I leaned heavily against the seat in the limousine, breathing hard.  I could hardly move my shoulder, which was in agony.  I gritted my teeth.  I felt sore all over.

            “You look like hell.” Lil grinned.  I didn’t see what was so funny.  “You cut your hair.  I like you without the beard.”

            I let out an unintelligible groan, and gripped my arm tightly.  I closed my eyes for a moment and searched for a coherent thought.

            “What are you doing here?” I finally spat out through a clenched jaw.

            “Our mutual friends gave me a call.  I figured maybe you needed to make a quick exit.”  She smiled.  I finally looked at her.

            She was wearing a charcoal skirt with dark hosiery, and black heels.  Her purse was beside her on the seat.  Lil had a white blouse under a lady’s suit jacket; the top two buttons of the shirt were open.  She looked good.  Not that I cared.  Much.

            “Thanks.” I grunted.

            “It’s been, what, six months and that’s all you have to say?” She smiled, though her words weren’t friendly.  “I just saved your life.  You owe me.”

            She giggled at this.  I just groaned to myself quietly.

            “Poor baby.  You’re hurt.”  Lil said softly.  “We’ll get you home and take a look.”

            The driver let us off at the front door of her building.  I looked up.

            “This isn’t where I live.”

            “No, silly, it’s my place.  No offence, but if people are trying to blow you up, it’s a good chance that they know where you live.”  She led me inside, and we took the elevator up.  I very carefully ignored her the whole way.  Not that I was ungrateful.  I was in pain.

            We entered her apartment.  Lil casually put her purse down on a table near the door, and started peeling off her jacket as she strode down the hallway towards what I assumed was her bedroom.  I stood idly by the door, feeling completely at sea.  She was acting like it was no big deal for me to be there.  I was bleeding from innumerable small cuts and scrapes I picked up jumping through the glass window, and had only just now become aware of.  My shoulder and my leg were screaming at me to do something, and this girl just starts undressing?

            She called out to me from her room, peeking past the doorframe.

            “Are you coming?  You need some antiseptic for those cuts.”

            Not knowing what else to do, I stumbled down the hall towards her room.  I got there in time to see her on the bed, taking off her shoes in one of those indescribably graceful, feminine movements.  Lil looked up at me as she wiggled free, and smiled.  She stood and headed towards the en suite bathroom, pulling off her shirt as she went.  I blushed and turned to stare at the wall in the hallway, trying to block out the glimpse of her bra that kept rising in my mind’s eye.  I didn’t want to be here, and I had to keep reminding myself of that fact.

            Once she was definitely in the bathroom, based on timing how long it should have taken her to walk there, I stepped into her room.  I stood awkwardly, tapping my legs with my hands, trying to figure out what to do next.   Lil came out of the bathroom a moment later, wearing a tight silky robe in a vaguely Japanese pattern, brushing her hair.  I gulped.

            “You’re so cute when you’re flustered.” She smiled and tried to caress my cheek.  I took an awkward step backwards.  “I don’t bite.”

            “I’m not supposed to be here.”

            “Is anyone else volunteering to help you?”  Lil stared at me for a moment.  I shrugged.  She turned and walked back to the bathroom, and then returned, sans brush, but carrying a bottle of antiseptic and some cotton swabs.

            She directed me to sit on the edge of the bed, while she dabbed at the cuts on my hands and face.  I flinched, but tried not to voice my discomfort.  More than a dozen times, anyway.

            “You’re such a baby!”  Lil teased, putting the bottle on the nightstand and the cotton in a garbage can in the bathroom.  She sat down on the bed behind me.  “So, are you going to tell me why you’re fleeing from exploding buildings in the middle of the night?”

            “Didn’t our ‘mutual friends’ tell you?” I said.

            “You don’t need to be snarky.  Just because we broke up doesn’t mean that we can’t be cordial.  Besides, I still think you’re cute, and I know you still have feelings for me.”

            I tried to snort with derision.  I’d never tried that before, so it didn’t go well.

            “Get over yourself!” She giggled, tossing a pillow at my back.  This caused me to turn around and look at her, trying not to laugh.  I did my best to look stern and unimpressed.  She gave me a sultry look, her eyes half-lidded, and her lips pressing together as if trying to say “you really, really want to kiss us.”  I tried to ignore that, but then I was staring at her bare legs, gliding together, barely covered at all by the robe.  I blushed and stared at the bed sheets.

            “You know, Ethan, I could be of great help to you.  All you have to do is ask.”  She smiled winningly.  I could tell from her voice, but I also kept stealing glances.

            “I don’t want your help.” I insisted.  She threw another pillow at my head and left the room.  I groaned and followed.

            She was standing out on the balcony, with the doors open.  Lil had a wonderful view of the city.  Wind pulled at her long hair, it was getting chillier.  I stood just outside the door.

            “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the attempt.  But I can’t really involve anyone in this.  It’s dangerous, and I’m not going to let anyone else try to shoulder the responsibility.”

            “Why should anyone shoulder it?  The noble hero bit is getting tired.  Who said you have to be honourable, all the fucking time?” Lil snapped, staring into the night.

            “It’s what I choose.  It’s who I am.  Maybe that doesn’t make sense to you, but I wouldn’t be me any other way.”

            “Is that your final word?” She looked over her shoulder at me.

            “I’m afraid so.”

            “Okay.” She sighed.  Then, she looked past me, towards the kitchen area.  “Kill him.”

            I turned and saw a familiar face.  My burnt demon from the factory stood in the doorframe, holding a very imposing sword.  One eye was completely shut by a scar, but the other looked undamaged.  I had apparently missed.  He blinked, and I saw the faint outline of the knife cut across the lid.  Apparently, it was a near miss.

            He rushed me quickly, before I could draw a gun.  I had to move fast to dodge his sword slashes.  He splintered a chair to pieces, and then decapitated a houseplant.  Despite the size of his sword, he was fast.  I kept moving around the room as he came at me, trying to buy time to get at my own blade, hidden under my coat thus far.  To that end, I rolled over the dining room table, and in his zeal he sent his sword right through the thick wood.  In the momentary chaos of splintered lumber and his lack of balance, I wiggled out of my coat and threw it at his head while drawing my short sword.

            His was bigger, and he had a longer reach.  I was also hobbled by a bad knee, and the fact that my right arm wasn’t working properly meant I was probably in real trouble.  I was up against the dining room wall and had nowhere to go but right through him.

            I ducked his next big swing, rolling at his legs.  I spilled us both to the ground and scrambled away from him, throwing a vase at his head.  He roared as he got to his feet, and I tossed a chair in his direction.  He sliced at me with his blade, and I barely deflected it with a firm two-handed grip on my sword.  I fell off-balance, because of my leg, and he used the momentary distraction to deliver a hearty kick to my chest.  I went through the glass doors of the balcony, thudding against the metal railing.  I hadn’t noticed Lil exit, but she was gone by now.

            I lay my head back against the balcony, and saw my assailant come at me.  I groaned, clenching my jaw, and tried to get up awkwardly.  He came at me fast, holding his sword kind of like a lance, pointed directly at me for his charge.  There was no time to get out of the way.

            So I swiftly drew my pistol and tossed it under his foot.  He slipped, tumbling forward.  I slashed upwards with my sword, removing his hands as I lay on my back to get away from his blade, and then I kicked upwards with my legs.  He went up and over the balcony railing, yelling all the way down.  I didn’t think the impact would remove his head, or kill him, but he wasn’t going anywhere for a while.  I imagined the majority of his bones were jelly now.  And if his body died only for the demon itself to escape, I was too tired to care.

            I picked myself up out of the shattered glass and staggered back into the apartment.  I brushed bits of glass off myself, feeling very glad that was over with.

            “You dumb bastard,” Lil said angrily.  I turned and saw her standing by the door to the apartment, pointing a gun at me.  I blinked.  I wasn’t surprised, not after this little ambush.  I just hadn’t expected her to be willing to do her own dirty work.

            “What was all this?” I asked. “Flirting with me.  You could have killed me at any time.  Did you watch too much Goldfinger?  You should have listened to Scott Evil and just shot me when you had the chance.”

            “It was my job to tempt you, turn you from your path.  We tried everything to break you:  set fire to your church, made your friend a drug dealer, killed your uncle. When all that failed, they were supposed to kill you.  But you’re too fucking stubborn to change your mind, and apparently clever enough to survive.  So far.”

            I threw my sword at her, not caring about aiming properly.  I rolled on the ground, coming to a kneeling position with my pistol in my hands.  My sword slapped her in the face with the hilt, preventing her from firing.  I shot her in the heart.  It was fast, it was reflexive, and I forgot entirely about trying to take her head off.  I just wanted to be done.

            She stumbled back, hitting the door, and then falling to the ground.  I could actually see the demon spirit escaping her body through her mouth and nose as her human host died, a black smoky shape that had hazy, diaphanous wings and a tail.  It dissipated rapidly, but I knew what I had seen.  A slight whiff of brimstone was in the air, and then it was gone.

<<Previous   Next>>

I stood on the glass floor, not even bothering to look at the wreckage downstairs.  Instead, I walked intently around the room, hoping to see whoever had played the music.  The place seemed empty.  I strode towards the bar, the last hiding place.

            Instead of finding an enemy, I found a bomb.          

