Blasphemy
Pancakes again. Dana can smell it.
His eyelids inch apart, letting an amber glow seep into his vision. Their retreat is
slow and measured, careful not to let Kevin see him stir awake. But as the amorphous glow starts to
take shape as his room, Dana realizes Kevin isn’t there. He half-expects a plate full of breakfast
at his bedside, but even that is absent. The only sign of Dana’s roommate is the lingering smell of batter
wafting through the closed door.
Dana sighs and rolls onto his back. He blinks the blear from his eyes, snapping them open and shut until the ceiling’s contours are visible. He puts his gaze on a shallow pocket, then rolls it up the bulge just below.
Then his eyes stop. Something in his head nags him to keep moving, tickling a spot in the vacant part of his skull. But Dana’s will demands that his eyes stay in place for just a little longer. The ceiling’s bulge seems to swell. Then it retreats. A mote of dust floats past. The off-white paint bores into his eyes. A subtle fuzz starts to form in Dana’s head.
Get up, Dana tells himself. Then he — or at least a part of him — gives a tired No.
“Sh-!” Kevin stutters from the kitchen, “Shoot!”
Pressure builds up in Dana’s chest. A twinge of guilt pricks him for thinking so low of Kevin last night. But Dana knows he’s right. However long it takes, he just has to ride things out until Kevin cashes in some kind of favor. Until then, maybe playing along would make things easier.
He rolls back on his side, not content with staying in bed, but not wanting to get up either. He notes the vacancy of the bedside table, its ashtray now gone. The gesture isn’t surprising or unsurprising, but at the very least Kevin stayed true to his word.
Dana stays still for a while, his gaze dancing at the edge of the table. The fuzz starts to come back, this time attacking the cavity in his head. He feels something worm into it, scraping the edges of his brain. The hole grows cold, drawing in the stale air around him. His chest shudders, forcing a whimper through his throat. He should definitely be getting up now.
He sits up, briskly swinging his feet over the edge of the bed. It’s only now that he notices his shoes are still on. Whatever. He shakes his thoughts further into motion and pushes himself off the bed. His feet fumble with each other to remove their shoes, then he bends down to peel off his socks. Everything seems even colder now as his bare feet press down on the hard wood floor. Not cold cold, but— Fuck. Dana pushes the incoming train of thought past him and tries to get back into autopilot. He’s thinking too much again, not actually doing what he has to.
Before he knows it, Dana’s crossed the room and put his hands on his wardrobe’s metal handles. The white button-ups jump out for a rude hello, pressing up against his retinas. Dana just grabs one, turns around, and fumbles with its buttons until the front has fluttered open. He works quickly now, his fingers flashing across his torso to undo his own button-up before slipping into the next. His thoughts cloud as he pulls his arms from his shirt, now standing in an unlocked room with a bare chest. He pulls the cloth away from his back, but something stops him.
His shirt is caught on his wings.
Fuck. Fuck.
Dana tries his best to keep his mind clear while in such a compromising position. As much as he’d love to put his shirt back on and go through the day with it, past consequences prick his brain. He doesn’t have much of a choice, he just has to figure this out.
Dana flexes his back in an attempt to close his wings together. They obey, inspiring a hint of relief as he slips the cloth through them and swiftly brings the unworn shirt behind his back. He figures there has to be a couple slits in the shirt to make room for the extra appendages, but doesn’t want to risk stopping to check. He sends the shirt forward, shrugging into it with ease, and hastily brings his buttons together from the chest down.
Now for the more compromising part: his bottoms.
He always hated this.
Kevin — already clad in a tan button-up and drab slacks — is just about done with the last pancake once Dana comes into the room. Kevin lifts his pan, giving it a shake as he hovers it above a stack of pancakes to his right. Then, with a flick of the wrist, he yanks the bottom out from beneath the cake. It flops down, landing onto the stack with a plop! He sets the pan down before taking hold of the plate full of pancakes, then another plate sitting just beside. Kevin turns around, his wings perking up once he sees Dana.
“Oh,” Kevin smiles, “Good morning.”
Dana nods. He parts his lips before his companion can say anything else, but only parrots the greeting with a weak voice. Regardless, Kevin keeps up his warm demeanor and crosses the room to the table. It’s already set with four placemats, two of which are empty while the others have a fork and knife on either side.
“You’re not much of a morning person, I know,” says Kevin, “But I’m used to getting things moving right away.”
Dana leans against the wall, one arm crossed in front of him and feeling his own feathers. Kevin pulls out a chair for Dana, then moves across the table to sit down. Dana sighs, his eyes falling to the floor. Kevin slows down a bit, hesitating to pick up a fork as his eyes pass between Dana and breakfast. His smile fades and his fingers curl around the silverware, then timidly pull away. He leans back and finally sets his gaze on Dana.
