220I did a little bit of fix on this, for things I noctied. Its been bothering me.
Chapter 33 ~ Stigmata
The police were called, and they removed the body of the poor man. Vergil and the others were questioned thoroughly, but there was no clear answer to be had. Simply put, the old man was alive one moment, and the next, he was dead as a doornail. It came upon Vergil with force, and he thought of what the weeping angel had spoken to him. The mystery of things still remained thick like a fog, hanging hazily over his thoughts as he pondered the day's events.
They returned home to the shop, Vergil said good night to Patty, the young girl left worried too much for her own good.
It was many a good hour's consults before she finally found solace and calm. When she was finally restful, he left her in the safety of the room.
Downstairs he sat, sitting on the couch, holding his head in his hand. Vergil was a good deal disturbed. He wondered if that figure had spoken of the unseen entity on this fateful night. The old man had suffered this fate for a seemingly needless reason. What had killed him? How could it have done so without his seeing? Why had the old man been killed at all? What was he important to, who had he crossed so damagingly to render his own heart a target of malice? The answers to these questions weighed on his mind heavily. There was an uneasiness he couldn't shake, something that still gnawed at his nerves undying. The mere mention of its name and the great perils that might follow this 'successor' drove him to madness, his sanity already frayed.
The man grumbled to himself. Such a perfect time for prophetic doom to befall the working class. It couldn't choose another era to arrive in, two millennia in the future when he would be long-gone and his own descendants would have to take up the sword against it, no. It all, of course, fell to him to defend humanity. At times, he remembered why often he sought power with such reckless abandon. Days like these left with no peace, and in the end, if he wouldn't, who else would?
None possessed the strength, the power, nor the mind it took. And in that, he felt loneliness consume him.
He heard Lady's footsteps approach. He'd recognize those high-heeled boots anywhere. She walked through the foyer from the side-room of the first floor and saw him sitting there.
"Back to overthinking are we?" She said.
The mere sight of her seemed to lessen all other thoughts to whispers. Of her possible futures, the one he'd seen unnerved him, made him coarse and brackish. He would do anything to prevent it, and a man of his stature was more than capable. That would be his primary purpose from this day forward. Anyone standing in his way . . . the road to victory had to be built on something.
His mind returned to that day, watching Dante on the ground, his body twitching, inching ever closer to lifelessness. His cold eyes staring him down, unable to speak. To this very moment, he couldn't rid himself of the memory. He could not wash it away, the great guilt he felt, watching him die. Even though a part of the brother now laid at rest within himself, Vergil still simply felt the pain of surviving.
He wondered day in and day out how things could've changed, what might have happened had he done things different.
She had come to sit beside him, placing an arm around his broad shoulders. He touched her hand and held it with a light smile, "We may need to visit the library tomorrow."
That was as random a statement as she could've predicted.
"You're- the library? . . . Um . . . why? Don't tell me you're some kinda bibliophile now, what's up?"
"Actually . . . I am. But, that's not the reason I'm saying we should go."
Of his youthful mind, he remembered many an afternoon enjoying the library close to his childhood home. The librarian used to speak with him ever so often, impressed by his many interests. He wondered what had become of that special book he once read so many a time ago. He had marked it with the first letter of his name, a childish venture, but one he undertook regardless. Perhaps it was time to revisit the past.
He couldn't tell if he was ready, but that didn't matter. He glanced around the windows as if he was worried they'd give out and in pouring would come the fires of hell.
Vergil immediately snapped back to reality, and he instead returned his thoughts to the library.
"I think it might be good to return home one of these days," he spoke dryly, "I have not been in so long . . . I forget what it looks like."
"You think it's still standing?" She asked.
"I don't know. I want to see what became of it, certainly," he answered hastily, "it's not even in this same state."
"Where was it?" She asked him.
"Colorado, I believe," he was almost unsure of himself, "my father came to America at some point in the past, he purchased land and a home in Vail."
That came as a surprise. To think that the legendary dark knight had come to reside someplace so quaint was almost unthinkable, as though foreign and alien in concept to his legacy. In the grand scheme of things, she thought it odd that the great Sparda had come to spend his final days on a ranch in western America. The amount of land he must've owned . . . she could only imagine the scope.
"The countryside was so wide . . . I remember trees as far as I could see, mountains capped by snow, animals roaming the ridges around my school . . . I remember being happy then."
She hadn't known of this till now, what courage it took to share with her.
"That sounds . . . that sounds really nice, being out there in the wilderness," she said.
