| Logs |
2009-04-19
| Dreams |
| Realms |
Retired
| Reality Fault |
General Info
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On the Road Again
Jason is on his way.
His backpack is light: a change of clothes, a cell phone with GPS, quite a bit of water -- Mike had insisted on that. He and Kira both had wanted Jason to have a pistol too, but the Sphynx had insisted Jason should be unarmed. Diana had watched the short, fierce argument between the three entities with wide, worried eyes and her arms and tail curled around Jason. There was a little food too -- the Sphynx had relented on that when Diana had threatened to throw a tantrum and not let Jason go otherwise, and both Kira and Mike had sided with her as well.
Jason helped put together a few more things for the list... he was a boy scout once. It's better to have something and not need it, than to need something and not have it. Fortunately Phyx did relent on a sturdy Swiss army knife: it's needed for survival, not fighting. In the end, Jason decided it was perhaps just as well he wouldn't be bringing a gun. He's not a professional, and this way, he won't be tempted to use it -- and it will not be used against him.
Diana had insisted on spending the last night with both her dear ones, and none of the other supernaturals had demurred in the least. It had been heated and passionate and a little wistful, and Diana had clung to him as they all fell asleep together. Laying in the quiet afterglow with Mike on one side and Diana on the other, Jason did not give voice to his concerns: that Phyx would not tell him more of what she saw because what he journeyed into would be far more dangerous if he was paralyzed by fear. He kept this from Diana, because he knew it would not help -- and this might be the most important thing he would ever do. But to be honest, oddly enough it was not other supernaturals he was scared of.
It was other humans.
The next day Diana had cried in spite of herself, laughing through the tears as she explained she'd promised herself she wouldn't cry and ruin things for Jason. That had been almost 24 hours ago. At this point in time the sun is rising in the East, slightly to Jason's left. It's a gorgeous sight, but it's also something he knows can get quite hot and blinding very quickly. It's his second day of travel, and he'd gotten lucky last night -- a newly married young couple had given him a ride for a few hours out of the city. They looked and sounded like they were still in their teens, and the young wife had chattered excitedly at him the entire way. He'd politely congratulated the beamingly proud young couple, seen and admired the wedding ring with its tiny sparkling chip -- "Thassa real diamond there too!" -- heard about their families back in the quaintly named Grasshopper Junction not approving because of how young the two were, and heard how the youthful couple had decided to elope for the weekend, to "just git it done right!"
Jason had spent the night in a motel after being dropped off by the two youngsters and exchanging well-wishes with them. Now he's following the highway, heading ever further south. He knows he wants to go in a more easterly direction eventually, but he also knows Kira's advice is good. She'd given him training in how to use his ultra-light camping equipment -- things like a collapsible dome tent, matches, mirror, sleeping bag, cooking pan, combined cooking and eating utensil -- and then strongly suggested he keep to the highways. That way it'd be easier to not lose his way, and to bum a ride and buy food. Jason is relieved, in retrospect, that Phyx and Diana both exercised him as much as possible. He'd been out of shape at college. Now he was more fit. Still: hot. Nothing exercise can do about the heat.
He's been walking for a few hours, and the heat is definitely starting to make his clothing stick to him, when a big old car driving by him slows, then pulls over and backs up to near him. It's clearly waiting for him to pass by. He approaches the vehicle with caution. "Heya," he greets through the half open window on the passenger's side.
A man leans over towards the window and smiles at him, "Howdy, stranger! You must not be from around here. Don't you know it's dangerous to hitchhike out in the desert?" The man is suntanned and wearing a priest's collar. He grins as he adds, "If the heat and the highway don't get you, the desert willies will!"
Jason smiles faintly. "Bethlehem's in a desert too, ain't it? If the heat's good enough for Jesus, it's good enough for me," he comments, playing to his audience a little. "Figure if you're willing to lend your fellow man a hand, though, I won't say no."
The priest laughs aloud -- it's a friendly laugh -- and leans to unlock the door, "Young man, you just earned yourself a ride, if you want it!" He grins and adds, "Besides, riding alone all day is pretty darned dull."