“If you’d rather eat on your own…” Kevin’s voice trails off. Despite the sudden change in demeanor, he doesn’t seem disappointed. He doesn’t even seem upset at all. Instead, there’s a hint of sincerity somewhere on his face, although Dana can’t put a finger on where exactly.
“I don’t want to get in your way,” Kevin finishes.
Dana feels like he should say something, although he very much doesn’t want to. He feels like he should leave, although he doesn’t want to do that either.
“You…” Dana hums. A tired smirk puts itself on his face as he keeps talking, “You keep putting the ball in my court.”
Kevin shrugs. “Guess it’s a habit.”
“I don’t like that,” Dana says. He has to force the words out, but they’re true as they are.
Kevin pauses. His head slowly bobs up and down, eventually coming to a full nod.
“Okay. If you want me to be frank,” Kevin finally picks up his fork, “We’re gonna be culling people for an eternity, and there’s no backing out of that. If we’re working together, I want us to be close to each other.”
Kevin nods to the stack of food across the table. At last Dana obliges, unfolding his arms and going over to sit in his chair. His movements are automatic. Thoughtless. As soon as Dana picks up the fork, he cuts away at the stack and shoves a slice into his mouth. Within his first bite he’s already cutting into the next piece, which is already in his mouth by the second bite.
“Woah,” Kevin holds out a hand, “Woah. Easy, man, you’re gonna choke on it.”
Dana holds back a huff. Kevin’s right after all. He puts his fork down for a moment and takes his time chewing, breaking each piece of the cake at a steadier pace. Kevin’s mouth turns up to a slight grin, but the narrowing of his eyes gives away concern.
“Hey-”
“No,” Dana interrupts, each word muffled by the paste in his mouth, “I asked for this.”
“I…” Kevin’s voice dies just as soon as it starts. He eyes Dana’s left hand, noting how it twitches and fiddles with its fork. He can’t really do anything here to comfort Dana, he knows. But at the very least, he can try.
“Stay cool, Dana,” Kevin murmurs, “You’re all right.”
The rest of breakfast is had in silence. The only words between them are thought out as ideas for what to say, but never manifested as verbiage. Bit by bit, the valkyries chip away at their food. Forks clink against platters. Teeth squish through sugared paste. Throats close with distinct gulps. There is no flavor to the meal. The only concern is to just bring it to a close.
Eventually, that’s what happens. Kevin finally sets his fork face-down, its prongs meeting the edge of his plate. He rises immediately, reaching for Dana’s long-empty plate and picking it up for him. Then he goes for his own and makes his way to the sink.
“I’ll go ahead and execute today’s target,” Kevin says as he turns on the tap, “You don’t need to reap the soul, but I’d like you to be in the room for it. Just to see how it’s done.”
“All right,” Dana sighs.
Kevin shuts off the tap.
“Forget it, I’ll do the dishes when we get back,” Kevin mutters to himself. He pulls a black tie from his back pocket, then turns around to face Dana, “You ready?”
“Yeah,” Dana answers, slowly rising from his seat.
“All right,” Kevin wraps the tie around his collar, “You like cheese?”
“Cheese?” Dana furrows a brow.
“We have a hit in Wisconsin,” Kevin heads for the door, “This addict who keeps acting like he’s Scarface. He’s just obscure enough to fly under the radar, so Samael wants us to intervene before it gets too far.”
“There’s no kids involved in this one, right?” Dana asks, following Kevin into the hallway.
“If there are, we weren’t told,” Kevin shuts the door behind him, then starts tying his tie. The pair walks down the hall, Kevin finishing his knot before speaking again, “I thought I left the file on your dresser.”
“You did?” Dana’s pace slows. He really doesn’t want to be a fuck-up before the day even starts.
“You know what?” Kevin shrugs, “I’m just gonna keep briefing you like this in the mornings. It’s better than flipping through a book and hoping we’re on the same page.”
“No, no,” Dana shakes his head, “I’ll start reading them, I’m sorry.”
“Dana,” Kevin slows to let his companion catch up, “We don’t need perfection. I’ll just blab on about the details until you stop me. Deal?”
Dana feels his feet sink into the carpet as he pushes himself forward. The yellowing walls must the air while he pretends to consider Kevin’s words.
“Deal,” says Dana.
“OK,” says Kevin.
They’re finally at the elevator, where Kevin pushes the call button. Dana’s been here twice by now, and he’s already prepared for the jolt. As the doors open, he steps through absentmindedly and leans against one wall. Kevin stands on his own, not even reaching for the wall’s railing after pressing the lobby button. Sure enough, the room thrashes for an instant and Kevin’s thrown off-balance. Even so, he steadies himself as if falling over was never a concern.
“Ready for the interstice?” Kevin asks.
Dana cringes, “Probably.”
“You get used to it fast. At least, I did.”
