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A Saturday Gone Wrong

A Saturday Gone Wrong
By Sebastian Blade
copyright 2010
All Rights Reserved

Clouds and gray set the tone. August gave the cabbie the tip he normally gave, even though he didn't feel like it. The ratty spires of Corey's church felt like boney fingers of accusation. Jaw tight, he pulled his trench coat tight. For two years he hadn't missed a single Saturday. He couldn't have been more religious if he'd been religious. He even came to mass. He made Corey blush when he could. It was almost comfortable being in love with a parish priest.

He crossed the threshold into Corey's domain, feeling swallowed up by the soft warm shadows of the old building. Decades of candles lingered in the air along with yellowing hymnals and the fragile layer of humans facing age, illness, sorrow, facing all of them with a hope in something bigger, something beyond time polished pews.

August believed in Corey. His red and copper hair took the place of all the little votives in the world. His green eyes were the beautiful stained glass that shielded August's soul, promising him protection for the vulnerable tendrils of humanity that could not come into the court room. Corey's smile was all the grace August could imaging ever needing.

Tension he hadn't know he held let go as he looked around the empty sanctuary for his lover.

"Hello," a young blond man said cheerfully as he entered the sanctuary. "Father Anderson said you might be by! I'm Father Harvey! You must be August."

The enthusiastic young priest strode down the aisle with his out. His smile was brilliant, even though he obviously needed braces and might be young enough for that to still matter.

August's face tightened, battle strategy shifting, refining with every step the likely innocent man took. At the last possible polite moment, August held out his hand to shake. "Where's Father Anderson?"

"It was all very sudden. The police came to get him this morning. Well really they wanted Father Griffin, but he's recovering from chemotherapy this week and even though he is very strong in the Lord, he really doesn't look like he's so strong in the body. Did you want to confess?"

"What I'd like," August smiled, his most winning smile, "is for you to tell me where Father Anderson is?"

Father Harvey stared for a moment, lips parted, confusion unhidden. "But I can hear your confession, August. I'd be happy to. It's all the same to God."

"Um," August turned to look back out at the street and wondered how far away his cab had gotten to. "I'm sure you're very skilled," he said, doubting that his confession to Father Harvey would offend God nearly as much as his 'confessions' to Corey. "I...."

"Let me hear your confession! I know Father Anderson always hears your confession, but we must take good care of you even though he's called away. Your spiritual health is very important."

"I'm sure," August said, realizing that if he refused suspicion that he didn't want to arouse might awaken and make his seduction of his ex-lover much more difficult. He wanted Corey to leave the Church, not to have the Church excommunicate his lover. He motioned towards the confession booths.

"I'm so glad you're willing to give me a chance." Father Harvey moved quickly to the confessional and held open the door for August.

Giving an actual confession was the last thing he really wanted to be doing. The police had taken Corey somewhere. Finding Corey took priority, but keeping Corey out of trouble in the future also mattered. He stepped into the small both which seemed entirely too spacious for only one person.

Father Harvey slid open the window between them.

There was a pause, rather longer than August felt comfortable with. Just how did one confess being an atheist, banging a priest, who wanted to seduce the pretty red head away from the church all together? "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was 1 week ago," August said.

"Go on, my son," Father Harvey encouraged. "Start with what is weighing most heavily on your soul, my son."

"I betrayed the person I love," August blurted. "For money, I mean, well, it's not quite like that, I mean I was told... my family, er, my father said that if the person I loved didn't take a job offer that my father had arranged and I didn't leave him that, that my father would cut off my income."

"Your father sounds very powerful."

"Yeah." August said, holding his head in his hands. "I won't have done it, but I lied to him. That lie may have cost me everything that was important to me."

"That is a very heavy burden my son. It sounds like your father laid a heavy burden on you."

That didn't seem like something a priest would say, but then, August admitted to himself, the only priest he really knew was Corey.

"My father's not so bad. He's a powerful man and many people depend on him," August defended. "He does a lot of good."

"So you're on good terms with him then? Do you pray for him? Anger is a sin."

There you have it, exactly why August couldn't convert and become superstitious. A very adept lawyer, his real answer didn't make it across his lips. "I am not angry at my father. That's all I have to confess."

"Have you ever seen your father do anything that you don't approve of?"

"What kind of question is that?" August snapped. He leaned close and peered through the small window. "Why do you need to know about my father?"

"I find it helpful to ask about people's parents, their relationships, often it will help a person see themselves much more clearly."

"I see myself just fine, thanks," August said, stepping out of the confession booth.