Jason considers the priest for a second, holding the door. He doesn't know this man from -- heh -- Adam. But he's got all the advantages at the moment. Male, looks human, and by all accounts a god-fearing man. He figures it's safe enough -- for now. Part of him smiles grimly, though, at what would happen to a trucker picking up Beatrice, looking for prey -- and what he'd find at the end of it. "Where you driving to, Father?" he queries, putting his bag in first and then sliding in himself.
The priest leans to offer his hand, smiling, "Heading to a little burg called Prescott Valley -- heard of it? Doing my rounds." He shakes his head a touch sadly as he adds, "There's a crying need for more priests in the Church today, so those of us who've answered the call sometimes have to spread ourselves a bit thin to answer the needs of our flock. I've got the Southwest, mostly."
Jason shakes the man's hand. "Rounds, Father? How's that work? Pop your head into the local church, make sure everyone's signed the book previous Sunday?" he queries curiously.
The priest laughs at that, starting up the car and easing it carefully onto the highway again once Jason has fastened his seatbelt. Once they're rolling smoothly along he says, "Where are my manners? I'm so pleased to have company that I forgot to introduce myself! Call me Father Bermudo." He adds with a grin, "Pretty much! Also perform any of the rites which need to be done -- marriages, burials, christenings, exorcisms, that sort of thing."
"I'm Jason, Father," he returns the favor calmly. "Exorcisms? Folk still believe in that?" he queries as casually as he can. He's heard stories... stories he'd rather not hear are true. "Where's home for you then, Father?" he goes on to say.
The good father laughs quietly, "Jason, eh? No wonder you're roaming, with a moniker like that one! Have you always had itchy feet then?" He adds with relaxed good humor, "We are a nation of secularists nowadays, aren't we? So sure Science has all the answers..." his smile is a little wistful, "and yet still wondering why there's that empty ache inside of us we don't know how to fill. Most people would laugh if I told them it was a God-spaced hole." He glances sideways at Jason, still smiling, "Would you?"
Jason shrugs good-naturedly. "Always been curious, I guess. Not given much to wandering, though. Just as well, else I'll end up crushed under the keel of the rusting hulk of a boat," he replies, showing that yes, he has had the benefits of an education. At the man's query he adds, "Dunno. Always kinda cleaved to being like this-" he crosses his fingers, "-with Horatio: more on heaven and earth, and like that. Though suppose that goes without saying, what with heaven being mentioned right there at the beginning."
Father Bermudo brightens, "Ah, a student of the classics! You're a blessing indeed, on such a long drive, then." Cheerfully he adds, "Have you read Dante? Also, would you open the glove compartment there and pull out my map?" The car is an old, slightly battered but still well tuned Gran Torino, and there's a rosary with a small crucifix coiled around the rear-view mirror. The glove compartment has a small white crucifix painted on it as well, right over the push-button to open the drop-down door.
Jason barks a laugh, trying not to be creeped out by the Christian imagery. When did he get this way about Christianity? He didn't used to care. Was it when he chose Lilith? "Been more interested in it recently, actually," he comments, giving the button a jab.
The glove compartment pops open easily, and several things slither out in a small flood of paper and other goods: a much-refolded map, a worn and well-thumbed bible, another rosary (this one of a pleasantly aromatic wood), a long strip of much-folded cloth, a few small vials and packages -- the priest laughs good-naturedly as he sees the sudden mess falling over Jason's knees, "Ah, my apologies, son -- I should have warned you it was a bit full in there! Just stuff it all back in. I can sort it later."
"Yessir," Jason drawls back, putting the map to one side and trying to sort the mess in his overflowing arms. He puts the bible in first, then some of the smaller vials he's afraid of dropping and breaking... he brings the rosary to his nose, though, and smells it curiously.
