Chapter Text
Title: Eating My Wings To Make Me Tame
Category: Anime/Manga » Hellsing
Author: death-in-the-orchard
Published: 07-28-11
Chapter: 1
"Father, Father! Me next! Me next! I'm supposed to sit on your lap next, Father Anderson. You said so!"
The priest smiled kindly down at the frustrated, flushed face of the little girl who wore two braids in her hair, done up by her own hands. One was noticeably larger than the other, but it was somehow more endearing than if the two braids had been symmetrical. A begrudging boy, smaller than the girl, frowned at her when Father Anderson took him from his knee and replaced him with the little girl. The group of youngsters, all without the guidance and protection of parents, clustered around the priest waiting to listen to another story from the book of children's Bible stories on his lap. The world was green and fresh with spring time perforating the lingering summer chill. The morning light was soft upon their faces, sitting on the front porch to receive some of the spring's good health.
Father Anderson began to read again, this time a story about a saint who adored animals. St. Francis was the main subject for the day for it was the children's duty to learn the Prayer of Saint Francis by the end of the week. Large eyes absorbed the colorful drawings and the pretty pictures of animals as the comforting low voice of the patient priest gave them the words from the pages. Most wore smiles that pleasant morning, drinking in tranquility while the more restless children that had already learned about St. Francis adventured out amongst the trees and grass speckled with wildflowers and dandelions who would loose their manes by the end of the morning, seeking out the playground that nature had provided for them.
Mischievousness touched the sunny morning when there was a shout of excitement that stopped the low voice and took the orphans' eyes from the pictures in the book. On the wall around the corner of the orphanage, a group of boys was gathering while some girls attempted to sneak a peek at their discovery by slipping past the wall the predominantly male assembly posed against them. Children picked themselves up and scampered away to inspect the excitement when voices rose, and Father Anderson hurried after them when there was a shriek of fear and then laughs. Then there were thuds and some angry yells that turned Anderson's hurried step into a short sprint. Rocks were not to be thrown. The rule was that if a child wanted a stone to be his toy, then he would have to play alone and give up all of his other toys and privileges: 'to stone is to be left alone`, but as of that moment, Father Anderson was sure that he had heard stones hitting the wall.
The large form, now intimidating with the sting of chastisement on the priest's tongue, broke the collection of children, parting them from the wall while singling out the stone throwers who guiltily stepped forward, prompted by an honest upbringing burned into their souls with the fear of hellfire. They hastened to explain their reasons, pointing to the lethal creature that was now on the ground, having been struck from the wall by a rock or stick.
Anderson's arms spread the children back and away from the base of the wall where the gaping jaws of the clicking, terrified beast hissed at them. Brown fur, large ears standing up towards the chattering group, and black wings accompanied the little fanged mouth, and what was obviously a bat held its ground, trying to intimidate the humans as it found itself surrounded. Seeing the risk of contracting rabies through a bite, and unsure as too how much contact had been exchanged between the children and the creature already, the priest demanded to know if anyone had touched it. One boy was found who had, but he promised that he had only touched it when it was sleeping and it hadn't bitten him. With a gruff mutter for the boy's carelessness, Father Anderson told the children to leave the area and let the bat fly off.
"But Andrew hit it with a stick." A little girl pointed at the boy with a youthful chubby finger.
Andrew cowered under a fierce green glare and he dropped the stick he had been hiding behind his back. With further observation of the bat, one wing seemed to be favored, left at an angle that decreased the amount of pressure it received. Blonde hair was ruffled when the priest took his hand to his head to think. The children, who were obviously incapable of abandoning such an interesting scene, were ordered to step back while Anderson went about trying to capture the bat. The fangs clicked a warning, and then an awkward escape was attempted. Someone ran for a box while the bat shuffled away from the gloved hands. The box was placed in the bat's path and the threat of the white gloves prompted the creature to seek refuge in the cardboard cave.
Thus, the bat was taken inside with a parade of childish wonder whispering and laughing around it, frightening the confused beast that crammed itself into a corner and then crawled around, searching for a way out. But as its beady black eyes looked up to see an unfamiliar white sky that seemed as far and endless as a wall, it became night when the lid of the box closed on top of the animal.
