9: A Confrontation

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

A CONFRONTATION

NOT BOTHERING TO explain to Officer Jones what they meant, Damien and his uncle left the station immediately and both got back in Damien's car, slamming the doors. Then they both just sat there, staring out the windshield at the traffic zooming obliviously by.

"I don't see what else it could be," Father Damien said after a while.

"Then how come he would lie to us?" Damien asked. Nothing out of this was making the least sense. "Why would he come to us of all people and start telling us about this cult?"

"I don't know," his uncle admitted, just as confused. "Maybe he's trying to get us off his tail. Or make himself seem useful. Or recruit us."

His nephew peered at him. "'Recruit'?"

The priest nodded. "Cults send out people to do that. 'Recruiters.' They're the ones who get others to join." He shook his head. "But I doubt that one. I doubt Scorpio would actively do that, and he doesn't act like a recruiter. I really think he's trying to get us to trust him for some reason. Though what that reason may be I don't know."

Damien sat back and stared at the roof. He fiddled with the sun visor. "But it just doesn't make any sense."

Of course not, the voice in his head agreed. Cultists don't just come up to you and pour out all their secrets! Do they?

"Life doesn't necessarily have to make sense, Damien. You of all people should know that."

Damien cast a glance at his uncle, ready to ask him what he meant by that, but decided better of it--it probably didn't mean anything at all--and turned to look back out the window. "Well," he said, "there's one problem. How do we let him know we were basically snooping around after him?"

That's what I was wondering! Father Damien thought a moment, then shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he'll already know about it by the time you see him again." He sat back with a sigh. "You know, it's not like we were being very discreet."

"I know what you mean. Well, I suppose there's nobody better to break it to him than yours truly."

Father Damien smiled at him wryly. "Good luck."

* * * * *

"Why are you spying on me?" Derrick demanded, glaring at Damien.

Damien sighed, leaning against a tree in Washington Park across from Dairy Queen; he'd gone there himself and, oddly enough (or perhaps not oddly, if Derrick truly did have some knowledge on him), Derrick had shown up not long after. Damien hadn't even had to tell him anything; Derrick had simply come up to him and asked the question. As if he'd known all along.

Somehow Damien had known this wouldn't be too pretty. That didn't necessarily mean he was prepared for it. He took a breath. "We weren't really spying, Der--"

"I'd say you were!" Derrick didn't even let him finish. "I heard about you going to the hospital and the police station, looking through my files--"

He heard? "That's just it, Derrick. You don't have any files to look through."

Derrick shut up and only stared at him, his eyes almost hateful.

"Now I want to know just what the heck's going on here," Damien said, crossing his arms. It was time to get some real information out of him. Something he could use. "I know you feel invaded--"

"You can say that again."

"--But we just wanted to know about you."

"Well, ask me!" he snapped, throwing up his arms. "That's what I told you to do, isn't it?"

"We would ask you. But you're kind of secretive, aren't you?"

Again Derrick fell silent, as if unwilling to answer.

Damien looked at him. "Well, isn't that so, Mr. Recluse?"

"Listen, I don't take very well to mocking," Derrick bristled, stressing the last word as if that weren't really strong enough to be the word he meant.

Damien sighed again and held up his hands, palms out. "Okay, I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't be snooping around you, I'd get mad if someone did the same thing to me. But from what we've found out there's some things that just don't match up. Understand?"

Derrick was subdued once more. "Such as?"

"Such as your mother." Damien noticed he flinched almost imperceptibly as he said this. Bingo. "She was found murdered in 1969. Now, if you're around my age, which I'm assuming you are, that was around when you were born. Isn't that right?"

A snort. "And how do you know Amelia Grant was my mother?"

Gotcha. That was almost too easy! Damien smiled and shrugged. "I don't know. Probably the same way you know I'm talking about Amelia Grant."

This time he could hear Derrick sigh, obviously catching his slip. "All right then, Amelia Grant was my mother," he admitted, grudgingly. "There, are you satisfied?"

"No, not yet. You still have to explain to me why she was found murdered, and just where you happened to be at the time."

"And how am I supposed to remember that!"

"I don't know. But you sure as heck weren't with your mother."

