confrontation

THE STORY TELLER

CONFRONTATION BY KEN LEHNIG

God loves fools and faithless priests.

Father Jonathan was just such a sainted fool. He belonged to an ancient Order that swings in and out of favor with the See every decade or so. Their older Brothers walked the soil of Ireland before St. Patrick chased the snakes from the Emerald Isle. Now they were all but extinct- the Brothers not the serpents. Father Jonathan liked to use the word extinguished instead of extinct because the process of their demise was anything but natural indeed this was any thing but natural. Killing and torturing his blessed Brothers has been the sport of the Beast for two- thousand years.

He took a swig of brandy from the bottle with a street proper bag wrapped around it. He reached down and took off his shoes, rubbing his bone tired feet.

"…if I could lose weight you two would not hurt as much huh?" he laughed and took another swallow.

The room was dingy. The chair he sat in was stained and smelled musty and vaguely of beer. The bed was a double and was a siren drawing the tired cleric to it. It didn't matter to the Priest that the room was shabby, it was a sanctuary signed to him - safe shelter from the coming storm. A bare bulb hung down from the ceiling on a wire casting sharp shadows on the pale green wallpaper on the walls.

"I could afford better but I think this is good- it may give me time - not expected." He said to himself.

He got up and lay down on the bed, letting out a sigh and rubbing his tee-shirt covered belly. A prayer came to his lips. He thanked all those who had died in the fight. In the last month six of the last eight of his order were dead. Fallen in a war that no one in the world knew was even being waged. Not that it mattered to any one other than those involved. It was the nature of some mystery conflicts that the winners or losers affect the world in profound ways. But there is no debate or vote. There is no invasion -no siege- no concern for boundary or for treaty. The masses of the world are beneficiaries or victims- either result falls down on them like a mist. They, oblivious, do their best to eke out a living, have families and survive those hidden forces that pelt them from every direction. God knows it isn't fair.

It was also no mere conspiracy, nor a story in a book or film, that threatened the world but a viscous and cunning demon and his minions that took the world for their personal killing field and playground. The Priest's Order was solitary and skilled, the North Wall against the Beast and his slaves. Money was stashed all around the world to sustain them. Passports, false identities and weapons too, were secreted in refuges around the world. Occasionally, during lulls in the battles, two of the Order was allowed to meet perhaps share a meal, conversation, and communion. When that rare maffik did take place it was a tender mercy.

"Here's to Jesus and the Templars"

He took another pull remembering the shores of New England. The first time he had seen the green hills and wonderfully quaint harbors his breath was taken and he knew this to be Gods true Promised Land.

Shaking his head from the memory he stood and took off his coat, his collar and his slacks, looking at them closely while he folded them. The blood had dried and was not visible at a glance. He would need to get new clothes in the morning should he survive the night. He smelled his armpits and let out a woof. This last run at the monster had lasted two weeks and he hadn't showered in the whole of that time. The result was oddly a comfort to him. Some things operate in a predictable way. A shower was needed but he knew he had to secure the perimeter first. He reached for his coat and pulled out a small leather kit. Unzipping it he placed a small vial, a rosary, a silver cross, and a small glove of garlic on the table. The good priest took the holy water and with a beseechment /protection prayer to St. Michael he sprinkled all corners of the room as well as the bathroom. He then took the garlic- bit into it; chewing then spitting out the saliva soaked root-wad into his palm. Walking to the window he made the sign of the cross and marked an 'x' on the glass. He did the same for the small window in the bathroom. Looking down he noted the two-inch space under the door going to the common hall. He rubbed the wad in his hand all around the doorjamb and on the rug in front of the fire gap. Feeling a bit safer he took the rosary and hung it on a nail on the room side of the door.

"That should do me. Thank you Lord." Jonathan whispered as he finished undressing and climbed into the gloriously hot shower. He shivered at the luxury, lathering himself, washing the taint and dried blood from small wounds all over his body. Jonathan now refreshed, rinsed, turned off the water, stepped out and dried off. Wiping the mirror he stared at the face in front of him. His hair was a mess, more noticeable if he had more of it. His face was heavily bearded and he had to shave down to the hair on his chest. He decided against it this night. Father Jonathan was not a handsome man. His head was to big and his bull like neck was as thick as his head. He was a bear of a man, overweight but as strong as an ox. When he was a young man he was renown for his strength. He was a highly trained fighter and there was no weapon made by man that the good priest could not render as well as any man alive or dead. But such skills sometimes are not enough.