*~*~::..+..::~*~*
His first thought was to get the bat tested for rabies, but when Anderson made the call he cringed and felt only repulsion for that option when the man on the phone informed him that the test would kill the bat, involving decapitation as part of the process of running the assessment. When Anderson opened the box to peek at the little brown creature, he thought it looked like a healthy enough rodent to spare its life. His next thought was to call animal control to have a professional come and pick it up. The children whined and a little one cried at this option, pleading to keep the bat and nurse it back to health themselves. They weren't sure if the bat would be properly taken care of if it was not in their possession. This didn't seem to be a reasonable argument, but the small beast managed to charm the priest as well as some of the nuns who were in charge of the orphans, so the bat was allowed to stay at the orphanage.
A peace offering was given, a dead insect that Google said would make the bat happy and a bottle-cap brimming with water, secured to the bottom of the box by superglue. A branch was punctured through the side of the box to give the bat a perch, and then the bat was left alone, though visited often, so that it could regain its health, something it was keen on accomplishing.
The day it was decided that the bat would stay, Father Anderson rolled up his sleeves and stopped up the drain in the sink, removing a bottle of shampoo and conditioner from the shower. The door was closed on the curious little faces that begged to be let in, and the bat was poured into the sink gently where it instantly went on the defense with gaping jaws and constant clicks daring the priest to attempt to eat it.
The bat ducked into itself with a sudden cry of alarm when water trickled onto its head with a stream building as more water came from the tap, it waddled away, but a tan hand brought it back and then quickly snatched it up in a way that immobilized the black wings and did not give the little mouth the ability to bite the priest. The unhappy bat closed its eyes and mouth, wriggling in vain to break away when water darkened its coat. The shampoo and conditioner were mixed and rubbed into the wet fur at the same time, a finger gently scrubbing the bat's head and whatever it could reach before rinsing it off under the thin rivulet of tap water.
The bat quietly received its bath when nothing to the contrary could be done, beady eyes glaring all of the feelings of resentment the small heart could sustain, up at the priest that had the gall to smile down at it and chuckle.
"Think how nice you'll smell and how fluffy you'll be when you dry, little one. It's not so bad, the water is nice and warm for you."
At first perceiving the voice to be a challenging growl, the bat bared its fangs and let out a low hiss that could not be heard over the sound of the running tap. But as the voice continued to speak in the same calm manner, the bat saw its mistake and closed its mouth, set to watch the priest with blinking black eyes and ears that twitched when water caught like dew on the soft skin. A thumb washed an ear, closing one of the bat's eyes, and the priest hummed for a moment, long enough to excite the creature who opened its eye and allowed a drop of water to dive into it. Then both eyes were closed, fearing the punishing sting of the water.
A knock came at the door and several young voices said, all at once, that they needed to use this bathroom. The wise priest saw through their scheme and informed the group that there were three other bathrooms that they could use instead.
"But they're full!" One voice interjected and the others reinforced the argument. The tan hands continued to move over the bat, picking out a wing and adding suds to the folds of soft membrane.
"Well, this bathroom is full as well. You will have to wait your turn, children."
The disappointed groans brought a smile to Anderson's lips and he heard muttering youths shuffle away reluctantly. With a satisfied sigh, Father Anderson manipulated the bat in his hand to spread out its healthy wing.
A flurry of flapping and chirping squeaks ended with a splash of water that dampened the priest's garments. With a less satisfied sigh, the man dipped the bat into the collecting warm water to hopefully clean any part of the healthy wing he had missed. For the injured wing, which he had thankfully discovered was not broken, was cleaned in the same way, with a quick dip into the water. Wet and unhappy, but unable to do anything about the situation, the bat squeaked occasionally to protest this manhandling, a fluctuating anxiety attacking its heart with each vulnerable position it was moved into, and every passing minute that went by in which escape had not been accomplished. When its stomach was exposed and it was turned upward so that fingers could clean its underside, futile flapping struggled to break the folded wings out from the solid grip the human had around the bat's body. Little closed feet also kicked and opened in the hopes of catching hold of something in order to break away. But nothing was caught and the bat's stomach was cleaned by the amused priest who watched the pathetic struggle with a slim smile.
