Fires Rising (23 page)

He was gone.

Pilazzo could hear the man's bones crunching—it sounded like hard candy in someone's mouth. The thing's fleshy exterior swelled as it chewed. It turned purple, with dark winding tendrils expanding beyond the confines of the its splintered edges. Blood gushed everywhere, and dime-sized drops of gore spattered the altar as far as twenty feet away.

Pilazzo whispered a desperate prayer before crawling into the rearmost pew. He sat on the floor, trembling, listening to the beast's croaky breaths as they filled his ears like shots of venom.

Over the top of the pew, he looked to the crucified Jesus, and shuddered.

Its heavenward eyes were crying tears of sorrow.

J
yro stood a few feet from the open door, making every effort to peer into the hallway. They'd all heard Larry's screams and were stricken with terror. He tried desperately not to imagine what was happening.

Looking into the dark hallway, Jyro called out, "Kid? You all right?"

"Yeah." Timothy's voice emerged from the darkness a notch above a whisper, and not too far away. Jyro felt a great wave of relief. "Did you hear that?"

"We all heard it," Jyro answered despondently. The low rumbling growl of the beast still resonated in his ears.

"It's the beast. I think it got Larry."

"You hear anything else?"

"A man. He was screaming, but…but not anymore."

"Can you tell if he's still out there?"

"I don't hear him."

Jyro knew: this unseen man might very well be the sinless one they were supposed to find.

"Kid…listen to me. You have to go out there. You have to draw attention to this man. If he's the sinless one we're supposed to find, then…then he's our only hope." He paused, adding, "But be careful. If he's
not
the sinless one…"

A moment of distressing silence followed.

In a weak but determined voice, the boy answered, "Okay."

E
ndless seconds passed. Many thoughts came and went, but all that really mattered were his only clear choices: remain in place and pray that everything would return to normal, or confront the thing in a do-or-die attempt to…to
what?
Kill it? Exorcise it?

Is this what I'm supposed to do? Exorcise the demon? Answer me!

Then it hit him suddenly, as though a powerful light had ignited the dark shadows of his mind.

Rosary…rosary…rosary.

He squeezed the charm tightly, praying for an answer.
Dear God please! I implore you!

Nothing.

After a minute, he stood up from his place in the pew. Unable to face the monstrosity on the altar, he turned and stared at the rear doors of the church. For a moment he expected them to open and slam shut again as they did earlier, but they remained unmoving and silent.

He wondered if the possessed workers were out there right now, waiting for him.

An ancient war has begun, a battle to be waged between good and evil. I have been chosen to play a role. I am the sinless one…

Seeing no choice in the matter, he turned and peered despondently at the altar. Tears formed in his eyes and he wiped them away with his dirty hands.

He shuddered.
My God…how am I to face such a monster?

He looked at the rosary in his hands…and shuddered.

How is this possible?

The burns on his hands were gone. Healed. The pain of his injuries, it had been so instant, so intense, that the suddenness of their healing had come with similar unexpectedness. And the rosary was no longer glowing red. Despite its size, it looked as unremarkable as the healed skin on his hands.

He told himself:
This rosary is a work of God. He is watching over me now, giving me the strength to carry on with the task that is expected of me.
 

With this in mind, he took a deep breath and slowly paced back up the aisle, right hand clutching the rosary tightly, left hand seeking the remaining pews for balance. He kept his gaze upon the unnamable beast as it continued to writhe and pulse in its position before the statue, again wondering how in God's name he might confront such a monster.

Rosary…rosary…rosary…

As he neared the altar, he held up the rosary, and uttered a prayer. His mind spoke English, but the words falling out from between his lips were Latin: "
Castigo laudible, corpus meum…"
  

At once could see tiny lumps rising up and down on the beast's bloody surface, as if the rosary itself had cast upon it waves of extreme heat. The flesh shrunk into itself like a bug turning its armor. It changed color, from deep purple to black, and all of a sudden no longer resembled the gruesome ear on the departed vagrant's head as it did a rotten plum fallen from some dying tree.

Pilazzo swallowed past the dryness in his throat, feeling his legs tremble as he moved even closer to it. The rosary swayed back and forth in his hand.

A tearing sound cut into the silence.

Pilazzo could see the thing severing itself from the floor. Black oily stuff oozed from it as it slid away from the splintered hole. It jerked flaccidly, like a landed fish, clinging grimly to its fleshy foundation until it plunked down onto the steps, where it remained utterly motionless—a roadside possum amidst a fresh puddle of blood, devoid of life. A ghostly hiss geysered from the hole, tapering down into a sickly wheeze before completely dying out.

Pilazzo shuffled forward, feet sliding in the sawdust and blood, feeling terrified. He stared disbelievingly at the lifeless hunk of flesh on the steps…then at the dark hole where it had taken up residence.

Still holding the rosary out, he uttered another prayer, gazing at the slaughterhouse the altar had become.

In my hands, with my prayer, this rosary is a powerful weapon against evil.

The rosary moved slightly in his hands. Gooseflesh marbled across his arms.

He held it close and placed his wounded gaze upon it.

And at once felt
something
…a triggering inside him, a form of debate that coerced him to shun the scene before him and toy with the rosary instead, as if it were a puzzle of some sort.