"Don't you want your atonement?" Father Harvey asked, looking genuinely concerned. "Repentance and atonement reduce temporal punishment. At least complete the confession with me. Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."

"For His mercy endures forever," August said. He'd never been Catholic, but he did his best to do it right. "Thank you Father. I've got to go."

Father Harvey nodded. As soon as August was out the door, he locked the front door. Pulling his collar off, he moved into the church's office. A letter with August's name written on it in Corey's hand writing. Very quickly he changed his clothes, donning a grey suit. He took the letter with him, leaving it unopened, just slipping it into his pocket. He locked the door on his way out.

August was on his phone the moment he was out the front doors. First he needed a cab, but then he needed his investigator. "Poppy," he said, headset on as he got into the cab. "I need you to find Corey Anderson with me. The church said he was picked up by the police this morning. No, I don't know why. I don't think he was arrested, just they needed something from him. I don't know what they needed. How would I know?"

"Where are we going," the cabbie asked.

"Away from here, just drive."

"It's your dollar."


"Uh," she hedged, buying for time, "2396 Alfred Way. There's a hostage situation. Seems some chick thinks she's possessed."

"Great, an exorcism," August growled, "2396 Alfred Way. Thanks Poppy." He ended the call and glared the cabbie's skeptical look back at him. Fuck. Of course he knew that neighborhood was full of empty houses and depots of recreational chemical use.

What an exorcism meant to August was crazy ass future defendants in a criminal case. He also expected Corey to take the damn thing seriously. He had a vivid image of Corey and some Voodoo shaman facing off against each other. It was not an appropriate time to be smirking. The image in his head ran dark as the very stereotypical and completely unrealistic Voodoo person stabbed Corey to death. Scenes from the The Exorcist played in his imagination. What he really wanted to do was get out of the cab, stride across the area the cops would have staked out, grab a canister of mace in each hand and exorcise the crazy bastards in his own special atheist way, maybe even kick Corey a couple of times for putting himself in danger. How did you explain to a man how had a down payment on an invisible house in a town with streets made of gold that you just couldn't live without him? There were just very difficult to express.

When he finally arrived, there was a line of cop cars. That made his stomach sink. When he'd been a kid, he'd watched bad horror movies on his favorite channel every Saturday that he could. This situation felt surreal enough be just like stepping out of the cab and into a bad movie. He narrowed his eyes, put on his best look of authority and strode towards the woman who looked like she was in charge.

The building in question was an old brownstone, something that must have been very fashionable at one time. Nature had taken back the lots to either side and he could see cop cars on the other side. Squatters likely lived in the place, if one counted that as living. A bloody shirt hung from a second story. Rage flashed through August. If that was Corey's blood, there would be an insanity defense for the murder of whoever had hurt his love.

He strode up to the police line, held out his hand to shake with the captain in charge, caught her hand and shook. "August Richards V."

She was practical woman, short indistinctly brown hair, but eyes of razor sharp intelligence. "Mr. Richards."

"Brief me."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm August Richards V, legal council for Father Anderson and Saint Sarah's," he said as if it were absolutely the truth.

"He doesn't need legal council. He needs a regular counselor. I can't believe these idiots let themselves be talked into letting him go in there!"

"How many hostages?"

"Twenty-three. Now why am I talking to you again?"

"Do you remember case last year where Federated Oil had to pay seventy-two million dollars?"

She shrugged, very impatient. "So?"

"I was was lead council that got that judgement. All the information that I'm going to ask you for will be available under the Freedom of Information Act. If you delay giving me relevant information and my client comes to any harm, whatsoever, including simple emotional distress, I will personally sue you for the value of every asset you currently own or are likely to acquire in the next decade."

"You're a fucking lawyer. What are you doing to do? Rush in there and litigate them down?"
"If I have to. Even if you won in court, the court costs are going to rise into the hundreds of thousands. Just give me the information I want. I'm much better to have as a friend, Captain Wright."

Hatred simmered in those intelligent eyes. "What do you want to know?"


"There are twenty-three minors, according to Father Anderson. There is a middle age Caucasian male with various weapons. Your client is piss poor at describing weapons. I don't think he can dell the difference between a shot gun and an automatic."

"I won't be surprised. What is the hostage taker demanding?"

"He believes his teenaged daughter is possessed by the devil and that if she is not exorcised that she'll bring about the end of the world. Crazy bastard. As far as I'm concerned, letting the priest in there was just a way to give a crazy fucker another hostage."

Light glinted from plastic and they both turned to see an empty two liter soda bottle falling from the upper floor, a paper inside. August rushed for it, but she caught him by the arm, spun him around and down on the hood of her patrol car, arm behind his back, hard enough to leave bruises. She leaned close to his ear and growled. "Sue me, you fuck, I don't care. I don't own nothing except my love my job. Got me?"

