Sojourn

‘I’ll tell you what I remember. I remember being woken up very early in the morning by an ungodly commotion. Harry was pounding on the door; Helena was crying hysterically. You broke your wrist putting it through the wall. I noticed the scars on your hands. It wasn’t your first time,’ he grinned, an awful grin. ‘Funny thing about Harry when it comes to you. He is intelligent and observant on the whole, but with you, he hasn't figured it out. It would never even cross his mind. Even now you could tell him and he wouldn’t believe you. But I figured it out. You could not be sure, in your intoxicated condition, what you might have done to his daughter; or more to the point, what you would have enjoyed doing to her. She was so young and innocent, yet so ready and willing to explore love. The storm had frightened her. It always did. Harry wasn’t home, so she had gone to you, her other father, curling in so softly, so tenderly. She would have, you know; given into you. Lovely dream, isn't it? Her, settling in your bed, wanting children with you, wanting to marry you, to have a life with you. Harry has been afraid of that very notion for years. Did you? I couldn’t be sure,’ he jeered. ‘Miss Valetto, on the other hand; now that was a treat not meant for marriage. You judge yourself way to harshly, John. Of what use are they if not to surrender under our desires? I almost had her myself, but then I didn't want to spoil her before she came to you. You would not have liked her then; if she were used. Consider it a gift, for our,’ he paused, trying to find the right words, ‘relationship. No hard feelings.’ Willow stood, no longer against the wall, but in front of the archway facing a different kind of demon than the one that possessed him; a shadowy reflection of himself unchecked. Samuel Damon, though a beast by any other name, still paled in comparison to the evil Damon had unwittingly unleashed with his game. Willow had his answer, though it changed nothing. The gates of hell had been opened and the demon released; loosed upon the quiet streets of an unsuspecting world. He was too old this time to chain it down. It was too late for regret or careful inspection of the locks. Thirty years of sleep and confinement had been undone. Damon had not noticed that Willow had removed his coat, but he had; nor did he notice that Willow had meticulously rolled his sleeves. They stood, devil and fiend, face to face; the energy and enjoyment of youth and the calm dignity of age. ‘It was the blood,’ Willow put forth as a matter of informational correction as Damon washed the soap from his face. ‘Blood?’ ‘The thing that induced my fear the night she crawled next to me. Unfortunate timing on her part and mental impairment on my part, having had too much to drink and too many wild dreams as a result. You are right; I could not be sure of what I may have done. The blood was upon me none-the-less and I was,’ he stopped at propriety. ‘The blooding: the smearing of the first blood, when a boy becomes a complete man, having been marked with the blood of his pray, taking him to a whole man through understanding of his acts,’ he explained, stepping into the shower and tightening down the water nozzle to a small flowing stream; watching the water pour into the drain like a river flowing out to sea. ‘See how the water ebbs and flows, even without the tide,’ he wandered; his thoughts seemingly somewhere else in his mind. ‘I do not permit anyone to threaten or harm my family. You should have remembered that,’ Willow said as he turned around to face Damon, who suddenly felt a sharp pain across his midsection. The pain was unrecognisable at first, but quickly growing in severity. Willow's expression remained unaltered, as if unaware of any affliction, further confusing the mind and senses. Yet, looking down at the flowing water, it was now tainted with bright red, washing into the drain, back into the sea. He had been cut, marked in Masonic fashion, though no dagger or knife could be seen. It hurt, stinging against the cold away from the warmth of the water, but if that was all Willow had in him, it would suffice as payment for his release. Before Damon could force his mind into accepting the clues, Willow forcibly, yet without inflection of any kind, thrust his fist into the last layers of skin and opened the incision, bursting out a portion of intestine and entrails, lifting them casually and unaffectedly up for Damon to view before scattering them to the North wall. What Willow was chanting or saying to him no longer seemed to register in Damon's mind too shocked to grasp the significance, even as Willow stretched forth his hand to grasp the second and third fistful of organs, innards and bowels, scattering each handful to another point of the compass, even against Damon's hand clutching at him to stop, slumped against the wall of the showers watching his own blood pour into the drain and his innards scattered to the four points of the earth. ‘In retrospect, Sam,’ Willow picked up the conversation as if nothing had transpired, collecting a towel after running his hands under the water, ‘though Miss Valetto was most satisfactory, it might have been best not to have opened those gates,’ he continued, cleansing the blood from his hands before squatting down to face him. ‘And I will tell you a little secret, in appreciation for your kind gift. You were after his power, but Harry does not hold the true power. He is a figurehead in a meaningless society created for the very purpose it served, to protect us. And I'll tell you something else, about the stone. It wasn't meant for either Stratford or me. It was only to remind us of what we had forgotten. The stone can never break the true Masons, only our illusionary faction. Searching for the word of God never ends. Ballard didn't ask Harry to come to for the stone, but rather to meet me. Ballard wanted us to mend our differences and thus mend our power. The Templar and the Mason, the true power of the Brotherhood,’ he explained. Willow then leaned in close, seeing that Damon had but moments to live, coughing out those final gasps of air. He took Damon's head in his hands gently; caressing his hair much like one would a lover. ‘Would you like to know the name of the true First Grand Principle, who rules England under the hand of the Grand Master Builder, the one who guides the hand of their Majesties and the rest of the world? Or better still, the next Grand Master Builder, who will bear the stone and change the world?’ Leaning in closer still, drawing his lips softly against Damon's ear, he whispered the name and then drew his hand tenderly, as a father would his son, across each of Damon's cheeks, marking him with blood. Damon's eyes grew wide at the hearing of it, glazing over in horrific revelation as he sank into death, with the truth the entire world sought to know. Damon had indeed received the Blooding, bringing him from boyhood ignorance to the knowledge of manhood, even unto death. Willow stood up, stepping out of the flowing river of water and blood, wiping the blood from his hands and thrusting the towel onto the bench. Rolling down his sleeves he called out for Inspector Sanders, who quickly unlocked the outer gates and cell doors, making his way down the hall and into the showers, just as Willow drew on his coat and straightened his tie in the mirror, unaffectedly. Sanders, on the other hand, rushed into the shower stall only to be confronted with the sight, finding him instantly vomiting where he stood. It seemed too inconceivable for him to have stood so, collecting his cane and replacing his hat on his head before turning to Sanders.