            I took a closer look and saw a timer attached to what looked like plastic explosives, at least the way it looked in movies.  I had about one minute to get clear.  It seemed like they were wiling to go to great lengths to kill me.  These drones had been mainly a distraction, which explained their overall lack of weaponry.  I didn’t dwell on it, however.  I ran.

            Going downstairs and out the door would take too long.  The hallway would take too long.  I went for the windows.  I didn’t see how I had much choice.  One of the demons had left the building this way; I could see the broken window he had leaped from.  I wasn’t close enough, but I could make my own hole.  I reached a big window and fired my ancient revolver to shatter the glass, leaping out and tumbling to the alley two stories below with a horrifying thud.  I popped my right shoulder and banged up my knee as I landed, the wind knocked from my lungs.

            I didn’t have time to worry about it, beyond being glad I hadn’t broken anything.  I pulled myself to my feet and lumbered down the ally as fast as I could.   I shuffled in an awkward limping run, and made it to the street.  By my best estimates, I had maybe twenty seconds.  I wasn’t going to escape the blast.

            I looked round the street, and was startled to see a familiar limo.  I stumbled forward as the door was kicked open, and Lil gestured at me.

            “Get in, get in, hurry!”

            Not having many alternatives, and still being dizzy from the fall, I got in.  Her driver gunned the engine and we pulled away rapidly.  I watched the explosion from the rear window, as a fireball consumed the club.

<<Previous   Next>>

 The three before me went down hard, but I didn’t get the chance to see if they were dead.  Their friend from down the alley came up fast behind me, grabbing at my gun arm.  I let him have the revolver.  After all, I came prepared.  He stumbled back when I let go of the gun as he tried to wrest it away.  I took the moment his confusion bought me to turn around, firing the second gun.  I had salvaged this handgun from the corpses of my enemies over the summer, and another just like it was still in one of the holsters under my coat.

            This gun was considerably more modern, and carried even more bullets than its predecessor.  Desert Eagle .50 was emblazoned along the side.  I had taught myself how to use these weapons quite proficiently in the woods over the summer, but never really understood much about what difference the calibre made.  After all, who was around to teach me the fine points of handguns?  All I knew was that it quite efficiently tore the demon’s head off.

            I picked up my revolver and replaced it in my coat.  Then I entered the darkened building from the side door my assailants had arrived from.  They had conveniently left it unlocked.  I crept down an empty hallway, lit with sporadic light bulbs on the ceiling.  Most of these had burned out.  My best guess was that they used these hallways on the edge of the building to walk between the storage rooms and offices and avoid the crowded dance floors on club nights.

            As I walked, I reflected on my experiences with these enemies, and tried to remember what Dorothy and Rebecca had told me months before.  I suspected that I was dealing with mainly low-level demons, the enforcers.  No matter how many I might clean out of this little enclave, I would have to keep my eyes open for clues as to the location of their superiors.  If there were any.

            As I walked down the shadowed hallway, stretching my hearing whenever I hit a patch with no light bulbs, I thought about all the action movies and comics I’d watched and read.  I remembered witty banter, and realized I wasn’t very good at it.  I don’t know how they made time during a fight.  I was too busy just moving, my instincts kicking in to help me survive.

            Case in point:  when a demon swiped at my head with a crowbar as I came through the door, I was fast enough to pull my head back.  I fired my gun through the door when he was stupid to grab the handle, pumping his stomach full of bullets.  He fell back on his knees, holding the wound, even though he wasn’t bleeding.  The impact was still felt. 

            This left him in a great position for a headshot as I kicked the door open, blowing his skull to smithereens.  I knew his friends were out there, in the vast open space, lurking.  I knew they wanted me to go out there, where I could be ambushed.

            So I waited in the hall, backing up several metres to watch the door.  I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears as sweat dripped down my temple, my breath coming fast.  Every cell of my body was flooded with adrenalin as I waited, coiled to spring, to fight.  I waited, fighting my own urge to get up and go out there guns blazing.  An action hero would.  But I suspected that was the stupidest thing to do.

            On an impulse, I drew the second gun from my coat.  A brief moment later, they opened the door and came through.  I fired at them, pumping off a barrage that tore into arms and legs, ribs and face.  It was eerie, as they screamed with rage but not pain.  I wondered why they were being so stupid to come through the door like lemmings.  Then I caught on.

            I turned suddenly and fired point blank at the demon behind me, the one smart enough to try to outflank me.  I took his head clean off with the impact of the blast, and then turned back to his friends.  They lay sprawled over the floor, trying to stand on broken legs.  I drew my sword from my back, hidden under the coat, and removed their heads with clean, efficient slices.  I dropped my two scavenged handguns, now empty of bullets.  I didn’t have any replacements, so I saw no point to keeping them.  This left me with only the Western pistol and the Eastern sword.

            I went through the door and into the club again, gun drawn, guessing that perhaps I would find more.  It seemed vacant, however.  I wandered past pillars and stacked chairs on tables, glancing up at the second floor.  It seemed I was alone. 

            Yeah, right.  Like it would ever be that easy.

            I kicked over a table and ducked behind it just as two demon gunmen popped up from behind the bar, opening up with automatic weapons.  Their bullets tore through the room, cracking through chairs and splintering tables.  I rolled from behind the overturned table to hide behind a pillar, breathing hard.  The roar of gunplay filled my ears along with the pounding of my own heart.

            I had often read that men with guns were overconfident, as if the metal death-bringers made them invincible.  I wondered if immortal demons were even more cocky, and if that would make them stupid.  I waited as they fired around the room, and heard the telltale click that signalled they were out of bullets.  They had both been dumb enough that neither one held any back in case I attacked.

            I turned from the pillar with a roar and jumped up on a table and leaped towards the bar, coming down on them as they frantically tried to reload their weapons.  I dropkicked one in the chest, slamming him into the shelves full of bottles behind the bar.  He crumpled through in a shower of wood and glass, while I turned towards his friend with a swift cut of my blade, removing his head before he could react.  His mouth still hung open in surprise as it rolled across the floor.

            His friend pulled himself up from the ground, stinking of the alcohol spilled on his clothes.  He swung a tall bottle of vodka like a club, trying to hit me.  I dodged backwards, then ducked under his next swipe.  He kept coming forward, snarling as he swung.  I back-pedaled and then rolled over the bar into the dance floor, amidst ruined furniture.  He jumped up and over the bar, coming down on the floor with a dramatic flair, growling.  I kicked a chair at him, and he went through it like it was made of paper, swinging and growling. 

            I dodged this way and that, evading his strikes with smooth precision.  It was almost like dancing.  Suddenly, the club lights came on, followed by the pounding beat of music.  I suppose someone hoped to distract me.  At that moment, I had spun behind my opponent, and we were almost standing back to back.  When the music hit with a sudden blare, I was too intent on my next move.  My opponent, however, hesitated for a split second, caught off guard.  I used that brief instant to spin the opposite direction with my sword extended, spinning so that I cut through his neck and removed his head.  I looked up to the balcony, where the DJ table was situated on the VIP floor.  A shadowed figure retreated into the dark.

            Before I could move to pursue, three demons entered the room from beyond the bar, presumably from the kitchen.  They carried kitchen knives as weapons, and ran towards me as a unit.  I figured I could stand my ground or run.  So I charged instead, running through the music with a roar of my own. 

            I slashed my sword through the air, forcing the trio to break apart.  One ducked under me, while the other two stepped to the sides.  At the same moment, I jumped into the air, kicking the one on the left in the face.  He spun into a pillar and bounced off as I came down hard on the one in the centre, slamming him into the floor.  I ducked under the slash from the one on the right, and put my sword through his stomach.  I drew it out and cut off his head as he held his guts in surprise.  I back-flipped off his friend and held my blade at the ready.

            Lights flickered through the air in different colours as the rhythm continued.   They came at me with their knives, and we danced a vicious ballet, sword and knives pirouetting, sashaying, cutting through the air with elegance and grace.  We dodged, we swayed, we rocked.  In the midst of these almost beautiful motions, I dropped to one knee in mid-beat, utterly still.  The flow that had possessed us, the rush of motion and beat, a rhythm of bodies, meant they each over-stepped when they found I was not standing to block their blows.  Off-balance, it was easy to slash my blade in a whirl as I stood, cutting through their wrists so hands and knives fell to the floor.  I whirled again and removed both heads in one efficient motion.

            Then, I went upstairs.

<<Previous   Next>>

 I walked down a quiet street that night, wearing my green corduroy jacket over my favourite hooded sweatshirt.  There were few people out, it being a Monday night, and none of them were likely to notice such an nondescript youth out for a walk.  It began to rain, the clouded sky opening up in a torrent.  Now there would be even fewer people out tonight.

            I reached the building I was looking for and I pulled up my hood to gain some measure of respite from the rain.  I looked up at it with a rueful smile.  I had returned to the nightclub where I had seen Dan doing a drug deal with the demon, so many months ago.  Things had come full circle.

            The club was closed tonight.  I turned into the alley between it and the next building, leaned against a wall and stared at the building before me.  I stood there and just stared.  Eventually, almost of its own accord, my hand reached into my coat and pulled out my cowboy’s revolver, and I stared at that instead.  I sank to a sitting position, leaning against the wall, contemplating my gun in the rain.

