~ CHRISTOPHER ~
The night sky showed no hint of light, not even a star in the sky. Just blackness. It was ominous, an omen of what was to come, because what had happened tonight, what my grandfather had done... I wasn’t going to let that fly, no matter the consequences. And there would be consequences—for me. Because whenever I disagreed with my grandfather, my father got involved, which usually ended in me being yelled at or struck.
I lit a fireball in my hand to light my way, the flames flickering from my fingertips fuelled by my anger. I headed for my grandfather’s BMW and placed my other hand on the bonnet, the warmth coming off it confirming what I thought: It had been my grandfather’s car parked across the highway. He would’ve been forcing Catherine forward, compelling her to step in front of the traffic.
I continued along the cobbled pathway to my front door, the night shrouding the Italian-styled one-storey house. Dispelling the flames in my hand, I let myself in. The lights were on at the other end of the hallway, the sound of a football match playing. My father was probably dominating the TV, while my mother scowled at him without saying a word. And my grandfather… I wondered whether he was watching it too, not caring about the chaos he’d left in his wake.
I entered the lounge, only finding my father. He was slumped in his chair, sleeping the match away. Spinning around, I headed for my grandfather’s room, letting myself in unannounced. I switched on the light, finding my grandfather in bed. Not believing for a second he was asleep, I slammed the door shut behind me. He shot up in bed, looking startled. But not as startled as I was.
His face.
Lines and wrinkles were etched into weathered flesh that should have been smooth and firm. He’d looked in his early forties when we’d arrived in New Zealand, but now... He looked in his eighties!
“Your face?” I gasped. “What happened?”
He stared at me blankly, not answering my question, his expression just as confused as my thoughts.
I hurried over, taking a seat next to him on his bed. I reached out to touch his face, not understanding how he could have aged so rapidly. I’d never seen anything like it. Sì, he’d said the blue rosary was cursed, but for it to do this to him?
It was unbelievable.
“Did you kill the nun?” I asked, wondering whether he’d expended too much energy doing it, whether that had stolen years from his life. Or whether she’d fought back, aging him herself, before she’d perished in the fire he’d created.
“It wasn’t me,” my grandfather croaked out, even his voice having aged.
“Catherine seemed to think so, and I saw your car parked across the road from the church. You were going to kill her, like you killed the nun, so don’t lie to me.”
“It wasn’t me,” he repeated, his face twisting in sorrow. “I would never have hurt Cecile.” He squeezed his eyes shut, tears pushing out the corners.
“Then, who?”
“My cousin Michael.” He spat the name out as though it was a curse word. “I can’t control him, he’s too strong.” He opened his eyes. “I can’t live like this anymore, can’t live in this hellish prison for a second longer.”
He pushed out of bed and went to his cabinet, shifting through the drawers, eventually removing his rosary. Clutching it to his chest, he headed for the door in his nightclothes, the flannel hanging off his withered body. He no longer resembled the tall, muscular man who’d stepped off the plane just a few weeks ago. It was as though he was a totally different person.
I followed him to the front door. “What are you doing, Nonno?” I asked as he pushed it open.
“I’m not your grandfather.” He stepped outside into the cold night. His rosary lit up, the red glow breaking up the darkness.
I followed him around the side of the house. “Why would you say that?” I asked, not believing him for a second, even though his words still hurt.
Ignoring me, he dropped to his knees in front of some rose bushes and started digging at the ground with one hand, his other one still clutching the rosary.
Realising what he was about to do, I yelled “No!” and lunged for the rosary, snatching it out of his hand before he could lower it to its shallow grave.
He scrambled to his feet, his expression panicked. “Give it back!” he screamed, taking a swipe at the rosary.
I whipped it behind my back. “No! You were going to bury it.”
“That’s my decision to make, not yours, so return it at once.” He held out his hand.
“No, Nonno, burying it could get you killed.”
“Precisely! I want to die.”
I shook my head, not believing my ears. “This isn’t like you. You’re not the type to kill yourself. You’re strong. You’d hand your own mother over to the devil just to survive.”
“That’s not me, that’s Michael.”
“You’re not making sense,” I said, wondering whether he’d gone senile.
He continued ranting, “I can’t let him continue, can’t let him keep hurting people. I have to take this opportunity now, destroy him before it’s too late. So please, I’m begging you, give me the rosary.”
I shook my head and took a step back, intending on taking it to my father, anything to get it out of my grandfather’s reach.
“You have to give it back!” he screamed. “He killed my child. My child! He deserves to rot in Hell!”
My heart leapt into my throat, the absence of my mother filling me with terror. “Where’s Mamma?”
“I’m not talking about her! I’m talking about my daughter!”
“She is your daughter.”
“No, she’s Michael’s child.”