Father Bermudo smiles, watching out of the corner of his eye -- he appears to be a conscientious driver. He's even doing the speed limit, despite it being a completely flat area devoid of other cars. "That's cedarwood from Lebanon, blessed by the Pope himself. Smells nice, don't it?" He grins, his voice gently teasing, "Surefire means to detect hostile entities, they say!"
Jason is mostly just happy it doesn't set his skin aflame. He thinks, Why am I feeling so self-conscious? "Let's hope they're right. The money back guarantee would be a bad second place award," he comments as he feels the cloth with his other hand, testing to see if there's something wrapped up in it while he tucks the rosary away.
The priest laughs again at Jason's words, "Couldn't have said it better myself!" He relaxes, resting one elbow on the open window and driving with the other hand as he cheerfully adds, "So, you a fan of Shakespeare? Dante? Anyone else? Let's have a nice rousing theological argument on the way, yeah? Makes the miles pass faster. Or would you rather talk 'bout something else? Hm... exorcisms maybe. Do you feel you need one?"
Jason tilts his head. "Dunno. Figure I'd be spewing pea soup or turning my head 360 degrees if I was possessed by the devil, yeah?" he queries, finally picking the map back up and unfolding it. "Why don't you tell me what you're looking for, Father, before the wind blows this thing into my face. Then we can talk all you want."
Father Bermudo's sudden bark of laughter is delighted, and he grins at the young man, his eyes sparkling, "Ah, you're definitely a blessing on this drive -- not even in disguise, it would seem!" He looks back at the road, still grinning, as he cheerfully adds, "Go ahead and fold up the map again, son, before it gets wrapped around your head -- we can look at it later." He's still smiling, but a bit graver sounding, as he quietly adds, "Shame not all possessions are so easily detected, eh?"
Jason folds it back up stoically. "Well, I supposed you'd know more about that than me, Father. I am just an average man. Most of what I know I see in movies and read in popular fiction. If it doesn't have an upside-down cross carved into the head, I'm as clueless as the next man." He wonders how long this drive is going to be. "So, Dante, hmm? "
The priest shakes his head regretfully, tching, "Pop culture! It's just a joke to them, of course. I wouldn't mind, except that it deadens people to true dangers, you know?"
Jason shrugs. "Plenty of dangers out there, Father. Terrorists, serial killers, gang violence." He thinks, but does not say, Pedophile priests. "No reason to scare people more than is needful. Pop culture assures us that there's heroes out there to protect us from the monsters in the world. Could do worse."
The priest glances at Jason thoughtfully, his voice earnest, "True, true." He turns his attention back to the road as he adds, "But we know all those dangers exist. What if... what if there were a danger no one would believe in, though? Wouldn't that make it somehow worse? Wouldn't helping folks to ignore that danger be near sinful?"
Jason looks sidelong at Father Bermudo. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Father. His word is out there, in his book. His people are out there, like you, doing what they can. Figure that's all that can be done, hmm?" He thinks again, It's not supernaturals that scare me. It's other humans.
Father Bermudo's smile gets a touch rueful, and he leans back, relaxing a bit, "Mm. I suppose so. My apologies for being too intense." He falls silent then for a while, and the flat desert miles flick past under the car's wheels, hot and dusty and identical seeming. Jason makes an understanding grunt, and sidelines the conversation to Hamlet, Macbeth, Much Ado About Nothing. He feels like he dodged a bullet, and hopes he can extract himself from this man sooner rather than later.
In the deep afternoon the two men stop for a late lunch just off the intersection leaving the highway for Prescott Valley. Father Bermudo gently (and slightly worriedly) checks: does Jason have any plans for where he'll spend the night? Has he a ride, or anyone waiting for him? Jason ruefully admits he didn't have any plans. "Unless you think I planned for you to pick me up too, which is pretty unlikely. But no... I figure I'd deal with things as they came to me."
Father Bermudo looks somewhat worried as he eats his hamburger, but he finally simply says, "There is a... a purity of purpose in adhering to strict faith in His works. I would be the last to gainsay it, truly. However, will you allow me to give you one gift before you head on your way?"