"Well, now that we know that you're a male bat the children can give you a proper name."
An indignant foot jerked, but the wet rodent said nothing against the invasion into his privacy and he was soon bundled in cloth to be rubbed dry and provided with additional warmth.
*~*~::..+..::~*~*
It was evening and candles set the glass of the window ablaze while the sky was black and blue with a blush of red lingering over the horizon, cut by trees. The children had eaten dinner and were now amusing themselves with board games, other toys, or studying. When the great frame of Father Anderson entered, a kind smile on his lips and warmth filling his eyes, games were abandoned for the sake of listening to a parable read by the priest, and them some verses from John and Mathew that were read aloud by a handful of selected orphans. Some attention was diverted to the little bat that sat in its box, hiding inside a smaller box that had been cut and arranged to become a hut or home for the shy beast. The black eyes watched the wall of the cardboard container, its sight dimmed while its brain focused on recognizing the voice that was speaking to the children, bat ears tuned in to Father Anderson's answers to questions the young humans had.
"So Jesus loves everybody?" A little boy, about nine or ten, blinked up at the priest who nodded. A nun sitting in a chair also smiled, her hands busying themselves with two large needles and a string of yarn that led to her ankle where the misshapen ball sat obediently still.
"Does he love all the children?" A younger girl piped in.
"Especially."
Other younger children waited to ask their questions while Anderson patiently answered each one, even if he had already answered it before.
"Does Jesus love bad people in jail?"
"Yes, even sinners he wishes would reform."
"What about um- um- atheists and -and other people that don't believe in him?"
"He loves them as well."
"What about Angel? Does he love Angel too?"
Anderson couldn't help but chuckle at the reminder that brought his eyes to the bat who was hiding from his view. The children had named the bat Angel, a few scoldings going out to a couple of boys who had wanted to name the bat Demon or Monster. The man chortled. "Yes, of course he loves little bats, even if they are not very…outgoing…not especially social creatures."
It was quiet for a moment while heads craned to look into the box, a few going to their knees or even standing to satisfy their curiosity. When attention had returned to their discussion, an older boy looked at the priest with a small frown. "But what about Hitler? Does Jesus really love him too? Does he really deserve any love?"
A grim frown had tipped his cheerful lips, but Father Anderson nodded solemnly, gazing directly at the boy. "Yes, even Hitler. Jesus loves everyone."
Shock made the room fall in silence and then little ones whispered while others looked around to find someone who might be doubting the priest. They swallowed and another child questioned the man in a timid voice. "But do you love Hitler, Father Anderson?"
Hushed by the new turn the conversation had taken, enlarged eyes stared at the priest who grimaced and avoided making eye contact with any of the children for more than a second. He sighed and shifted around in his chair, carefully keeping the little boy that was propped up on his knee, steady. The bat's eyes blinked and a snout crept out of the cover of shadow his house gave him, eyes hoping to see the priest as well, having followed the discussion as it had progressed. The nun had stopped her knitting, her face saddened as she pondered how the man would respond.
Father Anderson shook his head with both shame and a feeling that contradicted his shame, a solid confidence in his aversion towards the evil man and his tainted, hate filled soul. "No. I cannot make myself love any person who has killed and hurt so many people. I don't have enough love in my heart to give any to Hitler or others like him. That is why Jesus is so amazing, children, he is capable of loving every being on this Earth, holding hatred for no soul even if that soul had hated him and all of mankind. But I could never love such a person. I would never be able to forgive them in order to love them, but you should always try to love others. Always try to forgive and forget, form friendships with your fellow brothers and sisters. Speak kindly to those who hate you and if a violent fist is raised against you, you do not raise you fist in violence against them, but instead to pray for their unfortunate souls that do not follow the path to Heaven, children."
The silence had crept up on the group and it settled there for a few minutes. The bat lay in the exposing light, abiding by the law of silence as well. Finally, Father Anderson ruffled the hair of the child on his knee and he put the boy down, smiling once more. He told the children to play and study now, and they did so after a moment. The bat saw the man's face and upper body appear over the height of the wall of cardboard. The creature crawled backwards to hide in the shadowed interior of his house as hands lifted the box and lowered it to the children to let them say goodnight to the bat. The smaller box was removed to reveal the bat for a few moments, before Father Anderson covered the bat again and carried the box from the room.
