And I wonder... (Spectre, Thomas)
"Read anything interesting?"
Spectre felt the hands of his husband come to rest gently on his shoulders and he tilted his head up to look at the man. The angle was awkward, but Spectre always found solace in seeing Thomas' loving face. "It's so...augh." Spectre hadn't stopped reading the tome detailing the history of Morrissey's Glen since he had liberated it from their secret hiding place under the ground. He had commenced his study the second they had returned home and he still wasn't finished. Anything to keep his mind off the bloody scene which had been the death of his grandfather, Braden Morrissey. And what he had read, he hadn't liked.
"Augh?" Thomas coaxed him gently, and Spectre turned back to the book.
"As in...this is bad Thomas. Apparently, Braden had to leave the home of his youth because the manifestation of his angelic powers brought about accusations of witchcraft from the Protestant townsfolk. This says he was hounded, persecuted and pursued, but he managed to escape. Thomas, I think Samson drastically underestimated how old Braden was. This tome states Morrissey's Glen is around 170 years old..."
"So...he might have been born that way afterall, and what he told Samson was a lie?"
"Anything to make Samson believe he was granted his power from God, unfortunately," Spectre sighed. "I read nearly this entire thing and it says Braden eventually settled down and established Morrissey's Glen, intending it to be a good, pious Catholic town. I'm sure you can imagine what that would have meant."
Considering his knowledge of Spectre's upbringing, Thomas could very much understand what that meant. The idea of an entire town being subjected to a life like Spectre's childhood was horrifying beyond the telling of it. "Yeah. Fuck."
"This says the settlement was aided by pious pilgrims who were searching for a place of refuge like Braden was. Most notably, the Barton and Hallowran families. But more recently, their union turned to a bitter feud between Braden as the spiritual leader, and the mayor and the judge, who were descendants of the founding families. While Braden Morrissey eventually retreated to the church, Judge Hallowran proved stronger than Mayor Barton. While people obeyed Barton's rules out of fear for the divine retribution instilled by Braden, surprise surprise, no one dared lift a finger against Hallowran when she bent or broke the rules for herself or others. Which is quite shocking when you imagine the lengths Braden would have gone to to instill a sense of strictness in following the rules. It's apparently very well known that Hallowran had her own powers. And she's abusing them, Thomas. We have to stop her."
"We'll speak to Peter in the morning, Babe." That was a lot to take in, especially after everything they had just been through. Peter would know what to do. He always did. "You should come to bed."
"But I really want to finish this...I still don't know why Braden was on that machine, and-" Spectre turned to look at his husband, and his refusal died in his throat at the look on Thomas' face. It was Valentine's Day and Thomas wasn't usually here much. Missing out, despite the tragic things they had just witnessed and experienced, would have caused yet more heartbreak. And Spectre didn't have the will to upset the man he loved. He knew Thomas would not expect anything beyond falling asleep beside each other, which was a relief. That was something he could give his Thomas, even if his mind would be stuck in Morrissey's Glen and the events of the past few days.
They had awoken back in the church, their minds heavy with the sedative they had been administered. Spectre lifted his head to find his husband staring at something with an expression of weak acceptance. "T...Thomas?" Spectre turned to see what his husband was looking at and he saw the church was filled with people. His drug addled mind took a moment to process the sight and then he said a very quiet and amazed, "-oh. That's where they all are."
He was tied down, though his limbs felt full of lead anyway. He gazed at the congregation with slight detachment as a hooded figure stepped up to join them in the front of the church.
"Citizens," he figure said. "Our founder has been killed and this day we will have retribution for his senseless death! Those responsible will pay! This is our sacrifice to God for the murder of his messenger on Earth!"
The congregation cheered, the sound filling the church and overwhelming Spectre's senses. He winced against the noise and his aching head and then he saw the hooded figure headed toward his husband with an ornate knife in her hands. "THOMAS!" Spectre screamed as the figure removed her hood to reveal Judge Hallowran. The knife arched downwards, plunging into Thomas' belly, causing ruby red to cascade down Thomas' front. Thomas, however, did not die. He was already dead. In the brief moment the Judge paused in horror and confusion, Thomas lifted his bound legs and he kicked her hard, knife still lodged in his belly. His kick sent the judge flying off of the altar and into the crowd.
