NaNoWriMo Part Three

Here's some more NaNoWriMo stuff.

New England, Five Years Later

It was a lovely Sunday morning, as crisp as the autumn leaves and as golden as the sun’s rays. And glorious it was inside the congregation of one Martin C. Vengeance.

“Our Lord, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name, thy kingdom come on Earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. For thine is the power and the glory, forever and ever. Amen.”

“You may be seated.”

All thirteen people sat down in their pews. All elderly, all zombified, they chattered amongst one another as father Martin prepared the offering. He looked at his small collection of townsfolk, dotting the landscape of the church. He bit his lip in disappoint and rubbed his shaved head. There could be two hundred people here, but today he served only a baker’s dozen. And they were old, fruitless and almost lifeless. He took no gratitude in staring back at their sunken eyes and dropping brows and saggy ears and dried up slick hair. They were monsters, hanging onto the last hope they had left: the church itself, because it brought back memories of good and joyful times. Martin wasn’t going to deny them that last hope. He continued on with the service.

A few moments later, when Marty was offering the flesh of Christ to old Miss Dandelion, he noticed an entourage of men in black suits waiting at the back of the church, by the fountain of Christ. They had their arms folded, and were whispering to one another, being careful not to disturb the service. Martin carried on.

Near the end, it was time for the announcements. “Make sure on Wednesday night you all come to the latest Bible Study session. Last week we had a very good turn out.” Martin smiled as he looked at the elderly. He looked up and saw one of the men in black was quite a prune himself, with a wispy, twisted goatee. Martin looked back at his announcements. “And off course, Mrs. Champlain will be holding her bi-weekly knitting session on Thursday night at seven, in the Sunday school room. She’ll be showing how to knit animal mittens for all of your grandchildren in the coming Christmas holiday.”

That was it. Martin gave the blessing and the church mass was over as quickly as it had started. He left for his office in the recession off to the side of the altar, after cleaning up after himself. He rushed over there, not wanting to be watched by the mysterious men who still stood at the back. Martin desperately wanted to avoid them. They could only be here for one thing. If he was quick enough, he’d be able to—and then he saw Miss Dandelion waiting outside the door, and his heart sank. It better not be about her darn dog again.

“Good morning, Miss Dandelion.” He nodded, gleefully, faking his smile.

She smiled back with her perfectly white fake teeth. “Good morning Martin, splendid service today. You really do well for such a fine young man!” She continued smiling as Martin opened the door to his office.

The mysterious group of men in black approached Martin and the old lady. Martin nodded towards them. “Good morning gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I have to attend to Miss Dandelion here first. Her and I have some pressing matters to see to.”

“Oh Martin, dear, I was just—“

Martin pushed her inside the open door, muffling her voice. He waved to the men, and shut the door behind him, coaching Miss Dandelion to the chair in front of his desk. He came around, taking off his ceremonial robes and hanging them on the wall, next to a picture of the Lord. He closed the blinds to the window behind his desk, peaking through them as Miss Dandelion made herself comfortable and smiled weakly. Martin sat down.

“What seems to be the problem, Miss Dandelion?” Martin relaxed in his comfy leather chair, reclining back as he pulled a drawer open. His magnum was lying next to a bottle of rum and a drinking glass, the latter two items he pulled out. He secretly wished that she wouldn’t talk about her dog, but that chances of that were slim to none. Good Lord, did he ever hate dogs.

He shut the drawer and poured himself a quarter glass full of rum. He took a sip as Miss Dandelion put on an astonished look on her face. She quickly regained her frail, innocent composure and began. “Well, Father Martin, it’s my dog. Peppy. She’s not well.”

“Peppy again?” Martin’s lips shrunk as he swallowed the sharp rum. He put down the glass and folded his hands together. “Have you taken her to the vet yet, like I told you last Sunday? And the Sunday before that? And the Sunday before—“

“No, not at all,” she frowned, beginning to rummage through her purse. She looked up at Martin with dimming eyes behind her bifocals. “I told you I don’t believe in silly veterinarians. They don’t do no good, especially no good for Peppy. She deserves only the best treatments!” She pulled out a bottle of what appeared to be ground up herbs. “I give her a bit of this in her dinner every night. The doctor said it would cure her naturally, with no operations needed.”

Miss Dandelion handed the bottle to Martin, who examined it. “Are you sure he was a doctor, ma’am?” Martin inquired, raising a brow.

“Yes! Quite sure, Father.” She was glowing with energy now and leaned forward. “I met him on the street last weekend, and he gave me this medicine for my sweet little dog. He was a nice young man.”

Martin placed the bottle on the table. “Right. I think your doctor might have been a drug dealer, Miss Dandelion. What you need to do is throw this” he pointed to the drugs, “out, and take Peppy to the vet. God’s orders.”

“Drug dealer? Oh no, he couldn’t have been. He was so very sweet and caring.” Her eyes widened behind her thick glasses, and she took back the bottle of what Martin could only imagine to be some sort of super drug. “Do you think you can perform an exorcism on dear little Peppy?” She asked out of the blue.