In the hallway, apart from the presence of other humans, green eyes peered down at the bat's shelter. "You should learn to love too, little beast. You would be much happier if you loved and trusted us. We could all get along, I'm sure of it."
Ears and a head peeked out of the house, as if the animal had understood the man, and the two watched one another, both heading towards the priest's cluttered room. A few meal worms were placed in the box under the watchful eye of the priest. The hungry Angel hurried out of his house and snatched up one of the bugs, but, while he had usually retreated with his prize back into his shelter to dine in privacy, this time the bat ate his food in the open, allowing the priest to observe him. The bat ate three of the fat stubby insects, leaving behind few crumbs that were not sniffed out and snatched by his fangs. Pleased by this sense of trust, Anderson, who had stood by to watch the meal, grinned and turned to the door so that he could return to his children, first covering the top of the bat's 'cage' so that he could not escape.
*~*~::..+..::~*~*
A month went by, in which the bat became increasingly more friendly towards the priest and more tolerant of the curious children that liked to stare at him with big eyes that came in different colors, some brown, some hazel, some blue, and some of them coming in a shade of green. The bat preferred a green gaze, and the darker hands of the priest. The nuns and the orphans began to keep an even higher level of pride and affection for the man as his kindness seemed to tame the wild creature. The amazing feat that became a day to day miracle dazzled eyes and warmed hearts, eyes beholding the picture of a holy man of God and the bat that hung from his clothes, or even from the cross that dangled from his neck. The man had taught the beast to love, they believed. And it was true. The bat did love the priest, but it had always possessed the ability to love. The feeling had not been taught, only drawn out by the warmth of another heart that accepted his feelings fully.
The time came when the bat was capable of flying without fear of re-injuring itself, and the orphanage prepared one evening, out in the yard, to let the bat fly away. The children and nuns were gathered on the porch or they occupied the grass near the priest who stood with the box that was soon uncovered. Father Anderson smiled down at the black face when it poked out of its shelter to see him and then fully emerged. The white, gloved hand took the bat from the box, allowing the tiny feet to hook onto the fabric. Curiosity turned the bat's head about, ears twitching and a snout sniffing at the night air, blinking against the bright scene of liberty found in the dark night sky, endless and free. Anderson lifted it up to feel the breeze. Black wings moved, the head looked about, and then, suddenly, the bat let go of his hand. The brown creature flapped, beating the air, gaining distance and altitude as it left the priest and the other humans on the ground below, voices calling out goodbye with wishes of good health and good hunting. Anderson gazed after the little shape that soon disappeared into the progressing night, saddened by the parting but optimistic about the bat's future. While the bat re-conquered the night, Father Anderson, like a shepherd with his flock, guided the orphans back inside, leaving the windows bare when the younger ones expressed their hope to see Angel if he flew by the orphanage.
Father Anderson doubted that they would ever meet the bat again, but he didn't tell this to the hopeful children and he shushed the older ones that wanted to convince the others that the bat would never come back.
However, when the morning light dawned and strengthened from shades of grey and blue to orange and yellow, the curtains hanging over the priest's window adopted the brighter colors, and the man awoke gradually with the building light. He checked on his window to see that the morning was indeed advancing, but when he decided to pull back the curtains to see what the day would look like, his eyes were instantly dawn to the high corner of the glass where a little form was tucked into itself, sleeping with its feet attached to the wooden frame that bordered the window.
Stunned, green eyes, without their usual bronze frames circling them, stared at the dark shape, watching the bat sleep. He knew without proof that this bat was the same one he had released the night before. The curtain was left open and the man went to the kitchens to see that breakfast was being prepared for the orphans. The children ate, some missing the bat that sometimes accompanied them by hanging on Father Anderson. When their gloom refused to dissipate, the priest disappeared for a few minutes. When he returned, he watched the children, checking on those who might want more orange juice or toast. A girl stared at her oatmeal, spooning some into her mouth. Her eyes followed the priest when he passed her seat.
