Rouge de Sang: Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

“If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.”- Kahlil Gibran

Jamaica, Queens, NY May 18th, 2004

Samael sat motionless in his leather swivel chair. His gray eyes were inspecting Julien’s paperwork intensively. The paperwork consisted of Julien’s resume, and other important documents. One conspicuous question-answer on the job application set Samael off a bit. List any past, recent jobs you’ve had; the spaces were blank. Samael’s eyes slithered off the piece of crumpled paper and directed their glare onto Julien.

“Mr. Mendez.” He expressed powerfully.
“Yes sir.” Julien voiced calmly, sitting loose in his chair.
Samael placed the paperwork down on his desk unsatisfied. “Well, you’re obviously not certified for the job here at IBI Corporation.” He alleged discouragingly.
Julien let his head drop in embarrassment. “But…” Samael lifted his spirits.
“There’s no saying I can’t give you a job elsewhere.” Samael grinned mischievously.
Julien squinted his eyes and cocked his head while he stared at Samael blankly.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean sir.” Julien said uneasily. “Listen, Mr. Mendez. I know what happened to your mother, and I’d like to offer you a deal.” He said blatantly “I will help you find out who killed your mother, just as long as you work for me and my organization. Will you do that much Mr. Mendez?”
The words cut through Julien like a hundred serrated blades.
“What? How did you-“Julien was cut off. “Don’t waste time asking questions. Just accept the deal and we will be on our way.” Samael said firmly, his dark baleful eyes piercing through Julien’s skin.
“Is this a joke?” A thousand thoughts were racing through Julien’s head. He didn’t understand how a simple job interview turned into something so much deeper.
“Oh, it’s far from a joke my boy.” Samael jolted out of his chair and placed his hands on his mahogany desk as he leaned over. “Do you accept?”
Julien didn’t know what to say, Memories from years before flashed behind his eyes. He suddenly felt a large surge of vengefulness bolt through him like a wave of electricity. He remembered the days preceding his mother’s murder, how the police tried to play it off like she’d killed herself. Julien knew it was something more from the day it happened, he knew, but there was nothing he could do about it, and now, there is a chance to expose the truth, the truth he’d known all along that he’d shoved to the back of his mind over time. He didn’t bother asking anymore questions, He could tell that along with himself, Samael had figured him out and he knew what he wanted. Deep down he knew what the ordeal he was getting into and he could do it. “D-definitely.” He stuttered.
Samael took Julien’s hand in his and shook respectfully. “Great. Follow me.”


Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn, NY May 18th, 2004

It took twenty minutes to get to bed-stuy from the office building in Jamaica. Samael’s shinny new Rolls-Royce impressed Julien, although being driven in it didn’t dazzle him quite as much. Cars Julien thought, they defined a person in a way. Samael’s intimidating car, expressed his desire to shade his cowardliness behind his wealth and power. Julien didn’t own a car; he pondered what that meant about his being.

Samael - with the help of his chauffeur – had taken Julien to a warehouse. A warehouse, ironically for car repairs. Julien rolled his eyes indignantly as they pulled into the warehouse. They pulled into a small parking place, reserved for Dr. Pravus, in the back. As they got out of the car they were greeted by three shady car repairmen. Julien stared confounded at the young man standing meager behind the two tall men, his eyes were slits. “I know you.” He pointed to the man in the back.
“Oh yes of course, you two have met.” Samael spoke up. “Onlhar, come closer. Greet an old friend of yours.” Samael motioned for him to come. Onlhar pushed passed the two tall men on either side of him and held out his ecru hand, awaiting a handshake. Julien took his hand in confusion and shook it. “Nice to see you again.” Onlhar said arrogantly.

Samael left Julien with the three and hopped into the backseat of his car. “I hope to see you here tomorrow Mr. Mendez.” He grinned as the car backed out. Once Samael was out of sight, the four of them walked speedily to the main part of the warehouse. As they walked Onlhar motioned to one of the two men whom were left unnamed. “This is Emris Baines.” “The skeleton with a brain.” He chuckled. “And this is Alvin Innokenti.” He pointed to the other man. “The brute with a heart to big for his pecks.” “So wait, what do we do here? What’s our job?” Julien cut in. They neared the main part of the warehouse; it reeked of oil and smoke. Julien already hated it. The unending supply of power tools and the unending noise that went along with it. “Our job here?” Onlhar stared impiously at Julien. “Our job is to do whatever Dr. Pravus tells us to do.” “Until then.” He handed Julien a wrench and motioned to a ruptured, fragmented pile of metal, which hypothetically used to be a car.

