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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! :) |
3: Getting To Know You Original circa 1994-5 version. Scroll down for the 2007 rewrite.
GETTING TO KNOW YOU
AFTER EATING AT Dairy Queen, they went to Washington Park and sat at one of the tables under the trees, talking while others strolled by. Damien had told Kat what had happened; despite his protestations she'd insisted on calling for a ride home, so he and his uncle could have a chance to talk without her interference. He hated to admit to himself that he preferred it that way. Now, impatient for answers, he leaned across the picnic table, ignoring the quacking of the ducks down by the river, and repeated his question.
"What is this cult, Uncle? What do they want with us?"
His uncle fiddled with the straw to his drink. "I don't know very much about them," he admitted after a time, "but they're Satanists. A Satanic cult."
That makes sense, Damien thought. "So that's why they wore black. And what about the one with the skull on his head?"
"Skull...?" He looked confused. "Oh, you must mean the goat skull. Him, he was their high priest."
"'Was'?"
A nod. "Yes. I believe he's dead now, and another took over leadership."
Damien frowned, something nagging at him in the back of his head. "He didn't look so old."
"He wasn't. He was shot."
Damien said nothing.
"I can't remember his name," Father Damien went on. "Alec Something-Or-Other. But there's someone else in charge now. Damien, this cult--"
His nephew cut him off, waving his hand. "I've heard enough about them for now. Tell me, what've you been up to lately?"
His uncle looked at him, caught off guard. "Well, I suppose it's kind of obvious," Damien said with a smile, and Father Damien looked at his collar and smiled back, looking slightly guilty. "But what else? I mean, it's been years. And how did you know where to find me?"
"I've always known about you, Damien," his uncle replied, as if his nephew should have known too. "Ever since your sister--" He cut himself off abruptly at the look on Damien's face. Damien's smile had vanished and he'd shrunk back, looking as if somebody had just smacked him. "Ever since 1986," Father Damien corrected himself. He paused, casting his eyes to the side with an uncomfortable look. "That's when your name entered the news," he went on, explainingly. "It wasn't a very big story, but then again..." He trailed off and shrugged. Maybe it would be best to leave that subject alone; Damien himself certainly didn't look as if he wanted to talk about it. "After that, I heard you got into singing. I heard your first song on the radio." He smiled. "And do you know what I did? I went straight out and bought the album. Imagine, these music store people looking at a priest buying a pop-rock album. You should have seen their looks. But I've been keeping up on you. I told people to watch out for anything about you, and you should just see my scrapbook."
"Scrapbook?" Damien echoed, his face lined with disbelief.
Father Damien nodded and laughed. "Yes. I suppose you could say I'm your biggest fan. Now how's that for ironic?"
Damien shook his head to clear it. "You mean to tell me you've been keeping a scrapbook on me?"
Another nod. "And it's got everything in it. Magazines, newspapers, interviews--I had friends cut them out for me so I could keep them. I have that Grammy broadcast on tape. You know," he added, his voice now dropping slightly, "I was very proud of you. And I still am."
"Better be careful," Damien said with a smile of his own that was half joking, half serious. "Pride's one of the Seven Deadly Sins, remember?"
"I suppose it is, but even He can make an exception sometimes," Father Damien said, nodding his head at the sky to emphasize who "He" was. He clasped his hands and leaned forward. "So, when's your second album? You can tell who'll be the first to rush out and buy it."
Damien laughed. This was almost pathetic. "Please, Uncle, you really don't need to buy them just because I'm your nephew."
The priest looked surprised. "I'm not! Really! I really do like your songs. You know, I'd been keeping up on you, so when I heard your song 'Someone Is Watching You' I knew it was you and I told everybody in the room, 'That's my nephew.' I know I shouldn't have done it," he said, laughing again, "because of course nobody believed me. But at least I knew it was true."
Damien smiled and shrugged, and decided to confess. "Y'know, I myself don't really like that song much. Personally I thought it sucked."
"Really?"
Damien nodded and laughed to himself. "But, of course, nobody agreed with me," he said, echoing almost exactly his uncle's words. They both laughed together.
The singer finally managed to calm down and shook his head. "But really, I don't see why it hit number one. I thought Greg was lying to me when he said it did. It was April. 'Ha ha,' I said. 'Happy April Fool's Day to you, too.'"
"Greg?"
"Oh, yeah, you don't know. He was the one who sent in a demo tape to Redlight Studios." He snorted. "Without my permission."
"Well, be thankful that he did."
Damien instantly changed the subject again. "But what about before 1986?" he pressed. "I mean, you must have known about me before. How come you didn't come out earlier? All this time I thought you were dead."
