The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.05 The Sound of His Spirit Breaking

"To... to kill," Richard said.

"That's right. To fucking kill! But only as a means to an end. My goal is to cleanse this city of the filth that has infected it for almost two hundred years. That is my just and righteous purpose! I don't have any use for some sniveling freak groveling in the dust at my feet. If you want to serve me, you will need to get up off your fucking knees. Prove to me you're something more than a pathetic worm in the dirt!"

"I... I just need to rest." Richard said, shaking now as if it the warm desert night was as cold as ice.

"You'll rest after I'm done with you, and not before. But it's your lucky day, because in a matter of hours this will all be over. I'll be done with all my angels. And I have promised them they will then accompany me to the Ocean of God, where they will rest in peace for eternity. Is that what you want?"

"Oh, God, yes! That is what I want!"

"Will you buy your way into paradise with the blood of the living?"

"I... I will..."

"You will kill for God?"

"I will!"

"Even if I tell you to kill that pathetic little pig you used to stick your dick in? Would you even kill him, if I asked it? If that is your price for peace, will you pay it?"

The horror that drifted across Richard's face was like candy to the Wanderer, and he watched the last fragile strands of Richard Pratt's humanity fray and then snap.

He is so close now...

"I.... No, not Keith... I'll kill for you... But not Keith!"

"Then you aren't mine, Richard. You won't be mine until there are no conditions. No exceptions. You'll be mine when you kill who I say, no matter who that may be!"

"But Keith... I... I can't... Please, I just want this pain to stop!"

The kneeling man was shaking so hard now that Drouillard imagined he could fly apart, like an overheated engine.

"You want peace? Then give yourself to me! You will kill your fucking piggy boy! You will go to him and you will kill him now. And then I'll rescue your soul. Not only will I give you peace, but you can rest in eternity. You can rest in the arms of God!"

"No, please..."

"Choose! Choose now!"

Richard made a guttural groan, deep in his throat, but any words were strangled and lost under the weight of his despair.

That's it, Drouillard thought. That's the sound of his spirit breaking!

The old man was patient, savoring Richard's pain, watching with delight as the final shreds of the man's humanity slowly crumbled and fell away like dry clay in the heat of the sun. Finally, when there seemed to be nothing left of Richard Pratt, the sad creature once again found his voice. And he spoke flatly, almost with no emotion at all.

"Yes, I... I'll kill... I'll give myself to you. I'll kill..."

"Am I your God?"

"Yes, you are my God..."

"You have no other God?"

"No, I have no other. I will never have another."

"And you will kill for your God?"

"Yes."

"And you'll kill Keith Woo?"

"No!" Richard howled, but it was a weak, final gasp of resistance that sputtered out quickly like a candle flame deprived of oxygen.

"Then I am not your God," Drouillard said, his voice calm and matter of fact. "And you will never have peace."

Richard's body crumbled and his lips worked, as if trying to form words. Finally, he was able to speak as if each word cost him his life all over again.

"I'll. Kill," he said. "I'll. Kill.... Keith."

The silence in the desert was so profound that it seemed almost as if every rock was listening, every bush, and every angel in God's pantheon. Drouillard stood, leaning forward, with his face just inches from the groveling man, who now appeared to have lost all will to resist. All of his fight, and all of his humanity, had been ripped away.

Slowly, his chest heaving, Richard Pratt raised his head and looked into the eyes of God. The two locked their gaze together for a moment that was broth brief, but also stretched into eternity. The silence of the surrounding night was so profound that no cricket chirped, and no grain of sand dared to shift.

Every angel in the Hereafter held their breath...

And then, the Wanderer's face drooped. His smile of triumph withered and faded, and then his dry lips curled back from his yellow teeth. What came out of his mouth was more like the sound a snake might make than actual words.

"You... LIE!" the old man hissed into Richard's face. "Richard Pratt, YOU LIE!!!!"

There was a tiny smile now at the corner of the ghost's mouth. Richard's hands shot out from his body like a pair of rattlesnakes and closed on the old man's throat. The look on his face was no longer one of defeat—there was actual strength in his grip! And the power that flowed into Drouillard was an assault so sudden that he failed at first to bring his defenses up against it. Richard's mind was suddenly in his own, and Drouillard felt something he had not felt in a century.

The Wanderer was afraid.

"Eat shit, motherfucker," Richard said through clenched teeth.

The old man felt all of Richard's rage and hatred flower, and he directed them into Drouillard's soul with a burning intensity. And for a moment, Drouillard actually worried that Richard might gain the upper hand. That maybe his confidence had been a mistake that could cost him everything.

But there was really never any contest.

As Richard's grasp tightened around his neck, Drouillard captured all of Richard's hatred and lust and need for destruction, turned it around, and began pushing it back through Richard's hands, into his trembling body. As he felt the man's strength falter, he laughed and pushed harder.

"I'm... going... to... kill... you.... you son of... a... bitch!" Richard said, but the confidence in his tone was gone. He was failing, and he knew it. In just seconds, Drouillard would have him. Just a few seconds more...

"I'll find you!" Richard rasped, and Drouillard felt his fingers tighten in one last spasm of pain before finally releasing.

Richard was gone with a snap, disappearing in a flash of light that momentarily dazzled Drouillard. And the old man was alone once again, standing in the dirt of the wash.

Drouillard panted on the sand for a few minutes and realized that his hands were trembling. He felt his neck, and thought he could feel bruises there, already developing in the shape of Richard's fingers. He stared into the dirt at his feet for long minutes, and only slowly did he smile.

So, the Disruptor is coming to kill me, is he? Well, let him try. He still has no idea where I am. And even if he did, he could never get here in time.

God climbed back atop his rock. He raised his arms, and his orchestra of angels took up their instruments. He began, once again, to conduct his symphony.

There is no longer time to waste, he thought.