I didn’t reply, my grandfather definitely having lost his marbles. Approaching footsteps yanked my attention away from him. I exhaled with relief as my father appeared around the corner with a flame in his hand.
His eyes widened at the sight of my grandfather. “What the hell happened to your face?” he asked, heading for him.
My grandfather stumbled back. “Don’t come near me, demon!”
My father stopped in his tracks. “I’m not a demon.”
“You are.” My grandfather’s gaze moved to me. “You are too. You’re all demons!” He went for me.
My father shot in front of him, the two of them colliding. My grandfather let out a pained howl as he hit the ground, my father falling on top of him.
My father scrambled off him. “Are you all right, Papà?”
My grandfather’s face went from agonised to furious. He lunged for my father, looking like he was going to strangle him. My father grabbed his wrists and forced him to the ground. My grandfather thrashed about, trying to get free, screaming about demons and hellfire, totally losing his mind.
My father shot me a worried look over his shoulder. “Get your mother!”
His words sparked me into action. I sprinted for the front door, bounding through it. I burst into my parents’ room, startling my mother awake. Before she could yell at me, I blurted out, “Nonno’s gone nuts. He tried to bury his rosary and is fighting with Papà outside. He’s also aged dramatically.”
My mother shoved her covers off and jumped out of bed. Without a word, she rushed past me in her nightie, heading in the opposite direction.
“Wrong way, Mamma! He’s by the rose bushes.”
She ignored me and disappeared through the library door. I followed her inside, finding her unlocking the glass cabinet. She grabbed The Book of the Rosary and opened it up to what appeared to be a hidden compartment, removing a—
Halo rosary.
She tore past me with the white rosary. Stunned she had one, I followed her outside. My father was still forcibly holding my grandfather down, who was struggling uselessly against him. My mother dropped to his side and raised the rosary. He screamed, “No!” as she forced it over his head. Next thing, bright light shot out from the rosary. My parents scrambled away from my grandfather as it lit up his body. His arms flung out to his side as though he was nailed to a cross, instead of flattened against the cold, damp ground. I stared in awe, never having seen a Halo rosary work before. I hadn’t even seen one. Halo Merges kept to themselves, rarely associating with other Merges. I didn’t have a clue how my mother would’ve gotten one of their rosaries, especially since she wasn’t a Halo. My immediate family were all Seraphim, while Stephen’s were a mixture of Seraphim and Terras.
But it didn’t matter. The Halo rosary was still working. My grandfather’s aging was reversing before my eyes, like a video being rewound. The power of the beads was erasing his wrinkles and filling out his sunken cheeks, repairing the damage.
My mother dropped back down and removed the Halo rosary, instantly putting out the light. She waved her hand at me and my father, instructing us to carry my grandfather inside. I pocketed my nonno’s rosary and helped my father get him back to his room. We laid him down on his bed. My grandfather blinked up at us. He no longer looked panicked—or quite so old. The Halo rosary had shaved off a couple of decades, my grandfather now appearing in his sixties.
His confused gaze roamed over us. “What are you doing in my room?”
“You tried to bury your rosary,” I replied.
His eyes went wide. “Did I succeed?”
I shook my head. “I said tried.” I removed the rosary from my pocket.
My grandfather reached for it.
I stuffed the rosary back into my pocket. “You’re not getting it; you’ll only try to bury it again.”
“I won’t. I wasn’t myself.” He pushed out of bed and held his hand out. “So, give it to me.”
“No.”
His face turned angry. “How dare you—”
“Papà,” my father cut him off. “He saved you, so go light on the boy. He did good by you tonight.”
My grandfather’s jaw clenched. “Fine, but I still want my rosary back.”
“Well, I’m not giving it back,” I replied, unwilling to risk it.
My grandfather growled, “You need to study your culture more rather than paying so much heed to humans, because if you did, you’d know the rosary is perfectly safe in my hands.”
“Yeah, so safe you almost buried it.”
He shook his head at me, irritation curling his upper lip. “Then give it to your father if you don’t trust me.”
Knowing my father would keep it safe, I pulled the rosary out of my pocket and handed it over. My eyes widened as he passed it to my grandfather.
“What are you doing, Papà!” I yelled, trying to get it back.
My grandfather slipped the rosary over his head. “Leave, nipote.”
“Now I’m your grandson? Only moments ago, you were saying I wasn’t. What the hell is going on?”
My mother answered for him, “I’ll explain it later, Chris. Go to bed, it’s late.”
I turned to her. “No it’s not, and I want to know what’s happening.”
She grabbed my arm and yanked me towards the door. “I said later. Your father and I need to work out how to help your grandfather.”
“But—”
She practically shoved me into the passageway, closing the door on my face.