            Thus far, I had defended myself when attacked.  Tonight, I was contemplating bringing the fight to my enemies.  Somehow, that was a line in my mind.  It was easy to justify self-defence, but going looking for trouble bothered me.

            I reminded myself that they were demons.  Monsters posing as human beings.  The Holy Spirit would not allow me to hurt innocents.  I told myself everything I could think of to spur myself to action.  I had been chosen, after all.  I was supposed to be this great warrior.  I was a force for truth and justice.  But it would be so much easier if they’d just come after me, instead.

            “You’re in the wrong part of town, boy.” A voice said.  I looked through falling sheets of rain to see the obligatory dark figure in the cliché trench coat.

            “Do you guys all have the same fashion consultant?” I asked, doing my best Peter Parker impersonation.

            “What?” He asked.

            “Screw it.” I said.  I switched to silent mode and ran towards him.

            He fired his gun several times, at about chest level.  I was smarter than that, having ducked and rolled even as he drew the weapon.  I kicked a garbage can, sending it at his legs, forcing him to move.  Before he could get another blast off, I shot him through the hand.  He dropped his weapon, and turned to me.  No pained shout, no sign of discomfort.  I’d definitely come to the right place.

            I put a bullet in his head at close range, the loud explosion of the pistol echoing in the narrow alley.  His head exploded nicely in chunks of bone and flesh.  I didn’t enjoy seeing it, but I was glad the small cannon in my hand was so effective.  Though the sound bothered me:  I was announcing my presence rather conspicuously.  As a precaution, I drew a second gun from within my coat.

            I didn’t have time to worry about that long.  One of them crashed through a window just above me, landing nimbly in the alley and standing up.  Two more came out a side door of the building.  One appeared at the end of the alley nearest me, presumably coming from the front door.

            “You glow, little warrior.” One of them snarled.  “We hear you coming in the dark.”

            I answered with gunfire.

<<Previous   Next>>

 The alarm clock was about to announce that it was six in the morning with a jarring blare.  My hand swiftly pressed the button to silence it as the glowing numbers switched from 5:59 to 6:00.  I had been sitting awake on my dorm bed for a while, praying quietly.  Now it was time to get up.  I stretched, flexing my taut muscles, and then ran my fingers over my short-cropped hair, a layer of fuzz on my head.  I dressed efficiently and went jogging before class.

            A lot had changed in a year.  I had survived a few rare encounters with my dark foes over the summer, and had come to the conclusion that they did not like facing me on my home turf.  My hometown was too small for them to move in and conceal themselves, so they had to try the occasional ambush.  Here, in Toronto, I was on their hunting grounds.  I expected our little chess game to get a lot more intense now that I was back at university.

            I wasn’t wrong. 

            After my first week of classes, I stopped at my mailbox on the first floor of the residence building on a whim.  While I didn’t expect any real mail, there were often notices from the school or student clubs, and I preferred to clean them out before they built up.  I turned the key and opened the little capsule to see a fair-sized box in the slot.

            I pulled it out.  There was no return address on the cardboard box, just my name and room number.  I took it up to my room, and locked the door before opening the box.  A cellular phone fell out, and I caught it swiftly.

            It started to ring.

            “Hello?”

            “Are you ready?”  A familiar voice said.

            “How was your summer?  I found mine very productive,” I said, keeping my voice very conversational.  After all, cell phones weren’t known for being the most secure form of communication in the world.

            “It’s time to see how productive.  Remember the presents we gave you?”

            “How could I forget?  I collected a few more this summer, from visitors.”

            “Bring what you can on Monday.  Listen carefully…”

            I received cleverly coded directions from Dorothy, memorizing the details.  I thought again of chess, and realized, I was far from being the master of this game.  I wondered where I ranked:  was I a mere pawn, or a more important piece?

<<Previous   Next>>

 The whole crew was back together that summer.  Alex would invite me over to swim in his uncle’s pool, and I caught up with Neal and Jason.  I was attending church again, so I inevitably spent time with Evan and helped him organize the others into a worship band.  It was really interesting to see Dan volunteer his time, given his behaviour at school.  His “new leaf” was thus far staying turned over.

            But, as much as I spent time with them, I kept my secret to myself.  As my faith deepened, my friendships stayed casual, superficial.  I couldn’t risk them getting involved.  It was my way of protecting them.

            Because, as much as things seemed back to normal, I knew that the world wasn’t what it seemed.  I looked for danger in every shadow.

            I saw a lot of shadows, but no danger.  Working the midnight shift, I went in to work in the dark, and drove home before the sun came up.  My life became patterned, routine, and dull.  I should have been lulled.  But I was still busy training my body physically, sleeping in the morning and spending my afternoons jogging in the wooded hills, using a stick for a sword and decapitating dummies made of wood and buckets.  I smiled at these “games,” as they reminded me of my childhood.

            I found exultation in physical experience:  the sun on my skin, the wind in my ears, my body flexing, twisting, running.  Raw potential was forged into muscle, speed, dexterity.  I was making myself ready.

            In late April, on a dreary cloudy morning, I drove home in the rain.  The wipers sluiced rivulets of water off the glass, but I could barely see in front of me.  The storm clouds hid any light from the sky, and I would have missed the car on the side of the road if not for a sudden flash of lightning.  I pulled over to the muddy shoulder of this desolate country road, letting my headlights illuminate the back end of the car, a few feet away.

            I opened the door and got out, reaching into the backseat for a tire iron.  I wasn’t stupid.  Within seconds my jacket was soaked, water trickling down my hooded shirt collar to soak my skin.  It wasn’t just pouring, it was flooding.  I stepped through mud puddles that were ankle deep.  I could hear the steady beat of the rain in my ears, a constant hum.  I walked to the car cautiously.

            I held the tire iron in my left hand, down at my side, and knocked on the driver’s side window.  I peered within, cupping my face against the glass to keep rain out of my eyes.  The car was empty.

            “Hello?” I called, yelling into the rain. 

            Three of them came out of the trees at the sides of the road, a triangle around me.  Dressed in black, they all carried knives.

            “Are you kidding?” I asked, looking at each in turn.  They didn’t answer, and instead rushed at me.

            The first to reach me had come from the trees across the road.  I stepped aside deftly, slapping my tire iron across the window to spider-web it with cracks, and then I grabbed the back of his head and slammed him into the window.  His head went through with a crack, and I pushed down, using the sharp glass to tear through his neck until his head toppled bloodlessly into the car.

            I turned and saw the one on my left coming close.  He tried a slash with his long knife, but I slapped my tire iron down on his wrist.  He was strong enough that he didn’t drop it, but it left him off balance.  I grabbed his hair with my right hand and drove my knee into his face as I slammed his head downwards, breaking his jaw.  I dropped him in the mud at the feet of his friend stuck in the window.

            This left me near the hood of the car.  I expected the third to go around and come at me from the road, but instead he clambered up on top of the car.  He leapt at me, going for an airborne tackle.  He jumped high, seeming to hang for a moment in the air.  Time slowed, and I realized I could see every detail, down to the water droplets bouncing off his dark coat.

            I whirled quickly, rolling in the mud and coming to a crouch as he landed on the road.  Before he could turn, I flung my tire iron like a boomerang, catching him in the back of the head.  He fell over, and I picked his friend’s knife up out of a puddle.  I was on him before he could get to his feet, drawing the blade across his neck swiftly, its razor edge making short work of him.  His hair dangled from my hand, his head bobbing like an obscene plastic grocery bag.

            I turned and threw it at his friend, who had pulled himself up out of the mud.  He caught it, and stared at his dead companion’s empty face.  He looked up at me a second later.  Now a solitary assassin, he stood facing me as lightning and rain filled the sky.  There was a moment of silence, as if I was being measured.

            I stood in the rain, dripping wet, and pulled off my coat and hooded shirt, laying them across the hood of the car.  My t-shirt was just as waterlogged, so I pulled it off.  I felt the water on my skin, trickling down the newly defined curves of my muscles.  I was in the best shape of my life, and knew it.

            “That’s three and a half of your friends, so far, if you count the one I blinded.  The first one, I killed before I took working out seriously.  You’re supposed to be nearly immortal, yet I killed your two friends here in less than two minutes, when it was three against one.  I don’t know if you studied statistics, but I don’t like your odds.”  I said, waiting for him.

            He decided to try to change the odds.  He pulled a gun and I threw my knife.  It caught him in the shoulder, which forced his shot wild.  I was on him within seconds, slamming my knee into his face repeatedly, and then I had the gun.  I held it to his neck and pulled the trigger until I could rip his head free of his neck, his torso falling into the mud.  I roared with the thunder, a primal celebratory war cry, even as I wondered, in the back of my mind, if I would ever be the same.

<<Previous   Next>>

 If that was a surprise, so was reporting for work the next Sunday.  I found myself working with Alexander Rothrock, home from school and employed in a meat factory.

            “Ethan!”  He exclaimed, embracing me on sight before I could even speak.  I patted his shoulder awkwardly.  We stood in the locker room, where he had accosted me before I could even put on my rubber boots.

            “Hey, Alex.”

            “You’re still working here?  That’s awesome.  Really awesome.  I was hoping you did.  I mean, I haven’t seen you all year.  How was your freshman year?  I have so much to tell you…”

            He was enthusiastic, and it was hard not to be caught up in his exuberance.  We had been good friends in high school.  But I had struggled all year long.