Father Damien sighed and turned away, looking out across the river. A boat chugged lazily by. It was a while before he spoke. "It just never seemed to be the time," he said softly, so that Damien had to lean forward to hear him clearly above the cars and the people passing by. "You've been through a lot of pain, Damien, that I know. And so have I. It just never seemed to be the right time. I had to wait a while, and if it had been your choice, I'm sure in your heart you would've known that too."
Damien couldn't quite understand what his uncle meant, but was certain he was right. So he sat back and didn't question. For some time neither of them spoke.
"So," Damien finally said, as if in conversation, "what got you into the habit?"
"Habit?" Father Damien asked blankly, turning and looking at him.
"Well, yeah, the habit," Damien said, and indicated his collar. Father Damien looked at himself and again they both burst out laughing.
"I'm afraid you're talking about nuns," Father Damien corrected him.
"I know," his nephew replied, "but it's the only clean religious joke I can think of right now."
That set them laughing again, and for a long time they just sat in the park, talking.
* * * * *
"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me for the mess," Father Damien said somewhat apologetically as he and Damien made their way through his house. They had met someone the singer didn't know at the door, and Father Damien had paid and dismissed her without any explanation. Now Damien stared with bewilderment at the toys strewn about on the floor. Father Damien reached down to pick up a few. "But I've had a couple charges here lately."
"You mean kids?"
"That, too. They're orphaned, and since Cheboygan doesn't really have anyplace they can stay, I decided to take them in for a while. There's only two left now. But they're a rambunctious two."
"Did not!" a very young voice cried out suddenly from upstairs.
"Did too!" cried an even younger voice.
Damien looked up the stairs as Father Damien smiled, shaking his head and attempting to clean up the mess. "Sorry about that, too, but after a while one learns to live with it."
"I don't know if I could," Damien muttered to himself. He didn't hate kids; in fact, he rather liked them. He just wasn't sure if he could handle them constantly. He sidestepped a Lego set and looked up at the pictures on the wall over the couch. "Did you paint this?" he asked, indicating a portrait of the Virgin Mary.
"That? Goodness, no. When it comes to painting I've got two left hands." A laugh; Damien realized his uncle was scooting around the house, picking up things behind him so he wouldn't trip. "I painted the one beside it. Now tell me about a vision of beauty!"
Damien smiled and chuckled to himself, examining the painting. "Don't worry, Uncle, at least you're ahead of me. I can't do a paint-by-number at all."
A snort. "Ha ha! That's very funny. Tell me another one." He disappeared into another room, leaving Damien wandering around inspecting the surroundings. Halfway through his unguided tour there was a thump-thump-thump-thump, and suddenly two little kids appeared at the foot of the stairs. One was a girl wearing a pink ribbon, and the other was a boy wearing a red baseball cap. Seeing him, they stopped in their tracks and stared, mouths open.
"Hi," Damien said.
"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" they shrieked.
"FATHER DAMIEN! THERE'S A ROBBER IN THE HOUSE!!!" the boy screamed with all his might.
Damien had jumped back at the girl's shrill scream, but as the little boy started shouting for help he held up his hands and started shaking them wildly, trying to calm the kids down. Instantly Father Damien appeared, looking startled, his sleeves rolled up and wearing rubber gloves. He glanced around, holding up a Windex bottle as if it were a gun. "Where?"
"He's right there!" the boy screeched, pointing his finger accusingly at Damien.
"Him? Oh, no no no! That's not a robber! That's my nephew!"
The two kids stopped screaming and looked at him as if he'd suddenly turned purple. "Your nephew?" the boy asked incredulously, as if it were the most unbelievable statement in the world. "You've got a nephew?"
"Of course I do!" Father Damien grinned at Damien, half in apology, half in exasperation. "I'm sorry about this. Damien, this is Harvey and Esmeralda. Harvey, Ez, this is my nephew Damien."
At the mention of his name the kids' jaws dropped again; they came closer and stared up at him in open disbelief. Damien felt like a bug in a jar, only he was bigger and they were smaller. He forced himself not to squirm.
"The Damien?" Harvey asked with awe.
"'Someone Is Watching You'?" Esmeralda offered.
Damien felt his face growing red as he nodded and gave a stupid smile, his throat stuck.
The two kids were silent for a moment as they looked him over, trying to decide if it were really him or not. Finally, they must have decided it was so, for they started jumping up and down and screaming, this time in excitement.
"Oh WOW!" Harvey cried. "The Damien! In our house! Wow, this is great!"--just like a miniature Tony the Tiger.
"Wow, can I have your autograph?" Ez exclaimed. "I've always wanted to meet you! Hold on while I get my book!" She dashed back upstairs as fast as she could go.
"Wait, me too!" Harvey said, and followed, hot on her tail. Damien and his uncle were left alone with only the thump-thump-thump of the kids' feet pounding on the stairs while they went to grab their autograph books.
Father Damien smiled, pulling off his gloves. "Sorry about that, too. They're a little excited to meet you."