"Spectre!" Thomas grunted. "Keep them away!"
His mind rebelled against the action, so soon after being drugged, but Spectre was able to create a illusory wall of flames around them which served to separate them from the townspeople who were screaming in frustration over their lost sacrifice. They wanted justice. Revenge. Blood.
Thomas, was magnificently bendy and he was able to bend in half so that he could grab the knife between his bound feet. It took a few tries, but he managed to remove the knife from his belly, if not as cleanly as he would have liked. The wound in his stomach healed, and Thomas, still bent in half, did what he could to free one of his wrists. He managed this by pure luck and only because the ceremonial knife was so sharp it cut pretty much anything on contact. Once one wrist was free, he grabbed the knife and freed his other hand, as well as Spectre and Jacqui. "Are you two okay?" he asked breathlessly.
"I can't...keep this up much longer," Spectre indicated the flames. Already, a few brave souls were edging nearer to the illusion, hell-bent on retrieving their sacrifices to appease God.
Before Thomas could say a word, Jacqui grabbed the knife from his hands and she darted into the sacristy. "Follow her!" Thomas hissed, and he pushed his husband in the direction Jacqui had run. When they reached her, she had shoved the knife into a slot in the wall revealing yet another secret passage.
"My mother never knew I used to explore these tunnels as a child," Jacqui explained. "Come on!" She pulled the men inside and closed the door behind them. The sound of the townspeople baying for their blood fell to blessed silence.
"I found them when I was bored one day," Jacqui said, taking point. She seemed determined not to talk about the fact that her mother had very nearly offered her as a sacrifice to God, and if she wasn't going to get hung up on it, Spectre and Thomas weren't going to bring it up. "My mother doesn't know where they are. I think only Braden knew."
The passage seemed to lead downwards, well underground. It was cold and dark, but better than being killed in a church because a crazy person wanted to sacrifice you. "The passages lead to the town hall and cemetery. You said you saw Mayor Barton in the cemetery earlier? I think he was looking for these tunnels, which means he doesn't know where they are either. We're safe. There's a room up ahead in the centre where all the passages converge..."
Spectre was exhausted, physically, spiritually and emotionally. He was glad when Thomas looped his strong arm around him so he could lean, even if Thomas was the bloody one of them. His wound had healed and Spectre's wounds at seeing his grandfather put to death and then being blamed...they ran much deeper. "Thank you, Jacqui" was all Spectre could get out, and even that sounded weary and flat.
When they reached the central chamber, Spectre spotted and old tome on a table in the middle of the room. "What is that?" Thomas asked quietly.
"The history of the town," Jacqui replied, uninterested. "You should take it. It might have information about your grandfather. He wrote it afterall" she told Spectre. "The cemetery exit is up ahead. It opens out into a crypt. I believe that's where your car is?"
"It is," Thomas confirmed as Spectre gratefully took the book his grandfather had written into his hands.
"Great," Jacqui smiled wearily. "I'm coming with you. Let's motor."
Braden was dead and it was Spectre's fault. The people in Morrissey's Glen would be suffering more now for the loss of him if thy believed God would seek retribution for 'His murdered angel'. It was a damaging mass delusion, and if you added to that the things Judge Hallowran was doing to them, it all added up to something Spectre could not let continue. Even at the cost of his career. If he had to forgo his upcoming tour in order to save the people of Morrissey's Glen, so be it.
He could not, however, save them tonight. What he could do, was curl up beside his husband and let the other man comfort him. He could celebrate the fact that he had broken free from a life like the townspeople were suffering, and his marriage to Thomas was one of the many things he had to show for it. And so he would rejoice in his freedom.
Thomas was waiting for him. Spectre nodded, and he stood from his desk chair. Thomas extended a hand to him, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "There's my love," Thomas whispered.
