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<center>http://www.the11thhour.com/archives/...emon_byrne.jpg
Lovely girl, you're the beauty in my world
Without you, there aren't reasons left to find
And you'll pull your crooked teeth
You'll be perfect just like me
You'll be a lover in my bed
And a gun to my head
Lovely girl, you're the murder in my world
Dressing coffins for the souls I've left to die
Drinking mercury to the mystery
Of all that you should ever seek to find
In time
In you I see dirty
In you I count stars
In you I feel so pretty
In you I taste God</center>
(s.p)
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The sky had loomed in a translucent gray while the heavy scorching ball of the sun burned cold in the bitter chill of impending winter. Even now as the moon hung pregnant heavy in the sky, that same gray spread itself over the light and forced him to rely on street lamps which shone like fading stars, to guide him home. He hurried with the small steps of an elderly man as his spine curved forward just slightly while fingers fumbled to find the keys that would let him inside of his brownstone. The lock was turned quickly as he shifted old eyes over his shoulder. He swung himself inside and fumbled to lock up the door again before he let out a sigh of relief along with a slightly breathless laugh.
"Someone following you, Ian?"
The voice made the old man jump as he fumbled for the light switch, turning it on to expose the shadow of a man that still haunted him. He clutched a hand to his chest as he spoke, "Christ!"
"Not quite."
"Gabriel," Ian continued. "You nearly gave me a heart attack! Wh..How...How did you get in?"
Gabriel spun the key between the tips of gloved indexes as eyes narrowed on the cold metal before he replied, "You leave your keys in the most obvious of places."
"That's the ar--"
Gabriel waved a hand to stifle the man's voice as the key was extended slowly.
"I know how it is, but that doesn't make it any less obvious," He scoffed. "A priest would hide a key underneath an angel's skirt."
"Let's not talk of such things," Ian replied in the weathered accent of English blood that had been sullied over the years with American soil. "Why are you here?"
"Does it make you nervous?" Gabriel responded before he walked back to sit in the front room of Ian's old house, spreading gloved fingers slowly along the armrest.
"Why would it make me nervous?" Ian replied as he pulled the scarf from around his neck before he shed his coat and hung them in the closet. He then walked back to the room where Gabriel had seated himself and chose to open the small liquor cabinet rather than sit.
"You're reaching for your vice," Gabriel responded with a smirk.
"To settle my nerves, I've had a long day." Ian narrowed eyes at him and attempted to steady his hand as he poured two glasses.
"Nuns coming onto you again?"
"No, the diocese." Ian snapped before he extended the glass to Gabriel. When it was taken, he waved his hand before he continued. "I'd rather not think about it now."
"You know," Gabriel constricted his fingers around the glass as he spoke. "That could disappear if you asked it of me."
"You know that I cannot."
"Suit yourself," Gabriel shrugged and took a long drink from the glass.
"What is it you came here for, exactly?" Ian spoke calmly and though he had poured himself a glass of wine, he merely held it in his hand as a crutch.
"To confess, why else would a man come to a priest?" Gabriel's words were in a mocking flux when they rolled from his tongue. "You are, after all, still wearing the clerical collar."
"They have lattice for these types of confessions Gabriel, you'd do much better behind one," Ian stated calmly before he folded into one of the chairs in his front room.
"Would I, or would you Father?"
"A bit of both, I suppose."
"I was never one to hide behind something when I could just as easily admit my faults. Can you say the same for yourself?"
"My faults are the reason I still wear the cloth, devotion is a redirected form of self-progression."
"Or self-advancement."
"Gabriel," Ian sighed heavily. "I would like to think of us as friends."
"You make think what you like," Gabriel retorted. "But should the time come, I will put a bullet in your chest just as easily as I would welcome it to my own."
The words Gabriel spoke sent a slight shiver up Ian's spine. Never, in their time of acquaintance, had he ever been able to stomach that fact. Gabriel was a man who showed, in his own detached way, all of the affection and loyalty that a great friend might. Yet, given the instruction, he would easily end Ian's life with no remorse.
"Ah, so your friendship is bought by the dollar I see," Ian responded slowly, finally taking a sip from his glass.
"A pound of flesh, is a pound of flesh any way you slice it, I just happen to be the butcher's knife," Gabriel spoke as he shrugged even.
"What is it that you really came here for, Gabriel? It wasn't to confess nor was it to enjoy my company."
"But it is to confess," Gabriel spoke slowly. "In younger days I was more careless than I am now, which is not to say that I was never as precise. I just didn't take into account that windows could be occupied on winter's nights. I have, in my life, done many terrible things. Some of which I am not proud of, others of which I am quite prideful in. This, however, is something that roots in me much deeper than that.
"I followed a man home from his office as I had for several months, but I knew that our game of man and shadow was ending. The winter there was mild in comparison to the winter I feel now, I remember it clearly. Snow fell from the sky like tiny imperfections that made Silent Night seem more of an anthem than a hymnal. The snow was soft, it muted my footsteps as I stopped him.
