Between Good And Evil - 3. Part I: The Blizzard: Chapter Three

1

Pastor Bradley prayed with Mrs. Katal and then he preyed on her, praise Jesus.

She had come to him at 9:13 on the morning of the blizzard. She sat at the visitor side of the large, wooden desk with ornate gold trimming -- only the best for Pastor Bradley -- and sighed. Pastor Bradley noticed the despair and emptiness on the face of the 35 year old. He also noticed the way her blond hair hung down over her flawless face. There was a stirring in Pastor Bradley’s pants, and he sprung into action like the pure predator that he truly was.

“What brings you here, Mrs. Katal? Is it Andy? Is he drunk again?”

The skinny woman let out a slight sob and stared down at her large breasts. Pastor Bradley followed her eyes down and nonchalantly licked his lips in anticipation.

“I’m at wit’s end. I can’t deal with him anymore. I know we were married before God, and I should stick it out, but it’s so bad, Pastor,” she raised her hazel eyes and met the brown of the pastor’s. For a moment, she didn’t speak, but then, “I have to leave him. God has to understand. I mean, He has to see the trouble I’m in?”

Pastor Bradley carefully thought over his response. He could see the vulnerability in Mrs. Katal, hear the pain in her words. If he took the smart gamble and hit a royal flush, his erection could find some relief.

If there was one thing Pastor Bradley had learned throughout his 48 years, it was that Jesus saves.

“Let’s pray on it, Mrs. Katal. Let’s pray, long and hard, and Jesus will provide an answer, some sort of release... from your pain.” Pastor Bradley stood up, circled his desk, and stood next to the woman. He placed a hand on her shoulder and she tensed. Must’ve done a real number on her last night. I’m surprised there are no marks. Good, who wants to stare at bruises when they’re gettin’ a nut? Pastor Bradley silently chuckled to himself and then said, “Why don’t you kneel next to me?”

Mrs. Katal smiled slightly as she rose from the chair and said, “Alright. I, I guess praying is always a good idea.” They both took a knee. With shoulders touching, both bowed their head in silent prayer.

Please, Imagi-Jesus, let me bang this bitch. Give me the words to convince her that my dick will bring her the soothing she needs. A-fucking-men.

2

Blake scrubbed his hands for the fourth time since his encounter with Benjamin. He knew they were clean, and he knew that he was being ridiculous, yet he couldn’t help but scrub. Once they were red and sore, he stopped. The pain was refreshing. The pain meant he couldn’t feel the joy that was Benjamin.

The turmoil Blake was feeling was no longer caused by the sexual encounter the night before, though it was still a factor. Sex with Benjamin was just that, sex, and he could push it from his mind like his last gay sexual encounter. It would remain in the back of his brain, sure, but he’d be able to push it down, until it was barely noticeable, with rationalizations and sex with females.

Blake found himself struggling, not with sex, but with love. More specifically, Blake was in love with Benjamin and it frightened him for two reasons. First, Benjamin was a boy, and Blake didn’t possess the ability to push love down, like he could past sexual encounters. Second, the fact that he had only really known Benjamin for 12 hours meant that Blake was more likely obsessed with the boy than in love.

Obsession, he feared, was something that couldn’t be overcome, so he scrubbed. He scrubbed until there was nothing but pain. He scrubbed until he was physically clean, even if his soul was still stained by sin.

With sore hands, Blake sat on his bed and waited for Benjamin. What the fuck am I doing? What am I even going to say to the kid? It’s not like I couldn’t tell him to fuck off on the phone. That would have been quick, that would have been easy. But, no, I had to invite him over here. Hopefully, I have the strength, the willpower, to tell him to get lost. I can’t love him, I can’t want him. I just can’t.

Blake let the thoughts fill his head for a moment longer, then picked up the phone. The pain from his hands was no longer doing its job, so he thought that maybe conversation would calm the train wreck in his head. He dialed his best friend’s number and waited for him to pick up the phone.

“Hello?” The words were deeper than usual and slurred.

“Jeremy? What’s up man?”

“School, I’m leaving for school.”

“What? There’s no school today, bro. What the fuck’s wrong with you?”

“I’ve got to get to school. See you here. There.” There was a pause and then, “He’s dead. Blood everywhere. I forgot. I forgot.” There was a click and Blake waited for a moment. Once he was sure that Jeremy had hung up, he got up and grabbed his keys from the nightstand.

3

The last of her blood dribbled from the two puncture wounds on her neck. Isaac licked his lips but left the blood dripping. He was practicing restraint.

He had met her in a bar. Her long, red hair was straight and it framed her pale face perfectly. She gave off an aura of pure sex, but after striking up a conversation with her, he realized she was innocent and most likely a virgin.

After ten minutes of idle chatter, Isaac realized she was just a kid, probably barely 18, and was looking for some mystery and excitement to spice up her lame life.

