Pilazzo, feeling the rosary beads slowing down against his seeking fingers, said, "And you opened it."
Jyro nodded grimly. "And released all Hell on earth." He gazed about the room. Pale, frightened faces stared back at him. "But…I didn't mean to…and if it hadn't been me, then the workers would have done it—I'm certain of this. The evil in the crate was calling to them…just as something good had been calling to me."
Something is calling me, and I must follow…
He paused, defeated, then added more quietly but no less seriously, "Something
good
has us under its control." He motioned a hand toward the others in the room. "It has a purpose for all of us. I believe mine was to retrieve the rosary from the crate, and find its rightful carrier. Father, it's no coincidence that all of us, at one point in our lives, had been altar boys and ministers."
Pilazzo asked in a low hoarse voice, "What happened when you opened the crate?"
Jyro blew out a nervous gush of foul breath. "It'd taken me a while…there was a layer of cement a foot or so deep just above the top. I dug around it until it eventually fell free from the earth. When I opened it I found two crumbling burlap cloths. I unwrapped the first one and found the rosary. I put it in my pocket and reached for the second cloth. Inside was the chalice."
Pilazzo looked around and noticed the homeless men listening to Jyro's rehashing of the events. Apparently this was the first time they'd heard all this too. Their eyes were like barrels, faces drawn with alarm.
"The chalice was hot to the touch. I let go of it, but it didn't fall to the floor. It floated up to a spot just above the center of the hole, where it remained. I was stunned. There was no way I could get to it.
"What about the rosary?" Pilazzo asked. Upon mentioning it, they became warm to the touch against his clenching hand.
"It'd started moving around in my pocket…I could feel it. I climbed out of the hole. The chalice…it had started spinning and from within it a bright light filled the room. I felt dizzy and heard what sounded like raging fires. I remember the sound filling my ears with a pressure that hurt like hell. A hot wind sprung up that stunk of something awful, and I could do nothing but stagger out into the hallway, fearing for my life. Eventually I found my way back upstairs with the rosary. The next thing I remember is waking up in the hallway, the rosary clutched in my hands. I went into the bathroom to examine it, and when I came out, Timothy was there."
Pilazzo made no comment; it seemed he now had the entire account that went down while he was out in the streets. He glanced back at the unmoving crowd. All eyes were upon him. He grinned uncomfortably.
Suddenly, Pilazzo felt a sudden need to examine the charm alone, to seek an answer in its beads and tiny dangling charms. They called to him, just as they had earlier in the church. An inexplicable feeling of impending achievement filled him, converse to the events at hand. Could victory really be found in the beads?
"How much time do you think we have?" he asked Jyro.
The vagrant shrugged, stepped closer to the priest and spoke quietly, "Father…the workers are growing stronger; the beast has them in his command. You heard the radio reports. It is using them to spread chaos throughout the city. I fear what they are truly capable of."
Another explosion outside rocked the building. The exposed lamps in the ceiling swayed gently in its wake. Wrath and Dallas staggered against the wall to avoid falling down, chests heaving.
"What is going to happen to
us
?" Wilson shouted. "I don't want to fuckin' die, man."
"We will wait for the priest's command," Timothy answered.
A series of grunts and protests emerged from the frail group.
Timothy spread his arms out in question. "If anyone has another suggestion, I'm all ears."
"How?" Pilazzo uttered, gripping the rosary, feeling a sudden surge of power, of strength.
Of command…
Timothy said, "You are the sinless one and we are here to support and defend you. God has called upon you to lead his army against evil. Come…we must prepare for the battle ahead."
T
hey went upstairs to the bedroom, where they milled about in a loose group, Rollo and Marcus at the door, Dallas and Seymour leaning against the wall. Wilson and Wrath stood out in the hallway, respectively armed with a hacksaw and a screwdriver. Jyro and Timothy led Pilazzo to one of the beds and told him to sit and rest. "Spend some time in prayer," Timothy said. "Try to find out what we should do next."
"Tell us where to find the Chalice," Jyro added.
Pilazzo shuddered as he sat down on what used to be his own bed. He placed a hand on the soiled mattress, feeling immediate waves of dismay. At one time the room had smelled of incense and soap; now it reeked of body odor, urine, spoiled food.
He performed the sign of the cross and searched the room for an unblemished feature of his past. Nothing proved itself memorable, putting aside the silver crucifix that sat crookedly on the wall like a wounded soldier.
Jyro said, "Pray, father. You must be clean of mind and soul in order to confront the beast."
Pilazzo peered up at the vagrant, stricken with panic. "Confront the beast?"
Jyro nodded.
"How do you know this is what I am—?"
"The rosary," he said. "The rosary."
Pilazzo nodded. He felt the warmth of the charm in his pocket, and knew. Both Jyro and Timothy had had it in their possession at one point, and were given a slice of knowledge to the dilemma at hand. With it he saw things and felt things all too powerful to be ignored.
Shall my possession of the charm lend me the wisdom to defeat what is now wrong in the world?
Pilazzo thought back to his first moments with the rosary, recalling again how the rosary had triggered some form of determination in him—a want to unearth an answer in its network of beads and charms. These feelings had been powerful, indisputable, could not be ignored.
Will this happen again?
Timothy said, "The rosary contains the power of God. You need only to seek one answer in it: the means to fetter the beast once again. This I know because…because God has told me."
Pilazzo gazed at Timothy with awe. His thoughts moved back to his moments in the rectory of Holy Innocents and how his experience there had transformed his lifelong image of God from an iconic, spiritual essence to
real
, a sentient, omnipotent being watching over him—that had delivered a message of appeal to him.