Damien turned to him, a pained look on his face. "A little? Uncle, please, tell me that's an understatement."
"All right, a lot. I suppose I should have told them earlier. But I guess I forgot to plan that." He sighed and flopped down on the couch, balling up the gloves and dropping them beside him. "You see, I didn't really expect them to be here. There's supposed to be a couple coming up from downstate to see them, only they didn't show up. I suppose they changed their minds."
Damien looked back toward the stairway. Though he wasn't, actually, he still considered himself somewhat an orphan, and knew how they must feel. Still, it was good that they had each other. Which was more than he'd had after 1986.
"Tell me about them," he said, joining his uncle on the couch and locking his fingers over his knees.
Father Damien sighed and appeared to be counting on his fingers. "Well, Esmeralda's the older one; she's seven. Her parents were killed in a car crash. Harvey's six; his mother died, and his father was divorced and didn't want him, so he was living with his uncle. But his uncle couldn't take care of him either." He shrugged. "So, here they are."
Damien snorted. "Sounds like a great life."
His uncle waved a hand at the air. "Oh, don't worry about them. They're little kids, and little kids have a way of getting back on their feet. And believe me," he said, as they heard the thump-thump-thump start again from the stairway, "they really are on their feet."
Harvey and Ez reappeared, waving little books and holding pens. "Sign here! Sign here!" Ez cried, flapping her book in Damien's face. He smiled and took the book, signed it, and then took Harvey's. As soon as they both had his autograph they started bouncing around the room like jumping beans, cheering and dancing.
"Wow wow wow!" Harvey yelped. "A real live pop singer in my house! This is cool!"
"Do you have a girlfriend?" Ez asked, smiling shyly.
Damien burst out laughing. "Not very timid, are they?" he asked his uncle.
"I'm afraid not," Father Damien replied. "And now, if you two don't mind, we'd like to have some time alone to talk. Don't worry, you'll be seeing a lot more of Damien. He's my nephew, you know."
At first their faces had started to fall and they'd seemed on the verge of protesting, but when they heard he wasn't leaving town anytime soon they began cheering again and raced back upstairs noisily. Even after they were gone Damien could still hear them talking in excited tones.
"Sorry," Father Damien said again. "I really should have told them sooner. I guess they just never connected my name with yours."
"Don't worry. They probably wouldn't've believed you." Damien looked at the clock on the wall and stood up, stretching a little. Last night's lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him. "It's gettin' late. I think maybe I should get going. If you want to come over, drop in anytime. I bet the others would be glad to see you. If they don't freak out first!"
"I think that would be nice. Take care, Damien." He watched as Damien headed for the door out of the room. "And, Damien?"
Damien turned to look at him. Father Damien wasn't smiling anymore; he seemed stressed. The slight nagging feeling in Damien's mind came back.
"Please be careful," his uncle said softly. "They're everywhere."
Damien didn't need to ask who "they" were. Instead he nodded and left.
Father Damien stared at the spot where he'd been several moments ago before sitting back again with a sigh, picking up the gloves and twisting them between his fingers. He missed his nephew already. Even with Harvey and Esmeralda upstairs yelling at each other, the house was going to be decidedly lonely without him.
**********
Rewritten 2007 version. Not proofed.
CHAPTER THREE
GETTING TO KNOW YOU
IT ONLY OCCURRED to Damien somewhat belatedly that it wasn't just his car waiting for him out in the parking lot. As soon as he looked up he remembered its other occupant, and he nearly tripped on the church steps when he sat Kat within looking in the mirror. He grabbed at his uncle's arm without even thinking and nearly dragged him down the steps as well. Father Damien hastily caught hold of him to keep him from falling, furrowing his brow.
"Damien--? What is it?"
"Ahm--" Damien coughed and stood up straight, still not letting go of the priest's arm. "Well...I forgot to mention that I didn't come here alone..."
As he spoke, he saw Father Damien's stare wander toward the car as well. He saw Kat, then looked back at Damien. "Katrina Witchita," he said, and Damien blinked. "The papers say you two are going out together." When Damien's eyes went wide his mouth twitched. "I do read papers, Damien."
"Oh." Damien rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well...it's more than just going out...if you know what I mean."
"I did hear you helped buy a house out on the highway..." Father Damien started to say, then trailed off as Damien's face started going red. "Oh," he said after a moment, and then rubbed at his own neck, and the two of them stood there looking quite uncomfortable. "Well...it's not my place to judge anyone," he said at last, and pulled away from Damien's grip, heading down the steps and toward the car. "Though you could've at least offered to let her come in..."
Damien could only stand and watch as he made his way across the parking lot, ducking his head a little as if to get a better look at Kat. She must have seen him coming, for the butterfly door popped up and she hopped out, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She looked at Damien, then at Father Damien, then her hands started making all sorts of frantic motions.
Father Damien turned to give Damien a shocked look. "The papers didn't say she's deaf!"
