Father Patrick put his hands behind his back and slowly walked around the converted room. "Impressive. I like the four-poster bed... candles add a nice touch... Did she like it?"
"Yeah," Carlos said with a scowl, waving away the illusion. He sat on the cot, in frustration.
The cleric shrugged. "So?"
"So... so... I need to be able to do more. I need more juice in the human world."
The priest just looked at him for a moment. "We get our juice, as you call it, from On High. I have the gift of second sight, but I don't have any magical powers to confer, if that's - "
"I know that. I wasn't talking about that. Forget it. Stupid for even bringing it up. I wasn't talking about f**king decor!"
Finding a wooden chair in the corner, Father Patrick brought it to the foot of the bed and sat down in front of Carlos.
"Son, talk to me. What's on your mind?"
Carlos took in a deep inhale and shook his head. "I'm dead."
The priest nodded.
Tears welled in Carlos's eyes and he blinked them back in anger.
"I ain't got no future."
The priest said nothing.
"Ruined everything... can't marry her, buy her a house, give her a kid, you know? Can't protect her in Brazil like I'll probably need to if she gets a wild vision to go - not without putting innocent people at risk... People who got what I want. Life. No matter how rich, no matter how poor, they ain't dead. They got kids, and people to care about them if they die, you feel me?" Carlos looked at the wall, rather than at the priest. "I needed to explain some hard shit to her tonight, man. But I couldn't. I haven't told her, yet, what would happen to me if I don't eat right after a battle. And if she saw it, it would break her heart."
He rubbed his jaw. "That's some gruesome shit to tell your woman. I can't look in her face and explain that if I don't take a body, mine will decompose back to the date of my real death."
Carlos sucked in a hard breath, actually absorbing the information himself for the first time. "I can't tell her how every wound I ever sustained in every battle I've fought will manifest, because I'm undead." The wall became blurry. "Man, how do you explain shit like that to your woman, when you've had her in your arms, and she's allowed you the privilege to be in her body?"
His gaze sought the floor, then went to the ceiling as he struggled against the damnable, building tears. "I don't want her to ever look up at me one night, and flip, because she finally gets the fact that she's been sleeping with something that's truthfully supposed to be in Hell. Every time I drop fangs in her presence, I keep waiting for her to scream. I beat the odds, hombre. But I am what I am. I hate lying to her, keeping her in the dark, but if I go to Brazil... I'ma hafto eat to protect her - which will end your and my deal."
Carlos looked at the priest, then away to the wall and swallowed hard, knowing Father Pat didn't have an answer for this. "I know it's f**ked up what I'm saying, but you and I are rational men. So, understand that you and I are cool, and it ain't personal... You've been good to me, man. But if it's her or you, you know what I've gotta do. Protect her at all costs, even if it makes her never look at me the same way again... even if I have to take a throne. But I will survive to come for her in seven years - whether she wants me to, or not. That's instinct."
Carlos felt a warm hand touch his arm, but didn't shrug it away like he usually did. His chest got tight and his vision blurred again. But he wasn't no punk, wasn't gonna start cryin' like a pu**y. Not about some real shit that he had to suck up and take like a man. Fuck it.
He heard Father Patrick swallow and it made him take another shaky breath. Hell no, he refused to have some bullshit take him there.
"It's all right, Carlos. It's just me and you."
"Oh, yeah, right. I forgot. Even carrying a blade, you're still a priest." Carlos forced himself to laugh and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "But what are you doing sitting in here with me, alone, so close?"
"Talk to me," Father Patrick said, his hand now on Carlos's shoulder. "Get it all out before you go underground and try to cut another deal."
"You know what? I've just decided I'm not going to Brazil," Carlos countered all of a sudden, feeling defiant. He refused to look at Father Patrick. "When she finds out that bodies have been dropping over there I'll try to convince her not to go - but you and I both know Damali. So, I'm just gonna go get some info from the streets, give it to her when she finds out, and then I'm out. I'm done. She's almost got all her sight back; she should be fine. If I go with her, I might have to do some things she won't be able to deal with. And, I don't need this bullshit. I don't need a relationship. Don't need to be arguing with no woman - it's bad enough I have to constantly argue with y'all." He folded his arms over his chest. "That's the whole point. I haven't decided what I'ma do, and everybody is trying to rush me to play my hand. I need you all to back off!"
Father Patrick's hand remained on Carlos's shoulder. "Before you do anything permanent, and we both now know how important choices are, I want you to think about how she really makes you feel, way down deep in your soul. We agreed to let you be the one to break the news about Brazil to her - or to clean it up before she had to think about going... but remember that it is her job to keep innocents from harm. You can't protect her from her destiny, no more than she could protect you from yours. So, study your heart long and hard, young man, before - "
"I don't have one, remember? Least not one that beats. It ain't nothing real between us," Carlos argued, now shrugging off the priest's hold, and then standing. "I know you wanted me to block the shot, but, hey... It's just a physical thing. It'll pass. Wasn't supposed to get all involved, so I need to let it rest. Ain't worth trippin' about, and definitely ain't worth - "
"You can lie to me, you have already lied to her, but don't trip, as you say, on yourself." The old man stared at him hard. "You'd give your life for that woman, already have a couple of times." Father Patrick stood slowly and moved toward the door. "This period of atonement is very hard - we never said it would be easy. But there's nothing wrong with wanting better in life or death, Carlos. It's all in how you go about it. You need to tell her about the bodies in Brazil, before she finds out some other way, and wheels get set in motion."
For a long time, Father Patrick just stood there by the lair exit, as though waiting for something while Carlos stared at the blank wall. How did one explain, especially to a priest, how the tender touch of a woman could transform life itself? How could he describe the sight of sunset in her hair, her scent, or how her laughter ran through his system like a clean, hard rain? When she looked at him in the darkness and traced his face with one finger, she made him feel like he still had a soul.
So how did a man who once had everything, come to a woman, busted, destroyed, and dare love her in return? He had everything she didn't care about... money, cars, villas, you name it, but he was destitute when it came to providing everything that ever mattered to her. So how did one tell an old priest that, and make him understand? How did you come to terms with the bitter reality that by chasing everything she never cared about, you'd f**ked around and lost everything she'd willingly give her life for? There was no way to explain how helpless and powerless that felt. Especially when your woman deserved so much, had lost so much, had done for so many and all you wanted to do was give her the world in return... And her way, time would rob him, and he would most likely die on the spot at the end of seven years of hard time.
Carlos chanced looking at Father Patrick, and was met by a gaze of compassion that held him hostage. This priest was a decent man. But he couldn't understand pain like this, or the rational decisions that needed to be made.