Blood From a Stone Page 14

“You’ll know when the time comes. Stay on the path.”

  “Wait a minute!” Samson said aloud before Maximus shimmered and disappeared right before his eyes. He picked up the newspaper that had dropped from Maximus’s hands as he’d dematerialized and threw it up on the table as he slid from the booth and walked out into the chilly morning air.

  His breath came out in large puffs of steam as he walked briskly along the sidewalk back to his apartment. Ascensions to the next level? Damned if he knew what any of it meant.

  He walked up the drive to his apartment building when he heard what he was certain was a faint cry coming from the building across the street. His hearing was sharper than ordinary human aural capabilities and he stopped for just a second to be sure. There it was again.

  He turned on his heel and headed back across the street and followed the sounds he heard, not certain where or from whom it was coming. He walked into a narrow alleyway between two apartment buildings and headed toward the dumpster. There appeared to be nothing there but an old pile of newspapers and garbage, but upon closer investigation, Samson discovered that there was indeed someone there.

  An elderly looking, homeless man was buried beneath the pile of rubbish, and the sounds were coming from his lungs as he lay there, apparently close to death in the bitter cold. Samson quickly uncovered him, and stepped back gasping from the smell of his unwashed body combined with decay, feces and the garbage.

  He reached down, brushing back his long, white greasy hair, and felt the old man’s neck. There was indeed a feeble pulse between the raspy, whistling sounds coming from his infected lungs.

  “Hey buddy. Can you hear me? I’m going to get you some help.”

  The old man made no gesture or indication that he’d heard the words. His eyes rolled back in his head and he drifted off.

  Samson looked around as if to get some help, but there was no one close by. He quickly removed his jacket and without thought, covered the man’s freezing body. He pulled out his cell phone to call for an ambulance, and stopped cold when a thought came to mind. He’d tried his abilities out on animals…but not yet on a human being. Would it work? Were there any risks in doing so?

  What if the man turned to stone in three weeks when Samson’s own body slowed to a standstill as the curse came for him once more? Wasn’t it just better to let him die, than to possibly condemn him to a possible existence similar to his own? He looked down at the man who’s life hung by a thread and somehow he knew he couldn’t just let him die here. Not if he held the power to save him. And he could only pray that the curse was his alone….a payback for his own actions.

  The old man’s breath was coming in barely audible wheezes now and there was likely no time for an ambulance anyway. Samson still dialed 911 and gave them the location of where they were waiting. He looked down and decided he had nothing to lose and everything to gain for them both by at least trying to save him before they got there. If it worked, then he would have done the man a great favor…if he failed, then the paramedics and police could take over and see what they could do to save him…if they could save him.

  He didn’t have anything sharp to cut himself with, except maybe his keys. It was going to hurt but it would have to do. He grabbed one, and gouged at his wrist as hard as he could hoping to tear the skin. Son-of-a-bitch. It hurt and didn’t quite make it through on the first try. So he stabbed down hard again, before the wound could heal itself over, and was very happy to see a nice bruise appear and a small rip in the skin. He squeezed hard until a small droplet or two of crimson appeared.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “Here goes nothing buddy.” He held his wrist over the man’s parched lips and watched as a single drop fell into his mouth, and then two more.

  Samson stepped back slightly and waited to see what would happen, hoping beyond hope that it would actually work. Time stood still for a few minutes.

  And then came the intoxicating buzz that started in the fingertips and began working its way up his arm and into his neck…slowly spreading through his entire body. It was much stronger this time than it had been with Cisco or the cat. It felt something like a heroin rush. Samson staggered backwards from the impact of it and sat down hard on the pavement.

  For a second a flood of pictures materialized in his mind, of the old man’s life…how he’d lived, who he’d been and how he got here on the streets. A moment later the old guy began to breathe more normally, and his features softened before his eyes fluttered open. He looked around for a moment in confusion as his rheumy vision began to clear. He sat up very slowly and stared long and hard at Samson and for an instant their souls melded into one.

