The Sainted Confessor, Part 13
Oct. 13th, 2009 12:16 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tinhuvielartanisSteps came in the dark and Faust felt the panic begin to rise in him until the Angel sank down into his body as she was wont to do. A kind of peace followed, so Faust waited and listened to Cadmus as he crawled upon the bed and set to changing the bulbs. The room was suddenly and shockingly awash in bright light again, and there stood Cadmus on the bed, looking down at Faust, that almost-smug expression on his face.
“No more keening, now, young man. I only bought enough bulbs for two more sessions with you and I shall be very displeased to have to expose myself to herds again just because you couldn’t keep yourself under control. Screaming is fine. I expect that and welcome the sound. Moaning, gibbering, shouting – all well and good. But no more Vampiric keening or I’ll give you something about which to truly keen. Are we clear, Confessor Faust?”
Faust just stared at Cadmus, his cerulean eyes exuding an unusually peaceful reproach compared to how Cadmus had left the Vampire. Cadmus cocked his head at his young captive, then shrugged before jumping easily to the floor.
He reached around the back of the side table, then he turned back to Faust. In his wan, spidery hands Cadmus held a mask that looked as though it were made of a kind of Plaster of Paris. One of Faust’s artist friends would have been able to tell him in happier days. Like every knife and like the chalice, Cadmus held the mask out to Faust in a ritual of presentation. “Do you see this mask?”
Faust slowly blinked his eyes in weary acknowledgment.
“Since we’ve spent our Summer together having such a lovely time in one another’s company,” Cadmus said, he voice imitating someone being sarcastic or ironic…or maybe both. “I was reminded by your poor example that it was time for me to remake myself. We need to do it every few decades and, as far as I can tell, you haven’t done it since you were transformed. Your idiosyncratic inflections and outmoded slang, not to mention your moth-eaten thrift-store Chaplinesque fashion choices, scream that something is amiss with you. Now…you may be Out, as they say these days about anyone who has had, by necessity, to remained cloaked to society, and people may accept you for who and…what you are, but not all of us care to take that route, especially someone like me. So your failing to redefine yourself reminded me that it has been way too long since I did so myself. This mask is the key to my doing so and you, my little sacrificial lamb, are going to help me baptize it and me into my new life.”
Cadmus moved closer to the bed and looked at his choice of knives. Out of the 23 he’d presented, there were only four left. Not good. In all his fun, Cadmus had been a little wasteful in his charged knives. He’d have to use the dragon claw on the initial cuts and his fingers and one or two of the knives he at the ready to do the rest. A little messy, but Cadmus never really minded the Bloodbath, especially when the Blood was going to be as sweet as Faust’s was tonight.
Pulling out his dragon claw knife, he presented it to Faust, then immediately set to work, beginning the incision into the subcutis of Faust’s groin and moving up in one swift cut. Faust’s half scream and half almost-laugh was like music to Cadmus’ ears, much better than that cacophony of sound called Disco of which most all the mortals and half the Vampires of the era seemed so enamoured. Faust bowed outward as though he wanted to meet Cadmus’ knife, but Cadmus knew it was nothing but a reflex and Faust had nowhere else to go but up. When Cadmus hit Faust’s breast bone with the dragon claw knife, he stopped, but only long enough to get a tighter grip on the knife handle, this time with both hands.
Leaning into Faust, Cadmus lunged forward and cut through the young Vampire’s breast bone. Faust’s screams grew more intense, just this side of keening. As swiftly as he could, Cadmus then cut three cross sections into Faust’s torso, one just below the broken breast bone, one over the groin, and one right in the middle. He had to work quickly because the Blood Faust had in him would make the boy heal almost as quickly as he was wounded and ruined. With his bare hands, Cadmus ripped away Faust’s flesh to expose his organs underneath and then, he hooked his fingers into the fissure up the middle of Faust’s breast bone.
“O!” Faust screamed, trying to form the word ‘no’ around the dagger tearing into his mouth. “O! O! Ah-ucchhh o! Og o!”
