6: Late Pursuits

Original circa 1994-5 version. Scroll down for the 2007 rewrite.

LATE PURSUITS

DAMIEN DIDN'T SLEEP well that night; it was quite hot, as he was sure Derrick had noticed, but that wasn't really the reason as he was used to the heat. The main reason was that he was still having those dreams. Like Derrick's little heat strokes, he assumed, his dreams came in phases; sometimes--though definitely not very often--he'd go for months without them, as he had until recently--then they would come back with a vengeance. Even when he did have them they usually didn't bother him that much; he was supposed to be used to them, too. There was really nothing he could do about it short of going to a shrink, and that was the last thing he wanted to do; that would be admitting he had a problem, which he was certain he didn't have. So he ignored them as best he could. At least the ones about his sister had stopped for a while. He found the fire one considerably more tolerable. Though not quite pleasant.

As he lay awake he barely thought about the dreams, but about his parents. Recently it seemed he'd taken up a personal crusade to get them out of that cult--Scorpio, as Derrick had called it. He hadn't even been sure it had a name. He knew it was silly to think he could possibly do anything on his own, as his uncle had hinted, though he had thought of it; though that didn't mean there weren't other ways. He never considered what his parents themselves might be thinking or feeling. The main goal was to get them out now, think later, before this Scorpio grew more hostile--if that were possible.

He could barely even remember them now. His father he could hardly picture at all. He supposed it was because he hadn't spent much time with him. Of the two, it was his mother he could remember more. Even as dim as the memories were he could sense her kindness pulling him through a time that any kid would have found at the most terrifying, at the least weird. He also supposed it was because of her that he couldn't remember anything inherently bad about the whole experience except for the incident in the field. She must have helped him hold it all at bay. Just as she did herself. As Father Damien had said she did.

Father Damien, in the meantime, was up late himself. He spent much of the evening poring over his books; he had a large collection of volumes on the paranormal lining his wall, with subjects like psychics and ghosts and demonology; Damien at first had found this a rather odd collection for a priest to have but didn't question it. Maybe it was because of the family. Midnight found him sitting on the couch, leaning his elbows on the coffeetable, frowning over a book on occult symbols; Harvey and Ez had gone to bed long before but once in a while he could hear them moving around, and was sure that at least several times that night they had crept down the stairs to peek out at him. He pretended not to notice; kids would be kids, and he would be curious too if he were put in their place. Besides, he was too busy to go chasing after them every time they sneaked out of bed.

Busy looking for something he was certain he'd seen before.

The book was a large leatherbound edition, something that looked fit to belong in an occult collection, which he'd actually bought in a used books store. It even had an old-fashioned book ribbon attached to the inside. Right now he was turned to the section on astrology and astrological symbols, and was looking it over carefully.

Astrology

Astrology is an ancient science, dating back to the very beginnings of civilization. It is a study filled with occult symbols and terminology, many of them confusing to the neophyte. Here we will present a basic outline of the major points of Astrology, beginning with the aspects of the twelve signs.

Aries: Aries is the first sign of the Zodiac, being that of the Ram, ruled by the planet Mars and representing the month of April. Those born under the sign of the Ram are said to be headstrong and impulsive. They favor a rather wild lifestyle and live for the moment, always wishing for excitement. People born under this sign are usually tall and well built, with reddish hair (due to the influence of the planet Mars). Sometimes their eyebrows even blend in with the nose to form the classic symbol of the Ram.

This was all very nice and interesting but it was getting him nowhere. There was no way he was going to read the whole book to find what he needed to know now. With a tired sigh he decided to skip a few pages and read on under Scorpio.

Scorpio: Scorpio is a rather unique sign of the Zodiac, being a triune of symbols--the Scorpion, the Snake, and the Eagle, the last alternately known as the Phoenix or the Dove.

Father Damien frowned. How was it that Derrick had known so much about this, unless he himself were a practitioner or student of the art?

I don't believe in coincidences. I believe in other things, yes, but not coincidences.

He read on.

Scorpio is ruled jointly by the planets Mars and Pluto; we will speak of this rulership, and its overall effects upon the characteristics and mannerisms of the sign, in more detail later in this treatise. As there are three different symbols for Scorpio, so are there three different types. The lowest type is the Snake. These people are those who live on the fringes of society, quite self-degrading and hateful, but usually harmless to anyone save themselves. Those born under the Eagle, Dove, or Phoenix are the highest; they alone have managed to overcome all obstacles to achieve happiness on this plane, and as such are prepared to better serve humanity. Those born under the Scorpion, however, are the ones to fear. Like the scorpion, their sting is deadly, and they will not hesitate to inflict pain upon those who cross them. They demand power and respect from all, and will not tolerate disobedience or insolence of any kind.