"She's not!" Damien exclaimed, feeling his ears burning. He hopped down the last couple of steps and hurried over toward them. "Kat--stop waving around like an octopus on fire!! Yes, it's him. Yes, he sent the package. You were right on everything. Kat's the one who convinced me to start looking into churches," he admitted to his uncle, "because frankly it sounded kind of unbelievable that you'd've become a priest of all things."
"Well," Father Damien protested, "after losing your mother and all of you, I had some issues I had to face. This was the only way I knew how."
Kat promptly stopped fluttering her hands. "TOLD you!" she said, loudly enough that the other two both jumped. She clapped a hand to her mouth. "Sorry!" She let out a sharp breath. "So--the two of you--you're catching up now? You have lots to talk about?" Before they could answer she waved at the Lamborghini. "Go along, then! I'll call a taxi. I don't want to intrude."
"You wouldn't be," Father Damien insisted, at the same time that Damien said, "You're sure--?" and he blushed when his uncle gave him a foul look.
"It's okay," Kat cut in, taking a step back and waving again. "I know how family things are. I'll be fine. Just--make sure you make it home all right, okay?" she said with a sudden vaguely worried look, as if she weren't sure that she'd see Damien again, and she quickly kissed him before turning and hastening toward the Lincoln Bridge Plaza. Damien flushed even harder than ever, but all that Father Damien did was cross his arms and tilt his head, watching her jog off.
"She seems nice," he commented at last. He peered at Damien from the corner of his eye, then headed toward the open car door. "There's nothing wrong with settling down eventually..."
Damien cringed to himself but went around to the other side of the vehicle, briefly watching Father Damien get used to getting in and closing the odd door before opening his own and climbing in. He slammed it and looked at his uncle as he fiddled with his seatbelt. "So...I'm not sure how this all goes," he said, and Father Damien gave him a questioning look. "Family reunions. I mean, I hear about them on TV and stuff, but in person..."
"Well," Father Damien said, at last getting buckled in, "for starters, we could get something to eat and just talk. About normal things. I've learned that that's a good way to break the ice."
"Like any of this is normal?" Damien said in disbelief.
"I didn't say that," Father Damien replied, "but sometimes, it's nice to play normal. Then you're nice and rested when strange comes along." He waved at the windshield. "What about Dairy Queen? They're nearby, and we can sit and eat in the park. And yes, I'll tell you what you want to know."
Damien stared at him for a moment, then started the car. "I hate sounding so ungrateful after all this time," he said over the roar of the engine, "but that's what I really want to know about."
"Unfortunately, I don't have very much to tell you," Father Damien said, but they were silent the rest of the way to the restaurant.
* * * * *
"I thought priests weren't supposed to lie," Damien said, as if conversationally, as they made their way across Main Street and into Lincoln Park, each with an ice cream in his hand. When Father Damien gave his nephew a puzzled look Damien took a lick. "You said you don't have much to tell me, but Uncle, it's been like fourteen years. Obviously you have a lot to tell me."
Father Damien blushed. "Well, obviously! But where am I supposed to begin--?"
"Well, how about what you've been up to lately. Seeing as you seem to know all about me already." They sat down at a picnic table within view of the river and Damien tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. "How do you know all about me, anyway?"
"Priests do read magazines," Father Damien said with an odd look.
Damien rolled his eyes. "But how did you know where to find me? That's one bit of info I try to keep out of the news! You know, so I don't get any crazy paparazzi stalking me and taking lewd photos. Not that I plan to sunbathe nude any time soon, but--" He cut himself off laughing when his uncle gave him an evil look. "Sorry, I forgot who I'm talking to. How did you know where to ship the necklace?"
"Believe it or not you were hard to find at first," Father Damien said. "I did lose track of you, but then again it's not as if you had an address. It was only when your sister--" He was the one to cut himself off now, seeing the way that Damien flinched and almost dropped his ice cream, shrinking back from it a bit as if a snake had just popped out of it. "Ahm...it was only around 1986...when your name first got in the news," the priest went on, speaking carefully. "And I started checking out every newspaper and magazine that I could. I even went to the police and asked after you...I guess they believe a priest when he asks to know where someone's living...you still didn't have a steady address then but I tried to keep notice of things. Then you put out your first album!" His face suddenly lit up. "I heard your first song on the radio. I knew it was you as soon as I heard them say your name. And do you know what I did? I went straight out and bought the album. Imagine the people at the music store, watching a priest buy a pop-rock album. You should've seen their looks. But ever since then I've been keeping up on you. You should just see my scrapbook."
"Scrapbook?" Damien blurted out, again nearly dropping the ice cream. "You mean to tell me you've been keeping a scrapbook on me--?"