"It was," he sighed, "as with most things, it was not made to last forever."
"I know how it feels," she held him tightly, "You don't have to be alone in this."
He looked at her blankly, "can you heal me?"
It was as direct as he'd ever been, that typical dry personality leaping into action once more. And she looked at him with sympathetic eyes and pressed her lips to his, "I can try."
"Can you really?" He was almost empty, "Can you heal what father's done? Can you fix this hole in me? Mend the broken worlds within . . ."
She stared at him, sadness in her eyes. He'd been hurt deeply, and still, in a way, he'd never been healed. In the years since those lonely days in Vail, he'd been running scared, a boy set down the bad path for the want of a nail, lost. Lost to his father, lost from his mother, lost with his brother, and lost from all others. Fairness was not a doctrine he knew. He had made up his mind long ago of what to do, and that was the seeking of power, the drawing of his mortal soul. He was lost to even himself after so long, change was not an inherently easy thing. Wholly overtaken by the difference as he was, the dark of the past stilled claw at his mind ever so often, pledging no loyalty to either him nor the beings that lived within it. He hid himself away for so many years, receded behind cold bravado, the pain of it unrelenting. Mother stolen, brother laid to rest, enemy broken, he was still a stranger in a strange land.
Still, within this house, the house of his brother, he knew they were the only ones awake.
There were two mattresses on the ground covered in white sheets, for Tony and the foreigner to sleep. Patty often slept either in their bed or with Lucia here, depending on her mood.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I don't mean to drag you down."
"Hey, it's okay. We'll be depressed together," forever did she seem to be by his side, "I might not be the best judge of character, but you can be damned sure I'll pull up anyone I love."
"You love me?"
A question that sounded so desperate, so profoundly weak.
They hadn't had much time to express such feelings before, and neither were sure they were comfortable stating these feelings now either. Could she heal him? Cut that rope that held him in place and allow the man to run free? At times like these, she wished there was a prophetic magical mirror she could chant into to see the future, much like that old fairy tale. Reality wasn't so kind to afford her such a thing. Going at it alone was all she knew.
"Yes," she nodded at him.
He wasn't sure what to say. Should he say anything? An axe for a stone left his thoughts split between now and then.
"What's got you down?" she asked him lightly, "Are you alright? What's wrong?"
"That old man . . ." He said, breath heavy, "I couldn't stop him from dying."
Lady understood now what had troubled him so, "hey, that's not on you."
"Yes, it is," he snapped sharply, "I'm supposed to be there for people like him, I'm supposed to see what you cannot. And I couldn't. I let my judgment lapse and an innocent life was taken before me. And I stood there powerless, unable to stop it. I turned my back on him when he needed me, and it took a part of my soul with him. I was supposed to be better. I was supposed to be a hero."
She grew silent and glared at the ground.
He too grew quiet in the gloom of his dark office.
"What I am about to tell you stays between us."
"Your secret is safe with me," she whispered, "Whatever it is, please just tell me. You can trust me, you know?"
Vergil took a long sigh, "I do."
And they came to an understanding.
He held his head in his left hand, massaging his temples briefly, before he turned toward her, "Earlier today, I stumbled upon a broken figure of a creature, something fallen and otherworldly. It spoke to me, told me of the rise of an entity in the place of Mundus, a bright flame that would supplant the southern cross in the aether of the Demon realm . . . it was very cryptic and unhelpful, the message infuriated me more than anything, but what I couldn't understand was why. Why now? What's coming that could be so powerful it already is almost here? The figure spoke of a storm on all mankind, but the storm was already here. Mundus was supposed to be the last threat for all time, and yet now something else rises in his place. I cannot help but feel the old man was a symptom of this new reign."
When even Vergil himself grew weary of the world around him, she knew it was not a good sign.
"Are you pulling my leg here?" She asked with a tepid bemusement, knowing full well of his dry humor, "I thought Mundus was supposed to be it."
The look in his eyes was sincere, "No. I am not pulling your leg."
That was enough to take the color from her face. She squeezed his hand and exhaled aggravated breaths.
"Where was this?"
"In alleyway downtown, hidden away from the world's prying eyes."
"So you're worried about something you saw in an alleyway?"
He glared at her, "the last time I chose to ignore signs, the King of Darkness imprisoned me within my own body."
She scoffed and bit her lip.
"Okay, fair enough," she grumpily admitted, "what are we supposed to do then?"
"I don't know," he replied, sarcastically stating, "Twas why I wanted to visit the library tomorrow if you recall."