This question stunned Martin for a second. “Now, Miss Dandelion, you know I don’t do that sort of nonsense. He laid back in his seat, raising an air and twisting the air with his fingers for some reason. He leaned forward again, getting serious so he wouldn’t give off the impression that he thought the old woman was just being absolutely ridiculous. He grabbed his drink and finished it. “I just want you to go home, take your dog to a real vet, someone who can do something for her, and… enjoy life.” He got up, as well as Miss Dandelion. Leaving the rum and glass on his desk, Martin got his coat and he coaxed the elderly woman out the door.

“But Peppy doesn’t like the vet.” She changed up her excuse, her mind as sporadic as a failed game of leapfrog. “Do you think Peppy could be possessed by devil? Oh, I hope she’s not.” She trekked upon the subject of demonization once more, her memory as lively as an old goldfish. “She’s the only thing left I have in this world. I would be very sad to lose her.” She said in a soft, melodramatic voice.

Martin almost laughed, instead wincing with sadness, surprised of her sudden honesty. He put on his coat and began to open the door for dear old Dandelion. “No, Miss Dandelion, Peppy is going to be fine. I can assure you.” He opened the door to find the four men in black waiting outside, chatting amongst themselves. Martin gave them a cold look as he put on his sunglasses and escorted Miss Dandelion out. “Have a good day, Miss Dandelion, and I’ll see you on Wednesday for the Bible Study?”

“Yes, father. I’ll certainly be there.” She smiled and walked off.

Martin closed his office door and confronted the approaching men. “Sorry fellas. Closed up for today. Maybe next week?” He started to walk away when one of the men grabbed his shoulder. “Come on guys,” Martin whined like a two year old; he really didn’t want to talk to these people. He already knew what they wanted. “I got to go home and feed my cat.” He couldn’t believe that lame excuse just came out of his mouth.

“You can feed your cat after we discuss something, Father Vengeance,” the oldest one said in a brass Texan accent, opening the office door and letting himself in. He poked his head out the door after Martin refused to follow him. “Please, come in.” He gave a toothy grin and retreated back inside the office. His three buddies coerced Martin back into his own office, slamming the door behind him. All three of them waited outside. Martin was left alone with his books, his rum, and this unruly old man.

“Beautiful day out, isn’t it?” The old man opened the blinds, letting the sunlight flourish inside the room. He sat in Martin’s chair and laid back, with his toothy grin reappearing, this time stretching from ear to ear. He pointed at the bottle of rum rather excitedly. “Do you mind if—?”

Martin nodded, still standing as straight as he could, remain as calm as he could. He watched as the old man poured the rum into the empty glass. He sat the rum back down on the desk with a heavy thud, taking the glass and downing the drink in one entire gulp. He smacked his lips, putting the glass down with a clink on the desk, and motioned for Martin to sit down. “Sit down, sit down! We have much to talk about.”

Martin slowly sat in the chair where Miss Dandelion had been only moments before. He folded his arms across raised a brow. After a moment of awkward silence he asked, “Who are you?”

“United States Federal Government.” The old man said immediately and seriously. “Paranormal division.” He leaned forward. “You must’ve know we’d be coming back for you eventually, Father Vengeance. You’re just too good.”

“My days of paranormal activities are over, Mister…?” He paused for a second to allow the old man to answer.

“My name is not important. And even if it was, it’s classified information.”

Martin smirked at the paradox. “So why are the feds here on such a lovely Sunday morning, sir? You have a wild goose chase on your hands? Reported sightings of goblins in the New York sewers again, like last time? Or maybe the dastardly Chupacabra is eating that prized Texas livestock? You’re not going to send me to Siberia again chasing after some dogs, are you? Because everyone loved how that turned out.” His words reeked of sarcasm.

The old man shook his head. “Something better this time, I can assure you.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Martin actually needed a smoke. He pulled out a cigar from his coat pocket. “In fact, I’ll join you.” They both lit up with matches lying on Martin’s desk, breathing in the sickly smoke and exhaling clouds of delicious poison. Martin never thought much of smoking; he just always did it just to look cool. He chomped on his smoldering cigar and inhaled again. “So, what’s the deal. Don’t waste my time.”

“We have a mission for you.”

“I figured that much. Go on.”

The old man put his cigarette between his dried up lips, and dug his hands into his overcoat, rummaging for something. He pulled out a few pieces of paper and laid them on the desk. Black and white photographs. Gruesome black and white photographs, as Martin looked closer. He gave the old man an odd look, raising an inquisitive brow.