Dana hums and nods. The room shudders again before the doors make way for the lobby. At its end, a pair of glass doors wait with a solid white light blocking whatever view there might be. Maybe it’s a glimpse into the interstice, Dana thinks, but then the light is too calm. No part of the interstice would cast such a warm glow into a dust-moted building like this.
The valkyries walk to the exit, Kevin taking it upon himself to grip a door’s handle.
“Here we go,” he mutters.
The door is thrown open, deafening the valkyries’ eyes. A whale’s gaping maw floats from the glow, flying through and snapping shut behind the valkyries. A whisper of “Kadosh! Kadosh! Kadosh!” seems to reach into Dana’s ear, gently splitting it apart while growing to cacophony. There is no increase in volume or intent; just an utterance that stabs Dana in the head, growing its wound and giving no pain. His knees buckle, bringing him and the voice to the floor. He sees the words, “!קדוש! קדוש! קדוש” fall and crumble between his knees. The words’ broken shards jut out, piercing his eyes and cracking his ears. All he sees now is noise, and all he hears is a searing white sheen before his eyes.
And then he finds his destination.
1716 Miller Park Way, Milwaukee, WI 53215. 09:48 on Saturday 25 April, 2009.
Ahead of the valkyries lies a concrete lot, its faded pavement reflecting the clouds draped over the sky. Some cars are littered here and there, stationed in their own spots among a mostly vacant surface. Beyond that, a store of brick and mortar sporting a gallery of windows. Along the top of the building, blue letters beside a smirking mask spell out the name “Goodwill.” The interior is static; not a single person wandering to peruse its wares or idling to pass the time. The cars at front feel more like decoration than any indicator of life. But then, behind him, Dana hears a flurry of traffic proving that people still linger here.
“How you feeling?” Kevin asks.
“I’m fine,” says Dana. And after going through the interstice, he does mean it.
“All right,” says Kevin, “Our target’s behind the Goodwill, where he usually hangs out. Not sure if the people working here know he’s a dealer, but they don’t seem to have a problem with him either way.”
Dana hums, and Kevin steps ahead to tow his companion behind. They cross the parking lot, making their way to the side of the building clad in nothing but brick. No windows break the monotony of walking by a wall that feels a half-mile long. And of course it doesn’t take much time for Kevin to speak up.
“Guy’s name is Derrick Mercier,” he notes.
Dana hums.
“Just, uh…” Kevin looks away from the wall, “Just thought you might want to know.”
The two of them walk on. It’s not until they’re about to round the corner when Dana finally says something.
“Thanks.”
“No problem,” Kevin replies.
The valkyries slip into the back lot, finding it vacant. Vacant, save for a man dressed in all black clothing. His baggy pants match the slouch in his back, which in turn drapes a hoodie over his body. A massive black hand covers the man’s face, a cigarette sticking out between its sausage fingers. He doesn’t seem to have noticed the valkyries, as his body doesn’t shift or sway in their direction. The two still approach, Kevin turning his head to murmur to Dana.
“All right, this one’s mine,” he says.
Dana stays behind, following Kevin across the lot. It doesn’t take long for the man standing there — Derrick, apparently — to perk up once he sees the duo approaching. His paw pulls its cigarette away from his face, flicking it to the ground.
“What’chu want?” Derrick asks, perking his head up. Dana notices some kind of golden trinket hanging from Derrick’s neck. Its shape is indistinct, yet familiar. He’s definitely seen it somewhere before, but from this far away he can’t tell heads or tails from it. Right when Dana feels himself slipping into his own thoughts, Kevin moves a hand behind himself and reaches into the back of his trousers.
Derrick’s eyes widen. He knows exactly where this is going.
Kevin’s hand whips around his body, pointing a pistol straight at Derrick’s head. Derrick reaches into his hoodie’s pocket, but a sudden CRACK! shoves him back. He doesn’t stumble. He doesn’t linger. Derrick just crumbles to the concrete, all limbs going limp.
Kevin keeps walking, still holding his gun at arm’s length. With another squeeze of the trigger, he sends another shot at Derrick’s head. Derrick’s face splits open, the bullet carving a red canoe into the dead man’s visage. Only then does Kevin lower his pistol and slide it back into the rear of his pants.
All Dana hears now is the click of Kevin’s shoes against the parking lot. The sound of traffic beyond the store has ground to a halt. The grey clouds above hang motionless, as though suspended on strings. Dana stands still, eyes glossed while they look on at the scene.
Kevin’s pace doesn’t slow.
Click, click, click.
“Fuck,” Dana murmurs.
“Dana,” Kevin waves toward the body.
