Hope's Head

Hope Hennessey was born to an Irish Catholic family in Middletown, New Jersey twenty years ago. She was a bright, cheerful girl who made good grades as easily as she made her friends, and was a blessing to her parents. Twice before her birth, her mother miscarried, and they had begun to give up hope. Their third pregnancy was tense, at best. Her mother almost hit her father once, as he was getting a bit too overprotective. A year and a day later, Hope was born into this world, a miracle if there ever was one. It was this miracle that gave Hope her name. 

Hope was different than most people she knew. While most kids her age had been partying and having questionable fun, she was not. Hope was very religious, and never missed Sunday services at the church where she had been baptized. The most important day of her life was the day the archangel Gabriel, on his pilgrimage to the Material Plane, touched her cheek during a Christmas mass. She could never understand the lowering importance of morals and ethics in the world around her, but it didn’t matter to her. She loved God, and she loved all who lived in his world just the same. When other kids her age made fun of her for being a virgin, she kept silent and smiled. She knew the importance of the gift she had, and that would only be given to one man, The Man, who she knew she would eventually find. She never understood such Godlessness; especially with the kingdom of Heaven close enough to touch.

Today, Hope was in New York City to see an art exhibit focused on religious imagery. She couldn’t get enough of art depicting the Heavenly Father and His angels.

At the moment, however, Hope couldn’t tell you exactly what hurt the most; the ribs cracked and pushed through her lungs, or her pulverized liver. In her state of shock, she just knew pain. The world was starting to fade away and she felt a warm light speaking to her without words.

Seth stumbled out of his car and jerked upright. He stared at the young Tuatha elf wrapped around the fender of his Camaro. He started to run, but hesitated, filled with inner conflict. He looked around quickly, saw no cops yet, and reached back into his car.

Seth stared as the blood trickled out of her mouth, down the alabaster skin of her chin.  He unconsciously licked his lips. He grabbed a handful of her hair and began hacking at her neck with the cleaver he kept in his car for just this kind of thing. After a few moments, filled with the sounds of steel clashing with bone and gasps from bystanders, he had her head free of her body and stood up. He swung his braided hair over his shoulder and gave the horrified crowd an even look. He winked, turned around and sprinted up the street. Had he known the name of girl he just mowed down and mutilated, he’d have laughed at the irony.

“Serendipity,” he said softly to himself with a smile. He pulled out his cell phone and pushed the emergency button as the sirens got louder. He tucked the head in under his leather overcoat before he rounded the next corner.

“UPC,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “7th Ave and 2nd street, NOW,” Seth shouted into the receiver. The other voice sighed and hung up. Seth still had three blocks to go, so he ducked into an alley for a bit of preparation.

He sat cross-legged behind an overflowing dumpster in the reasonable solitude of the alley and pulled Hope’s head out from under his trench. He stared into her tawny eyes, still wide with shock. His breath began to shorten slightly. He pulled his ornate ritual dagger out from an inner pocket of his coat and dampened its blade with her blood. His mouth was starting to get dry. He placed Hope’s head between his legs and began chanting, holding his dagger above him.  He felt her skin and muscles hardening with rigor mortis, and soon, Hope’s head wasn’t the only thing hardening. He dropped the dagger, and began carving the Yellow Sign into her forehead.  He felt the darkness wash over him, feeling safer, more secure, and more powerful. Seth’s master was pleased, and would protect him. Sirens flew past the opening of the alleyway, and Seth decided it was time to go. 

He walked out of the alleyway calmly, to see if he could pass off as a bystander. It worked… for a while. A police car came careening towards him, and he decided that he was no longer unidentified. He ran. He ran fast, faster than most creatures can run. He heard doors opens. No “Freeze!,” no “Hold it right there!,” just gunfire. Seth smiled and laughed as the bullets flew past him. One thudded into his shoulder and bounced off. That’s gonna leave a bruise, he thought. He heard the sizzle of flames chasing him as he rounded a corner. Cops shouldn’t get magic, too. That’s not playing fair.

He saw Biggs’s tweaked-out hover-van on the corner, right on time. He ran to the car’s open door and jumped in as Biggs floored it. He fumbled around for a minute, sitting himself upright.

“What is it this time?” Biggs asked, not wanting to know.  Seth pulled Hope’s head out from under his coat and set it on the dashboard. Biggs looked straight ahead. “I hate you,” he finally said.

Seth laughed.