"I'm sorry Brother Monroe…I failed you."

A knock at the door made him start.

"Who stands at my door?" He walked over to the table and picked up the cross and took out a small nasty little knife.

"It's me Joe the bell hop…I got the things you asked for. Pretty hard to find this stuff this time of night," came the high nasally voice from behind the door.

"Say this thing…Jesus is the Son of God."

"Jeeez Mister…I seen you waz a priest but I'm Jewish. All I want is to give you these things you asked me to get and get a tip worthy of the effort I put out to do it."

"It doesn't matter if you are a Jew. Say it and I'll tip you a hundred for your service to me. Jonathan held the cross up in front of him with one hand and held the knife to the ready.

"For a hundred I'll tell you my Grandma's a Lutheran. Jesus is the Son of God. How's that?"

Jonathan relaxed and opened the door. A skinny big nosed young man, with a oily complexion, stood with wide eyes and a bundle in his arms.

"Come on in and shut the door." He walked to the bed and pulled out a wad of cash peeling off hundred dollar bills. "Did you get everything I asked for?"

"Damn Padre could you put something on. I ain't no lollipop, if you know what I mean, and I tell you looking at your hairy back and flat furred ass would turn me straight if I was one. I gotta get down stairs and turn on sin-a -max sos I n can go to sleep with a better vision in my head." The man walked over to the table and set the large bundle down. He opened it up and handed Jonathan a package of shorts and one with undershirts. "Do me a favor… OK?

The priest tore the packages and put on the shorts and undershirt. He sat on the chair next to the table. He examined the pile of goods in front of him and smiled.

"Good…where's the gun?" The priest looked up at the man. "I see it in your eyes, they are the portals to the soul, you have the gun behind you and you are contemplating robbing me with an empty gun" Jonathan stood up and picked up the chair he was sitting on.

The now worried bellhop jumped back and whipped out the gun pointing it at the priest.

Jonathan smiled and picked up the kitchen chair and unbelievably crushed it into a more or less round mass.

"I am much better as a friend than an enemy," said the priest.

The bellhop had an epiphany and turned the gun around and handed it to the priest.

"You had me all wrong. I thought you might off me…you know, maybe you was a hit man and had to kill me because I seen you…see? Can I sit down…I need a drink. Damn father are you the strongest man on earth or what?" The frightened man saw the bag and bottle and bolted over to it and took a drink. He walked back slowly wiping his mouth and sat down.

Jonathan examined the gun, popping out the empty clip he smiled then stepped over and picked up his leather kit. He held up a silver bullet and snapped it in the clip continuing until it was full. The bellhop sat and watched snuffing from the smell of garlic. Jonathan sat the gun down, picked up the vial of holy water, the money, and walked over to the bellhop.

"You have been a great service to me and God. I am going to pay you two thousand dollars…"

"Wow…thanks!"

"…I may need you later tonight. This room is above the front desk should I pound on the floor - come up. I will protect you…I am going to bless you- receive it with grace." he handed the man the money.

"Padre I am already blessed. I needed this money like you have no idea. Go ahead- I mean having God watching out for me can't be bad."

"You and your Linda move to San Diego."

"How'd you know about Linda?"

"It will all turn out well for you… I promise." Jonathan splashed the holy water on the bellhop and blessed him." Should a dark man ask for me say to him 'Jesus is the Son of God.' Got that? Now go on I need some rest."

The little man left the room counting the cash and singing 'Somewhere over the rainbow.'

Jonathan sat down on the bed and rubbed his head. He was bone tired and hadn't had time to absorb what had just happened. He and Jacque just fought the last of the beast's minions. Four of the bloodsuckers attacked them as they left the local church. The vamps were spiked, their souls sent to hell. A blow to the back of Jacques head killed him instantly. To the enemy it was a wasteful act. The spawn of hell were there to kill not feed. That meant they were the very last of the inner circle. Jonathan took a sinful pleasure in the attackers demise. At long last it was almost over. Jonathan was alone but now so was the monster.