"The words we spoke are not important, only what happened afterward. I sent a bullet into his chest -- fast moving like lightning when it exploded from the barrel of the gun. His chest blew open like some rare moth pinioned down for dissection and as his blood smeared the snow in thick sinews when he fell away from me, I remember wondering why he had to soil it. Why did he have to be so selfish in his death?
"His wife followed out soon after and her death was just as quick, I shot her between her eyes which were saucer-wide. I don't remember their color only the glassy way in which the whites rolled under lids. I stepped over her body because I could hear the chaotic noise of a scream behind her. You learn when you're young not to leave survivors. They are expenditures that you cannot allow yourself. I walked back to the nursery where a small child lay curled in a ball with her hands over her ears and her eyes cinched shut.
"Slowly, I pulled her hands from her ears and quieted her, though she refused to open her eyes. I told her that she was going to come with me, though I had no intention of killing her, I had no intention of keeping her either. With her eyes closed, I picked her up and carried her from the house as if it were on fire. Her crying subsided, but she refused to say anything to me. When we had walked far enough from her home, I set her down in a pool of light cast from a streetlamp.
"I brushed her hair from swollen cheeks and told her to open her eyes. She smeared the backs of her hands before she opened them and that is when I knew. Father, I don't expect you to understand when I say this, but her eyes were mine. This pale unforgiving blue color that sometimes bit with bitter envy as I learned later when she came to full fruition. I couldn't bear to part with her, because inside of that small child I saw myself."
When Gabriel stopped speaking, Ian took in a deep breath to say something, but found himself at a loss for words. It took a few moments before he struggled out a sentence.
"What..What happened to the girl?"
"She grew up into a mirror image of me," Gabriel spoke calmly.
"And is that sentiment I hear in your voice?" Ian asked quietly.
"I will kill her, Father. Make no mistake about that, I've only come to request that you hold service for her burial."
"The damned will never make it into Heaven, Gabriel. You know that."
"I only want you to make sure she's dead when you lower her in the ground," Gabriel set the glass on the table and stood. "I've already watched her die once, I hate the feeling of ghosts lingering over my shoulder."
-
The vile of blood was held up to the bitter rind of an afternoon sun that filtered through slightly opaque windows. Nails tapped against the glass lightly as if it would help to thin the dark liquid within its confines before she pressed a cigarette to her lips, staining the filter coral. When she laughed, it came out with a plume of smoke as she shook her head and slid the vile back across the dark wood of the table.
"Ohh Gabriel," she sighed. "Honestly."
"You wouldn't understand our relationship," Gabriel responded with a sharp snap of his tongue.
"What's so difficult? It's a lot like the female version of Oedipus, or would you prefer her to be more like Lady Macbeth?"
"I did not come here to listen to you prattle out of jealousy, Caroline." Gabriel tapped fingers on the counter before he took back his prize.
"No, you came here because I asked you to," Caroline said as she angled herself toward the desk like a business woman. "Because I have a proposition for you."
"You always have a proposition for me, and I always turn down your charity."
"You'd prefer me if I were half your age and brunette I think."
"No," Gabriel replied slowly. "I still wouldn't."
"What, exactly is it that you find so appealing about her anyway? She's a rat you saved from the gutter where she eventually wound up anyway," Caroline spoke haughtily as she tapped ash into the tray.
"What do you find so appealing in asking about my personal life? I'm here to do business not hold a conversation."
"Mm, you're right. You lack that skill, among others."
"Like what?"
"Self-control for starters."
Gabriel leaned in the chair with a faint smirk as the light washed over his eyes -- turning them cadaverously pale. Hands settled easily on the armrests as he regarded Caroline in her regal posture. Most people tended to take that position when they believed that they were in control. It was a manipulation game -- one that required an unmatched amount of patience on his part.
"I see. What else?"
"Why," Caroline leaned heavy on the desk, propped up on elbows. "Is it that I can't ever get you to at least consider my propositions?"
"Because I could never take a whore seriously," Gabriel answered her easily as he tugged at the leather that encased his palms.
"You wound me, Gabriel. You really do." She fanned a palm over her heart as she spoke.
"I cannot wound the heartless."
"Touche," Caroline responded with a grin before she slid a manilla folder across the table for him to examine. "Your mark."
Gabriel looked over the file closely before he reached into the breast pocket of his coat as if he were searching for a pen. The gun was pulled out simultaneously and he shot her through her right eye. Her head tipped back and splattered a halo of blood on the opposing wall before he plugged her in her chest. His gun was tucked back into his pocket with the silencer still on it before he pulled out his knife and pried the warm slugs from their places in the wall. Once they had been safely tucked inside the pocket of his coat he tilted her face toward him with a gloved hand and smirked at his masterpiece.
"Mark acquired. Jealousy never was your strong suit."
