Date: Mon, 27 Nov 2000 19:17:40 -0500
From: Kathrine <storykath@operamail.com>
Subject: Eternally Yours, part 13

Legal disclaimer: all fiction. Don't read if you're not allowed to.

Author's note: first of all, thanks to Casey for letting me borrow the
'gators. I would use to them to make sure JC and Joey behave themselves and
stay nicely and naked in bed together...but somehow there doesn't seem to be a
problem with that... ;) But I'm sure I'll find a use for them. Otherwise, hope
you'll enjoy this chapter. I'm Chris-obsessed at the moment, so expect more
Chris-angst from me. :)
And I have finally made myself a web site for my stories, the url is
http://www.angelfire.com/boybands/KathFiction/Main.html
Love and looneytunes from Kat.

 - Chapter 13 -

In Chris' dream he was laying on a floor. Face down on a wet, cold
concrete-floor. Everything was darkness, fear, anger and unbearable pain. The
room he was in was filled with hungry shadows. They waited for him in the
corners, dripping down on him from the ceiling, curling up next to him on the
floor. Drifting in and out of reality, Chris' mind tranformed the images into
a kaleidoscopical mist.

A hand clawed at his hair, a voice spoke. A voice he had once believed he
loved. Now the voice spoke in harsh, hateful words. Dangerous words. His body
drowned in pain.

"Slayer," the voice whispered. "Don't pass out now, slayer, we have saved the
best part for last..." Desperately hanging on to the last thread of his
consciousness, Chris made a futile effort to get up. A knee digging into his
back pinned him down again. "Now you wouldn't spoil our fun, would you,
Christopher?" the voice spoke again. Something rough and yet sharp slid across
Chris' neck.

"Let's do this right, slayer." The voice transformed into an animalistic
growl, aroused at the anticipation of inflicting pain. "I have your heart,
remember? It's only fair that I'll take it, then."

The feeling of the sharp wooden stake driving into his body, biting through
his skin, made Chris scream in pain before the last bit of conciousness was
taken from his mind by a mercifull emptiness.

As so many times before Chris woke with the sound of his own scream in his
ears. Forcing himself to relax, Chris rubbed his hands over his face, feeling
tears mixed with cold sweat. His whole body was drenched in sweat, his chest
straining in deep, heaving breaths. "Jesus," he thought to himself. " I don't
want to remember this anymore..."

The nightmares had eased up on him lately, due to the transcission of time and
the relocation from the scene of the crime, literally speaking. But this
morning's events had woken the monsters in his mind, found all the memories
Chris didn't even know existed anymore. All the things that had been pushed
back into the oblivion Chris needed to stay sane, to survive.

Getting out of bed, Chris quickly stripped out of the clothes he wore and put
on a wide-legged sweatpants in a thin fabric. Bare-footed he went into the
room behind the bedroom. This room was divided in two. One half held various
weights and excersize apparats. The other half was empty except for the
mirrors dressing one wall. Stepping to the center of the floor Chris closed
his eyes and breathed deeply, feeling his mind and body start to calm down.

When he felt the familiar clearness settle, he started moving. Gracefull, slow
motions, acting out an ancient pattern. Chris kept his eyes closed, not
needing to see to do his Tai Chi-excersices, they were like second nature to
him. Being skilled in most martial arts, Chris preferred this and the more
aggressive version of it, Kung Fu, when fighting. His feet moved surely on the
wooden floor, assuming the next position without needing confimation from the
mind, his arms slicing the air in precise movements.

Soon Chris' breathing was down to even, rhytmical breaths, his body relaxed
and his senses sharpened at the same time. Meditation in movement. Speeding up
the actions, the movements went from gentle to deadly, without loosing their
grace. Needing to hit something more solid, Chris moved over to the
punching-bag hanging from a chain secured to a hook in the roof. Picturing a
face on the thick blue plastic skin he hit. Planting his foot in the middle of
the imaginative face felt good. Anger made his movements rougher, not so
fine-tuned, yet not less lethal.

He only stopped when every mucsle in his body begged for rest and sweat poured
down his back and made the pants he wore cling to his legs like an extra layer
of skin. Breathing heavily Chris stopped the punching bag from swinging wildly
and held it steady. Releasing his anger like this and letting it control his
actions was a violation of what all his teachers had taught him. Clearness of
mind was as crucial as the fitness of the body. But still it had felt so damn
good. "One day," Chris promised himself. "I'll pay him back. In every little
fucking detail. Then I'll kill him." After that silent wov Chris left the room
to take a shower and get dressed.

**********

The night was still newborn when Justin had left the house, going out on his
own, enjoying having his freedom back again. Strolling through the streets he
passed a building strangely unfitting among the bars and cheap motels. A
curved wooden door was open, showing the faint flicker of candles insides. A
cross was drawn sharply aganist the dark, nightly sky. The inscription read
Our Lady Of Mercy. A smile curled Justin's lips upwards, bringing a light to
his eyes. Then he went inside.

