glancing briefly at the large hole in the roof that gave an excellent view of the city. He was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace against the far wall.
"NYPD, stand up and place your hands where I can see them" she said, training her gun and flashlight on him.
"Hello Sara."
"Did you hear me, I said stand up, you're under arrest."
"Under what charge?" the man asked innocently.
"Breaking and entering for starters, she replied, "and pissing me off as well, though luckily for you that's only a misdemeanor."
The man laughed and stood, he moved so quickly that Sara wasn't sure she saw it happen. "I'm afraid Sara, I'm going to have to decline your offer." He took a step towards her.
"You can't imagine how much I was hoping you'd say that" she said with a smile as the witchblade transformed on her wrist. The man's eyes dilated slightly at the sight of the blade's new form, but he did not move in fear or otherwise.
"This will not end the way you are expecting wielder." Sara ran at him, determined to knock that smirk off his face the best way she knew how, but as she approached him he held up his arm and she found herself frozen and unable to move. He raised his hand and she felt a grip around her throat lifting her off the ground. The witchblade transformed back into the bracelet as she stared down at it incredulously.
"Like I said," the man hissed, "you have no idea what you are dealing with." As she began to blackout from the increasing pressure around her neck, she noticed the green gem he held in his right hand.
"Oh great,' she thought as she passed out, "Kryptonite."
The blue gem in Nottingham's ring began to glow suddenly. Faintly at first, Ian noticed but then steadily getting stronger, till the light was bright enough that even Gabriel noticed.
"Uh Nottingham…is that normal?" Gabriel asked.
"It's Sara," Nottingham answered, "she is in danger." He quickly turned the car around and sped off in the other direction. He had been attuned to the wielders emotions since the blade had chosen her, perhaps even since the moment he first saw her. It was not to the extent that Irons had been, but the ring had given him a connection to her that Kenneth was unaware of. Ian began to increase the speed of the car, 'but it had never glowed so brightly or been so seemingly insistent that he get to her now.'
"Wait a minute?" Gabriel questioned, "How do you know?"
"I know," Ian said firmly, "please put your seatbelt on." Gabriel quickly did as he was told and Ian accelerated, weaving in and out of traffic. 'Please' he thought feverously, 'don't let me be too late.'