Mark's men—I assumed the suited men were part of Mark's mob empire—invaded the church like a pack of wolves ready to hunt. Armed with metal bats and crowbars, the men flooded the aisles and circled the crowd. Mark was among them, Peter led the raid.
Most of the people inside the church fled at the sight of the mob, but some of them stayed to fight, tackling some of the suited men and stealing their improvised weapons. I understood Mark's words.
Chaos. That was my signal. I crouched down, looking at the fight. Far from being scared the hooded figures were bringing in all they got, and some suited men were already on the floor with pain tainting their features.
Among the multiple conflicts, I located the man with the file, but he was also engaged by two goons. When the whole ordeal was over, I'd make sure to ask Mark why he'd believe I'd be okay with participating in a gang fight. My mom stood among the chaos like an angel, trapped inside her circle. I traced a plan in my mind, but I would've lied if I said I had any confidence in it.
When I was ready to leave my shelter, a hand squeezed my shoulder. I almost shit my pants right there and then as I squeaked a high pitched scream. "Hey there," John greeted. He was also crouching down. An entertained smile spread across his face. He pointed at the altar. "We have to free your mom. Mark appointed me as your bodyguard."
I gaped at him, wondering how news travelled so fast if I'd never seen Mark communicate with either Peter nor John. "Is your sister alright?"
He nodded. "She's drinking a smoothie back at the club. She doesn't like this kind of fun. Come on." He made a gesture with his hand and crawled to the right side of the pews, as far away from the fight as the church walls allowed us. I followed.
"Keep close," John ordered.
Screams of pain and anger mixed up in a hellish symphony that accompanied the thuds and snaps of the metal hitting the floor and the pews. Some people flew and crashed, others delivered fatal blows that ended suffering. I made a purposeful effort to avoid thinking about how many people would die that day. About how many of Mark's men would sacrifice, and how many of the hooded figures would never see the grey light of day.
John stopped moving. My mom was a few feet away, calmly observing the scene. "Okay, now we have to get into the battlefield. There's no way to reach her from here."
My mom found me, yet again. Her calm expression turned into worry as her eyebrows pinched and her lips became a straight line. She shook her head, warning me not to try what she knew I'd try to do. But how could I leave her like that and just go? It wasn't bravery. It was my duty as her son. Besides, Silas would've annihilated me if he knew I'd abandoned Mom.
"Okay," I whispered to hide the vibrato in my voice. "Now what?"
John's smile was vibrant, never leaving his face for a second. "Now you go do your voodoo shit, and I'll guard your back." He placed a hand on my shoulder, likely because my face spoke for itself. "Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to the witch that's going to save Mark."
I winced at his words, but he was already looking away. So he didn't catch the moment where my little big lies slipped. I sighed, traversing the pews on my way to the altar.
When a hooded man saw me, John punched him on the jaw and his body slacked like a corpse. The gasp escaped my throat instinctually. I could focus on my mom, I could not see what was happening around me. My fists balled up to keep me from trembling but I made my way to Mom.
"Mom!" I cried. My fingers grazed the mountain ash circle around her, breaking the line. "You're free."
She shook her head, stepping towards me. "You're dangerous to them."
"But... How am I dangerous? What's my role here?"
"They've seen a thousand possible futures, and they win in all of them. Except..." Her golden eyes stared at the floor where one of the hooded figures had crashed. The cloth covering his face had been ripped, and I saw his neck was tattooed with a full moon and a crescent moon to either side.
"The triple goddess?" I remembered the statue that had cried tears of blood. "I'm... I'm lost..." The puzzle before me had a thousand pieces and none of them connected with each other.
I would've asked my mother if she hadn't already gone. John pulled me back at the same time a bat went flying just inches from my face. Mark kicked the figure that had thrown the weapon, his face violently distorted and his lips curled to show his teeth. He crouched to continue beating the unconscious guy. A splatter of blood sprayed in his face but it didn't stop him.
