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Divine Visions





Jonathan Brittleby was a man of god. Just ask his parishioners. He could often be seen out ministering to the sick, downtrodden, and needy, seeking to bring them into the fold of God. Any given night might find him out on the streets of Ravenford, talking quietly with anyone who cared to stop and listen. And in his spare time, Father Brittleby helped organize and maintain the First Street Mission’s soup kitchen, feeding the community’s poor. Father Jonathan Brittleby was a real pillar of the Ravenford religious community all right.



One of his favorite projects was ministering to Meg Saunders. He spent at least three nights a week working with her, more if he could manage it. Meg was his refuge from the trials of saintly perfection. And then she had to go and get religion, ruining everything. The minute Meg found God, she began questioning her all-too-physical relationship with the good brother. And then, adding insult to injury, she threatened to “tell all” in one public confession of sin.



So he did the only thing a righteous man could. He killed her. Drowned her actually. Couldn’t have the little bitch blabbering things the public didn’t need to know. He did it one night when they were together, soaking in that old claw-footed bathtub. Meg brought the subject up again and he’d just shoved her under, holding her there while dispassionately watching her struggle.



Afterwards, Brittleby’d wrapped the body in a tarp and tossed it in the trunk with some cement blocks and rope. He headed out to Lenore State Park and dumped poor Meg in Pym Lake. Suitably weighted down, she’d make excellent fish food and take forever to find. The holy man grinned to himself and patted the wrapped corpse’s rump, “Consider it your baptism, Meg.” He continued, laughing at his private humor, “Hell, I’ll even say a few words as I send you off.” And thus was Meg buried.



*********



Days later, good Jonathan was performing his usual street ministry. A well-dressed businessman had paused to talk. Brittleby was expounding the need for more gentlemen to become involved in what was happening around them, on the human level. “The Word of God isn’t only for the poor.” That’s when he noticed her, standing across the street watching him.



As Brittleby’s face drained of color and his chest tightened, the businessman asked if he needed assistance. An ambulance, perhaps? He waved the man off, claiming he’d not eaten yet that day, and withdrew to the coffee shop behind them.



Once seated, with a strong, dark cup before him, he chanced looking across the street again. There stood Meg all right - long blonde hair, voluptuous body. He felt his blood stir again at the sight of her, before he caught himself. Chastisingly he muttered to himself, “ Meg’s dead. Remember? You killed her. Drowned her in the bathtub.” He raised his head to stare defiantly back at her vision. She was gone.



*********



As the month passed, Brittleby got used to seeing Meg’s face staring at him from off the street. He usually responded, after the initial paleness passed, but simply turning his head and looking elsewhere. Seems this wasn’t the appropriate method for dealing with the problem. Meg Saunders had no intention of simply disappearing from Jonathan’s life. She started showing up at the soup kitchen as well.



The first night it happened, our good Father was busy handing out bread to the indigent. He looked up, and there she was, only three people back in the line. Dropping the platter to the floor with a loud clatter, Brittleby joined it. Collapsing on the spot. While someone ran off to call 911, another helped him to a nearby chair, loosening the top buttons of his shirt collar as well. Eventually recovering his composure, he looked around for her, only to see a toothless old man standing where she’d been just a moment ago. Where had the man come from? Brittleby was sure he’d not been there earlier....



The volunteer staff insisted he go to the emergency room “just in case.” While an EKG showed some elevated heart activity, the doctor on duty assured him all was fine. However, he might want to get a routine physical just in case and especially if the good preacher was suffering these weak spells on a regular basis. The community would suffer terribly if something happened to a man like Jonathan Brittleby.



*********



Apparently, she’d learned the value of the shock-factor, for her next appearance was in his home. In the john to be exact. Meg stood behind him as he relieved himself, effortlessly watching over his shoulder. And he was sure she had been smirking.



Finishing up, he sank down onto the toilet, crossing himself. He was being haunted! The silly tart actually thought she could haunt him. He began giggling at the notion. The giggles progressed to a hearty chuckle and the next thing he knew, tears were streaming down his face as his laughter flew out of control.