Cadmus ignored Faust’s incoherent pleas as he was rushing to make good on his work so far. He couldn’t let the bone knit and it was already doing so, much more quickly than he could have imagined. Once his fingers were well-entrenched, Cadmus began to wrench Faust open, inch by excruciatingly slow inch. Faust began his chortling scream again, his body seizing from the agony. There was a slow, wet cracking sound as Cadmus opened up Faust like an ancient treasure chest.
Faust’s eyes bulged, the blue swirl stilling for the first time Cadmus had laid eyes upon the young Vampire. For just a brief moment, Cadmus thought Faust might be dead. But then the tears came spilling out of those eyes that had once borne such merriment in their constant glimmer and Cadmus knew that his little sacrifice was still with him. Good. Now came the next step now that the chest was opened. There was no way he could heal from that until Cadmus pressed the sternum back together.
“Okay, Faust my boy, I need some room for my mask, so we’re going to prepare you as my baptismal font. You won’t like this, but fear not, you’ll heal quickly. Unfortunately, you won’t heal as quickly as I’d planned since you wasted that last little bag of blood I’d reserved for you. That just means you’ll get to see me that much more quickly. Doesn’t that make you happy? As I’m sure you’ve said way too many times in your pathetic unlife, ‘turn that frown upside down.’ Too bad you can’t with that blade shoved in there.”
Cadmus dipped his bony fingers into Faust’s lower belly and grabbed tentacles of intestine and colon, pulling them out with abandon as Faust wept and screamed loudly. He took only a brief moment to cup a handful of Blood to his lips, sipping the wonderful feast of innocence transformed by the chalice and enhanced by Faust’s strange state of increased sanctity. Oh, indeed, Cadmus had noticed the unusual air about Faust. His breaking of the geasa was evidence of it. The Blood was sweeter coming out of Faust than it had been in the cup, which was unprecedented. Cadmus decided then and there that he’d bring more children the next day. The fortification of his plaything in such a way would feed him very well and also give him more time to recharge his knives so the games could go on indefinitely. If Cadmus could have been delighted at the thought, he would have been at that precise moment, lapping Faust’s blood from his cupped palm and examining the entrails strewn about the bed and floor.
Next came the kidneys. Cadmus ripped them loose and tossed them to the floor. Moving up, he did the same with the stomach, which ruptured as he tugged on it, spilling forth its blood into the empty cavity that had once held Faust’s digestive system. It was perfect for his mask. He didn’t have to go any further up, but Cadmus was caught up in his work now, reliving some of the delights that had once been visited upon him. When he moved up to continue ravaging Faust’s body, his eyes caught the Darkling’s and they held one another’s gaze.
Faust had gone silent. He was doing exactly what he said he’d do, Cadmus could tell by the look on his Blood-spattered face; he was praying for Cadmus. He had found in this misery a sanctuary of peace in which he could rest his mind and spirit enough to actually pray for Cadmus. And Cadmus experienced a philosophical apex. As he gazed into the endless blue of Faust’s eyes, Cadmus decided that, if he could feel hatred, this would be it.
Running his hand up the remainder of Faust’s exposed organs, the liver and lungs, Cadmus reached a little further in and grasped hold of Faust’s heart. Slowly, he began to pull upon the organ and enjoyed some mild satisfaction that the muscle began to beat a little faster in his hand. But Faust held tight to his place of power, his pacific gaze never faltering despite the deluge of tears that came from them now. Cadmus pulled some more and the heart beat harder. Eventually, Cadmus had the heart out as far as it would go without severing it from Faust’s body, which would kill the Darkling, and Cadmus didn’t want that, not yet. Cadmus bent down to meet the heart with his supple lips, kissing it as though it were his lover before biting into the arresting organ. He drank Faust’s heart Blood as he watched Faust’s woeful face, so filled with a pandering piety Cadmus could not understand, yet knew he did not appreciate. He paused his feast long enough to lean in closer to Faust, close enough for their lashes to brush against one another as their eyes continued to challenge each other.