            “You didn’t write.  Or call.  Or email, which has to be the easiest method of communication ever invented, at least for university students.”  I spoke quietly, but my voice was void of any warmth.  It stopped Alex in mid-sentence.  “I would email my friend Mihnea in the room beside mine in the residence just to see if he was there and wanted to go to the cafeteria.  I could have just knocked on his door, but everyone at school did things like that.”

            I looked up at him.  Alex was a little taller than me, but I held his eye like an equal.

            “So where do you get off acting like it’s okay to ignore me for a year, and then be my friend now?”

            His sunny demeanour fell into clouds.  His brow furrowed, and I could see remorse in his eyes.

            “E, I’m really sorry.  I screwed up…” He paused.  “I could make excuses about how busy school was, and life in general.  I got your emails.  I just didn’t make time to answer.  I’m sorry.”

            I looked at him for a moment.  His lack of self-justification was refreshing.

            “No excuses.  I like that.”  I told him.  “You’re my friend, and it shouldn’t matter how long you’ve been away.  But that doesn’t mean you can take me for granted.”

            “No excuses.  I’ll remember.”

            And then we went to work.

<<Previous   Next>>

 That night, after everyone went home or to bed, I went into the bathroom.  I took out our set of clippers and started shaving off my hair.  Each buzz dropped dark locks into the sink, leaving only a soft ruff.  I looked at the strange face in the mirror.  I doubted demons would recognize it right away.  Part of it was defensive:  I might not be recognized for a while, and also, the one demon had managed to get a good handhold on my longer hair during our fight.  Now, it wouldn’t be a disadvantage.

            My friends commented on it at first when I returned to school.  I dropped by the common room on our floor Sunday night, just to say hello.

            “You lose a bet or something?” Dan joked.  I glared at him and left the room.  “Was it something I said?”  I heard him say to Teri.

            I brooded for days, leaving my room only to go to classes or the gym, moving silently down the halls.  I heard Evan quietly tell Dan to “back off, his uncle just died…” but I didn’t look at them.  I withdrew into my own world.

            None of my friends could ever understand why.  They saw it as a regression back to the way I behaved earlier in the year.  Little did they realize that I was doing it to protect them.  I couldn’t let them get involved.  It was too dangerous.

            Exams approached, and everyone got busy studying, cramming for finals.  It was easy to let socializing fall by the wayside.  I made myself mentally ready for my tests and continued to train myself physically for the real test.  Sooner or later I would face my supernatural enemies again.

             I finished my exams.  I packed my things.  My father picked me up in my uncle’s pick-up truck, which almost made me feel uncomfortable.  We loaded up my luggage and drove home, with an almost uneventful ride.

            I say “almost,” because I fully expected a demonic attack.  I had no illusions that changing my appearance remotely distracted them for long.  If they had any surveillance of my life, they would know where I lived, who I spent time with, my class schedule.  I suspected they were trying to lull me into false security, as regular life had a rhythm of its own.  Classes had continued, people talked about banalities, watched their favourite television shows.  It was easy to wonder if I was delusional.

            Whenever “real life” threatened to make me forget my mission, I would take out the sword and revolver and remember where they came from.  Alone in my dorm room, I reminded myself of my purpose.  So now I sat in my dead uncle’s truck, expecting to need the weapons hidden in my backpack.  And no attack came, not even on empty country roads.  The only event of the whole trip was when my father turned to me after parking in our driveway, and handed me the keys.

            “It’s yours.”

            “Huh?” I said, insightfully.

            “The truck.  He set it aside in his will.  Along with money for tuition.”

            I didn’t know what to say.  My dad put a comforting hand on my shoulder and went inside.  I just sat in my truck for a few moments, and then followed.

<<Previous   Next>>

 I hid the case with the sword and revolver in my closet.  I hung up my coat and hat, and grabbed my bathroom stuff.  I looked into a mirror in the shared area, and started to cut off my beard.  I shaved, making my face clean.  If I was being followed, it might be a good idea to look different.  Following that impulse, I started to cut off my hair, snipping the locks.  I cleaned up the mess and took a shower before going to bed.

            The next morning I used hair gel for the first time in ages, trying to make my short hair look “cool.”  I dressed in a nice shirt and khaki pants instead of my usual jeans and sweatshirt, emerging into public a lot more stylish than usual.

            Dan laughed when he saw me in the cafeteria at breakfast.  “See, I told you I was rubbing off on him!  My man’s looking good today.”

            I shrugged and grinned.  “I just got tired of looking like a lumberjack.”

            “Well, I think you look very nice, Ethan.”  Teri smiled.  “I bet Lil is very pleased.”

            “We actually stopped talking a little while ago.”  I admitted.  “We weren’t that good a fit.”

            “That’s too bad,” Evan said, digging in to his bacon and eggs.  “I think all of us liked her inviting us out to fancy places and then ignoring us.”

            Teri and Dan laughed.  I just nodded, wondering how we could live in such different worlds.  They were normal, interested in dating and parties.  Me, I had just survived an attack by malicious demons bent on world domination.

***

My uncle’s funeral was held the next Saturday.  Mourners gathered, hymns were sung.  Reverend Craig spoke.  It was a blur for me, as if all of it were a television show with the volume turned down to a muffled dim roar in the background.  I was surrounded by family and friends from town, and had never felt so alone.  They would all go on about their lives, while I struggled with forces most of them probably didn’t even believe in.

            Only a few of us braved the weather at the gravesite.  Gusts of wind bit at our faces, snow swirling around us in twirling ballets.  My mother gripped my elbow, mourning and at the same time trying to comfort me.  I wondered if she was thinking about how I had almost died here when I was fourteen, abandoned by Dan and some other bullies after a beating.  My grandmother cried as my uncle was laid to rest not far from her husband.  This town was full of bitter memories.

            The family gathered at our farmhouse for a quiet wake, eating sandwiches and drinking tea.  I could hear the soft tones of conversation as I wandered through the house, greeting people quietly, nodding when they spoke.  I took some dishes into the kitchen and put them in the sink.  I looked out the window and saw a man in a coat standing by the barn, outlined by one of the lights on the building.

            I drew a knife from my mother’s wooden holder on the counter.  I grabbed one of my dad’s coats in the mudroom, pulling on an old pair of boots.  I shoved the knife into one of the coat’s deep pockets.  I put on a brown winter hat and opened the back door, plodding through snowdrifts towards the barn.  The man was quickly moving away, circling the yard towards the road.  I hurried to catch up.

            He stopped at the corner of the road, under a streetlight.  Our homestead was on the edge of the town proper, another five minutes of walking and you’d reach more houses, with the cemetery perhaps another block further on.

            “We meet again.”  The burnt man said, his ravaged face outlined in light.  His breath didn’t show in the cold air like a normal person’s would.  There was no warmth to him.

            “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tight.

            “If it were up to me, I’d be here to kill you.  But, I have been sent to offer a truce.  Stay out of our matters and we’ll stay out of yours.”

            My fingers tightened on the knife in my pocket.

            “You should have thought of that before killing my uncle and trying to kill me.”

            “And you are trifling with matters you cannot possibly comprehend.”

            “I can comprehend that your bosses or masters or whoever must be pretty scared, to offer a truce now after realizing you can’t kill me that easily.  That tells me a lot more than your stupid message.”

            He glared at me.  “Be thankful I am bound to service and must follow orders, or I would kill you for your insolence.”

            “Good thing I don’t have any orders to follow, then.”

            I snapped my foot towards his knee, causing him to swing his arm out reflexively to block it.  I drew my knife from my pocket in a blur.  I drove my arm down swiftly, plunging the knife into his neck to the hilt.  His eyes bulged as he gurgled, trying to breathe around the blade in his throat.  He couldn’t talk.

            I twisted the knife, tearing at windpipe and oesophagus.  I looked deep into his soulless eyes.

            “Oh, this won’t kill you.  I know the rules.”  His eyes glared at me with those words, showing a glimmer of something like fear.  “You go back to your friends and you tell them I know.  Tell them I’m coming.  And you tell them to be afraid.”

            He almost smiled at that, as if this was a ridiculous idea, even with a knife in his throat.  To educate him, I pulled it out swiftly and just as quickly sliced across his eyes, blinding him.

            “Tell them.  That is, if you can find them.”

            I turned and walked home.

<<Previous   Next>>

 They dropped me off at Kipling Station, the westernmost point of the Toronto subway system.  Before I got out of the car, Dorothy turned to look at me.

            “We leave you here.  It’s far from your usual routine, and no one would expect to see you.  You understand that we can’t let them know that we’ve contacted you.  They’ll be watching you, so be careful.  We’ll be in touch sooner or later, but I don’t think we’ll ever see you again.”

            “Good luck.”  Rebecca said.  “We’ll pray for you.”

            “Thanks.”  I said.  I pulled my Maple Leafs toque out of my coat pocket and tugged it over my hair.  “Can I just ask one thing?”

            “Sure.”  Rebecca smiled softly.

            “What’s this organization that sent you?”  I asked.  “You mentioned it, but didn’t really explain much.”

            “The less you know, the less you can tell them if you’re caught.”  Dorothy pointed out.  Rebecca gave her a look.  “Okay, okay.  I can tell you this much:  we call ourselves the Church of Ephesians.”

            “‘Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil’.”  I said.