"How fitting," Father Damien mused.

It is these people of whom the reader is advised to beware. Though most certainly not all are dangerous, quite a few can be, and will.

The Scorpio physiognomy--

Father Damien skipped the next part as meaningless; in fact, his eyes flew to the end of the description, where there was inscribed a symbol:

An M. With a spiked tail.

That's where I've seen it before. Father Damien slowly sat back, an eerie coldness enveloping his chest. He had to force himself not to shudder. His initial suspicions had been correct.

Derrick obviously knew more than he was letting on. A whole lot more.

He slammed the book shut, causing a cloud of dust to fly out from between the near-ancient pages and a scuffling sound to come from the stairs as he assumed Harvey and Ez dashed back up to their room, thinking, because of the loud noise, that he should be angry with them. He covered his eyes with his hands and rested his elbows upon the book, thinking. Derrick knew something about a cult called Scorpio. Derrick was wearing a necklace inscribed with the symbol of Scorpio. There had to be some connection. Whatever it was, he didn't wish to think about it.

However, he knew he had to, or else both he and Damien could end up being in big trouble.

**********

Rewritten 2007 version. Not proofed.

CHAPTER SIX
LATE PURSUITS

FATHER DAMIEN INSISTED that he should get home and see if Harvey and Esmeralda had given the babysitter any trouble, and that he should bring them some ice cream as well--"Since they won't take it very well if they found out we were at Dairy Queen and didn't get them anything!" Damien watched him fumbling to clean up the water he'd spilled in their booth, then slid out of his seat and headed for the ice cream counter.

"Don't worry, I'll cover it." He held up a hand when his uncle started to protest. "Uncle, really. You have to admit it'd be a pointless argument."

"Well..." But Father Damien couldn't seem to think of anything else to say, so he just finished wiping up the water.

Damien ordered a couple of chocolate-covered cones and handed them to Father Damien when the priest finished throwing away the wet napkins. "Want me to stop over and help out any?" he offered.

"As much as I really like that offer," Father Damien replied with a trace of regret, "I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I can't ask to take up even more of your time, and besides, I wanted to do a little looking up on something."

Damien arched an eyebrow. "'Looking up'?"

"Oh, just in my books. That's all."

They headed out into the sunshine and the heat hit them like a wall. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask more about those," Damien said, shielding his eyes. "Aren't you afraid of getting...I don't know...executed or something for having those?" When Father Damien gave him a very odd look he laughed. "Excommunicated. I was joking. I'm not that stupid."

"Yes, well," Father Damien said, starting to walk briskly toward his car before the cones could melt, "reading is a far cry from practicing! Like I said before, sometimes it just helps to keep informed."

"And so why did you start collecting that kind of stuff, anyway?" Damien asked, following him.

Father Damien had to stop and let Damien open his car door as his hands were full. "Your mother," he said, and there was a long silence. He looked a little uncomfortable. "It started out with a few books on cults...and just picked up from there. I don't know; I guess I thought I could learn something useful. Not that I really have, just yet." He got into the car and placed the cones in the cupholder.

Damien leaned on the door as the priest sought out his keys. "Uncle," he said, and Father Damien looked up at him. "Don't worry," Damien said, meeting his eyes. "You have me now. And I have you. That's got to be way better than some books."

Father Damien stared at him for a moment, then his eyes softened. "I think you're right," he said, and after another pause he put the key in the ignition and waited for Damien to pull away before closing the door. "I'll see you again soon. Tell everyone else hello for me."

"Sure thing," Damien replied, stepping back as the station wagon roared to life, then shielding his eyes again as it backed out of the parking space and pulled into the street. He frowned a little to himself as he watched it go and rather wished that he'd checked out those books a bit more himself while he'd had the chance.

* * * * *

Damien ended up driving around aimlessly for a while, seeing as it was still early afternoon and he could think of nothing better to do. Usually he found such a pastime rather relaxing, as it allowed one's mind to wander everywhere but away from the road, but he discovered that a wandering mind was one of the things he wanted least right now. Like his car it kept taking strange turns down strange roads and he finally let out a snort of irritation and turned to head back home.

He passed his uncle's house, wondering what exactly he was up to just then, but decided not to drop in lest he be busy. And he kept his eyes peeled for any signs of the mysterious treehouse that he'd been told of but couldn't see it anywhere. Then he found himself wishing that he'd had a treehouse when he was younger, and then he asked himself why he would think a ridiculous thing like that.