"Well, I had to have somewhere to put all the articles and clippings," Father Damien said with a laugh at the look on his nephew's face. "I even taped the Grammy broadcast. In fact I think I might have to start a second scrapbook...speaking of second one!" He leaned forward, hands clasping around his ice cream cone. "When's your second album due out? You can tell who's going to be the first to rush out and buy it."
Damien laughed. "Uncle, please. This is pathetic. You really don't have to buy them just 'cause I'm your nephew."
Father Damien blinked. "I'm not! Really! I really do like your music. You know, when I bought the first one, I was just about to tell the cashier that you were my nephew, but I knew he wouldn't believe me."
"I didn't even like that album very much," Damien admitted. "It was just kind of tossed together at the last minute. I'm hoping the next one will be better."
"Well, here's hoping that it is, too, though I hardly think the first one could be improved upon!" Father Damien held up his ice cream cone as if making a toast, then finished it off.
Damien snorted. "Be careful! You know what they say about pride." He finished his own ice cream cone, waiting until Father Damien was done wiping off his hands before speaking again. "You said it was never the right time to get back in touch with me," he said, and Father Damien gave him a slightly wary look. "That I wasn't grown up yet, and needed to be protected. How come you come looking for me now? How do you know I'm ready for whatever all of this is?"
There was a very long pause, and Father Damien clasped his hands, fiddling his fingers a little. "Because of Lilu," he said at last in a very soft voice, and when Damien merely looked confused he must have known that it was safe enough to continue. "Even I never thought that you would be made to live through something like that, Damien. I was going to contact you then, and move you in with me, because honestly, I thought it would break you. But when I spoke to the police..." He trailed off, then gave a small shrug. "They wouldn't say much. Notice how it barely even made it into the papers? Something so awful? In such a small town? That always infuriated me." His eyes grew dark. "But I kept watch on you and saw how you grew. You lived through it. And I can tell that you haven't entirely moved on, but you're still here, and I figured that I've been hiding long enough. It was about time I let you know."
"They didn't shoot you?" Damien asked.
"They did," Father Damien said, and pointed at his shoulder. "Right here. The other shots missed me. I fell, and when they came up to me I pretended I was dead. I guess I was lucky that they had bigger things to tend to, because they just nudged me with their feet and left me alone. I'm guessing that they were more interested in your parents."
"My parents--" Damien blurted out, then, when Father Damien opened his mouth, he shook his head abruptly. "No--I...one thing at a time. I don't think I can talk about them right now." He let out a breath when Father Damien's look grew sympathetic but he nodded. "This cult, Uncle...who are they? What do they want with us? How did we even end up there in the first place? There's so much I can't even remember..."
"You were just a little boy back then, Dami, can you truly blame yourself? As for them--I'm afraid I don't know much. Your father, I think he was born into the cult. It's a generational thing. You and your siblings were the latest generation. Your mother, she didn't choose to join. From what little she was able to tell me, that's how they are. They're Satanists--a Satanic cult."
"So...that's why they wore black," Damien said, and his uncle nodded. "What about the guy doing all the yelling--the one with the skull on his head?"
"You must mean the goat skull. That's what they use in their ceremonies, so I've heard. Him, he was their high priest."
Damien frowned. "'Was'?"
The priest nodded. "Yes. I believe he's dead now, and someone else, someone younger, took over leadership."
Damien's frown grew. "He didn't seem that old himself..."
"He didn't die of old age. He was shot. That's how the new high priest came to power." Father Damien didn't seem to notice his nephew's strange look as he traced a finger along the tabletop. "I can't remember his full name...Alec Something-Or-Other. I suppose it hardly matters, seeing as he's dead, and you don't have to fear him now. But there's someone else in charge. Damien, this cult..."
"No," Damien said again, and when this earned him a perplexed look he shook his head. "It's okay," he said. "That's enough for now. You're here, that's what really matters, right?" He forced a smile and Father Damien returned it, albeit rather tentatively. "And now that you're here and you say you've pretty much been spying on me I get to learn about YOUR personal life! So what got you into the habit?"
Father Damien frowned. "Habit--?"
"Well, yeah, the habit." Damien waved at his uncle's collar. Father Damien looked down as if having forgotten that it was there and then gave him a very odd look.
"If that was a joke," he said, "then I'm afraid you're talking about nuns."
"I know," Damien said, and shrugged. "It's just the only clean religious joke I know."
Father Damien blinked and his mouth fell open, and for a split second Damien was sure he was going to let out some sort of offended exclamation. When he burst out laughing instead, it broke the tension remaining in the air, and both of them relaxed.
* * * * *
"I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me for the mess," Father Damien said as Damien got out of his own car--Father Damien drove an old station wagon, himself--and they approached the priest's house. Damien looked it over surreptitiously as they neared it. It was a nice two-story, not much different from his own, also out in a rural area--he was rather surprised that if he'd known where his uncle lived, he could have driven to visit him in only about five to ten minutes any time he wanted. Knowing that someone he'd believed dead all these years lived so nearby was a little unnerving.
