No Justice for the Damned (Tales from the Tarot)

4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

I had the dream again. The witches, the fire. The bright, full moon taking over the sky.

The hooded man I now recognize as Hollow, the man from Club Orpheus. The handsome one who handed me his lighter and asked me to dance.

In my dreams, he holds out his hand and lowers his hood to reveal bright golden eyes and a tattoo on the jut of his cheekbone. The scales of justice.

Dance with me.

I wake up covered in sweat, unable to stop thinking about Hollow. And I spend the rest of the week doing my best to get him out of my head. It’s a fruitless, impossible task. He’s like a phantom, haunting me and I don’t know why.

Now, though, it’s Sunday and I sit in the pew with my brother beside me. He’s twitching, restless, his eyes darting back and forth as if a demon could emerge from the shadows to smite him at any moment. Father hasn’t approached the pulpit yet, but as we wait for commencement, I feel eyes on us, watching. Watching him.

Abe hasn’t been to Mass in months. Nearly a year. His absence has been noticed. Instinctively, I want to put myself between him and all the prying eyes, shield him with my body. But the wooden benches don’t allow for such and all I can do is sit rigid and primed at his side. Dare all those who stare to say something, anything.

They don’t.

All except Eli.

It’s been a few days since I abandoned him at Club Orpheus and though he hasn’t mentioned it, I know it got under his skin. He sized us up as we walked in, staring even as we sidled past him and sat down.

Now, he watches us from the doorway with a sly smirk. I glower at him, warning him to stay away. But as is his way, he seems to take my dismissal as an invitation and saunters closer and closer. Until he stands at the end of the pew, peering down at us with, smarmy grin ever present. I want to slap it off his face.

“Abe, good to see you. It’s been a while.”

“Eli,” Abe says, barely looking up. There’s no love lost between them. My brother has never been shy at making his disdain for the larger man known. But it’s something Eli almost seems to like. Being despised. It turns him on.

“You seem well. Thin, though. Not getting enough to eat out there all by yourself?” His tone makes my blood boil and my hackles rise.

“What do you want?” I snap, my eyes flickering from the front of the room to Eli’s audacious stance.

“Just to say hello,” Eli says, unperturbed.

“You’ve said it. So go take a seat,” I snarl. “The sermon is about to start.”

“Happy to.” If possible, his grin widens further. He pushes forward and settles down next to me on the inside of the pew. Our shoulders brush and I feel my skin hiss at the contact. He leans back and places an arm around the bench behind my back, his fingers grazing my shoulder. Abe bristles beside me and just as I open my mouth to protest, the entrance song begins to play, a low dirge on the organ that welcomes the processional up the aisle.

I feel my heart pounding in my throat as the congregation rises to its feet, as Father travels the length of the aisle, led by a cavalcade of priests, all his inferiors who worship at his altar, who look to him as a savior and hero of sorts.

I scan their faces. Some older, some decrepit. Some younger as well. A few attractive, boyish. Perhaps they look to Father as an exemplar, as a model of who they’d like to become. Perhaps they want to fuck him. Because at the end of the train of men, Father stands out like a beacon, shining and glorious. Handsome and youthful as though the years haven’t touched him.

He smiles knowingly at the congregation before his eyes catch on us. On Abe. Something knowing flashes in his face and I feel my stomach flip at the thought that I did this. I brought him this joy. I created the light that flickers in his eyes, the stretch of a smile over his cheeks. The way he almost seems to float toward the altar.

I brought Abe home. I made Father happy.

Mass passes as it always does, the ebbs and flows of the sermon like a grand performance. Father speaks with such passion and fervor, as though he’s been reignited, as though he burns with something intangible, something hot and electric. Something more beautiful than God’s own fury.

“The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.”

Father knows what he’s doing. He’s speaking directly to Abe as he sings his song of forgiveness and celebration, tells the story of the Prodigal Son. It’s as if he knew in his heart to prepare this sermon, relying on me to bring his own lost son home to him.

And yet, the entire time, I seek Father’s eyes, to satisfy my longing for his praise, for his thanks, he never once looks my way. By the end of the sermon, as the congregation is instructed to rise for Communion, I’m shivering with longing, my heart wavering in my chest. I hate that I feel like a dog who’s been neglected by his master. I hate how I can’t shake that desperation for his approval.