Most of the household was gone when he arrived, off doing their various things, though Kat was still there--he saw her waiting on the porch wringing her hands in what seemed to be an anxious gesture until he came within her sight, then she seemed to relax. He furrowed his brow and wondered if he'd really become so worrisome to everybody else.

"I miss something...?" he called out as he slammed the door and approached.

"Huh? No!" she was quick to say, shaking her head. She opened the screen door for him as he ascended the steps. "You've just been gone a while, that's all."

"Well..." He paused. "I tend to be gone whiles, you know that by now, right...?"

"But you're done for the day, right?" Kat said.

Damien blinked. "Well...yeah, I guess." He frowned and peered over her shoulder, then started looking around himself. "Hey! So where are you hiding the new guy--?"

Kat smacked his shoulder and even as he rubbed it he was relieved to see her old irritated look return. "Stop joking around for a change! I was just worried, that's all! You have to admit this is all pretty strange!"

They went inside the house together. "Well, sure," Damien admitted as they passed through the kitchen, "but I think I'm the one who should be worried, not you! You're not the one who was in a cult."

"And that's just it! I've read some about cults--"

"Were you at the library today by any chance--?" Damien asked, his frown growing.

"I've read some about cults," Kat repeated herself rather stubbornly, and he knew that she had, "and most sources are in agreement that some of them can end up being pretty dangerous, especially to somebody who wants to escape..."

"You do realize you're talking like a book, don't you?"

"...And so when you're gone a while, yes, lately that has me worried." They both fell silent as they entered the den, and Damien fought not to fidget. "And if that story you told me about them is true, then I'm not exactly being irrational, am I?"

"I didn't know you were so worried," Damien said in all sincerity. His face lit up. "If it helps, I'll start leaving notes on the fridge whenever I go somewhere! 'Gone to look for cult, be back at two.' How's that--?"

He let out a yell when she hit him in the same shoulder as before. "I'm starting to think I have more to worry about from YOU than from some cult!" he hissed, rubbing at it as Kat turned and threw herself down on the couch with a scowl, crossing her arms.

"You better tell me you were with your uncle all day," she threatened.

"Of course I was! We were meeting with this guy who..." He trailed off when her stare wandered up toward his eyes. "Oh. That's right, I never told you about Derrick. He's this guy...who met me in the park and started talking about the cult..." He did start fidgeting now under her stare. "Stop looking at me like that! What the heck's wrong with you--?"

Kat leaned forward. "You even had some guy come up to you and start talking about it? Dami, this is all going way too fast and getting way too weird!" She leaned over the arm of the couch and grabbed up the cordless phone. "I think the police should know."

Damien blanched, then took one big step and snatched the phone from her hand. Her mouth fell open in surprise as he stepped back again and set it on the mantel.

"Kat," he said in the most reasonable voice he could muster, which ended up just sounding condescending, judging by the look on her face, "you don't call police when a guy talks to you. He was just some guy who knows who I am--who here doesn't, except that delivery guy?--and knows about cults, and we talked. That's what FD and I were doing today, okay?"

"A guy doesn't just come to you out of the blue to talk about something like this," Kat insisted. "I don't believe in coincidences."

"Well, don't believe all you want, but that's what happened. Don't worry, I think FD's already paranoid of him if that helps. Seems the guy said he knows him but FD's never met him before, so we caught him in one lie already. I've got my uncle to watch out for me, okay?" She started to relax a little though her face was still troubled. "And I'll be careful myself, promise," he added. "Truth to tell I thought he was a little weird too. Get this, he was wearing a jacket, right in the middle of summer."

"Maybe he gets cold easily," Kat countered.

"If that's so, then why did the heat make him pass out?" He spread his arms. "So--are we okay now? I don't have to report to you every time I decide to step outside?"

Kat got a sulky look and crossed her arms again. "There's no need to be so sarcastic! And give me back the phone. Its batteries are going to die over there like that."

Damien retrieved the phone and handed it over. She grabbed it from him and, before he could even protest, jabbed in some numbers and put it to her ear. "Hello--?"

Damien bristled. "Kat!!" he hissed between his teeth.

"Hi, it's Kat," Kat said, holding up a warning finger when he took a step forward; he had to satisfy himself by making slitting gestures at his throat instead. "Oh, I'm fine. I hope I'm not bothering you? That's good to hear. I was just wondering how this afternoon went...?" Damien's flailing motions slowed and finally stopped once he realized that she didn't appear to be talking to the police; she nodded and "Mm-hm"ed a few times, made a few random comments such as "I see" and "Oh, really?" and then said, "Well, that's good to hear. Thanks for talking with me. I hope to see you later," and hung up.