"It looks nice to me," Damien said, now looking openly at the nice flower garden and shade trees, and the neatly trimmed lawn.
"Well," Father Damien replied, "it gets different once you get inside." He started to ring the doorbell but the outside door opened before he could and a teenaged girl appeared, waving cheerily and starting to talk before he could even say anything himself.
"Hi, Father! Everything's A-okay! Just like always! There wasn't any trouble at all!" She did quiet down just long enough for Father Damien to pull out his wallet and hand her some money, and then her smile grew bright again. "A pleasure like always! Call me any time!"
"Of course," Father Damien said, casting Damien a look which seemed vaguely embarrassed. Damien, for his part, could only frown in puzzlement as the girl came bounding out of the house, then halted in her tracks as soon as she saw him. She froze and her mouth fell open, then she let out a short scream and hopped up and down a few times, making both of them wince.
"OHMYGODIT'SREALLYYOU!!" she yelled at the top of her lungs--then, "Please please please hold on just a sec!!" She dashed over to a bicycle leaning against a tree, retrieved something from the basket, and came running back. Damien looked down to see that she was holding a cassette tape and a pen.
"Oh my God oh my God!" she cried, bobbing up and down. "I LOVE your music! Can you sign this? Please please please?"
"Um...sure," Damien said, feeling just about the way that his uncle looked, and signing the cover of the tape. "Here you go," he said, not bothering to ask her her name, since this entire situation was so weird that he just wanted it over with, and from the looks of it his uncle did too.
"Thank you SO much!" the girl exclaimed, taking back the tape and pen; then, before he could stop her, she stood on tiptoes and hurriedly kissed his cheek, then let out a shriek and dashed back to her bike. She'd straddled it and kicked up the kickstand and gone pedaling on her way before he could even quite figure out what had happened.
There was a very long, very awkward pause. "I'm sure you get that a lot," Father Damien said at last, and turned back to the door. "Anyway...like I said, please excuse the mess."
"Er..." Damien caught up with his uncle and followed him up the porch steps. "I really hate asking...but do you always have a young pretty lady stashed away somewhere in your house...?" When the priest looked at him over his shoulder he dared to add, "A young pretty lady who takes fives and tens?"
Father Damien rolled his eyes. "Just watch your step," he said, and a moment later Damien found himself wandering through a house that would have been quite normal, had there not been a myriad of toys scattered all over the floor. Father Damien let out a sigh and stooped to pick up a few, and one of them squeaked.
"Okay," Damien said slowly, "I'm really trying to put two and two together, but my math must be off lately..."
"That was the babysitter," Father Damien said in a rebuking voice, "and I've had a couple of charges here lately. You should really come to church sometime, I think you need it."
"Charges?" Damien echoed. He nearly tripped over one of the toys and did a hop at the last minute. "You mean like kids?"
"Yes, like kids. They're orphaned, and waiting to get placed with some families, so I decided to take them in for a while. It's been a little longer than I expected. There's only two left now, a boy and a girl, but they're a rambunctious two."
"Did not!" a young voice suddenly cried from upstairs.
"Did too!" cried an even younger voice.
Damien glanced at the ceiling. "Sorry about that," Father Damien said without even a second glance, "but after a while, one tends to get used to it."
"Don't know if I would," Damien muttered as they wound their way into the den. The toy mess wasn't nearly as bad here, though there were still a few misplaced items, and an empty potato chip bag sat on the footstool, where the babysitter must have left it. Father Damien promptly set to straightening things out, and rather than ask him if this was his routine or if he only did this for visitors, Damien just stood off to the side, out of his way, and watched.
"You don't like kids...?" Father Damien asked, opening up a chest nearby and dumping the stray toys into it.
"Kids are okay," Damien replied, looking at a painting of the Virgin Mary up on the wall. "I'm just not sure I could live with them all the time." He waved at the portrait. "You paint this?"
The priest glanced up. "That? Goodness, no." He shut the chest and began cleaning up the mess the babysitter had made. "I painted the one beside it. Now tell me about a vision of beauty!"
Damien's mouth twitched in amusement as he looked at the painting. "Don't worry, Uncle; at least you're ahead of me. I can't do paint-by-number at all."
A snort. "Ha ha! That's very funny. Tell me another one." He stood up straight with the empty potato chip bag and various other disposable items in his hands, and marched away into what must be the kitchen, leaving Damien alone in the den. Damien stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do; so he just started wandering around the room in circles, looking at the various items decorating it. There was a bookshelf along part of one wall, entirely filled with a nice set of encyclopedias and various other books; when Damien cocked his head to look at the titles he was somewhat surprised. It looked like most of them had to do with witchcraft and alchemy and astrology, among other things. There were even a few true-crime books, and Damien pulled one out and tentatively flipped through a few pages, pausing as soon as he saw a few black-and-white yet gory pictures within, then shutting it and nudging it gently back onto the shelf. He gave the kitchen an odd look, as if expecting his uncle to come out wielding a butcher knife and a mask made of human skin. He considered asking him about his strange choice of reading materials, then thought better of it.
