A Light in the Dark (Post Nine)

[B][FONT="Book Antiqua"][COLOR="DarkRed"][JUSTIFY] “Vincent.” He said immediately, in a deep, harsh voice. “I thought I felt a dark energy. What brings you to the river?” He went to a tree, leaning heavily against its trunk.

“I’m getting away from a situation is all, Bernard.” Vincent replied, crouching at the shore again.

“Mmm, running from your problems, are you?”

“No. I’m running from the people who bring about these problems.”

Bernard laughed, a deep gurgling sound. “Running either way. What’s got you so worked up you’d come to this accursed place?”

“Something I’ve never seen before. Something… impossible.” Vincent stared across the water, at the other shore he could hardly see. “A pure soul.”

“Pure? Ah, impossible! No one’s got a pure soul. No human, anyways.”

“That was what I thought in the beginning. But I think it’s true. I’ve never felt an energy so powerfully good.”

“Everyone is bad, even if it’s just a little.”

“I don’t know about this one.”

“Why you need me to tell you what to do?”

“Well, seeing as your grammar could use an adjustment, I’m not entirely sure.” Vincent smiled a bit. “But really, Bernard, I don’t think I can get around Carter for more than a few minutes. He… radiates a pure energy that curdles my blood.”

“You got to deal with that. No human’s all-good, none.”

“No matter how many times you say it, it hardly makes it true. You don’t know.”

Bernard nodded. Even from where he stood, Vincent could hear his joints popping. “Right. I don’t know. Just because I’m a few decades older than you, but… What could I know?”

Vincent rolled his eyes. “Bernard. What do you know about soul extracting?”

“It’s easy, when you have… erm, one of those things you have.”

“No, not with an actual extractor. I mean by using your… energy. Condensed life energy completely based on your goodness.”

“Never did heard of that.” Bernard scratched his face, rearranging the loose skin. “Didn’t think it was possible. Don’t you have that bookie friend to ask?”

“I thought I would get a second opinion is all.”

“What, you saw it happen?”

“Yes. Carter did it.”

“How?”

“Well he…” Vincent raised his hand over the water, moving it as Carter had. “I don’t know, I only saw a bit. I had to get away because it affected me so… so much.”

Bernard chuckled. “I dunno what you’re talking about, Vince.” He admitted. “But if I was you, I’d go look for the guy.”

Vincent nodded, standing and turning to his companion. “Yes, I do suppose it would be best to actually talk to him. But I’m not sure if he would trust me.”

“If he’s really as pure as you say, he’ll trust you.”

“Hm.” Vincent went back to the fallen tree. “Thank you, Bernard.” He said. “You have helped quite a bit.”

“Not sure how I did that.” Bernard said. “But I’ll leave you to it.”

When he turned again, Vincent saw Bernard slither back into the water, rejoining those who had drowned long ago. Moving toward the city again, Vincent kept hesitating, drifting toward the trees to examine their heavy blossoms. They gave off a sickeningly-sweet scent, intoxicating, and by the time he made it back to the paved road, his head was swimming.

He went back to the café first, questioning the woman who had allowed Carter Hall into the back room a time before. He hardly listened to her, but caught the name Tamari. He recognized the name as a shelter for the sick who could not afford to go to the hospital. With a nod and muttered “Thank you”, he took off at a sprint, out the door and down the street, through the crowded city square and around the fountain, down a narrow street. Smaller shops and vendors lined the sidewalks, workers hauling animal skins or bales of hay and dried grasses, some scrounges and orphans who decided to fend for themselves rather than trust adults.

The shelter was a large one, three floors in all, tucked away between a gambling house and office building used for quieter activities. The door was always open for anyone to come in, and the entire operation was run by a former priest. Without a word, Vincent stepped up the stairs and into the house, shaking the faint cloudiness away from his thoughts. The first room was crowded with overstuffed, mismatched couches and chairs, tables filled with old newspapers read and reread so much they were crumbling away at the edges. Sometimes a cough or sneeze would break through the soft conversations. As Vincent worked through the humbly-dressed poor, he found the priest, Bailey Gertler.[/JUSTIFY][/COLOR][/FONT][/B]