"What the heck was that all about--?" Damien cried as soon as she set the phone back on its base.

"Just checking up," Kat replied with a cool look. "Turns out your uncle corroborates every part of your story, though he was kind enough to fill in a few details you didn't."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Damien threw up his hands. "I told you everything that mattered. You trust me so little that you'd bother my uncle with something like that--?" His brow furrowed. "Where did you even get his number?"

"He said I was no bother, he's just looking through his books," Kat replied, silencing him, "and in a situation like this, it seems rather fitting to trust no one! You'd better remember that," she added, pointing a finger at him. "Now," she said when he made a disgusted face, and she picked up a pad of paper and pen lying near the phone, holding them out to him, "you're home and all that unpleasant stuff is over with at least for today, so you can do something useful for a change."

"What are these for?" Damien asked, giving the pen and paper a puzzled look.

"What else? You're supposed to be working on your next album--right? Well--first you have to come up with the words. Just because your long-lost uncle's come back and you're learning about Satanic cults doesn't mean you can slack off from your songwriting, you know."

Damien's mouth fell open in disbelief. Then it snapped back shut when Kat gave him a sickeningly sweet smile, and with a growl he turned and flounced off toward his room, not even bothering to dispose of the pen and paper.

* * * * *

The pen and paper did come in somewhat handy, though not really for the purpose that Kat had suggested.

Damien did honestly sit and try to think of lyrics for a while, and did scribble a few down, but after about an hour of this his attention was distracted by staring at the sun starting to set outside--he had westward-facing windows--and the traffic going past along the highway just visible beyond the trees, and every time he tried to snap himself out of it he just ended up doodling random things upon the paper anyway. When he at last looked down at what he'd doodled only to find a few lyrics and a bunch of goats' heads, he shivered and tore the sheet off, tossing it aside. He started scrawling curving lines instead.

And I thought a letter now and then from some crackpot fan was bothersome enough, he mused, now chewing on the end of the pen--something that Kat would surely take him to task for, were she to find out. A cult...nobody ever thinks they'll have to be afraid of a cult. It sounds like something from a tabloid anyway...when Uncle came back I didn't think a cult would come with him...

But has it? All I have is that weird Derrick guy to go on...and Uncle's worries...nothing really strange has happened yet. Maybe they are all just being paranoid...

Maybe I'm thinking too much...

He paused in his gnawing, then wrote down, "Trust no one." Then, "Who can you trust?" A long while passed, then he started tapping the pen against the paper and humming to himself. Then he started writing down some more lyrics. That was basically how he'd come up with the words to the songs on the first album. He barely even thought about it as he did it, and even continued letting his mind wander, though eventually it must have grown tired of this as he sagged a little in his chair, then rested his head on his arms and dozed off with the pen still in his hand.

* * * * *

The light in the living room had grown dim and long shadows were just starting to creep across the coffeetable, so Father Damien had turned on the nearest lamp without even thinking, not pausing from his reading. He had a stack of books of various sizes and condition sitting on one side, and a smaller stack on the other side; between the two rested a solitary book, large and leatherbound, something that looked fit to come from an occult collection. In truth he'd bought it for $10 from a used books store. It even had a long red ribbon to mark the reader's place, not that he'd ever had much reason to use it. It was a book on astrology, a subject he hadn't much interest in, but was now mentally berating himself for overlooking for so long.

How many hours did I waste on those others? he asked himself, and cast a rueful glance at the smaller stack of books which he'd already gone through that evening. Cults, cults, cults. And not a single item of use. Why is it I can never find what I need just when I need it? He paused, looked around himself a bit warily, then shut the large book. He closed his eyes and pressed a finger against the cover. "Tony, Tony, turn around; help me find what can't be found." He opened his eyes, looked around a bit guiltily, then opened the book and resumed his browsing with a somewhat embarrassed air. "Well, everyone else prays to saints, it's about time I made use of him myself."

He heard some movement on the stairs behind him and then upstairs, and could tell that from time to time Harvey and/or Esmeralda was creeping down to peer at what he was doing, then scurrying back up before they could be caught; it was past their bedtime by now but he didn't bother getting up and reprimanding them. Kids would be kids. He sighed and turned a page. Praying to individual saints had never been his thing, but he was so tired of flipping dusty old pages and squinting at paragraph upon paragraph of tiny text. He wondered who the patron saint of neck aches was, or the one of itchy eyes. Surely there had to be one.