            “Ephesians six, verse eleven.”  Rebecca nodded.  “And in the Revelation, the church that hates evil-doers.”

            I nodded and exited the car.  I raised my hand in farewell as they drove away, and then turned to enter the subway station.  I rode the Bloor line to the Yonge, and then headed north on the next train.

            The sun had gone down by the time I reached Lawrence Station and got on the bus towards campus.  Another chilly winter night.  I huddled in my coat, watching out the window.  I got off at my stop and started walking towards the bridge over Bayview Avenue.  Traffic raced along on the street under the bridge, but there was no one driving on this end of Lawrence.  I looked towards the campus gates and was surprised to see a man in a dark coat standing on that end of the bridge, blocking the sidewalk.  He was wearing a winter hat that covered his face.  I had worn one like it in high school and always pretended I was a ninja.

            I felt pinpricks at the base of my skull.  I looked over my shoulder and saw another man following me from the bus stop, dressed the same way.  I was trapped.  The two men seemed to relish in this, making no move to speed up their attack.  The first man just stood watching, while the other walked slowly, inexorably drawing closer.  I felt my hands instinctively curl into fists.  My knuckles were white with tension.

            My senses seemed almost heightened.  I could hear the dull roar of traffic below us, feel the chill wind on my skin, pulling at my coat.  My heart was thumping in my chest, and the approaching man’s footsteps grated on the cement sidewalk, clomping over sidewalk salt and ice.  I made a decision.

            I ran straight at the second man, back the way I had come, hollering a war cry.  He took a step backwards in surprise, and then instinctively caught my case as I threw it at him.  This left his hands busy as I tackled him low, crashing him into the sidewalk.  I rolled off him and got to my feet quickly, kicking him in the head with my steel-toe winter boots, driving him against the concrete wall of the bridge.  I kicked him again and again, enraged to be attacked a second time.  He dropped my case to the ground.

            I didn’t hear his first man coming behind me, preoccupied as I was with kicking the shit out of his friend.  I only became aware of him when he grabbed hold of my head, his fingers trying to grip my hair through my hat.  I shook free, leaving him with the toque, and dodged.  I faced him, about four feet away.  He had drawn a knife from somewhere, and it glimmered in the glow from the streetlights.  I unzipped my long coat, breathing hard.

            Behind him, his partner was getting to his feet.  His hat was wrinkled up to one side from my kicks, blocking his eyes.  He tugged it off in disgusted frustration, and revealed a face that had been burned very recently.  I recognized him from the factory as the one I had put through the rack wash.

            With both of them on one side of the bridge, it left a clear path towards campus.  I turned and ran.  As quickly as pouncing lions, they were after me, and I felt one grab hold of the end of my coat, pulling.  I let my arms go loose, allowing him to tug my coat straight off, knocking him off balance.  I had never intended to leave; I knew they’d just come after me again.

            Instead, I turned back quickly, delivering a swift kick to his knee before he could get out from under the coat.  I was rewarded with a loud snapping sound as I broke his kneecap.  They couldn’t feel pain, but broken bones could slow them down.  He went down, and I slammed my knee into his face, grabbing his head to force him against it hard.  He crumpled to the sidewalk, down for a moment.

            I used my momentum to spin past his friend onto the road, forcing the one with the burned face to turn towards me, his back to the concrete wall of the bridge.  He roared at me, brandishing his knife.  Moving fast, I ducked under his swipe, catching him around the mid-section.  I pushed forwards, carrying him on my shoulder and then pitching him over the side of bridge.  I watched him fall to the road below, where he crumpled someone’s windshield in a super nova of broken glass.  The car’s brakes shrieked as it spun against another in a collision, tying up traffic.

            Incredulous, I watched him roll to his feet and stumble away down the road.

            In my shock, I forgot to watch my back again.  The other assailant grabbed hold of my dishevelled hair, getting a thick handful.  He tugged my head back, and I felt the cold steel of his knife against my neck.  I kicked off the bridge wall with my feet, knocking us both into the road.  I rolled away fast, getting to my feet near the case, still lying on the sidewalk.  I clicked open the clasps with my chilled hands, feeling numb in the night air.  I flipped it open, hearing my assailant coming up behind me.

            He loomed over my shoulder, his shadow spilling over me from a streetlight behind him.  I swirled round as fast as I could and felt my short sword rip through his neck.  His body slumped to the ground as his head rolled into the street.  I slumped against the bridge wall, breathing hard.  I looked at his bloodless corpse, lying in the snowy gutter.  I had done it.

<<Previous   Next>>

 There’s no such thing as vampires.  Or werewolves.  Not even zombies.  Those stories of things that go bump in the night are misleading embellishments of the truth, like all tales.  The truth was far stranger.  Or, depending on how you looked at it, much more commonplace.  The trick is, most people are ignorant of the Bible, or just don’t care.

            Dorothy and Rebecca told a story, about how angels and demons waged war for the souls of humanity.  The Earth was a battleground for forces ordinary people couldn’t even see.  On the side of angels, they tried to send us signs and portents to lead us to righteousness, while demons whispered in the shadows to fuel our darkest dreams and lead us into sin.  It was always up to humanity to choose, but there were constant struggles for influence over our decisions.

            And, in extreme cases, the invisible war could touch our world much more intimately.

            “Human beings are alive because of the Holy Spirit in their bodies, they exist because of the Breath of God.  But demons are spirits too, evil winds that can enter a person.”  Rebecca said.  “They can possess someone and cause a much more powerful struggle for the soul, one a person is bound to lose without outside help.”

            “Like an exorcism.”

            “Exactly.  The priest calls the Holy Spirit to cast out the demon.”

            But while possession was like a kidnapping, an attempt to overpower an innocent, there were also people so shrouded in darkness that they actively sought the means to contact the underworld, people who were literally willing to sell their souls to the devil.

            “These people bond with a demon, and allow it free reign in the world.  The most evil people in history are examples of this, from the occult-obsessed Hitler to Nero.  Do you remember Vlad the Impaler, and Rasputin from Russia?”

            “Vlad was the inspiration for Dracula.  Rasputin was a major influence on the Tsar’s family, and some hold him partly responsible for the fall of the Romanovs.  He was supposed to be a holy man, but was known for debauchery.”

            “They tried to poison him, stab him and shoot him.  He survived all of it until they shot him in the head and threw him into a freezing river.”  Dorothy said.  “Does that sound normal to you?”

            The girls convinced me that those who willingly congressed with demons became supernaturally powerful, able to survive extreme conditions and pain.  The only way to kill one was to end its breath, trapping the spirit in the body:  drowning, or decapitation, or sudden incineration.

            “That’s where the legends of vampires comes from.  You can’t actually kill them with a stake in the heart, or sunlight.  But they do feed off blood.”  Rebecca grimaced.

            “The blood holds the life, so the Bible teaches.  Demons eat human flesh to keep their bodies alive, as they automatically begin to decay.  The blood keeps their skin fresh,” said Dorothy, her voice flat.  “They avoid sunlight if they can because it shows the condition of their skin.  Wounds don’t bleed, but the scars don’t heal either.”

            I stared out the window of the car, absorbing their story.  It certainly explained why the men at the factory had never cried out in pain.  I felt cold.

            “So I’m supposed to kill invincible demons, is that it?”  I said after awhile. 

            “They’re not totally invincible.  Some are stronger than others.  It depends on the age and the class of demon.  Rasputin was an unimportant peasant, but an elder demon bonded with him and saw a real chance for chaos in elevating a pauper.  Sometimes you get a minor demon, the equivalent of a hired goon.”

            “So, elder or minor, or whatever, how do I kill them?”

            “If you kill the body, but don’t trap the breath, they can escape to someone else.  Even animals.  That’s why there are werewolf stories.  Unless you can keep a bathtub handy, you won’t be able to drown them.” Rebecca said, trying to shake the chill in the air with a weak joke.

            “You have to take their heads,” Dorothy said.  Rebecca nodded.

`           “It sounds like Highlander. ‘There can be only one.’”  I almost laughed.

            Dorothy steered us to the side of the road and pulled to a stop.  She glanced at her friend and gave a slight nod.  Rebecca exited the car, went to the trunk, and returned carrying a case.  She sat back down and buckled her seatbelt, and we resumed driving.

            She turned to me and handed me the case.

            “It’s not even my birthday.” I said dryly.  I opened the clasps and lifted the lid.

            A short sword of Japanese design, a waki-zashi, lay in cloth alongside a Western-style revolver.  Both were in perfect condition, obviously well cared for.  I looked at these lethal weapons of the past, and then looked again at the two young women in the front seat.

            “Here’s where we find out how much reading you’ve really done.”  Dorothy said.  “Ever hear of Yoshitsune?”

            “He’s a legendary hero out of Japanese history.  They say he was trained by bird-demons, the tengu, and fought alongside a monk against evil armies.  I guess demons in Japan aren’t so bad.”

            “The monk, Benkei, was one of us.  And, ‘nice bird-demons,’ what does that sound like to you?  Even down through garbled legends.”  Rebecca asked.

            “I don’t know.  Angels?  You’re telling me that all the legends of history are part of a conspiracy to fight demons, and that I’ve been chosen to carry on the story?  If I hadn’t experienced what I have in the last twenty-four hours, I’d tell you that you’re crazy.”

            “But you did experience it.  So now this sword belongs to you, the rightful heir to a legacy of righteousness.”