Jason chokes briefly on his burger, thinking, Faith in someone, yes -- but not Him. He never gave me anything. He pats his chest, and swallows. "I've always depended on the kindness of strangers, Father," he replies, imitating Vivian Leigh as best he can.
The priest chuckles, although it sounds a touch forced -- the Father seems genuinely concerned for him. "Well then, please let this stranger help you out a little?" He sets down his burger, wipes his fingers on his napkin, then pulls something from a pocket, laying it on the table and sliding it over to Jason -- it's a rosary. Father Bermudo smiles encouragingly, "It surely cannot hurt to be prepared, right?"
Jason looks at the priest inquiringly. "How will you know that the evil spirits are sneaking up behind you, then?" he queries, not quite mockingly. He does pick up the rosary, though. "No offense, Father. But honestly, I'm more worried about truckers that will gut stab me for my cash. A rosary can't protect me from that. Are the bogeymen that thick around here?"
The priest smiles faintly at Jason's gibe, reaching into his jacket to pull out another rosary, clearly hung around his neck. "Not surprised you're more worried about material dangers, since likely that's all we see. Still, as I said, surely it can't hurt. Humor a crazy but well-meaning old priest, mm?"
Jason hopes that Lilith won't be offended, and tucks it into his pocket. He can always ditch the rosary later. "Be honest with me, Father. Do you think I'm bait for the things that go bump in the night, or something?" To himself he thinks, I am. But I want to know why he thinks that.
The priest is silent for a while, simply eating his burger as he thinks. Finally he looks at Jason and smiles faintly, "If I told you, would you be more convinced to carry the rosary, and not simply toss it later?"
Jason folded his arms on the table, looking at the priest archly. "If you don't tell me, I'm more inclined to think -- all due respect -- that you're just an another priest with a paternal instinct. If you have a reason, I want to hear it."
Father Bermudo nods slowly, still thinking hard. Finally he shakes his head, "Can't say for sure, son. Just know when I passed you I thought, 'that one there -- he's going to need a helping hand.'" He smiles relaxedly, "I am a priest, after all; it's my job to care for the lost. Is it so odd that sometimes God makes sure I'm in the right place at the right time?"
Jason chuckles wryly. "Some folks aren't lost, father. They know what they're looking for and just haven't found it yet -- and some people don't know what they're looking for, but at least they know they need to be looking for it." He pats the rosary. "I'll keep it for now, and appreciate the spirit in which it was given." He picks up his soda, then. "Did you really think I was an evil spirit, in disguise?" he suddenly asks, out of nowhere.
The priest smiles quietly, picking up his burger again. "Who said anything about evil, son?" He has a bite of his burger, musing as he chews. His voice is a little sad as he adds, "Seems more likely to me there's a lot of people out there don't know any better. They're lost and don't even know it, you know? Or worse, they know it and take pride in it. And then there's who are so lost they've become... something else."
Jason shrugs. "Well, if I wasn't evil, if I wasn't a spawn of Satan, then it wouldn't much matter if I was touched by blessed beads, holy water, reliquaries, or the Book of God himself. Like you said: some things are not so easily detected," he responds, as he listens to the priest talk.
Father Bermudo stops just before taking a bite, and glances at Jason piercingly for a moment. His voice is oddly quiet as he says, "Do you think so?" He's silent a moment, then looks back at his burger, "Well... let us pray you never discover otherwise then, yes?"
Jason considers the man. "You'd be surprised what I know, Father. What I've... discovered. And there's an alternate possibility you should consider." He digs around for his wallet.
The priest tilts his head inquiringly, "Mm? What is that?"
Jason thumbs around, and puts down enough cash for his share and a good tip. "Maybe it wasn't God that put you in the right place at the right time. Could be that you were lost, and didn't know it. And I was in the right place and the right time, and you found me." He grins at the other man, finishing the dregs of his soda. "I'm gonna go outside and stretch. Feel a little cramped up... plus I can feel that burger going right to my hips." He heads outside and does exactly that.
