The Abbot wandered along the darkened corridors of the monastery, his thoughts dwelling on the people within his care and on his God.  It was an old habit, wandering these corridors, lost in meditation.  He turned down one of the hallways and noticed a flicker of light underneath one of the doors.  He moved towards the light, knowing well the person behind the door.

The Abbot stopped in front of the door, listening to a strange language being spoken beyond.  At the beginning, these odd mumblings in foreign tongues had concerned him, as did much about their speaker.  But as days flowed into months, he had discovered the benign nature of these mutterings, as well as the troubled heart that spoke them.  The Abbot waited till the speaking
stopped before lightly knocking on the door.

"Yes, come in," came the reply.

There was no light on in the room, not even a single candle, but the glow that filled it was enough to be able to easily read all but the smallest print.  In front of him, staring out into the blackness of the courtyard, was the figure producing that light.  The figure itself dwarfed everything in the room for size.  The Abbot guessed the young man's head was less than a foot from the ceiling, the large brown robe he was wearing only added to the sense of bulk.  Jutting out from his shoulder blade area were huge, white, feathery wings, the kind the Abbot had seen in books since he was a child; in those books, the wings invariably belonged to devout servants of God, to angels.  But it was the constant glow of light that caused the most wonder.  Why would God have created it in this young man, except as some sign of Himself?

The young man's shoulders hunched as he turned towards the Abbot, pained resignation etched in his face.  "I'm sorry Father, I'll try and be quieter."

The Abbot waved off the apology as he moved into the room.  "No need to apologize, we're the only ones up."  The Abbot paused before continuing, "What were you saying just then?  It sounded oddly scriptural."

"It is," Jacob replied, offering a seat to the older man.  "Or at least I think it is; from the Bhagavad Gita, I think."

"What does it mean?" the Abbot queried.

"It's a little difficult to translate, especially seeing as I don't know the language, and I've never read the Gita." Jacob paused, his expression mirroring the confusion in his own mind.  "It's one of the stranger side effects of my transformation.  Suddenly, I know things, religious things, I
just have no idea where they come from."

The Abbot sat on the bed, waiting for Jacob to continue.  He knew about these odd occurrences, how they worried Jacob.  He saw them in a different light; as gifts given to Jacob to help him in whatever mission he had been called to do.  What I would give, the Abbot thought, to be so favoured by God.

Jacob looked down at Father Joseph and saw him patiently waiting.  Jacob turned away in embarrassment.  "Sorry, you wanted a translation, not pointless ramblings.  Loosely translated it says: 'Think thou also of thy duty and do not waver.  There is no greater good for a ksatriya -- a member of the warrior caste -- than to fight in a righteous war.  There is a war that opens the doors of heaven, Arjuna!  Happy the ksatriya whose fate is to fight such war.'"  Jacob sighed before continuing. "'But to forgo this fight for righteousness is to forgo thy duty and honour: it is to fall into transgression.'"

Father Joseph looked down at his hands, guessing Jacob's thoughts; "And you fear this applies to you; that you are not doing what you should?"

"I don't know.  These things just pop into my head, without warning, without welcome.  But, yeah, there's a growing part of me that wonders what I'm doing.  I have these abilities, whether I want them or not, but am I doing enough with them?  To use a religious analogy: when I stand to be judged, will I be able to stand there with a clear conscience, knowing I did all I could to fight suffering and oppression." Jacob gazed into the darkness beyond his window.  "I'm afraid what the answer would be right now."

"I'm afraid I don't have any pat answers for you, that's what priest do, not monks," the Abbot said with a smile, managing to also wrestle a smile out of Jacob.  "I will tell you that I have heard good things about you from the people on the street, but it's sometimes difficult to give that the proper weight when your heart is already troubled." The Abbot felt Jacob's backwash of despair as Jacob managed a weak smile before turning towards the window again.  Both men lapsed into silence.