            “And the gun?”

            “It belonged to a man named Jonah Chalmers.  He isn’t famous, but he deserves to be.”  Dorothy said.  “If you shoot, you have to take the head off.  You can’t kill them if you aim for the heart.”

            I stared at the weapons of past champions for a long time.

            “All right.  So when does my training begin?”

            “It already has.  If you’re still alive, you’re still learning.  Good luck.”  Dorothy said seriously.

            “Are you kidding me?”

            “Listen, every champion in history had someone guiding him.  Robin Hood had Friar Tuck, and Yoshitsune had Benkei.  A priest from our church helped them all.  Your uncle was supposed to guide you, but he’s dead.  We’re not completely trained and have a different task entirely.  You’re on your own.”  Rebecca said.  “I’m sorry.”

            “So what am I supposed to do?  How do I find the demons that killed my uncle?”

            “I’m pretty sure they’ll find you.”  Dorothy said.

<<Previous   Next>>

 I sat in the back of a black sedan, while the blonde drove.

            “I’m Dorothy and this is Rebecca,” she said over her shoulder by way of introduction.

            “I’m Ethan.”

            “We know.”  She said.

            “What else do you know?  Why are they after me?  Who are they?” I asked.  She knew what I meant immediately.
            “They were sent to kill you.  Barring that, they had to do their best to take away your resources.  Unfortunately for them, our mentor brought us along.”

            “So you’re here to explain what’s happening?” I hoped.

            “As much as we know.”  The brunette, Rebecca, said.  “We’re just being trained ourselves.”

            “Why did they kill my uncle?”

            “He was meant to teach you.  He was only waiting until you were older, so he could be sure you found your faith.  Now, we’re running out of time.”  Dorothy said.

            “So, what, he was supposed to be my Obi Wan Kenobi?”

            The black-haired one laughed.  “Something like that.”

            “I know I’m supposed to go with you.”

            “Good.  That part’s easy, anyway.”  Rebecca said. “I didn’t know how we’d convince you.”

            “It would have been impossible, yesterday.”  I admitted.  “This seems like the start of every action movie ever made. ‘ Mysterious stranger gives clueless hero a quest.’  Right now I’m thinking this is very ‘Last Starfighter.’  Are you going to replace me with a clone?”

            “What if we told you that every story you ever enjoyed had a purpose?”  Dorothy suggested, ignoring my irreverent question.

            “I studied symbolism.  I know a lot of people think that stories contain messages from the collective unconscious about the secret hopes and dreams of all humanity, and that most of those symbols originate in the Bible,” I said.  “I’m not stupid.”

            “No one said you were,” Rebecca assured me.  “But that’s not what we mean.”

            “God is the Creator.  All creativity, inspired by the Spirit, somehow flows from that.  It might get turned around by the person channelling it, but God is always in there somewhere,” Dorothy continued.

            “Thereby inspiring the secret meanings of the stories to educate mankind, I get it,” I said, almost bored.

            “No.  We’re trying to tell you that your favourite stories, no matter who wrote them, no matter when, they were all written specifically for you.”  Dorothy snapped.

            “To make you ready.”  Rebecca said softly. 

            “Ready for what?”  I asked.  “You haven’t exactly gotten to that part yet.”

            “Throughout history there have been times of great darkness.  At those times, God chooses judges, or champions, to fight back against darkness.”  She went on.

            “Like Samson.”  I nodded.  I had been reading about Samson.  The Bible says the Spirit made him move, the way it had been guiding me.

            “Yes.  But even outside the Bible.  You’ve heard of Robin Hood, Zorro, the Musketeers, the knights of Camelot?”

            “Who hasn’t?  But those are just stories.”

            “Some stories are based on truth.  They just get commercialized.” Dorothy said, steering the car.  Countryside flowed past.

            “We represent an organization that discovers these heroes, and helps them to achieve their destiny.  The world is filled with lies and doubt, and we take a stand for true faith,” Rebecca said.

            “This is all great exposition, but it still doesn’t help me.  I get it, I’m the dumb hero for this action flick.  But what am I supposed to do?”

            “Ever hear of vampires?”  Rebecca said, looking at me over her shoulder.

            I laughed, long and hard.  “I was hoping for something more like Lord of the Rings.  You’re casting me for Buffy the Vampire Slayer?”

            “It’s much worse than that,” Dorothy said, hitting a highway and speeding up.

<<Previous   Next>>

 I sat on the end of a fire truck, huddled in a thick blanket, staring blankly into space.  The ruins of my uncle’s home smouldered as neighbours, police and firefighters bustled about.  Some thoughtful soul had given me a thermos full of tea, which now sat idly in my hand.  I didn’t have the heart to tell them I never drank the stuff.

            Eventually the sheriff took me home, still in a dazed silence.  My parents hovered over me with worry, and somehow I ended up in my bed, staring at the ceiling.  I thought about the ashes that had once been my uncle’s home, and felt like my life had been burned down around me the same way. 

            Every time I thought I was getting any better, my life got worse.  I lost Faith, my school went on strike, I was isolated from my friends, the church had been attacked by an arsonist, Lil had tried to manipulate me, Dan had cheated on Teri, my uncle was dead…  I felt closed in by darkness, chilled by despair.  I couldn’t sleep.

            I got up and showered, washing away ashes and dust, bloody from the factory, leaning against the tiles of the shower.  I let the water trickle over my skin and tried to stop thinking.  I felt hollow.

            I had made a promise, and no matter how bad life was, I intended to keep it.

            I dressed and ate toast before walking to church in my thick black coat.  I sat in the back row, slumped in my seat.  The choir led the congregation through the hymns and I felt hollow.  The minister prayed, and I didn’t care.  It all seemed completely meaningless.

            The preacher, Reverend Craig, began a sermon on Genesis, of Adam and Eve in the garden.  I only half-listened, knowing the story of how the serpent tempted them, and then they hid from God after eating the fruit.

            “God is all knowing,” the preacher said, “Adam and Eve could not truly conceal themselves.  Yet God looks for them in the garden, calling out to see where they are.  Why does He do this?”

            Reverend Craig paused.  “I believe God was waiting for Adam and Eve to reveal themselves.  To feel ashamed of their own disobedience and then own up to what they had done.  This story is about how all of us, at one time or another, hide from God.  And God wants us to know that He will always come looking for us, no matter what we’ve done.

            “We are never lost in God’s eyes.”

            I felt it.  I felt the stirring inside me that came from really feeling God’s presence, something I could never articulate to anyone else.  It was almost as if every cell of my body had been struck like a guitar chord, humming in the air.  I held still, fighting my feelings.  I just waited, as the minister and choir exited.  I sat while the congregation dispersed.  I waited until I had the sanctuary to myself.

            I walked up the red carpet to the steps leading up to the worship area.  I knelt there, in the same place I had been baptized.  I shook with fear.  I hated my life, yet could still find a way to believe in God.  So I asked Him to find me where I was hiding, and rescue me from the darkness that had invaded my life.

            My freshman year had been one of loneliness and depression.  I was so confused.  I wanted it to make sense, or for everything to end.

            “I give up!”  I cried out.  “I don’t care anymore!  I don’t want this life!  You need to take it and make it yours, or end it, because I’m done with trying.  Show me what I’m supposed to do, or make it all stop.  Please.”

            I felt the stirring, a wind inside me, and it pushed me to the ground.  The burden on my shoulders had become crushing, all my terror and depression suddenly made physical.  It was as if an invisible hand was holding me down and I began to panic.  I could hardly breathe.  My fingers pressed against the red carpet, and I became supremely aware of every bristle against my skin.  I struggled and got nowhere.  My own strength was insignificant.

            And then I remembered. 

            “Wind” and “Spirit” and “Breath” are the same in Hebrew.  The Holy Spirit is God’s Breath.  I could not breathe because I was fighting the spirit moving within me.

            “Sometimes friends hold the keys to the doors in our souls.”  Angelica had told me in the dream.  Named for an angel, the messengers of God.

            “You have to let go or you will never feel safe,” a message from Hope, the wish for the future.  Safety, or salvation, which is offered by God.

            I let my hands relax and stopped fighting.  I lay on the floor of the sanctuary and felt the spirit soar through me like a wind, and it took with it my fear, my sense of burden.  I remembered my baptism and the sheer joy of knowing God.  The weight had lifted, and I was sure of something.

            God gave me the breath of life.  It was a gift, not a burden.  And that meant all these dark days had not been to destroy me, but to help me find my way.  I could almost feel it, like a river’s current pulling me forward; I could sense my future.  I knew my purpose.  I sat up, feeling refreshed, cleansed.

            I turned as I stood and saw two young women in the doorway of the sanctuary.  They were dressed in identical black suits and ties.  One was a blonde with a serious expression, with short hair that was about even with her chin.  The second had long black hair and a soft smile.

            “How did you know where to find me?” I asked.

            The brunette blinked, surprised.  The blonde simply shrugged.

            “If you were ready, you’d be here.”

<<Previous   Next>>

 ”I’m coming to church this Sunday, if that’s all right with you,” I told my uncle on Friday night.

            He nodded.  “Be glad to have you.”

            “Good.”  I grinned.

            “You’ll have to get your own ride to work on Saturday night.  An old friend is visiting so I took the night off.”

