Dark Moon Brother
Part Four
"They will not have forgotten me, those men"
What Wolf had spoken that night was partially true in some respects. The two men sat conversing on the bench in the afternoon sunshine, a common enough sight in Central Park, but their discussion was anything but common, had anyone stopped to share their seat and listen. One of the men was Connor, though his companion would have been hard put to recognize him from the vibrant God-fearing man of a year ago.
Connor was dressed still in the clothes of a typical street beggar, with fraying shirt and trousers too big, old mismatched boots and a large wide brimmed hat to shield his eye from the worst of the elements in which he now lived. He had lost count of the number of times he had been mugged, beaten up, run out of the Park by security. Yet he hadn't sought shelter in that most obvious of places for a priest to go to. Not since that first time, when he had come back from the hospital, wounds still gaping despite the many stitches, to find the doors of the house locked against him. He had become a pariah amongst his own people. Stranger priests dwelt in those once comforting halls now. Word had preceded him, obviously, though what exactly had been said in his defence or his prosecution he had no idea, and now had no care to know.
In the first days and weeks following the departure of the Demon to realms unknown, he had spied upon his former life with as equal a determination as he watched the portal space. No newspapers had carried the story of what had happened, no mass hysteria whipped up. There had been a convocation of sorts, he had seen, and many important and high ranking clerics had found time to attend it. But what had gone on behind the closed doors had determined to stay there, it seemed. Slinking through the doors, this time as an ordinary man, he had heard nothing, no whispers, barely a ruffle of gossip had reached his ears. His fellow brethren who had been at the place that night did not show themselves to him. But gradually, over the coming months, had he gleaned from hushed conversation amongst the parishoners that they had been dispersed, scattered to the corners of the world, no doubt sworn to silence, or, like he himself, bordering on the edges of madness.
He fingered his most telltale signs of the Demon's manifestation. He felt with his fingers of the large scars running parallel down his face, starting at his hairline and continuing down to neatly bisect his upper lip, forming a now permanent leer to his smile. Those scars had taken his right eye also. The good doctors, horrified, had been unable to save it. Connor had fashioned a patch of sorts from his old priests robes to stop dirt getting in the empty socket and it was sunken in now. He knew his visage frightened and repulsed people and made babies cry, but it did not concern him much these days. Greater martyrs than he had suffered far more. The other brothers had experienced similarly, the Demon hunting them down, rending and tearing their flesh. He had seen some of their wounds. Superficial mostly, and none so visibly placed as his own, yet each and every one of them bore a perfect crucifix now, etched forever on the skin of their backs as they had turned to flee.
Connor sighed and fidgeted on the rough wooden bench, glancing sideways at his companion, a young man once his friend. An unusual visit, but then Connor had had even stranger folk approach him recently. He thought back to the one most obvious, remembering those months ago when the man had come slinking up to his meagre humpy made of boxes garnered from the back of shops.
"You are Connor" the voice had said. Connor had glanced up, shielding his eye from the light, seeing that the speaker was indeed a man, tall, lithe, a long coat protecting him against the winter chill. Connor had not heard his own name spoken in so many months that it had taken a moment to register that this stranger was addressing him. The man hunkered down next to him, repeating his opening statement.
"I am a Connor" he had replied, his voice raspy from the cold morning. He peered at the man, seeing that his face was of about a man in his early fourties, well groomed, clean shaven. The mans eyes were blue, his hair a lustrous brown fading to soft ginger in places. The nose and mouth were generous in proportion. He had an open, non threatening expression. Connor could see faint worry lines across the forehead and in the corners of the man's mouth. He smelt like expensive colonge and Connor observed that he was wearing equally rich clothing, a red silk tie, polished leather shoes, gold cufflinks and a long cashmere scarf. Not the sort of man who ordinarily crept around these parts of Central Park, broad daylight or not. The man crouched patiently in the dirt, waiting for the former priest to gather his wits about him.
