"Hello, my son. Please come in."
Geoffrey's mind spun for a second, looking for an excuse. "I don't want to keep you late. I can come back during your regular hours, if that would be better."
A pair of kindly eyes measured Geoffrey for a moment before the older man responded. "I was headed home, but you obviously need to talk, and nothing I have waiting for me there is more important than that."
Almost despite himself, Geoffrey followed the priest inside and joined him on one of the old wooden pews, which protested their presence with a tired creak.
"You have the look of someone who feels as though they have run out of options. Someone who feels that they've been forced into a very bad situation."
Geoffrey was startled by the priest's perceptiveness, but something about the man seemed to promise that he wouldn't betray a trust.
"I suppose that is how I feel."
Geoffrey waited, allowing the priest to interject a comment, but the other man seemed content to simply listen.
"I find myself among very bad company. How I got there isn't important, but I am unable to escape, they know too much about me for that to be a possibility."
The priest shifted slightly in his pew, almost as if he'd been about to interrupt but thought better of it.
"These people have done terrible things to me, and they will do worse things unless I kill a man for them."
When it became apparent that Geoffrey wasn't going to continue, the priest slowly nodded. "You do indeed find yourself in a difficult situation. A situation in which your courses of action are narrowed greatly from what most people experience."
Geoffrey felt a tiny flare of hope at the priest's words, not necessarily at their content, but rather the fact that he'd finally been able to tell even the slightest amount of the truth to someone.
"I obviously do not know the full situation in which you find yourself. Even if you were to tell me all that you know, your own beliefs and perceptions would naturally make you a less than completely objective witness. However, even if we accept for a time that your beliefs are correct, you still have choices to make."
Geoffrey felt as though he should take offense at the priest's words, but couldn't bring himself to do so.
"You could kill this man, possibly he is even a very bad man, but I think it's not for you or me to make that judgment. Alternatively, you could kill yourself. That is often something people consider when they feel like they have no other way out, but this also isn't a course I can condone. Finally, assuming you are correct in your assumption that you can't run, you could refuse to comply with the wishes of these evil people and endure whatever may happen next."
As Geoffrey finally opened his mouth to protest, the old man held up a hand. "You always have a choice, my son. Sometimes the choice is just not something that we are willing to do. I think that is what sets the truly righteous apart from the rest of us; they are so special exactly because they are willing to give anything for their beliefs, even their lives."
"Why should I be forced to endure torture? Where is the justice in that?"
The priest sighed, pausing for a moment before continuing. "Are you truly blameless with regards to the situation in which you now find yourself? It may be that you are, but I can think of few, if any, times in my own life where I didn't contribute, at least in some small way, to any bad situations in which I found myself."
Geoffrey wanted to protest, but there wasn't any way to know for sure what he might have done to merit Imastious' attention. His mind reaching wildly for a response that wasn't a lie, Geoffrey allowed the silence to stretch out for several seconds. "I don't know what I believe, and even if I did, I don't think I'm one of those special people."
The old man shrugged. "The question of what to believe is one that has caused more debate, confusion, and even bloodshed, than possibly any other thing in history. I can't tell you what to believe, but I can tell you that you'll find your beliefs piece by piece as you truly seek them with an open mind. They will fill you with light and warmth as you find them, one by one until you've constructed the whole, and suddenly realize that you know how you should respond in any given situation."
A quiver built inside of Geoffrey, and as tears started to fill his eyes. He was at a loss to explain how he knew what the old man was saying was true, but he couldn't argue with the statement.
The priest looked at Geoffrey out of shiny eyes and smiled once again. "As to the second part of your statement, that is why you are here. We are all here to determine for ourselves whether or not we're special enough to do God's will once we find it."
Geoffrey stood up, his desire not to appear rude overcome by his need to escape the church and return to the streets where he could think.
As he fled the church the priest called out one last time. "He already knows what we will do, and has provided a way for each of us to overcome our trials if we are willing; we're just here so we can find out for ourselves who we really are."
Exiting the church, Geoffrey took off at a fast walk to ensure that the priest wouldn't follow him and try to continue their conversation. How could letting Imastious torture him be just or good?
Geoffrey crossed the street and headed east. Ultimately there wasn't any way to know whether or not any of what he'd just heard was true.
It was odd that Geoffrey always seemed to seek refuge from his problems by walking the city when his exertions had yet to yield any kind of positive result. Possibly it was some kind of holdover from his previous life. It was hard to believe that anything would really bother the kind of soulless killer Venice kept telling him that he'd been. Maybe walking had been how he'd dealt with the few things that he couldn't immediately resolve by killing.
Geoffrey was nearing one of the more run-down, dirty parts of the city now. He nearly turned away in an effort to stay out of such an unpleasant area, but the garbage-filled streets matched his mood perfectly. The functioning lights were few and very far between, and there was an undeniable sense of movement in the dark corners between storefronts.
Several hours of wandering the area failed to lend any kind of clarity to his thoughts, and Geoffrey was nearly at the point of turning around and heading back to his apartment when a girl turned onto the street thirty or forty feet ahead of him.