Inside it was calm and quiet, the room kept in a soothing low-lit tone.
Candles burned in stronger flickers here, making Justin pull his upper lip up
in a half-hearted snarl at the open flames. He lifted his eyes up to see the
statue of the madonna. She held the baby Jesus in her arms, smiling sweetly
down at the crowned child. The pulsating neonsigns from the outside world
coated their quiet haven in multicoloured burts coming through the large
stained glass window behind the altar. The holy Mother and the saviour was
surrounded by saints and their shrines.

At this time of night the church was empty. Only the resident priest was
there, wandering about looking very much at home between his silent reasons of
praise. The sound of Justin's steps on the stone floor was loud in the shy
atmosphere, making the priest turn around. He was old, white hair halo-like
around his head in the golden shimmer from the myriad of candle flames. His
face was lined and his eyes bore the wisdom from a long life and numerous
experiences, both good and bad. "Welcome, my child," he greeted Justin. "Are
you here to seek absolution?" That made Justin chuckle. "Oh Father, don't
offer what you can't give. I'm just here because I'm curious." Stepping closer
to the altar Justin's eyes fell on the cross on the altar cloth. "They all say
that we can't enter Christ's house, we can't thread on holy ground."
Letting his fingers sweep through the water in the Christianing font, Justin
held his hand up to the priest and continued. "This water is supposed to burn
me, I don't feel more than the tingling of the drops of water running down my
wrist. We're damned forever, my kind, eternally beyond the Lord's heaven.
Still I'm here, and He hasn't struck me down yet."

"The Lord loves all his creations," the priest answered him. "No one is denied
his love. Confess your sins, my son, and you shall recive absolution."
"Pray and you shall receive, huh? Well, Father, I have long since discovered
that that was just a lie. Your God couldn't care less about us." Moving closer
to the robed priest Justin beared his fangs, knowing that the shimmering light
in the church gave an un-earthly glow to his skin and eyes.
The priest took a step back, fear fluttering across his features. "What do you
see when you look at me, Father?" Justin asked, another smile playing around
his lips. "Another one of your God's creations? I think not. Do you see a
monster, a demon?"

"I see a child," the priest replied calmly. "A lost child." "Interesting,"
Justin said, looking nearly thoughtful. "I'm a vampire, Father, I kill mortals
for their blood. I feed of them. Do you still see the child? Or do you see
evil?" "Someone who holds that much hurt in their eyes can't be evil," he was
answered. "If you are asking me if I think you are one of the devil's
creatures, I don't think so. The Lord acts in mysterious ways, it's not up to
us to question him."

Circling the priest and the still smiling madonna Justin held his hand up.
"But that would mean that your God actually cares. You God is dead, Father. Or
he has forgotten about us. He isn't listening to us, he has left you, priest."
"So much anger," the priest said, frowning. He was standing in front of his
altar, surrounded by the silent saints. "Open your heart to Him, child, let
him take away the pain from your soul." "So I do have a soul," Justin smiled,
" there are those would would argue with you there, Father."
He had to laugh as the priest shrugged. "I never was an ordinairy priest, my
son, why do you think I ended up here?" "I like you," Justin told him. "So I
won't kill you. At least not if you stop trying to sell me that lie of a
religion of yours."

"Allright," the priest said. Moving past Justin he sat down on the first of
the church benches. "Come sit with me, child. Tell me why you are so mad at
the Lord. He does listen to you, but he might not speak directly to you. You
will have to look for his answers." "You don't quit, do you?" Justim mumbled,
but he sat down. "I spent most of my childhood on my knees, begging the Lord
to come save me, to take me away. I didn't care where to...just away from
them, with their hands, snickering voices, from the things they did to me...
It made me sick, and I pleaded with your god to rescue me. He didn't listen.
After a while I realised that the only one that could save me was myself." "He
listened," the priest answered, "and he gave you the strength to move on, to
save yourself." "Oh yes," Justin said, his eyes hardening. "I left one hell
for another. I have seen too much, father, to buy that there is a loving god
taking care of us. If he's still up there, he chooses to look the other way."

"Is that why you became what you are today?" the priest wanted to know. "To
get back at the Lord?" Justin's eyes was icy blue when he turned his head to
look at the man beside him. "I was never asked, Father. I am what I am, I have
come to terms with that. And I'm stronger this way." "You are physically
stronger, yes," the priest replied. "But at heart you are still a lost, scared
child. Your eyes betray you." Silent now, Justin looked away. Seeing the
cabinet for confession, he asked quietly: "How can you still have faith,
Father? The world moves more and more without your kind. You hear people
confess their sins every day and know that they don't regret and they'll
commit new ones the moment they step out on the streets again."

