The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two (16 page)

The nun doubted she could hide her shame in
front of Jane. And if she spotted Cawood, Jane would bring her a
thick armload of files—something—chatting—she’d want to talk about
the Church and God. Cawood couldn’t take that now. She paused
outside Jane’s door listening. She had to get past and into her own
office. Once inside, she could close and lock her door: claim she
was meditating.
God come to my assistance, Lord make haste to
help me
. Jane respected that.

Then she could spend the morning napping as
her body detoxified. Again the thought of Raul and the camera
flickered obscenely through her mind. “After,” she promised
herself, believing that rest would prepare her for dealing with
what had happened.
Whore
! She could contemplate her doom. A
part of her relished the notion. No more hiding.
Bless me Father
for I have sinned
.

Temples throbbing, she listened at Jane’s
door. The old manual typewriter clattered away, ring, and a rough
metallic grind as the carriage slid back into position. Technology
didn’t work well after the Change. The church had embraced the
devolution. Cawood held her breath then hurried past, praying that
Jane would be focused on her margins.

“Sister Cawood!” Jane’s voice still held a
distant Scottish brogue. “Reverend Stoneworthy…”

But Cawood was into her office, and had shut
the door behind her before Jane could finish. Able Stoneworthy sat
across from her desk. He looked up from a book and smiled. Then his
eyes squinted and he sat bolt upright.

“Karen! What happened?”

“Oh…” Cawood patted down the front of her
black dress. Straightened her sweater. “I have a touch of
something.” She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead, was
distressed by its heat. It would be red with shame.
Holy
Father
.

“You look terrible!” Able hurried to her
side. A warm hand wrapped around her upper arm. “You should sit
down. You’re flushed.”

“I feel like I’ve
been
flushed.” She
tried to distract him with levity.

He nodded. “Well, you shouldn’t be here if
you’re not well.”

Cawood wondered why she had bothered. If she
missed more work there’d be more questions.

“Women’s stuff too,” she muttered as she was
led to her desk. Mention of women’s stuff always put the minister
off.

“Oh.” Able gently steadied her in her chair.
“That—well—yes…if you’re not well.”

“I’ll be fine.” She stuffed a peppermint into
her mouth and was rewarded with a wave of nausea. It usually
settled her stomach and covered any left over scent of detox.
I
have sinned…Generosity
. She offered one to Able. Chastity. He
smirked, took a mint and popped it into his mouth.

“You have to take better care of yourself.”
Able settled himself on the edge of her desk.

“I’m fine.” She struggled weakly with her
chair, sat forward.

“You’re not.” He crossed his arms. “I’ve been
seeing a general, what shall I say. Decline?”

“
Decline
. You sure know how to talk to
a girl.”
A whore
!

“You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”
Able’s furry brows combined. He raised his hand against her
protest. “No. No. You haven’t and it’s time you did.” The minister
rose and paced away alternately sucking on his candy and
talking.

“It is common.” He chewed.

“I saw it in college,” he said, lips sucking,
“and throughout my career.” The minister paused a second to try to
break the hard candy with a single bite, demurred. “That
individuals of a philosophical or religious frame of mind tend to
neglect the body.” He worried at his candy gazing out the window at
the cloud tops. “And, such scathing is typical of ancient religious
practitioners and mystics… In an attempt to release oneself from
the demands of the body, excoriation of this kind, abnegation and
denial—can give a person a keener view.” He turned back to her.
“And I admire it. I admire that kind of conviction.” He approached
her desk again. “But you’re going too far. You’re unwell. You’ve
lost weight and I’ll say it, you look like hell!”

Able reached over to pat the back of her
clammy hand. “You must keep life in the body for your spiritual
explorations to continue.” He smiled warmly. “Do it for me, would
you?”

Cawood couldn’t believe her ears. Killing me
with kindness… She sighed. Her self-destruction might never stop if
people kept loving her. They believed in her and that drove her
farther into it. Unless she fought. And for a moment, she felt an
old part of herself clamor forward. It yearned for her to talk, to
confess.
Bless me Father for I have sinned
. Looking into
Able’s dark, sincere eyes now she knew he would not damn her, she
knew he would help. All she had to do was tell him she was a whore
and a drug abuser and worse. And then it would be over. She just
had to live beyond her shame.