Derrick lunged forward and struck Damien in the chest with the flats of his hands, knocking him to the ground. Damien's head cracked against a rock; he wheezed and glanced up, surprised, the wind knocked out of him.

Derrick jabbed a finger down at his face. "You're walking on very thin ice right now," he warned him, his voice deadly low and threatening. "And I suggest you head back to shore before it cracks with you on top." So saying, he turned away and stalked off out of the park.

After a moment or two Damien sat up, shaking his head painfully; he noticed several bystanders giving him funny looks, and smiled weakly to show them he was all right. Then he got up, dusted himself off with a shaky sigh, and headed back for his car.

**********

Rewritten 2007 version. Not proofed.

CHAPTER NINE
A CONFRONTATION

A SMALL WOODEN bench sat just outside the state police station, beside the stoop. It was probably intended more for decoration than anything else, as not many people would prefer to pass a pleasant summer afternoon seated near a police station. This fact didn't keep Damien and Father Damien from sitting on it, however. The two of them were staring across the tiny parking lot, watching the cars pass obliviously by on Main Street, their engines keeping up a constant muffled roar.

"It's not a coincidence," Damien said, for what must have been the third or fourth time; they'd left the file on Amelia Grant inside with Officer Jones, of course, who, despite his apparent vague curiosity toward what they were talking about, had been all too happy to see them leave. Presumably the old file folder was back in storage where he'd retrieved it from. "Same name, same birth year, same sign, same field...there's no way that all of that adds up to a coincidence."

"I know," Father Damien replied, rubbing his eyes, "but as for what it does add up to..." He trailed off, paused, then simply shrugged, not quite sure how to finish.

Damien's stare drifted down to the asphalt. The black-and-white image of Amelia Grant, smiling at the camera--unaware of the awful fate that awaited her at the time--was seared in his head. As were the details of the original case file and the homicide report, and the findings of the coroner's report. Body found--1969. Cause of death--multiple gunshot wounds. Signs of a recent pregnancy...

"So say that Derrick's really Amelia Grant's son," he said after a moment of silence. "If so...then what's he trying to do? Why would he lie to us? Wouldn't he want to help us, instead? They did kill his mother, didn't they?"

Father Damien's look grew vaguely uneasy and he fiddled his thumbs. "Damien, you forget that there can be more than two sides to a story...if Derrick was born into that cult, chances are strong he's still with that cult."

"But they killed Amelia," Damien said, giving his uncle a confused look.

Father Damien shrugged again. "And they tried to kill your father...do you see what I'm getting at?"

"I don't understand how someone would want to stay with the people who did that to his own mother," Damien muttered, but didn't press the issue, which was just as well as Father Damien had little else to say. "That doesn't answer why he's spoken to us at all. As weird as it sounds, I think some of the things he said were actually true. What's the point of doing that?"

"I don't know," Father Damien finally admitted. "Maybe he's trying to seem unsuspicious, or to seem helpful. Or to recruit us. Who even knows anymore?"

"'Recruit'?" Damien echoed, furrowing his brow.

The priest nodded. "Some cults send out people to do that. 'Recruiters.' They're the ones who put on a good face, act friendly, try to get others to join." He paused as if in thought, then shook his head. "But I doubt it. I doubt a cult like Scorpio would actively recruit in the open, and he doesn't act like a recruiter anyway. I really think he's trying to get us to trust him for some reason. Though what that reason is, I honestly don't know."

"Is there any chance," Damien said, "do you think there's even the slightest chance that he could turn on them for what they did to Amelia? Maybe if he has some sort of weak spot, we could use it."

Father Damien gave a small sigh. "I won't get your hopes up, Dami; I doubt it. I saw only a hint of what they did to your father, and have you heard anything from him lately?"

"Why do you keep bringing that up?" Damien cut in, his voice gaining a defensive edge; Father Damien frowned a little but said nothing. "That's Dad, and not Amelia. Two different people. Besides. That was years ago. Have you heard anything from him lately? For all you know he's been trying to get out and find us all along. Just because we haven't heard from him doesn't mean he's not trying."

"He was born into it," Father Damien said quietly, not looking up. "He's not trying."

"Sure," Damien retorted. "And you're telling me about there being more than two sides to a story? Tell me this, when's the last time you heard from Mom?"

