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About Tehuti
I am an amateur writer of novels, serials, and novellas. Most of my work is in the genres of fantasy, mythology, drama, occult, GLBT, and erotica.
As I'm not seeking publication, I offer my work online for free reading. I'm not seeking stylistic critique so much as feedback from people who just like reading what I write. I love hearing what people think of my characters, plots, themes, etc., so if you have any comments or advice on those, feel free to share. I'm not hugely popular and often go many months without hearing from readers so I enjoy all the comments I get!
My interests are Ojibwa mythology, Mackinac Island, Egyptian mythology, Jungian symbolism and dream interpretation, ritual crime, fantasy writing, and various other things you can find in my personal bio, available just to the right. Please click to learn more about me and what I'm looking for in terms of readers and potential friends.
Feel free to hit me up if you're interested in any of these things, and enjoy my writing!
Tar! :) |
2: Finding FD Original circa 1994-5 version. Scroll down for the 2007 rewrite.
FINDING FD
A BITTER SMILE crept up Damien's face. He looked at Kat and laughed.
"You're crazy," was all he could say.
Kat frowned. "Then who else could have sent you this?"
A brief pause; Kat wondered if Damien had convinced himself as much as he'd thought. "He was shot," he insisted. "I heard it."
"But did you see it?"
Now it was his turn to frown. "No," he admitted reluctantly, "but I didn't need to. I know those people. They wouldn't let him go. Not if they had the chance."
"Maybe they didn't have the chance. Did you ever stop to think of that?"
He looked at her. She saw his eyes were dry now, but they were red and he squinted and kept blinking as if they hurt. The expression on his face was guarded. "You really think he's still alive?"
"What else would explain this?" she asked, shrugging at the D.
He let out a shuddery sigh and put the D back in the box, closing it. "Nothing, I guess. All right. Say that you're right. Then where would he be? There's no return address," he added doubtfully.
"There's only one place we could start," Kat replied, "and that would be the post office."
* * * * *
The butterfly door of Damien's car, a red Lamborghini Countach--one of the few luxuries he allowed himself--opened upwards and Kat got in, holding a paper in her hand and reading it. Damien looked over at her and shook his head. If Kat had glanced up at him she'd have seen just how tired he looked.
"Kat, this is stupid," he said.
"Isn't," she murmured, still absorbed in the list. "This says there were three people who came in with the initials FD. The first was a Florence Daniels. I don't think so. Then there was an F. Davidson." She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.
"I don't think so," Damien echoed, not without a little sarcasm, "unless recently my name was changed to Davidson without my knowledge. Listen, Kat, how many people come to the post office every day? There must be a million."
"C'mon, Damien, there aren't even that many people in Cheboygan. And this last one is--" She frowned at the paper, then smiled. "Just FD. Seems whoever sent this wants to remain anonymous. Or does he?" She sat back, flicking a finger at the sun visor. "If his name's Damien, then what's F stand for?"
He sighed and sat back. "Kat, it's like I said--"
"F," Kat said, as if he weren't even there. "'Fondly'? 'Flabbergasted'? 'Foolish,' 'Fraudulent,' 'Father'--"
Damien stiffened. "Father," he said suddenly. "That's it."
"What, 'Father'? Father Damien." She got a funny look. "Is that a family joke? 'Father Damien'? Isn't he that guy that went to Molokai to take care of the lepers?"
"I don't know. But our family is supposed to be Catholic. Maybe..."
"Maybe he became a priest? Do you really believe that?"
"Well, it would fit, wouldn't it?"
"True. So do you think we should check it out?"
"Where?" he asked.
"The church, of course," Kat said. "There're only a couple in the county. And this is postmarked Cheboygan, so he at least sent it from here. What do you say?" She looked at him questioningly again, awaiting an answer.
Damien sat there a minute, then sighed and shrugged. "What can it hurt?" he murmured, reaching for the ignition. "Besides my pride."
"Well, let's go, then."
She slammed the door. Damien started up the Lamborghini and drove off.
* * * * *
At the first church they had no luck. The people there had no idea about a Father Damien--they even got the same funny look on their faces that Kat had--so she and Damien went on to St. Anthony's downtown. It was a large, imposing place, its wood blackened by the weather, with a large stained-glass window in front and a lot off to the left side, where several cars were parked. Damien slammed the car door, absently taking the box from Kat, who stayed behind, and went inside. She watched him as he disappeared, then sat back to wait.
