Jim Butcher - Proven Guilty

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“That the good that will come is not always obvious. Nor easy to see. Nor in the place we would expect to find it. Nor what we personally desire. You should consider that the good being created by the events this night may have nothing to do with the defeat of supernatural evils or endangered lives. It may be something very quiet. Very ordinary.”

I frowned at him. “Like what?”

He finished off the little flask and then rose. He put it away and put his collar back on. “I’m afraid I’m not the one you should ask.” He put a hand on my shoulder and nodded toward the altar. “But I will say this: I’ve been on this earth a fair while, and one way or another, this too shall pass. I have seen worse things reverse themselves. There is yet hope for Molly, Harry. We must strive to do our utmost, and to act with wisdom and compassion. But we must also have faith that the things beyond our control are not beyond His.”

I sat quietly for a minute. Then I said, “You almost make me believe.”

He arched an eyebrow. “But?”

“I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t know if it’s possible for me.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkled. “Then perhaps you should try to have faith that you might one day have faith.” His fingers squeezed and then released my shoulder. He turned to go.

“Padre,” I said.

He paused.

“You… won’t tell Charity?”

He turned his head, and I could see sadness in his profile. “No. You aren’t the only one too afraid to believe.”

Sudden footsteps clattered into the chapel, and Alicia hurried in, accompanied by Mouse. The big grey dog sat down and stared up at the balcony. Alicia, panting, looked up. “Father?”

“Here,” Forthill said.

“Come quick,” she said. “Mama said to tell you Daniel’s awake.”

We listened to Daniel’s recounting of the attack. It was simple enough. He’d heard Molly moving around downstairs and had come down to talk to his sister. There had been a knock at the door. Molly had gone to answer it. There had been an exchange of words, and then Molly had screamed and slammed the door.

“She came running into the living room,” Daniel said. “And they broke down the door behind her and came in.” He shivered. “They were going upstairs and Molly said we had to distract them, so I grabbed the poker from the fireplace and just sort of jumped them.” He shook his head. “I thought they were just costumes. You know. Like… really stupid burglars or something. But the Reaper grabbed me. And he was going to… you know. Cut me with that curved knife.” He gestured vaguely at his wounded arm. “Molly hit him and he dropped me.”

“With what?” I asked him.

He shook his head. His thin, awkward, adolescent features were hollow with pain, weariness, and a kind of lingering disbelief. His words were all slightly stiff, wooden, as if reporting events in an unappealing motion picture, rather than actual experiences. “I couldn’t see. I think she must have had a bat or something. He dropped me.”

“Then what?” I asked him.

He swallowed. “I fell, and bumped my head on the floor. And they grabbed her. The Reaper and the Scarecrow. And they carried her out the door. She was screaming…” He bit his lip. “I tried to stop them, but Hammerhand chased me. So I ran out the back and up into the tree house, cause I figured, you know. He doesn’t have any hands. Just hammers. So how’s he going to climb up after me?”

He looked to Charity and said, shame in his voice, “I’m sorry, Mom. I wanted to stop them. They were just… too big.” Tears welled up in his eyes and his thin chest heaved. Charity caught him in a fierce hug, squeezing him hard and whispering to him. Daniel broke down, sobbing.

I got up and walked to the far side of the room. Forthill joined me there.

“These creatures,” I told him quietly, “inflict more than simple physical damage. They rip into the psyches of those they attack.”

“This happened to Daniel?” Forthill asked.

“I’d have to take a closer look to be certain, but it’s probable. Kid’s gonna have it tough for a while,” I said. “It’s like emotional trauma. Someone dying, that kind of thing. It tears people up the same way. They don’t get over it fast.”

“I’ve seen it too,” Forthill said. “I haven’t brought this up yet, but I thought you should know that Nelson came to me earlier this evening.”

I nodded at the cot that had been occupied when we came in. “That him?”

“Yes.”

“How’d he strike you?” I asked.

Forthill pursed his lips. “If I didn’t know you sent him, I would have thought he was having a bad reaction to drugs. He was almost incoherent. Very agitated. Terrified, in point of fact, though he would not or could not explain why. I managed to get him calmed down and he all but fainted.”

I frowned, running the fingers of my right hand back through my hair. “Did you have the sense that anyone was following him?”

“Not at all. Though I might have missed something.” He essayed a tired smile. “It’s late. And I’m not as spry as I used to be, after ten o’clock or so.”

“Thank you for helping him,” I said.

“Of course.Who is he?”

“Molly’s boyfriend,” I said. I glanced across the room, at the mother holding her son. “Maybe Charity doesn’t need to know that part, either.”

He blinked and then sighed, “Oh, dear.”

“Heh. Yeah,” I said.

“May I ask you a question?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“These creatures, these phages. If they are what you say, beings of the spirit world, then how did they manage to cross the house’s threshold?”

“Traditional way,” I said. “They got an invitation.”

“From whom?”

“Probably Molly,” I said.

He frowned. “I have difficulty believing that she would do such a thing.”

I felt my mouth tighten. “She probably didn’t know they were monsters. They’re shapeshifters. They probably appeared to her as someone she knew, and would invite in.”

Forthill said, “Ah. I see. Someone such as you, perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” I said quietly. “Makes it the second time someone has used my face to get a shot at Michael’s family.”

Forthill said nothing for a moment. Then he said, “It occurs to me that these creatures killed without compunction in your previous encounters. Why would they carry Molly away instead of simply murdering her?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I don’t know how my spell managed to bring them to Molly. I don’t know precisely what these things are, or where they hail from. Which means I can’t figure out why they’ve been showing up, or where they might have taken the girl.” I waved a hand in a frustrated gesture. “It’s driving me insane. I’ve got tons of facts and none of them are lining up.”

“You’re tired,” Forthill said. “Perhaps some rest-”

I shook my head. “No, Padre. The things that took her won’t rest. The longer she’s in their hands, the less likely it is we’ll ever see her again.” I rubbed at my eyes. “I need to rethink it.”

Forthill nodded at me and rose. On the other side of the room, Charity was covering her exhausted son with a blanket. Even Alicia had surrendered to fatigue, and now only the adults were awake. “I’ll leave you to it then. Have you eaten recently?”

“Sometime in the Mesozoic Era,” I said.

“Sandwich?”

My stomach made a gurgling noise. “Only if you insist.”

“I’ll see to it,” Forthill said. “Excuse me.” He went over to Charity and took her arm, leading her out as he spoke quietly to her. Now that her children had been cared for, she looked like she might come apart at the seams. They left the room together, leaving me in the dimness with Mouse and a lot of sleeping kids.