He planned on giving it to her. In more ways than one.

He fed her five Long Islands while he sipped his vodka and Redbull. As they left the small country bar, she slipped on ice or drunkenness, and he caught her, held her up, and moved with her to his dark red van.

The drive to his apartment was short and slick; the blizzard had started.

4

For most, dreams were projections of wishes, projections of what could be. For Alexa, dreams were projections of what was, projections of what would be.

In a world where her dreams were more vivid than her life, Alexa held on to Benjamin, loved him. He was the most real thing that she had, the only thing that made sense, the only thing she truly loved. She knew he was gay, and she knew that they would never be romantically involved, but she also knew that he reciprocated her love.

Alexa had never shared her prophetic dreams with Benjamin, though she often thought about it. She was going to tell him the night he sat on her bed and admitted that he was gay. But, he had cried from fear of rejection and she consoled him, hugged him, and pushed her own confession away so she could focus on his.

And then she just never got around to telling him.

She got into her mother’s escort, adjusted the seat, adjusted the mirrors, and slammed the door. She pulled out of the driveway and slid slightly as she turned the car onto the road. It would be slow going, but Hidden Silver was a small town, and she believed she could find Benjamin in time to warn him and finally tell him her secret.

5

“That was good,” Pastor Bradley said. He pulled his khakis above his fat stomach and turned to Mrs. Katal. “Look, I’ve got some,” he paused, slipped his shirt over his head and continued, “Church business to tend to. Do you need a ride home?”

“No. No, I drove. I can make it home.” Her voice was soft, unsure. She rose from Pastor Bradley’s bed and commenced her own redressing routine.

Good, then get the fuck out.

He studied her naked body, her pert breasts, her tight vagina. Then he studied her clothed body, the way her breasts filled out her purple sweater, the way her jeans perfectly covered her tight ass.

Manipulation is the kingdom of the gods, and, at that moment, Pastor Bradley was once again reminded that he ruled over it with an iron fist.

“Alright, I’m, ummm, I’m just going to go,” Mrs. Katal said. A slight smile crossed her face, then she was gone.

Pastor Bradley hoped that Mr. Katal would smell the sex on her and beat her. That’s what little whores deserved.

He checked the full-length mirror behind his door and fixed his semi-haired head, making sure the scattered patches were all flat. He called for his son, but there was no answer. Probably out being a fag somewhere. Whatever, as long as he keeps the dick in his mouth, and not open, telling others his business. After one more look in the mirror, Pastor Bradley headed down the stairs and out of the house; he had to see a vampire about throwing the upcoming election his way.

6

First came the brutality -- a storm that brewed in Isaac and blew through the red head -- and he released it through hard, no holds barred sex.

Then came the hunger, the affliction, and he was conflicted.

For four hundred years, he had been preying on the weak, feeding on the strong. He was an animal, a predator, and he had no reason to ever harness his hunger. In a world of no rules, no laws, there’s nothing stopping you from being your true self. Sometime in the past month, this all changed, and Isaac found that he had grown a conscious; he had grown a conscious that he had never possessed, even before the change.

The red head lay on his bed with a smile. He had given her the adventure that she had yearned for.

Isaac tried to push the craving down, tried to leash the inner-animal, but today would be filled with grief.

He rolled on top of her and kissed her cheek. She smiled, anticipating further adventure. She had no idea it would be her last one. He moved to her ear, licked, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Wha-?” Her response was cutoff and transformed into a scream as Isaac bit and drained. He covered her mouth, suffocating her life’s last act, and fed.

The entire ordeal lasted less than two minutes and left Isaac with a lifetime of pain. He watched the last few drops of blood ooze from her neck, and he wept.

For ten minutes, he stared at the lifeless red head through a curtain of water. Guilt rolled over him like waves over a desolate beach. A change has to come, or I have to go from this life, this fucked up nightmare.

As though his words were heard by God, Isaac’s phone rang. The caller ID didn’t read change, but the caller brought news that would completely transform the life of Isaac and all the inhabitants of Hidden Silver.

7

Blake and Jeremy’s friendship started when they were seven and fought over a baseball behind Hidden Silver’s small church. The ball belonged to the church and was often offered to the parishioners’ children, in order to keep the kids entertained while the adults talked shop.

Blake wanted to toss it around, and so did Jeremy.

The two had been best friends since the ball incident. They were as close as two people could be, without being intimate, and Blake often pondered telling Jeremy about his struggles with homosexuality. With the truth on the tip of his tongue, Blake’s common sense always won out, and he’d swallow the confession like the bitter pill it was.

Jeremy, on the other hand, was always forthcoming when it came to his struggles. He had told Blake about his mother’s abusive boyfriend and Blake had become angered. He had made it halfway to Jeremy’s house before the boy caught up to him and convinced him that beating the old man up wasn’t the answer. “He’ll get his, but not this way. Not involving you. They might lock you up, Blake. Fuck that. I’ll deal with it.” And Blake relented, convinced that Jeremy would be able to handle the situation.