The priest watches him silently, murmuring only a quiet, "God be with you, my son," as Jason leaves.
Outside, the afternoon Arizona sun is causing shimmering mirages to float and dance distractingly on the far highway. As Jason is shading his eyes and looking around in the heat, a voice behind him growls, "Sun devils gotcha? Inna way, boy."
Jason hmms? "Oh, sorry about that," he replies, protecting his eyes as he looks to see who addressed him.
A burly, grizzled trucker angles past him with a noncommittal grunt. Pattering after him is a slight little girl with braided black hair who glowers at Jason as she passes. After that she ignores him, instead tugging insistently on the man's arm, "But I need to go east, Dutch!" The trucker turns his head to reply, and the sudden buzz of approaching motorcycles drowns him out as three customized Harleys roar down the off ramp and turn in to the combined gas station and tourist stop. Jason considers what he's seeing. His palms itch, but he moves and stays out of the way. No reason to get in the way of tough customers. He'll just wait till the priest comes out, so he can get his stuff and move on.
Father Bermudo emerges as the bikers come roaring noisily up and park. The trucker turns his head as they do so, spitting a casual stream of chewing tobacco juice, then heads for his truck. The girl trots along next to him, gesticulating and clearly still talking a mile a minute -- at least until the trucker, still shaking his head, swings up into his truck and slams the door. That makes her clench her fists and stamp one foot in frustration -- then, as the big semi roars to life again, she darts around the truck and leans in through the passenger window. A moment later she jumps down, carrying a backpack and a jacket, and backs away, watching as the long, ponderous semi slowly pulls away.
The three bikers are watching the truck and the girl, murmuring quietly amongst themselves, and the priest is silently watching them, a faintly worried expression on his face. His voice is almost absent sounding as he says to Jason, "I got to go; let's get your backpack out of the car, son, all right?"
Jason relaxes a little. Nothing bad happened. Yet. But then, it's a public place -- lots of witnesses. "Sure thing, Father. Promises to keep, and all that," he agrees, but finds himself continuing to watch, with the priest. The Father unlocks the car so Jason can retrieve his backpack, then wishes Jason well one last time before he heads over to the frustrated looking girl. The three bikers watch alertly, even as they're shedding out of their helmets and jackets. The discussion between the priest and the girl is short and simple: he asks her a question, she shakes her head, he tries again, and she shakes her head emphatically before stomping off towards the diner again.
Jason comes up behind the priest, shrugging on his pack. "Can't save everyone, father," he drawls sympathetically. The priest glances at Jason, then back at the girl, his expression even more worried as the bikers casually watch back. They're curiously more intent on the priest than they are on the girl. It's clear these three are fairly serious about their traveling: the bikes are well laden, and the riders are in complete leather riding gear, despite the heat. The only one of them that doesn't have a full helmet is wearing a bandanna over his nose and mouth, and has goggles he's let slide down around his neck.
The girl gives them a long look, slowing as she heads for the diner, and calls out quietly to them, "Where you headed?" One of them -- an almost gigantic man -- rumbles back, "Flagstaff." She brightens, "You take riders?"
Next to Jason, the priest murmurs, "Dear God, no." Jason looks at Father Bermudo, "They're bikers. That doesn't mean they're dangerous assholes." He tries to reassure -- but even he's not sure he believes it.
One of the bikers laughs even as Jason's speaking, his voice disdainful, "Not jailbait, no. G'wan, kid." The girl bristles in fury, glowering at the bikers -- then stomps into the diner.
Jason huhs. "See? Crisis averted."
The priest sighs softly, "Thank you." It's not clear who he's thanking, but he turns and smiles ruefully at Jason, "Godspeed, son, to wherever you're going." He gently slaps Jason's shoulder, then heads for his car. Shortly thereafter he's pulling out, heading south on the road to Prescott Valley, and the bikers have headed into the diner. The only noise is the faint roar of the occasional passing vehicle on the lonely highway, and the casual hum of the wind. The heat beats down silently, and in the distance the sun devils continue to writhe and dance.