Beside me, Eli leans in and his breath grazes my ear as he whispers, “When the Prodigal Son returns, it’s the loyal one who’s forgotten.”

I hiss and pull away but he grips my shoulder to yank me closer. “I feel sorry for you.”

“I don’t need your pity,” I growl low, under my breath so only Eli can hear.

He chuckles in my ear. “I know you don’t, baby. But you have it anyway. And when you finally realize you’re less than nothing to him, I’ll be here to comfort you.”

I want to rip his throat out, to send him sprawling over the pews so his body crashes into the rows of solid wood. I want to beat his face to a bloody pulp so he spits out teeth between those smirking lips. But he has me cornered, amidst the parishioners and the singing and the sweeping aria. Under Father’s watchful eye. I can’t do anything but sit there and glare at him.

“Get your hands off me.” My voice is barely more than a whisper but I know he hears the danger like poison laced within. He does as he’s told, still grinning.

Abe peers over at us, speculative, protective. But Eli’s hand has vanished from around my shoulder and his eyes are once again facing forward. Abe searches my face, but I ignore him, ignore the unsettled feeling that’s made its home in my guts.

Eli is wrong. Father loves us both. Father loves me. He would never abandon me, never choose one of his children over the other.

I really need a cigarette.

We file out into the aisle, head down center where Father stands passing out the thin wafers that serve as the body of Christ. At his side is a handsome young priest I’ve never met before, likely the new one Father has taken under his wing. Father…Alexis, I think he said. The young priest looks at Father every once in a while with a shine in his eye. I know the feeling. My heart has settled in my throat as I approach.

Abe reaches Father first. I can see his shoulders tense in front of me as they make eye contact and Father smiles. “The body of Christ,” Father says, his voice lustrous and deep.

“Amen,” Abe utters, a tremble in those words. He opens his mouth and Father places the eucharist on his tongue. Father watches him even as he pulls away, even as I step forward, directly in front of him.

When he finally looks at me, there’s something strange in his expression. Wistfulness, desire. Disappointment. Just a flicker of it before his smile returns. “The body of Christ,” he says.

“Amen.” My stomach cramps. I open my mouth and feel the tip of Father’s finger press the wafer onto my tongue. But he doesn’t remove it as quickly as he did with the other parishioners before me. He allows the pad to graze the inside of my mouth, to linger over my lips as they close before finally withdrawing.

I swallow. Hard. Move away to receive the wine from Father Alexis and feel my hands shaking at my sides.

“The blood of Christ,” the handsome young priest says. Up close, I can see his eyes are shimmering green. He has freckles on the bridge of his nose, a sturdy, masculine chin. His soft smile seems to flicker as he sees me struggle, catching my breath.

“Amen.” I hold my hands out for the goblet. He brings it to my lips and I swallow.

I turn and head back to the pew, keeping Abe in my sights, knowing that Eli is following me, watching. I allow my eyes to scan the crowd for the first time since I arrived.

And I halt in my tracks. At the back of the nave stands a thick, masculine form. A huge torso is covered by crossed arms, clearly uncomfortable at being in the Church. But dark eyes dart to and fro taking in their surroundings even as sweat beads off the bald, tattooed head that glistens in the candlelight. The guard from Orpheus, the one standing outside Sebastian’s door. Gus. He meets my gaze and nods.

He’s alone. Didn’t I sufficiently warn Sebastian to be at the next Mass? Was his punishment not severe enough? Or perhaps that was why Gus was here. If that’s the case, Sebastian will be in very real trouble. Father won’t be so lenient this time.

I want to approach Gus, to inquire as to his reasoning for being here, but Eli sidles up behind me, his body pressed close against my back, and better me than Abe, so I insert myself once again between them.

Father gives the final blessing as my mind wanders around Gus’s presence and Sebastian’s absence. It all seems so odd. Tense. There’s a strange shift in the air. I wonder if Abe can sense it too. Father’s words ring out, interrupting my thoughts, breaking me from my silent interlude.

“Go now in peace.” And as the organ begins again and a final hymn resounds through the nave, I watch Father proceed down the aisle with his priests in tow. He smiles at us where we stand and then descends into the vestibule where he’ll greet the congregation and shake hands with the lay people before wishing them well and sending them on their merry ways.