"What, to read a few books and take your mind off things?"
"No, don't be so obtuse. I'm going to research what I saw. There must be texts relating to demons of the variety we saw, or rather, didn't see, tonight. The sooner I can learn more details surrounding the man's death, the sooner I can understand what is at play here. We must nip this in the bud before it can threaten what we have! I am strong, but what I have in the way of power, I lack in knowledge. I have gaps to close."
She sighed, at least now he was talking sense.
"Well, I admire your resolve. Ya can't let this destroy you. You've come way, way too far to let this tiny bit of paranoia start driving you insane."
He paused to consider her words.
To her surprise, he pulled her into an embrace.
"I'm made of tougher things," he whispered, "Besides, for this moment, I'd rather focus on what's in front of me."
"Well, at least now you're talking sense!" She smiled, and they shared a long kiss.
The sun shone brightly, creating illusions across the storefront's brilliant levels
The rays cascaded over the streets and penetrated even the darkest shadows. Heat rose from the ground in waves diametric. The inclement weather had changed naturally, fading with time as the forces of darkness fell away. High above, the darkened clouds had been replaced by hateful heat, ripping deluded people from their ordinary comforts, tearing through air-conditioned complexes like a heatwave unseen before then.
The only escape from this scorching sunlight was beneath the umbrellas and in stores with tinted windows.
Still, people were out and about, though not as widely as they would have been before. Wall-to-wall shops were recovering quite well, and the days of fear were fading, certainly. Men and women, families of many lives, scattered around in diverse groups of many numbers; they all walked and walked and walked, scurrying about from each of their destinations like bees in colonies, dressed in liberal summer clothes and carrying practical equipment for the weather. Visors and hats, water bottles and backpacks, purses and belt pouches, all together the most useful tool today.
Vergil himself had taken to the time, a simple black shirt with dark slacks his only provisional wear after washing up.
He walked upstairs to their room. Here, the girl was sleeping.
"Hey there, we awake?" he shook her gently, "Time to get up."
"M'up . . ." Patty mumbled, burying her face in her arms, barely coherent.
He chuckled, it seemed she had a nice sleep. That's good.
He shook her again and her eyes peeled open, hurting from the light of the window. Vergil was there, smiling at her.
"Just give me five more minutes," Patty whined and tried to pull the covers over her head. As she grabbed the blanket, he yanked it from her, and Patty silently said goodbye to the idea of more sleep. She rolled over on her side away from the window and mounted her first attempt to rise.
"I reeeeally hate you," She groaned, "You're worse than the Orphanage head."
Vergil rolled his eyes and chuckled to himself. He began to drag her out of bed, ignoring the child's half-hearted grumbling.
She let him lead her downstairs to the small kitchen and he sat her down on the couch, going around picking up things to make breakfast.
Lady trudged down the stairs, clad in one of Vergil's loose-fitting dress shirts and not much else, "mornin' goldilocks."
"Hey Lady," the child said, cheerful but dulled.
Vergil worked with what he had, but the kitchen Dante had thrown together was never really anything significant. When he'd finished, he plonked the rather pathetic-looking breakfast down in front of them, dry toast for lack of any spreads, and coffee without milk. Sincerely, he was in desperate need of groceries today. They all stared at the pitiful excuse for food in front of them in silence.
"Breakfast of champions, I see," Lady snarked.
"I mean, it's edible," remarked the slayer.
Patty shrugged and just started eating her share.
The front door opened and Tony staggered in. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. Darkness hung under his eyes, and he was unusually pale, but he seemed coherent enough.
"Hi," he croaked, "where's the bathroom, boss?"
"You alright buddy?" Lady asked.
"Oooooh, no-no-no-no, stop shouting at me," the man grabbed his head and walked toward them.
As soon as he got closer, the smell grew unbearable.
Vergil nearly gagged, looking at the man, "My god man, did you sleep inside a wine cell full of pigs?"
Patty hid her face in Lady's arm, remarking "You stink!"
Lady just shook her head with a disgusted smirk.
"Jesus Christ," he grasped the sides of his head, "Stop yelling! I need to lay down . . ."
"You're certainly not using my couch," Vergil replied while watching him amble around, and the slayer grumbled. He retrieved his wallet from his pocket and removed two hundred-dollar bills. He called Tony over and placed them on the table, "here."
"What am I supposed to do with that?"
"Take it go check into a motel. Detox. Shower. Come back when you're cleaned off."