Father Damien's shoulders stiffened and he blinked. A second later his head shot up and Damien flinched a little on seeing the look there. He honestly hadn't thought a priest could get such a look.

"She's your mother," Father Damien said in a level voice, "but she's my sister, and I grew up with her. She's the reason you're free today. Don't forget that--and don't think that she isn't still trying to get out."

Damien waited a moment or two to be sure that it was safe to speak, then said, "I never thought she wasn't still trying. But if you can give her the benefit of the doubt, then I think Dad deserves the same thing. He helped her...remember?"

They both stared at each other in tense silence, then Father Damien seemed to relax slightly, and resumed staring down at his hands; Damien relaxed as well and examined the cracks in the asphalt. "I can't know for certain what he is or isn't doing," Father Damien said at last, "but I don't want you pinning your hopes on something and then having them fall through. This isn't a family dispute we're talking about. All the usual situations people deal with don't apply."

Damien considered adding another two cents, then decided that the argument wasn't worth it. "I'm just saying, that if Mom and Dad's loyalty wavered, then maybe Derrick's would, too. Amelia was shot in the back--running away from them. They obviously didn't get to her."

"They wouldn't need to," Father Damien said. "But if that's the line you're going to pursue, just make sure you go in prepared. We don't even know if he knows about his mother. Scorpio probably never would have told him if it suited their purpose. He never got to know her, so he has far more reason to be loyal to them than to her."

"Sure," Damien said, "but that doesn't mean I can't push some buttons. You have to admit I'm good at that, right?" He locked his fingers and stretched his arms in front of him. "Though I have to admit...I have no idea how to get in touch with him now that I want to. It's not like I have his home address! How would that kind of thing work, anyway? 'Derrick Grant, C/O Scorpio Cult, Middle of Big Scary Field, Cheboygan, Michigan, 49721'?"

"I don't know," Father Damien said again, "but maybe it won't be as hard as you think. After all, we have basically been snooping around after him, and he seems to find out these things pretty fast. Maybe you won't even have to find him--maybe he'll come looking for you." He made a face. "It's not like we were being very discreet."

"True," Damien said, making a face of his own. "Well...if by any chance he hasn't heard yet, who better to break it to him than yours truly. I can think of a few spots where he might be likely to show up; I'll just set myself out there and let the moth come to the flame." He made a fluttering gesture with his fingers and had them land on his nose.

His uncle rolled his eyes. "Good luck," he said, "because you're going to need it." As Damien got up he added, "For some reason I have a feeling this isn't going to end very well."

"Gee..." Damien cast him a look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence! I thought you were supposed to have blind faith, or something." He headed for his car.

"No offense," Father Damien replied, "but when it comes to who I place blind faith in, you're hardly in the same league." Before Damien could say anything in response he held up his hand, and the singer frowned when he saw a $20 bill there. "Twenty dollars says you come back with some sort of mild injury."

Damien's mouth fell open. "What?" He whirled around. "You're going to bet against me--AND bet that I end up injured?!"

Father Damien shrugged. "Why miss out on a sure thing?" He narrowed his eyes. "Are you chicken?"

Damien let out a huffing noise. "FIFTY dollars says I come back just as good as new, and rub your twenty dollars in your face!" He spun back to his car and jerked the door up so abruptly that a jolt of pain seared through his wrist; when he stopped to hiss and rub at it, he happened to look back at his uncle, who was still holding the $20 bill with a knowing look on his face. Damien ground his teeth and got into the car, slamming the door and then yelping when it pinched his arm.

"You want to make this way too easy?" Father Damien called.

Damien started the car. "Oh, go...sit in a pew or something!" he snapped, and revved the engine just to drown out anything else his uncle might say, before pulling out of the parking lot.

* * * * *

Damien briefly considered going to the river, the first spot where he'd met Derrick, before reminding himself that Derrick hadn't seemed to be terribly fond of the spot. That left Dairy Queen. He didn't particularly feel like sitting inside for who knew how long, and so ordered a Misty and went to sit in Washington Park, just across the street. The park was shady and just uphill from the river, so it was nice and cool, and he sat on a bench and watched the various people walking by, most of them with ice creams of their own. They were all chattering, about trivial things, silly things, mundane things. Everyday things. Damien suddenly realized that it had been quite a while since he'd chattered about something so ordinary, and with a pang of surprise he found that he missed that. His life had certainly never been normal, but still, at least it had been peaceful before that necklace had arrived in the mail.