“You little whore of God….” Cadmus murmured, his voice dread desire, his accent a caress. Cadmus then leaned back and spit Blood in Faust’s face, hitting his right eye. Faust never waivered in his gaze of prayer for Cadmus, even when the elder returned to his wounded heart and drank some more before setting it to one side outside the chest cavity so the holes could heal, but the pain would remain constant. He leaned back and licked his lips, made all the more lush in appearance from the dark Blood smearing them, and then Cadmus broke his gaze with Faust, who continued to weep silently and stare at the Abomination.
Cadmus turned and picked up his mask. “When wearing this, the leader of the new blood cult shall be…Landon Dunlevy. And, every time I place this on my face, Faust, I shall smell you at your sweetest, having been my baptismal font of holiness and transformed innocence. Don’t you feel honoured, don’t you feel blessed? And, with that, Cadmus plunged the white mask into Faust’s body cavity, splashing the lake of blood that had filled the void where organs had once been. Cadmus pressed down hard, feeling the mask hit Faust’s spine.
Faust groaned quietly, but offered up no more pleas, no more screams. Displeased as much as he could be, Cadmus narrowed his vast eyes at Faust, who still held the elder Vampire in his limited sites. Something in Faust’s gaze compelled Cadmus to glance away. It wasn’t Compulsion, it was something else, something Cadmus had no words to describe. But it wasn’t Faust looking at him at that precise moment; it was someone else, something else. Perhaps it was that odd sense of sanctity that Cadmus sometimes felt when holding his chalice. Whatever it was, Cadmus had no time for such god games. There was naught but Oblivion…Oblivion and Blood. The sooner Faust came to grips with that, the sooner he’d be at peace with the long sleep ahead of him after Cadmus was finished playing.
Cadmus held the mask underneath the pool of Blood until it was so saturated, it didn’t offer to float at all when Cadmus took his hands out of Faust. It was ready, then. It was perfect. He’d let the mask rest there for a few moments longer as he set to the task of putting his little immortal Humpty Dumpty back together again.
He took Faust’s heart, kissed it one more time, and then tossed it into Faust’s chest cavity like so much trash. And it was to Cadmus. Faust and every part of him was nothing more than objects to be used for Cadmus’ purposes, no matter how inexplicable they may seem. Once their purpose had been served, Cadmus no longer had an interest.
With one swift unceremonious motion, Cadmus shoved the two halves of Faust’s sternum together. Faust grunted and squeezed his eyes together, tears trailing down each side of his face.
Cadmus then pulled his mask out of Faust’s body. It dripped with crimson, wetting Faust’s ruined side and his arm, and re-staining the sheet below, which was already hard to the touch from previous saturations of Blood.
“Crimson. Such a lovely word. This mask shall be the face of the Order of the Crimson Cup and it shall inspire awe and mindless devotion in the hearts of thousands. All that needs doing now is for me to paint the eyes and mouth…and we shall have ourselves a persona bathed in your sacred Blood, dear Faust. A mask awash in the Blood of a billion confessions. I like that idea…I like it a lot.”
Cadmus took his hand and smeared off the already-congealing excess Blood, flinging the thickening liquid in Faust’s face. He then placed the mask on the side table and began to pick up Faust’s innards. The Abomination was far from careful with them. He stuff t hem back into Faust, who merely whimpered from the torment of it.
Faust was beyond screaming now. He clung to his prayers for Cadmus and nurtured his spirit wounds received from this ordeal – this tribulation. In some ways Faust was stronger for his tribulation, but he was also changed. Some part of him was broken in an incomprehensible and incommunicable way. Should he wake up and all this be a terrible dream brought about by his accursedness, Faust didn’t think he’d be able to reclaim the person he’d once been. In a way, he’d always been a child, so willing to trust, so ready to be open. His merry manner pulled people to him and the Compulsion did the rest. Faust felt a seed of brooding just sprouting in his broken heart. He snorted softly around the blade that held fast his head to the mattress. Broken heart… literally broken.