Round eyes stared at the man and her pink lips parted to gape at his ignorance. She choked and pointed her spoon at him to let out a cry of amazement and joy. "FATHER! FATHER ANDERSON! LOOK AT YOUR SHIRT! LOOK! LOOK DOWN!"
Anderson, as if surprised by the girl, gave her a questioning look while other eyes shot towards the priest, worried about or puzzled by the girl's excitement. "What's on my shirt, Abigail?"
Other children took up cries of wonder while others left their mouths hanging, breakfast sometimes tumbling out. "Look!" "Oh my gosh! It's-" "Whoa!" "How did-?" Abigail was jumping up and down, proud of her discovery while still experiencing immense joy for the reunion. "The bat!" "Angel is back!" "It's Angel!" "Father! Angel is on you! Look!" "Look!" "Sister Agatha!" "Sister Reed!" "Everyone, look! Angel came back!"
And Father Anderson, in front of his awed audience, looked down at the brown form that moved about, listening to the children's voices with a roaming head and folded wings. The man smiled, petting the soft fur with his gentle hand to console the animal's worries.
After the children had settled down and many had gathered around to welcome Angel back home, the priest went about his duties, placing the bat in a shaded tree to rest. When he came back, he found Angel unmoved and in a deep slumber. So the sunny day continued and night drew near, finally becoming dusk. Father Anderson, accompanied by a few children, as his shadow always seemed to be made of their little forms, went to check on the bat. Angel was awake, so the priest took him from the tree and let him fly off into the night once more, to find food. Anderson watched with the children who had been told that the bat might not come back, just because he had returned that morning did not mean he would always return. But Angel was only gone for a half hour before someone saw him sitting outside the window. Father Anderson was fetched.
"He wants to feed you!" Giggles bubbled up from every throat and Anderson blinked at the bat hanging from his glove as Angel twisted and turned towards the man to present a fat hairy moth caught in his teeth. Incredulous, the man pinched a dusty insect wing between his fingers, to see if the bat was truly offering it to him.
Angel let go of the moth promptly, licking his lips and hanging still and expectant, waiting for Anderson to eat the juicy bug.
Of course the man wouldn't eat the bug, but the prospect made the children laugh again, and more filed into the room to learn of what was going on so that they could have fun laughing too. Anderson let the bat fly off again and he put the moth in the animal's box so that it would not be wasted.
*~*~::..+..::~*~*
Every morning, the bat returned to roost on the priest's window, and the man would carry it inside to sleep in its box or even on his clothes. The bat would hang from him when he read alone in his private quarters, sleeping or listening to the man who would murmur sometimes when he read. When summer arrived, the bat allowed some of the nuns and older children one pat a day where they could come and touch his ear or stroke his back once and then leave. It took longer to teach the little ones how to be quiet enough to earn his approval, but they too were allowed to touch angel at the peek of summer.
Peace and happiness filled their lives, and all were content with how the world around them was progressing, becoming brighter and warmer, becoming better every day. But misfortune fell upon their heads when a visitor came to see Father Anderson. The priest was in a room shut off from the others, with only the visitor and the bat that was hidden in his clothes. It was the will of the parish and other authorities that Father Anderson would be moved to another station, where work only he could accomplish would be done. They wanted to send him to some remote location, a small community whose local church had little or no attendance at present. Out of all of the servants under God's gaze, they found that Father Anderson was most fit for the job. They believed that he could convert and save the souls that might be lost without him.
Almost without a choice in the matter, Father Anderson nodded to the man who spoke before him, and he accepted the mission with a humbled spirit.
A week passed, clouds migrating from far and wide to cover the sky to make the day the priest left, as sad and dreary as the hearts of those who had to see him leave. Children shook with sobs and the Holy women did not hold back their own tears. The man who was leaving filled with despair when he saw his children's unhappiness, and his eyes brimmed with water that eventually broke and trickled down his cheeks. Plenty of hugs and kisses were exchanged, a soft kiss even administered to the bewildered bat that was placed in the tree where it hung, watching the event with blinking beady eyes. The bat watched as his priest got into a black car and disappeared when the door was closed, separated from them by glass and metal so that they could only see part of his face.
