Chapter 4
They sat in the meadow, doing absolutely nothing. No one said a thing. For a while, you would have believed Jaden to be dead, his eyes closed, body limp. The only thing that moved was the slow pulsating of his chest with each labored breath. Mike stood, and looked down at Jaden as he laid here.
"We need to get the drug out of your system."
Jaden opened his eyes to see Mike's looming figure.
"What?"
"The sooner you can move, the sooner we can put some distance between us and the cult's hideout."
Jaden sat up, wincing. He could move, Mike knew this was a good sign.
"And how do I get this 'drug' out of my system?"
"You've already sweated a bit out, the wires made you do that. But if you wanna get it all out, you're gonna need to do some more."
"Like what?" Said Jaden, the truth dawning on him.
"Wait. You mean..."
"You can cry, piss, or sweat. What can you readily do?" said Mike.
"..."
"Speak up."
"... How long was I in there?"
"Been tracking you doing what you do for two days, but you were in there for at least 15 hours," Mike replied.
"Why?"
"... Are there any trees near here?"
Mike smirked, before going stone faced again.
"... I, uh... Well I was drinking the night I was drugged... so..."
A slight breeze came by, almost the sound of water. Jaden fidgeted.
"Look, got any Tylenol?"
Mike reached in his cloak, and threw him a small bottle.
"Ibuprofen." Said Mike.
"Works for me." Said Jaden, downing two small red pills.
"So..." Said Jaden.
He extended his hand. Mike grabbed it, pulling Jaden to his feet.
"I can stand, move my arms, buut I couldn't walk for my life."
Without saying a word, Mike put Jaden's arm around his neck and helped him down the hill to a small grove.
"Come back up." Said Mike, walking back up the hill to the meadow.
*
Jaden stood for what felt like an hour down in the grove. The longer he stood, the more his limbs felt like limbs and less like huge blocks of metal. When he regained felling in his legs and balance, he walked up the hill to Mike.
"Where to?" He said, smiling.
"Just follow me." Replied Mike.
"Follow you where?"
"Into any remotely scary house, black forest, or where I walk."
"Where am I following you now?"
"The church in the city. I personally thought we should have done it in the old warehouse, but everyone said it was too stereotypical."
"Well, if 'it' is what I'm thinking it is, then it would be."
"Ah, whatever, at least any Un-Holies that find it can't enter."
"Un-Holies?"
"Demons."
"Oh." Said Jaden, hitting his forehead lightly with his hand.
Mike's phone rang in his pocket. Mike clicked a button, and it stopped.
"They'll leave a message." He said.
Little did either of them know, miles away, someone was looking for them.
*
We go now to the bustling city. Cars flying down the street, going quite a bit faster than the speed limits, people walked around in coats and fleeces. It was a particularly grey day. The type of day one does nothing but sit inside and pray for sun. Even on this particularly bad day, with particularly everyone busy as bees, one place stood without lights and little activity inside. But that little activity wasn't anything without large rewards.
This place was the old Church, scheduled to be knocked down, yet mysteriously delayed. Inside, through a door behind the crucifix, sat a man. Black hair, rounded on his head. His bangs were like short, fat, black icicles down his forehead. His nose had a thin bridge, two large nostrils, and a small bump at the bridge's bottom. He had on a black cloak with vines of silver crawling up the bottom. His eyes were a dark blue, but only blue in the light of the sun. On this particularly un-sunny day, his eyes remained the darkest blue, lightest black that they were normally. He sat in an office chair, whittling some just blessed wood in to a point. Intricate ivy-like vine carvings were etched into it, and in the center were words. Carved in the neatest and most beautiful of calligraphy, they said,
"
The light of our Lord denies thee, so the fires of hell, you are condemned too."
As he finished the point, he set the spike on the table. He walked to the phone. He dialed the number of an expected friends. It rang once... Twice... It stopped ringing.
Just like Mike to not answer the phone at a time like this, he thought.
His name was Stan, a preacher at the church he was sitting in right then. He sat down, alone, in the musty little darkish room. He decided he would take a nap, hopefully Mike and that kid would arrive soon.