"Thanks, boss . . ." the man said as he took the money and walked off, "I'll, uh," and he pointed at them, "-you know, yeah. I'll be around."
And he left again.
"That man better not use a cent of it on booze," Vergil growled.
So silence took hold and they went about doing various things. The man organized his desk as the others kept commiserating at the kitchen. He went about doing many things all over the office, cleaning, taking out the trash, establishing a system of things, and he mumbled to himself what he should do. He retreated upstairs if only briefly, and went about cleaning up most everything, including Lady's own things, she'd practically started living with him. The wounds of a lifetime wouldn't vanish overnight, but her being her sure helped it feel that way. Maybe that was the purpose of their meeting, a purported 'destiny' to which they were bound. Then again, perhaps he was only overthinking things. He no longer felt that fate was a thing to be ignored.
Returning downstairs after all had been done, he found himself disappointed that they hadn't moved.
He looked at the clock on the wall above his desk and it became apparent he had simply been extraordinarily quick. Such is life. So he rejoined them at the 'kitchen' table if it could be called such. The front doors opened and in came lady Lucia, a light shining in her eyes and an expression of friendliness making itself known. She seemed to be refreshed, no hint of depression remaining in her demeanor. It was comforting to see her smile.
Lucia took a small seat next to the child and said her thanks for the breakfast. If only there was any left.
"We don't have anything else," Vergil said, "I'll hit the market soon enough."
"It is fine," Lucia replied and assured him, "I am not hungry, I only just ate."
Vergil crossed his arms and thought about her for a moment. English was not her first language, and yet suddenly, all of her misuses had subsided. When had that happened? He couldn't place his finger on when, but it was somehow definable. The moment her lexicon changed seemed to coincide with a shift in her demeanor, away from a childish naiveté to an adult swagger. She'd come a long way, and he felt the guilt of having never given her credit for it.
"Hey," he said.
Lucia looked back at him, "hm?"
"I'm proud of you."
Surprise found her strongly and she smiled, "thank you."
For a moment, he noticed the weird look in Lady's eyes, a smoldering stare, but one that was altogether separate from the one he used to see her use. It seemed to be less hatred-induced, instead gleaming suspicion. She downed the last of her coffee and left for the sink to wash up. Hiding discomfort was not exactly her strong suit. Timing was key in all things of a relationship. He felt conflicted. All he intended was a sign of respect, yet from it brewed an unfortunate misinterpretation.
"Vergil?" Patty spoke.
He glanced back at her, "yes?"
"Do you mind if I went to the Orphanage today? I wanna visit them since it's been so long, see what's up," she said with a smile, "We can watch all those old soap operas again."
Vergil raised an eyebrow. Spending time away from him for once? He wasn't exactly unhappy, but it seemed to be oddly-timed. Perhaps she was seeking a place of refuge during whatever came next.
Reluctantly, he sighed, but put on a brave smile, "Sure, go and have fun. I'll escort you there."
"Oh, no, that's fine," Patty cut him off, "It's not very far from here, I'll go on my own."
Vergil scoffed at the notion, "like hell you will."
Patty pouted, "What? Come on, it's fine. The city is safe now right?"
He simply laughed in response, "Oh yes, definitely, all the muggers and rapists just decided to move."
"You're being ridiculous!" the girl cajoled him.
"I'm being ridiculous? You're the one who wants to walk sixteen blocks alone in the aftermath of one of the biggest disasters in the city's history. Patty, it's a 'no.'" The man stayed firm.
She continued to argue, "I'm not a baby, ya know? I can take care of myself, there're no demons anymore."
Even Lady had to voice a complaint, "uh, kid, just because they aren't out and about, doesn't mean they aren't still here."
"You too?" She said, perplexed, "oh this is so unfair!"
"You don't know the meaning of the word fairness. If you go, you go with someone. If you go alone, you don't go at all." Vergil was strict and stern.
"My real Dad wouldn't be like this," she yelled.
Whatever god there was he hoped would handle his patience as his eyes flared and he stood up straight, lips pursed.
"I will take her," Lucia chimed in, and the slayer looked at her plainly, "I want to see the sights, get acquainted with this place better, and it would be better if the child left during the good hour."
Vergil and Lady both glared at her, and though it was a long moment, the tension relaxed itself.
He dropped his temper and relaxed his shoulders, "Alright, fine. You take her. But do not forget her."
"Yes," the foreigner replied, "I will do my best."