  Samson dragged in a deep breath and steadied himself as the rush faded down to a gentle wave. He stared back at the old man in silence for a long moment before finally finding his voice.

  “Are you…alright?” he asked cautiously.

  The old man said nothing but simply smiled.

  “Can you hear me okay?” Samson stood up and approached him, reaching out to touch his neck and check his pulse again.

  “I ain’t never been religious” the old man said quietly. “But then you already knowed that. You…could see inside me, couldn’t ya? Just like I could see insida you.” He looked unsettled and his voice trembled.

  Samson patted his shoulder sensing his fear. It’s alright. Don’t be afraid.”

  “Did God send you down to punish me fer my sins? I know I drink…I lost everything cause of it. But then you know that too. Don’t ya.”

  “Yes, I know that,” Samson nodded.

  “Then why? Why’d you save me?” The old man’s eyes filled with tears.

  “What’s your name?” Samson asked him quietly.

  “Harold” the old man said. And as the name popped into his mind, Samson said it aloud at exactly the same time.

  The old man flinched in fear. “I’m skeert. I ain’t never met no angels before. That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

  “Angel? I don‘t think so.” Samson laughed out loud at that one. His mind traveled back over his life of booze, women, gambling and all the rest as he shook his head in amusement.

  “But ya fixed ever-thing inside me,” Harold said shrugging. “I can feel it.” Tears began to pour down his face as he stood up and knelt in front of Samson. “This is the first time in…I fergot how many years that I ain’t craving it. I don’t want a drink! My God in Heaven. What did you do to me? I…I feel normal. Whole again.” He took one of Samson‘s hands in his own and brought it to his forehead. “What can I do to pay ya back? I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  “Pay me back?” Samson said looking confused. “You don’t owe me anything. I did what anyone would have.”

  “You saved my life.” The old man nodded.

  Samson drew in a ragged breath, as he felt Harold’s thoughts. Shit. Now this old fart thinks I’m some flaming winged avenger, of all things. Funny….since his new ‘fan club‘, Adrielle and Maximus apparently were exactly that.

  The old man’s brows knit together. “I ain’t no old fart you know. I‘m only 60.”

  Samson drew back in surprise. Damn. He could still feel the old man’s soul and the old man could feel his. How long would it last? And how much?

  “Oh! Sorry. Harold.” Samson shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “No offense. And I’m not an angel. Just…a friend.”

  The old man shook his head. “I know exactly what you are. And I know I look older, too! Hell, I’ve lived hard. Now tell me what can I do to pay ya back.”

  Samson drew in a long breath and thought about it for a moment before he finally spoke. “Go to the shelter. Get cleaned up, take a shower, and get yourself some fresh clothes. Ask them to help you get back on your feet. Get a job maybe…and volunteer there to help others who are just like you. I dunno… a few hours a week. Help someone else. Just like I helped you. That’s how you can pay me back.”

  The old man nodded. “I swear I’ll do it, your highness, sir.”

&nb
sp; Samson looked almost alarmed. “Don’t call me that! I’m just…a…” his voice dropped off. To say he was just a man would be a lie. Creature? No. Block of stone? Partially. He shook his head. “Never mind. Just promise you’ll do it.”

  The old man nodded as the sirens of the ambulance and fire truck came within range.

  The old man stepped forward and said, “You go on. I’ll get them out of here. I’ll tell them I was asleep and you mistakenly thought I was dead or dying. You ain‘t even gotta stay. We don‘t want ‘em gettin too interested in you, you bein‘ who you are and all.”

  Samson smirked at him and nodded. “Okay then. If you need me, I live across the street.”

