Marker of Faith

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 38

John quietly drew Minerva aside while Roddy and Rattle tried to relax in the living room. Everyone was showered, washed clean of the blood, filth and horror of the day, but their bodies and minds were still weary. Even the laughter was gone.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Minerva was wrapped up in one of his old terry cloth robes while her clothes dried. "My washing's almost done, so let's talk in there." She pointed to the tiny laundry room, casting a furtive glance at Rattle.

The old man looked so tired that she just wanted to lay his head on her lap and make him sleep again. Minerva already knew he wouldn't allow it, once without asking was crossing the line and she made a promise not to, anyhow. She'd caught glimpses of his ordeal in Vietnam, the multiple years of violence and pain, even the first contact with the shadows. Minerva hadn't meant to because that would be a dire violation of the man's privacy, but the memories seemed permanently etched at the front of Rattle's thoughts now. Powerless to fight the torture, helpless as he watched his friends die horribly, that loss of control left the man wound tight and bound in misery and guilt. There was also the mystery of his past, his path denied him. It all radiated off the old man in waves that assaulted Minerva every time she looked at him. She'd started shielding herself from his thoughts, but little trickles still seeped in.

It wracked the old man even now. He'd tried talking to Minerva about it all, but there was so much and not enough time to soothe away the pain. Besides, Rattle didn't want the others to know anything yet. All Minerva could do was let Rattle talk. He had to work through it on his own.

Rattle was so terrified of seeing John, Roddy or even herself get hurt or killed, that he felt paralyzed and inept; like all the misery of the Old Ones' assault was his fault. Rattle was a warrior, in the truest sense of the word, something that he was destined to be before birth, but the knowledge was a burden the old man didn't want to carry.

None of us do, sugar...but we abide the best we can, Minerva thought as she watched the old man fondly. Rattle raised his head and locked eyes with her briefly. She nodded to him as she grabbed John's arm and pulled him quickly into the laundry room after her.

John leaned back against the washing machine, watching Minerva fuss with her clothes as he gathered his thoughts.

"I had a dream the night before all of this stuff started happening," he mumbled.

Finally! "Uh-huh." Minerva pulled her shirt and pants out of the dryer with a snap while giving John a sidelong glance. "You want to know who the little girl was."

"How did you know? Have you seen her, too?"

"Naw, not her. She was extra special just for you. A manifestation of what the Old Ones thought would scare you the most."

"I've had lots of dreams about this stuff over the years, but I couldn't entirely hold onto them. Now that I can actually remember that particular dream, she was creepy as hell." John shuddered, crossing his arms. "She kind of reminded me of a kidnap/assault case I worked when I first joined Homicide. We finally found the little girl, what was left, in an abandoned warehouse down by the river. I'm the one who caught the sick fuck that did it, too. That case still haunts me...." John's voice trailed off.

"I'm sure. And I'm sorry but creepy is what they good at," Minerva said mirthlessly. "My dream visitors always are, too. The Old Ones like to twist something in your gut when they send a message. You won't see her again." She held up her pants, frowning at a bloodstain that survived the cleaning.