And all had been quiet on the home front. Jeremy never mentioned the situation again, and he seemed to be happy, back to his old self. But, over the last week or two, Blake noticed another change in Jeremy; he was withdrawn, quiet. Blake knew things might be getting bad again, and he intended to bring it up.

Then came the phone call on the morning of the blizzard.

Blake had been drunk with Jeremy a thousand times and knew how Jeremy acted while intoxicated. The morning of the blizzard, Blake knew Jeremy was wasted, probably due to his mother’s boyfriend, and Blake intended to fully stop him before he killed someone else, or, God forbid, himself.

For the first time since his sex with Benjamin, Blake’s mind was not focused on the curly haired boy. As he got into the old cavalier and slammed the door, the only thing on Blake’s mind was his best friend and the incredible, overpowering feeling that death mixed with the snow and swirled in the air.

8

“Isaac? Listen to me, Isaac. Something’s happening. Something’s going down,” Caleb O’Donnell said, his eyes darting across the crowded restaurant. It took every ounce of willpower to block out the noises, to stop them from completely overcoming his ears and filling his mind with the loud, pointless dribble that pours from the mouths of humans.

Caleb O’Donnell hated going out in public.

“What? Not now. This can’t be happening now. Are you sure?” Caleb heard shakiness in Isaac’s voice and he wondered if the kid’s conscious had overtaken him again. It was something that Caleb would never have to endure.

“I don’t fucking know how or why, Isaac. I’m just passing on the message. They say you have to move. The time is coming. You have to turn Benjamin.” Caleb paused when he saw the short, fat, balding man enter the restaurant. “Find him, Isaac. Turn him. Destiny just is. It can’t be twisted to our whim.”

Caleb heard a sigh and then, “This really couldn’t come at a worse time. Alright, Caleb. Alright.”

Caleb hung up the phone and placed it in his shirt pocket as Pastor Bradley finally reached the table, a large shit eating grin spread across his face.

“Caleb,” Pastor Bradley said as he reached a hand out. Caleb reluctantly grasped the fat hand and shook it.

“Pastor Bradley, I believe we have some business to discuss.”

9

The snow swirls in the sky and Benjamin can barely see ten feet in front of him. Behind him, his footprints leave indentations in the deepening snow, a trail to the past that is quickly being filled, erased, by the falling flakes.

There’s an excitement in his heart, anticipation, and he can feel it, physically feel the pleasant chemicals whirl through his blood.

He stops and takes off the blue knit hat that is protecting his head from the cold. It does its job efficiently, shielding his internal heat and causing sweat to pool on his forehead. He wipes the water from his skin and replaces the hat. He’d leave it off, but he doesn’t want to catch a cold.

Love is a trap sprung by intrigue, and he is intrigued. He sees Blake’s strong face, his pronounced jaw, his caveman features. He sees Blake’s dark, short hair. He sees Blake’s toned body -- perfectly chiseled stone, the loving creation of a focused and intense artist, the creation of hours of football practice and workouts. He sees the contradictions that are Blake White, the intense sex, the total denial of being homosexual.

And Benjamin Bradley is intrigued.

Benjamin travels up Elk and nears the intersection with Main. The town is quiet, spooky, it puts Benjamin on edge.

Benjamin stops, removes his hat again, and wipes the sweat.

Only 30 feet from Main, Benjamin spots headlights reflecting off the fat, white flakes. The car seems to be traveling west on Main, its speed is slow.

He makes his way to the corner, the light is red for drivers on Main. He sees a cavalier stopped, the snow blurs his vision, its occupant nothing but a mass. He turns left, heads west along Main.

There’s a pickup heading towards him, quickly, unlike the cavalier’s slow, safe pace. Benjamin wonders about the idiot driver. A slight apprehension fills his body, barely noticeable under the intrigue and excitement. He moves three feet to his left, off the sidewalk and into the deeper snow of the grassy dentist lawn.

There is no squeal from the breaks, there is no swerving. The pickup simply jumps the curb and hits Benjamin head-on.

Benjamin is aware of what is happening for less than a second, and then there is no conscious thought, no vision. There is only a body bouncing off a large, paint-chipped hood. A shattering noise rings out in the stillness of the day as windshield glass is broken by Benjamin’s mass.

Stopped at the light, facing west, Blake sits wide-eyed and in shock. His mind is not able to lasso his roaming, raging thoughts. He cannot process what he just witnessed.

Heading south on Elk, the accident is witnessed by Alexa, who has stopped in the middle of the intersection. Unlike Blake, she is fully aware of what she has just seen. She screams, the high-pitched noise is barely muted by the glass of her windows and escapes into the beautiful, snowy day.