  The old man nodded. “I think things are going to be different around here.” An errant tear dropped down his cheek and he reached forward to hug Samson. “Thank you, Mr. Samson…sir. That‘s yer name ain’t it? I cain’t see inside your mind anymore now, but that’s what name just popped in my head out a nowhere when I could!! Thank you fer what you did. I swear I won’t never forget it.” Samson could feel the connection between them weakening to the point that it was nothing more than a faded whisp….just enough to be a connection in the spirit world, but not enough to read minds. His brows knit together. Hmmm. Must be different when he did the blood trick with a human than it was with an animal. Damn. All these ‘rules’ were hard to keep up with!

  Samson hugged the old man for just a second and then let him go. The old man offered him back his jacket.

  Samson shook his head and began to walk off. “You keep it. I have another. It’ll always remind you of what happened here today and your promise to help someone else like I helped you.”

  The old man nodded. “You’d better git. They’re coming.” The old man gestured toward the fire truck and police car. “Oh, and enjoy yer dinner with that lady friend of yers tonight. I saw her in yer mind….purty. And she likes ya, ya know.” He winked.

  Samson nodded, amazed and glad for having been able to help the old guy…but also slightly disturbed that Harold had seen so well into his mind. He found himself feeling sort of thankful that the mind/soul connection was almost completely broken now.

  He slunk off into the shadows of the alleyway, then back around the building and to the street where he quickly slipped across and back to his apartment. He watched out the window for a few moments as the Harold gave his explanation of the ‘kindly gentleman’ that he’d sent on his way, who‘d mistakenly thought he was injured and called for help, when he was just sleeping. And that he would like a ride to the nearest shelter so he could start getting his life back in order.

  The paramedic quickly checked him over and

  determined Harold was indeed fine. The police officer was a nice guy and listened intently to his story…but after eyeing the expensive looking leather jacket skeptically and thinking he’d probably heisted it, decided that Harold had probably robbed someone to get it…maybe even the man who‘d supposedly come to his aid.

  Since the apparent ‘rescuer’ was nowhere to be found, it certainly didn’t look good. Now it made no sense whatsoever. How the hell would apparently frail, 60- something year old Harold beat the crap out of someone and steal their jacket? But, then again, the police would only focus on how could a homeless man come across a leather duster that no doubt cost hundreds of dollars.

  Samson sighed when he realized what was transpiring below. They were just looking for a reason to haul him in for something. Anything. He was after all a vagrant.

  He quickly bolted down the stairs and across the street to explain everything to the police officer, while Harold looked on nervously nodding ‘no’, afraid that somehow the police would figure out that Samson had healed him as if by magic.

  Samson politely pulled out his driver’s license, and showed it to the officer, explained what had happened and told him that he’d given the homeless man his coat to keep warm before heading back to his apartment across the street.

  The policeman smiled and nodded, finally looking convinced. “That was pretty nice of you mister.”

  Samson nodded. “Thanks. So should I offer to give him a lift to the shelter, or are you taking him?”

  The policeman sighed. “We don’t usually do that kind of thing, but since you’ve already done a good deed and given him a warm coat….an expensive warm coat…yeah, what the heck. I’ll drop him off.”

  Samson smiled at Harold. “Okay then. Remember your promise. Clean up…job…and most importantly helping someone else.”

  “Yes sir. You know I will.” Harold beamed as he slid into the back of the police car. The officer waved as he pulled away, headed for the Hands of Hope Shelter.

  Samson stood there taking a long moment to digest what had just happened, before he walked back across the street, and sprinted up the stairs to his apartment.

  C HAPTER FIFTEEN

  So, he’d ‘stayed on the path’ alright. Now he was certain that his blood could heal not only animals but humans as well.

  His mind traveled back to the instant he’d saved Harold. The heroin-like rush he’d felt in that moment had been overwhelming and caused him to nearly fall to the ground. Come to think of it he was still feeling a little woozy. He’d not noticed it so much in the urgent moments when he’d run down the stairs to talk to the police officer, but now he was feeling wobbly on his legs and for a few moments, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion and in a wavy pattern, like a mirage in the desert. A chill and a strange buzzing feeling, like electricity kissed the back of his neck, followed by a hot flush in his face. It was unsettling.

