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Sleep seemed reluctant to let Geoffry flee it's embrace. Even though he'd been dreaming of alternately being tortured and then being forced to drink blood again and again for hours, Geoffry was equally reluctant to open his eyes. Having finally left his nightmares behind, he now seemed to float in some kind of netherworld, not dreaming but strangely unable to move, or wake. When the transition to wakefulness finally arrived, it happened so slowly Geoffry wasn't initially aware of it. It was actually the realization he wasn't alone that finally pushed Geoffry into full lucidity.
The sound of another person breathing was unmistakable, even when so quiet as to sound delicate. Equally telling was the faint smell of perfume, something incredibly pleasing, made more so by the fact that it bordered on the edge of being undetectable.
A woman can kill me just as easily as a man.
A delicate voice interrupted Geoffry's thoughts. “As much as I would love to indulge in the British tendency to allow things to proceed at a more leisurely pace, I'm afraid our bloody time is somewhat limited today, so I'm going to have to interrupt your charade of being asleep and ask that you open your eyes so we can be about the business of the day.”
Somewhat hesitantly Geoffry opened his eyes and looked towards the corner of the apartment from where the voice had come. Sitting sprawled casually in the most comfortable chair in the room was the most beautiful woman Geoffry had ever seen. Even dressed in worn blue jeans and a form-fitting button-up shirt, she looks like she belongs on a runway, like she's a model who just happens to be slumming right now. Even the dingy paint and broken light fixtures behind her only serve to highlight her perfection.
Geoffry started to sit up, only to wince as his muscles protested.
The blue eyes watching Geoffry from behind incredibly thick lashes briefly flashed with something that he wanted to call sympathy. Only the goddess before him made no effort to offer aid.
“You're feeling a bit worse for the wear no doubt. Especially considering the fact that you were all but running on empty there at the end.”
She tossed her stylishly-arranged platinum-blond hair and rose gracefully to her feet, the business-like demeanor that she'd been displaying vanishing as she walked over to Geoffry's bed.
“So how does it feel love? I mean, do you really not remember anything?”
Geoffry slowly shook his head. “How do you know that?”
A sly smile accompanied the woman's response. “I know everything about you. I'm honestly surprised you can't remember me. After what we shared I thought some little memory of your beloved Venice would remain. I guess that part wasn't meant to be.”
Venice. Geoffry rolled the name around his mind half expecting for some recollection to make it's way up from the dark depth's of his memory, but nothing appeared.
Venice was closer now, slowly making her way towards him as if worried that a sudden movement would frighten him. For a second as he took in the delicate features and youthful, perfect body, Geoffry felt a sense of incredible fortune.
She's gorgeous, and not only does she know my past, she's interested in me.
The moment of perfection was ruined as Venice came within arms reach of Geoffry and he suddenly got a strong sense of wrongness. It was as if an errant breeze had wafted a subtle scent of decay past him.
The impression lasted only a split second. Once it had fled Geoffry could detect nothing wrong with the picture of beauty that was ever so slowly inching closer to his lips, but he couldn't shake the sense of unease. It felt like somehow the lovely exterior Venice presented to the world had been peeled back affording him a glimpse of the real person underneath.
Pulling back slightly, Geoffry tried to sort out his thoughts, but she was sitting on the creaky bed now stroking his face.
“Come now, no need to be so shy. I know you better than you can possibly imagine.”
When Geoffry didn't respond Venice shrugged and then stood up. “Suit yourself, love.”
Pointing at a long bundle Geoffry hadn't noticed before, Venice smiled. “I did bring you a present though, something that should warm your cold-blooded little heart. At least in your present state you're controlled enough we can give you a weapon without worrying who you'll decide to chop into little pieces.”
Geoffry opened his mouth to respond angrily that he wasn't the killer Imastious was making him out to be, only to gasp as he got an incredibly strong impression that Venice was telling the truth.
She believes it is true. No way for me to know that, but I do. Who was I that I thought nothing of killing random bystanders?
As preoccupied as he was about the ramifications of what Venice had just said, Geoffry was still able to catch the rest of her departing words.
“Imastious left strict instructions for me to tell you that a continued failure to kill your assigned target will be punished much more harshly than what you experience last night.”
