The Things We Bury - Part 2: No Big Apocalypse [Completed]

Chapter 10: Ain't No Sunshine (Part 2 of 6)

The crazy bastard was actually teaching the kid how to use a sword.

The great hall of Jorgenson's office was quiet except for grunts of exertion and the thunk of wood on wood as Kevin let at it, pitching his skills on a dummy that had all the humanity of a telephone pole. The practice sword Jorgenson had given him looked like something you'd buy at Medieval Times for a seven year-old, but the kid and the old man treated it as seriously as one of his relics.

"Ja. That is it. But pivot with your left foot, then come down with your weight, swinging back-handed. Like so." Jorgenson pantomimed the move in slow motion.

They hadn't taught sword play as part of SBI's security program, but there had been plenty of hand to hand, and Darren could track how clumsy these moves were. In martial arts, whatever the discipline, there was as economy to movement—a muscular efficiency. This was brutal Braveheart shit. It was showy, emphasising muscle power over precision. Just watching it was exhausting.

If the Jorgenson really expected the boy to kill for him, why the hell didn't he teach him to fire a gun? It would be a lot quicker for Kevin to pick up and he'd be more effective with it once he did. And if he really expected the boy to face the lycanthrope and actually survive, he should be showing Kevin how to use a rocket launcher.

"Mr. Palmer, you looked amused. Perhaps you would like to join the class?"

"Thank you, sir. But I think some things are best learned when you're young."

"Quite right. It is a shame no one taught you properly when you were our Kevin's age."

Darren looked away to keep from glowering. There was a time when he had been Jorgenson's golden boy, the bright promising star of SBI. For some reason, once he ascended the ladder, he was made into the errand boy. Now that Kevin Walsh had come into the picture, his role had changed once again—to whipping boy.

He was in the big man's office for the dual purpose of a status meeting and to chaperon the thirteen year-old back to the safe-house after he finished his practice session.

He had two girls of his own he should be home with instead of babysitting his boss's new play date. Whatever gratitude Darren had felt toward Jorgenson over the Texas mission not being a death sentence was gone.

Texas had turned out to be one of the least bloody missions Darren had gone on in a while. But it was perhaps one of the most disturbing. He had gone to acquire a mentally ill child for the bizarre Norde. And no one seemed to mind. Not even the kid's mother. The worst part had been Jorgenson's unwavering confidence. The detailed instructions left no room for independent will from the parties involved. It was like a script in a play. And shockingly everyone played their part.

The first person on his list—act one, scene one—was the train wreck of a mother. She didn't even look at his fake credentials. Didn't bother to cross examine him about his cockamamie story about heading a special program for schizophrenia in minors.

Seriously. If some stranger came up to him and said I want to take your child away, giving only a vague explanation, Darren would have punched the creep in the nose. "Excuse me, Mrs. Walsh, we'd like to take Kevin to a private clinic for special, state-of-the-art treatment of his condition. We have some of the top minds in the field. Oh, and by the way, part of the treatment is to cut him off from his old life, so you can't visit."

Christ! He would have murdered the son-of-a-bitch.

But once Darren showed her the check and explained how she'd receive a monthly stipend so long as Kevin was in their care, she signed the contract, the non-disclosure form, and the hospital release without blinking. She wasn't remotely suspicious. She actually thanked him.

What the hell, lady. This is America. What kind of hospital pays you to treat somebody? The one run by the Tooth Fairy?

Kevin wasn't much better. Even for his age, he was pretty naïve.

"My boss wants to teach you how to kill that monster you saw. And I know you don't know me or him from Adam and we might just be a couple of pedophiles but hey what do you say?" And the kid was all, "Sure thing. Sounds like a lark."

Darren sure hoped Carrie and Maddie were smarter than that.

"Very good, Kevin. At this rate, you will master it in no time. Take a break. Here drink this ale." Jorgenson filled a goddamn carved horn with a syrupy, black concoction and handed it to the boy.

"Should he be having that? He's a long way from twenty-one."

"You Americans and your puritan rules. Good, dark ale made me the man I am today."

"Walter, are you teaching me to use a sword because that's the only way the Vargynja can be killed? Like it needs to be a silver sword or something?"

Jorgenson poured the rest of the bottle into a second horn cup and leaned against the heavy work table while he sipped from it.

Darren noted that he wasn't offered a glass. The strange foreign beer probably tasted like shit anyway,

"No. No," Jorgenson tutted gently. "It's nothing magical. Any weapon may slay the foul thing but they do not die easily, so it is prudent to hunt it with the best of weapons. In the early days of The Order, it took strong steel to put one of those wretched beasts down. It took a blade like the Ulfberht sword." He nodded to the artifact hanging over the mantle. "Technology has progressed and although it is an elegant weapon, it is sadly an outdated tool."

"Then why train me to use one?"

"Because it was how my father prepared me for the battle. It will be many years before you are ready to face the creature. Oh do not look so glum. No worthwhile pursuit is easy...or quick. And no one should be in a rush to fight a varúlfur. Swordsmanship is more than a skill, my young squire. It hones the body and the mind. It teaches you to judge your opponent and to anticipate his moves. You see Kevin, I am showing you the sword not so you can use the weapon, but so that you might become a weapon."

Jorgenson walked over to the fire and prodded it with a poker, stimulating a cloud of sparks from the crackling log. "When we are done, you will be initiated into The Order. It is a great honor but a greater responsibility. We work in shadows while the rest of the world is blissfully ignorant. My whole life I have spent on this cause. Even my role here at this company has been in service of it. Genetic screening and passive viruses have been camouflaged in our work to root out these vermin. Are you prepared to dedicated your existence to the hunt and stop their dominion over mankind?"

"It destroyed my family. I cannot think of a more worthy quest."

Jorgenson polished off the ale and wiped the glistening spittle off his beard with the back off his hand. "Good. We shall go again." He gestured to the wooden practice sword.

Darren stifled a yawn. The phone in his pocket gave short buzz of vibration letting him know he had a text. Probably Noelle wondering if she should hold dinner for me, he thought pulling it from his jacket pocket.

The text was from an unknown number and read: Need to see you immediately. BG.

He could almost feel her cold, sharp tone from behind the screen. Just fucking wonderful. This was the first contact he had from Barbara in days. Darren had begun to hope they'd killed her. Why should anything go my way? 

***

Author's Note: Sorry for the posting delay on this one. The only time I had on the PC on Friday, Wattpad was down. And didn't end up stepping near it on Saturday either. I know Darren is no one's favorite character but I felt his perspective on what was going on with Kevin was needed (and it will lead somewhere). I hope you'll all bare with me through chapter 10. It's one of those dreaded positioning chapters, setting characters up for big things, without many big things happening. It's been a struggle to write. I just hope it's not too much of a struggle to read.