Inside the church was just as daunting. Row upon row of pews lined its sides, and at the front was an altar and a giant crucifix suspended before the biggest stained-glass window he'd ever seen. There were only a couple of people there, sitting or wandering around. Damien had never been to church--he'd never had the chance--so he had no idea what they were doing. He tried to shove the creepy feeling this place gave him out of his head and walked slowly down the aisle, feeling with unease the plaster eyes of the figure on the cross staring down--disapprovingly, it seemed to him--at the echoing sound of his footsteps. The place was so quiet. He hated the quiet. He stopped right before the altar and glanced up. For a moment his eyes met with those of the statue. And You think You're having a bad day, he thought to himself. The sight made him dizzy, the colors coming in through the window seeming to swirl in his head; and he was actually starting to sway when someone placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him. He stiffened again, an old reaction to being set upon so many times before. But from somewhere behind him a voice, sounding vaguely familiar, drifted to his ears.
"I was wondering how long it would take you to find out," it said, sounding soft in the huge church.
Damien felt the hand fall away, and slowly turned. He nearly recoiled with shock as he found himself staring into his own face. At least, that's what he thought at first. The features were all his, except older, and the eyes were darker. And this person wore a priest's collar. The mirror illusion was broken when he smiled, his eyes a clear brownish amber as opposed to Damien's sandy gold ones. Damien could only gape.
The priest crossed his arms and looked offended, though his eyes still smiled, just the way Damien's did whenever he was in a better mood than he was now. "Well, don't you have anything to say to me, after all these years?" he questioned, sounding just a tiny bit reproachful.
Damien stared at him in disbelief, then pulled out the gold D from its box and compared it to his necklace, and looked up again.
The priest smiled again and his eyes softened. "Hello, Damien."
"U-Uncle?" Damien croaked, still too stunned to speak correctly. And then, before the priest had time to answer, Damien found himself hugging him tight, nearly lifting him off his feet, laughing and crying at the same time. The few people in the building glanced over at them and frowned. Father Damien wheezed as the breath was squeezed out of him by his nephew's powerful grip.
"Easy!" he managed to gasp. "Just because we guys found a rib to give doesn't mean you can crush the rest."
Damien abruptly let go, and the priest wheezed again, trying to catch his breath. Damien moved back a little, feeling somewhat foolish for being so emotional. And in a church, of all places. He was sure those other people must think he was nuts, and scuffled his feet against the floor. But after a moment Father Damien managed to quit panting and smiled at him again, his hand flat against the altar to steady himself. He pulled it away and spread his arms out, gesturing at him.
"Look at you," he remarked. "Last time I saw you, you were barely this tall."
"Last time I saw you, you were huge!" Damien exclaimed, lifting his arms above his head to indicate how tall his uncle had seemed to him fourteen years ago.
Father Damien laughed. "And you're mouthier, too. That's good. You never said a peep before that I could remember. So you're a singer now? With your own band? How are things going with that?"
Damien smiled this time. "There's a second album coming out--soon," he added.
The priest's eyes brightened. "That's great! Does everybody get your name right?"
Damien laughed. "No, not everybody!" And he related the incident with the deliveryman earlier that day. After he'd done so they smiled at each other, then Damien frowned, and shook his head as if just waking up.
"But you were shot," he said, out of nowhere. "I heard the shot. You never came after us. I really thought you were dead."
His uncle's smile faded, and after a brief pause he nodded. "I know. That's what I led you to believe."
The singer felt a surge of disbelief course through him. "But why?"
His uncle's voice was soft again, even in the echoey church. "For your safety. And mine."
Damien cocked his head. "What are you talking abou--" He cut himself off, and then nodded, understanding. "The cult, right?"
A close look. "Then you do remember?"
"Yes. Who were they? What were they?"
Father Damien sighed. "I think we should go someplace more convenient to talk this over."
Damien nodded without thinking, and they left the church behind them, together, as they were meant to be.
**********
Rewritten 2007 version. Not proofed.
CHAPTER TWO
FINDING FD
DAMIEN STARED AT Katrina for a long silent moment, then his mouth twisted into a bitter parody of a smile.
"You're crazy," he said, his voice cracking.
Kat ignored his tone and held up the little box with its strange contents. "Who else could've sent you this? You just said your uncle was the only one who had such a necklace--and a cult wouldn't waste its time sending it back to you."