"I am Elias" he said simply, extending a well manicured hand. Connor took it, noting his own grimy hands in the process. The stranger seemed not to notice.
"Elias, you'd best be off from here. A man of your obvious, wealth, might prove a target in this part of the Park" he cautioned him. The man smiled at him.
"Yes, maybe, but I am stronger than I look, and not without resources" Elias had answered, flexing his arm in a mock pose. Connor laughed despite himself, then stared closer at the man. He seemed, familiar somehow, but the link in his memory refused to supply the answer.
"I've come down from the far north. I live quite isolated, and word had taken it's time to reach me, else I would have come sooner, of course"
"Word of what?" said Connor, cautious now.
"Why, of my brother's death" said the man Elias, looking back at Connor, smiling once more. Connor startled, drawing a shaky breath as he leapt to his feet in realisation.
"You, you're Peter's brother" he stammered, seeing now the all too obvious family resemblence.
"I am he. I have looked far and wide for you. You see, when I went to your former Church across the way, I found myself unbelieving somewhat of the explanation offered me by the man now in charge. You might say that I have a little talent at spotting a liar. Body language, and other things, give one away, you see. Very evasive this man was. I wanted to know why my brother had been fossicking about in that old ruin in the first place, I wanted to know why a once healthy man had just dropped dead, why there had been no investigation, not even a doctor's examination. I grew angry, finally and demanded to know who had been with Peter that night, and at this a younger man had stepped forward and identified himself. His name was Frederick, he said, but then, when he tried to enlighten me further, he seemed to be unable to speak and stood there shaking and gabbling nonsense. He stank of fear. Finally, he managed to blurt out your name, saying that you dwelt now in this, place. The look on this priest's superiors' faces were murderous, to say the least. I'm sure he wasn't supposed to say anything of the sort. But, my curiousity has been aroused, so to speak, and here I am"
Connor had stared incredulously at Elias. The man seemed sincere enough, but something about the whole account didn't feel right, like he wasn't being told absolutely everything. He had declined from saying so, though. So, this man wants to know what happened to his dear brother? How interesting. He scanned the area for eavesdroppers, before pulling the man back down to the dirt, leaning forward conspiratorily. Let me tell you, he had whispered. And so he had.
Connor had become so engrossed in his recounting that he missed most of the stranger's reactions. Elias had sat quietly, only occasionally interupting with questions, seeking clarification.
"So, in appearence, this thing resembled a wolf and a man together? And it stayed the same basic shape all the time? When the full moon came, it grew fangs and it's eyes glowed red? This is thing that left those scars on your face?"
After many hours, the two men had sat finally in silence. Connor glanced at Peter's brother. The man seemed expressionless, yet under the surface Connor could see the muscles of his face twitching, as though he was about to release a great roar of indignation and horror. It was only later that he thought that that face might just have well been stifling laughter as easily as tears. Finally the man had gained some control over himself, and when he spoke again, his voice was calm and measured.
"Think you that this, creature, will return? Through this 'shimmering hell hole' in the Park?"
"It is a given, sir. No demon from Hell can long resist the spoils of our Earthly Paradise. I've been waiting here for this very thing"
"Don't you think it might decide to kill you, just as easily as it killed my brother? How will you defend yourself against it?" Connor was embarassed at this point to admit that he had no particular plan of action in mind. In fact, in the deepest parts of his mind, he doubted whether he would ever be able to confront the thing. The image of the savage eyes, the tearing claws slashing his way, these were still firmly emblazoned in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes, they were there.
"If I may intrude, would you consider my, joining your cause? As I said, I am a man of many resources. I myself cannot stay here in this city for too long, it's very stench and crowds are, repellent to me. But, were you to send word to me, I could most likely make haste here". Connor hesitated, unsure now.
"Here, let me give you my number at least" the man said, producing a thick embossed business card with a long distance number printed on it in gold script.
"If you should see this thing, or even the woman who went with it, I would be most interested in hearing from you"
Connor accepted the card, nodding non commitally. It seemed enough for the man, who stood now, brushing off his clothes.
