Four Winds Of Heaven

Chapter Four

Nick-2001

His wrists are hurting again. Nick hasn’t started writing yet and already his hands are protesting what he’s about to do. He glances down at the insides of his wrists, just to make sure. Nope. No blood today, which surprises him considering how stressed he feels right now. Jesus is probably taking pity on him. You have enough to worry about today, buddy. I’ll let it slide.

Nick wonders why he still has the stigmata. The battle has been over for more than a year. He assumed that once they had accomplished what had been asked of them all the signs, visions and special gifts would stop.

Ah but it isn’t really over yet. Is it, Nicky? There is still this. This account to give them.

The four of them have dodged this last duty for over a year. One last unified act of defiance against the institution that nearly destroyed them. Cardinal Vittorino still holds some power over the other officials and he convinced the Vatican to give them the time they needed.

Brian’s daughter was born and then the calls started coming. Enough time has passed and no more would be allowed.

Still, the four of them stalled.

Nick stares at the blank sheet resting on the pale yellow blanket. It will never be over for the four of them. They each live with their private memories, private nightmares,hidden even from each other. Nick is glad they rarely talk about it. They see his bandaged wrists but never really comment. His pain is his own. He keeps it locked in the same private room where his memories of his old life have been exorcised to.

Nick rolls backward on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. The whirr of the black blade ceiling fan almost drowns out the sounds of Destiny’s Child coming from the living room below.

He wonders what his father would say if he saw the words Nick is struggling to write. This is harder than the dozens of times he has tried to write his father.

Dear Dad,
I saved the world over a year ago. That’s right, your good for nothing, junkie, pride and joy saved your ass and the asses of over 6 billion people.
A kick in the pants ain’t it?
You’re welcome, Dad and in case I don’t say it enough, fuck you.

He snorts and rolls onto his stomach, staring down at the white heel with white feathery strands sprouting from the top that is peeking out from under the bed.

Okay, so Hallmark won’t be calling him anytime soon and he’ll probably lose some points with the man upstairs. But, God! What he wouldn’t give to be able to rub it in that son of a bitch’s face. He knows he can’t though. No one else can know. For all their sakes.


Chapter Four-1999

Nicholas Cooper stared up at the swirling ball of light above him.

The ceilings on fire, he thought to himself more with a sort of strange curiosity than any particular fear. Better the ceiling than me. He watched the small circular orb burn brighter, spreading its light across the ceiling like a blanket that seemed to be falling towards him, closer until he felt it about to sear the tip of his nose with its heat. Too close, he flinched. Closer still the blanket of heat fell towards him. ’The sun is falling!’ he cried, knowing nobody would believe him. They never did.

This time he knew it would be the end. This time he would die. Nick wailed, panicked. He didn’t want to die. He knew what waited for him on the other side.

The circular orb hovered, taunting him. Swelling as it fed off his fear. His blue eyes widened mirroring the size of the orb above him. Nick began to pray. Firing the words out like bullets to protect himself. Words he had long since forgotten.

“Our Father...... Full of Grace....” his voice cracked. His head throbbed with the effort of trying to remember the words. Disjointed and inaccurate, but they’re the best he could
do. He hoped God wouldn’t mind.

He let out a whimper, reminiscent of the boy he used to be. He was going to die. God was not going to save him. God hated him. God had never forgiven him for the man he became. ’Well Fuck you God!” Nick spat, shaking with rage. “Fuck you!”

“Hey, Cooper! Keep it down, will ya?” Henry Dawson’s voice was muffled but insistent from the doorway of Nick’s room. “Lights out buddy.” The room became blanketed in darkness and the ball of fire disappeared.

Nick sighed and curled his 6’2 frame safely under the blankets. Saved again. Henry always came to save him. Maybe Henry was an angel, Nick wondered before sleep finally claimed him.

Nick groaned in annoyance and shifted his head away from the warm hand pressing against the crown of his head.

“Rise and shine, Blondie.” A male voice penetrated his sleepy haze.

“Five more minutes.“ Nick begged groggily burrowing deeper under the thick grey blanket.

“No go, man. Eight’s eight. Not eight o’ five.” Henry said firmly.

“Oh fuck that man. Let me sleep.” Nick insisted pushing Henry’s hand away.

“Okay, whatever you say buddy.” Henry said taking a step back from Nick’s bed.

Grabbing the edge of Nick’s blanket, Henry gave a sharp tug sending Nick sprawling on to the other side of the pale green tiled floor.

Disoriented blue eyes stared up at Henry as the older man made his way around the bed. Clearing, the same blue eyes now darkened with rage.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Nick demanded punching Henry’s shin.

“Like I said, we run a tight ship around here. You know you need the discipline if you’re gonna beat this.”

“Ya got some balls assuming I need to beat anything. I’m good man.” Nick assured him, even as the room spun dangerously. He closed his eyes against the attack of bright sunlight when Henry jerked open the white curtain against the single window.

“Cooper, the only place on you that doesn’t have track marks is your dick. You ain’t got a problem?” Henry challenged.

“Yeah well, I’m clean now. You’ve done your job. Good guy. You want a fucking lollipop or something?” Nick asked annoyed, his head still half-clouded with sleep.

“Nick, you’ve been here a week. That ain’t enough time to cure shit.”

“Yeah well, ain’t you heard? I’m a special case.” Nick replied with a bitter smile.

“Wait right here, rich boy. I’ll be back.”