It was the Abbot who spoke first, getting to his feet: "It might not be much, but I go to Detroit ever year around All Saint's Day to visit an old friend, you're welcome to come along.  Maybe you'll find the answer you're looking for on the journey.  Besides," Father Joseph smiled, "my friend's a crotchity, old Irishman, and I'd welcome anybody who could help divert his attention."

Jacob felt a strange sensation wash over his body, as if he saw in his mind a door opening, a door he needed to go through in order to arrive at a destination he didn't know.  "I think I will join you if it's alright.  Maybe I will find some answers in Motown."

"Great!  I look forward to it.  I was planning on leaving on the 26th, does that sound good?"  Jacob nodded.  "Good.  Well, I should be off to bed; sleep well Jacob."

Jacob waited to frown until after the Abbot left.  He had an odd feeling he wasn't going to Detroit to find the right answers, but to find the right questions.

As Jacob drifted off to sleep, he found himself stepping into a landscape he had never seen before.  The sky, from horizon to horizon, was engulfed in an orange on the closer side of red.  The ground before him was dark and broken, countless hills and gullies being formed and falling before him.  To his right was a river of red, reflecting the light from the sky.  In one direction along the river was a bright light on the top of a hill, guttural cries of rage accompanying a caged figure.  In the other direction there was an amorphous cloud of darkness, out of which figures emerged and disappeared.  In the centre of the darkness, in the centre of the river, was a jagged
mound.

As Jacob starred at the darkness a whispering wind blew.  "Who are we?"  Jacob turned towards the light, as he felt the weight of the caged figure's gaze fall upon him.  A biography of duty, destruction, purification and death filled the empty space between the two.  Jacob looked down at his now glowing hand and turned away, back towards the darkness.

He found himself in front of the jagged mound.  Looking at it, he became aware that it was made of broken and bleeding bodies.  The darkness that surrounded the mound were the displaced shadows of those bodies.  He felt no fear, only cold realization of a secret he didn't know, itching to awaken in the back of his mind.

Sensing a presence, Jacob looked down to his left at the figure of the Cryptic-Dream- Guy.  The man's body was covered in scars from countless battles.  He was saying something, chanting.  "Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death I will fear no evil, for though art with me.  Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."  The man turned and looked up at
Jacob.  "Are you afraid?"

Jacob turned his eyes back towards the mound, and found his mind clearing.  "Maybe, but my path goes through there,"  he said, pointing into the middle of the mound.

At that the bodies dislodged from there places, rising into the air.  Their voices shrieking, they flew at Jacob but did not touch the light that surrounded him.  In the middle of what had been the mound was a shining sword that had been forged by Him; it was Jacob's.  Walking towards it, the figures flew more frantically around Jacob, but still did not touch him.  He walked towards the sword, as it hummed a song only he could hear.

Suddenly there was whiteness and Jacob was standing on top of the CN Tower, the Cryptic- Dream-Guy beside him.  Jacob gazed around at the quiet landscape.

"No," came a voice from below.  The man pointed into the distance.  "There, the journey begins over there."

As Jacob stared out in the direction that was indicated, he found himself being pulled along.  Images flew by, picking up speed: a small city, a bridge and a larger, darker city behind; the thumping beat of blood and music; a strangled cry; a swamp.  The images increased in speed, blurring and merging with one another.  He was witnessing the world.  Then, it stopped.

He suddenly found himself still standing on the CN Tower.

"They're calling for you," the little man said.  "You should go."

Jacob could hear it now: wailing, nashing of teeth, cries of vengeance, calls for justice, death and destruction.  Was it for him, or for another?  He pitched over the side of the building and fell into the blackness below.  He was not scared, after all he could fly.

The images of the dead and the judged flew past him.  He flew on towards the ground, not bothering to break his fall.  The massacred, mutilated, and murdered reached out, trying to touch the burning light.  The ground was coming up swiftly and Jacob turned to break his fall; he continued to plummet.  Up above a figure of light fended off the darkness from twice-killing the dead.  No light illuminated his fall.  He screamed as he plummeted towards the earth and was swallowed in the darkness.