He has been captured! The bat realized, horror crashing into his skull, permitting no other purpose to occupy him other than the dire necessity of beating his wings as hard as possible in order to keep up with the black car when it drove away with his priest. A few tearful eyes saw the bat go, and they began to cry harder at the tragic scene. But the bat had no mind for those he left behind, only for the one he pursued, straining his heart, lungs, and muscles, panting with his distress, seeing that the car was faster than his wings.
The car was not going very fast over the narrow two-way street that came at the end of the private road that led back to the orphanage. The priest sat in the backseat with his face in his hands, breathing slowly, coming to terms with his mission to serve the Lord that should not be jeopardized by his weaknesses. The man journeyed to his new location, driven by a man he did not know but who sympathized with the priest and offered only praise for his decision and mentioned the appreciation the Lord had for those who sacrificed for Him. Anderson only nodded, unable to speak until he had reached the small community it was his duty to save. He looked out the windows at the humble houses and shops, feelings pangs in his chest when little children ran about before his eyes, laughing and playing like his own orphans had.
The green eyes watched as trees engulfed his world, passing beneath their branches, driving up to the empty church whose parish he would hopefully create. Then the man was left there, assured of the food, water, and electricity that awaited him inside. But beyond these things that Anderson expected, he saw over the threshold an expanse of loneliness and hardship to come. Putting these feelings aside, the priest bowed his head in prayer and then carried his small quantity of luggage into his new 'home'.
*~*~::..+..::~*~*
Where is he? Where is he?
With aching wings shaped by thin membranes that threatened to tear at the savage abuse they were receiving, the bat gasped with its small heaving lungs, still flying in the direction the car had taken. But the car was no longer in within seeing distance. It had speed off hours ago and the bat had not seen it since. He continued to fly however, with the sun setting, the night approaching. Hunger and thirst combined with exhaustion blurred the creature's mind and crippled his ability to fly. A few short rests were taken, but they were now useless to repair the damage the distraught creature had done to his body. He needed a safe place to rest and a source of nourishment. He needed to end this hopeless chase, but it was impossible for the bat to adhere to this reasoning. The beast pushed himself until his body could be pushed no further. From the air that was warm with the summer day that had expired, where the twinkling stars tirelessly lit up the sky, giving the moon company, the tiny speck, the shadow against any light in the sky, plummeted. Down and down, the animal fell, wings coming back to life to slow the decline and help maneuver towards the trees rather than to fall anywhere close to the road. The bat caught himself in the leaves and branches, hanging down with a panting tongue sneaking out between his fangs, beady eyes closing to sleep.
He did not have enough strength to continue, or enough even to find water or food. The bat fell into a deep sleep and stayed this way until the moon had set, the sun had risen, and the sun had passed beyond the center of the sky. At this time, when he awoke, he could not smell water or hear any that might be in the area. Few insects that he could eat were active at this time, this far from water, so few that none were caught until night fell. But, without food or water, the feeble bat pursued the car that had faded from the face of the Earth. The bat pursued a memory, flying for the sake of reaching his priest. But when night came, he had to drink and feed. Moths were caught, and other bugs, and a puddle created from a hose attached to the side of a house gave him water. He ate his fill and found a roost so he could sleep when morning came. The bat slept through the next day, fed and drank what he needed, and then set off after the car at night. This became the creature's daily pattern, to sleep during the day and then feed a little and drink what he could while he pursued the car. Fat burned away from the healthy creature and he became thin, his hair became matted from neglect, forgetting to clean himself at times when he had the bare amount of energy that would have allowed him to do so.
He flew in earnest to save the captured man, unable to know that he was not headed in a direction that would lead him to the priest. Bones and matted fur, the appearance of a sickly beast, the bat's journeys became shorter as his strength and endurance faded. On a night when the moon was thin and the battered creature was hanging on a rock at the base of a cliff, the bat found a man standing beneath him, smiling under the broad girth of a wide black hat, cloaked in garments of pitch black with only a chin and a mouth visible. The man beckoned to the bat with one hand, the other tucked at his side. The weary bat did not trust humans other than those he had known before, but this man gave off a different feeling than other humans. The bat could not sense him as being a predator. It was as if the man were part of the world, like a stone or a mountain, something that had always been there and would always exist. So the bat flew down to the outstretched arm and clung to the generous sleeve. Black eyes watched the man, unable to see through the hat to know if the man had any eyes of his own to meet with.