Think about that again, Dami. If that necklace hadn't arrived, you wouldn't be talking with your uncle again. You wouldn't even know he's still alive. Would you like to make that tradeoff...?

Damien scowled to himself a little and gently knocked a knuckle against his head, telling his mind to shut up. He lifted his cup and took a sip from the straw, and when he lowered it he saw someone making a beeline for him through the park. He blinked when he recognized Derrick, and would have congratulated himself for picking the right spot to find him, had not the look on the other man's face told him to brace himself. He'd obviously already heard about their snooping. Damien did briefly wonder how he knew.

Derrick halted before him, fists clenched at his sides. "Why are you spying on me?" he demanded, without so much as a hello.

Damien finished off his drink and tossed the cup into the garbage before standing up, and the two of them faced each other. "We haven't been spying on you," he replied. "I don't know what gave you that ridiculous idea, but--"

"Oh--?" Derrick waved toward the street. "Going through the county records? The police posts? That's not considered spying to you?"

Damien frowned. "Where the heck do you hear these things--?"

"Don't turn this around. I want to know what your problem is and why you're looking around for my files!" He looked ready to start snarling. "To think I came to you and started talking and then THIS is what you do in return!"

"That's just it, Derrick," Damien said. "You don't have any files to look through." At these words, Derrick stopped talking, though he did continue with his hateful, fuming stare. Damien decided to take advantage of the silence and crossed his arms, continuing. "Now I want to know just what the heck's going on here. I know you feel invaded--"

"Oh, do you?"

"--But my uncle and I just wanted to know some more about you, to know who exactly we're dealing with."

Derrick threw up his arms, letting out a huffing noise. "Well--just ASK me! Here I am! Go for it! That's what I've been telling you to do, isn't it--?"

"We would ask you," Damien said, frowning slightly. "But you're kind of secretive, aren't you?" This time when Derrick fell silent he waited as well for some sort of answer, and when one didn't come he prodded, "Well, isn't that so, Mr. Tightlips?"

Derrick's lip twitched slightly and he narrowed his eyes, fingers curling into fists again as he bristled. "Look, I don't take very well to mocking," he grated, stressing the last word as if it weren't nearly strong enough to convey what he meant.

Damien considered coming up with some sort of witty retort, then remembered the bet Father Damien had forced upon him and let out his breath in a sigh. He held up his hands, palms out, as if surrendering. "All right, fine, I'm sorry. Okay? I know I shouldn't be snooping around you, I'd get mad if somebody did the same thing to me. But we did, and I can't take that back. And you can't blame me for being suspicious because there's a few things that just don't seem to match up. You know?"

There was a pause, then Derrick seemed to relax a little. He unclenched his fists and stood down a bit, though the dark sulky look didn't disappear from his face. "Such as?"

"Well," Damien said, "primarily, such as your mother." As soon as the word left his mouth, he saw the slightest flinch pass over Derrick's face and then disappear. Most people would have missed it, it was so subtle, but Damien caught it, and an Aha flitted through his brain. He imagined the bet his uncle had made and allowed himself to feel the tiniest bit smug about it.

"And what about her?" Derrick retorted. "Like you would know anything."

"Like the fact that she was found murdered in 1969. If you're around my age, which I'm assuming you are, that would have been around when you were born. Isn't that right?"

Derrick snorted. "And how do you know Amelia Grant was my mother?"

Damien's mouth twitched and he crossed his arms again. "I don't know. Probably the same way you know I'm talking about Amelia Grant."

Derrick blinked, then Damien saw realization enter his eyes as he caught his own mistake. Damien hadn't even been planning to try to trick him into anything, but his speaking of the woman's first name, without any prompting, was the best confession Damien could hope for. It was like something right out of a cop show, he thought.

"All right then," Derrick said, relenting, still giving Damien a very foul look. "Amelia Grant was my mother. There. Are you satisfied? Do you think you've prodded enough now?"