He suddenly craved chocolate. The little man was to buy him a dozen Hershey bars and he was pleased to see that he had. He ate one enjoying the taste and texture. Looking down he noticed there was an envelope in the midst of the stuff. He picked it up and opened it. What he saw made him back up and sit on the bed. It was addressed to him personally. Somehow the monster found him and got a letter into the room. He had used the bellhop. It meant the letter did not represent a threat or it would have burst into flames, coming into a sanctified room. He picked it up, tore it open, unfolded the paper and read:

Dear Father Jonathan Agan,

It has finally come to it you old pile of sanctimonious insignificance. I am so terribly sorry that I find it necessary to start a letter with such venom. I haven't brought myself to sit and write anyone in centuries. I once had scores of faithful who would keep my needs met. Those subjects who lavished me with life, comfort, and company have been destroyed- killed by your black frocked assassins. Oh, of course they are all dead now as well. You and me are alone in a strange world. You would think after all the centuries I have been on the earth I would understand the human race. We gave you a social order that worked for thousands of years. We ruled and you served. We needed each other. I remember it as a loving relationship. You all decided on the corruption that individualism and egocentricity brings. You, Priest, your kind was the worst. You promoted this abomination of rule and religion. You gave your herd the story of heaven. They suffer and you promise them and afterlife no different than what we gave them when they lived. Shameless Shaman- in the end you failed them and yourself. So, you are left with all these religious constructs where the faithful kill those others who do not believe as they do. One paradigm against another and all only real in the minds of those they dupe. Of course their Shamans promise paradise as well. In my Fathers house…huh? What side is He on Priest?

Jonathan stopped reading and crossed himself. He knew himself to be weak against the glibness of the beast. It was Our Lord who on finding the monster cast him into the herd of pigs. From then on the demon was only allowed to partake of swine blood. It was a terrible curse for a creature that believed that it had a right to drain the life out of human kind. It fooled God. It learned that by asking a human if they would serve him. He only had to breath a part of him into the human and that one became a nocturnal bloodsucker, a non-human -one of which he could derive sustenance. He created thousands of minions. Protective rings within rings. Jonathan knew the creature's name 'Legion'. It was the only true weapon he had. He took a deep breath and continued to read.

…How is it that you live so long my good Doctor? I have watched your career with some interest. You murder and butcher my children with a sanction an edict from the Vatican. You and your Religious have ruined the natural world. What greater sin is there? Your Rabbi cursed me but I haven't seen him around lately. I managed even with that holy kurbash to have my will with the hoi polloi for over two-thousand years. All the while your little band of white collared murderers has been diminishing my numbers faster than I can create them. I'm pissed.

I'll break it to you gently- you lace-curtained pansy, I have decided to raise and come for you personally. I will be testing your metal.

Yours in a small universe,

Legion

The letter didn't surprise him at all. He sighed and went to the kitchenette and made himself a sandwich, from the grocery items the bellhop had brought him. He opened a beer and pulled a chair to the open window. The full moon shone down upon him as he chewed his sandwich. A knock on the door startled him but the thin, reedy, familiar voice of the bellhop called

"Jesus is the Son o God. Sorry Father, I forgot. That dark guy just came by and dropped a letter. Scary fellow…like one of those bad guys in that ring movie. I couldn't see his face.. I'll slide it under the door."

The letter slipped under the door. It didn't burst into flame and the priest rose and picked it up. He sat down again, opened the letter and read.

Dear John,

That's a joke isn't it? I have learned humor. We darkened ones have a hard time with the concept but as you can see it can be learned. I have also developed a fine appreciation for irony. These days even a simple joke amuses me. Did you hear the one about the demon and the priest? The priest forgot to worship the demon. I know you don't find that funny. You should be laughing. At one time man did worship my kind and the world worked. I even honored your Jesus. Oh yes. The pig incident wasn't the only time we had met. I had stayed close to him- yes, I knew who he was. I have been irked for two thousand years. I solidified myself in the desert and offered the world to Him- in concert with him. The world would have perfect balance between good and evil. Tell me priest - what was wrong with that? Was it fair to torture me and deny me the very nature of my existence? Humans are my prey. Could not an understanding be met? Is the lion denied the gnu? Is the owl damned for the slaughter of voles? Should I be denied? Is that fair of your god, Shaman? He once gave me this planet as a farm. I did not misunderstand- he cast me out and spoke as clear as a bell. Then His only begotten Son comes and throws me into swine. He did that as the worst of insults. Moses named swine 'filth'- not to be food. Yet he commands me to feed on the blood of pigs. I came with my hands open to Him and he insults me. You worship such a one?