Sitting in the front pew for Sunday Mass dressed in the brown robes of a Franciscan, Jacob fidgeted uncomfortably.  He could feel the stares of the parishioners on his neck, making an uncomfortable situation only more uncomfortable.  He didn't know why Father Patrick, the friend Father Joseph had come to visit, had so insisted that he come to mass.  Jacob had explained
that he wasn't Catholic, had even gone on to explain just how uncomfortable the benches were for someone of his height.  Father Patrick wanted none of it, merely suggesting that as Jacob was staying under his roof, it was only polite for him to show up for mass.

He went to mass, dressed in robes he scarcely felt he deserved, but the only thing remotely able to cover his wings.  The wings themselves were pressed awkwardly against the wooden seat, bending at places they were not designed to bend.  Up at the pulpit, Father Patrick was intoning some sanctimonious crap about the 'mystery of God's goodness.'  Jacob shifted again, trying to
get comfortable, wanting to step out of this body and return to what he looked and felt like before.  Jacob stared at the priest, wondering just how good was a God that allowed little girls to get raped and murdered around the world everyday.

The priest moved onto a familiar part of the Roman Catholic service.  He lifted a Chalice and prayed.  As people moved to the front to receive the Eucharist, Jacob stood and left.  The rite of the Eucharist meant too much to be belittled by someone whose only calling to it was a feeling of obligation.  As Jacob left the church, he glanced back up at the front to see Father Patrick looking at him.  Jacob turned away before he could register what the good Father's expression might have been.

Breathing in deeply the cool autumn air, Jacob felt some of his discomfort lift.  Still, there was something off.  He couldn't describe it, couldn't put his finger on it, but it was there, like a constant clarion call making him restless and agitated.  Walking around behind the church, Jacob removed the long brown robe.  Moving to a small house built adjacent to the property, where Father Patrick lived, he stuffed the robe between the back door and the screen door.  Hoping to shed off his feeling of unease, Jacob launched himself into the air.

Though better up here, Jacob still didn't feel right.  He looked down at the dark city of his dreams and felt his tension rise.  Forcing himself to relax, he moved into a couple of barrel rolls followed by a steep dive a hawk would have been proud of.  Gaining altitude again, Jacob glided on the currents of air allowing them to dictate where he went.

It all started when he had decided to accompany Father Joseph to Detroit.  Since that time his dreams had been troubled.  The individual parts of the dreams had blurred together, but all of them had the same core: blood, death, and unforgiving decisions.  Upon first sighting Detroit from the air he had nearly turned back.  There was something about the city, about its present
condition, that gripped Jacob's heart with dark talons and wouldn't let go.  He could smell it in the air, taste it in the water; wherever he went the cloud of 'wrongness' followed him.

He knew part of it was himself.  Even before all this, he had been increasingly restless about his condition in the world.  He had so much power and potential at his fingertips, yet he was wasting it sitting in a monastery.  If only he had the courage, he knew he could accomplish something
great.  Sometimes, he even wished he could crush down his humanity and succumb fully to whatever was roaming inside his scalp.  But the violence and coldness of that being ensured its secondary role while Jacob still had control over his own mind.

His skin began to crawl in anticipation, of what, Jacob had no idea.  He clawed at his arms and stomach, trying to rip of his skin to ease the agitation of the feeling of Detroit on his body.  From the back of his mind he pulled out a memory (was it a memory if it had never happened to you,
Jacob wondered).  Easing his mind and cooling his conscious thoughts, Jacob floated in meditation above the city.

Jacob stayed in his meditative state for a while, feeling the levels of anxiety returning to a more manageable state.  He smiled in reflection, asking himself who he really was.  He could feel a merging of the identities within him; the otherworldly and the human side.  Where that merging led, was something for the future.