*********



Over the next few days, Brittleby convinced himself that he was merely suffering from an over-active imagination fueled by too much stress. After all, he’d confessed his sin, to himself -- even if he didn’t look at it that way -- and done his required “Hail, Mary’s”. Hell, he’d even tossed in some fasting days for good measure. But then, he still wasn’t sure he’d actually done wrong. Surely God hadn’t been referring to harlots like Meg when he’d laid down those commandments.



He’d almost managed to convince himself it was all in his mind when she appeared again, sitting calmly on his sofa, legs crossed and hands placed primly in her lap. Pausing in his dinner preparations, Jonathan stared at the apparition in morbid fascination. Her mouth began moving silently, distinctly forming each soundless word, “You...murdered....me!” She wore the same look of shocked surprise that had been on her face when he’d first shoved it under the water.



Jonathan glanced down to the knife in his hand. Enraged, he launched himself at her. “Why...” the knife slashed down through Meg, into the sofa. “can’t...” Again the blade came down. “you...” Twice more it cut into the sofa as Meg sat untouched. “stay...” He drew the knife across her chest, slicing open the sofa’s back. “...dead?” Panting, Brittleby stepped back to stare down at her. Slowly Meg faded away, a questioning look on her face. Only then did he notice the tattered sofa.



Rubbing his eyes wearily, he sat down. How could he make her go away? Maybe an exorcism would work, he thought with a heavy sigh. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d perform the ceremony. Right now he needed rest.



*********



Dawn found a tired Brittleby preparing his living room for exorcism. He’d slept fitfully, dreaming of Meg Saunders wandering through his home. “This’ll fix you, you tramp,” he kept muttering under his breath. “This’ll keep you where you belong. Out in Pym Lake.”



Lit candles were placed around the room. The end table served as altar, holding all he’d need: holy water, the sacrament, vestments he needed to don just beforehand. The Bible was opened to a suitable passage from the Old Testament, scraps of paper marking other readings.



By the time he was finished, the candles were merely guttering flickers in their holders. He’d read, prayed, and commanded himself hoarse and was on the verge of collapse from exhaustion. However, there was still an air of triumph in the room. Jonathan was sure Meg would trouble him no more.

The passing days seemed to prove him right. Two weeks went by without a sighting. The cleric kept congratulating himself on a job well done. His nights were troubled, though. He was never sure of exactly what he’d dreamed about, but mornings always found him ill-rested and foul-tempered. He’d toss and turn continually, trying to find that one elusive comfortable spot that would give him peace and a restful sleep. It always eluded him. He even took to burning votives constantly in the bedroom whenever he was home and a plaque of the Blessed Virgin now hung above his bed. He clutched a rosary as he drifted off each night. These were protections he’d not needed since childhood and it troubled him to use them now. Such things were the mark of a superstitious mind. And while a man of God, Brittleby was far from superstitious. Or so he told himself.



*********



Then one Sunday, while delivering mass at the soup kitchen, he saw her again. Brittleby desperately tried to ignore the familiar, accusing form sitting in the congregation. He desperately tried to pretend everything was as it should be. And until he got to the Prayer of Forgiveness, he succeeded admirably. Standing there, head bowed penitently, he could feel her accusing stare upon him, boring into his body.



Simply put, Father Jonathan Brittleby snapped. Perhaps it was all those restless nights that brought him too it. Too little sleep can do that to one. Whatever it was, he attacked the homeless bag lady in the third row. “You filthy, conniving bitch! Why won’t you stay dead?” He beat her with his fists about the face before wrapping them around her wrinkly neck. “Why did you have to change?” he screamed. “Why won’t you stay out in the lake? You’re _not_ getting the better of me, Meg Saunders!”



Once they’d recovered their wits, several men tried to pull him off the poor, bewildered woman. A couple women fainted, and one stout heart ran for the phone. By the time the police and ambulance arrived, Brittleby was on the floor, five men sitting on him to hold him down. He was, by this time, ranting incoherently. His unconscious victim was bundled up and taken off to Ravenford General. Paramedics assured those present that she’d survive easily.



Ah, but what of Father Brittleby? He was taken out by straightjacket, sedated to the local asylum, still muttering profanities and nonsense to himself. He was later deemed unfit to be released as several folks came forward, telling tales of his odd behavior before the attack. Also, Church authorities feared he might harm himself were he set free. He’s still there today, sitting in a little cell, heavily medicated, still muttering. Usually the hospital has him tended by male nurses and orderlies. He occasionally gets somewhat violent towards the ladies.