See you soon,

Legion

Jonathan folded the letter. There was little to concern him any more. The beast was playing and Jonathan knew it. He was exhausted and needed sleep but he had no idea when the inevitable encounter would come. He took out an elaborate red and gold trimmed scroll from his case. Unrolling it, tears, from terrible memories, rolled down his unshaven face. It had been a horribly long battle and so many times his faith was shaken. He was weak now and tired to his soul. So many slaughters so much blood and no way to forget. Where had God been as the Beast had his way upon so many?

He unrolled the scroll. It was a Writ of Quietus and a Papel order for Jonathan and his people. It was also an edict in absence for the knighthood; Father Jonathan was now a Knight of the Church. The Knights of Heaven was a secret honor and the good priest felt he was unworthy. It was in fact sainthood while being alive. He began to perspire. No Pope had gone this far for several centuries. Not since the Templars has the See ordered this action. Such faith in him and his order was overwhelming. The Papel command was carried out with great cost and a dubious success. There was, however, no Order left alive save Father Jonathan -all his beloved brothers were dead. They died as Saints. Should he fail, this night, it would be conceivable that the Beast could build again his unholy circles and continue. The Vatican would declare open war on the Beast and would fail. The walls of the Vatican will crumble under the weight of corruption. The world will return to chaos. Monarchies, Warlords, and Theocracies would rule with the sword and the letting of blood. The end times.

Jonathan reached for a beer from the six-pack the bellhop had provided. He gulped down most of the contents in one swallow. The burp was satisfying and made the Priest smile in spite of his dire circumstances. He looked around the room at the swan and willow patterned wallpaper, the wine colored shag carpet, and the cheap pop-out furniture. Here was to be his time and place to finally reach the Stygian shore.

"What would be so bad? Lord, there are too many of you to keep the world healthy. My culling of the herd is a blessing. It is something no one will take on save me. My God- the pollution and the clear cutting of the last old growth forests must stop or the planet will die. Am I lying? A reduction to five million would be sensible." A small voice said from the area of his belly button.

Jonathan started and lifted the near empty beer bottle to the light.

"Damn, I didn't bless the stuff the kid brought in." He stood and fished through the stuff on the table until he found his kit. He looked in relief at the vial still containing holy water.

"No, Jonathan - What would be so bad? Lets talk about it. We could be partners. What do you say? Leave me in you." The little voice added.

He crossed himself and allowed a drop to land on his tongue and said…

"Get thee behind me in the name of Jesus Christ."

He swallowed and gagged. He fell on all fours and began to retch like a cat hawking up a hairball. He worked up a flemmy glop that fell from his mouth and landed on the floor. A loud terrible scream followed the glob as it flew up from the floor and through the window, breaking a pane.

He gathered himself and sat on the bed still clearing his throat, making a face at the sour taste in his mouth.

"That was close." He said aloud to help himself calm down.

He looked again at the mess on the kitchenette table. Beer, bread, eggs, lunch meat, mustard, pudding, bananas, milk, personal wipes, paper towels, toilet paper, disposable razor, a box of bullets and the pistol, paper and ballpoint, a white candle and box matches, a bottle of wine and…

…there was another letter amongst the groceries and it glowed. Jonathan picked it up and sighed. The Beast needed to communicate -it was a sign of weakness. He opened the letter and began to read.

Dear Sir Jonathan,

A Knight of the Holy Roman Church- imagine that. The old frauds are not inclined to pass out those kinds of titles. You see it makes you of a higher rank than the Red Hats. Did you know that Johnny? They don't like it … they don't like it a lot. Did you know that if His Holiness should go to his reward you could bypass the College of Cardinals and install a Pope of your choice? You can even sit with Himself and discuss how the Church is running itself? You stand between heaven and the Church. Is it any wonder that I think we could work something out. Let us remember that I ate the Templars and the tasty Hospitaller-Frenchies- after I used them.. Do you want to know what I did with all their treasure?