He looked back down at the city and noticed elements of beauty in its structure.  Despite his intuitive misgivings, Jacob knew it was neither the best city in the world nor the worst, it simply was.  Checking landmarks for guidance, Jacob flew back to the church which he had left a long while before.  Spotting it from high in the air, Jacob scanned the back alley that ran behind it for any signs of life.  After seeing no movement, Jacob plunged towards the ground pulling up scant feet from the ground and gliding to a stop behind the church.  Retrieving his cloak from the backdoor, Jacob entered the small house of the parish priest.

Father Patrick was talking as Jacob made his way to where the Father was speaking, "-- is on page 20!  Sixteen people missing in the last three days, you'd think it'd be front page news.  Mark my words, if someone well-connected goes missing, this'll all be front page news."  Patrick glanced up from his paper, "Well, look who's decided to grace us with his presence."

The other Father in the room, Father Joseph, greeted Jacob with a broad smile.  "We already had lunch, but we left something out for you if you want it.  Did you have a restful flight?"

"Restful flight?" Father Patrick began, putting down his paper. " Metahuman or not, that should only be used in connection with planes.  If God had wanted us to fly, he would have given us wings."

Joseph smiled as Jacob lightly flapped the feathery appendages jutting out of his back.

Patrick continued, "I know you make my point weak, but it still doesn't seem right."

Jacob retrieved the plate of food from the counter and sat down at the table.  He felt familiar knots of tension returning in his back.  Trying to think of something else, he glanced at the two older men.  Even if Jacob hadn't been told they were related, it was easy enough to guess.  While their body shape was different, Joseph sported a lean frame, while Patrick was certainly more portly, their faces held many elements in common.  They shared a common twinkle in their eyes and identical foreheads, leading into receding, gray hair.  They were cousins, but it wasn't difficult to imagine that they could be brothers.

Father Patrick turned to Jacob and asked, "So, why did you leave before receiving the Eucharist?  After all, it is one of the commands of the Son of God; I doubt even an angel could neglect one of those."

Father Patrick continued to stare at Jacob, as Jacob did his best to ignore the question.  He felt the general feeling of discomfort return, clenching his jaw against the rising tide.  Patrick kept his gaze focused on Jacob.  Jacob returned the look, offering a slow steady stare of his own.

"Patty, I don't think this is the time," Father Joseph said.

"I think this is the perfect time," Patrick responded, keeping his eyes on Jacob.  "If you have some special knowledge about this beyond what we humans humbly possess, I'd love to hear it."

Through clenched jaws, his voice even but clearly restrained, Jacob replied, "I don't have any special knowledge about this, just the knowledge I thought every 'Christian' had.  Communion is something special, you don't take it if it means nothing to you.  And right now, it doesn't mean a whole hell of a lot."  jacob got to his feet.  "Now, if you would excuse me, I think I'm going to watch over your city."

As Jacob moved to leave, Father Patrick retorted, "A metahuman's life tends to be short; the Eucharist helps to keep you in the right relationship with God.  You should remember that."

Jacob stopped, glaring down at the priest.  "With all due respect, sir, I think I'm a little closer to God than you right now."  Jacob opened the door and stopped.  "Oh, and in the future, maybe you should talk about the human face of suffering rather than God's eternal goodness.  It's a little unclear just how 'good' God is, but we all understand about human suffering."  With the door open, Jacob launched himself into the sky, not caring who might see him.

Back at the table, the two older men sat silently.  It was Joseph, the older of the two men, who spoke first.  "I warned you now wasn't the time, Patty."

"I know.  Its just..." Patrick paused, a hint of pain in his voice. "I have so many questions.  I'm not as young as I used to be, and it seems the older I get the more doubts I have."

Joseph smiled.  "He gave a good answer to your question though, didn't he?  I told you he was a smart lad."

"Yes, I'll give him that."  Patrick acknowledged before continuing with a smile,  "I just don't seem to be winning him over with my God-given charms."

Father Joseph leaned across the table, patting his cousin on the arm.  "Him and the rest of the world, Patty -- him and the rest of the world."