Row after row of neatly lined up books faced outward, coded into alphabetical order by fine-pressed labels and colored with many classical hues
Non-fiction sections arranged in alphabetical order hung on low shelves near floor cushions, comfortable leather armchairs strewn about in patterns around areas of the congregation, tables of quiet study, muffled stillness, librarians at the help desk, and hushed atmospherics punctured by the occasional child's laugh. The coarse carpet on the floor served as a reminder that young children were not the desired company of the institution. His eyes were lit inside by the sight of knowledge, of power. This place was a haven for men like him, men who sought to know the unknowable, the power that laid just beyond the perception of earthly limits. Instantly, he felt to be as though he were a child again, the wonder in his mind that had been so satiated by places such as this in his youth.
Lady was taken with him, it was a pleasant thought to think something as banal as ink on paper could elicit from him such fascination. For her, it held no more use than a used napkin.
She picked the nearby table and waited for him to return with what he sought. Come whatever may . . .
To her amusement, he returned with the trunk full and tossed five thick books in front of her, "There's research."
"You expect me to read all that?" she glared at him.
He smiled, "I'm afraid so. Let's get to reading."
"Oh Christ, you are serious."
"Of course I am, now let's get to it," he replied.
He poured all of his focus upon the first book he picked, titled: 'Demonic Legends'
Soon the looming sun vanished behind clouds on the horizon, and the two remained, reading through books, searching meticulously for any useful information, the dark slayer probing many, many books for anything of use. He had a certain way about him, it seemed that he read more than three times as much as the bounty hunter. For every chapter she read, Vergil seemed able to clear the contents of an entire book, and in the time she'd read one, he had already moved to another set. How she managed to get her eyes to focus was anyone's guess, she had never been a strong reader. Her talents laid elsewhere, always had. The last time that she'd truthfully read anything of significance was age eighteen. She'd so far read three to his nine, and not a single step of progress had been made.
Oddly, Vergil hadn't been irritated over the fact they found nothing, as he'd read much and found that a fair degree of his estimations had been outdated. It had proven a winning situation for him.
After so long, her eyes began to fatigue, and her shoulders cramped from that posture she'd slumped into. She put the book down and finally decided to ask him the question.
"Can we go back now?" she questioned, "There's gotta be somethin' somewhere else, like another library, don't ya think?"
He looked up from the book in his hand and glanced at her across the table.
"You want to take a break?" He asked her.
She scoffed and sat back with her arms crossed, "You don't know me very well, do you?"
"Mmm, well, I know enough," and he kept reading, his eyes peeled to the pages.
She laughed, "clearly!"
As her attention waned and the man's stare remained focused and unmoving, her position shifted. She grew bored of this day, and so too had many others. The library was almost empty, not that it had ever been close to crowded, and those that remained were scattered around, far from them. There were still two hours left before it closed. She looked up at the ceiling above, the vast cavernous expanse. It was a large place, as all libraries were, even small ones, and she groaned inside.
Her eyes drooped lazily as she looked over him, and her hand found its way to her boot. Steadily she undid the lace till her foot came free from its confines, and she slipped off the sock.
She yawned and leaned forward, stretching out her leg and flexing her foot, rolling her ankle. She cracked her neck to the side and exhaled a slight sigh. Her lips grew pouty and slowly but surely her toes tipped over towards his leg. Slowly but surely, her foot crept up toward it till it made contact with his leg. Ever still he read, like a hawk in a field searching for a predator. And she crept up past his boot, toes tracing the instep of his leg, up towards his inner thigh, and up further still till they came to rest on his pant's zipper, the ball of her foot resting comfortably across the area.
Only then did his gaze waver.
Slowly, he looked up towards her, and he saw a smirk on her face, lower lip bitten in her mouth, and sultry eyes that screamed distraction.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
She heaved the words, "I'm bored."
He looked at her almost concerned, though humored, "I don't think this is the right place."
Skillfully, she pressed her two toes together and gripped the zipper, then undid it.
"It's the perfect place."
"Are you insane? This is a public library," he chided her under his breath.
She smiled at him, wild-eyed, "I know."
And she curled her foot forward and laid into him, his breathing hastened.
". . . where do you want to go?"
"Nowhere. I want it here, in the aisles, in the study rooms, where no one is watching."
"Now, now, that's indecent," he said, but paused for her lustful eye, "but, I like 'indecent.'"
To Be Continued
Thank you for reading. I hope you had fun reading this. Hope everyone is safe! I know a few familiar faces haven't been around, so I want to know if we're all still good?
Guest: It's fine. Ragnarok is right. Your thoughts are fine, have fun with that :D
