Sanctuary Part 2

The next day Jillian found herself heading towards St. Thomas to see Father Bob, as “Rescue Me” by Fontella Bass played along on her iPod.  She had yet to figure out exactly how old Father Bob was, just somewhere between older brother and Dad age.  She had taken her First Communion from him, and he’d been there for her ever since.  If anyone was her guardian angel in this world, Father Bob would top the list.

That night the vampires left her for dead, someone had brought her out of the blood-soaked club.  For dinner or rescue, she was never sure.  But she was left alone and someone else came along and took her to St. Thomas and Father Bob.  Her life had quickly gone to hell in a hand basket after that, but the priest pulled her out of the fire again and again.

Father Bob gave her life back.  There was little she wouldn’t do for the man, so when she turned the corner and saw a squad car, her heart sank with dread.  She dodged the uniforms at the main door, snuck in through the side entrance and made her way to the offices.

Father Bob was seated behind his scarred desk, his fingers absently drumming the worn wood.  He looked almost angelic with the stained glass window illuminated behind him.  Well maybe an angel with a weakness for Hostess Twinkies. 

“Father Bob?”

He looked up at her.  “Ah, Jillian.  I was just going to call you.”

“Are you all right?  I saw the squad cars out front.”

He waved her concern away.  “Just a little break in.  No one was hurt.”

She sat in the chair across from him.  “Was anything taken?”

He shrugged.  “It’s hard to tell.  Right now there is a mess to clean up.  They tossed the place pretty good.  The damage is limited to the office area at least.”

She watched him for a few heartbeats.  “So…”

“Yes?”

“So what is it you aren’t telling me?”

He snorted.  “You are getting to know me too well.”

“And you are avoiding the question.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward, probably pleading for patience in dealing with her.  She tended to have that effect on people.

“Very well.  So far the only thing I can tell is missing are some files.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion.  “Like financials and things?”

“No,” he shook his head.  “Jillian, someone took the church’s file on you.”

            Luckily she knew perfectly well what was in her file – nothing.  Oh there was basic info like her birthdate, her parents names, her baptism records, things like that.  Nothing of any real importance though.

“Huh.  I don’t think I’ve ticked anyone off lately.  Anything else missing?”

“The files have been gone through.  Yours is the only one missing.  I thought you should know.  Now then,” he leaned over and placed his hands over hers.  “How are you doing?”

“You’ve heard then.”

He shrugged.  “The gossip mill is as speedy as ever.  I was hoping you’d contact me after it happened.”

This time she shrugged.  “I wasn’t really ready to let the world know that the bank let me go.  I should have known better about gossip in a small town.  I needed to sort things out a bit first.”

His grey eyes peered into hers.  “I had a bad feeling about you last night.”

“Last night was rough,” she admitted.  “I just drove around last night.  I ended up by the bridge over on Jefferson.”

Concern furrowed his brow.  “The Leap?  Jillian …”

“Look, I’m in one piece, all right?” she snapped impatiently.  “Geez, Father.  I just looked out over the water for a while.  That’s all.”

“And you know as well as I do that is the one place in all of Holeyoke that is notorious for jumpers, so you see my concern,” he answered in that annoying compassionate tone of his that she knew so well.

She blew out a breath.  “Ok, I was in a dark mood, I admit.  I looked out over the water a while, realized it is entirely too cold to even think such morbid crap, and ended up in some bar off the square.”

“A bar?” he asked.  “That’s not like you.”

“Tell me about it.  I ended up drinking coffee with the bartender before heading home.  Michael somebody, over at Sanctuary.”

“Huh.”

He had a funny look upon his face.  “You know the place?”

“I’ve heard of it.”

She would bet her last dollar he knew a whole lot more than that.  Father Bob knew everything and everybody down at the square.  It was his saving grounds.

“So you think that place was a bad place to end up?” she asked.

“Well, you got home in one piece, right?”

She leaned forward.  “Come on, Father.  Was I half out of my mind last night, or did I stumble onto a bar catering to the paranormal set?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that …” Father Bob trailed off.

“I’m not the church board, you know.  And we both know there are things out there that most of the good people of St Thomas’s would rather ignore.”

“There are things I cannot say, even to you, Jillian,” he said finally.  “Just be careful.  Sanctuary itself is a kind of neutral ground, but the area around it is still pretty risky to walk around in.  Don’t go hunting there.”

She shrugged.  “Now, Father.  You know …”

“Jillian …” he warned.  “Don’t lie to your priest.”

She sighed.  “Ok.  I did do a bit of hunting off Michigan Avenue last night.  I think I ran into another hunter.”

“Hmm.”

When it became no additional response was coming, she prompted, “Father, are there any other hunters I should know about?”

“There may be,” he said vaguely. 

“A white lighter with a glowing sword?” she added helpfully.

“Hmm.”

She rolled her eyes heavenward.  “Father, …”

“I cannot tell you much, but he is one of the good guys.  Don’t get in his way.”

“Well, gee.  Thanks.”  She huffed in annoyance.  She hated feeling left in the dark.  So to speak.

“Jillian, there are things I cannot tell you.  This is one of them.  Now then.  You went hunting last night.  Any casualties?”  He reached for his purple stole even as he asked the question.

“One.”

“Well, then.  Shall we?” He arranged his chair so it sat directly across from her.

It was a ritual they had repeated hundreds of times over the past three years.  Honestly, she didn’t even know if she had a soul left to save.   

She nodded, bowing her head.  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned …”

 

 Jillian made her way up the stairs to her apartment, three floors up.  It wasn’t much, but it was an east-facing corner unit and the hallway gave her access to the roof.  It was a quirk of hers, but she liked being able to see the sun rise.  In fact, she looked forward to it every day.