The mouth was smiling, happy to have the bat on his sleeve, and the man brought out his other arm which had been holding a large black book. The bat saw it, but thought nothing of the book.
"Hello."
A black ear twitched and the bat continued to watch the man, the smiling mouth he could see below a line of shadow. The man made a sound in his throat like a sigh, but it somehow held the same expression as a low chuckle. They watched one another, seemingly assessing the other's identity or potential with regards to a future matter and the present. The bat pondered with the vague wish that this human might have the ability to take him to his priest, having seen plenty of humans who could operate cars.
The strange man's smile widened and the sigh returned again. Glinting teeth were visible. "So is that your deepest desire, little creature? You wish to find Father Anderson?"
That name. That name! The black eyes widened and the bat's ears faced the man, alert, while the thin frame filled with hope. This man knew the priest! He will take me to him! He will take me to him in a car! I will not have to fly anymore! I will find Father Anderson! I will take him home!
The bat, consumed in his thoughts and his new attachment to the stranger, did not care when the arm he hung from was raised to the cover of the black book or when he was placed upon it. The bat sat on the book, releasing the sleeve that seemed to want freedom. The man was grinning, a stretched smile full of white teeth, shining like opal. The sight dazzled the already excited bat, lulling it into an unnatural calm suddenly. Dimmed eyes gazed at the teeth, hearing the voice one last time. It spoke slowly.
"I will take you to your beloved priest, my little pet. If you are ever lost again, I will always help you. I will always be waiting. There will be no need to seek me out. …Now sleep, my pet. …Sleep."
And so, the bat lost consciousness.
When he woke it was morning, the sun was high, the birds were singing in the surrounding tree tops, and laying before the beady black eyes, still heavy with sleep that fogged the bat's mind, was the threshold of an old church, empty of life…except for the lonely form visible down the length of the aisle, standing behind an alter, a great Bible spread out under even greater hands. What other Holy man could possess such a powerful build, such brilliant green eyes that could glimmer like a night star behind bronze rimmed glasses…than Father Anderson?
Impulse became thought and momentum for the little creature that scrambled forward, full of burning joy that gave his limbs vigor, gave strength to his wings that somehow lifted his body from the ground without the need of a perch, to fly to the man, to the being he loved so dearly.
Unfortunately, his strength was failing, his path led through only a few feet of air before he hit the floor again, but it had been enough to catch the priest's attention. While the bat crawled a few inches, testing out its cramped muscles, shoes dashed off into the living quarters of the church and elsewhere, but soon returned. The bat was crawling, with difficulty, towards the carpeted steps that led up to the altar when the priest returned, walking around the perimeter of the curved steps, passing the front pews to stand over the matted and weak creature. With the shoes so close to his eyes and the scent of the man saturating the air the dark snout sniffed at, the bat waved its shivering wings over the tiled flooring, showing its gratitude towards his fortune while expressing his joy in his own way. As he did this, one of his wings brushed the man's boot when it moved.
A shadow came over him.
He's going to pick me up! He's going to pick me up!
The bat felt the shadow and noticed when the feet moved back a step, the man's body curving as if to soon kneel down.
There was a thunderous clash, an explosion of light, and then all was cast into a starless night…and quiet settled over the world.
…
*~*~::..+..::~*~*
"My poor pet."
A hand was stroking the bat's ears and fur back away from his head, sitting on top of a flat surface. All was darkness, so the bat could only feel and listen to the voice. He felt the cool hard surface under him, like the cover of a book or the armor protecting a serpent from harm, and the cold hand that was petting him. The bat felt this, without air in the world, no scents, no other sounds, nothing else to perceive…but the knowledge that this hand did not belong to the priest. This was not Father Anderson.