Venice pause for a moment as if to let Geoffry digest this latest piece of information. “I used to intervene with Imastious on your behalf, and I might be able to persuade him in your favor on some things still, but an attempt to do so puts me in no little risk of disfavor. That's a risk that I'm not willing to entertain for just anyone. You might give us some thought before you casually dismiss my affections again.”
Geoffry remained motionless on his bed for quite some time after Venice's shapely body had disappeared behind the closing door, but no amount of thought illuminated his path in the slightest.
The faintest stirrings of hunger finally pulled Geoffry out of bed and into motion. The carton of leftover Chinese takeout did nothing to diminish the hunger. It didn't make sense, but it no longer surprised him. Once out of bed, it was only logical to shower and dress in one of the dark button-up shirts and jeans that seemed to be all his closet contained.
I suppose even the damned tend to have a bit cheerier outlook once they are up and moving.
A short time later Geoffry found himself standing by the door holding the wrapped bundle that Venice had left. I suppose there's nothing to lose by opening it.
It really shouldn't have been a surprise that the bundle contained a sword, not after Venice's comment about cutting people into little pieces, but the katana inside the layers of cloth took Geoffry's breath away regardless.
It's exquisite.
Without thinking Geoffry whipped the blade through several strikes, and then stopped in amazement at how lively and perfect the weapon felt. Examining the sword, Geoffry saw that the polish on the blade was perfect, revealing the grain and hamon of the blade without becoming overly shiny. A hundred other signs, things that Geoffry hadn't even realized he'd known about before that moment, all pointed towards this being a masterfully crafted weapon.
How do I know all of this? How many hundreds of hours of practice went into being able to handle a sword as if it was a natural extension of my arm?
Walking for several hours did little to calm Geoffry's mind, possibly because the katana hanging at his side served as a constant reminder of exactly the things that were bothering him. He considered returning to the apartment and leaving the weapon there, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it, more because he didn't want to risk letting it out of his sight, than because he expected to need it. Consequently, the katana accompanied him hanging from the cleverly constructed harness that allowed him to hide the weapon under the dark trench coat that the weapon had been initially wrapped in.
It may be useful only in killing people, but it is a piece of what I was, however grisly.
The darkness didn't have the naked menace of the night before. Instead it had a cold, lonely feel to it that was every bit as bad in its own way. The steady drizzle of rain and the late hour had served to drive nearly all the city's occupants indoors, while simultaneously muting the sounds of the few hardier souls still about. As a result, it was almost possible to believe Geoffry was the only person living in the desolate ruins of a once-great city.
The cold had slowly seeped through the trench coat and now was becoming a pressing concern as Geoffry started to shiver. How did my feet get so cold? The streams of water racing down each edge of the street were making steady progress on cleaning up some of the refuse that had been everywhere last night, but that seemed a poor trade for being so miserable.
The shifting curtain of rain almost completely hid the buildings on the other side of the street, but Geoffry suddenly felt compelled to cross the road.
Carefully making his way in the direction of the tugging proved to strengthen the feeling, and Geoffry shortly found himself standing in front of what appeared to be a church, if the term could be applied to a building in such an obvious state of disrepair.
A pair of paper fliers, illegible after being exposed to the rain, hung from the doors, somehow giving the impression that the church was open for business as it were. A cautious touch revealed that the door was indeed unlocked, so Geoffry quietly walked inside.
A funeral. He looks young. Twenty something, probably about my age.
Other than hard wooden pews, the chapel didn't have many of the features Geoffry expected from a house of worship. There wasn't any incense burning, the stained glass windows, if there had ever been any, had long since been boarded up, and there wasn't a cross or crucifix to be seen. The plain white plaster of the walls was clean, as was the dark, wooden floor, but that was about as much as could be said in its favor.
As he completed his survey of the room and its occupants, Geoffry found his eyes drawn towards the man speaking from the heavily-worn pulpit.
“James was by all accounts a fine example of a man in most all of the respects that truly matter. In the course of preparing to speak these few words tonight, I talked with many that knew and loved him. When he was sixteen he drove off two other boys that seemed intent of victimizing a young girl he didn't even know.”