"Everything I love is in that building," he whispered.

"You're banging the priest?"

"I said love, not carnal knowledge."

She laughed, but her hold didn't loosen in the slightest. "That's an even better reason why you're not going over there."

The officer that had run over to get the bottle came back with the note already out of it. "They're asking for Holy Water, Captain. The note is from Father Anderson. He says that he's almost got the situation resolved and asks for one more hour."

"Tough shit. We're going in there in fifteen more minutes. No more extensions, unless they give us five hostages. Put that up on the board." Her handcuffs clanked. She got a good hold on August's wrist. "We'll see how well the state bar likes you threatening an officer of the law, hotshot. Why don't you try making it resisting arrest?"

August shifted, turning his head to look back at the building. "Let me take the Holy Water in."

"Do you think I'm stupid, hero boy?"

"I think you'd rather risk a stupid bastard like me than one of your own men."

"As if I didn't know that your father was Senator Richards? I'm sure he's all over hot to have his kid killed in a hostage situation as he tries to rescue his priest boyfriend. Now that would make great headlines, won't it?"

"I need to get to him."

"Yeah," she said, fastening the cuffs on him, "Every person who runs into a burning building thinks that, but they just make more work for the professionals. We'll get him out, if it's possible."

"Give me a vest. I'll wear a wire. Let me take the Holy Water in."

"MacEntire! Get this civilian out of here. Take him down to County on a seventy-two hour psych eval."

"You can't do this!" August shouted at the top of his lungs. "Hey! Trade me for ten hostages! I'm a senator's son! Trade me! Hey! You!"

A figure appeared for a moment at the window, light flashed and another bottle came out.

Captain Wright's fingers bit bruisingly hard into his arm and she bent him over the hood of the car again. "Shut up!"

He gasped, choked.

The same officer went out and got the new message. "They agree. They'll trade ten of the juveniles for Mr. Richards."

"OH my fucking god," Captain Wright hissed. "Don't think this is going to get you out of charges, you crazy mother fucker, priest fucker!" Anger seething from her, she freed his wrists, from the cuffs. In a quieter voice, she hissed, "Get me a vest!" A hand on the back of August's neck she herded him behind a small shelter. "Shirt off."

He moved quick, terror rising up from his gut. Hands shaking he pulled off his cuff links, his shirt. On his right arm thin flesh colored straps held a narrow pale length, thicker than an antenna, but not by a whole hell of a lot.

Captain Wright pointed at it. "What the hell?"

He made a motion with his hand and the thing extended, a little more than doubling in length. He gripped it and brought it across a light pole their shelter wall leaned against, leaving a dent in the metal, slight, but still more than sufficient. Another flick of his fingers and the weapon collapsed into the almost invisible space where it rested against his forearm.

"Again, what the hell? How did you do that?"

"RF chip implanted in my arm. I'm allowed to carry weapons even in the court house due to extreme security requirements."

"Well, aren't you special," she snipped. "Please try not to get killed. Some people don't think God got a real high opinion of homosexuals."

"Again," he mimicked her, "I said, love. I didn't say we had a sexual relationship."

She brought the vest down over his head, strapped it on. "Wire is built in. We're coming in there in thirty min. Your job is to get that fool priest down. Got me?"

"I shall do my best," he agreed, not disclosing that he had his own plan.

"If everyone gets out of this alive, maybe I'll decide not to charge you."

He declined to point out that she won't be charging him anyway. He'd gone to school with the district attorney, so he wasn't overly concerned, but alive was still better than dead. "That would be very nice," he agreed, finishing buttoning up his shirt. "Where's the Holy Water?"

Captain Wright looked to the nearest support officer who made apologetic expressions. "It's not here yet."

"Give me a bottle of water," August demanded, "Clean bottle."

That wasn't so hard to produce. He tore the label off, opened it, poured just a bit out.

"That's not Holy Water," the other officer protested.

"Water's water. If I say it's Holy, then it is," August growled.

He hadn't paid any attention to the media vans and reporters when he'd arrived, but as he walked towards the building, arms out to the side, he felt keenly aware of them and hoped like hell his father was in a forgiving mood. He could imagine the conversation, "So Dad, remember that red head I dated in college that you told me to break up with...."