"Not just yet," Damien replied. "Secondly I'd like to know exactly why you decided to look us up and come to us, and tell us all this Scorpio-this, Scorpio-that stuff. Are you some sort of recruiter?"

"Recruiter?" Derrick spat, as if the word tasted bad. "Where do you get such junk? What am I supposed to be recruiting for?"

"I don't know, maybe this cult you seem to know so much about?"

"Oh...so knowing makes me a bad guy." Derrick's nose wrinkled. "If that's the case, then maybe I should be looking at you and your uncle all funny. You're the ones who seem to be asking all the questions, not me." He took a step back. "Obviously I made a mistake when I thought to try to help you two out, if you're going to go turning it all around on me! Sorry I wasted your precious time. I'll remember to keep my mouth shut from now on."

"Hold on a minute," Damien said as he started to turn away. "That isn't what I said or what I meant at all. Admit it, if I just came up to you out of the blue one day and started talking about cults, wouldn't you be the teensiest bit suspicious? Isn't that just being human?" He waited for Derrick to turn back to face him again; at least he hadn't stormed off just yet. "I don't think you can really blame us for wondering, at least. Why it is that you come to us out of nowhere and start talking about this like it's the most normal thing in the world!"

"You already figured that one out," Derrick groused in return. "You looked at the police reports! It doesn't take a mental giant to figure out why I'd come forward. We have something in common, only you have a chance to settle things. But like I said, I think my attempt at help was misplaced. I'm more than willing to get out of your hair."

He's doing this because of his mother--? Damien thought, and blinked. The idea caught him offguard...but it did make sense. The main part of his mind told him to keep being suspicious, even while a smaller part wondered if he'd jumped to a terribly wrong conclusion after all. If Derrick were the one searching for his parents, he knew that he'd be one of the first in line to step forward with information, if he had any. He felt a twinge of guilt but hid it.

"Okay then," he said. "So you want to help us out because we have something in common. Why not just out and say so? You'd stand a better chance of being believed if you'd just be upfront about it all. If you'd just mentioned your mother in the first place, all this trouble could've been avoided."

"Well, I think you of all people would know about valuing your privacy," Derrick said. "Some things just aren't talked about, especially with near-strangers. You got what you wanted from those files, so now you know. So is that it?" He crossed his arms and gave the singer a dark look. "Are you done with the third degree yet?"

Damien opened his mouth, fully intending to say Yes, which was why he was just as surprised as anyone else would be when he instead said, "No, not quite yet. I'd still like to know why it was your mother was killed, and where you happened to be at the time."

Now Derrick blinked. He looked utterly confused for a second, then started fuming. "And how the hell would I remember something like that!"

"I don't know," Damien said, "but you sure as heck weren't with your mother."

The words were out of his mouth before he'd even thought them over, and he had the briefest second to gawk at himself mentally for saying such a thing. He saw the look on Derrick's face and was fairly certain it was the same as the one he was now wearing, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. Then, he caught a split-second view of his expression starting to change--but that was it. Derrick's hands met his chest and suddenly Damien was falling backward from the force of the blow. He landed hard on his elbows and his head cracked against the ground with a loud thud that made his ears ring, and he didn't see birds, but he did see sparks and stars. These cleared almost immediately and he shook his head, dazed and winded, to see Derrick standing over him. His face was in shadow but Damien could easily guess what it looked like, based on the tone of his voice when he spoke.

"You're walking on very thin ice right now," he grated, jabbing a finger down at Damien, his voice deadly low. "I suggest you head back to shore before it breaks with you on top--friend."

With this, he turned and vanished from Damien's field of vision. Damien blinked a few times before struggling to push himself up, putting one hand to his throbbing head. Derrick was already out of the park and across the street, rapidly walking away. Around him in the park, several passersby were giving Damien odd looks.

He let out a breath, rubbing at his head and wincing as he slowly got to his feet and took a moment to lean against a tree to regain his balance. He gave the bystanders a reassuring but altogether unconvincing smile; this managed to make them move on, though they did keep peering at him oddly as they did so. Damien ignored them, watching Derrick until he was gone from sight. He took in another breath and again let it out, wincing slightly.

Looks like Uncle's won that fifty dollars, after all, he thought, belatedly.

Continue:

"10: A Warning" 


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