The old priest leaned back. "Oh, they try. The spirit is willing, but the
flesh is weak. I offer them absolution and they can go through another day.
But for those who don't regret, they who come here to scorn the Lord... They
will meet their destiny sometime. The devil does come for his own when their
time is up." "You believe there is a devil?" Justin asked, intrigued by the
clergical man's words. "The devil is here," the old man answered. "He tries to
steal our souls away every day. Tempting us with the easy way, leading us to
riches that are as hollow and untrue as he himself are. You have a choice, my
son, even if you don't recognize our Lord above as your saviour, you can still
choose not to follow evil."

On the priest's chest there was a large crucifix, hanging from a silver chain.
The pained body nailed to it fascinated Justin. Following his young guest's
gaze, the priest laughed. "You are not supposed to be able to look at those,
are you?" "Not really," Justin smiled. "But as a...uhm...collegue of mine once
said, I'm actually quite fond of looking at crucifixes."
"Many find them soothing to look at," the priest agreed. "Now, if you will
excuse me for a moment, my child, I need to take a confession."

As the priest had disappeared into the little closed room that was already
occupied by a sinner, Justin walked quietly over. His ears easily picked up
their hushed voices and he listened to the sinner's confessions.

About fifteen minutes later the man left the confession room and disappeared
as quickly as he had eneterd the church. The priest emerged, looking dark and
tired. "A regretting sinner?" Justin asked, startling the other. "He don't
regret at all, Father, he just don't want to end up in hell where he belongs.
Purgatory may be as bad as hell, but it's not forever." "I'm afraid he is one
where the devil has been able to sink his claws in deep," the priest sighed.
"You are right, he doesn't regret and he will repeat his sins." "Let me take
care of him for you," Justin teased. "I will kill him for you, sending his
soul to hell where it belongs..."

The priest nodded. "Don't let it happen on holy ground, child. But he is
already lost." Now Justin was almost too surprised to say anything else.
"You condone this, Father, a murder? I'm a killer, priest, I'll will feed on
him. His blood will be on your hands too." The priest looked at him, steel
seeping into blue eyes. "I've spent my time in hell, child, I've seen what the
devil can do. I woved to spend the rest of my life praising our Lord, being a
soldier in his army. Not in my country's army, slaughtering innocents. Now I'm
fighting the devil's soldiers. By any means necessary.
His blood may stain my hands, but there is a little girl who will be left
alone to sleep through the night by this, and there is a wife who wounds will
have time to heal. That is what is important."

A couple of minutes later, back out on the streets, Justin still heard the
preacher's word in his mind. "I've spent my time in hell." "Well, guess what,"
Justin muttered to himself. "So have I." He had easily caught up with the
sinner from the church. Anticipation made his heart beat faster, his senses
quiver. This one was going to be a good one. This one he would take slow, to
be sure to see the light in his eyes be smothered as the liquid of life was
drained from him.

A couple of yards later, Justin stepped out in front of the man. "Tonight," he
spoke, nailing the man to a brickwall, "you die." Struggling hopelesly against
the much stronger vampire, the man's eyes widened in terror. But he remained
still. "Your wife and daughter will be set free," Justin said, locking his
fingers around the man's neck. "Silly, little mortal. Confessing your sins
doesn't make everything allright...I'm here to help you on your way to hell.
Where you belong. Can you feel the devil breathing down your neck? He is
waiting for you, he has already started to close in on your soul."

"Hail Mary, Mother of God," the man whispered frantically, "blessed be the
fruit of thy womb, Jesus..." Sadly Justin shook his head. "The blessed Mother
don't want anything to do with you. Jesus is busy listening to your daughter's
prayer of being able to hide from you. The angels are looking away in shame.
They don't want you in their heaven." "You are an angel?" the man spoke, his
eyes fixated at Justin's face. His body was too scared to try and fight, he
was hanging limply from Justin's grip on him. "Not an angel," Justin spoke,
"not a demon either. I walk the ground inbetween. I'm immortal, their heaven
and hell is not for me."

Bending the man's head back, Justin leaned in for what the Ancient ones called
the kiss of death. Thick, warm blood spilled from the sinner into his awaiting
mouth. It was over too quickly. As the heart of the sinner stopped beating,
Justin dropped the body to the ground. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," he
thought, wiping at his mouth. "Have fun in hell."

Again the church was quiet as he entered through the double doors. The priest
was waiting for him. "It is done," Justin said, searching the other man's face
for his feelings. "Good," the priest said, his face a mask Justin had seen on
old soldiers. You did what you had to do. It was ugly, but it was the right
thing. "I'll leave you now," Justin answered. "Don't tell anybody about what
happened tonight, Father. I know your secret, you know mine. You have yours to
protect, I have mine." "Of course," the priest replied. He approached Justin
and did the sign of the cross on his forehead. "Walk with God, my child, he
never forgot you and he is always listening."

Looking into the priest's eyes, Justin could tell that the man really believed
in what he was telling Justin. "I'll walk," Justin promised, "and if God
wants, he can walk with me."  Then he turned and left the church.