Once inside the building, he nearly gagged from the stench. They'd move away, buy a farm, start a children's ranch, something far from the city, far from reports, his father, the fucking Catholic church. Moving cautiously up the stairs, his own sweat seemed to over power the stink of the building, sharp and frightened stink. He wasn't imagining ways that Corey could be dead, dying, violated, bruised, now he was worrying about what it would feel like to get a bullet in his intestines, look on his father's face when a twenty-five year career as a public servant came to an abrupt and judgmental end. Buy a farm, buy a farm, buy a farm.

On the third floor, he could hear children crying and his anger shifted. This is what it was to be American. It meant loving, preparing, defending justice and love and home. "I'm here. I brought the Holy Water."

"Get in here," a male voice growled. He'd expected a Southern accent, but the voice sounded very upscale Detroit.

"Let the kids go, and I'll come in."

"You don't understand," the man sneered. "You did it all wrong. You're supposed to demand a trade at the same time. You just walked in here."

"I brought what you wanted," August pointed out. "What is it you're trying to do?"

"I need to save my little girl! Didn't they tell you anything? The Devil is trying to come through into the world through the body of my baby! I have to stop him!"

"Yeah," August said, trying to sound agreeable. "Yeah, the devil's very intense. Ten kids, unharmed and I'll bring in the Holy Water."

"Or I shot one of them and you come in to keep me from killing another?"

"Or I spill out the Holy Water and the cops come in and kill us all," August said, back pressed to the decaying wall, his bowels very much wanting to contribute to the stink in the building. "Ten kids."

"You're crazy. I'll shoot the priest!"

"How will he save your daughter then?"

"He's not doing a very good job."

"Father Anderson is the most holy person I've ever known. If he didn't think he could help your daughter, he won't have come in here. He never lies. He fairly glows with faith in god. Look at him! What's he doing right now?"

"He's kneeling by my daughter. God, she hates me."

"Kids do kinda do that. Father Anderson?"

"Hail Mary, Full of Grace," Corey said, the prayer a little out of place, but letting August know that he was well and truly put out with his lawyer lover.

"Be that as it may," August said loud enough for Corey to hear. "You want this Holy Water, right?"

The chambering of a bullet was the loudest and most ominous sound that August had ever heard. "The priest can't save my daughter! I don't want him to see the devil!"

August stepped into the door way, bottle of water in his left hand, both hands up, seemingly unharmed. "Let's save your daughter," August said. He was not going to piss himself. He wasn't. The man turned, pistol aimed at August now.

Their eyes locked. August released his baton. The man fired. The bullet passed so close to August's shoulder that fear was the last of his worries. He brought the slender baton around and across the man's hand. Blood splattered. The pistol fell. Rage burned away fear and August brought the baton back against the man's face, slicing him open with the impact of the slender metal, then back around against the man's knees as he fell. The baton retracted as August followed the man down, putting all his energy into a punch that reverberated through the man's face.


August looked up. He found himself straddling the now unconscious crazy man, fist pulled back for another blow.

Cops raced up the stairs, their approach a low rumble.

"Shit, shit," August gagged, up and backing away from the man he'd just attacked. Nausea clawed up his core and he spun around, bent over, hands on his knees, blood running down his knuckles. Acid boiled out of him, but Corey's hand on his back, rubbing gently, telling him gentle and loving words in Latin kept him grounded, promised him that somehow, everything would be okay. "Is he dead?"

"No," Corey promised. In Latin he asked, "Why did you do this? You risk involving your father."

"Te amo," August whispered, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of a two hundred dollar shirt. Staring down at his little red headed saint, he smiled and the world lifted off his shoulders. "Are you hurt? What was I thinking? What were you thinking?"

Captain Wright stopped by them, spoke into the radio on her shoulder. "Yeah, situation is clear. All the other floors are cleared. No fatalities. I need children's services and at least one ambulance."

August did his best to stand up straight, look like he was just legal council. Corey made less of an attempt, smiling at August with pride and obvious love.

Wright scowled. "There is an unmarked car downstairs, out the back. Detective Quill will take you to the station." She pointed at Corey, "You have the most active lawyer I have ever seen. If I had any money, which I don't, but if I didn't I'd want a lawyer like that."

"He is rather special," Corey said, fingers kind of inching in August's direction.

If you liked this story, maybe you'd like to read something more erotic... please come read 'Fire can make Rain' at the ARE contest. It's down near the bottom and if you like the story, I'd love to have your vote!


Perpetua said…
Ahh OMG Nix that was fecking amazing! I love August!
Nix Winter said…
August does tend to be a bit flashy :)
Cinderella said…
Nix you little sprite you have a beautiful ability I love these two and I so wish you could put all their stories in a book and sale it cause I would be one of a hundred in line to get it. Cinders

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