"In case you forgot," Damien said, "I also said he was killed. Dead men can't use the postal service now, can they?"
"Did you see him get shot?" Kat asked.
Damien blinked, then his eyes darkened. "I heard the gunshots. There's no way they'd let him go."
"But did you see him get shot?"
"No! I already told you I just kept running. See? What I just said about people never believing in this? I knew I shouldn't've opened my big mouth." He snatched back the box and clamped it shut. "Just forget you ever saw it and that I ever said anything. Every time I wake up screaming, just pretend I'm dreaming about My Little Ponys or something."
"Dami," Kat said in the calmest voice that she could muster, and took the box back, "just sit and hear me out, okay?" She sat back down, and after a moment of sulking he followed suit, though he still didn't look too pleased to be there. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were wrong? You said you didn't look back. All signs point to your uncle trying to get back in touch with you now."
"I know them," Damien insisted, "and they'd never let anyone get away alive."
"You and your family got away alive, didn't you?"
He opened his mouth, then shut it and scowled. "Mistakes happen! I bet somebody's head rolled for it." He put his hand to his eyes as if the light hurt them. "Mom and Dad and Uncle..."
"I can't speak for your parents, and I'm sorry that I can't," Kat said, "but your uncle went running with you. You're alive. So that counts for something. If this cult wanted to threaten you, would they send you this?"
Damien was silent for a moment or two, then let out a sigh and shook his head. "No," he said, "honestly, I don't see that they would. I don't know much about these things..." he pulled on the silver one around his own neck and gave it a dubious look "...but I know that for some reason they're important. I know that my dad got in trouble about something having to do with them. I wish I could remember better." He ground his knuckles against his forehead. "Why is it all so foggy?"
"You were just a kid, and when something that scary happens of course it's going to be either crystal clear or hard to remember! You said that the leader of this cult was wearing a horned mask. I think that means something." When he looked at her again she pantomimed the horns that he'd done. "It's kind of silly sounding...but high priests in Satanic cults are supposed to wear things like that."
"Satanic cults...?" Damien's brow furrowed. "I thought that was a bunch of hooey."
"Well, I'm sure some of it is, but that doesn't mean all of it is. You said nobody would believe you? Take a look at how you're reacting and then ask why." Damien shut his mouth and fell silent. "I honestly don't know," Kat went on. "Maybe they're just posing as Satanists to keep people quiet. Real Satanists don't even worship the Devil, he's just a symbol to them. But if it's a cult...then anything goes. Real Satanists also don't go trying to kill people like you said these guys did. It sounds like your family got tangled up with a Satanic cult somehow."
"But what does any of this have to do with Uncle Damien?" Damien pressed. "If they're really a cult and not just some wannabes then wouldn't they have killed him by now, at least?"
"Wouldn't they have killed you, too? You haven't been keeping a very low profile--getting a Grammy on national TV tends to draw attention, you know."
Damien flushed. "Well, if it's Uncle, then why not just come out and say it? Why all this--subterfuge?"
"Maybe for the same reason that you think he should be dead in the first place," Kat replied. "Maybe, all separated, your family's no big threat; but maybe once you start to draw back together, it could pose a problem. That's how alerts start getting raised, after all." She looked at the gold D. "This would be the easiest way for him to get in touch with you without setting off alarm bells."
"And how did you become such the expert on Satanic cults?" Damien said.
"I read books," Kat said, and shut the box. "Thing is, now we have to find out where he sent it from. He didn't leave a return address so he must've left some other kind of indication of where to find him." She looked the box over, not finding anything. "Maybe we should try the post office."
"They wouldn't give out info like that there," Damien argued. "And it could've come from one of any number of post offices. He could've even sent it from a mailbox, ever think of that?"
"Well," Kat said, "we could always take it to the police station or something. Maybe they could help out."
"Police station--?" Damien's jaw dropped, then snapped back shut, and he curtly shook his head and snatched the box back. "Now I know you're losing your mind. Police don't help with stuff like this! They don't even believe in this kind of junk. Why else do you think nobody was ever caught for shooting my uncle?"
"Was it even reported?" Kat asked.
"By WHO? We kids were only about six years old and had no more parents, remember?"
"You didn't have foster parents or anything to look into it--?" Kat asked, realizing just how little she knew about him before she'd met him.