“Able,” she started, warmed by her friend’s
attentive stance. “I…” She looked away, shame momentarily
overwhelming her. “I just want to thank you for being my friend.”
Cawood smiled up at him. Deep emotion brought moisture to her eyes.
The minister rested a hand on her cheek. She grabbed his wrist and
pressed her cheek against his palm. “I’ll take better care of
myself.”

“As you reminded me.” He flashed his teeth.
“We’ve been through too much together for you to have to say that.”
Able stroked her cheek. “I need you alive, my dear. You inspire me
to greater works.” Then in his slightly self-conscious way he
joked. “And you know the rules about the dead. You turn yourself
into a corpse and I’ll have to take the elevator to visit you on
Zero.”

Though it was grim humor, she found enough
energy to smile. “Why are you here?”

Able looked puzzled. “Why? Oh, here in your
office? I just wanted to see if you will be prepared regarding
tomorrow morning’s
enterprise
.”

Cawood briefly thought back on their last
conversation. Able’s
Angel
… “Oh, yes. When did you want to
do that?”

“I was told he would be expecting us at
eleven.” A gleam sparkled in the minister’s eye.

“He?” Cawood’s muddled head could not make
the leap. “The Angel?”

“Yes.” Stoneworthy patted the back of her
hand. “He is expecting us then.”

“Well.” She didn’t know what to say.
“Tomorrow morning, then.” Stoneworthy was too buoyed by his own
excitement to see her doubt.

“Can you imagine the responsibility put upon
us here my friend?” His whole body grew rigid with excitement. “A
minister waits his whole life to redeem the lowliest soul, while
always remembering that in each heart, regardless of the size or
station, including his own, resides a soul—flawed, yet cherished by
our Father in Heaven. We are born forgiven, we need only ask. And
to be chosen now for such a work, to redeem one such as this.” He
could not restrain his mirth and chuckled. “How wonderful the works
of heaven.” Able held his hands out smiling. “Look at me, I’m
shaking.”

“Yes.” Cawood grappled with another bout of
nausea. “Wonders.” She levered herself forward. “Are you sure about
this, Able?”

“Ah, yes, you catch me at it even now.” He
shrugged his lean shoulders. “And I have asked myself if my
excitement is a form of pride.” His eyes welled up with tears. “But
I assure you, if I shake, it is my fear that I will fail. I have
faith in the strength of God. And if He chooses me, I cannot fail.
Yet, it is the way of a wise man, to doubt his own abilities that
he might be better prepared should he be called upon to use
them.”

“Okay.” Cawood slid back in her chair.
“Tomorrow morning, then.”

“Yes, I’ll stop in at nine…” Able’s eyes
shone before a stern look settled his eyebrows. “Eat and get some
rest.”

“Thanks, Able.” Cawood returned the
handclasp. “I will.”

“I’m going to the chapel,” Stoneworthy said,
and almost danced out of the room.

The nun watched him leave, the door shut
slowly. Angels! She didn’t think that she could take it if Able
lost his mind. Her thoughts felt crowded with sin and haze. She
closed her eyes, and leaned back in her chair, letting the cool
synthetic leather brush her cheek. The door opened.
Purgatory
.

“Sister Cawood.” It was Jane’s honest
voice.

Cawood sat up, saw the secretary’s head and
shoulder peeking in the door. “Yes Jane. Good morning.”

“Begging your pardon, Sister.” Jane inched in
a little further. “But I’ve been negligent with some of my office
duties, and have missed you on occasions past when I would have had
you sign some papers and other such work. Would it bother you now,
to sign some few of importance? I would appreciate the
kindness.”

Pulling herself into a sitting position,
Cawood nodded and gestured. “Yes. Jane, I’m sorry. And it’s my duty
to keep on top of things, come in, come in, please.”

Jane smiled and entered. The nun’s heart
sank. Her secretary held at least twenty pounds worth of signing.
She covered her sigh with a smile.

22 – The Boat

Wurn cut the engine. The trawler glided up to
the yacht. Its plastic bumpers thumped gently against the
fiberglass hull. The Eyesore hissed at the sound, and pressed a
sausage finger over his lips. He rolled his worried eyes then set
to work. A hurried flick of the troll’s arms cast the bow rope and
then the stern to an ugly pair of his brethren who looked down from
the yacht’s high rail. They secured the ropes and lowered an
aluminum ramp to the water. Wurn scrambled onto this before turning
to steady his boat with splayed hands. Anxiety clutched the
oversized features that hung inches over the darkness.