Geoffry spotted a vacant bench at the back of the room, one where he wouldn't have his back to any doors, and for no reason he could really pinpoint silently walked over and sat down.
The speaker continued. “I don't have to tell any of you the kind of risk that act entailed in our city. Offended gang members have shot people for less. But God protected James, and he suffered no harm as a result of his efforts.”
Geoffry felt some tightly wound part of him start to relax. The sound of rain falling on the roof wasn't loud enough to distract from the speaker, but the steady thrum seemed to echo around inside Geoffry's head until it felt as if it came from all around him, especially from the people.
“In our city, where education has become a sorry attempt at validating even those students who refuse to put forth a minimal effort to learn, James applied himself and graduated with honors, securing a scholarship to Fordham University in the Bronx.”
The thrum seemed to pull Geoffry's attention towards the front of the chapel where two women, one young, the other old, sat holding each other in a futile effort to calm their mutual grief, to quiet their sobs.
“...most young men in this town drift from one woman to another, fathering children and then taking no responsibility for their education and care. James is survived by his wife of three years, that same young girl he saved years ago.”
The priest paused, seemingly gathering his thoughts. “Anytime someone is gunned down in a case of mistaken identity, it is a terrible day. James' death, the death of someone so essentially good, is even more so a tragedy.”
The grief pouring from the two women was so obvious, so intense that Geoffry imagined he could almost feel it. It seemed to pound at him in jagged waves, beating in time with the falling rain.
The words coming from the pulpit continued in the same measured, heartfelt tone that they had since Geoffry entered the church, but he no longer heard them.
Some part of Geoffry longed to comfort the women, so much so that he imagined reaching out and smoothing away the harsh, bitter edge of their sorrow. No, that wouldn't be fair or right. They need their grief, need to go through the mourning process. Instead the need cushioned a little from the extreme pain, just enough for them to begin to heal.
The world seemed to spin away as Geoffry focused on that one truth, the only thing that mattered in that instant.
A gentle hand on Geoffry's shoulder woke him. Looking around in confusion Geoffry was surprised by his surroundings. What hardened killer would allow himself to fall asleep in such an exposed place. How did I not hurt that poor man when he woke me up. Maybe if I can refrain from breaking a priests arm in four separate places for disturbing my sleep, there is still some hope for me.
“Are you ok my son?”
The kindly, old face that looked down a Geoffry belonged to the priest who'd been speaking from the pulpit.
“Yes I believe so, I just got very tired.” As the words left Geoffry's mouth he realized it was true, or rather that he was very tired right now. He had been fine when he entered the chapel, but now felt exhausted.
“May I ask how you knew the deceased?”
Geoffry instinctively wanted to bristle at the question, but something told him that the old man wasn't trying to pry.
“I'm sorry, I didn't know him. It was raining outside and something seemed to draw me here. It was so peaceful that I stayed-I never intended to fall asleep.” Geoffry was surprised as he realized that whatever half-formed lie he had been considering telling the priest had just been preempted by the truth.
A kindly smile rewarded Geoffry, almost as if the man knew he'd spoken the truth rather than the lie that most people would have responded with. “I too find this building peaceful. It was abandoned by the Catholic church many years ago, but has served this community for quite some time since. It hasn't always brought people the peace they were looking for though.”
Geoffry blinked slightly wondering where the old man was headed.
“James' wife and mother were devastated by his death. They seemed to find no peace upon arriving here. In fact they seemed to worsen as the night went on, until the last quarter of the service. Somehow in that last half an hour they began to accept their loss, it was like something was shielding them from the worst effects of their sorrow so that they could begin the process of becoming whole again.”
The priest paused for a moment as if awaiting some response from Geoffry, but the maelstrom of thoughts swirling through Geoffry's mind precluded mere words.
“What do you think caused that change my son?”
How could that be? I was just pretending, just imagining what it would be like if I could help them.
“I don't know sir, I'm afraid I was asleep while all that happened.”
A pair of tired brown eyes seemed to examine the depths of Geoffry's soul. “I don't suppose I know either. However, you are welcome here whenever you feel inclined to come for a visit. It is always hardest for those who provide peace for others to find it themselves.”