Of their own accord, his fingers began looping in and out of the marble-sized beads and the intermittent charms that dangled curiously over his eager palms. He felt helplessly mesmerized, retaining no other option but to analyze the beads and charms—to seek a rationale in their intricate structure. Soon, he lost a sense of all time passing. His fingers grew hot as they picked and prodded at the beads. Tunnel-vision set in. He grew deaf and blind to the wounded environment, feeling completely lured into the beaded heart of the rosary, his perceptions meticulously alert to the sudden task at hand. He became convinced that some sort of systematic trick existed within the rosary, one that would provide answers to the existing evil should he unravel its objective.

I see something in them
, he thought.
And…it…is…good.

"Father…"

A light shined in his eyes.

Pilazzo fell away from his reverie, distressed as he regained his lucidity, the feel of the slithering rosary in his hands returning to something utterly ordinary. The priest pulled his eyes away from the invading light and once again beheld the butchery on the church's altar—the same altar he'd performed mass on for seventeen years.

The light cut away from his face. He looked back and saw a young man, visible as a gray shape behind the flashlight he held. Only now did Pilazzo realize that the construction spots had gone out—dust motes floating beneath the wake of light filtering in through the stained glass windows above.

As surreptitiously as possible, he shoved the rosary into his pocket.

"This is your house," the boy said, voice echoing hollowly.

Pilazzo took a step forward.

He pointed the light back into Pilazzo's face. "Stay where you are."

Pilazzo, blocking his eyes from the light, nodded, the stench from the altar luring his gorge into his throat.

After a moment of silence, the boy pulled the flashlight's beam away again. He stepped forward into a golden shaft of light, enabling Pilazzo to see him more clearly now. He was perhaps six feet tall, but no more than sixteen years of age. He'd seen some abuse recently, right eye nearly swelled shut, a dark purple bruise encircling it like a damaged halo. A fresh wound festered on his cheek, lips cracked and bleeding. His face lay coated in dirt. He wore jeans and a filthy yellow shirt that hung slackly on a thin, angular frame.

He looked familiar.

Pilazzo nodded, slowly, tentatively.

"I recognize you," the boy slurred. "Father Pilazzo."

The priest remained silent at first, observing the boy's injuries with both concern and distrust. "You're injured," he remarked, keeping his place against the first pew. He looped his fingers through the rosary in his pocket. It felt warm to the touch, and appeared to have stolen his pain away—suddenly he felt stronger, more alert.

It's a miracle.

"I'll live, for now." The boy stepped forward and Pilazzo could see a spot of fresh blood oozing from his earlobe. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Despite seeing a bit of familiarity with the boy, Pilazzo remained decidedly self-protective, prepared to kick him in the shins or lunge at his throat should he go for the beads.

My God, am I losing my mind? I must be…with all I've seen today, it only stands to reason that I tempt such thoughts of violence. What normal man could withstand the horrors I've seen?

But…I am no normal man. I am the sinless one…

"Timothy Stafford. I am…
was
a member of the parish. An altar boy under Father D'auria for Saturday evening mass. We met once, when you filled in for him."

He shows the same fear that runs through me. But…can he be trusted?
The priest held Timothy's gaze. The boy's tortured eyes seemed to read his thoughts. "You feel the pain that is here, don't you?" Pilazzo asked.

"I've seen much during the last three days."

"Three days?"

Timothy peered down at his blood-encrusted hands, then motioned to the altar with the flashlight, his voice a string of fragile monotones as he spoke: "I'd had it in my hands, and used it against the beast...but…but it wasn't meant for me. Then L-Larry took it…he was different than the rest of us. We thought he might be the
one
, but we were wrong. Something had him…something good…and then something bad too." Timothy paused, head shaking back and forth as if trying to see the logic of what he just said. "The beast was in him, using his sins to gather strength…but there was some goodness inside of him too…and it was fighting the will of the beast in order to deliver the rosary." He lifted his heavy gaze back to Pilazzo.

Pilazzo nodded, unable to make sense of the boy's rambling. Still, his mind reeled at something the boy just said:
there was goodness inside of him fighting the will of the beast to deliver the rosary.

To me? The sinless one?

"What is this rosary you speak of?" Pilazzo asked slowly, fingers secretively massaging them as he spoke.

He said, "It is a powerful charm. Without them, the beast cannot be defeated. But in the hands of the sinless one…then perhaps it
can
be brought down." The vapid manner in which Timothy spoke led Pilazzo to believe the boy didn't fully comprehend his own words. But…he did seem to
believe
in what he was saying, and that was half the battle won.

Sinless one…

Pilazzo remained silent. His mind spun crazily: if not for the evil event he'd just bore witness to, he would have written this poor boy off to insanity. But the miracle he spoke of…it existed, didn't it? Pilazzo held it in his pocket, where it presumably waited to be utilized for its only benevolent purpose.
I can feel its goodness. It's protecting me. Healing me…

"That thing I saw on the altar…is this the beast you speak of?"

Timothy nodded, eyebrows downcast as he stared at the bloody scene. "The beast takes on many forms. I have seen it. Fought it. Its threat is diverse."

Pilazzo's mistrust faded beneath the directive of the calming beads in his pocket. They told him to trust the boy, and he followed their guidance. "I feel no choice but to believe you."

"It is clear to me now that you are the sinless one, Father." His wide-open eye scanned the priest with obvious admiration. A thin smile appeared on his filthy face.

Pilazzo shuddered at the words.
Sinless one.

"Come with me," Timothy said, looking back toward the open door alongside the altar. "We have much to inform you of…"

"Who are you here with?"

The boy looked back at the priest. "Please…you must come with me now."