Shane Collins turned hurriedly on the corner and made out through the bucketing rain the mouth of a dark alley in which he implored he would find temporary relief. He ran towards it and entered total obscurity. He treaded recklessly inside till the hardness of a wall made him realise that he had reached the end. With his hands, he sought a corner and ducked against it, as the words of his grandfather hammered inside his head.
Shane, you'd better be a good boy and study. Then you go to university, get a degree and a decent job. Stay away from the gangs, drugs and all those noxious stuff. Never had he listened, and did otherwise. He joined one of the many gangs that roamed New York City. He had always been very attentive and soon he became a point of passage for whatever information circulated through the City. Anything that happened, he knew it.
This had gained him a certain reputation and standing, and many benefits derived from it. That night, he had been outside the Garden, waiting for a chick – one of many that gave away their pride just to share some time with him - , to see the clash between the Knicks and the Bulls. Ewing against Jordan. A match worth every cent of the ticket, and he would surely get laid after it.
Then he had felt that stunning headache blasting inside his head. And then the lunatic had appeared. A brown-haired, dark-looking man appeared before him and started asking questions. Shane demanded to know if he was a cop, and the other threatened to take his head! He had turned to run, and he had been running away for the last hour or so.
Again, his head spun. He saw the dim light darken and a shadow slowly moving forward from the mouth of the alley. Only he had to gaze to know that it was the same man.
"Come out, come out. I won't hurt you if you give me what I want."
Threats had never scared him. Even when he was involved in a menage de a trois with the daughter and female cousin of one of the leaders of a rival gang, and the man had signed his death warrant. He survived three attempts, the last of which miraculously. He could have sworn that a bullet had ran through his heart but the doctors said he was OK. Hallucinations caused by tension, they claimed. So why this guy had him as panicked as a sissy?
"All right, man." He left his hideout with his hands up, as if the other were a cop, and maybe he was. "I don't know what you may want, but I –"
He was pushed harshly against the floor, and he felt one of his front teeth crack. He endured the bitter taste of his own blood as the breathing of the other whistled in his ear.
"Who did the bombing of the antique shop?"
The voice was coarse and filled with rage, but it came out almost in a whisper. Antique shop? Was this guy referring to the antique shop in Hudson Street? That had been a month ago. Rumour had it the owner was to blame, eager to cash in the insurance. The cops had been unable to find him, and it was said that he might have killed himself because his aunt died in the incident. There were other rumours as well, especially one that was very weird.
"It was said... that the owner did it..." he stammered.
"No, he didn't. Who did IT!" The guy screamed and Shane felt his trousers going wet, and not because of the rain or the humid floor.
"I don't know... someone hinted that it was a religious job."
"Who!" Again, the voice sounded like the choir of Hell to Shane.
"I don't know... I DON'T KNOW!" Shane broke into tears of sorrow and pain. He felt the grip of the other on his neck tighten and then loosen. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he saw his deformed face on the blade of a sword.
"Who, if I may ask again?" A mock kindness came out with the words.
"Some said it was a priest, wearing a black hat. But I swear to God I don't know!" He shut his eyes to wait for the deathblow... that never came.
He opened them again and found himself alone. After an eternity, he dared standing up. Tears had slid from his lids and melted with the raindrops. He wiped his face and slowly and in constant panic started to leave the alley. Odd thing, his head didn't ache anymore.
-----
"And the Lord believes in us, he has faith in us. That is why he will forgive our trespasses if our repentance is true and viceless."
The crowd stared mesmerised at the speaker, a longhaired man dressed in a neat white suit with a black shirt and a blue tie. He had been speaking for an hour or so, and every word and gesture he made was returned with affection from the believers.
He liked attention, always had. After some centuries, he had improved his prose and way of addressing the public. And now he was acknowledged as the best preacher of all America.
Then came the feeling, the premonition of the presence of another immortal. He panicked for a second, then handed back the microphone to his host and started to leave the stage.
"John the Revelator, ladies and gentlemen!" the host said the vital phrase for the crowd to break into applause and chants. He waved at the public before disappearing through a door and rushing to his restroom. He closed the door and waited.
The door was opened and he turned to see who it was. The same man that had stalked Shane Collins was at the door, staring and grinning. John rose and approached to fuse in an embrace with that man. He broke after a few seconds and stared into his face, not liking what he saw.
"Connor... what happened?"
The man walked in and plopped on a seat. He sighed, his face giving away the want of sleep and peace of mind.
"Rachel died... someone bombed the antique shop... I heard there was a priest involved."
"You think I was involved?" John grabbed a seat and dragged it next to Connor, then he sat down. "Don't you?"
"No, John. Even though I know you're a phoney preacher, I know you are as holy as a true man of God."
"Then pardon my bluntness but... what are you doing here?" John smirked, knowing Connor would not be offended by the remark.
"I thought you might know others." Connor hissed.
"There are not many that I know – immortals of course. There's a brother who was in the Army several years ago, but I've heard he's a truly changed man." John shook his head. "Have you considered Darius?"
Connor grinned and chuckled briefly. "Darius hasn't left his retreat in more than I can remember. He wouldn't have come here, let alone to bomb the shop."
"There's a priest called Giovanni. I don't know anything of him. Rings a bell?"
"No..." Connor stood up and fisted in the air. "I'll find that bastard and..."
"What, Connor?" John asked humbly. He stood up and patted his friend's shoulder. "Kill him?" his eyes darkened. "You've already let anger and thirst for revenge overpower you, have you forgotten it?"
Connor fell on his seat like thunderstruck, being hit by visions of bloodletting and cries of pain, himself the slayer of the helpless murdered ones.
"No, I haven't..."
"He who is rid of sins may throw the first stone." John recited badly a verse from the Bible. Connor grinned.
"The line wasn't like that."
"I know, but I don't remember it."
"The almighty John the Revelator knows not a line from the Bible? John, they will discover you." Connor was suddenly gaily and beaming. "What would they say if they found out that the great preacher is a Welsh Protestant converted to Judaism?"
"Then the Revelator would die... and John Crane would be back." John mused as he sat down again. "It is not about words, it's about feelings and belief. I've become Christian now, and I believe I'm helping the cattle of the Lord, ordained or not."
"You know of someone who might help me?" Connor asked soberly.
"There's a fellow. His name is Muriaz. Not an easy lad – he is a junkie and a pederast, but he might be able to give you a hint. I'll give you his address."
John took out a pen and noted down something in a newspaper that surely was a couple of days old and handed it to Connor.
"Thank you."
"Connor... promise me you won't do anything outrageous. I know you've hunted Slan Quince after Ella died..."
"I won't do anything 'outrageous'." He rose from his seat, gazed into his friend's eyes for a second, forced a little smile and walked through the door, under John's concerned look.
AUTHOR's NOTE: Shane Collins is a non-canon immortal. So are the mentioned character Ella and John "The Revelator" Crane. The alias comes from a Depeche Mode song. Giovanni is a character from the coming sequel "The Source".