Today, she felt oddly reluctant to go home.  Things felt, well, off.  Heavy.  The air itself had a charge to it.  She half wondered if this was what foreboding felt like. 

Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself.  You’re just feeling spooked because of the break in at the church.  Because some looney took your file was no reason to get all paranoid. 

Except her address was in that file.

Argh.

Really, the odds of someone tracking her down were pretty huge.  She wasn’t anybody.  No family left.  No money.  A few bills.  Maybe a late library book or two, but really nothing remarkable.

Unless someone figured out her little hobby of hunting down the occasional vampire or demon.  But even then, she only took out the ones determined to kill.  It sounded funny, but unless their aura was completely black, she sometimes let them go.  She didn’t believe them all to be soulless.  You made choices in life, for right or wrong, and that held true for the paranormal set too.  Demons were generally a little more cut and dry, but there were a few of the lesser ones she let be.

She shook her head.  Maybe she was really crazy after all.

It was one of those slow motion things.  She was deep in thought as she came in the door.  She put her keys on the little table in the entryway.  She set down the mail.  She walked down the hall, past the living room.

And promptly backtracked to the doorway because there was a man standing in her living room.

Correction.  There was a demon standing in her living room.

“Jillian Petrosky?” he asked smoothly. 

Ok, he seemed to at least be a very polite demon, wearing a suit even.  His silver hair was slicked back, and his eyes were an icy gray.  Based on first impressions, neutrals seemed to be the only thing in his color palate.

She narrowed her eyes at him.  “And who might you be?  And what the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

He tsked.  “Some associates of mine would like to speak with you.  We believe you possess something of interest to us.”

“No thank you.  I try to stay out of demon business.”

He nodded approvingly.  “Ah, you know then.  That makes things easier.  We can make it worth your while.” 

She had a really bad feeling about this.  “No.”

He shook his head sadly at her.  “I’m afraid, we insist.”

Her apartment exploded in flames.

Jillian was shoved violently towards the door.  She stumbled as she tried to regain her footing.

“Go!” a male voice hissed into her ear.  And a powerful hand grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the apartment.  She tripped as she was forced down the stairs, but powerful arms somehow kept her upright.  She barely kept her balance as she found herself on the street, skipping along until she was released and slumped against a brick wall.

It all happened in the matter of seconds.  She tried to suck clean air into her smoke-filled lungs, choking and sputtering for endless minutes.  She wiped at her watering eyes, trying to focus upon the figure beside her.  Recognition made her wheeze and sputter again.

“You!” she gasped. 

“Yeah, you can thank me later,” Michael growled. 

“What—who—“

“Later.  Get moving.”

He hauled her down a series of alleyways, only to come to a skidding stop.  She crashed into his back.

“Oof!”

Michael was staring at something in front of them.  She peered around him to see the demon from her living room standing in front of them.  Ah, shit.

“Michael.”

“Luthor.”

“I want the girl.”

Michael shrugged.  “You can’t have her.”

“There is no claim on her—“

“I am claiming her now.”

Really, no self-respecting female of the modern century could let that one go.  She stepped out from behind him.  “Now hang on a minute—“

The demon gazed at them thoughtfully.  “The others will not be pleased.”

Michael’s gazed never wavered.  “Not my problem.”

“You know she carries a mark.”

She caught herself looking down to see if there was a large X on her anywhere.  She did not know exactly what was going on, but a ‘mark’ didn’t sound like a good thing. 

Michael raised his arm, his palm pointing towards her.  Then a spot on her collarbone began to burn, slowly at first, then hotter.

She pulled the collar of her shirt away from her skin and looked.  Sure enough, there was a little cross burned into her skin.

“Hey, ow, that hurt-”

“So now she has two.  And she still has free will.  My claim will stand.”

“We shall see.”  And the demon disappeared with a poof into the night.

Michael scanned the area, apparently looking and listening for things she could only imagine.  “Come on,” he said, once he deemed the area all clear.  He tucked her into a nearby parked car and they drove off.

It was several seconds and a later that Jillian was able to form a coherent thought. 

“Question.”

He kept looking straight ahead.  “Shoot.”

“What the freakin’ hell was that?”

He tsked.  “Such language.  That was Luthor.”

“A demon,” she interjected.

“A demon,” he nodded.  “He wanted you, and I said no.”

She held up her hand.  “A couple of things there.  First, what would a demon want with me?”

“Not really sure.”

Oh, there was so much he wasn’t saying, she fumed.  “Ok then.  What about the other thing?”

“Which thing?” he asked, turning left into another series of winding alleyways.

“About you not letting him.”

“What about it?”

“You said you ‘claimed’ me.”

“Luthor gathers souls.  My job is to not let him.”

“Ah.  And your job is?”

“I’m a Guardian.  A type of angel.”

“Of course.”  She rubbed her head again, checking for any new lumps that may explain brain damage.  “And by ‘claiming me…’”

“If he wants your soul, he going to have to get through me first.”

She had no idea what to say to that.  “I feel like I should say thanks here, except none of this makes any sense.  Well, that and you freakin’ branded me back there.  This is not the Wild West.  And I am not a cow.  It's 2014.  Chicago.  Modern times ... Where are we going?”

He finally turned to look at her.  “Your apartment just got torched.  Do you have someplace to stay?”

“I could go to a hotel, I guess—“

“They will be looking for you,” he interrupted.  “There are extra rooms at Sanctuary.  We have a kind of safe house there for cases like this.”

She stared at him hard a few moments.  “We are already half way there.  I don’t have the feeling that I have much of a choice, do I?”

“You catch on quick.”