Felon was in no hurry. He studied the other
Eyesores. Deformed like Wurn they went about their duties with
strength and precision. He watched the interplay of hard muscle and
bone and stored the information for future reference. They’d be
dangerous in a fight. He glared at the aluminum platform. Its tight
lattice of aluminum strips gave the impression of safety. Oily
water churned inches below it. The assassin stepped out of the
boat, foot touching the platform for a second, and then climbed the
ladder. He slipped over the rail onto the deck. Wurn hurried after.
The troll’s anxiety overwhelmed him at the last second and he fell
on his face

The Eyesores laughed coarsely at Wurn’s
antics and hauled the docking ramp free of the water. They grunted
against the strain. Felon watched. For a second he thought he saw
bone white fingers slide free of the aluminum lattice and sink back
into the murk.

The other Eyesores were like Wurn in size,
but had unique deformities. The creature with the bowline had a red
beard growing from a baby’s face. Crooked teeth glistened through a
constant lather of drool. Its body resembled a dwarf’s. The other
creature had no lower jaw, which turned its mouth into a puckering
hole from which a snake-like tongue wriggled. Its hands had two
powerful fingers and thumbs on each, and its feet were pig’s
hooves. Both of the Eyesores wore drab gray coveralls and were
trussed with tool belts. They busied themselves securing Wurn’s
boat while the troll struggled to regain what composure he
possessed.

He looked up at Felon. “I will take you to
Master Balg.” His eyes glinted in the light from the windows. Felon
caught a shape reflected in the oversized pupils. He whipped around
.9 mm in hand. A tall thin man was standing there. The stranger
froze—focused on the gun.

Felon glared. The man stood well over six
feet. His body had a long, stretched quality that reeked of the
supernatural. He was dressed in a loose white suit, and his hair
tumbled between his black eyes in a spiraling white lock. Behind
him the fiberglass upper deck loomed. There appeared to be no doors
in the ship’s superstructure, and the light from the windows gave
the entire ship a ghostly glow.

“Mind your station, Wurn!” the stranger
snapped, and the troll hurried to aid his brethren. He offered the
assassin a long thin hand. “I hope I did not startle you, Mr.
Felon. It is always disconcerting to be surprised.” His voice was
deep and throaty.

Felon slipped his gun away and stared at the
welcoming hand until its long fingers dropped away quivering.

“Do forgive
my
rudeness, Mr. Felon. We
do not get many visitors to the yacht from the mainland. As you are
aware, we normally receive all guests at Master Balg’s offices in
the City. My name is Passport, assistant to the Demon. Master
Balg’s previous assistant Senji Shaiko met with a rather
unfortunate demise when a dispute over petty cash caused our
employer to lose his temper.”

Felon knew Shaiko. He was a medium-sized
Asian man with pencil-thin mustache—a professional who wouldn’t
waste time gloating.

The assassin looked past the thin man.

“A most unfortunate incident.” Passport’s
eyes gleamed with growing embarrassment.

Felon studied Passport’s face. The Demon’s
servant looked human enough, but something reptilian lurked behind
the nacreous white skin.

Felon snarled and started searching for his
cigarettes. He kept an eye on Passport.

The thin man’s head followed the arch of his
eyebrow to his full height. “Master Balg has been taken away on
business, but will return shortly. He has instructed me to see to
your comfort until then. Would you follow me, please?” The gangly
form spun effortlessly on his heel and led Felon along the deck
toward the stern. “Master Balg has a number of yachts in his fleet,
but counts this one his favorite.
The Kennedy
, he calls it,
after a long dead family whose dealings with him led to their
dooms. I believe he has always been an admirer of the cautionary
tale.” Passport laughed.

Thirty feet from the docking ramp he stepped
through an arch into a short hall that ran between two facing
doors. “He enjoys the yacht’s comforts, which are numerous and you
will find obvious, but most of all he desires the ship’s mobility.
As you can imagine, with the number of competing family businesses
at work within the Sunken City, one cannot be too careful. He
retains his offices in the City of Light for business functions
with the mortals, but has on this occasion allowed you access to
The Kennedy
to reward your proven loyalty.” Poised at the
door to the right, Passport bowed to Felon.