Let's get back to the vampire thing. Yes, I noticed the garlic and holy water. I spent two thousand years creating my circles that allowed me to live and you and your gang of thugs have been our bane. Look you have no moral basis for the murder of my children. It is the rules- each person has free will. I ask them 'Would you want to die or live forever?'. It would surprise as to how many of these souls, you claim to protect, readily except the life of blood. You have seen a little bit of me goes a long way. See I do have a sense of humor.

I think it's time to come to the point of these letters. You think it is because I am weak. We shall see. I am going to tell you something you don't know. I know you are the founder and the oldest of your Order. Ever wonder how it is that you just keep on living? Each day you ponder the value of determining good and evil, when the Church has changed its mind on so much. Wasn't it you and yours that started the Inquisition? You would find my children burn them, split them in two, stretch them, drown them, and you would watch them heal right in front of you. What of those poor creatures you tortured and killed who were human? They died a horrible bloody death and what did you say…

'They are Saints and will go straight to heaven.' I'll bet that they would have joined me rather than being torn apart to be a Saint. See? There is that sense of humor. I am changing -a friendlier Demon. But you…You grieve and you regret- you witness the world prove over and over that good is nothing but a footnote on the op-ed section of the New York Times. Each decade a new despot inflicts terror and genocide; there are wars and famine everywhere- disasters after disaster- good deeds as rare as emeralds on the surface of the moon. In your pain, Jonathan, you believe that it is through Gods grace you are bestowed with the gift or curse of longevity.

Here is the truth Holy Man. You have never seen me in total; I don't exist that way. Oh, I can manifest into such a thing that will have a man go insane from terror. Just a tiny bit of me keeps the dead alive and send them seeking, in the dark and shadow of night, the joy of stalking and killing prey for their hot satisfying life's blood. The clues to your beginnings have always been in front of you. That which made vampires made you. That is correct Priest- I made you to make life interesting. There is one thing that will destroy me- boredom, ennui-you can imagine that if one who is spread so thin should lose interests in the works of the world. I would blow away into dust just as my progeny does when you spike them. I am in you and you, by the laying on of your hands, put me in them. And now there is only you and I- your move.

Regards,

The Beast in you.

There was a knock -then another. It seemed to come from the ceiling. The Priest whipped around in fear. The third knock was extremely loud and jarring. He waited staring at the door and then at the window wondering when the monster would come bursting through. He held his breath and shook a tremor that racked his body. He was afraid but didn't know what was causing the fear. He had slaughtered Vampires and the ghouls by the thousands; years and years of mayhem had hardened him. What was causing him to be in this state? The Beast was an unknown and fear was its weapon. Jonathan unclenched his teeth and let out a breath. He crossed himself and sited the Lords Prayer and the acknowledgment that Jesus was the Son of God incarnate. He relaxed. What form would the Beast take?

Time passed and the priest looked at his watch. He was surprised to see that he had sat for 30 minutes. He was drenched in sweat. The letters lie in front of him; he smiled and felt stupid. The words were lies or half truths- truths wrapped in lies- lies wrapped in truth- it is the way of the beast. The spell of fear was woven into the letters. Jonathan felt tired and old. The Beast knew exactly how old he was. Wasn't it the ole jin after all that had it be so, just as he said in the letter? What wasn't told is how the venom was transformed in Jonathan's blood into what amounted to an eau de vie? Jonathan's blood was pure, perhaps holy, and a few drops in a glass of red wine allowed the faithful Brothers to live long and serve the Church for centuries, not the laying on of hands. So pure was the blood made that the Host would glow like a star before being offered to anyone of the Order. It is considered a true miracle of the Church. Priests, who had became short on faith, were given an ordinance to perform the Mass for the Brothers. Their faith would bloom once again. The Council of Nicaea in 325 secretly embraced the Brothers, who took refuge in what is now Ireland. It took another five- hundred years for the Order to be elevated and sanctified to a higher status. Their worth to the See ebbed and flowed over the centuries depending on the bloodsuckers and their shenanigans.

Jonathan thought back to Jerusalem. The Kingdom of Herod was a hot primitive, dusty outpost populated by barbarians and religious zealots. He was a Roman Centurion, with a talent for languages, posted in the filthy desert because he had bedded a Senators daughter. He smiled at the irony; it was she that wrestled him to bed. Not knowing her identity or her age until he found himself heading for the hot sands and dreading his coming allegiance to Pontius Pilate, a friend to the Senator. There would be no opportunity to futilely explain his amorous actions.