Jason prepares to head out, checking where he is on GPS and trying to plan accordingly. He glances back at the diner thoughtfully... neither the girl nor the bikers are currently visible. He shouldn't take responsibility for the girl. Whoever she is, she's human -- and Phyx already told him he should be traveling alone. He sighs, then figures he can make Ash Fork before it gets too dark... and figure things out from there -- easier to make better time in the afternoon anyway. He makes sure his canteen is full, straps in, and starts hiking. "Too bad I can't make a side trip, see the Grand Canyon..." he comments to himself.
It's hot. Jason strides sturdily along, carefully not pushing it too much, keeping his hat on and using plenty of sun block, drinking water on a careful schedule so he doesn't wear himself out. Aside from the hopefully circling vultures and the occasional vehicle whooshing by, it's very quiet and lonely -- Jason has plenty of time to think. His mind keeps returning to the priest. The man knew something -- very possibly enough to get him in trouble, enough to make him want to fight -- but maybe not enough to do the right thing. Jason couldn't say too much, of course. He didn't want to fight with the man. Maybe if Diana were with him... but no. Whatever's going on, it's more than one man -- misguided or not. If it was meant to be, then maybe he'll have another bite at the apple. As it is, he could only make cryptic, quippy responses, and move on.
About two hours into Jason's walk the bikes roar by; no passengers. A few hours later the sun finally sets behind Jason in a breathtaking glory of fiery scarlet, gold, and writhing orange. Jason himself is tired and soaked in sweat but rather pleased with how well things are going. He absently feels like Sarah Connor: one woman army trying to stave off apocalypse. Gotta keep moving, keep your head down. Gotta find the answers. Another hour or two of walking through the growing cool of night, and he should be in Ash Fork.
It's late night when Jason finally enters Ash Fork. He'd not been sure he was actually there yet or not, as the number of roads intersecting the highway increased, but eventually he crosses a railroad and then passes a small sign that says, "Welcome to beautiful Ash Fork." It's a tiny little town, and Jason realizes with tired amusement that were the highway not passing by, he would not be able to get a room -- all the stores and motels would be already closed. He has to do a bit more walking than he really wants to find an open motel, but eventually he does. That night he gets to shower, then sleep in blissfully air-conditioned comfort.
Very, very late at night, a noise wakes Jason: a nattering, annoying, irritated kind of sound, like someone chattering angrily just under their breath to themselves. Jason rubs his eyes. What the hell... wait. He's suddenly very still: listening intently to the voice, trying to figure out where it's coming from... and what it's saying.
Curiously, the curtains seem to be working better than they were when he went to sleep; he can't see the faint neon flashing outside his window of the motel's sign. In fact... he can't see anything at all. The sounds are slightly louder and clearer this time, though, although the voice is still definitely thoroughly annoyed and (maybe) frightened. "... believe ... stupidest damn... volunteer, I'd have been born... one entire gate! ...another... exploded!" It stops at that point, almost panting in indignation and outrage.
Jason turns on the light, then. This is too much of a coincidence -- just like the muttering voice during his experience with Phyx. He needs to talk to whoever this is... he blinks. No light. No bed, either. Does he even have a body? It's so dark, he can't tell. He calls out then, to see if he has a voice... "Hey! We need to have a conversation!"
The panting cuts off with a hoarse gasp and a whispered oath. After that... complete, utter, almost ringingly alert silence.
"You can hear me, can't you. I can hear you. And we need to talk about what happened -- I need to know what's going on before someone else dies," Jason calls into the silence. Listening very, very intently, Jason can just barely hear a small hiss -- followed by what sounds like very surreptitious, swift slithering. That tiny sound is completely overwhelmed a heartbeat or two later, though, as the air conditioner noisily and automatically starts whirring, causing him to jump slightly. Jason groans. He's in his bed again. "Dammit. Completely not fair. Fine. Next time I try and just listen, 'cause clearly whatever it is doesn't want to talk to me. Unless they think they're hearing voices." He sighs and puts his pillow over his head.