Saint And Sinners (33 page)

“Your name is Cruz.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Cruz, I like you.” Saint crossed his arms and stepped a bit closer. “Remove your
hood,” he ordered.

The man hesitated, then did as told. He revealed a head full of slightly wavy, strawberry
blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. He had a sort of shadiness about him, but the
kind that Saint found intriguing, almost downright alluring.

“Something is up with you, man… You smell funny, too.” Saint brushed through the crowd,
aggressively cornering the man as people whispered amongst themselves and got the
hell out of his way. Cruz refused to make eye contact; he simply kept his head bowed,
a stiff upper lip and a cool and calm demeanor.

This mothafucka is so…damn…chill…

“Holy fucking shit,” Saint grinned as wide as his face could muster. “I don’t believe
this! Did I pick that up right? Are you part Demon Child?!”

“Yes. My mother was an Angel Child, my father a renowned Demon Child. I chose a different
path, that of Angel Children. My mother was murdered in front of me when I was eight
years old.” The man spoke as if he were reading a news report. He sounded fascinating
and unnerving all at once. “It is believed that it was in retaliation for a crime
she’d witnessed. My father was a powerful man, but he was also killed fairly recently
for reasons unknown. His head was placed in his front yard with a pentagram carved
into his forehead. His body has never been found.”

“I’m sorry about the death of your mother, and the traumatic experiences you endured.”

“Likewise…”

Saint paused at the man’s all knowing response, deliberating on such a thing. He cracked
a grin and shoved away any emotions that swayed him off course.

“You know what I find so amazing about you, Cruz?”

“What?” the man asked blandly, his tone practically void of inclinations.

“Your father
really
tried to love your mother…as fucking strange as that is. I can smell it on you. Love
has a scent… You’re a damn love child, created from two opposing forces who happened
to really dig one another. How odd yet strangely beautiful.” Saint crossed his arms
and circled the man, completely astonished and fascinated by the human creature that
stood before him. “Your father ran a satanic church, correct?” Cruz opened up to him
like a book, allowing Saint to quickly read page per sordid page.

“Yes. He was at the Church of Satan in Hell’s Kitchen, Manhattan. He was a High Priest.”

This shit is now all making sense…

On one hand, New York gave birth to freshly baked hope, delicately detailed dreams
and a new life of promises fulfilled. On the other, a tar-covered beating heart with
spinning serpent heads spit out sacrificed blood while simultaneously trying to suck
the longevity out of all that was pure and good. Somehow, Cruz’s turncoat ways and
affiliations, both past and present, held the golden key to unlock so much more. The
man was true blue, cunning, slick like ice and stunningly peculiar. In other words,
he was right up Saint’s alley. He wasn’t certain how just yet, but he recognized the
man as an unearthed goldmine of information in their midst. Notwithstanding, he was
a testament that demon or angel love could be obtained in human form if one sacrificed
their evil for their inner good. This was a secret that the malevolent powers within
would never want the world to know. A walking, breathing testament that even the Devil
himself could be seduced by the allure and proclivity of holy greatness, even if only
for one night…

“Kiko wants you to come back into the fold, be like your father, doesn’t he?” Saint
questioned as he rocked back on his heels and crossed his arms.

“Yes.” Cruz continued to look straight ahead, as if reading from a teleprompter. “He
knows what I am and believes that, due to my dual background, I can lend insight to
the Angel Child thought processes.” He laughed, but kept his gaze averted. “My father
studied under Anton LaVey. His true relationship with my mother was hidden. They’d
met in college and he’d grown rather fond of her. So fond, they secretly lived together
after graduation and married in a civil ceremony unbeknown to others. Due to their
vastly opposing affiliations and birth rites, they agreed to have no children. Nevertheless,
things happen…”

“Indeed they do…”

“My mother became pregnant and miscarried early on. After that miscarriage, she became
pregnant once more, much to their surprise. Once I was conceived and thriving, however,
he demanded she not terminate the pregnancy. He stated to her he had a dream that
I must live. Many years after her death, I began to read about her life, what she
believed. She happened to fall in love with a Demon Child; it was not planned or something
she felt could be avoided. Nevertheless, neither would budge on their dogmata. As
I studied what my mother believed, I realized that was in fact what I was, despite
my father’s blood running through my body. Even after he publicly claimed me as his
son and brought me into the fold soon after her death, I rejected his way of life.
I left his church and embraced my Angel Child nature completely. Needless to say,
my father wished to have nothing further to do with me. That’s when Armondo found
me.”

“He was living outside on the streets, homeless.” Armondo cleared his throat, then
spoke up on his comrade’s behalf. “I knew what the hell he was as soon as I saw him,
and I couldn’t believe it. I knew people like Cruz exited, but had never seen one
with my own eyes.”

“Yes, interesting. Speaking of eyes, why won’t you look at me directly, Cruz?” Saint
cocked his head to the side and tapped his chin as he reviewed the man closely, unable
to keep his captivation at bay.

“Because it is disrespectful to look a god in the eye.”

“I’m no god, Cruz. I’m a man. Just like your father, your mother and everyone else
in this room, this city, this world.”