Now, that was what Bad Omens were supposed to be. Angry. Bloody. Violent. Dangerous. The fact that Mark hadn't walked down that path yet could be considered a miracle, taking into account the amount of demonic energy he carried everywhere. I'd seen Bad Omens less burdened than him loose to their demonic effort within weeks. Yet Mark hadn't grown up in the best of circumstances and he'd perdured. I saw then the dark that he hid within, that he'd carefully kept locked away.
He was going to crush that guy to a pulp as anger blinded him. With that crazy expression in his eyes, I saw why Mark reminded me so much of Harry.
I had fallen in love once. And I had murdered him, in the end.
Despite John's efforts to drag me away, I freed myself and bolted for Mark, shouldered some people on my way. Enemy or friend, I didn't care. The twin yelled my name, but it sounded so distant...
Until you walk a mile in my shoes, you won't understand why I did what I did. At that time, I'm not even sure I, myself, understood. But the force that enticed me to search for answers kept pulling me forward. Always in the search of Mark.
"No!" I ordered, through a voice that I didn't recognize as mine at first. I wrapped his fist with my hand, ignoring the burn. "You're going to kill him! Stop!"
Mark was panting, his nose flaring with each breath. His eyes looked black, and I still believe he didn't recognize me when he raised his gaze towards mine. He was an animal, acting out of a primal desire for violence. Maybe that's why he attacked me.
He grabbed the collar of my T-shirt and pulled me to the floor. Then, he pinned me to the ground while both of his hands closed around my neck. With my hands trapped beside my body, I couldn't reach for the talismans, and so my life depended on Mark's will to overcome the darkness.
"Mark!" I yelled, trying to wriggle free. "Listen to me. Who am I?"
The deep black veins bulged out on his jaw. I had never seen something quite like that and as much as I wanted to investigate, I was dying. I grunted, desperate to draw another breath as I thrashed my legs like a floppy fish. The pressure in my eyes grew and I'd later discover tiny spots of blood where my veins had bursted. Or course I didn't have time to think about the future when I was dying.
I was dying. "M—" Mark was gone. Merely a body that carried out someone else's commands. And the thing that controlled him wanted me dead.
I was dangerous.
The corners of my vision turned dark. "Eugh... E..."
His face came close to mine, but there was no life in his eyes. "You're the lamb that chose to die, its blood a blessing and a curse."
My fingers twitched. Or maybe they didn't. "Mark," I whispered, the life draining out of my body too quickly.
Peter kicked Mark on the temple. I didn't see it, but that's what they told me later. With my throat free, I felt I had all the air of the world and I could've never had enough of it. I breathed and breathed, and never had I been so close to death since Harry. And the thought occurred to me that I'd have to murder Mark, too.
I rolled on my stomach, coughing away the raw pain. The sirens grew closer. We didn't have much time. Peter was failing to carry an astonished Mark, whose face of horror had substituted his cold stare. He stared at his bloodied hands and at the bloody corpse in front of him.
"We have to go."
"The file?" I asked.
"Screw the file!" Peter yelled. "Let's go."
"No," Mark muttered. He slapped Peter's hands away. "No. I'm a monster."
Peter didn't correct him, as he had seen the scene. It was the first time Peter truly hesitated, and his doubt wasn't unfounded. He had saved my life, and as grateful as I was, I pushed him aside and grabbed Mark's jacket to force him to focus on me. He wouldn't, though. He wouldn't look at me.
"Snap out of it," I said. "You're not the first one to try to kill me. So move on. Waiting for the cops will only make matters worse! Look around."
A dozen unconscious people. Splintered wood and discarded crowbars. The altar was torn apart, its tablecloth completely gone. Bent bats and some candelabra littering the bloodied floor. Mark's surviving men were gathering and tending their wounds.
"A gang fight in a church. Now we're definitely going to Hell."
Mark chuckled softly. He didn't resist me when I pulled him up. Although he carefully avoided touching my skin, he allowed me to help him towards the church's side entrance. John and Peter tailed us. The suited men scrambled in all directions like rats.
In the end, we didn't get the file. We lost the battle we didn't even know we were fighting.
But I had discovered they feared me. And that meant we were on the right path.