Beauty of Darkness (Elijah Mikaelson)

Chapter 11

Nothing made sense. I must've stared at that page with a locked gaze for at least 15 minutes without looking away. I analyzed that photo with so much intensity that my eyes watered from lack of blinking. 

Is it photoshop? A doppelgänger? Has my mind finally shut down?

I quickly turned to the front of the book to check when it had been published. I had a momentary feeling of relief when I realized that this could be some photoshopped gag. If Elijah has cronies crawling in the French Quarter, what's stopping him from photoshopping books and putting them in bookstores? Crazy, I know. But, at this point, could I really rely on rational thoughts? I had to explain this anyway I could: No matter how ludicrous it seemed.

After reaching the front cover of the book, my short wave of relief turned into disbelief once again. 

Copyright: 1977; Louisiana Publishing Association.

That short phrase ruled out any of the remaining solutions that didn't entail a plot line similar to Back to the Future. And, telling from the dust that coated my hands, this book hasn't seen the light of day since its shipment to the bookstore however many years ago.

With an open mouth, all I could do was go back to examining. 

The caption was right in front of me. Clear as day. I had barely passed enough history classes to know that 1919 was a LONG-ASS time ago. Not just a long time ago, BEFORE WW2 LONG TIME AGO!

The book rested in my hands. I saw it. I felt it. I examined and flipped every individual page of that book, ensuring that I hadn't somehow imagined what I was holding. Elijah was on that page. His hair. His eyes. His face. Was it blurry? Yes. But he was there. And, to make it even worse, he was still his evil, almost god-like self. His jaw was still sharp as ever in the faded, black-and-white picture. Even if he had miraculously survived more than one hundred years, wouldn't be decaying in a wheelchair? Or at least LOOK somewhat old?

My confusion turned to fear. If this man was capable of witchcraft, time travel, or anything of that nature, he was capable of doing something to Cami even worse than I could ever imagine. And while I'm staring at this book, I'm only buying this supernatural freak more time. 

Supernatural. The word rang like church-bells in my mind.

I had never been religious, but the only way I could figure this out was with someone who believed in the impossible. Someone who is morally obligated to hear out my story of a time-traveling, beautiful, and sociopathic mafia boss (or whatever Elijah was). I snapped from the bench, picked up my things, and quickly typed the directions to St. Anne's. 

I had a locked trajectory in on the ornate cathedral like one of those lions from those Animal Planet documentaries. I must've bumped into thirty people, building posts, and sidewalks during my rampage. I didn't care. I would go absolutely mad if I didn't get answers.

I flung open the doors of the church. Obviously, I must've looked like the devil incarnate walking into the entranceway. I was dripping in sweat, my hair was in knots, and I had a look on my face similar to that of someone in a straight jacket. 

"Can I help you? The church is closed."

My eyes darted in the direction of the sound. A middle-aged, average looking white man in a t-shirt at least ten years old looked at me with confusion and a hint of anger. Obviously, from the looks of the walls, pews, and flooring, he wasn't expecting visitors.

I mumbled a hello, jogging over to where the man was standing. I quickly assured him I had a quick question, and apologized for barging in. 

"Could I speak to Father Kieran? It's very important."

He examined me, judging every flaw and imperfection. His gaze pierced into my soul a way I didn't even know possible.

"You're speaking to him." He replied angrily.

Great. You thought the one person who could help you was the janitor. Awesome start, Wynter.

I apologized yet again, following him as he tried to walk away from me and move towards the altar. I repeated that this would only take a minute, and begged like a toddler at the candy store. I wasn't going down without a fight.

"No! Leave me alone!" He snapped in an even harsher tone.

He quickly maneuvered his way past me and ran towards his office door that was adorned with a heavy lock. This was my final chance.

"It's about Cami!" I screamed, hoping to get any reaction out of him.

The sentence stopped him in his tracks. He eased his grip from the iron doorknob, and slowly turned his head towards me.  His face turned sour, and he ran towards me with the force of an NFL linebacker.

Not getting a chance to dodge, he grabbed me with full force and slammed me against the adjacent wall. I felt my bones in my back crack, and the seemingly innocent priest had a cast-iron grip on my shoulders.

"WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT CAMI? WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HER?" Kieran yelled so loud that the pigeons resting on the church's beams flew away out of fear. I felt the ground nearly shake beneath me.

Riddled with fear and with adrenaline pumping through my veins, I replied in a shaking voice.

"I....I know that Elijah has her."

As quickly as it turned originally, Kieran's face went from rage to pure shock. His eyes widened, and his grip immediately loosened.

"You never say that name. Forget you know Cami. Forget you met me. And, for your own sake, NEVER say that name again" He warned in a harsh tone.

Kieran ran away from me, nearly sprinting to the front of the church. I heard him mumbling something to himself, grabbing his shabby coat, and flinging the massive doors of St. Anne's open.

I sat with a hurt back on the stained, stone steps of the altar. 

I cradled my neck in my hand and I rested my head on my knee. I shouldn't have moved here. I shouldn't have stuck my nose in this to begin with. I should've just stayed in my lane, and let this situation play out naturally. What did I think I was going to do? Be Cami's white knight? Save her from the talons of some shape-shifting, alien, time traveler crime boss? Who apparently has every person in the Quarter working for him, knowing his secrets, and silently obeying him?

Failure washed over me. I was officially at rock bottom.

I turned to look at the altar and started praying. Right after the accident, I tried praying for months. Praying to take the pain away. Praying to bring her back. Nothing came.

I thought that prayer had failed me. I thought that the divine had failed me. But, in my darkest hour, all I could do was pray. Pray for answers. Pray that Cami would be okay.

As I sat on the altar with my head in my folded hands, I felt a gush of air behind me. A breeze so powerful it almost knocked me off the steps. I regained my balance, looking behind me with a shocked gaze. Had my prayers been answered? Had an angel come to save Cami and I?

I looked up and felt my heart stop as I saw a man standing behind me. Flaunting a leather jacket, combat boots, and an evil grin, he looked at me like lamb before the slaughter.

He sank to my level. He stroked my hair, still wearing that horrifying smile. His touch was gentle, but his face told a different story. His glistening, dirty-blonde hair contrasted his jet-black eyes. All I could do was stare in shock.

"Hello, love."

An accent. The same as the accent Elijah had.

I was done for. Elijah knew that I was on to him. He knew I had been snooping. He knew I didn't obey him like everyone else in this town apparently did. I watched enough mob movies with my dad to know that people like Elijah don't let people who disobey them carry on. My heart sank as I watched his terminator-wannabe henchman stroke my knotted hair, knowing that this would be my final moment.

I whispered I love you to my sister as I felt the world turn black.