"Here I am," Spectre replied.
Spectre felt the hands of his husband come to rest gently on his shoulders and he tilted his head up to look at the man. The angle was awkward, but Spectre always found solace in seeing Thomas' loving face. "It's so...augh." Spectre hadn't stopped reading the tome detailing the history of Morrissey's Glen since he had liberated it from their secret hiding place under the ground. He had commenced his study the second they had returned home and he still wasn't finished. Anything to keep his mind off the bloody scene which had been the death of his grandfather, Braden Morrissey. And what he had read, he hadn't liked.
"Augh?" Thomas coaxed him gently, and Spectre turned back to the book.
"As in...this is bad Thomas. Apparently, Braden had to leave the home of his youth because the manifestation of his angelic powers brought about accusations of witchcraft from the Protestant townsfolk. This says he was hounded, persecuted and pursued, but he managed to escape. Thomas, I think Samson drastically underestimated how old Braden was. This tome states Morrissey's Glen is around 170 years old..."
"So...he might have been born that way afterall, and what he told Samson was a lie?"
"Anything to make Samson believe he was granted his power from God, unfortunately," Spectre sighed. "I read nearly this entire thing and it says Braden eventually settled down and established Morrissey's Glen, intending it to be a good, pious Catholic town. I'm sure you can imagine what that would have meant."
Considering his knowledge of Spectre's upbringing, Thomas could very much understand what that meant. The idea of an entire town being subjected to a life like Spectre's childhood was horrifying beyond the telling of it. "Yeah. Fuck."
"This says the settlement was aided by pious pilgrims who were searching for a place of refuge like Braden was. Most notably, the Barton and Hallowran families. But more recently, their union turned to a bitter feud between Braden as the spiritual leader, and the mayor and the judge, who were descendants of the founding families. While Braden Morrissey eventually retreated to the church, Judge Hallowran proved stronger than Mayor Barton. While people obeyed Barton's rules out of fear for the divine retribution instilled by Braden, surprise surprise, no one dared lift a finger against Hallowran when she bent or broke the rules for herself or others. Which is quite shocking when you imagine the lengths Braden would have gone to to instill a sense of strictness in following the rules. It's apparently very well known that Hallowran had her own powers. And she's abusing them, Thomas. We have to stop her."
"We'll speak to Peter in the morning, Babe." That was a lot to take in, especially after everything they had just been through. Peter would know what to do. He always did. "You should come to bed."
"But I really want to finish this...I still don't know why Braden was on that machine, and-" Spectre turned to look at his husband, and his refusal died in his throat at the look on Thomas' face. It was Valentine's Day and Thomas wasn't usually here much. Missing out, despite the tragic things they had just witnessed and experienced, would have caused yet more heartbreak. And Spectre didn't have the will to upset the man he loved. He knew Thomas would not expect anything beyond falling asleep beside each other, which was a relief. That was something he could give his Thomas, even if his mind would be stuck in Morrissey's Glen and the events of the past few days.
They had awoken back in the church, their minds heavy with the sedative they had been administered. Spectre lifted his head to find his husband staring at something with an expression of weak acceptance. "T...Thomas?" Spectre turned to see what his husband was looking at and he saw the church was filled with people. His drug addled mind took a moment to process the sight and then he said a very quiet and amazed, "-oh. That's where they all are."
He was tied down, though his limbs felt full of lead anyway. He gazed at the congregation with slight detachment as a hooded figure stepped up to join them in the front of the church.
"Citizens," he figure said. "Our founder has been killed and this day we will have retribution for his senseless death! Those responsible will pay! This is our sacrifice to God for the murder of his messenger on Earth!"
The congregation cheered, the sound filling the church and overwhelming Spectre's senses. He winced against the noise and his aching head and then he saw the hooded figure headed toward his husband with an ornate knife in her hands. "THOMAS!" Spectre screamed as the figure removed her hood to reveal Judge Hallowran. The knife arched downwards, plunging into Thomas' belly, causing ruby red to cascade down Thomas' front. Thomas, however, did not die. He was already dead. In the brief moment the Judge paused in horror and confusion, Thomas lifted his bound legs and he kicked her hard, knife still lodged in his belly. His kick sent the judge flying off of the altar and into the crowd.