“Yes, you are human, but God resides within you in a way that He doesn’t reside within
the
rest
of us. You have enough soul power for five hundred people. I have none to share.
You see, I do not have a soul at all, Mr. Aknaten.” The man spoke so matter-of-factly,
as if completely accepting the shit.

Cruz read minds through radio waves. He could make people do things they never dreamed
they’d stoop so low to achieve—but what he claimed was true. Cruz had a problem of
the spiritual kind.

Saint stopped pacing and took the man in, seized the fella’s chin in his grip and
stared the strange spawn in the eye, making him face him.

“Look at me! Look me in the damn eye right now!”

Cruz did as asked. Those green eyes turned yellow, then pure white.

“I don’t know
who
told you that, or
where
you got that impression, but it’s not true. You’ve
got
a damn soul; it’s just buried deep, deeper than a hole in hell, but it’s there.”
Saint patted the man’s chest, right over his heart. “Your mother made sure of that
when she gave birth to you. I will help you find it after this is all settled.” He
released the man’s face and walked away, feeling the heaviness of the entire encounter
profoundly within him.

“What time is it, man?” Saint inquired.

“Oh, sorry about your watch,” Armondo stated. “It’ll start working once you leave
here. It’s about seven in the morning.”

“Shit! We’ve been down here that long?” Saint closed his eyes for a moment, then looked
around. “Okay, I have to go. Here is what I want to happen, everyone. Don’t
do
shit, don’t
say
shit, do
nothing
. Everybody play it cool, act natural…like nothing has changed. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” everyone said in unison.

“You don’t know shit about any Saint Aknaten being in town. Go on with your lives.
We will not be making any first moves. If he knows I’m here, and I have no doubt that
he does, then he will do something to let me know he is aware of that. He knows why
I’m here and what I’m here to do.”

“And what’s that?!” Raphael blurted, worry in his tone as he stepped a bit closer,
his face tight and his body tense.

Saint looked over his shoulder at his friend and smirked. “I’m here to send that mothafucka
back to Hell…”

*

X
enia crossed her
legs and swayed her foot back and forth as a light breeze fluttered through the open
shutter windows, the black 2-inch heeled shoes dangling from her feet. She disconnected
the call. The passing hours had worn her thinner than a penny run over by a city bus
and despite the warming sunshine casting soft, yellow rays across the sitting area
she lounged about in, she was wrought with worry. She’d been interviewing nannies
all morning and afternoon, but it was useless. It seemed no one fit the bill. She
uttered a disgruntled sigh when she realized that either her standards were too high,
or she simply felt home sick.

It might even be both…

She stared down at her gold linked wristwatch, then ran nervous fingers through her
two-strand twisted hair and got to her feet.

I’ll have to put this on ice for a minute.

Suddenly Isis’ tiny feet stomped past her, leaving an orange blur behind.

“Heeeey! Where are you going, baby?” Xenia called out, a big smile on her face. Isis
stopped in her tracks in the large black and white kitchen, turned around and gave
a devilish grin.

“Outside, Mommy!” She pointed towards the doors leading to the patio.

“Okay Isis, but this house is not like the old one, okay? You can’t just go outside
anytime you want. You have to ask Mommy first.”

The little girl pouted, verging on breaking out into a fit. Her bouncy black pigtails,
full of shiny ringlets, glittered under the recessed lighting.

“Daddy is getting the indoor pool installed next week, and the playroom that will
be on the other side, downstairs, can be like your own play land, but that is going
to take a little time.”

Isis probably didn’t understand half of what she was saying, but Xenia had used the
same language with her eldest children and believed it helped them considerably in
their comprehension skills. As she took the little girl by the hand, her phone rang.
She’d left it on the couch.

“Oh, hold on, baby…”

She left Isis standing there to retrace her steps. Removing her earring, she placed
her cell phone back up to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello Xenia, this is Valerie.”

“Oh my goodness!” Xenia squealed, elated to hear from Saint’s mentor’s wife. Naomi,
George’s wife, and Valerie were two of her most favorite people in the whole world.
Yet, she could count on one hand how many times the woman had contacted her and each
time, Xenia felt refreshed and revived. Valerie had a way about her—elegant, beautiful,
with a kindness that seemed to know no boundaries.

“I’m calling to see how you’re adjusting, darling.” The smile in her voice almost
radiated through the phone waves.

“Maaaaaaahhhhhhh-meeeeeee!” Isis whined and twirled about, reminding her mother of
what she’d planned to do.

“Oh, yes… Uh, Valerie, hold on a second.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Uh, no. Isis just wants to play outside, just give me a second.”

“Hey, baby, let’s go out this way.” She took the little girl by the hand and went
through the double doors. Outside, tomato plants grew up on long wooden sticks and
bright, yellow daffodils snuggled close to the soil, their shiny leaves touching the
light gray fence. Xenia took a seat on a wooden green lawn chair while Isis made her
way towards one of her dollhouses. Saint had set the huge thing outside for her to
play with on such an occasion and at this moment, she was grateful he’d torn himself
away from unpacking to put it back together again.

“Okay, Valerie, sorry about that.” Xenia huffed, trying to catch her breath as she
moved about in her seat, attempting to grasp at a semblance of comfort.