            “Cool.  About time you took even a little vacation.  Anyone I know?”

            “I don’t think so.  Just a friend from when I was a soldier.”

            I had forgotten about that.  After high school my uncle had enlisted.  My mother always thought it was to get away from the town, since he couldn’t afford college.

            “Have a good time.”

            “I will.  Come by Sunday morning, we’ll all go to church together.”

            “Thanks.”

***

Saturday night I was in the tankage area, dumping metal carts of meat down a chute.  We called the wheelbarrow shaped carts “bone buggies” as they were for cleaning up whatever meat and assorted animal oddments had hit the floor.  The chute led to bins in the basement that were taken away by trucks for processing and rendering.

            The room was old and carried a musty smell.  It used to be a pig-kill, with rusty metal rails on the ceiling that used to drag carcasses around.  It always felt a little creepy.  I was hosing water around the chute, cleaning up refuse before it rotted.  Steam heated the water, shooting up a fog around me.

            I suddenly realized that I wasn’t alone as goose bumps ran up my neck.  I turned and saw a figure approaching through the mist.  Like me, he wore a yellow hardhat and a white smock. 

            “Hey, what’s up?” I smiled, assuming he was a co-worker.  Then I noticed he was wearing street shoes instead of regulation rubber boots.  I glanced up at his face once it became clearer through the fog and recognized his gaunt visage. 

            I was already moving when he raised his arm and fired a gun.  I turned the steam hose on him, sending his shot wide and forcing him back with the burning heat.  His shout seemed more surprised than pained, but I didn’t think on it too long.  I reacted more quickly than I would have believed, had I not done it myself, jumping straight down the tankage chute, holding my arms tight to my chest.  It was a tight squeeze, but I fit.  Swiftly, I dropped down to the basement, landing in a wet pile of meat.

            I shook my head as I climbed out of the plastic bin, feeling disgusting.  I wondered what on earth that man was doing here, and why he was trying to kill me.  I recognized him:  he was the drug dealer from that night I went to the club with Daniel.  My pants were soaked, my white coat sticking to my legs.  I hurried out of the room as fast as I could, realizing my assailant could easily follow me down the chute.

            I pulled off the white coat and threw it away.  I passed quickly through the back area, with storage for boots, helmets and other equipment.  I entered the main hall, running for security at the entrance gate.  The hall was shaped like an L, and as I approached the corner I could hear the distinct static of a walkie-talkie. 

            “He may be headed your way, over.”

            “Roger that,” said a voice that was much clearer.  “I’m watching.”

            Someone was waiting for me around the bend. 

            I ran forward, coming around the corner and letting him glimpse me before skidding and running back the way I came.  He gave a shout, and then I heard his footsteps behind me.  Instead of running pell-mell back the way I came, I ducked up against the wall.  As the second man came around the bend, I dashed forward, getting my hands on his head, and slammed him into one of the many food coolers on the wall, smashing his head through the glass of the door.

            The corner of the hallway was the employees’ market, where they could buy discounted products.  The walls were lined with glass cabinets like at the grocery store.  I never would have thought that I’d be using them as weapons, but it worked.

            I didn’t even stop to look to see if he was unconscious, I just ran.  I went back the way I had come, assuming they would have someone watching the front door.  I had only one advantage over my mysterious assailants, and that was my knowledge of the factory.  I knew its twists and turns as well as anyone, having worked the sanitation crew.  As a part-time employee I had been trained to work in most areas of the plant, as I usually covered for people on vacation or those who didn’t want to work overtime.  While regular employees had specific positions, I was a fill-in.  I could work anywhere.

            I passed the door to tankage as my first attacker came through it.  He growled at me incoherently, wet and messy from the drop.  His face looked scalded from the steam, but it wasn’t slowing him down any.  I sprinted up the stairwell by the door, effectively daring him to follow.  I ran to the second floor and pulled open the door, dashing into the next room.

            I had entered the rack wash:  meat going into the smokehouses rested on metal racks that ran on wheels, and this was where they were cleaned.  There was a room on my right for dirty racks, and directly in front of me was the cleaning machine.  It was like a long metal tunnel with doors, the walls were lined with nozzles.  In operation, they would spray a mixture of boiling water and caustic, sterilizing the metal racking. 

            I had been warned to never get caught inside, as the water and caustic could severely burn skin.  I also knew that between pushing the “on” button and the actual operation of the machine, there was a short delay.  I hoped to use that to my advantage.

            I ran through the rack washer, hearing my hunter behind me.  I ran as fast as I could, feeling my lungs burn, trying not to smell the acrid odour of caustic.  My booted feet clattered on the metal floor.  I sprinted to the end of the tunnel and turned.  He was coming fast, and was nearing the halfway mark.  I smiled and waved as I hit the button to turn the machine on.  He actually roared at me, running faster.  The doors closed just before he reached them, and the water started a moment later.

            I could hear bellows of rage from within, but didn’t waste any time.  I ran to the nearby rack elevator, which allowed us to send clean racks down to the first floor where there was a long storage room.  I closed the elevator doors and went down.  I hoped that I had out-flanked my attacker’s friend, and any others that might be in the building.  No one could have anticipated the twisted route I had taken to get right back where I started.  The storage room for the racks was just off the maintenance section next to tankage, so a moment later I was back in the main hallway. 

            I noticed that the man I had crashed into the cabinet was no longer there.  I didn’t want to risk it, however.  Instead of heading down the hallway, I took a path through the maintenance area into some cold storage rooms, with a side door.  I went through this and ended up in one of the men’s change-rooms.  I marvelled at how convoluted the old factory was, with new uses for old rooms creating an interconnected labyrinth. 

            I left the locker room, having successfully bypassed most of the main hallway.  I exited near the security gate, and sprinted, hoping to raise an alarm.  Instead, I found the guard lying on the floor, killed by gunfire.  Without hesitating, I grabbed his winter coat and ran back the way I had come.  I felt fairly certain that the gunmen would have a car waiting for them outside, and I had no intention of just blithely running into them.

            I went back to tankage, and opened the big sliding doors that were normally used for forklifts to come and pick up the full bins to load them onto trucks.  I exited the building into a cold winter night, and ran across the back parking lot.  Trailers came here to be unloaded so orders could be received.  I hurried across the lot, running as fast as my rubber boots would allow.  I reached the fence at the edge of the yard, hauling myself up and over.  I climbed a hill and reached the street after struggling through trees.

            I crossed the street and jogged down to the corner where there was a gas station.  Outside, there was a telephone booth.  I rushed to it, feeling the winter wind slashing at my ears.  I got inside and dialled 911.

            “911.  What is the nature of your emergency?”  The disembodied voice of the dispatcher said.

            “Someone killed the security guard at the plant!”  I said anxiously, my pulse pounding as I fought to catch my breath.  “There were men with guns.  Send help, hurry!”

            “Sir, I need you to calm down.  You said there’s been a murder?”

            “Yes, yes.  You need to get the police here right away.”

            “What is your location?”

            “I’m at the telephone booth at the corner of Main and Stirling.  Hurry!”
            I waited in the cold, wearing wet pants, rubber boots, a borrowed coat and only the thin cotton gloves we wore in the plant.  The chill wind bit at my face and ears, so I sought shelter in the telephone booth, cramped as it might be.

            A patrol car pulled up about five minutes later with two officers.  They got out and approached.

            “What seems to be the trouble, son?”  One of them said.

            “Back at the plant, there are two men.  They had guns.”  I was shivering.  “One of them had a leather coat, the other one was wearing a white smock and hard hat.  They killed the guard.”

            “Can you describe these men?”

            I opened my mouth to speak and then heard an engine approaching.  It was loud, as if the driver was in a hurry.  I looked up and saw a big red truck come around the corner, headed straight for us.  I ducked and rolled as the truck smashed right over one of the police officers, knocking him down with a scream.  Someone was firing a gun out the window, several loud bangs echoing across the parking lot.  I was running, and didn’t look back.

            My only hope of evading their vehicle was to avoid the roads.  I hopped fences, breathing hard, my breath leaving a plume in the air.  My feet crunched through snow as I cut across backyards, moving from street to street, hoping that I was moving too fast for them to figure out where I could be.  I doubted that they knew their way around town well enough to predict anything.

            I wondered what they were doing here.  They seemed hell-bent on killing me specifically, since they had tracked me to tankage and then followed me outside.  Presumably, they had come all the way from Toronto for something, after all.  But what?

            I crossed two streets and then started running down the block.  I was only a few blocks away from my uncle’s house.  Hopefully I could find shelter there, and call the police again.  I pushed myself to run faster despite the stitch in my side.  I came within sight of his place, feeling triumphant.

            Then I was covering my face with one arm and diving for the ground as it exploded.  A huge fireball erupted against the dark sky and his house was blown to splinters.

<<Previous   Next>>

 I returned to school feeling restless.  I wandered down to the common room after dropping my bags.  I found it empty so I watched television, changing channels as I found nothing of interest.

             ”Hey, Ethan.”  A voice said from behind me.  I turned to see my friend Erin leaning against the doorframe.

            “Oh, hey.”

            “You look bored.”

            “I am.”  I laughed.

            “Want to see something cool?  Get your coat.”  Erin said with a smile.

            When we got back, I wrote this.