"Spectre!" Thomas grunted. "Keep them away!"
His mind rebelled against the action, so soon after being drugged, but Spectre was able to create a illusory wall of flames around them which served to separate them from the townspeople who were screaming in frustration over their lost sacrifice. They wanted justice. Revenge. Blood.
Thomas, was magnificently bendy and he was able to bend in half so that he could grab the knife between his bound feet. It took a few tries, but he managed to remove the knife from his belly, if not as cleanly as he would have liked. The wound in his stomach healed, and Thomas, still bent in half, did what he could to free one of his wrists. He managed this by pure luck and only because the ceremonial knife was so sharp it cut pretty much anything on contact. Once one wrist was free, he grabbed the knife and freed his other hand, as well as Spectre and Jacqui. "Are you two okay?" he asked breathlessly.
"I can't...keep this up much longer," Spectre indicated the flames. Already, a few brave souls were edging nearer to the illusion, hell-bent on retrieving their sacrifices to appease God.
Before Thomas could say a word, Jacqui grabbed the knife from his hands and she darted into the sacristy. "Follow her!" Thomas hissed, and he pushed his husband in the direction Jacqui had run. When they reached her, she had shoved the knife into a slot in the wall revealing yet another secret passage.
"My mother never knew I used to explore these tunnels as a child," Jacqui explained. "Come on!" She pulled the men inside and closed the door behind them. The sound of the townspeople baying for their blood fell to blessed silence.
"I found them when I was bored one day," Jacqui said, taking point. She seemed determined not to talk about the fact that her mother had very nearly offered her as a sacrifice to God, and if she wasn't going to get hung up on it, Spectre and Thomas weren't going to bring it up. "My mother doesn't know where they are. I think only Braden knew."
The passage seemed to lead downwards, well underground. It was cold and dark, but better than being killed in a church because a crazy person wanted to sacrifice you. "The passages lead to the town hall and cemetery. You said you saw Mayor Barton in the cemetery earlier? I think he was looking for these tunnels, which means he doesn't know where they are either. We're safe. There's a room up ahead in the centre where all the passages converge..."
Spectre was exhausted, physically, spiritually and emotionally. He was glad when Thomas looped his strong arm around him so he could lean, even if Thomas was the bloody one of them. His wound had healed and Spectre's wounds at seeing his grandfather put to death and then being blamed...they ran much deeper. "Thank you, Jacqui" was all Spectre could get out, and even that sounded weary and flat.
When they reached the central chamber, Spectre spotted and old tome on a table in the middle of the room. "What is that?" Thomas asked quietly.
"The history of the town," Jacqui replied, uninterested. "You should take it. It might have information about your grandfather. He wrote it afterall" she told Spectre. "The cemetery exit is up ahead. It opens out into a crypt. I believe that's where your car is?"
"It is," Thomas confirmed as Spectre gratefully took the book his grandfather had written into his hands.
"Great," Jacqui smiled wearily. "I'm coming with you. Let's motor."
Braden was dead and it was Spectre's fault. The people in Morrissey's Glen would be suffering more now for the loss of him if thy believed God would seek retribution for 'His murdered angel'. It was a damaging mass delusion, and if you added to that the things Judge Hallowran was doing to them, it all added up to something Spectre could not let continue. Even at the cost of his career. If he had to forgo his upcoming tour in order to save the people of Morrissey's Glen, so be it.
He could not, however, save them tonight. What he could do, was curl up beside his husband and let the other man comfort him. He could celebrate the fact that he had broken free from a life like the townspeople were suffering, and his marriage to Thomas was one of the many things he had to show for it. And so he would rejoice in his freedom.
Thomas was waiting for him. Spectre nodded, and he stood from his desk chair. Thomas extended a hand to him, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "There's my love," Thomas whispered.
"Here I am," Spectre replied.