CHAPTER 6
ROARING WITH ANGER, he threw the knife across the room. Tears streamed from his eyes as he burst through the door of his small home to the cold outside. He ran as fast as he could, chest burning and heart pounding to the place where he had left the dead wolf and as he expected, nothing was there. No carcass, no pooled blood, nothing in the moonlight but the tall grasses next to the road. He was shocked at what he did see, which was everything. His vision in the darkness was quite clear and vibrant. There was no wolf, there was no anything. There was no chance the animal crawled away. It was destroyed. This was Harry’s way of introducing him to his new status.
Welcome lad, to the undead.
Jacob walked. He cursed Old Harry and cursed God and cursed himself. He opened his door and stood staring at his meager home for a moment. His eyes landed on the bottle of whiskey. The one he had drunk on his way out of town, the day he’d stolen the horse…It shouldn’t have been there, but there it was. He fantasized about its sweetness and the lovely burn it would bring to his throat. He wanted its warmth, the gentle way it crept into a man’s head and slowly faded the world to black. He wanted very much to feel its power.
He picked up the bottle and rolled it from one hand to the other. It felt good. The smooth glass was cold in his palm and the cork came out easily enough. He watched the brown liquid as it rolled around, then smelled its aroma for a moment. Finally a drink. One would be enough.
He remembered his mother praying for him, for his father…it worked when she was alive, or seemed to. Since her passing, he had let religion slip away from him much like his boat slipped away from shore. The boat always returned. Maybe it was time for him to do the same. If there was a devil, there must be a God. One was tormenting him and the other was letting it happen.
“This will not do,” he said.
His steps were slow and deliberate to the leather, iron and sycamore trunk next to his bed. He opened it and began to pray himself.
“Holy Father, forgive me for my blindness in the face of evil.”
He pulled straps free from their buckles and lifted the lid. Between the folded clothes on the bottom of the wooden box, he found a rifle made by John Rigby and Co. It belonged to his father and he kept it tucked away in the trunk amongst his few material possessions.
“Forgive me and my sins against you. Forgive my sins against Caitlin. Please accept her into your kingdom and release her from that bastard’s clutches.”
There was a box of ammunition in the trunk which he also removed and proceeded to load the weapon. Its barrel was long and it would take a bit of ingenuity to fire it at its intended target. As he sat and prayed, he propped the rifle between his feet and placed the end of the barrel between his teeth. If he stretched, he found he could just reach the trigger with his thumb. It was awkward. He took the weapon out of his mouth and finished his prayer.
“In Nomeni Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.”
Jacob place the end of the barrel back between his teeth, bit down and fired without hesitation.
The sound was deafening. He felt the shattering of teeth and bone and the searing heat of the projectile as it drilled through his head, exiting just behind his right ear. It lodged in a large wooden beam that braced his roof. He tasted metal, coppery blood and smoke. Blood, burnt meat and bits of tooth oozed down his throat causing him to cough up and vomit the carnage onto the floor. The rifle dropped to the ground. He fell backward with a thud and lay there wondering why he wasn’t dead.
A strange sensation of pressure built inside his head. There was movement in his scalp and on the roof of his mouth. He heard the bones of his skull shifting…growing. He felt the back of his head with his hand as the hard skull and skin came back together. His wounds were healing and it was a painful and terrible experience.
“Take care now, Jacob,” a familiar voice said. One he would never forget. “You cannot take your own life and you cannot be killed.”
Jacob tried to speak but what came out was wet and garbled nonsense.
“You will scar. See the teeth marks on your arm? And now look at the nasty scratch you’ve gone and given yourself.”
Harry stepped into view wearing his human suit looking down at a gold pocket watch and shook his head. Jacob kicked his feet, scooting back to the wall behind him for support. His eyes were large and frightened.
“The wolf was a test I designed to show you that you were immortal. You obviously didn’t believe me and now you have gone and put a hole in your head.”
Jacob touched his head again, finding it completely healed on the outside. The inside was still shifting around. He felt the urgent need to swallow, but couldn’t.