We file out, Abe first and then me with Eli on our heels. As we draw closer to the front of the Church, Abe stalls and steers us down the aisle to the front. He waits, glaring at Eli, who surprisingly, doesn’t follow us. Instead, the big man smirks and continues forward with the rest of the congregation. As the faces pass us by, I settle in beside Abe, feeling the tension as it radiates from him.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

He swallows, nods. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking.”

He glances at his hands and then back up at me. “Yeah.”

“It’s just Father. He loves you. You act like—”

He grimaces and bites his lower lip. “Just Father,” he repeats.

“He’ll be so happy to see you. He already was when he saw you were here.”

“That sermon wasn’t on accident.”

I agree with him. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t.”

“He knew I would be here.”

“He did send me to bring you back.”

“And he knew you’d be successful.” He sighs. “You always are. Perfect Kill. Perfect son. Perfect everything .”

It’s my turn to sigh. “That’s not true.” Eli’s words resound in my head. When the Prodigal Son returns, it’s the loyal one who’s forgotten. “Father’s heart wouldn’t allow him to abandon you. To give up on you. Our family wouldn’t be complete without you.”

His blue eyes roam my face, studying me as if attempting to discern the very real emotions brimming just below the surface. “You’re distracted. You’re thinking about something.”

I exhale sharply, feeling my lungs compress at his ability to so clearly see through me. He’s not going to let it go so I decide to take the easier route. “You see that big guy over there? The one with all the muscles?”

“Bald with tattoos?” he questions, following my line of sight.

“That’s the one. His name is Gus. He works for one of Father’s associates, Sebastian La Pointe. You remember?”

Something flashes in his eyes but he reins it in. “I remember.”

“Father’s been suspicious of Seb for a few weeks now. Sent me to remind him of his place the other night.”

Abe’s brow furrows and his lips purse but he doesn’t say anything. Lets me continue. I know he knows which night I’m referring to.

“I told Seb he needed to be here but his man is here instead. Before I left that night, Gus and I talked a bit. I told him that if he suspected anything, if anything was going on behind Father’s back, he should prove what side he’s on. I think this is him proving it.”

“He’s staring at you,” Abe murmurs.

Indeed, he’s been watching me nearly the entire time. He has something to tell me. Something that has him twitching and uncomfortable standing in a church where he’s obviously ill at ease.

“Looks important,” Abe confirms my thoughts aloud.

I nod.

“Think Sebastian’s defected?”

“If he has, it’ll be the last thing he does. The last time we spoke, I made myself perfectly clear. There won’t be a second chance.”

Abe frowns, his brow pinched in concentration.

“Will you be alright on your own?” I ask, shifting all my focus onto my brother. He turns to me and nods.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Go ahead.” He inclines his head toward Gus. “I know you’re curious. And it’s probably better you get the heads up first. So you can soften the blow if something’s gone wrong.”

I gently squeeze his shoulder before turning away, meeting Gus’s gaze and ushering him past the pews and out of earshot. I can see by the unsteady rise and fall of the big man’s chest that he’s nervous. He doesn’t want to be here. But something he’s seen, something he’s heard, scared him enough to bring him to the Church. To Father.

“Gus,” I say when we’re sufficiently alone and out of the line of any prying eyes. “This your first time at Mass?”

He nods, looking around and surveying the room, his discomfort on full display.

“What did you think?” I ask, observing the pinch in his brow, the taut tension of his arms where they’re crossed over his chest.

“Just like I remember from when I was a kid.” There’s a bit of quiet stoicism in his words, like a grim recollection. His eyes go glassy and far away for just a moment.

“But you’re not here to reminisce. You came here for another purpose.”

He straightens, swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, jutting just beneath the skin of his throat. “It’s Sebastian.”

“I’d have thought he’d learned his lesson.”

“He’s dead.”

It’s my turn to stiffen, shock causing my limbs to go still. Only a few days ago, he was alive and well. Well, not exactly well but he was alive. I left him alive. “How? When?”

“Two days ago. And now Orpheus is under new management. The whole Operation is under new management.”

“New management?”