Geoffrey was puzzled at first by the way his attention kept drifting back to the girl until he realized that she was giving off a tangible aura of fear and desperation. He couldn't help but wonder what could be driving her out onto the darkened streets at such a late hour. Anyone with any sense at all had gone to bed hours ago.
The streets were nearly deserted now, save for occasional groups of teenage toughs, who were watching the slim figure walking ahead of Geoffrey with an interest that made Geoffrey want to vomit.
Without really considering why he was doing so, Geoffrey quickened his step slightly so as not to fall any further behind the panic-stricken teenager.
Three blocks later the girl turned off into what was probably the only pharmacy still open for miles, and Geoffrey slowed to a stop, questioning for the first time what he was doing.
Boisterous laughter from the other side of the street pulled Geoffrey's thoughts back to the present, and anger rushed through him as it became clear what the three young men intended to do.
The trio separated, taking up positions far enough from the pharmacy door that nobody inside would be able to see them, but close enough that they were cutting off each of the girl's possible escape routes. It was obvious to Geoffrey that they were going to wait until the girl was far enough away from the store to ensure that she couldn't retreat back inside and then they'd jump her. As empty as the streets were, the odds of anyone passing by before they got her somewhere out of sight were near zero.
Geoffrey started to shake as he realized that he was the girl's only chance to avoid being raped. He wanted to intervene, but he didn't see any way that he could stop all three of her assailants. Even worse, if he somehow man
aged to save her then Imastious would know. She'd almost certainly die. Another bit of collateral damage in the next round of punishments that Imastious would visit on him.
The sound of a door opening brought Geoffrey's eyes back to the pharmacy just in time to see the girl exit. Astonishment flowed through Geoffrey like an electrical current as he took in her wavy, dark hair and innocent face. It seemed impossible that the anachronistic figure from his dreams would be made flesh and dropped into the middle of the slums, but he couldn't argue with his eyes.
The realization that he knew this girl, that some piece of his past hadn't completely been lost, made the decision for Geoffrey, and he moved forward as the teenagers closed in on their target.
As soon as the girl was far enough away from the tiny store, the closest gang member struck. He wrapped an arm around her while his free hand reached up to muffle any screams. A few seconds later he'd dragged her back into the dark side street behind them.
Geoffrey unconsciously moved with the effortless, gliding step that Venice had shown him such a short time before. As quiet as Geoffrey was, he was surprised that either of the two toughs just now making it to the alley heard him.
"Get lost, cracker, this ain't any of your business."
The words barely registered for Geoffrey. Words would be useless. The boy would fight for the thrill of it as much as for anything else.
As if on cue, the closest teen pulled out a switchblade and stepped towards Geoffrey. A split second later the other boy finally realized what was happening and started fumbling for a weapon of his own.
Still acting on little more than instinct, Geoffrey raised his hands and realized he'd drawn his katana. Against all common sense, the teen with the knife continued his attack against a better armed foe, only to lose his hand to the edge of Geoffrey's weapon.
Another quick move and spray of blood, and the second teen went down, whatever weapon he'd been intent on drawing still concealed somewhere on his person.
A part of Geoffrey was horrified by what he had just done, but the cold, mechanical part of him that was currently calling the shots simply confirmed that the two gangers were too far into shock to pose any kind of threat, and moved him deeper into the alley.
The third boy couldn't have hurt her too badly; he hadn't had the time yet.
A scuffling sound up ahead warned Geoffrey a split second before the last teen stepped out from behind a dumpster, a revolver held to the girl's shaking temple.
"Get back, whitey, or I'll burn her down."
Geoffrey once again felt the urge to be sick as he thought about what a .357 hollow point would do to the unblemished face looking at him with terror that bordered on insanity. Only his understanding that the fear he was feeling came from the gang member, as much as from the girl, protected his fragile bubble of calm.
"You could do that. You have time for one shot no matter what I do. If you kill her, though, I promise you that you'll die. You'll never have time for a second shot before I remove your shaved head from your shoulders."
Watching the desperate face behind the gun, it was as if Geoffrey could read the youth's mind. The kid knew Geoffrey was right. There were only two options on the table, but the only thing he'd learned after twenty years in the hellhole of the projects was that backing down was a sign of weakness. Once you backed down, even just a little, those around you always used it as an excuse to try and kill you.
Geoffrey opened his mouth to try and reason with the teen, only to somehow sense that the younger man had come to a decision. Instincts took over, and Geoffrey found himself hurtling towards the ground without any clear reason why he was doing so.
A large crack destroyed the silence and further confused Geoffrey about the time his body converted the fall into some kind of roll. Fragments of brick rained down behind him as he regained his feet and struck out with his sword.
Once again blood sprayed through the air, covering Geoffrey and the girl in a sticky mist as the revolver hit the ground. By the time Geoffrey's mind caught up with what was happening, the gang member was on the ground, dead from a gaping hole in his neck, and Geoffrey was once again fighting the urge to be violently ill. He couldn't afford to be sick yet. He needed to make sure she was okay first.
The girl met Geoffrey's eyes when he looked at her, but she'd gone extremely pale. Even as he watched, she started to shake with an intensity that was as worrying as it was surreal. "The medicine. It fell when he grabbed me."