“I cannot be troubled to explain everything to you, sir. I’m a busy, busy man. Nonetheless, I must tell you that although your body will heal itself quickly, you will retain scars from any wounds that you gain. It will become more difficult for you to exist in society if you are covered with hideous blemishes. You will appear more like a monster than do I.”
Jacob sobbed. He refused to look at the man who was accusing him of being some undead thing and was hoping to wake in another location. He prayed it was all just another dream, but it was not to be. Jacob Kane sat on the floor in his own home and the Devil himself stood before him waiting impatiently for acknowledgement.
“I have a task for you. It might keep your mind off of all that self-pity. A simple task really. We’ll call it a scavenger hunt.”
Harry paused, giving his opponent a chance to catch up with the moment. Jacob watched the old man through blurry, tear-filled eyes.
“A task?” he choked out, his voice finally coming back to him.
Jacob spat on the floor, then wiped the blood from his chin, stood and walked to the counter for a drink of whiskey. He rinsed with the first mouthful and spat a bloody wad into the wash bowl. The second drink, he swallowed.
“What makes you think that I would do anything for you?”
Jacob leered at Harry from the corner of his eye. The pain in his head was gone, but he had an angry scar and his hair was still matted with blood, more menacing than handsome.
“You will because I can cause you great pain. I can cause Caitlin pain. If I wished, I could cause your dead mother and father pain. I could resurrect them all, then rape the three of them right here in your living quarters and feed them to each other. Would you like that?”
Jacob stared in horror.
“I thought not. So we have a deal, then?”
Jacob didn’t answer, only scowled at his unwelcome guest.
“Perhaps just Caitlin, then. I could describe in detail how she handles me, sexually, if you like. Quite spirited that one, and so willing.”
At that, Jacob rushed the demon intending to tear the creature apart with his hands and rip flesh with his teeth. One blow of Harry’s hand sent him sprawling on his back and sliding across the floor. Harry clenched his teeth and snarled. His eyes flashed with a kind of violence honed by thousands of years and his skin tone changed briefly but he did not show his true self.
“Do not…challenge me, human, or your mother and your Caitlin will know agony and I shall enjoy doing the job personally.”
His voice boomed in the tiny house, rattling its two windows. Jacob was bested and vulnerable, but fought still. He smashed his fist on the floor and stood up, approaching the demon.
“You will know loss,” he hissed.
Harry chuckled.
“I created these things, Jacob. Loss, sadness, fear, anger…I know them intimately.”
“If you exist, then so does God. My mother and father are in His kingdom,” Jacob said.
“Everything is God’s kingdom, and God’s kingdom is entirely within my reach. Take your chances if you must, but know that,” Harry said.
“If I am immortal, I will have nothing but time to figure out how to kill you.”
The devil laughed, “Many have tried and failed to kill me, but I like
your anger. You are truly my son.”
Jacob roared his disapproval at the statement and the devil laughed.
“Just tell me my task,” Jacob said.
Harry paused and walked around the table to get closer to his uncooperative servant and he cleared his throat.
“A priest…one Father Hogan is my desire. He lives here in your city. He preaches the word of God to its citizens, but his private practices are what caught my attention. I want you to bring him to me.”
“Get him yourself.” Jacob spoke defiantly, his voice permanently changed by the scars in his throat.
“I will have him eventually either way, but I want him now. Or had you not heard that I am greedy?”
Harry sounded like a spoiled child demanding pacification.
“Patience is not one of my strong suits. And while a brawl with the Holy One is always entertaining, it is not worth the effort for one who is most certainly destined for Hell. Father Hogan will not come to me on his own as he feels he is still doing God’s work. His absence, however, will be overlooked by the Holy Father. Watch and you will see.”
The demon’s voice was excitable. He licked his lips as if the words were delicious.
“Bring him to you? How do you mean?” Jacob asked.
“By any means necessary. Dead, alive, in pieces if need be. It is no matter. I can put them back together and I can always make them suffer.”
“What makes you think I could do this, even if I agree?”
“Oh, I have seen the darkness in you. It allowed me to find you. Your anger is…quite appetizing.”