Jacob flew silently over the darkened city, night having claimed another day.  He felt better now, as if the darkness provided a more suitable home for his mood.  His anger, both at himself and the exchange with the priest, had subsided with the passage of time.  Instead, Jacob had settled into a general feeling of unease.

He glided over each section of the city, watching and listening.  He heard the sirens and watched the lights come and go, but he never followed.  As best they could, they would handle the situations that arose.  If he tried to interfere, he would probably just get in the way.  Besides, his target was elsewhere.  He didn't know where it was, it was the reason why he searched in the night sky, but he knew it was out there.  He was searching for the beginning, a way to descend into the valley.  That, or else he was just more agitated than usual.

Drifting along the night's sky, Jacob noticed unusual movement below.  He drifted closer to the scene and landed on the roof of a building, well away from prying eyes.  Straining his eyes, he noticed several people disappearing into what looked like an abandoned industrial building.  There was something else in the air as well, a kind of frenetic energy spilling out onto the street from the building.

Casting a deep shadow of darkness as he went, Jacob glided closer to the building.  To the right, a little removed, was another abandoned building.  Looking at them together they might have been part of a larger complex that was now gathering dust under the weight of urban decay.  There appeared to be several entrances to the main warehouse, the one where the people had disappeared into an oblong overcast of shadows.  Jacob could just make out the obscured doorway from the glow of the street lights.

Jacob moved back into the darkness as somebody approached the building.  It was a young, black man with the cocky look of self-destiny in his eyes.  Only in one so young, Jacob thought, pausing to remember he was only twenty-two himself.  The young man looked around the street and entered  the darkness between the two buildings, soon disappearing through an unseen doorway.

Jacob shot into the air and arched high over the street.  He stopped and hovered a few feet above the second building, uncertain as to how much weight the derelict building's roof could hold.  He smiled at the sounds now clearly coming from the direction of the doorway.  He had heard faint thumpings from across the street, but closer, he recognized the noise as what passed as hard-edge club music.  The energy he had felt was probably just the frenzy of dance.

He noticed odd crackles out of the corner of his eyes as the energy from the dancing crashed into the energy from his own aura of light.  Jacob noticed his feeling of unease increase.  Why was he wasting time at an underground club when he could be elsewhere?  Lifting off into the sky, Jacob wandered away from the building and into the night.

As the rays of dawn stretched across the sky, they reached Jacob, embracing him.  The light also seemed to create a change in Jacob himself.  Almost as unsettling as the general feeling of unease that had followed him for the last several days, was the calm and control he now felt.  He was once again his own.

With his new-found lucidity Jacob doubted there was much point in continuing to patrol the city in daylight.  Whatever was to happen, was to happen at night.  Jacob was sure of this.  The clearing in his mind was merely the quiet before the storm.  Finding his way back to the parish house, Jacob went inside and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Hours later he awoke, more refreshed than he had been in many months.  He could feel an energy rising within himself.  He realized he was oddly looking forward to the night and the uncertainty it would bring.  After washing and dressing, he sought the companionship of the two priests.

Entering the living room, he flopped down on a couch, being careful of his wings.  His memory of a quick glance of the room caused Jacob to turn to Father Joseph sitting in another chair, watching the T.V.  While it was odd enough to see Father Joseph watching television, his look of concern was what worried Jacob.  He was absently aware that Father Patrick was talking on the telephone in the other room.

Turning back towards the tube, Jacob watched as a young woman was speaking into a microphone in front of a large house.  "The mysterious disappearance of William Keats, the twelve-day old infant son of automobile mogul Henry Keats, has police baffled."

The image switched to a man, the caption indicated he was a captain of the police force.  "Our investigation is continuing," the captain said.  "And -- ah -- I can assure you it will be thorough and complete, but at the moment we don't have any indication as to the motive for this crime."

The image switched back to the woman.  "However, Captain Bowing later mentioned the police have ruled out the possibility that this was just a random act.  Even going so far as to suggest that it might be connected to a number of other recent disappearances."