These were photos of murders, of people seemingly eaten alive. One was a corpse with the flesh almost completely ripped off his skeleton. Another with his skull cracked up, brains oozing out from the enormous crevice in his head. One depicted an old lady, much like Miss Dandelion, sitting in her rocking chair, her entrails strewn across her carpeted floor and her neck and shoulders suffering from vicious bite wounds. The others were almost too disgusting to describe. Martin looked at each carefully, resetting his nervousness with an awkward cough. He handed them back to the old man. “Do you know what did it?” Martin finally asked, regaining what little composure he had lost.

The old man retrieved his photographs from the desk and shoved them under his coat. He had a somber look on his face, and he leaned forward. “We’re thinking its vampires,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Martin shook his head in denial. “No. This wasn’t no vampire who committed these crimes. They’re far too gruesome.” He frowned and looked at the old man straight in the eyes. “Where was this? Where did these… killings take place?”

“Most of these murders have taken place in several small rural communities in Upper Austria, along the German border. While vampires may or may not be the culprits behind these horrible atrocities, there is no doubt that there is something supernatural behind it. And we think that a Neo Nazi terrorist group has something to do with it.”

“Vampires and Neo Nazis. I’m sorry, sir, but you’re going to have to settle between the supernatural and the political here. I don’t hunt humans. I hunt creatures.”

“There have been reports that Neo Nazis have been breaking into homes in these border villages for a number of months now, and kidnapping the elderly, probably to perform experiments or mystical ceremonies, who knows? All we know is that the first murders began popping up only a month after the first reported kidnappings. Something’s going on, and it ain’t good.” The old man continued, taking a huff of his cigarette. “So we want you to go over there and check it out. We’ve located where these Neo Nazi scum bags may be hiding too, so we got all that work done for you.”

“And what if it just turns out to be some sick psychopath? People who are mentally insane? I don’t do that. You know I don’t do that.” Martin got up without thinking, literally almost throwing himself out of the chair. “I’m not going to do this. It’s been way too long.” He pointed a finger at the old man. “Don’t you remember the last time your… your organization hired me?”

“Yes.” The old man nodded, leaning back, lounging around. “And we understand that that was a very unfortunate incident. But that was years ago, Father Vengeance. You need to come to terms with what transpired all those years ago and move forward.”

“I’m already moving forward!” Martin spun around. “Look at this place! I’ve never been happier!”

“Have you, Martin? Your ex-wife doesn’t seem to think so.”

Martin was stunned. “You… you talked to Mary?”

“Well, of course.” The old man disposed of his cigarette in the ash tray and folded his hands together on top of the desk. “We had to. After you moved from your last church in Maine, we couldn’t find you. FBI and CIA didn’t want to cooperate with us, so we had to pay a visit to Mary. She’s remarried, you know?”

“I know.” Martin sat back down, biting his lip. “She told you where I was?”

“She did, but not without expressing her dissatisfaction with us. She did say, however, that this is what you’ve been needing. You need this job, Martin. What else are you going to do? Suffocate here, with the elderly? Slowly die a humble death serving God? I don’t think you want that. Do want you’ve always wanted to do. If it turns out to be nothing more than just crazy Neo Nazis, we’ll compensate you, fly you back here immediately and let our CIA pals handle it. If its vampires or ghouls or what have you, you’ll have a bit of an exciting time on your hands, don’t you think?” He smiled wryly, that mummified Texan grin in full force, as if he had just wrangled a bull into its pen.

But he did want that, Martin wanted nothing more. At least, that’s what he told himself. He told himself that every day, every minute, and every second. But for once, the doubt began to ring in his mind for the first time in years, since the death of his friends, since his separation from the woman he loved, since the birth of his own child. He needed to take a hold of something to bring him back to life. This was it, he thought for the briefest fraction of time.

“I’ll think about it,” was all that came out.

The old man held his smile. “Good, Father Vengeance. Thinking is great, thinking is great indeed. Well,” he rose from Martin’s chair, “we will be in town if you decide to accept the mission at hand. We will also have a plane for you, at the ready, to fly you immediately into the danger zone. Here’s our number. Call us when you get the chance.” He handed Martin a small piece of paper with a telephone number on it. He walked towards the door as Martin sat melancholy in his seat, shoving the note into his pants pocket.

Before the old man left, he added: “Oh, and you won’t be working alone. We sent one of our own boys over there. He will be accompanying you on the mission. You will rendezvous with him to receive the latest intelligence on those Neo Nazi bastards—pardon my language. Hopefully, that will factor into your decision, somewhat.”

“I don’t do partners.” Martin replied, unmoving, thinking, pondering.

“You’ll need all the help you can get with this one. Audios, amigo.” With that, the old man opened the door and left, signaling to his men to leave.

As their footsteps in the church faded away, Martin got up from his chair and poured himself another drink of rum, not bothering to clean the clean. He chugged and winced, thinking about what he may or may not do. He thought about Mary for a split second, and his heart sank. She knew this would be good for him, and she was right, he thought. He had nothing to lose but his dignity. He had everything to gain. Fame. Fortune. God’s righteous love and eternal gratitude.

He put the liquor away and got out his gun, concealing it under his coat. It was time to go home.