Patient Darkness: Brooding City Series Book 2 (26 page)

Alex swirled her
glass of wine in one hand as she gazed down upon the city.

The floor-to-ceiling windows afforded her an amazing view, and the sunset this evening was no exception. Fire spread across the city as the amber rays of the sun reflected rampantly off the mirrored sides of the skyscrapers that dotted the landscape. She emptied the cup of its last finger of wine and felt her mind become mercifully less poetic.

If the pattern of the last few weeks persisted, she would not be getting any sleep tonight.

All around her, neighbors grumbled at their spouses and thought about only the darkest portions of their days. Everybody was in a generally foul mood, a collective disgruntlement that was only getting worse, and Alex had a pretty good idea of what was behind it.

When the last violent hues of red disappeared behind dusky clouds, she put on a decent outfit and left her apartment. The elevator dinged, and Alex pressed the button for the fifteenth floor.

Benjamin didn’t seem surprised by her appearance outside his door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. He was dressed comfortably, but not yet in sleep attire.

Alex pointed toward the back bedroom. “You need to take care of that.”

Well-worn wrinkles appeared as Benjamin frowned back at her. “
He
is not an object or an animal to be thrown away or put down,” he said sharply. “I do not carry so little faith in my loved ones as you do, Ms. Brüding.”

“That isn’t your grandson anymore. Not in the way that has any meaning.”

“All life has meaning.”

Alex sighed. “He’s only in pain now, and you know it. And he obviously isn’t pleased that Brennan is still alive.”

“All the more proof that the man he once was still exists,” Benjamin said mildly.

“His negativity is affecting everyone in the building, like a contagious darkness spreading from one head to the next. He’s patient zero.”

“I thought the wellbeing of others was not your concern.”

“Yeah, well,
I
can’t get any sleep, either,” she said resolutely.

Benjamin crossed his hands on his cane. “You must learn to manage stress if you wish to live as we do.” At the look on her face, he continued, “I will see about moving him to a more secluded rehabilitation facility. Would that satisfy you?”

“It will have to do.”

A moment of silence passed, and Benjamin took a slight step back into his apartment. “You did not come all this way just to tell me that,” he said solemnly.

Alex felt her lips spread in a vulpine grin.

I think it’s time we began my training.

“I am pleased
to see you again, Arthur.”

Father Dylan ushered Brennan into his private office, and he was struck again by the room’s lack of decoration or ornamentation. There were few personal effects aside from framed photos of the holy man with several groups of people. The photos looked like they were taken during religious retreats.

“What brings you here this evening?” Father Dylan asked, waiting until Brennan was seated before taking his own chair.

“I was hoping to ask you something of a rather personal nature.”

“Of course you may. Please, speak your mind.”

Brennan hesitated for a moment and realized he was wringing his hands. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing. It’s been…well, god knows how long since my last confession.”

“It may seem a long time to you, but He is always listening.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Brennan said dryly.

Father Dylan’s smile was gentle. “It should be.”

“I don’t know how I should start…”

“Take your time.”

“Have you ever felt conflicted?” Brennan asked. “I mean, when you know what you are doing is right, but the way in which you do it is not always so just?”

The priest inclined his head and steepled his fingers. “What is causing you to feel this turmoil?”

“You’re keeping up with the news, I assume?”

“Indeed. Dreadful things must have happened to that man to guide him on such a path,” Father Dylan said solemnly.

Brennan felt his hair raise on end at hearing such a generous view given to the mass murderer. “He’s going to be in federal custody for the rest of his life…and I’m not sure that that’s enough.”

“You want to kill him.” It wasn’t a question, but Father Dylan also managed not to make it sound like a judgment.

“Yes.” Brennan paused. “No. I don’t know. The lives I took in my line of work…they were always justified because I believed in what I was doing.”

“And now your belief is shaken?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s…well, Kellogg believed in what
he
was doing, too, and he thought he was right. We’ve both left our share of bodies in our wake, but I’m a free man today because of…what? Enough people backing me up, and not enough people backing him? What if the mob thought that blowing up buildings and murdering innocents was the only way to achieve their goals?”

“Murder is never justified,” Father Dylan replied, his voice firm. “I am sorry that yours has been a difficult journey, and I am grateful that you do not have to undertake it alone.”