  He walked to the couch and sat down soaked in sweat, feeling an overwhelming fatigue. He closed his eyes as he lay his head back on the pillows. It passed a few minutes later, and with that passing came a renewed energy.

  He suddenly felt more alive than he had in a very long time. The feeling of fatigue was quite pronounced, but the feeling of renewal afterward was much greater. He felt so full of energy he was finding that he was too restless to stay within the confines of the apartment, and wanted…needed to get out and go do something.

  He supposed doing some more prep work for his next Awakening would be the prudent thing to do, since although he was indeed on his way to figuring this thing out, he hadn’t done so yet, and there was a chance that in three weeks time he would once again become a block of stone. Digging up money he’d buried wasn’t an option in the daylight hours.

  That would have to wait…but then he already had several thousand dollars worth in his possession that he‘d set aside with his wallet and clothing for his immediate use upon Awakening, so he had more than enough for now from what he could tell in today’s economy. He could buy anything he’d need pretty much.

  He grabbed a heavy leather bomber style jacket out of the closet and headed back out the door in to the chilly air, and decided to hit a library where he could study up more on the technologies of today…and more importantly where they might be heading in the next few decades.

  It had not been an easy task adapting with each Awakening to the new styles of dress, the newest inventions and the way people spoke and their customs. The advances in travel alone were mind-blowing. One day he’d gone asleep and there were horse drawn carriages, and then the next time he awoke, there were metal framed monsters on four wheels speeding down neatly paved roads at speeds one could hardly imagine back in decades and centuries gone by.

  The weapons…and the laws surrounding them were another whole can of worms as well. Christ. In past centuries it had been commonplace for every man to carry a well- crafted sword, and later on, a gun. Every young boy grew up knowing exactly how his father’s weapons were used, and was trained in how to use them for both protection, and hunting food. That hadn’t changed for several Awakenings. And then all of a sudden there was the here and now.

  A world where guns are controlled and a man’s ability to protect himself, and his family if he has one, are under severe restrictions. Food…clothing…m
ost of man’s survival needs that used to come from his own capabilities, wits and strengths now were created by someone else and purchased from somewhere else, or given out to him. A dangerous situation indeed, to allow one’s survival to be reliant solely upon government or industry.

  Back in his time…a time that had seemed like forever ago, things were so very different. All men knew how to build their own home from the ground up and to fix everything in it. He knew how to hunt for food, build a fire from scratch, and care for his family. Women grew up knowing how to cook, sew, weave on a loom and spin wool into yarn. They knew how to run a house from bottom to top, and if they were raised in a wealthy or noble house, often played instruments, spoke more than one language and were more educated and could pass all of this knowledge on to their daughters.

  Criminals were treated as such, instead of all that he’d seen and heard on television news stations and radio in the past couple of Awakenings about escaped convicts, or those who were released on parole, only to go out and commit more crimes. In his time, laws did not afford rights to any who had been deemed a thief, rapist, or murderer. It was not always fair, but in more instances than not, a person who had committed a crime, or harmed another was rightfully punished and not given a free ride in a cell somewhere for unlimited amounts of time, as seemed to be the custom nowadays.

  These had been just a small smattering of the culture shocks that he’d had to adapt to, with each Awakening, as he struggled to quickly come up to speed in order to be able to assimilate into society enough to function for one month’s time every fifty years. It had been an immense challenge and nerve wracking on top of it all.

  Talks of politics, religious views, styles of the day, music…many things were topics he had to try to avoid. Sticking solely to the basic things about people and the human condition that didn’t change much with time were all he had to rely on. Some thought him backwards on the occasions where he’d slipped up, but he’d also discovered that he could always play drunk and get away with quite a bit in a pinch. Which of course wasn’t difficult since he’d spent a good bit of his time in taverns, bars and other such establishments geared toward pleasure. He smiled to himself remembering a few of those occasions. Somehow, he’d managed to get by through it all relying solely on his wits, and his instincts, and well…here he was.