Damien's mouth twitched when he saw the look on her face. "You wonder, huh? Yeah, we were split up. But no--one of my sisters and me, we didn't end up with a foster family. You know that old railroad bridge just down the highway?" He pointed north. "Near the highway bridge?"
"Near where the campground's supposed to go in?" Kat asked, frowning slightly. "Yeah, I know it..."
"Well--guess what we called home until we were almost old enough to vote?"
Kat blinked. "You lived under a bridge--?"
Damien shoved his chair back with one foot, looking at the box. "Home sweet home," he said, then the bitterness left his voice and he just looked and sounded tired again. "There's a million places we could start from," he murmured, "and no way to find out which one is right. If my uncle did send this, maybe he doesn't want to be found. Maybe he just wanted to tell me he's still alive, and leave it at that." He rubbed his eyes again. "Wouldn't be the first time such a thing's happened. You're born into a cult, of course people would look at you like you're some kind of leper, and won't even come close. Like cultiness is catching."
"I don't look at you like some kind of leper," Kat protested.
"Yeah, but you aren't looking at me the same way anymore, are you? Now you know why I never wanted to open this can of worms. I probably won't be able to sleep for weeks..."
The porch fell silent once more. Kat clasped her hands and gnawed on her lip a little, staring pensively at the floorboards while Damien kept his hand over his eyes and appeared almost to be falling asleep. After a long while, Kat's eyes grew a little bit, and she slowly leaned forward in her chair to look at the little silver cross hanging around Damien's neck. A few more moments passed before she spoke up again.
"Dami," she said, "where did you get that cross?"
"Bought it," Damien said, not uncovering his eyes. "It reminded me kinda of Mom. I remember her saying some kind of prayer when that fire was around us. Not that it helped much."
"Your mother was praying--?"
"I guess she was funny that way."
"Do you know what she was? Protestant or Catholic or...?"
At last he lifted his hand and gave her an odd look. "Why? What kind of weird question is that--?"
"Just tell me what your family is, won't you?"
"Well..." He pushed his seat forward now. "I guess I'd be agnostic, myself! Have you ever seen me set foot in a church--?" When she gave him a foul look his brow furrowed in even greater confusion. "Catholic," he said at last. "My mom's side of the family was supposed to be Catholic...not that it helped her escape those guys! And Dad certainly wasn't Christian. Heck..." He shrugged and his mouth twitched as if he suddenly found some sort of strange humor in all of this. "We weren't really baptized ourselves, so I guess you could call us Satanists, too!" And he let out an unconvincing laugh.
"I think I know where to start looking," Kat said as if she hadn't even heard him, standing up and taking the box back.
Damien stood up as well. "Wha--? How did anything I just said..."
"You said your uncle is your mother's brother, right?"
"Yeah, but..."
In response Kat uncrumpled the wrapping paper and pointed at the letters on it. "FD. If D is for Damien...then how many things could F stand for?"
Damien threw up his hands. "The heck if I...!" He stared at her for a moment or two, then dropped them again. "You're kidding," he said, realization dawning on his face.
Kat ran her finger under the letters. "Well? What else could it stand for?"
"You're kidding!" Damien rolled his eyes. "Father Damien? Is that some kind of weird joke? You think my uncle went out and became a priest?"
"What better situation to send one looking for their faith?" Kat retorted. "Than the loss of one's family? Maybe this was his way of making up for not being able to help any of you more. It happens."
"Yeah, but most people just, I dunno, donate to charity or something! Becoming a priest is kind of a leap, don't you think?" He stood and watched dumbly as she opened the screen door and set foot outside again. "NOW where are you going--?"
"The first place one finds a priest," Kat said. "In a church. You can either come with me, or stay here, it's up to you."
"There's MORE than one Catholic church in these parts, you do know!" Damien practically yelled as she walked across the concrete.
"I know," Kat said, "and if you really wanted to find your uncle then you'd be willing to look into every one of them!" She shot him a look and saw the way that he gawked at her. "Or do you not WANT to find him?"
Damien stared at her for a brief moment, then came stomping down the porch steps and swept past her, fuming. He snatched away the box as he did so. "We take my car," he muttered as he did so, and reached in his pocket to pull out his keys.
Kat rolled her eyes as they walked toward the garage. "What's the matter," she said dryly as he went into the garage, and a moment later an engine roared to life, "you don't like minivans?"
She stood off to the side, arms crossed, and waited until his car, a red Lamborghini Countach, backed out. "Get in," he said, "and let's just get this stupid thing over with! 'Father Damien'...what a load of bull."
