~ ANTONIO ~
Maria knelt down next to Papà’s bed, gripping onto his lifeless hand. Tears streamed down her face as she prayed, “Our Father, who art in heaven...”
I bowed my head in sorrow, mouthing the same words, though I knew God wouldn’t answer us, the Devil more likely listening.
Once the prayer was completed, Maria bent over to give Papà a tender kiss on the forehead, then pulled back to gaze at his face. With his eyes closed, he looked serene, something he’d never achieved in his lifetime. The blood had been cleaned from his hair and face, his wet clothes changed, everything done that he would’ve wanted, my father precious to me. And I would treat him as such even after death.
Maria let go of his hand and left the room, no longer able to bear looking at our dead father. But I couldn’t leave him. I took hold of his hand. It felt cold to touch, the fire inside of him having been put out by that treacherous girl, an angel in devil’s clothing, tricking us, making us believe she was something she was not. But even angels could be evil, after all Lucifer had been God’s most beautiful angel before he’d been cast from Heaven.
Anger flashed across my mind. That siren should’ve been the one who died, not this man before me, a man I’d idolised. Still idolised. “I promise you, Papà, that I’ll bring you back, and together we can destroy that girl.”
I let go of his hand and left the room, heading out the front door, aiming for Papà’s small garden by the side of the house. I knelt down in front of the rose bushes and dug at the softly tilled soil. After wiping the dirt from my hands, I removed my Seraphim rosary from my pants pocket. I said a prayer, then settled the beads into their temporary grave, scooping the soil over them. Once they were completely covered, I rose up and took a few steps back.
Nervous tension raced through me, fearful of what I was unleashing, the demons and angels I’d killed probably all vying to merge with me. But only one would. I just had to hope that it was the soul I was doing this for: my father. He’d still been breathing after the explosion had flung him back, though there was no way he was going to survive, his body too broken. I could still see him looking at me, begging me with his eyes to do what needed to be done. He didn’t even have to say the words for me to know what he wanted. So I’d suffocated him, holding my hands over his mouth, stealing his last breaths so he would die by my hand, not Catherine’s. It was the only way to stop his soul from being sucked into her purgatory bead.
The only way to save him.
Seconds, then minutes passed as I waited impatiently for some sort of activity to come from the ground where I’d buried my rosary. As more time passed, I glanced at my watch, taken aback that no souls had escaped the purgatory bead. I’d killed a number of demons and angels to survive, all from need, not desire. I didn’t enjoy killing, if anything, I hated it. After every death, I felt a piece of my soul blackening, the evil infusing it quite often being taken out on the wrong person: my son. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, tears for the loss of my son as well as my father. We’d moved to New Zealand for a safer, better future, so we could protect our family, and all it had done was destroy us.
Grief stricken, I went to leave, but stopped as something flickered in my peripheral vision. I turned around, taking a step back as dark and light vapours began rising from the rosary’s tiny grave. The vapours grew more distinct, resembling what humans called ghosts. They stopped moving, almost as if they were assessing me, looking at the body they wanted to take over. I forced myself to remain still, the last death the strongest, my father having first right to possess me. The souls hovered, probably waiting for him to emerge with the hope that he’d get dragged down to Hell so they could vie for my body.
But not all stayed. Some of the white vapours shot in different directions, leaving to roam the real Purgatory—Earth, while a couple of dark souls disappeared into the ground, the demon’s probably being dragged down to Hell. Then two new vapours appeared, one comprising of grey smoke, the other black, too vague for me to make out their features. Spellbound, I watched as the vapours gradually took on the shape of two men. From the grey smoke, a younger version of my father hovered, the one known as Cristoforo Rosario. While from the black smoke, the face that I’d only seen in photos stared back at me: Michael Laboure. My true father. Shock hit me, the realisation that he’d come from demon smoke making me take a step back.
“You’re a demon?” I said, upset that Maria was right. I’d ignored her suspicions about our father, not wanting them to be true. I’d wanted to believe that he was an angel so much, I’d allowed it to cloud my better judgement.
Papà didn’t reply, his ghostly form just staring at me. Cristoforo’s soul turned to him. With sad eyes, the apparition shook his head at his ghostly cousin before disappearing, misting into Purgatory, his sins stopping him from entering Heaven, a possible absolution stopping him from being dragged down to Hell.
I returned my attention to my father. A smile formed across his ghostly lips. He reached out for me, his soul’s touch warm against my skin, gentle, not at all threatening like a demon’s. The shock over him being a demon no longer mattered, his love for me real. He wouldn’t hurt me. He was still my father.
I closed my eyes as he moved closer, feeling an intense heat as his soul entered my body, merging with me. I stood still for several minutes, coming to terms with the shift inside of me, another mind sharing the same space, the both of us reading each other’s thoughts. I smiled at what he was thinking, what he was conveying to me, appreciating his praise for saving him from the Maris rosary, something he would’ve been sucked into it if I hadn’t suffocated him. His soul had only burnt for a short time within my rosary, instead of drowning for eternity in the Maris’ star.
Once the merge was complete, I breathed in deep, then let it out, opening my eyes for the both of us. Staring straight ahead, I smiled at the surrounding countryside at the same time as my father, beyond ecstatic that I hadn’t lost him.
My mouth moved, forming words that I did not instruct. “Thank you, figlio,” Papà said, sharing my vision of the tall pine trees framing our land.
“I’m happy that you’re back,” I replied, truly elated.
The remaining vapours around us dispersed, the demon souls leaving to find another body to possess. I felt bad for the people they would merge with, but regardless, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. I still would’ve chosen to save my father, even if it had meant a thousand demons were set free.
“What will we do about the girl and Christopher?” I asked.
“Once I find another body to possess,” Papà replied, “we’ll make her pay. But in the meantime, you need to win Chris back. Use my death to pull him back into the family, make him feel guilty for choosing the girl over me. Use it to turn him against her. I want him to blame her for my death. Turn his love for her into hate.”
My jaw set in anger. “I will. I’ll make that siren pay for what she did to you.”
“Good boy. I also need you to get Stephen alone.”
“Why?”
“I can’t share your body for long, figlio,” Papà replied. “I don’t want to hear your thoughts of Maria. It’ll drive me insane.”
“I know, but why do you want—” I cut myself off, what he was saying finally dawning on me. “No, Papà! He’s your grandson. You can’t possess him!”
“I have before.” My lips moved into a smile without my permission, my father in control. “And I will again.”
TERRA
(The Legendary Rosaries #2)
Coming in 2018