Father Patrick came into the room, shifting the attention away from the young woman.  "I just got off the telephone with some of my parishioners.  Apparently they've heard about the disappearances as well, and are a little worried seeing how this is Devil's Night and all.  They're worried, and I agree with them, that with the rising tensions more people are going to 'act
out in inappropriate ways.'"

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Father Joseph offered.

"We're organizing a fire watch for the church and the surrounding area.  Hopefully, we'll be able to stop them before they start."  Father Patrick turned to the T.V., an image having caught his eye.  "Well, speak of the devil."

On the screen, the newscaster was talking solemnly as an image of flames and a little cartoon devil hung above his left shoulder.  "Authorities are worried that the recent rash of disappearances might add fuel to the fire of would be arsonists tonight.  They're appealing for calm, but asking that citizens be watchful.  Police have released the names and pictures of those that have gone missing.  If you have information regarding any of these people, please contact the police."

As the names and faces of those missing flashed across the screen, one face in particular stayed in Jacob's mind.  "I know him," Jacob whispered.

"What do you mean you know him?"  Father Patrick asked in reply.  "You've been in Detroit barely four days, and you've hardly even touched the ground; what do you mean you know him?"

"I-I saw him," Jacob fought to stammer the words out.  "Luh...  l-last n-night.  It was his face.  So full of dreams -- and hope."

"You should phone the police, tell them where you saw him," Father Patrick suggested.

"Where did you see him?" asked Joseph.

"Alive," was Jacob's quiet reply.  He shook himself back to the present.  "I saw him going into some abandoned warehouse.  I don't know Detroit though, so I really don't know where it is."

"And since this is the abandoned building capital of America, it could be almost anywhere."  Father Patrick said, a general sense of irritation in his voice.  "Do you remember any landmarks around the building that could be helpful?"

"I think so," Jacob replied.

"Good, that'll help.  Phone the police and let them know what you know.  I should get ready.  I'm meeting some members of the congregation in a few minutes at the church."

"I'll come with you and do what I can do to help,"  Father Joseph said, rising from his seat.

Each man busied himself in silence, keeping their own private counsel.  Father Patrick worried about the community he served, and the danger this night held.  He silently prayed that there would be a minimum of harm this night.  Father Joseph wondered what the best way was to help both his friends and those out in the night that might need him.  Jacob's thoughts were much more simple: If he's dead, his blood is on my hands.

Several minutes later they all came back together for a moment.  It was Father Patrick that spoke first.  "Did you phone them?  What did they say?"

Jacob shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.  "They said they really couldn't help.  They're swamped already as it is with calls regarding fires and the like, and they said my description of where the abandoned building was is too vague."

"So where does that leave you?"  Father Joseph asked, already guessing the answer.

"It leaves me with a lot of ground to cover tonight," was Jacob's reply.  "Last night I just flew, I didn't really know where I was going.  I stumbled on it by accident, some kind of club."

"It wasn't by accident," Patrick added.

"Whatever," Jacob continued.  "I have to go back there.  Hopefully I can find something, something that will lead me to the missing people and the missing baby."

"God be with you, Jacob," Father Patrick offered.  "Joseph I could use your help tonight.  I should go and open the church, people should be arriving soon."  He turned to leave but was stopped by Jacob.

"Father," Jacob said as he looked outside at the diminishing light.  "I'd like to stay at the church for a few hours.  It'll give me a little while to think."

Patrick nodded as the three men moved out of the house.  Jacob stopped to grab his trenchcoat and stuff it into a bag, thinking it might draw less attention than monk's robes.

Jacob sat in the church alone and sensed as the last rays of the sun disappeared from the sky.  Thinking about it all, he was struck by the irony of the situation.  Here he was, a human in the garments of an angel awaiting the beginning of Devil's Night in Detroit.  Jacob breathed deeply, steeling up what courage he could in anticipation of the long journey to dawn.  Rising, he grabbed a small duffel bag and set his mind on what was ahead.  He walked out of the church and rose majestically into the air, causing a stir in people walking on the street below.

