V: A Plea for Penance
A blanket of shadow was wrapped tightly around my naked flesh. There was comfort in the blackness. Peace and solitude, the weightless feeling of knowing that I shall never be troubled by the world and its sorrows again. Though my soul may be lost in the twist between dimensions and my mind forever still, there was comforting peace.
And then a light bore a hole in the fabric of dark. Tiny at first, like the prick of a needle, then larger and larger to make my peaceful sleep impossible. The Lord was not yet done with me, it seemed. For me there would be no peace, no rest.
"So you're finally awake."
My hair was a tangled mop atop my head, and sitting up was like tearing through an overgrowth of vines. The painful wooden frame of the barely cushioned sofa I was laying on did me no favors; my lower back ached, my shoulder cried out in painful jolts each time I moved. I winced and bit my tongue, just getting up a straining effort.
"Careful now. She took quite a bit of blood from you. You're lucky she took a shine to you—you'd be dead, otherwise."
A grey-bearded man sat across from me in a wooden rocking chair holding a pipe in his hand. He was better dressed since last I saw him, wearing a priest's jacket and slacks. No collar, however. Despite his age he was of decent build, suggesting that some day far in the past he could actually fill out that rusty suit of armor on his wall.
My shoulder was wrapped in gauze stained with splotches of dried crimson. Near the sofa lay my robes, a tattered mess of shredded fabric and blood.
"You're that paladin," I groaned. "You saved me?"
"Should I have left you to bleed out in the rain? Dragging you back here seemed like the right thing to do, even if you did shoot holes in my wall," he said, puffing his pipe and shooting me a displeased look.
"What happened? Where did she...?"
The paladin cast his gaze downward and sighed smoke. "After she was done with you, there was enough sense left in her to come back in here and question me. I told her what I knew. Her father is still connected to the Church, still operates as a priest. I told her the last place I'd known him to give sermons and she ran off." He took the pipe to his mouth again, drew a heavy puff, then put a hand to his face and cursed. "God damn it! If she just listened to me..."
He looked up at me, his brows narrowed in anger. "And
you!
What the hell kind of Hunter are you, huh? Where's your holy water? Your sanctified cross? Your prayer beads? You just come in here waving a gun around like some chicken-shit rookie cop! I swear to
God
if you hurt Alison I'll see to it that you are flayed within an inch of your life!"
The whirlwind of questions and accusations coming from the old man was dizzying, but hardly threatening. If I was to show my face at the Church empty-handed again, they'd cut them off. The bite marks in my shoulder were nothing compared to what they'd do to me. I couldn't help but think it have been for the best if the demon cat had simply finished me off after
finishing me off.
"What do you care? You're a paladin. You know that demons cannot be suffered. What makes Alison special? She could have killed you."
"She's not a demon!" the paladin lurched forward and nearly sprang out of his chair like he meant to batter me. Thinking better of it however, he calmed down, took a deep breath, and leaned back. "You don't understand. Alison is not a summoned demon, nor is she the result of some satanic ritual. She was born a human birth like you or me. Her mother Felicity
is
a demon, however, and when you inherit that blood, well, I suppose it's only a matter of time until..."
"Her mother, a demon?" I balked. "Her mother was a nun. There's no fucking way the Church allowed a demon to become a nun."
The paladin rose an eyebrow at me and rested his pipe in his mouth. "Is it so hard to believe? Felicity is a kind woman, wouldn't hurt a fly. She chose to give of herself to God that she might not toil forever in the lake of fire, or tempt others to that same suffering. A Hunter like you I thought would know better—the Church is no safe haven from the influence of Lucifer's minions."
He pointed his pipe at me, smoke billowing from the end. "I should have you know the reason I left the Church was not due to the influence of demons. No, Alison's father—a mortal man, mind you—drove me out. I was disgusted by the Church's complicity in his rapes and abuses. Felicity is a demon, so she cannot be sinned against? That seemed to be the prevailing wisdom. It was sickening."
"I don't understand. If Alison's not a demon, nor is she Possessed or the result of summoning or a rite, how did she end up like this? That wasn't a human girl that nearly ripped my arm off last night."
"She looks a lot like her mother—the resemblance is uncanny, really. She was always going to end up like this eventually. But something must have spurned her on. I have known Alison since she was a little girl, and she was not herself last night. It might be that her transformation was the result of demonic influence. If I had to guess, someone who knew her wanted her to be hunted by the Church. By someone like you."
I grunted. Not someone like me, someone who could get the job done. I would be nursing my pride for some time to come—I doubt most Hunters have 'was raped by a cat' on their resume.
"She ruined your robes. I've folded my old robe on the floor there next to you. I think we're about the same size, so you can have it," he said, and leaned forward pointedly. "What do you intend to do now?"
"If I don't bring her in, my life is forfeit. I have to find her."
"And kill her?"