*********



Several people present at the assault got curious about some of Jonathan Brittleby’s comments and applied sufficient pressure to the local police to investigate. Asking around, they discovered Meg Saunders missing. And so, Pym Lake was searched for any bodies. As is to be expected by any longterm Ravenford resident, several were found, including Meg’s. As she was zipped into the body bag, the coroner noticed she was smiling....

The Aeterna



Pernicies paused, power surging through his being. His power had grown alarmingly, all but completely consuming the current victim. Soon I will come for you, Venia. You will have no where to turn. I will be free of this wretched curse you've forced upon me.



Hunger pains gnawing relentlessly, Venia walked the street. Soon she would tell Thomas of her peculiar nature, but first she needed the certainty of his trust. Perhaps tomorrow night, or the night thereafter. The silver ring's increasing weight reinforced the idea of time as precious. Perhaps after tonight she would no longer need to feed from strangers. Usually, she merely needed to walk down some quietly sleeping street, drawing sustenance from the houses' inhabitants. Not tonight: Only physical contact could appease the incessant hunger. She had waited too long, no wanting to leave Thomas.



All I need is the right victim...Tendrils of energy flickered around her, seeking at the windows of homes she passed. A couple in passion's sleepy hold tugged at her awareness. She smiled. Now there was a pleasant meal. If only she didn't need contact. An apartment further down beckoned her attention. Its resident smiled blankly up at her entrance, lost in the oblivious embrace of some narcotic. Perfect. Too bad his next trip would only encourage his habit. Placing her hands to the sides of his head, the power drain began. When she departed he was peacefully sleeping off the effects of the drugs.



Making her way home, she down glanced at the ring placed there millennia ago. The magus performing the ceremony paid for it with his life, knowing, as Venia had, that it was the only means of containing Pernicies appetites. Pernicies never forgave his duality twin her betrayal, but could do little about it. The rings kept them bound to their solid, human form while dampening many innate abilities. Feeding off the life 'essence' of the mortals was still essential, but their victims survived, merely sleeping off the effects. After Thomas knew of her true state, he could remove the ring, releasing her for short periods of time. She smiled. It would be good to truly stretch for the first time in a hundred years.



The morning sun found her out on a daily run, the distance doubled in the last few weeks. All of her training routines had been increased. Past experiences taught her to take advantage of the forewarning the ring allowed her. She needed her "mortal" form at its peak physical and mental condition. Running along the river, she thought how to best tell Thomas the truth. The weight of the ring nearly resembled lead. Putting it off became an unaffordable luxury now for Pernicies had found her once more. Maybe I should tell him nothing, merely disappearing from his life. Sigh. Damn, I know I can't do that because he doesn't deserve better. Even if it is for his own good. Aye! My fondness for these mortal humans will probably be my undoing one day.



The strained silence weighed heavily on dinner that evening. Thomas, noticing her preoccupation, attempted to break through, but met continual failure. Not once did she mention her day, or inquire about his. No lighthearted banter. Few smiles. "This is it," he muttered. "My favorite meal and so preoccupied I could be naked and not be noticed. Must be important, but I don't think it's the old 'you're a great friend, but...' story. This is like eating by myself just before the executioner arrives."



"Thomas?" Venia's tentative voice cut into his ruminations. "There's something I need to tell you." She saw the look of comprehension cross his face. Boy is he in for a surprise. "No, darling, it's not whatever it is you're thinking."



"Well, if you don't know what I'm thinking, how do you know it's not what you're about to tell me?" He teased her, trying for to get a smile to break her tense countenance. Normally it would have worked, but she was too keyed up tonight to play along. Damn. Pernicies is close. The ring feels like lead.



"I know it's not what you're thinking because it's not something that would occur to you." Taking a deep breath, she continued determinedly on. "Thomas, I'm not human"



"Right. You're telling me that actually you're some space alien in disguise, here preparing for future world domination?"



"Damn it, Thomas!" Nerves made her short-tempered. Boy am I screwing this up, she thought disgustedly. "Oh, never mind. I'm making a mess of this." Deep sigh. "I've got to go away for awhile. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few weeks. It's someone from my past...and I really don't want you anywhere the middle. Look, we can discuss this when it's finished..."