"You're just pissed off that you didn't think of it first," Kat muttered to herself, opening up the passenger-side door and getting in. She had just enough time to close it before the car was turning around and tearing off toward the highway.
* * * * *
Damien wasn't profligate with his money, at least, not very much, Kat had learned since meeting him. She surreptitiously examined the interior of the car as they sped down the road, going a little faster than the speed limit. After his first album had made it big, much bigger than anyone had even anticipated, he'd gotten himself this car, and had helped to pay for the house that they all now lived in, but other than that he lived basically like a regular person. Now that he'd mentioned the railway bridge, Kat wondered if his regular-person attitude somehow came from that. She'd grown up with a big family and a normal life--she couldn't even imagine growing up with no family and a very abnormal life. Maybe the regular life he seemed to be striving to keep spoke more volumes than his car.
"In case you don't know," he said, and she looked up at him, "I've never even set foot inside a church, so I have no way of knowing how to go about doing this! Won't all the priests be doing--I dunno--priestly things right about now?"
"It's the middle of the afternoon, Dami," Kat said, "and it's a weekday. I'm no Catholic but I'm pretty sure there aren't any Masses going on at the moment. Priests are just regular people in collars--just talk to them like regular people--in collars!"
"This is quite possibly THE stupidest conversation we've ever held," Damien said, rolling his eyes.
"Well, it's only as stupid as the people who contribute to it! Where are we going first?"
"That church over--there--thataways." He waved randomly. "I don't know what it's called! I told you I never even set foot in one."
Kat furrowed her brow. "Dami, are you scared of churches--?"
Damien let out a huffing sound. "I am NOT scared of churches! I've just never seen any reason for visiting one! Okay? Cripes. If you wanna start psychoanalyzing me..."
"Fine, fine, all right," Kat said, sitting back in her seat. "I just thought I might offer to go in and ask around for you, seeing as you haven't had a cup of coffee today and it's showing."
"I don't even drink coffee," Damien protested, before the meaning of her comment got through and he scowled. "Ha ha. Funny." There was a very long pause, then he said, more subdued, "You would go in and ask around...?"
Kat rolled her eyes. "Baby." She crossed her arms over her seatbelt. "Just find a place to park out of the sun and let me go in and do the talking. You can deal with living under a bridge, but talking to a priest, heaven forbid." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "Don't get started on being predictable again."
"You said it, not me," he grumbled, but slowed down and pulled into the driveway of the church as it came into view. Kat didn't have much experience with churches herself, but she tried hiding this fact as Damien stubbornly kept to his seat and she let herself out. Inside, it was virtually empty, but she managed to locate a priest and asked after anyone named Father Damien. The odd look she got in return made her bite her tongue; he shook his head and shrugged but since he was rather new to this church, suggested another priest who might know more, if she wanted to wait a while for him to arrive. Kat thought of Damien sitting out in the parking lot and declined; the priest then suggested another church she might want to try, St. Anthony's downtown, and she thanked him and went back out to the car.
"So?" Damien said when she got in and sat down, buckling herself in. He leaned forward to peer toward the church. "Huh. Nobody's following you. Did Father Damien head back to Hawaii to care for the lepers--?"
He cut himself off when she elbowed him. "St. Anthony's," she said. "Downtown, not far from the Lincoln Bridge Plaza. We might have more luck there."
Damien didn't bother arguing, instead pulling out and heading in the opposite direction. The drive this time took them about twenty minutes, but the church wasn't easy to miss. It was a large, rather imposing structure of blackened, weather-worn wood and stained-glass windows all around. A parking lot stood to the left, and Damien pulled in here and parked. They stared up at the building together for a moment before an odd look came over Kat's face.
"Huh," she murmured after a while. "That's kind of strange."
"What?" Damien asked, looking at her.
"Well..." She chewed on a fingernail a bit. "I just remembered a little about this church. It's named after St. Anthony..."
"Well, obviously," Damien said, looking at her as if she were a little loose in the head. "I mean, 'St. Anthony's,' I wasn't exactly thinking it was named after someone else..."
"No, no, not the St. Anthony, the OTHER St. Anthony," Kat retorted. "St. Anthony of Padua. When I was little my mom had this big book of saints--"
"I thought your family wasn't Catholic?"