But he could feel it healing already, at least physically. Everything was healing remarkably quickly. It was the pure Blood of Innocence that was doing it. Faust felt a surge of guilt at the thought of drinking children’s blood. At least he triumphed with Jack, even though he couldn’t save him. The pouring out of Jack’s transformed Blood had been a turning point for Faust. He realized something now, something he should have known from the moment Cadmus pinned him to the hell that once had been his bed; he truly had nothing to lose in doing whatever was in his power to taunt and torment Cadmus. Perhaps it was a little too late now, which was sad because Faust had always had a spot of the Trickster in him, that mischievous archetype that helped him endear himself so thoroughly to anyone in marginal proximity. Well, until the end, Cadmus would acquaint himself with that side of Faust. If Faust were lucky, Cadmus would grow frustrated or whatever he might feel and just kill him. Death was something Faust welcomed now. He’d see God afterward. Of that, he had no doubt.
“Don’t worry, Little Confessor,” Cadmus purred in that impossibly smooth and well-accented voice of his. “Your organs will find their way in healing. And you shall heal quickly, this precious Blood showing your body the way of it. You should be mostly – ah – ship-shape by tomorrow when I return to fortify you just a little more. If you hadn’t wasted that boy, you’d already be back to new.”
As he pretended to comfort Faust, Cadmus was returning the flayed flesh of Faust’s torso back to where it needed to be in order for Faust to heal. It was done. The worst of the horror was done. Now if only Cadmus would leave…leave and never come back.
“Oh one more thing. If I don’t take it, the geasa on the blade will leave your wound open and you’ll bleed out over night. We can’t have that.”
Cadmus pulled the dagger out of Faust’s mouth, which brought one final, weary scream from Faust’s throat. But he was grateful. At least, now, he could move his head and he could already feel the wound healing, almost choking him from the feel of the reborn flesh. He coughed and gagged because of it, but he didn’t care. He was free, at least in that respect. He licked the corners of his mouth, feeling the newly-healed flesh and testing his tongue, which had been nearly severed by the vicious knife.
“I think I shall leave the children here for you to admire while I’m gone,” Cadmus sad. “You seem to be fond of them for some inexplicable reason, especially young Jack here. And I’m sure you could do for the company, albeit silent and decomposing company.”
“You…..” Faust sibilated, trying to find his voice. “I prayed…for you, Cadmus. But you are…rep-reprehensible to me. Why…why don’t you stop beating your gums…and dry up?”
Cadmus brushed the wet hair and Blood from Faust’s tear-stained face, and he smiled that smile of the shark – mirthless and predatory. “Oh my dear Faust. Do you even know what modern English is? Even I, in my archaic state of purity, can at least communicate with the rabble around me. Could they even understand you at Studio 54?”
Faust blushed furiously. Most of the time, all he got were laughs at some of the things he said and he often wondered if it were because they understood and were laughing with him, or they had no idea what he was saying and were laughing at him. Why had he never tried to reinvent himself? Could he even do it? Did it even matter now? Here, at the precipice of his death, it probably didn’t matter at all.
On impulse, Faust spit in Cadmus’ face, a gobbet of Blood and bits of overgrown flesh. It hit the elder just below his left eye and slowly oozed down his cheek. Cadmus knitted his brow and brushed the offending matter away with an absent hand. But that was the only reaction Faust got.
“I shall see you tomorrow, youngling.”
Cadmus stood and gathered up his chalice, the mask, and his dragon claw knife. Without a word, he left the apartment and his captive behind.
Faust lay in the silence, surrounded by the tiny broken bodies of the children Cadmus had brought to their little event of horror. He felt his body healing slowly, the organs within him rearranging themselves accordingly, making him squirm from discomfort. If only he could move. It had been so long, so very long… He suddenly found himself in a small joint here in Soho, dizzy for a dame who was sure to enjoy his special newfound Vampiric attentions later that evening, and doing the Lambeth Walk with her.
