31. The Debt Collectors

At first I thought it was just one of those little things that happen. I was on the train and as we started off with the usual jerk, the man standing next to me stumbled and half-fell. I braced myself, for a moment holding us both up before he managed to right himself. His hand, where he had grabbed my arm by instinct, was warm. I might have blushed a little.

"Sorry," he said with an embarrassed half-smile. "Thanks for not letting me fall."

This time I know I blushed: "You're welcome."

Then the train pulled into the next station and he got off, giving me a glance as he went. It was strange, at the time; he almost looked sad.

Just one of those things, like I said. I went on to work and didn't really think about it again.

Until the dreams started.

They're always the same. I'm at home, asleep in my bed, when they appear. No fireworks, no clouds of smoke; they just seem to ooze out of the shadows. Two of them, tall and thin, with white skin that looks more than half-dead against their black suits. Their smiles are as dead as their black eyes.

"We've come to collect what you owe," the first one says.

It doesn't matter what I say in response, the second one always chimes in with: "No-one likes a debtor."

They reach for me and I run. Out of the room, down the stairs, out the front door. Sometimes I run for the car, desperately trying to start it. Sometimes I hide; under the stairs, in the bushes in the front yard, behind the neighbours' rubbish bins. Sometimes I pound on people's doors, begging for help. Sometimes I just run, mindlessly fleeing until it feels like my heart is going to explode. And always the dream ends the same, with cold bony hands on my neck and an equally cold voice in my ear, whispering: "Time's up."

At first I chalked it up to stress, some kind of unconscious issue juggling at me. That's what dreams are, after all. I went to a psychologist, but talking didn't help. I went to the doctor, for something to help me sleep, but that was worse; the dreams still came, but I'd be stuck in my bed, paralysed. I tried herbal remedies on the advice of my mother, St John's Wort, chamomile teas, aromatherapy... and still I'd wake up screaming. I even went to a psychic, desperate to find a way to get away from the two men in my dreams.

"You have something they want," she told me, pouring over my hand in a tiny flat that smelled of boiling cabbage. "Ask them what it is, and find out how to pass it on."

Pseudo-psychology, of course, but it was better than most advice I'd gotten. The next time I slept, I forced myself to ask, as soon as the shadows began to stir: "What do you want?"

For the first time, the dream changed. Instead of demanding payment, the first man stooped over me and whispered: "We want what was given to you."

"Given to me? By who?"

"By the last one who owed us. He has given you his debt," said the second one.

"But..." I began, but it was too late, they were already reaching for me with their long fingers, teeth bared like a shark's and I woke up with my throat tight and my face wet with tears.

So, that's where I am now. Looking for someone to take my debt. Well, I say "my debt" but it's not mine. It probably wasn't even his, that guy on the train. Somewhere, back at the start of all this, someone cut a deal - and then tried to dodge the price.

I'd be angrier, only I'm out here doing the same damn thing. In the end, no-one wants to pay.

Now, who will it be?

32. Biela's Comet

At last, my brethren! The time has come! The most holy day that we have awaited all our lives is finally! The Comet Comes! And with it, great change! For has it not been foretold that a piece of Biela's Comet shall break from the whole and make contact with the Earth? And from that contact shall come a great shaking up of things?

Um, excuse me?

And upon that day, many things will change, and we shall... wait, did you say something?

Well, yes. If you don't mind, I had a question?

A question?

Yes. About this whole comet deal.

May the Maker give me strength... Very well, brother, what is this question?

Well, you know how a piece of the comet is supposed to break off and hit the Earth and a whole bunch of things will change?

Yes, that is the holy Word as has been passed down from generation to generation. What of it?

Well, how do we know we won't be changed?

What?

I mean, what if the comet piece is so big that it destroys the Earth. That'd shake things up, that's for sure, including us.

Well, we have the prophecy...