To Speak

 

I talk

I ask questions

I talk a lot

I give answers

I talk too much

I reassure

I talk to a lot of people

I encourage

I talk to friends and strangers and family and enemies

I explain

I talk long into the night

I debate

I talk using big words and lots of adjectives

I offer polite amenities because they are expected

I think maybe I’ll die talking

 

When that day comes

Whether it is a question on my lips

Or a final answer

Or a joke

Is up to God.

 

If God wanted to be cruel, He will wait until I am in mid-sentence, so another thing will be left unsaid.

 

For, though I am always talking, I never say very much.

 

I have trouble saying “I am angry” when I am angry

I have trouble saying “I love you” when I love

I have trouble saying “I am happy” when I am happy

I never say the things that really matter.  I don’t know how.

 

I find it bitter irony that I can talk and talk all day and fill people’s ears with inanities, yet when I truly have something to say, I am left with silence and cannot express a single thought or feeling.

 

I see strangers everywhere

            At the mall

                        At church

                                    At school

                                                At my home

Strangers who were once friends and family

I want to say

I love you

I miss you

What is happening to us?

Why don’t we talk?

I’m sorry

A second chance…

 

But I can’t say anything.  I just talk.

 

“Hi, how are you?  That’s good.  What have you been up to lately?  Me?  Oh, I’ve been busy.  Same old, same old.  Working hard, staying out of trouble, you know me.”

 

But they don’t.  They don’t know me at all.  We are strangers.

 

We are strangers

And if I tried to explain it would be like two people in a crowded market

Speaking in unfamiliar languages

Shouting to make themselves heard

As if understanding comes with more volume

And they get angrier and angrier because the other person doesn’t understand

And they never will.

They’re speaking different languages.

 

I cannot find the right words.

 

For instance:

 

We run through new fallen snow and hear our shuffling footsteps

Shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle shuffle

Smiling like children, we race

Shuffle shuffle shuffle

We tread in another’s footprints

Shuffle shuffle

To leave as much snow as possible pure and untouched

Shuffle

 

It was so beautiful

A world blanketed in soft white purity

New and fresh and clean

A blank sheet of paper waiting

Waiting for someone to make a picture or a story

The world seemed like it was starting over

A fresh page.

 

We climb over a metal railing and run along the side of the Manor

“Come on”

Erin smiles like a school girl and gestures for me to follow

“Over here”

We go around the corner and she leads me to a black metal staircase

Up and up and up

Each step is covered in a thick dusting of snow

Like white icing on dark chocolate cake

We reach the rooftop and look out over the valley and over the trees and over the world

Down and down and down

 

And it’s all so beautiful

I wonder if God felt this way looking down on Creation, when He said

“IT IS GOOD”

fresh and clean and new and pure

the sky is orange, clouds and snow reflecting streetlights make it so

and the air seems filled with magic and music

Beauty.

 

I look at Erin, with her auburn curls and black coat and school girl smile,

And I want to say to her how beautiful it is, this world so new and fresh, how it makes me feel like it could be anything I want it to be, or make myself anything I want to be, how maybe I could start afresh with myself, like a blank page or a field of perfect, white untrodden snow.  But instead, all I say is “Wow.”

Just “Wow.”

For a moment I knew what God felt and all I can say is “Wow.”

 

I am in love with a girl who must remain nameless.

I’m not supposed to talk about her

My heart demands it be expressed

So I compromise, I cannot speak so I write

Only I will not write her name, because names have power

Even writing them seems like speaking, and when you speak someone’s name you put them into the room, into the world,

Even if they are far away, their name brings them close to you

And we are not close right now.

 

I wish I could show her the world from the top of the Manor

I wish I could explain how the page can be fresh

We can make it anything we want it to be

That I can rise above my past and my fear

The same way the stairs raise us above the trees

I wish I could explain “IT IS GOOD”

And how I can be good too

If only I could have a fresh page, a second chance, a new beginning

But right now we’re not speaking.

 

I am afraid we will never speak again.

So I speak to stars and snow and sky and paper because I cannot speak to anyone else.

But I will.

I will stop talking and start saying things that matter.

Just as soon as I find a way past the wall of silence between my feelings and the world.

I will speak and it will fall, like the trumpets and shouts that knocked over Jericho.

And I will walk into the world and we will be new and pure. 

A fresh page.

I finished writing this, remembering in my heart what it was like to praise God.

<<Previous   Next>>

 ”Six years ago, your symptoms would have gone unnoticed.  They were easily written off as reactions to the trauma of your near-death experience.  Outwardly, as a respectful, intelligent young man, few people would find reason for concern with your behaviour,” Dr. Moss began.

            “However, you were a memorable case, and I often found myself going back over your file from time to time.  Such a bright young man, so mature for your age.  Abnormally so.  An extensive reader, often reading far beyond your age level.  I remembered how you felt isolated from your peers because of that.”

            “So?”

            “Ah, yes, the point.  You always want to know the point.  Never just able to make chit-chat.  I remembered that, too.  I was at a conference a year or two ago, and one of the presentations stayed with me.  I compared it with your file.  A pattern emerged.”

            “A pattern,” I repeated again. 

            “Yes.” Dr. Moss smiled.  “You always liked patterns.  You said they helped you understand things, if you could grasp a pattern you could predict what was to happen next.  They comforted you.”

            “I suppose.  I like knowing what’s expected.”

            “Like greetings and responses.  You like knowing the right way to behave.”

            “Yes.  Of course.”

            Dr. Moss smiled, but it looked a little sad. 

            “Dear boy, have you ever heard of Asperger’s Syndrome?  It was barely a blip on the radar in 1994, but has recently been given more attention in psychological circles.”

            “No, what is it?”

            “The simplest explanation is to call it ‘high-functioning autism,’ but that’s not entirely accurate, nor helpful.  Every autistic is an experiment, a unique case with their own patterns and interests.  However, they exist in worlds of their own, uninterested in other people.”

            “And people with Asperger’s, how are they different?”

            “People with ‘AS,’ as they call it, are interested in socializing.  However, they lack the necessary empathy and skills to navigate the social world appropriately.  Conversations are often one-sided, and focused on the individual’s interests.  Those interests border on the obsessive.  Others, whether friends or family, are usually seen as people to talk ‘to’ instead of ‘with.’  They serve roles to meet the individual’s needs, instead of an equitable, reciprocal relationship.”

            I wrinkled my forehead, trying to make sense of what he was saying.

            “People with ‘AS,’ they want to talk to others, but it’s egocentric?  They don’t realize the other person has needs, too?” I tried to summarize.

            “Sometimes.  They often care deeply about those around them.  But their empathy is certainly lacking.  They don’t possess the same instincts for socialization.  They won’t always understand relationships, flirting, or deception.  Change can be overwhelming, routine is safe and comforting.”

            I gripped my hands.  Opened and closed them.  This sounded familiar.  This sounded like my life.

            “People with AS are alone in a crowded room, wondering how they can communicate with the people they see.  With their social confusion, they feel out of place, aliens from another planet.  They struggle to find the right way to reach out,” Dr. Moss tried to explain.  “But they never really see the others as others.  They see them as the roles they fulfill.  Thus, a kind old man becomes just a doctor who solves problems, and not someone to have a chat over cocoa with.”

            “I never meant to offend…” I started to say.

            “You didn’t.  Because I understand.  But many of your friends, perhaps they don’t.  I recall a young girl, who visited you in the hospital.”

            “You mean Hope?”

            “Yes.  What kind of friendship did you have?  How did you feel about her?”

            “I don’t know.  I felt grateful that someone cared enough to visit me in the hospital, I didn’t think I was that important.  I tried to repay her kindness throughout high school by giving her my attention as much as possible.  She was nice to me, so I tried to be nice to her.”

            “In all fairness?”

            “Yes, I like being fair.  But I got out of control, after awhile.  I thought too much about her, followed her around.  It was like I couldn’t stop thinking of how to show her she mattered.”

            “Did you have romantic inclinations?”

            I shrugged.  “I thought so at the time, but I didn’t really feel anything.  It started as a way to value her the way she seemed to value me, and then it just became like an obsessive thought pattern.  I was like a hamster, spinning in a wheel.  But I never actually felt emotionally connected or attracted, no.”

“That is consistent with the AS.  Your sense of fair play and your need for rules combined with the tendency towards obsessive thoughts caused a cycle.  You were perseverating, and lost control for a while.  It sounds like you didn’t appreciate Hope for her own qualities, but rather responded to the role she played in your life.  If it is indeed Asperger’s syndrome, your feelings of isolation could stem from that.  Your depression is likely a result of you perseverating on your circumstances so much that you make yourself miserable.  I suggest you take this file I made, read up on it.  See what you think.”

            “What do I do?”  I felt my insides churning.

            “You will struggle with it all your life.  But you will find ways to manage, and to connect.  It just takes really listening to others, and finding ways to share yourself.  Go make some friends, get involved.  You’ll find your way.”

            “I hope so.” 

            The alternative was to be alone forever.

<<Previous   Next>>

 When I woke up on Saturday, around noon, I walked down to our kitchen and rifled through the phone book, checking an address.  Once I found it, I got dressed and headed out the door. 

            I waited in the crisp winter air on a porch a few blocks away, wondering if I should knock.  I fidgeted, my hands balling up into fists and then opening.  Opening and closing.  I looked from side to side down the street.  Just as I lifted my hand to knock, the door opened.