The demon smiled.
“And if I am caught?”
“You needn’t worry about that. I have many allies amongst the so-called authorities…even the clergy.”
Even under the circumstances, Jacob was somewhat tempted by the thought of wrangling the unrighteous and bringing them to some form of fiery justice. Power, Harry had said, was the difference.
Who would complain if the Devil himself showed up and took these criminals straight to hell?
It felt good to think about such things, fulfilling. He wanted to smile, but not a joyous expression...one of vengeance and conquered foes, one of superiority. Jacob felt his scalp again. He looked at Harry, saw the gleam in his eyes...saw Caitlin's nude body writhing against him and the star-shaped scar in her chest.
“No. This is your influence. This is you, not me.”
“My influence is great, yes...but I only encourage what is already there. In life, it presented a struggle in you, and you'll have to admit, made things interesting, no?”
Jacob grunted, grumbling under his breath.
“In this state, Mr. Kane, you no longer have choices.”
Jacob's grumbling stopped. He looked up at Harry with contempt.
“You are not alone,” Harry said. “And you will learn to recognize your own kind over time. Mr. Kane...I like the sound of that. From now on, that is how you shall be known.”
Harry took a step toward the door and then disappeared, leaving many questions. What now? How will he live?
“I won't do this,” he said.
Kane stepped outside his house with all intentions of running, but the world was grey and hazy. He could see no further than his hand stretched in front of his face. The world stunk of decay and burning and the air was filled with the sounds of distant screams.
Harry's voice, low and calm, spoke into his ear, “This is what awaits you if you refuse...and it only gets worse. I will bring your sweet Caitlin here as well. Your choice, Kane.”
He hurried back inside, slammed the door, and stood with his back pressed against it for a long time. He held his hands over his ears trying to muffle the sounds. Then he covered his nose against the aroma of death and torture and brimstone. When he could no longer stand it, he screamed and the world went silent. Tears fell from his eyes as he slumped down to the floor.
“I am insane,” he said. “There is no me.”
In truth, he had lost himself. There were no memories of self, only flashes of others who he had known, but they were only familiar faces. He couldn't put names to them. He prayed.
“Father if you will hear me. I am no murderer. I don't wish to kill anyone. It is the work and influence of the devil himself, Father. I made an unthinkable mistake and ask you for redemption, for protection, for the strength and knowledge to set things as they were. If not for me, then for Caitlin. She has no part in this. I will gladly burn in her place, if only you would grant her life, on earth or in Heaven.”
He looked at the ceiling for a response. There was none.
“Perhaps my sins have been too great.”
He sat still for a long time and tried to remember. Tried to feel anything but regret and loss, but there was only pain of one kind or another. That pain turned to anger, to hatred, to rage...and there was no more Jacob, only Kane.
The only name he knew was Caitlin. He knew her face and he knew he loved her beyond all things. He also knew she would never be his, never recognize him, never love him. She would never know Kane.
He would check on that priest, that Father Hogan, and if the beast’s words were true, he would bring him in.
Bring him where?
But he knew exactly what he had to do. He knew where to find the priest. More of Harry's influence, no doubt. He had murder on his mind, and worse. He knew he had to bring not the priest's body, but his heart to Harry. His heart, so it could be placed in that satchel with the others. With Caitlin's.
He washed his face and checked his reflection in the water for his new scars. The latest could be hidden by his hair. The others, his clothes. Kane dressed and hung another knife over his belt. He kept the fishing knife in his pocket. He pulled on his boots and wondered what the priest was hiding.
If the man’s soul was meant for damnation, Jacob would be glad to show it the way. Maybe some good would come from his new found predicament. He took one more swig from the whiskey bottle and put the cork back into its slim neck, sliding it into the pocket of his overcoat. He didn't trust Old Harry, but if he was to find Caitlin a way out, it would take planning. He would have to join the worst of the worst and earn the devil’s trust. When he opened the door, the world was back in place and smelled sweet. He heard birds and the chatter of the docks, the lapping of the sea against the shore. Something was different, but he couldn't pinpoint it.