“You mean Bishop?”

Father Dylan nodded. “Noel will always be by your side, Arthur, just as I know you will always be by hers. I do not believe it was coincidence that crossed your path with hers.”

“My path has led me through some dark alleys, Father…and I’m afraid the darkest of them may be yet to come.” Brennan breathed deeply through his nose and exhaled through his mouth before glancing up at the priest. The old man’s eyes held an inviting warmth to them. “Recently, I experienced a…thing,” he started slowly. “I don’t even know how to describe it. Energy flowed through me, and it felt like wings were spreading outward from my back. I’ve never felt more powerful than I did in that moment, and in a flash, I knew exactly what I needed to do. My role in catching Kellogg became clear, or at least the drive to do
something
was reinvigorated.”

The priest’s face was grave, and Brennan noticed for the first time just how many lines actually showed on that usually jolly face of his. “There may be an answer to explain what you are feeling,” Father Dylan said, “but I fear you will not be pleased to hear it.”

Brennan sat up a little straighter. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Father Dylan cleared his throat. “There are stories as old as storytelling itself that depict a chosen one, a hero borne of legend that succeeds in performing great feats where others have failed. Greek demigods are the ones you might be most familiar with, such as Hercules and Achilles.”

Brennan shook his head. “Last I checked, neither of my parents was a Greek god.”

“These are not the only examples, though,” Father Dylan argued. “Gilgamesh, a great king who defeated terrible monsters before succumbing to his own dark quest for immortality. According to some Mormon beliefs, John the Apostle—a man who performed miracles in his time—still walks the earth as he waits for the Second Coming.” The priest smiled wryly as he said, “Even today, we have comic books that depict the epic battles of such heroes. They have a wellspring of power within them, and gifts that cannot be explained by the average man.”

“Are you suggesting that I’m some kind of…superhero?” Brennan asked.

“That is for you to decide. Personally, I have not witnessed such a thing, but I would not be surprised to find that it is true,” Father Dylan said, the smile on his face widening. “I believe that God has, over time, selected individuals to be his Chosen, those who perform great works in our world.”

Brennan frowned. “But with the exception of John, all of those figures eventually gave in to darkness or death. Even the superheroes have their off days when they nearly destroy the earth.”

“And why should they be any exception, hmm? Everyone has villains they must face, inner demons they must quell, even the best of us.” Father Dylan leaned in confidingly. “It is how we choose to address these monsters that matters most.”

“So if I’m one of the Chosen, then I’m destined for great things?”

“You have already accomplished great things,” the priest countered. “You disbanded a violent gang of drug peddlers and stopped a misguided fool from immolating half the city. Ask the question you truly have in your heart.”

He breathed out slowly, and his heartbeat seemed to slow to a crawl. His wife’s murderer was still out there, and Benjamin had promised that he could help. There was darkness there, Brennan knew, patiently waiting to consume him. Just as it had consumed Kellogg. “If I break the law in my pursuit of justice, how am I any better than the criminals I put down?”

“You mean put
away
?” Father Dylan asked mildly. Brennan met the question with a frown, and the priest sighed. “The Chosen have always had an unorthodox life compared to their contemporaries. I believe you are a good man, and that you will remain in His favor as long as the core of who you are remains true.”

Brennan ignored the growing sensation that was spreading across his back. “And if I am changed in the process?”

Father Dylan regarded him sadly. “Then you will be one of the Fallen.”

Tom Shutt writes
paranormal suspense with generous helpings of humor and a sprig of mystery thrown in for good measure. Sometimes he dabbles in fantasy, but in all cases, he strives to push the boundaries of modern fiction in search of good answers to hard questions.

He lives on the perpetually rainy East Coast with some cats, dogs, and a basement full of mistresses. His favorite authors are Jim Butcher, George R. R. Martin, Jonathan Stroud, and Eoin Colfer. He knows how to hide a body from the police, and the research for his novels has likely landed him on a few security watch lists. He enjoys reading, gaming (
Halo, Civilization, BioShock, Call of Duty, Minecraft
), playing pool, chasing deer, hunting deer, riding deer, and lying about what activities he does with deer. His favorite shows include
Supernatural, Game of Thrones, iZombie,
and anything created by Joss Whedon.