"You spoke with God?" The once senseless question seemed all too vital now, all too valid.
Fixing the priest's gaze, Timothy said, "God has delivered to me a message, and I have followed it."
Pilazzo nodded, trembling hands folded insecurely in his lap. "If I had not seen His message with my very own eyes…"
Your church awaits you…
Timothy nodded fervently, eyes rolling about the room with no intended direction, as if following ghosts. "Evil is running rampant outside...God knows what atrocities the beast has in store for mankind. Father…it is your game now. Seek an answer in the rosary. When you are prepared to confront the beast, call us, and we shall support you."
Pilazzo nodded in understanding despite the flood of denial consuming him.
How do I prepare for this?
Again Monsignor Sanchez's voice answered:
Follow the message that God delivers to you. Heed His word and do your part to bring down the evil that promises man the end of days…
Jyro limped from the room, Timothy and the others following in silence.
"Where are you going?" Pilazzo asked, anxious and concerned.
Timothy said, "We will be right here in the hallway, waiting for you."
They shut the door behind them, leaving Father Anthony Pilazzo alone, sitting on the edge of his moldy bed, the remedy for the world's malady shifting soothingly in his pocket.
P
ilazzo stood and stretched. His bones popped loudly, his muscles twitched painfully. He reached into his pocket, carefully removed the rosary, then held it up in front of his face and stared at it curiously. It
was
spectacular, much larger than your average dime-store beads, hand carved of raw wood that should have deteriorated years ago. There were five charms dangling from the circular procession, small wooden stars and a single cross meticulously carved about the fine metal wire interconnecting the entire array. He toyed with it slightly, just as he had at the altar upon first examining it.
Immediately he felt its magnetism, a fresh attraction of irrefutable significance; its purpose, Pilazzo suddenly knew, would be revealed now that it was in the seeking hands of the sinless one.
He let the rosary rain down through his fingers, his palms. The beads danced of their own accord, as though seeking a comfortable position in which to settle before commencing with the daunting task at hand. It grew warm to the touch, glowing faintly crimson. His hands became translucent, their inner workings visible to his disbelieving eyes: he could see the flow of blood rushing fervently through his veins; the tight striation of his flexing muscles and tendons as his fingers blindly massaged the beads. Alone at last with God's ultimate weapon against evil, the utmost in goodness, he found himself making sudden progress toward his undisclosed fate. His vision blurred…but his driving instincts heightened to previously unfelt levels, allowing him to further his progress. The beads slithered quickly against his grasp now, as if they sought to assist in the release of their very own purpose. Pilazzo felt wholly encouraged by his immediate progress, working harder against the smooth grain of wood, feelings of imminent triumph alighting upon his eager soul.
His mind's eye began to imagine the rosary as something sentient, and in doing so he was able to obey its direct command to sit back down on the bed. Tiny sparks of electricity danced along the surface of the glowing beads, igniting in flashes as they grew more distinct, more colorful. Pinpoint lights emerged, seeping redly out from the grain of the wood onto his fingers like drops of rain, guiding them to move upon the relic with determined precision. The redness enveloped his translucent hands, all the way to his wrists were he could see the tiny bones there triggering in their decisive movements.
He could hear the pounding rush of blood in his body, the exploding surge as it escaped his heart and bulleted into his brain.
Yes
he sensed.
I am the Sinless One, and I am mastering God's all powerful weapon. He has chosen me to be His army of one. I shall carry the world away from judgment day.
He gazed hard at the rosary. It pressed and pulled at his willing fingers, caressing the charms against his skin. The red light spread to his elbows, his hands now completely buried in the aural glow. He peered deeply into it…and saw something that wasn't his hands.
Fires…I see fires rising.
His heart beat out an anxious rhythm against his chest. He prayed aloud, but could not hear himself, the pounding now making its way into his head, deafening him. A sudden force of wind sprung up from his clasped hands and whipped harshly against his ears. He expressed his instant fear with a failed attempt to scream. The air felt dense, thick like smoke that stifled his ability to breath. His bewildered eyes sprouted acid tears.
I can feel the fires…they're burning me! And I can see them, and they are burning down all that I know, all that I have ever known…
…and in the surge of agony consuming him, the ruined landscape reappears around him and his mother stands before the open entrance to the Church of St Peter. She is naked and charred amid a blossom of flames rising about her, her skin sloughing off in blistering slabs, her blood pooling out onto the ashes, winding about the charcoal ground in vein-like branches, flowing toward him, twisting up his legs like tentacles and amassing into pools at the center of his open palms.
He gazes to his mother and watches as she pleads with him, her eyes melting from their sockets over her skinless face. "Antonio, he needs you. Do as He says…"
From out of the ashes, a rabid Doberman appears, muzzle spraying thick white foam as it barks furiously. Behind the dog, the Manhattan skyline appears in the distant, its buildings buried in red flames and billows of black smoke.
And the dog keeps on barking, growing stronger, fiercer, and more confident…
Vicious pain rips through his hands and feet as though heavy iron spikes are being driven through them. His mother's form is no more than a pile of ash and bones on the ground.
In agony, he raises his face to the blackened skies and screams toward the fires rising high over the ruined buildings of New York City…
T
he door to the room slammed open, the wood splintering upon impact.
Everything disappeared: the landscape, the wind, the pain. He peered up through eyes damp with tears, his sights still blurred, the real world returning slowly and clumsily. Jyro and Timothy appeared in the doorway, Wrath immediately behind them.