"So," he called out instead, "you have any hobbies besides painting?"
"If you mean the books," Father Damien's voice called back from the kitchen, "then you could call them 'research,' if it helps any."
"Research," Damien echoed under his breath, pulling out another book, examining the various arcane symbols on its cover, then putting it back. "Right."
One of the voices from upstairs yelled suddenly, "Effdee? Effdee? 'S that you? Did you bring Jell-O?" A second later a loud thump-thump-thump came from behind the opposite wall, and Damien turned from the books to see the opening of a stairwell across the room. Two children promptly popped out of it, a boy wearing a red baseball cap and a girl in a pink dress and hair ribbon, and as soon as they all saw each other they froze like startled deer.
Damien was silent for a moment, then held up a hand and gave his best smile, expecting a reaction similar to the babysitter's. "Hi," he said.
The two children blinked, mouths falling open. Damien braced himself for their squeals of delight--which was why it caught him completely offguard when they shrieked in apparent terror instead.
"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!"
"FATHER DAMIEN!!" the little boy yelled at the top of his lungs, fists clenching. "THERE'S A ROBBER IN THE HOUSE!!"
Damien's mouth dropped open, then he held up his hands and started waving them frantically, trying to reassure them, yet no words would come out. It was just as well, as he would have gone unheard anyway--the boy kept up his yelling, and by now the girl had burst into tears and was cowering behind him although she was an inch or so taller. She hopped up and down like she had to go to the bathroom and Damien could have sworn that he heard her sob something about taking her piggybank but please not taking her unicorn.
Father Damien now appeared, wearing not a human-skin mask but rubber gloves, and wielding not a butcher knife but a bottle of window cleaner as if it were a gun. "Where--?" he blurted out, at which the boy and girl both pointed at Damien as if a giant scarlet letter R were emblazoned on his chest.
"Right THERE!"
Father Damien actually had to turn and look, and all that Damien could do was shrug helplessly. The one time I'm not breaking into a house, he thought, and the reaction is just the same!!
"Him?" Father Damien exclaimed, gesturing at Damien; when the two children stopped their racket and nodded accusingly he lowered the bottle and let out a huge breath. "No, no, no!" he said in exasperation. "That's not a robber! It's only my nephew."
The angry looks abruptly vanished from the two children's faces and they now looked surprised. "A nephew?" the boy echoed.
"You've got a nephew?" the girl asked.
"Of course I do!" Father Damien replied, sighing again and giving Damien an apologetic look. "I'm awfully sorry about this, Damien. Ever since I taught them about strangers--"
He didn't get much further than that. At the mention of Damien's name, the children's eyes grew as round as marbles, and now Damien recognized the look there and braced himself again. They hurried closer and started looking him over, squinting as if to make sure their eyes weren't playing tricks on them. Damien felt like a bug in a jar, except that he was bigger and they were smaller. He tried not to squirm under their scrutiny.
"The Damien...?" the boy asked in awe.
"'Someone Is Watching You'...?" the girl added, giving the name of his first hit song.
Damien felt the heat creep up into his face but forced himself to smile and nod as civilly as he could. "One and only," he managed to get out.
The two children's mouths slowly fell open and their eyes looked ready to pop from their heads. A second later, they were yelling again and jumping up and down, arms and legs flailing.
"Oh WOW! THE Damien! In OUR house! This is GREAT!"--the boy yelled, waving his fists.
"Wow! Can I have your autograph?" the girl asked, clasping her hands together. "Pretty please with a cherry on top? Wait! Hold on while I get my book!"--and she turned and dashed back upstairs as fast as she could go.
"Wait, me too!" the boy exclaimed, following her. The thump-thump-thump noise came again, then, following it, what sounded like a room being torn apart.
Father Damien winced and rubbed his head. "I just cleaned their rooms yesterday," he lamented. He turned to his nephew with a sigh. "Sorry about that...they couldn't help but overhear one day when I was listening to your album, and they recognized you from the radio, and there was one week when they played it almost nonstop. They're just a little excited to meet you, is all."
Damien grimaced. "A little? Uncle, please, tell me that's an understatement."
"All right, all right, a lot. I never figured you'd be meeting them; see, a couple was supposed to come up from downstate to see them, only they never did." He flopped down on the couch, letting out his breath. "I guess they changed their minds."
A vaguely weary look came to his face, and Damien suddenly found himself feeling sorry for the two kids. "So...tell me about them," he said, going to sit beside his uncle, trying to ignore the noises coming from upstairs.