*

“There's music in the sighing of a reed;
There's music in the gushing of a rill;
There's music in all things, if men had ears:
Their earth is but an echo of the spheres.”
-Lord Byron

Seathwaite, The Lake District, Britain October 25th, 1770

Canivar was dead, within minutes of Rishic’s attack. His body lay just as slump and inanimate as it was before. Though his eyes were open, they were empty, lifeless. It almost looked as though Rishic had traded his eyes for Canivar’s, for they were a brilliant, golden amber while Canivar lay stagnant, stuck with Rishic’s dull black eyes, as though the life were sucked straight out of them. The blood splattered on the hay was sanguine, sparkling as the light of the moon entered the barn through the cracks in the ceiling and embraced it. It wasn’t long until Berusai discovered the two, and rushed in to get a good look at the damage. As he got closer, his eyes glared back and forth between them, Rishic was sitting on the dank ground, his arms wrapped around his knees and his head resting on top. “Rishic, it’s time.” A horrified, yet understanding voice echoed through him.

Before long, Rishic and Razaru, accompanied by Berusai were traveling by horse and carriage to London. The trip would take days, weeks even. Time - Rishic had - to go over in his head the events of what happened in the barn earlier that night. He dreaded it, the last thing he wanted was time, little did he know, he had all the time in the universe. He and Razaru were side by side inside the body of the carriage, isolated from Berusai whom was out on the driver’s seat, directing the horses. Rishic glanced at Razaru, who was leaning against his seat anxiously. His eyes were a deep mauve color; his skin – which was light to begin with – was almost papery. His wheat hair hadn’t altered; it was the same as always and tied into a tail on the back of his head. But Rishic felt the modified personality of Razaru, even before he could display it. Razaru had always been a sociable, good-humored young man, if you were feeling melancholy – Razaru would always be able to brighten your mood. Now, as he slouched morosely against the hardened leather, his aura dispirited, the only word Rishic could think to describe him was dead.

The rest of the night was excessively closemouthed. Rishic was unsure if Razaru knew about what he’d done to Canivar, though he prayed that he didn’t just in case – he wasn’t about to lose two friends on the same night. Rishic felt the carriage come to an immediate halt and turned to face Razaru, who was giving him the same stare of confusion. Suddenly, the door of the carriage was torn open and Berusai’s familiar voice called to the boys “Come out, we’re stopping here.”
The two jolted out of the carriage to experience the dimming light of sunrise, it was still dark, but indubitably wasn’t lacking as much light as it was hours before.
“Where are we? Have we made much progress toward London?” Razaru asked Berusai confidently.
“We have traveled an exceptional amount, considering our time constraints.” Berusai turned his attention to the boys. “We are not far from Manchester; we will be heading there when night falls again.”
Rishic was reluctant to talk; he let Razaru ask all his questions for him – considering the two were both pondering the same thing.
“Why not just continue through the day?” Razaru looked to Berusai unknowingly.
“We’re going to relax here for a time, until it gets dark again.” Berusai answered motioning toward a small bungalow at the top of the hill in the distance; he could see the flood of questions threatening to break loose from a mile away.

Rishic let the chatter between Razaru and Berusai fade to the back of his mind, he analyzed the beauty of the countryside before him, the path they were traveling on, its haggard, and drawn up dirt silently conveyed to him that other people had wandered it – it gave him a sense of belonging. His eyes walked farther down the path into the near future, but he found himself straining to see past the tall, gray sycamore’s that lay just beyond. The lush, in-grown shrubbery on the sides of the path swayed restlessly as the wind danced through, its radiant aquamarine hue lightened up the insipid morning dullness. He noticed a droplet of cardinal red, flutter off the pedal of a Brooklime and hover soundlessly into the distance, a lady bug. Rishic had an enlightened hypersensitivity - he picked up the faintest sounds and listened intentively to their extraordinary insignificance as though he were suddenly intoned with the world. His surroundings were his music, the wind was his Bach, the insects his Mozart.