As I was writing this today I realized that there may be people in my life that are offended by the material herein and to them, I simply want to say, don’t read this. None of you would ask me to censor myself I know, but I will not be silenced by my fear of disapproval either. That having been said, here is the beginning, the continuation of the beginning I suppose, and I will be writing a great deal of this in the very near future. As always, translations are on mouseover.


James stretched his arms and cracked his neck to the left and the right, taking a moment to savor the echoing pops as the air exploded from where it was trapped. After a few minutes of doing this to various limbs and joints, he stood and walked over to the balcony and lit his first smoke of the day. Montreal, as always, was a gorgeous jewel in a river that was filled with more heroin needles than water and James spat the cigarette to the ground a few hundred feet below the Delta Montreal’s twenty-sixth floor. He didn’t want to be in the hotel, but the Diocese had insisted that he be put in seclusion after they had found the body of the late Father Jacobi floating in the river with his heart removed and smeared with shit.

Funny how accidents like that happen.

Earlier he had received a phone call from the Archidioc├Ęse de Qu├ębec, in fact, it had been a call from the Archbishop himself. He was to essentially take over Jacobi’s “important work” in the exorcism of those that had been deemed worthy and true by the Mother Church. James of course humbly accepted this “honor” with crocodile tears in his face and even when the Archbishop had elevated him to a special status and told him he was

About that.

Immediately after he had hung up the phone with the Archbishop, Elizabet had rang his personal mobile number that he had given her and had told him in great detail how she was done with the work in the North and asked him if he could arrange her transport to Montreal so that she could continue her, and James’, important work. He had told her she would be in the adjoining suite before the sun set the next day and called and immediately made arrangements for not only Elizabet to be brought to him so that she could continue her work and meet the Grand Master, but for the area to be cleaned of all traces, be put ut lampas accendatur, if you will. No one would notice, no one would care, no one ever cared.

James lit another cigarette and took out the mobile he had been authorized to use and called the only number in the phone’s memory.

“Quis me vocat?” The feminine voice made James smile as he remembered so many things that voice could do depending on the activities involved.

“It is Pater Noster, Elizabet will be here within the day and I am formally requesting an interview and assessment from the Grand Master to see if she is relevant to our work, or if she is to be purged from the world like the others when It begins.” His voice was without emotion and the response he received was just as devoid, almost as if invoking the name of the Grand Master was a sobering thought to all involved and should never be done lightly. As she spoke, he heard a shuffling of papers and a deep voice in the background.

“Pater Noster, your interview request is approved and your assessment will take place at the same time as Elizabet.” The line went dead and the cold in the room seemed a palpable thing.

An assessment? For him? had he not undergone one already? Had he outlived his usefulness? Had he failed?

He laughed loudly, knowing that the prayer that had died on his lips was the last thing he needed to do right now.

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