"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Connor" he said, before turning away and starting off in the direction that Connor had pointed out as being the location of the portal. The ex-priest watched as the man skirted all round the place, waving his hand about as if he could somehow grasp the elusive barrier. After some minutes he had given up and he walked now towards a nearby tree, where, with his back to Connor he had put his hands up to the bark. Eventually he had stepped back and Connor saw the flash of metal as he slipped something into his pocket. Then he had turned back, waving in a friendly fashion at his audience of one, before striding off into the Park, towards the street side. A long black limosuine had drawn up to the curb for the stranger.
Connor had waited a few minutes before he went to see what Elias had done to the tree. He rubbed his face in puzzlement. The man had carved three simple looking symbols on the tree, but Connor could not make out what they were supposed to mean. Shaking his head, he had retreated once more to his lookout post, taking up his vigil once more.
Now, a few months later, Connor shook his head once more. The man called Elias had returned twice more in the ensuing weeks and months but had never stayed more than a few minutes. It was easy for Connor to imagine he'd never have cause to call the man's phone number. His vigil was beginning to wane somewhat recently. It was just so hard to concentate these days, his eye would slide away of it's own accord, drifting through the Park. Today, his gaze had landed upon a familiar figure as it scouted the trees. Frederick. Coward boy, the only one uninjured after the demon's escape. Connor wondered why he was back in town. He had heard that the boy had been packed off to some isolated outpost, possibly in retaliation for his speaking to Elias. He wore still the priestly cassock. Maybe Connor could focus enough to glean some information out of him, he thought, getting to his feet and allowing himself to be discovered. Now they sat in uncomfortable silence on the park bench.
"It's good to see you again, brother" started Frederick, breaking the tension finally.
"You can't mean that. Doesn't my face terrify you? It scares little children, you know. Now, I walk through the world and people call me the demon, the monster! Perhaps that was it's intent all along"
"You wish it had killed you?"
"Sometimes. But the Lord has not seen fit to receive me yet, it seems" Connor laughed bitterly. Frederick had no answer.
"So, what are they saying about me these days? I would've come to my own trial, of course, had I been invited to it"
"It was not a trial, Connor. An investigation surely, but not a trial. I told them what I knew and what I saw, but it seemed that they did not care much for the truth. Connor, they went to the place, they saw the, things, you used to cause pain to the creature. But when I returned there the next day, all was gone. The cage, the tools, the evidence, everything. Nobody would tell me what had happened. When we learned that you had fled raving from the hospital, it shames me to know now that no one went after you, no comfort was offered you..."
"It shames you? Frederick, you truly are an innocent of the world, aren't you? I'm as loose a cannon now as I ever was a year ago. The only thing that surprises me is that they have allowed me to 'live' so close to their fortress. It would have been so easy for them to have me removed"
"They think to use you as a warning system, Connor. They know you sit watching all day. They know that you'll be unable to help yourself when and if you see this demon again. You'll come running to them. That's what they want"
"Oh really?" replied Connor, but inside, he wondered if perhaps they were right about him. What would he do when the time came? he thought, fingering the little card in his coat pocket. He looked askew at Frederick. The boy's conscience had gotten the better of him again. Not really a boy anymore though, he could see. The young priest was thinner, with a haunted expression that belied the bright warm day. Not totally uninjured, then. He rose from the bench, facing the man and giving him his best approximation of a smile.
"Thank you for the heads up, brother. Best you be on your way then" he said.
"I know you don't want my help Connor, but should you change your mind, here's my number. I'll be in town a few weeks, staying with relatives. You're not alone, brother" Frederick repiled, handing over a scrap of paper, his fingers brushing ever so slightly on Connor's sleeve. The former priest watched as his once colleague hurried away up the street, hailing a taxi and vanishing into the heavy traffic. He gazed at the piece of paper before stuffing it into his pocket, next to the business card. So, two numbers now, he chuckled to himself. If he had thought about it a little more, he might have seen it as a sign from God.