"Well..." Father Damien pulled off the gloves and held up one hand, seeming to be counting on his fingers. "Esmeralda's the older one--she's seven. Her parents were killed in a car crash. Harvey, he's six; his parents divorced and his mother died, and his father didn't want to care for him, so he went to live with an uncle. But his uncle couldn't care for him anymore either. So they became wards of the state." He shrugged. "I have a big enough house, and they're so young to be put through the system. So I took a few in. The others were younger and were placed much faster. These two...I don't know. They're really sweet kids, but I guess they're too old. I'm not sure how long I can look after them before the state wants them back." He rubbed his forehead. "But I may as well hold onto them while I can."
"It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to," Damien said.
"I know." Father Damien stared across the room for a moment. "I think maybe they reminded me of you and your sister," he murmured at last, at which Damien blinked, before the thumping noises came once more and Harvey and Esmeralda appeared from the stairwell, waving little books and markers excitedly.
"Sign here! Sign here!" they both cried, flailing their books; Damien managed a somewhat-forced smile and took Esmeralda's first, as it was practically flying in his face, and noticed that it was not an autograph book but a small sticker album. His smile turned more genuine and he flipped to a blank page to sign it, then took Harvey's--which was a copy of Ranger Rick magazine--and signed it as well. As soon as the children got their treasures back, they clasped them to their chests and started jumping again, whooping and cheering with glee.
"Wow wow wow!" Harvey cried. "A real live singer here in OUR house! This is so cool!"
"Do you have a girlfriend--?" Ez asked, batting her eyes shyly.
Damien burst out laughing in response. "Okay now," Father Damien said, standing up and making shooing motions at them, "time to go clean up your rooms. Don't worry, you'll be seeing more of Damien soon, since he's my nephew and all. Go put those books somewhere safe."
At first the children's faces had started to fall, and Damien was about to insist that they didn't have to go just yet--he couldn't bear to see them sad, for some reason--but upon learning that he wasn't leaving town any time soon, they brightened again and ran back upstairs noisily with barely a goodbye. A moment later he could still hear them up there, talking excitedly about their celebrity encounter. For some reason Damien found himself grateful that it was summer and school wasn't in session.
"Sorry," his uncle said again, sounding quite tired. "I really should have told them sooner."
"I honestly don't see why you should've had to," Damien said. He waved between them. "I mean, 'Damien,' 'Father Damien'--that's not too much to put together, is it?"
Father Damien gave him a frank look. "Dami, they're only kids. They just thought it was cool that I had the same name!" He paused, then frowned pensively. "You don't mind me calling you that, do you? I mean, if you prefer 'Damien'..."
"It's okay," Damien said. He smiled. "You're my uncle. Somebody in this family besides Kat has to have a cutesy name for me."
Father Damien rolled his eyes. "She's not in the family--yet!" he reminded his nephew, who could only blush and give an awkward grin. "So--was there anything else you wanted to talk about...? Or should we head over to your place? I feel awful not having contacted any of your siblings just yet..."
"No," Damien said, shaking his head. "It's okay. It's getting kind of late and it's been a pretty long day. You look like you have a lot of stuff to see to here." They looked at the gloves and bottle of spray. "How about I head on home and keep mum until you're up to visiting? You can stop by tomorrow morning if you're able. I mean, if church stuff doesn't get in the way. I'm sure everybody else'd be just as glad to see you as I am."
Father Damien offered him a grateful smile. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. Should give me some time to think up a way to explain why I haven't been in touch in over ten years." His smile faded and his shoulders slumped slightly. "I wonder if they'll forgive me as easily as you did..."
"Of course they will," Damien said; even though he had no way of knowing, he hated seeing other people upset, and the words came out automatically. He could tell that his uncle wasn't convinced, but the rueful smile he got in response made him relax a little, and he stood up. "I'll see you tomorrow then, okay, 'Effdee'?" he said, earning a mouth-twitch in response. "Don't wait up for me though, I've been known to sleep in. Some days later than others." He remembered how the day had begun, now seemingly ages ago, and made a face.
"All right. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good sleep," Father Damien said, and Damien decided not to trouble him with mentioning his nightmares, waving as he turned for the exit from the room. "And, Dami...?" his uncle's voice came as he stepped over the threshold, and Damien looked back at him inquiringly. There was a strange look on Father Damien's face which made his insides tighten a little.
"Take care," the priest said softly. "Now that they know...they could be anywhere."
Damien didn't need to ask who "they" were. Instead, he nodded, and left the room, finding his own way to the door outside. It was already starting to grow somewhat darker, and fireflies were flickering out over the lawn as he opened his car door. He got inside and slammed it, staring out the windshield for a moment or two before putting in his key and starting the ignition. He rubbed his eyes.
He had a feeling he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight, yet again.
Continue:
"4: Derrick" 
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