"That doesn't mean we couldn't READ about it!" She glared at him. "Are you going to keep interrupting me? As I was saying, she used to read us all these stories of the saints when we were little, and I remember some of them...St. Anthony of Padua...he was the patron saint of seekers, and of lost things." She paused, then nibbled on her fingernail again.
Prompted Damien, "The meaning of this being...?"
"Well..." She looked at him and shrugged. "We are kind of looking for something--aren't we?"
Damien stared at her for a very long time. "I think I should be the one to go in this time," he finally said, unbuckling and opening his door, "because maybe you've been in the sun a little long." He ignored the look she gave him and exited the car, slamming the door. He started walking toward the church, only to hear her saying something behind him, and he had to pause to hear it.
"Tony, Tony, turn around
Help us find what can't be found..."
Damien rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh," he said under his breath, "whatever." He pushed open one of the massive front doors, which was a bit of an effort even for him, and peered inside. "Hello...?" he called out, tentatively, hearing only his own voice echoing back. He bit the inside of his mouth and slipped inside, looking up the main aisle and peering from side to side.
Here were the requisite pews, of course, row upon row of them, and the aisle led up to an altar above which was a large crucifix and perhaps the biggest stained-glass window that Damien had ever seen. Well, at least, in Cheboygan. He didn't stare at the crucifix for long as the image of Jesus with blood running down his face and body made him uncomfortable, so he looked around a little more, but the sight of the candles burning made him even more uncomfortable and he realized that he didn't really want to look anywhere in this place. He took a few steps forward as if to approach the altar, rethought this, then took a step back and bit his lip, feeling both terribly foolish as well as terribly uneasy. He fiddled with the edge of his shirt and leapt nearly a foot into the air when the door BOOMED shut behind him, then put a hand to his chest to feel his heart hammering behind his sternum. He hadn't even realized that he'd been holding his breath and tensing his muscles until now, and he forced himself to relax.
"It's a church," he muttered to himself, "not a cult compound." And as if to prove this he took a few more defiant steps toward the altar and glared up at Jesus. Jesus looked terribly disappointed in him, and that just peeved him even more.
"Hello?" he called out, louder this time, still hating how his voice echoed in the stillness of the building. He waited a moment, then snorted. "Didn't think so." He took a step back.
He felt a hand on his shoulder then, and his muscles tensed again, ready for fight, when a voice said, "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out."
Damien blinked and let out a sharp breath, just as quickly taking another one in. The voice sounded familiar...but it couldn't be. He didn't know anybody who would be in a church.
He again forced himself to untense, and felt the hand pull away. He slowly turned about, his heart practically in his throat, feeling almost as if he were in a dream and he really shouldn't turn around to see what might be behind him. When he saw a face that vaguely resembled his, except older and with darker eyes, all the breath left him, and all that he could do was stare. Damien and the priest stared at each other for a very long moment, until the mirror illusion was broken when the priest smiled, his eyes a clear brownish amber as opposed to Damien's sandy gold ones. Damien could only gape.
The priest crossed his arms and looked somewhat reproachful. "What," he said, "you don't have anything to say to me after all these years?"
Damien just kept staring at him in disbelief. After a moment he at last managed to pull out the gold D, which he'd put in his pocket while in the car, looked at it, then up at the priest again. He saw the recognition in the priest's eyes when he saw the letter, and when Damien pulled out the silver one and held it up, the priest's eyes softened. There was no mistaking it.
"You kept it all this time," he murmured; "somehow I knew you would," and suddenly Damien could speak again.
"U...Uncle...?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The priest's smile returned, though it was subtler this time. "Hello, Damien."
Damien had to blink a few more times, as his vision suddenly went blurry. He hitched in a breath or two--then, before he knew it, he had his arms around the priest and was hugging him tight, nearly lifting him from the floor, and laughing and crying at the same time. The priest wheezed as Damien's powerful embrace squeezed the breath out of him.
"E-easy!" he managed to croak. "I'm not as young as I used to be!!"
"Father Damien!" Damien exclaimed, his voice cracking, and he let out another near-hysterical laugh. "I can't believe she was right!" He at last abruptly let go of him, and the priest--Father Damien, Damien had to remind himself, still not quite believing it--took in a breath just to recover himself. Damien rubbed at his streaming eyes with the heel of his hand and hiccupped with laughter a few times, trying not to sound so insane anymore. He dropped his hand, only for Father Damien to spread his own.