He circled in the dark sky, uncertain of the direction he should go.  Watching as the glittering lights of the city merged into the distance, Jacob became aware of the difficulty of the task ahead.  He feared of wasting too much time doing nothing as he drifted over the city.  His eyes soaked up the many buildings below in the hope he would notice something familiar.

As the minutes ticked by, Jacob became more and more irritated by his inability to find the building from the previous night.  Detroit was turning out to be a very big city.  This never happens in comic books, Jacob thought to himself, the heroes always seem to sense what's wrong and hone right in on it.

Jacob paused in thought.  Was that what he thought of himself?  A hero?

By around eleven o'clock, Jacob found the building he was searching for.  Landing on a roof across the street, he looked over the abandoned industrial building.  There was nothing different about it from the night before.  It looked alone and forlorn in the night, a barely audible beating coming from somewhere in the bowels of the building.

Jacob's head came up and he looked off in the direction of a mournful fire siren crying in the night.  Further in the distance he could just make out wisps of smoke rising from a building and flashes of the orange-red devourer.  His thoughts went to Father Joseph, hoping he was alright.  Momentarily Jacob wondered if he should be here at all.  He knew the answer to that without thinking: it was right that he was here.  For Jacob the moment was almost surreal; looking across the street, he knew his future led through there.

After taking out his trenchcoat and stowing the bag away for latter retrieval, Jacob floated down behind the building he was on.  In the gloom and darkness of the alleyway, he could see the figure of a dog loping towards him.

Not sure of the identity of the dog, but making an educated guess, Jacob asked, "What are you doing here?"

Something leaped onto a nearby stack of crates, momentarily startling Jacob.  Shining eyes stared at him from the darkness, before he heard the familiar French accent.  "We are doing what we can."

"And what exactly is that?"  Jacob questioned, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"We're here to help, and make sure you know your options," the Dog replied.

"Alright, so what's in the building?" Jacob said, not really expecting any useful answers.

He wasn't disappointed by the Dog's reply.  "Choices.  Some good, some not so.  They're there for you to make."

"Thanks,"  Jacob said sarcastically as he turned away, donning his trenchcoat.

"Jacob," the Cat said, causing Jacob to pause, "be careful tonight."

Jacob nodded and turned away.  That was certainly not what he had expected to hear.  He expected cryptic little remarks, polarized opinions of what he could and should do, he didn't expect apparent concern over what might occur tonight.  Jacob was a little worried.  Still, he knew he had to go to the building.  A strange feeling of warmth passed through him and comforted him.  It felt oddly like it came from the other resident of his body, the one Jacob assumed was responsible for all his changes.  Strangely united, he walked across the road to the abandoned building.

As he moved through the shadows of the industrial building and its neighbour, he could hear the steady thumping of music grow louder.  He stood outside the passage where he had seen people enter last night.  The door was swung wide open with stairs immediately leading down on the right.  Standing outside the door he felt the coarse vibrations from the frenzied music smashing against his body.  He entered the building and walked down the stairs, his ears assaulted by ever increasing noise.  This was a little new to him, and he felt thoroughly uncomfortable.  The monks tended to be a relatively silent bunch.

The stairs led to a large room, which was currently filled with people.  At the front of the room, away from Jacob, was the sound system and a DJ controlling what was being heard.  Off a little bit to his left was a raised platform with several people on it.  Spotlights flashed in beat with the music from the ceiling.  The lights reminded Jacob about himself and he threw a light cover of darkness about him, preventing the glow that encompassed him from being too visible.

A shove from behind, as two more people moved to join the mix, reminded Jacob why he was here.  Pushing his way into the underground club, he tried his best to look around, hoping he would see a familiar face from T.V.  After a few minutes of wandering through the orgiastic mass of club-hoppers, Jacob made his way to a wall, anxious to catch his breath and stop the bleeding that he feared was flowing out of his ears from the dance noise being played.