“Some guy called Hollow.” My blood runs cold. Hollow. The one from my dream. The one I met outside Orpheus. The one I can’t stop thinking about.

“Hollow?” I choke out.

“Came in the other night and didn’t leave. Met with Seb in his office and then…Seb was dead.”

My stomach clenches. “Hollow killed him? And you allowed it to happen?”

“It wasn’t like that. We didn’t think he would hurt Seb. Hollow…he and Seb…they were…” He shifts, twitching in discomfort. “They were business partners. Hollow convinced Seb to sign Orpheus over to him somehow. I told him it was a bad idea, that Hollow creeped me out. I didn’t trust him. But Seb didn’t listen. And now he’s dead. I can’t prove it but I know Hollow did it. He’s moved into Seb’s apartment, taken over Orpheus and…the business too.”

The business. Father’s business. “Why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?” I snap.

“The men like him. He’s got some…some unnatural sway about him. Makes people respect him. They flock to him, like Seb did.”

“But not you?”

“I knew Seb. I knew him a long time. Orpheus was everything to him. He’d have never signed away his money-maker, his pride and joy. Not to a newfound business associate. Or a lover, if that’s what they were. He had too much pride. It’s why he pushed back against Father. He wanted the business all to himself.”

“And this Hollow. Does he know about Father?”

At this, Gus seems to twitch in nervous anticipation. “He does. He gave me a message to give to Father.”

I lock my gaze onto Gus’s, ensuring he can read the severity of my next words through my stare. “What is it?”

“He told me to give it to Father and Father alone.” Gus eyes me warily, distrusting. I don’t blame him. In this moment, I’m not sure I trust myself. Because in the back of my mind, I keep seeing those strange golden eyes, that upturned smirk. I keep replaying his words, the way he looked at me, asked me to dance with him. It’s not that I want to protect him. I just need to see for myself. Need to know if Hollow is indeed a threat.

“And no one comes to Father but through me,” I insist. “What is the message?”

He grimaces, glances toward the foyer where I know Father is greeting his congregation. I stare only at him. Finally, Gus says, “His message to Father was, Come out and play.”

A chill runs down my spine. The audacity. The veiled threat. He’s calling Father out, taunting him. Hollow is positioning himself as an enemy. I need to put a stop to this before it becomes a problem. It doesn’t matter that he’s consumed my thoughts, that I’ve dreamed about him more than once. Over and over. “Take me to him.”

“But Father—” he tries to interject, but I stand in his way, placing myself like an impenetrable wall between him and his quandary.

“Father cannot be implicated, you understand? If Hollow’s loyalties are elsewhere, he must be dispatched.”

“That’s why I’m here. We should tell Father—”

“No.” I’m not sure why the words fall from my lips in such a way. Why my first instinct is to handle this myself, to keep it from Father. “I don’t want to alarm him unnecessarily. If Hollow is indeed a threat, I’ll deal with him. I’ll end him myself before it ever becomes something for Father to worry about.”

Gus shifts uneasily, his gaze continuing to dart to the foyer as if questioning whether he’s doing the right thing in listening to me.

“I can handle this,” I say, more to myself than to him. “You were right to bring it to me. Don't mention it to anyone else. I’ll go there with you tonight. Now. I’ll meet with Hollow, discern his intentions and figure out what the hell his message meant.”

“You think that’s wise?” Gus looks uncertain, his brow pinched, his lips pursed. This isn’t going the way he thought it would. I don’t care how he thought it would go. He’ll do as I say.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s wise or not. It’s happening. Take me to him.”

“Now?” His gaze darts around the room but I step in front of him, blocking his path.

“Now.”

“What about—”

“Now,” I insist. I think about my brother, about his discomfort being in Father’s presence, but this takes precedence. He’d understand. I spare a glance in his direction, peeking into the foyer where I can see him locked deep in close conversation with Father. They’re sequestered away from everyone else, Father’s hand on Abe’s shoulder. And though Abe looks uncomfortable, he doesn’t seem to be on the verge of panic. In fact, he seems solemn, calm. Calmer than he has been all day.

Good. Perhaps this is what he needs. What they both need. Perhaps the time alone together will set things right.

I look back at Gus. Time to go.

“Take me to Hollow. Now.”