Henry disappeared, returning minutes later with a syringe. Nick’s eyes widened and his mouth watered. His mouth filled with the memory of the bitter smoke and his arms itched with the memory of the liquid pumping into his veins. He ran his hands up and down over the raised goose bumps on his arms.

God, he felt so fucking cold!

“Take it.” Henry pushed the needle’s plunger towards Nick.

“You...you’re fucking with me right?” Nick asked swallowing down the rush of saliva and need. ”It’s empty I bet.”

“Check for yourself.” Henry placed the syringe in Nick’s trembling hand. Liquid tipped in the tube. Nick’s eyes met Henry’s. He licked his lips, catching the bottom lip with his teeth. Pushing the plunger up a fraction, his breath caught at the stream of clear liquid shooting from the tip. Oh God, just one more. I promise. Nick begged silently as
his body began to tremble. Just this last one, then I’ll never touch it again. I swear.

“Nicholas.” A sweet female voice filled his head.

Nick jerked his head and looked around Henry for the source of the other voice. They were the only two in the room.

“My sweet, sweet boy. You are so much stronger than this poison.” The voice was soothing, soft. Like another voice, from another life.

“Mamma?” Nick whispered hoarsely under his breath.

“No my child. But she is here. With me. Feel our love giving you strength. Feel the love of God strengthening you. Turn away from this poison that can only lead to your destruction.”

Did he already take the hit and not remember? Nick wondered as the voice lulled him wonderfully.

He’d heard voices all the time when he was high. Sometimes they came from his mother. Begging, pleading with him to stop killing himself. Other times the voices were harsher. Angry. Telling him about how he was gonna burn in hell for the piece of garbage he had become. He was certain that it was God’s voice those times. God was angry at him. He was saving Nick a one way trip to hell as soon as this shit killed him.

This female voice, this was new. Softer than his mother’s had been, higher too. But it gave him the same feeling. Warm. Safe. Loved.

Guilty.

So guilty he wanted to vomit. His body obliged and he felt the bile rise in his
throat as the room wavered uneasily. Nick clamped a hand over his mouth but felt the vomit begin to burst past his lips, hot against his hand as he rushed, scrambling to the toilet. He slammed his nose brutally against the side of the toilet in his rush to dump the contents filling his mouth. His eyes watered as he let out a painful groan and retched into the bowl. Blood seeping from his nose mixed with the vomit. Nick sagged against the wall.

“Fuck! I think I broke my fucking nose!” he cried holding his hand over his face, his
fingers now red and sticky.

Henry crouched down beside him and tried to gently pry Nick’s hand away so he could inspect the damage. Nick fell over onto the tiles with an agony filled cry, letting out a whimper when Henry gingerly pressed his forefinger across the bridge of his nose. Pain burned across Nick’s face up into his eyes.

“Nicely done.” Henry said shaking his head.

“Broken?” Nick asked, tears of pain threatening to spill over.

“Nah. But you’re gonna have a hell of a honker when this swells. You won’t be so pretty for a while.” Henry joked.

“Thank God.” Nick said. “I look like my dad.” He added with a shudder. He looked down, noticing the syringe still clutched tightly in his left hand. Nick closed his eyes and let his head fall forward in pained defeat.

“Choice is yours man.” Henry whispered.

The sobs rose up inside of Nick. Hunger for one last hit at war with his desire to be free. He threw the syringe into the toilet violently and pulled the handle viciously before he could change his mind. Falling back against the toilet bowl, Nick continued to cry.

“I’m sorry.” Nick cried, great bursting sobs tearing out of him. “I’m sorry mamma. Oh I’m sorry....” he rubbed his fists angrily into his eyes as the hot tears streamed off his chin to drip down into the collar of his t-shirt.

“I knew you could do it Nick.” Henry wrapped his arms around Nick, his own eyes moist. Henry sighed with relief as Nick cried himself out. “Good job buddy.” Henry said
stoking his broad back. ”Now the real work begins.” Henry said as Nick held Kleenex to his nose to stop the blood flow.

“Oh God. I don’t think I’m gonna make it through more days like this.” Nick said wearily.

“Every journey begins with a first step.” Henry said.

“Well that’s great, Oh Wise One.”

“I thought so. Do I get a lollipop for that?” Henry asked with a smile.

Martin Andover, a fellow staff member knocked on Nick’s open door. Henry stuck his head out of the bathroom.

“Cooper’s got a visitor. Some suit.” Martin informed them, his eyes widening as Nick slowly shuffled out from the bathroom. He took in the young man’s bloody shirt, not to mention the acrid smell emanating off of him

“Henry, you have to stop beating up the patients. It looks really bad.” Martin joked.

“The abuse here is fucking insane. Tell the guy you won’t blow him and he takes it so personal.” Nick joked, his voice muffled through the damp tissue. “What did you say about a visitor?’ he asked sniffling, then grimacing at the savage pain.

“Some lawyer guy. Says he’s here about your dad.”

“Say what?” Nick asked stiffening his spine.

Martin and Henry glanced at each other uneasily.

“What?” Nick demanded. “Don’t tell me good old dad’s finally been fucked over.”

“Well some stuff’s been in the news about your dad. You know we keep all that stuff out of here for your own good.”

“Yeah. Tell the suit to go fuck himself.”

“Can’t do that. He’s got a court order.”

“Oh this is fucked man. Ya’ll are supposed to protect me in here right? Well go out there and tell him I’m too high. Tell him I hung myself. Hell, tell him I’m busy jacking off. I ain’t talking to nobody.” Nick said, shaking his head in vehement protest.

“His name’s Brian Littleton. He’s a prosecutor. What could it hurt man?”