Any time you’re Lambeth way,
Any evening, any day,
You’ll find us all doin’ the Lambeth Walk. Oi!
Every little Lambeth gal,
With her little Lambeth pal,
You’ll find ‘em all doin’ the Lambeth Walk. Oi!
That night had been filled with joy and mischief, dancing ‘til the rising sun, strong gin and vermouth, and sweet blood offered up freely by the pretty young girl who’d swirled and twirled with him all night long. If he had to tell what had been the most perfect moment in his life, it would have to be this night at the Tiger’s Cage. Faust had loved to dance, and he was good at it. He knew all the new dances of that age and his Vampiric agility made him a sensation. That pretty dame, Meggie was her name, was certainly impressed with him. He could remember the smell of her hair, the glint in her green eyes, and the wry smile she kept on her face the entire night. They could have been in a dance marathon and won that night.
But the evening ended with a bout of sweet love, a nip on the neck, and Meggie telling him about her secret wish to be bound and ravaged, loved and caressed all night. Her dark desires were taboo in 1938, but she had trusted him enough to tell him these things and cuddle in the crook of his arm until they both fell asleep with the dawning of the day. He thought, at that precise moment in time, he loved Meggie with all his heart.
But Faust had loved them all, every one. It’s what he did, was love…unconditionally. He focused on that aspect of himself, opened himself up to the boundless love that he’d always held for everyone, especially his friends and his family back home, whom he now missed with a woe that had to remain unspoken. Faust wished he could call his mother, long dead from the flu back in 1935. She just never was the same when she heard her boy had died in New York City. Her immune system gave up on her in her grief, and she just faded away as if she’d never even been there to begin with.
Faust began to cry again. He wept for all the death he’d seen, for all those who’d gone before him, and for those who had died to serve a life undeserving of living – his. Guilt washed over him and it made the tears come harder.
“I’m such a horrible bastard,” he rasped, still getting used to the healing wound in his mouth and throat.
No…..
It was the Angel.
“I am, lovely one. I am. I’m accursed…a Vampire who takes from the living and has nothing to show for it.”
You have your love, Kallum. You have your way of inspiring smiles where that might never have been any. You are no longer accursed, dear Kallum. You have been redeemed. We love thee.
“Vampires can’t be redeemed… It’s like an unwritten law somewhere in the Great Hive.”
But Kallum, we’re granting you the gift of Mortation. Now. As you heal tonight, you shall heal as a human. No longer shall you be of the Hive. No longer shall Faust exist. You are Saint Kallum…Faust the Confessor to those who hear your story. And you shall repose with us until the time comes for you to rise and sing the Augury and fulfill your other title: Faust the Redeemer.
“Human? You mean mortal? Won’t I die?”
You always knew you would die at the hands of the Pariah, dear Kallum. Your death is imminent, but you shall feel nothing. In us shall you repose, for you shall see the face of God.
“When, my Angel?”
It was then that the Angel appeared before him.
You shall see God now.
And the Angel disappeared as quickly as she’d manifested, replaced with the most beautiful vision Faust had ever seen. The faces passed so quickly and the courses to faraway galaxies were mapped perfectly before his wondering eyes. Everything that ever was, is, and will be was shown to Faust. The faces were those of beautiful men and women, alien faces beyond Faust’s reckoning, and the wise faces of animals both earthly and extraterrestrial. Faust laughed and cried at the vision, awash in emotions he never realized he even had and for which there were no words.
As suddenly as the vision was before him it was gone, leaving Faust laughing and crying from the absolute joy of it. He was fulfilled, he was wholly sanctified by the vision for which he’d been waiting for decades. And he was free. His body might be bound to this bed, but Faust was truly free, perhaps for the first time in his life.
The Angel reappeared and wrapped her rainbow arms around Faust and, together, they fell asleep in the wonder and splendour of it all. Peace and Grace surrounded them, Faust in his wretched state of healing and his Angel in her consecrated state of comfort.