As Geoffrey started to ask what she meant, the girl's eyes abruptly fluttered, and she started to collapse. It was all that Geoffrey could do to catch her with his free arm without accidentally stabbing her with his sword.
Geoffrey carefully lowered the girl to the ground so that he could sheath his weapon only to stop as he realized he was forgetting something. He needed to clean it first. Then he needed to figure out what she was talking about.
Five minutes later Geoffrey found a small paper bag that looked too clean to have been in the trash-filled alley for long, and returned to where he'd left the girl.
His mind was still in a state of shock, but it was working well enough now for him to resume wondering what had driven her outside. She was wearing a tank top and faded cotton shorts. It wasn't the attire of someone who'd planned on going back outside. All he could figure was that she must have jumped out of bed, pulled on some tennis shoes and a jacket, and then run out to go to the pharmacy.
Staring at the bloody face before him, Geoffrey realized that the 'girl' was probably actually in her late teens. She was small enough, though, to pass for someone much younger. She also wasn't the girl from his dream. Her hair was shorter. The longer he stared, the more differences he started to see. Subtle differences between her and the girl from his dream: something in the shape of her mouth, and the positioning of her cheekbones.
He should have known that she couldn't really have been someone from his past life. It had likely been nothing more than a dream in the first place, but he'd latched onto it like it represented his only chance at salvation.
Slightly frustrated by the revelation that he wasn't any closer to unraveling the blank slate of his past, Geoffrey turned to the small package he'd been holding. The generic plastic containers had obviously been purchased at the drug store, but the unfamiliar names on the prescriptions didn't provide any further clues as to why she'd taken such risks to obtain them.
If the girl were some kind of addict it would explain the stupidity of her being outside alone at such a late hour, but he didn't see any of the physical evidence he would have expected from someone that far gone into an addiction. The address on the prescription was quite possibly a fake, but Geoffrey couldn't just leave her in the alley, so it seemed the next logical option.
It wasn't until after Geoffrey had lifted the girl up onto his shoulder and started off that he realized how suspicious he looked. Even in New York, at such a late hour, people wouldn't just let someone walk around carrying an unconscious girl without doing something.
Geoffrey stuck to the shadows as much as possible, checking both ways before hurrying across lighted areas, but was still only halfway to his destination when the sound of approaching voices made his heart skip a beat. It was already too late to run, so Geoffrey decided to hide and hope for the best. Carefully lowering his passenger to the ground, Geoffrey knelt down next to her and did his best to disappear into the slice of shadow he'd found.
As the trio of individuals ahead got closer, Geoffrey's tightened up to the point where he had the beginnings of a headache. The trio who rounded the corner and stepped into Geoffrey's field of vision were all twenty-something males who'd obviously just finished a night of clubbing or some other form of entertainment involving plenty of alcohol. They joked and stumbled into each other with the kind of abandon only achieved by the truly drunk. The next few seconds, as first one then another of the partiers glanced in his direction without seeing him, stretched into hours.
As the last of the thr
ee started to turn onto another side street, the girl at Geoffrey's feet abruptly thrashed, as if in the throes of some nightmare, sending nearby garbage banging into the dumpster beside them.
The sound was so obviously artificial that even a drunk had to realize something was hiding behind the dumpster. Geoffrey's fears were confirmed when he looked up and saw a pair of bleary eyes staring directly at him with an intensity that had been missing from the casual glances aimed his way previously.
Geoffrey didn't want to be forced to silence the drunk; he mentally begged the other man to just turn and walk away, but he was already preparing himself to strike. The pressure inside Geoffrey's mind ratcheted higher in lockstep with his fear, and then the man inexplicably turned and staggered away humming something unrecognizable as he tried to catch up with his friends.
Geoffrey looked down to check on the girl, and felt an incredible sense of relief. She was unharmed, but still unconscious. The breath that Geoffrey hadn't realized he was holding escaped his lungs in a quiet burst that seemed to take all of his energy with it. It was several minutes before he was able to regain his feet and continue the journey to the address listed on the prescription.
The last few blocks of the trip passed uneventfully, and Geoffrey quickly found himself standing before one of the more run-down projects he'd yet seen. Amazingly enough, the lock on the front door still worked, and Geoffrey was momentarily worried until he found a set of keys in the girl's jacket. He took a surprising amount of solace in the fact that he wouldn't be forced to destroy the lock in what was probably the only project in the whole city with a front door that actually worked.
The thought of the look on some poor resident's face as the elevator doors opened to reveal a menacing, blood-covered man and an unconscious teen was humorous in a morbid sort of way, but not sufficiently so for Geoffrey to risk it, so he took the fifteen flights of stairs.
The door to apartment 15B was a graffiti-covered monstrosity with three deadbolts that didn't stand out at all from the rest of the doors in the hallway. As Geoffrey turned his borrowed keys in each of the locks, he suddenly became nervous that he'd open the door and be confronted by one or more angry parents. He paused for several seconds between each deadbolt, but heard nothing to make him think that anyone had awoken.