He hated his new post and he found no friend in the Governor. He was given the responsibility of disguising himself as a Semite and to keep his eye on a local religious crackpot. He followed the Man and saw things that made him take stock of his life and made him to understand the nature of his soul. This man Jesus was no crackpot. He reported to the Governor that there was a need to heed the man.

The day came when Jesus asked after a man who was known to be a monster. This man lived in a cave, sleeping during the day and coming out at night killing and drinking the blood of Samaritans as well as other unclean people. No one gave the bloodsucker much thought. In fact it was considered that the monster was a creature of God because it lessened the population of unclean people.

A terrible wail, as if all the souls in hell yelled their agony all at once, roared through the Hotel room and the walls vibrated with blows from the outside. The Priest sang quietly the Salve Regina until the din subsided. He crossed himself.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the face of Jesus, he couldn't. He never could. He did remember the day when Jesus called out the man from the cave. The sun was low in the sky but still caused the disturbed man some consternation. The filthy man in tatters cursed Jesus as a fraud and begged the crowd that had gathered to intervene for him. He painted himself as a doer of good deeds. For Jonathan he wondered why Pilate didn't pick this man/monster up and crucify him for the murders. He made a note to have the killer picked up the next day. Jesus then did an odd thing- He spoke to something within the man- not the man himself. Jonathan, who then was called Junonius, watched in awe as Jesus bade the unseen thing to speak. The man writhed and screamed in agony, it was clear to all present that there were two beings in one body. After some time the beast tired and screamed its name 'Legion'. Jesus cast the thing, a mist like darkness, into a herd of pigs that rooted in a near by mud hole. Some of these swine threw themselves off a cliff denying the beast accommodation. One great hog ran at Jonathan, knocking him down and biting his thigh, opening up a massive wound. The hog disappeared into the same cave the man once inhabited. As to the once possessed man, his family took him in. Jesus walked over to Jonathan, who was in great pain, his veins burned like fire, Jesus knelt down and touched the wound and it was healed. Jesus blessed him and said:

'It was not for you to be a bystander and a spy but I say to you that my soldier will you be all the days of your life. The Beast is not dead and will find a way to survive. The battle for souls has begun.'

And so it was that Legion offered eternal life to those who would die for him and rise as a vampire. These he could feed upon as if suckling from a mother. That ring was his special ones- the next ring were the warriors- the next were watchers and workers. All were dead now, as were all of those that fought them- all of Jonathan's Brothers. It was now down to the Beast and the Priest.

The knock came lightly at the door. A quiet voice asked to come in.

"You may not come in," whispered Jonanthan.

A heart-breaking cry came from the hall as the door bent in as if made of rubber.

"You know what I must do. You and I have been tied together in a terrible struggle. More have died in our feud, in all these centuries, than all the wars on this planet. The time has come." Jonathan closed his eyes and whistled Danny Boy.

From behind the door a calm Voice spoke.

"We would be great together- you good and me evil- We would be the mightiest and fairest King. Mightier than any Pharoah- more just than Solomon- a greater King than Arthur. We would balance each other out-I would give you powers that you could not even imagine. I would make the hard choices. Let me in we can discuss it -there would be no harm in that."

"I think you are now no more than a gas- a mist- an evil fog. You are powerless to corrupt anyone. You will fade in the light of the sun or you will sulk in a pit feeding on vermin. Lurking in shadows for the rest of time. Our war has cost us you and me. You cannot tempt me. I am tired and that which has been charged to me to do by my Lord is complete." Jonathan reached for a beer. "…ain't no sunshine when she's gone. I like that song. Do bloodsuckers like music?"

"You would think Priest that we would like heavy metal or …well for me I like Tony Bennett and any country music. Let me in, Junonius, let me in and let me reside in you…no more war- no more killing. You are right I am dissipating. I need you as I have always needed you."

Jonathan did not answer. He quietly said his Act of Contrition and asked to be taken up. His head fell over softly on to his forearms. The bottle fell to the floor. In the hallway a hiss like the sound of air escaping a tire lasted a minute or two and ended in a sigh.

The End

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