Suddenly irritated with all the graphs of longitudes and latitudes and charts of planetary positions, he let out an annoyed sound and lifted the covers, then let the book fall open as it may. It did so toward the beginning, a section he'd just barely browsed. He had to turn a page or two before the words BASIC ASTROLOGY FOR BEGINNERS popped out at him, and he sighed again and leaned more closely over the book to see better.

BASIC ASTROLOGY FOR BEGINNERS

Astrology is an ancient science, dating back to the very beginnings of civilization. It is a study filled with occult symbols and terminology, many of them confusing to the neophyte. Here we will present a basic outline of the major points of Astrology, beginning with the aspects of the twelve signs.

Aries: Aries is the first sign of the Zodiac, being that of the Ram, ruled by the planet Mars and representing the month of April. Those born under the sign of the Ram are said to be headstrong and impulsive. They favor a rather wild lifestyle and live for the moment, always wishing for excitement. People born under this sign are usually tall and well built, with reddish hair (due to the influence of the planet Mars). Sometimes their eyebrows even blend in with the nose to form the classic symbol of the Ram.

"I'm hardly going to read the entire thing, Tony," Father Damien muttered to himself. "Could you be more specific please?" He flipped a few pages until he reached the section for the sign Scorpio.

Scorpio: Scorpio is a rather unique sign of the Zodiac, being a triune of symbols--the Scorpion, the Snake, and the Eagle, the last alternately known as the Phoenix or the Dove.

Father Damien frowned. Even with his own basic understanding of astrology--the kind anyone could get from browsing the daily horoscopes now and then--he'd never known that Scorpio could also be called the Snake or the Eagle. Yet he recalled Derrick saying those very things in Dairy Queen.

"Maybe he just reads more than I do," he murmured, and made a face. "Like the beginnings of books, for example!"

Scorpio is ruled jointly by the planets Mars and Pluto; we will speak of this rulership, and its overall effects upon the characteristics and mannerisms of the sign, in more detail later in this treatise. As there are three different symbols for Scorpio, so are there three different types. The lowest type is the Snake. These people are those who live on the fringes of society, quite self-degrading and hateful, but usually harmless to anyone save themselves. Those born under the Eagle, Dove, or Phoenix are the highest; they alone have managed to overcome all obstacles to achieve happiness on this plane, and as such are prepared to better serve humanity. Those born under the Scorpion, however, are the ones to fear. Like the scorpion, their sting is deadly, and they will not hesitate to inflict pain upon those who cross them. They demand power and respect from all, and will not tolerate disobedience or insolence of any kind.

"I'm guessing Damien would say this book isn't very 'politically correct,'" Father Damien said, turning the page.

It is these people of whom the reader is advised to beware. Though most certainly not all are dangerous, quite a few can be, and will.

The Scorpio physiognomy--

Father Damien made another face. "I really don't think I want to know the anatomy of people who look like scorpions! I really need to get out and buy a new book. There must be droves of them out there--"

He looked down at the page again, ready to turn it, when a symbol inscribed further down caught his eye and made his breath stick in his throat.

[Image: An M with a spiked tail]

Father Damien blinked. The M-like symbol remained the same. He forced himself to let out a breath, and it was more than a little shaky.

That's where I've seen it before...in every single book of astrology that's out there! Why didn't I remember it?

What would I have said if I had...?

He slowly sat back on the couch, trying to fend off the cold feeling creeping over him. He said an old girlfriend gave it to him...unless she was born under the same sign that cult he knows just happens to be named after, then I doubt it. Who wears an astrological sign that's not their own...?

Another memory entered his mind--something else he'd seen at Dairy Queen, but had decided not to tell Damien, knowing how he might act about it--and this, coupled with what he'd just found out, made the cold feeling grow. He reached forward to slam the book shut, and heard the sound of small feet scampering back up the steps. He again ignored the noise, leaning his elbows on the table and resting his head on his hands, staring off into space.

Derrick knew something about a cult called Scorpio.

Derrick was wearing a necklace inscribed with the symbol for Scorpio.

And that other detail...

There has to be some connection. I'd be stupid not to admit it...but I don't know if I want to.

He lifted his eyes and turned his head slightly to look out the window facing west. Damien had no way of knowing it, but he'd seen the Lamborghini pass by earlier in the day as he'd been carrying the books about. It had slowed down, just a little, before speeding up again and continuing on its way. Father Damien's look turned pensive.

I owe it to him. To all of them. To be honest even if it hurts.

Maybe I should never have written to him in the first place if they've found out already...

He shook his head, hard, trying to will the feeling away. "No time for blame now," he said to himself, and instead shoved the taller stack of books aside and reached for the phone. He picked it up and dialed a number.

Continue:

"7: Wakeup Call" 


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