A Light in the Dark (Post Seven)

[B][FONT="Book Antiqua"][COLOR="DarkRed"][JUSTIFY] He dragged the now-motionless body of the larger man into the center of the room, splaying him on his back, his hands crossed on his stomach, and did the same with the smaller one, lying him beside his companion. Vincent’s hands had gone numb as he had been gripping the window frame. He watched with still-open mouth as Carter knelt before them, at their heads, and bowed his head. Vincent could not make out what he was muttering, but it lasted for only a moment before he raised his gaze and drew his hair back, pulling it into a pony tail. Pulling his sleeves up, he turned his focus to the smaller of the two.

Hovering his right hand over the open mouth of the man, he murmured with half-closed eyes and fingers dancing only slightly, as though coaxing something into existence. Carter’s hands were graceful, and as he moved them over the open mouth of the dead man, some strange aura filled the room, something pure and cold, something Vincent had never felt before. It hurt him, to breathe in the aura, to even be around it, and it seemed to surround him like a thick blanket, heavy and suffocating, but he remained, gritting his teeth, holding his breath. Something was floating out of the man’s mouth as though obeying Carter’s words, something black and misty that slightly resembled a soul.

Finally, Vincent’s lungs could not cope, and he gasped, falling off the crate and stumbling into the wall opposite the café. The sensation coming from the room, the aura, was too benevolent, too pure. It was like holy light, or blessed water to a demon, slightly blinding and unnerving and crushing. Carter was certainly something Vincent had never seen before.

[CENTER]***[/CENTER]

Sitting on a bench outside Roy Brown’s bookshop, Vincent had still not stopped shaking. Roy was beside him, quiet, but observant. His friend had said nothing since returning, throwing the file detailing Carter Hall into the fireplace, and walking back outside. He waited patiently, hands folded under his chin, ready to listen to Vincent. Until then, he watched people walk by, heard vendors and gamblers call to one another or to passersby.

“I’ll never get near him.” Vincent said at last, his voice hoarse and strained. “He isn’t human. He’s… something else. It’s like the direct opposite of a demon. An angel, of sorts. That must be why he looks so different.”

“I don’t think Carter is an angel.” Roy said. “Perhaps he has a holy aura.”

“No, Roy. He isn’t human. I could feel it when we first met, something off about him, but not in a bad way. And now, he killed two men, snapped their knife without gaining so much as a scratch, and… I don’t know what after that.”

“Probably purifying the souls.”

“Pardon?”

“Purifying the souls. I’ve only read about it, but some people can kill someone in self defense or to save someone else, and with a whispered prayer and concentration of all goodness inside them, can manually extract the soul of the deceased and purge the evil and corruption from it. It’s not a human ability, certainly, but I doubt it’s an angelic ability.”

“Well, it’s the only conclusion I can come to. I’ve never felt an energy so powerfully good, so clean.” Vincent put his head in his hands. “I can’t get that soul.”

Roy laughed out loud, making Vincent look up and glare at him. “Yes, you can.” Roy said. “You’ve never said that before, so I won’t believe it. Vincent, you have yet to even try!”

“I can’t get near him.”

“Yes you can.” Roy turned to look directly at him. “This power of his is too strong. Every time he uses it, the energy takes a bit of his life.”

“It’s killing him?”

“Certainly. He isn’t like you, Vincent. Your power is derived from death itself, and every time you use it, you extend your life a bit. Darkness is death, while light is life. Powers derived from light, or life-power, runs off the bearer’s pure life energy, and taxes the body so much it knocks off a day or hour or sometimes a year of their life.”

“I never knew that.”

“Of course not, Vincent. You don’t read as much as I do.”

“But does Carter know?”

“I’m not sure. If he does, he’s really taking chances. I mean, some with this power, I read, never use it, and hide away. They’re afraid of death, of the boat ride down the river.”

“But if Carter dies, he won’t get a chance to come back.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The boat man. He always looks into your eyes before you board the boat for the ride to the land of the dead. I hear the eyes are the windows to the soul, and if it’s true, he studies your soul before setting off. Carter’s is rare, a soul completely pure, unstained. If the boat man is looking for a soul like that, he won’t let Carter go no matter what.”

“Probably. Or he’s searching for a soul so black it’s got no way of being saved from Hell.” Roy looked at Vincent. “Then again, I doubt it. He would have kept you if that were the case.”

Vincent growled, and stood. “I’m going to the river.”

“Be careful.”

Vincent nodded and started off, moving left. He got back onto Moloch street and retraced the direction that led him right to Carter Hall the first time. The location was empty of any yellow hair or an icy gaze, and Vincent managed to settle enough to stop shivering. The remnants of the holy aura was still lingering in his mind, enough to unnerve him but not enough to take his gaze from the road and dive into an alley to clear his head. He had never been so compromised, and it bothered him to be off his guard. Anyone could be following him, waiting for an opening, waiting to strike. And he had left many openings.[/JUSTIFY][/COLOR][/FONT][/B]