Thomas began to reply when the front door swung inward, revealing Pernicies and a young man. Standing, he turned to the intruders. "What the...I think you've got the wrong apartment." Pernicies crossed the room in one stride; the blow knocking Thomas against the far wall and leaving him stunned for several minutes. Food for later, the he thought. Ethan stepped inside and closed the door, waiting for his role in the affair.



"Why don't you just give up now and get out of here?" Venia growled at her eternal enemy. What had the bastard cooked up this time around?



"Now, dear." Pernicies gave her a feral smile. "You know I just can't stay away from my eternal partner, the beauty who bound the beast." He stepped towards her, arms out in a placating gesture of embrace. She stepped back warily as he gave a toothy grin, beginning a deadly game of cat and mouse. Glancing at Thomas, her eyes begging his trust and forgiveness, she began inching towards an open window. Whatever Pernicies game was, he would follow her to continue it, leaving the mortal safe.



"I don't think so, lovely. Wouldn't want your boyfriend to miss seeing the party, now would we?" Without warning, Pernicies sprang forward, the stake now evident in his hand. Caught off guard, she moved to dodge his thrust, taking the wood left of center in the abdomen. "I thought about using a plain old hunting knife, but the stake seemed so much more...appropriate. Wouldn't you agree?"



Venia felt as though her essence were being ripped apart, reduced to subatomic particles, her neural network seared by the lightening rushing to every nerve ending. She heard screams of anguish, recognizing her own voice. In the background was the keening, fearful scream of Thomas: a mortal never meant to see this level of brutality. Her world collapsed into a kaleidoscope of anguish. While the pain would haunt her for centuries, given time, perhaps weeks, she would regenerate the physical damage. Pernicies grim, victorious grin told her that if he were correct, she wouldn't survive long enough for it to be a major concern.



"Now, Ethan." He beckoned to his mortal companion, unable to conceal the triumph evident in his voice. Meeting her eyes, he reached down for her right arm, holding it firmly anchored hand out, fingers exposed. "I thought of hacking off you hand for this next part, but it would probably be to much for that body of your's to bear, and I do so want you to witness your defeat.. Perhaps you'll survive long enough to see me devour your lover." He laughed as fear crossed her face for the first time in 4,000 years.



Stretching out his right hand towards Ethan, he nudged the protruding stake, sending fresh waves of pain coursing throughout her body and calming her weak struggles, uttering a satisfied chuckle when he heard her agonized moan. Ethan, sweat glistening upon his forehead, reached for the binding rings. The young man could see the panic in the woman's eyes. Perhaps Pernicies had been correct about gaining his freedom. Concentrating, he began working the bands off, moving with cautious precision. They had to be removed at exactly the same time or it wouldn't work. After witnessing the recent brutality, he didn't want to find out how failure would be rewarded.



Venia fought the engulfing panic and pain. Finally focusing the meditative techniques she had worked long to perfect, she banished the endless agony to some far corner, to be dealt with later. The mortal couldn't get that ring off or all be permanently lost. Gathering her remaining strength, she prepared to shove Pernicies forward. Timing her move for the last possible moment, she hoped to push his ring back upon is finger by the momentum of his fall. Either way, it would destroy the vital timing of their plan, probably allowing her band to fall free from her finger. With her band removed she would be free to deal with them in her true form, capable of draining Pernicies enough to subdue him for the time being. It might even save Thomas's life as well.



Ethan paused at the final joint on their fingers, taking a deep breath to steady himself for the last, crucial part. So intent was he upon his task that Pernicies look of alarm was entirely lost till too late. He crumpled into a heap, victim to the candlestick Thomas held unsteadily in his hand.



Venia threw her weight towards Pernicies shoulder's, overbalancing him and forcing him to collapse on top of Ethan. Tilting her hand down, the ring fell off, freeing her from the agony of her body. Pernicies paled at the anger emanating from her ethereal form. He felt the attack creep up from his shoulders into the base of his skull as Venia vented her rage, exploding his world into a collage of pain induced colors. Screaming, he fell into merciful unconsciousness. She was far more merciful than he would have been. But then, that was her nature. Merciful grace.