But the voice was not unfamiliar. The cold hand was not alien to him.
The stroking continued, running over the creature's body. The voice seemed to be smiling.
"My poor pet, you come to me so soon?"
For the first time in the beast's existence, a voice of his own seemed to come from his thoughts, the feelings he had possessed before were interpreted into a human language to be conveyed properly. He now had these words for himself, all at his disposal.
The bat moved to look around, craning his neck upward to see the invisible face. He saw only darkness.
"Where is Father Anderson?" He asked with his own voice he could not hear. It sounded as if it was still in his mind, only echoing now as his mouth moved. The other voice smiled still.
"Oh, Father Anderson? You ask about him, my pet? Why?"
"I want to see him."
The sighing chuckle possessed the voice and the hand pressed a little harder as it passed over the bat.
"You cannot see him."
Worry rushed the bat in his demand to understand what had happened. "Am I blind? What is wrong with me? Where is my priest? Where is my Father?"
The sigh cut off, as if choking, and a real chuckle oozed from the source of the other voice.
"You are not blind. Father Anderson is in the church garden… filling a hole. And you, my pet, there is nothing wrong with you at all. …You are only dead, and that is a very healthy state for one who has lived."
The silence engulfed all that was and the bat's senses dulled to nothing before reviving with painful precision showing how deep the darkness stretched, how absolute the silence really was.
"Dead?"
"Oh yes…completely dead. Your head was severed from your body by the blade of a shovel, remember? The priest…" The stroking became gentle, caressing as the body-less form spoke. "The priest killed you."
Silence again took over, the bat too stunned to utter a syllable of surprise or horror, both of which he felt as time went by.
"But why? Why would my priest kill me? He loved me! He said that he loved little bats! That he loved me. That he loved me! That he wished to love! Do you know love? What you said is not love!"
The smile broadened, opening to reveal the opal teeth that shone in the lightless void.
"He did love you, and he perhaps still loves you. But what was there to differentiate you from any other bat? What was there to connect to 'Angel', the bat he left behind? …If you could see yourself, you look quite rabid or ailed by some unpleasant disease." The voice paused for the bat to have time to digest what had been said. The hand that had stilled for a moment returned to comfort the distressed creature. "My pet…"
"Who are you?" The bat's voice whispered.
"You don't need to know."
Quiet.
"I am sleeping, and then I will wake up in my box."
"No." The voice chuckled, ruffling the bat's fur. "You are dead…"
The bat made a whining sound, a show of agony, that made the voice's grin grow even larger, twisting with sadistic delight.
"But I will help you, my little pet. I can give you life once more."
The bats nonexistent eyes bulged, he strained to see the face of the voice, but found nothing. He could not speak, but the voice sensed his emotions and the opal smile grew to impossible proportions. It was like a crescent moon on its side, so much like the immortal, icy moon, ever shining in the darkness, at times cutting into the light.
"Your body is impossible for me to repair…I did not make it. But I can create bodies…I can make you a new one… Would you like it?"
"Yes!" The bat whispered, trying to crawl forward, but finding it impossible to sense his own movement. The moon laughed and shifted the book the animal was laying on. A cold hand lifted him, pages were turned after the binding creaked when the book was opened. At the middle of the thick volume, the pages stopped moving and the bat was again placed on the book. Then the invisible hand lifted a corner of the page.
"Bite here."
"Where?"
The edge of the page slipped into the bat's mouth, moved by the cold hand, and then the bat bit down.
Time slowed for a moment…it almost stopped…
…and then it returned with a rush, with the breaking of a dam that had tired to stop up a powerful river.
He could feel his body, a larger body, a different form. The bat gasped a lungful of air, standing on a surface that was the ground. He embraced the figure he could not see, while it continued to smile.
"Thank you. Oh thank you. Thank you! Thank you." The voice rose and fell into a murmur as the bat's new form shuddered against the invisible one that no longer spoke but stood silently with its sighing laugh. The bat's new lips kissed the cheek his mouth found and buried his face into the cold neck, shedding tears of joy as this new world faded with his consciousness once more…before he returned to the Earth and felt the wind take hold of his hair, tossing it towards the sky he gazed up at.