gazed back toward Jyro, mouth agape.
Jyro narrowed his eyes. His bond with the boy was stronger now, delivering to them both a trace of comfort amid the gathering doom. If they could reach into each other's minds, the same thoughts would emerge: We were meant to be. It is a calling from God. We've no choice now but to heed His word, receive his messages.
In a voice slightly louder than a whimper, Timothy said, "The rosary…"
There was a moment's hesitation, and then Jyro replied, "Perhaps the thief is the one," wholly unbelieving in himself as the message from the rosary reasserted itself into his mind: One holds darkness, one holds light, the mother of God's protection against evil is man's only hope. Find the sinless one…
Find him…
From the inside the bathroom, a quick succession of bangings struck the door, as though Larry had finally slipped free of his trance and with terror had found himself in a place and position he had no memory of putting himself in. A long, fading gurgle sounded, like that of a man trying to yell with a mouth full of hot soup, then tapered down. Soon thereafter, silence prevailed, setting the room into an aura of threat.
Jyro performed a quick head count. Everyone was out in the hallway now, gathered against the wall, looking to him for some sort of guidance, as useless as it might be. Marcus was trembling, staring at the floor as he sucked nervously on a Winston; Rollo had his eyes closed and was holding his tattered bible to his chest, mumbling to himself; Wrath and Weston, bodyguards by their own right, were looking toward the bathroom door, eyes narrowed, muscles flexing, seemingly prepared should Larry come barreling out. There was the old tattooed man, the young dreadlocked man, and the lanky man with the broken glasses who was still by the banister on the landing, clutching it like a squirrel on a tree branch. And then, the silent albino, who remained trembling in the bedroom doorway like an injured rabbit, red eyes cast downward.
What a crew, Jyro thought, realizing suddenly that his experience in the bathroom had made him, by default, their leader, with Timothy second in command.
Little did the others know that it was he who may have brought all this havoc into their lives.
Jyro turned and looked toward Timothy. Despite being covered in sewage, the boy stood tall, seemingly prepared for whatever evils lay in the perilous road ahead. He looks like one of us now , Jyro thought, scanning the others in the room, his army
(an army of tattered men)
standing crookedly before him like a cluster of forgotten mannequins, lame and wretched. In the moment of winded silence that followed, Jyro thought back to the message that had been delivered to him and Timothy.
One holds darkness.
The chalice filled with fire.
One holds light, the mother of God's protection against evil is man's only hope.
The rosary.
Find the sinless one.
The one. The rightful possessor that will use the Rosary's power to bring down the evil that…
…and it is here that fragments of his dream slip back into him, of the faceless men who were burying the crate in the soil beneath the church, and as he'd slept he'd been able to hear himself uttering over and over again, The evil that promises man the end of days, and it is now that he remembers it, and sees its significance…
…promises man the end of days.
He focused upon Timothy's waiting gaze, the boy's eyes sharp beneath a mask of filth and fear. Without hesitation, he spoke with authority, the shaky fear lessened: "We were brought here by God to fight a war. All of us. And we will adhere to His command. Why us? I do not know. But there is a reason, for God never acts without just cause or purpose. We will uncover this purpose, and use it to gain strength against the evil that promises man the end of days!"
He waited here to see if any of the men would recognize the haunting phrase. They didn't. They all stood there unmoving, looking at him
Jyro narrowed his eyes. His bond with the boy was stronger now, delivering to them both a trace of comfort amid the gathering doom. If they could reach into each other's minds, the same thoughts would emerge: We were meant to be. It is a calling from God. We've no choice now but to heed His word, receive his messages.
In a voice slightly louder than a whimper, Timothy said, "The rosary…"
There was a moment's hesitation, and then Jyro replied, "Perhaps the thief is the one," wholly unbelieving in himself as the message from the rosary reasserted itself into his mind: One holds darkness, one holds light, the mother of God's protection against evil is man's only hope. Find the sinless one…
Find him…
From the inside the bathroom, a quick succession of bangings struck the door, as though Larry had finally slipped free of his trance and with terror had found himself in a place and position he had no memory of putting himself in. A long, fading gurgle sounded, like that of a man trying to yell with a mouth full of hot soup, then tapered down. Soon thereafter, silence prevailed, setting the room into an aura of threat.
Jyro performed a quick head count. Everyone was out in the hallway now, gathered against the wall, looking to him for some sort of guidance, as useless as it might be. Marcus was trembling, staring at the floor as he sucked nervously on a Winston; Rollo had his eyes closed and was holding his tattered bible to his chest, mumbling to himself; Wrath and Weston, bodyguards by their own right, were looking toward the bathroom door, eyes narrowed, muscles flexing, seemingly prepared should Larry come barreling out. There was the old tattooed man, the young dreadlocked man, and the lanky man with the broken glasses who was still by the banister on the landing, clutching it like a squirrel on a tree branch. And then, the silent albino, who remained trembling in the bedroom doorway like an injured rabbit, red eyes cast downward.
What a crew, Jyro thought, realizing suddenly that his experience in the bathroom had made him, by default, their leader, with Timothy second in command.
Little did the others know that it was he who may have brought all this havoc into their lives.
Jyro turned and looked toward Timothy. Despite being covered in sewage, the boy stood tall, seemingly prepared for whatever evils lay in the perilous road ahead. He looks like one of us now , Jyro thought, scanning the others in the room, his army
(an army of tattered men)
standing crookedly before him like a cluster of forgotten mannequins, lame and wretched. In the moment of winded silence that followed, Jyro thought back to the message that had been delivered to him and Timothy.
One holds darkness.
The chalice filled with fire.
One holds light, the mother of God's protection against evil is man's only hope.
The rosary.
Find the sinless one.
The one. The rightful possessor that will use the Rosary's power to bring down the evil that…
…and it is here that fragments of his dream slip back into him, of the faceless men who were burying the crate in the soil beneath the church, and as he'd slept he'd been able to hear himself uttering over and over again, The evil that promises man the end of days, and it is now that he remembers it, and sees its significance…
…promises man the end of days.
He focused upon Timothy's waiting gaze, the boy's eyes sharp beneath a mask of filth and fear. Without hesitation, he spoke with authority, the shaky fear lessened: "We were brought here by God to fight a war. All of us. And we will adhere to His command. Why us? I do not know. But there is a reason, for God never acts without just cause or purpose. We will uncover this purpose, and use it to gain strength against the evil that promises man the end of days!"
He waited here to see if any of the men would recognize the haunting phrase. They didn't. They all stood there unmoving, looking at him
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