Dana leans forward and puts his legs into motion to catch up with his partner. By the time the two are shoulder to shoulder, Dana finds himself staring into the red crater across Derrick’s face. A layer of ground beef seems to be embedded in the dead man’s skull, a pool of sanguine juice pooling at its base and cascading through the top of his head. Dana pulls his eyes from the grue, setting them down on the piece of gold tied around Derrick’s neck. Its image is still twisted, contorting itself further as the valkyrie’s gaze lingers on it.
“Dana,” Kevin gently repeats.
“S-sorry,” Dana turns to his companion.
“You’re okay,” Kevin reaches for his hip and draws a familiar sickle from his pants, “Look here. In a second, this guy’s soul is gonna leave his body. First it starts spilling out of his body, then it’ll turn some kind of color, and then it’ll take shape above his body.”
Sure enough, as Kevin reaches the end of his explanation, a clear mist bleeds out of the body’s face. It trickles down the top of his head, then cascades to his shoulders. Then to his elbows, his hands, his knees, and finally, his feet. The haze sticks to the ground, flickering as though wind is passing through it, then it reaches up to bury the dead man. The aura grows darker, first shifting to grey before a faint sepia invades its tint. The sepia, too, darkens, until at last Derrick is covered by an earth-hued energy.
Kevin squats next to the body, sickle in hand. Dana follows suit, kneeling beside him.
“This next part’s gonna suck,” Kevin warns “Stay with me on this.”
On cue, a muffled shriek rings out from the body. Its aura spins upward, quickly coalescing into a brown sphere above Derrick. And its words send Dana reeling.
“No! No, I don’t want to die!” it pleads, “No, no, no… It hurts so much. It hurts. Please help me, please! I just want it to stop hurting… I don’t want to die… I-I don’t want to die…”
The begging goes on. Every word pricks his heart, slowly peeling it open to pour ages of guilt into the wound. A sledgehammer pounds against his chest from the inside as the voice multiplies, turning into a dozen little Derricks all sobbing in the hopes that their torture would end. Dana’s eyes dart over to Kevin, whose cringe shows the same displeasure.
“There’s a tether between the soul and the body!” Kevin shouts through the cacophony, taking hold of the tether, “Just grab on and swipe your blade through it!”
Kevin swings the sickle across.
Everything falls silent.
Derrick’s soul slips up, rising like a lost balloon to Heaven. Dana’s eyes don’t linger on it for long, though, instead moving to the body’s necklace. Its shivering icon grinds down to paralysis, but still remains misshapen in some way that Dana can’t put his finger on. He leans in for a closer look, the icon responding in turn with a shifting of form. What seemed to be a jagged lump of brass now contorts into a golden kite. As Dana looks on, and as Derrick’s soul floats further away, the trinket’s points recede and its edges soften. Dana shudders, realizing the shape before it can make itself clear.
A hollow crucifix now hangs from Derrick’s limp neck. No holiness resides within, nor does it depict any of God’s grace. And like the one in the Ossuary of Archangel Samael, an invisible imprint is splayed across the crucifix. A distinct lack of Christ’s presence is emblazoned onto the cross, obvious only in the pit Dana feels while looking at it.
“Kevin…” Dana’s voice trails off. He’s about to ask a dangerous question. His heart flinches, absorbing the impact of Christ’s absence and all it might imply.
“Kevin,” Dana steels himself to finish the words, “What’s wrong with his cross?”
Kevin’s gaze doesn’t fall from the ascension of Derrick’s soul. His hardened face betrays no thought, as if his mind needs to be empty to give any response.
“God is not with us,” he dictates. And with the next few seconds of silence, it’s clear that he doesn’t have any desire to elaborate.
Dana’s lips part, but struggle to say anything further. His breath stills in his mouth, begging him not to pry into the details. Reluctantly, he closes his mouth and turns to the alley’s exit. They’ll be crossing back to their living quarters now, he supposes, but Kevin’s voice puts the plan on hold.
“Worship isn’t in vain, though,” he says, “Our Father was gracious enough to have His angels and saints watch over us. And despite His own absence, our faith and works still save us.”
Dana can’t help but smirk. “You sound like a priest,” he says.
Kevin huffs and finally looks down. His lips turn up too as he confesses, “Probably ‘cause I wanted to be one.”
The news doesn’t come as a shock to Dana. He remembers the wall of crosses and statues of Mary, almost comical in their abundance on Kevin’s shelf. And much like the first time he saw them, an expected rush of fear and anger doesn’t come to him. A few echoes of fags burning in Hell and stoning trannies to death ring in his head. Yet somehow — even in the split second where he tries to — he can’t connect them to any thoughts of God. No Heavenly presence lies behind notions of the Father’s wrath and hatred.
“I’m glad to know God forgives me for not going down that path,” says Kevin.
“If God’s not with us,” Dana furrows his brows, “How do you know?”
Kevin’s wings creep forward. He crosses one arm over his torso to feel at his own feathers.
“Call it faith,” he answers.