"Look at you!" He looked Damien up and down. "Last time I saw you, you were barely this tall!"
"Last time I saw you, you were HUGE!" Damien exclaimed, raising his arms over his head to indicate how large his uncle had seemed so many years ago.
Father Damien laughed. "And you're mouthier, too. That's good. You never said a peep before that I could remember. So you sing now! With a band and everything! How are things going with that?"
Damien gave a foolish grin. "There's a second album coming out--soon," he promised.
Father Damien's eyes brightened. "That's great! I'm going to be first in line to buy it--just like the last one."
Instantly Damien's smile vanished, and, on seeing this, Father Damien's faded as well. "You...you bought my album?" Damien asked; when Father Damien nodded, he furrowed his brow. "And you already know that I sing. But...that album came out over a year ago. You mean you've known about me all this time...?"
The rest of the light left Father Damien's eyes and he averted them slightly, as if ashamed. "Yes," he admitted. "You and Lilu, at the bridge...I've always known."
Damien hitched in a breath. "You knew about Lilu--?" he blurted out, and took a step forward so abruptly that the priest stepped back. Damien clenched his fists. "And you never did anything?" he added, his voice turning accusing. "You never came to see me--you never came to see her--?" His eyes blurred again but he angrily swiped them dry. "If you knew about us all that time then how come you never did anything? Isn't that what priests are supposed to do--help people? All this time I thought you were DEAD!"
"And that's the way it should've been," Father Damien said quietly. "I'm sorry that I couldn't come to see you. I wanted to, believe me. So many times I wish I could've been there for you--and for Lilu. But I was never sure if it would be the right time. Even now, I'm not sure. Do you know how long I agonized over sending you that necklace--?"
"Right time--?" Damien echoed, then cut himself off. He was silent for a moment, the two of them again staring warily at each other, then said, "You mean those people--that cult--right?"
Father Damien blinked, then his eyes grew a little. "So you do remember them--?" he asked, and when Damien curtly nodded he let out a breath. "I thought maybe...you would've forgotten them by now," he said, a bit sheepishly.
Damien snorted. "It's kind of hard to forget the people who tried to kill your family," he retorted. "You mean you kept away from me and Lilu and everybody else all this time because of something that happened that long ago? What kind of excuse is that? The only reason I do remember it so well is because I dream about it almost every night--I keep dreaming of the fire, and about you getting shot! And only just now do you decide to step back into my life and say, 'Hi, Damien!' like everything's okay--?" He started to turn for the doors. "I'm an adult now, and I make my own money, so I don't need charity or another roof over my head--though I sure could've used one back in '86. Lilu could've used one even more. So thanks, but no thanks; I'm not interested."
"I thought that if I got back in touch with you, it might endanger you," Father Damien called after him as he headed for the doors. "And I was right, because they took Lilu. But you're grown now, and you don't need to be protected anymore. That's why I sent you the necklace. I know you can handle it all now."
Damien halted. It was a moment or two before he could bring himself to turn and face the priest again, but when he did, Father Damien held his stare steadily. Another moment passed, then Damien walked back to him.
"You have no proof that what happened to Lilu was related to them," he said in an almost threatening tone.
Father Damien gave him a look. "And you'd believe that it wasn't? Damien, who else would want to do to her what was done?" He held out his hand. "Part of this whole business is asking forgiveness for what we've done wrong--and even though I know it was best that I not contact you until now, I ask forgiveness for not being able to be there for both of you. All of you. And I'm ready to be there now."
"What if we don't need you there?" Damien asked.
Father Damien shrugged a little. "Then I can't change that. But I thought you might like to know why it is that I've been gone all this time--and what you might very well still be facing."
Damien's face paled a little. "You mean they're still out there--?" he blurted out. "Those same people--?" He clenched his fists again. "What do they want with us? Who are they, even? What do any of us have to do with them?"
Father Damien sighed. "I think it would be best," he said wearily, "if we went somewhere more appropriate to talk this over. I'll tell you everything I know, and I admit that it's not a lot. But my question still stands."
Damien stared at him for a moment, then looked down at his profferred hand. He hesitated before taking it and shaking it, a bit hard, and then letting go. "Fine," he said in a cutting voice, "you're forgiven. But only as far as I'm concerned--I can't speak for Lilu."
"Fair enough," Father Damien sighed, and gestured. "Come with me." And they turned and headed for the church doors together.
Continue:
"3: Getting To Know You" 
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