The Salvation Shark, Chapter 36

Becki

I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place with no light. In Boston, if there wasn’t a light in the house, there was the orange of a street lamp creeping through some window to prove the world was not empty. Other than a single star occasionally penetrating the trees, I have nothing to guide me but the crashing of Anton’s feet.

He hasn’t said a word since we entered the woods, and I’ve been too scared to ask him anything. It seems like ages we walk before a light spot grows before us into a clearing revealed in the first light of morning. In the clearing is a two-story house, with a sagging roof and white paint chipping from the boards. A candle flickers in an upstairs window.

“We'll be safe here,” Anton says.

We enter the clearing and a light turns on in every window simultaneously, and a figure is silhouetted in the open door. Anton walks to the house, and I follow, falling over my feet.

“Is this another criminal criminal?” I ask, not even caring any more.

“The worst kind,” Lazarus whispers, stopping at the doorstep.

The figure was an old man, very tall and extremely spindly. He wears a brown suit and a fedora that he takes off and holds against his chest. “Hullo, Tony, it’s good to see you,” the old man says in a halting, scratchy voice. His smile is crooked and three-days unshaven, and he squints at me through round glasses perched on his bent nose. “I didn’t think you’d bring a friend.”

“Give us a couple hours to rest, and I promise not to tell you a thing.”

The old man considered us both a moment. “I think I’d prefer to know everything.” He gives me a second look and points. “That’s Becki Murphy. I recognize her from the news.” Anton puts out a hand to defend, but the old man waves it away. He doesn't seem as distressed as I would expect. “How much of this is a kidnapping, because that’s what they are saying about you. Say you killed a barracks full of cops.”

“She’s here on her own,” Anton says.

“Let her tell me,” the old man says, glaring at Anton. "You did kill the cops though. I can see it in your eyes." The old man looks at me, one eyebrow raised. He has liver-spots all over his bald head. "What is it girl? Did this man take you by force?”

“You can be honest with him,” Anton tells me.

“No coaching, Tony.” The old man takes a shaky step onto the grass. I’m afraid he will collapse. “If he took you, and you didn’t want to go, I can set it right.”

Lazarus moves on the old man from behind. “I told you, she’s free...” Before I even realize Anton has reached for the old man’s shoulder, the old man has Lazarus on his back. Even Anton seems off-guard. The old man releases Anton’s collar and jerks upright again. “Did you ask to come here?”

“Anton is taking me home,” I say. “I’m going to see my Momma.”

The old man stops mid step, stares at me a moment before nodding his head. Lazarus is getting up. He is wary of another attack, he doesn’t even straighten his jacket, which has bunched up around his stomach.

“You can stay,” the old man says. “You will be gone by dark.” His fingers look like E.T. I shake his hand weakly. “I will call you Miss Murphy, and you can refer to me as the Old Priest.”

The Old Priest’s house is undecorated, but cluttered with papers, books, pens, and bottles of ink. He sits us in the living room, which is lit with a lantern that the Old Priest turns down. I sit in a scratchy brown chair that is overstuffed with springs and some padding. Anton sits on the matching couch. There are cats draped over the arm of every chair. They take little notice of us, but each stretches it’s neck to rub at the Old Priest’s hand as he passes. Anton still isn’t smiling.

Sitting a wooden desk in the corner, the Old Priest lights a wooden match and then a hand-rolled cigarette. It smells like weed, but more pungent than what I've smelled the roadies smoking. We watch him without speaking until he shakes out the match into an ashtray. The Old Priest refocuses and smiles like he is noticing us for the first time.“The girl isn’t a Piscean, is she?” he asks. “Seems like everyone is any more.”

“What’s a Piscean?” I ask.

The Old Priest laughs a laugh that sounds like the squawk of a very large bird. “Never even seen a Shoggoth. Did you even tell her about Azathoth?” It is a great struggle for the Old Priest to stand us, but he waves his hand to turn down my help.

I don’t want to be here any longer. I’m looking at Anton again and again, hoping that if he won’t step in to help me, I can at least distract attention away from me. “Um. I don’t know who that is.” Lazarus says nothing, and he looks nervous.

"The blind idiot-God at the center of the Universe!" The Old Priest looks at me a moment longer and stoops over Lazarus. “Tony, if you want to fix, I’ve got a real sweet parcel in the back. I hope you haven’t been doing that awful stuff in front of her.” He swings his head back to me. with an open-mouthed smile. I see only gums inside. “I think Tony should leave the room, don’t you?” He sees me looking at Anton from the corner of my eye. “Be honest.”

“Yes,” I say weakly, and Anton is nearly out of the room before I finish the word. We look at each other a few seconds. “Who are you?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.

His eyes look half-dead and milky white. “I already told you my name, so that must imply my relation to your whole stinking situation. Is that correct to assume?” Every motion and syllable seem to take him the greatest force he can apply.

“I don’t want to die. I just want to see my Mom.”

The Old Priest takes great humor in this, but even that is barely noticeable beyond a few twitches. “If that’s your only worry, you’ll do quite fine. How much do you know about this Anton Lazarus? Don’t worry, he can’t hear you where he is.”

“He’s dangerous!" I almost wail, so surprised myself that I almost start crying. "He’s a killer, and so much worse!” The Old Priest sits on the edge of the red velvet couch beside me, but does not reach out to comfort me.

“But you’re still with him.” The Old Priest cocks an eye, but looks more at the ceiling than me. “I don’t know if I fully understand that. They say you are quite famous, but you have to forgive me, I don't watch the TV." He looks at the box with a round glass front on the hutch across the room and smiles like he is lost in a memory for a moment. "I spent a lot of time with people of your stature at one time, but I've only stood on the sidelines. What is it like to stand in front of that many people?"

“I never knew how awful it could be," I say, looking down at my hands folding and refolding in my lap. The Old Priest sits on the couch beside me while I confess everything. “I didn’t know about whole days on a bus followed by two hours in a makeup chair, and I’m still doing homework during all of it. If I’m even allowed in the parties, they don’t start long before my curfew, which is heavily enforced! I barely have time to talk to my friends, and I don’t get weekends.” I can’t tell if the old man is even listening, let alone comprehending. I want him to cut in, give me an answer, or at least some assurance I’m doing the right thing. “I can’t even go to a mall without notifying security so they can make sure only preselected fans and news crews have access to the area.”

“Not what you wanted,” he says with a slight nod that shakes his whole body. “Anton isn’t going to kill you,” the Old Priest says. “I don’t know if you are entirely safe, but he's invested too much.” He pauses to think. “I’ll let him tell me what he wants you to do, but I’m certain that if you fulfill your end of the agreement, he is likely to uphold his. I guess it depends on what you really want.”

I hesitate, letting it stir, privately hoping the old man is just paused and not finished, and if I wait long enough he will make an addition to answer my questions. When I start to feel awkward I can't think to say anything but, “Thank you.”

The Old Priest smiles. “If you’ll excuse me, I still want time to hear Lazarus before I go to bed. I’m an old man, you know, we sleep a lot.” He snubs out his cigarette and stands. “There is a bedroom at the top of the stairs, most comfortable in the house, and facing away from the sun. The curtains should help you sleep. Good night.” The Old Priest exits after Anton.

Go to Chapter 37