But the prophecy doesn't say we won't all die a horrible fiery death. It just says the comet will come, a piece will break off and hit the Earth. If doesn't say "and those who follow the way of the Comet will be spared and get to be top dogs", does it?

Well, no, not in so many words. But that's the importance of faith, my brother. We have to believe that we are the Chosen of the Comet and that we will be spared.

Why?

Why what?

Why do we have to believe? Why can't we just, I don't know, drop in at the local astronomer's convention and get one of those guys to do some calculations? Crunch some numbers, extrapolate a bit, maybe come up with a feasible scenario?

Come up with a... Heresy! We have a heretic among us! Seize him!

Now, hold on a minute. What sort of religion are we, if we can't handle a bit of thinking outside of the box? It's all well and good to preach about loving your brother and taking care of each other, if the minute someone suggests we expand our brains a bit it's all "heresy!" and "seize him!"

Religion is based on faith. Without faith, we are nothing, and scientific proof makes faith useless. So there. Now, will someone please seize him?

Hey, easy on the robes, I just ironed them! No creases! I was just trying to have a logical disc... oh, what's the point, you're not going to listen anyway. Say, are we having a barbeque? I smell smoke... Oh, come on, you're going to burn me for suggesting we get some proof we're not all going to die when the comet hits? Talk about ironic...

33. The Eve of the Midnight Visit

All was still. Katherine sat in her chair, knitting needles clacking quietly against each other, a counterpoint to the low crackle of the fire. It was late, almost midnight; the fire had been damped down for the night, the children were asleep in their beds and Katherine was sitting up with her knitting, patient and resigned. Waiting.

A minute before midnight, there came the softest of knocks at the door. If she hadn't been expecting it, she would have missed it, but as it was Katherine rose from her chair, setting her knitting aside and pulling the shawl she was wearing over over night dress tighter around her shoulders. Her hand on the latch trembled a little as she opened it, but when she spoke, her voice was low and steady:

"I wasn't sure you would come this year. Not after what was said last time."

The man on the stoop was tall, wrapped in shadow. From the depths of his hood his eyes glowed redly and his voice held a faint echo as he spoke, as if it was coming from a great distance:

"I considered it. But they are mine, after all. I will not neglect them."

Katherine bit back the acerbic reply that a visit a year did not a father make. Especially when he arrived long after they were asleep. There were reasons why, after all, and it was not for her to throw them back in his face. "Come in. They're asleep, but you already knew they would be. Can I get you something, perhaps some mulled wine? It's a night not fit for man nor beast."

"No wine. The cold doesn't bother me." There was a brief glimmer, as of moonlight off the bared fangs of a wolf before he stepped inside. "You look well. How are you faring?"

"I do well enough. It is not easy, raising two children alone, but the village believes that I am a widow and lends their help where they can. They believe my husband died in the Crusades."

"Not such a falsehood." The hood was tugged back, revealing a man younger than Katherine. His hair was thick and richly curling against his collar, his face unblemished and smooth, pale as marble. Only his eyes, glowing with that red light, betrayed him as something other than human. "After all, the man I was died on those battlefields, even as I was reborn as you now see me." He grinned, revealing sharp fangs, and Katherine stepped back, hand moving to her throat. "Have no fear. I have already fed. I would not harm you, or my children."

"I want to believe that." She said nothing more, just nodded towards the door. "You know where their rooms are. Please, Richard, make your visit and go."

His face twisted, but he nodded, accepting her request. "Very well. Once I have seen them, I will take my leave." There was a muffled jingle as he pulled a pouch from under his hood. "Silver. For their care."

"Thank you." Her face, too, was like marble, not in colour but in its frozen remoteness. "I do not mean to be rude, Richard. It is just..."

"I know, Katharine. You don't need to apologise." And with that he dropped the purse on the table before moving to the children's room, as silently as a shadow. "Thank you, for allowing me this... indulgence."

"You're welcome, Richard." Katherine said the words automatically, even as her hand moved to the crucifix she wore at her throat.