Propping himself up against a wall, Jacob looked around, trying to think of a plan to find the missing people.  Glancing to his right, Jacob noticed two people making-out and looked away.  He stopped, his mind ringing out an alarm at the picture he had seen.  He looked back at the "couple."  As the lights flashed around them, Jacob noticed a thin trickle of blood making its
way down the woman's neck.  Looking closer, he noticed a deep gash on the woman's neck and the unusual way in which the man was sucking at her neck.  He looked down at his crawling skin and realized it was not the music that had made him uncomfortable before.

He guessed there was about a hundred people here.  Hardcore ravers, acid-heads and techno-freaks moved and grooved to a whining dance-beat -- and there was something else.  With new eyes he looked over the crowd.  Here and there, he spotted what he was looking for: the looks of anguished faces struggling against someone pressing themselves on them.  The music would drown out any cries for help.  Jacob swallowed hard as he forced himself to believe what he had seen.

Believing vampires might exist was one thing; thinking they probably did because of your own condition was another.  But to actually see one in the midst of sucking out someone's life was something completely different.  Jacob unconsciously moved away from the couple, keeping his back to the wall.  He knew this was one of the choices the Dog had spoken about.

The truth of the matter was that part of himself was terrified.  However, another part wanted to let loose a holy wrath upon the vampires' heads.  There was no clear division within himself on which part felt what.  Looking around the club, he realized the larger choice he had to make: he could walk away, forget he ever saw any of this, and return to the monastery with Father Joseph; or, he could shoulder the weight of the world, take its well-being as his responsibility, knowing that he would carry that weight with him for the rest of his life.  The choice was his.  He made it, and walked out of the underground club into the autumn air.

He moved away from the building, but was stopped by a familiar voice.  "Where are you going?" the Cat asked.

"You know there are vampires in there?" Jacob replied with a question of his own.

"Yes.  But the question remains where are you going?"  the Cat responded, looking for an answer.

Jacob sighed.  "According to everything I've ever read or heard about vampires, wooden stakes seem to do a number on them.  I'm fresh out of stakes myself, but I thought the wooden crate you were sitting on before might be useful."  Jacob paused, before solemnly whispering, "Don't worry, I wasn't going to run.  I made my choice -- now I have to live with it."

The Dog trotted out of the shadows.  "It's not just once for all time.  Now, what were you saying about stakes?  There are other options, you know."

Jacob stared at the Dog as he continued.  "You want to get rid of the vampires?  Good.  The best way to do it is to barricade the exists, the vamps are too frenzied to care about what you're doing, and set the building on fire.  Then you watch the exits: anything escapes, you take it down."

"And what about the other people in there?" the Cat said, echoing Jacob's own thoughts.

"Its a war out there -- you have to expect some collateral damage.  But think about it: if you don't put all the vampires down here, they just keep feeding.  A few people getting killed here, versus how many more dead, or worse, if the vampires escape?" the Dog offered in response.

It was Jacob's turn to speak.  "And what about the missing baby?  There are vampires running around on Devil's Night and I'm thinking they're my best chance of finding out where he might be.  Besides, I'm responsible for all those people in there.  I could have stopped this last night."

"I'm happy with your choice Jacob."  The Cat appeared to smile.  "But its going to take more than good intentions to help those people.  Just remember, who are you?"

A memory stirred in Jacob and he looked down at his glowing hand.  "Thanks," was his simple reply before he turned and flew towards the crates.

The Cat and Dog watched him as he went.  A shadowy form stirred in the darkness behind the two.  "Wasn't that a little too suggestive?" the Shadow asked of the Cat.

"He still has so little idea of what he is, it would be a shame to lose him this early in the game," the Cat replied, continuing to stare at the point where Jacob disappeared.

"She's right," the Dog continued.  "It would do nobody any good if he died this early.  He needs to know his place in the scheme of things, but we're bound by certain restrictions."

"As am I," the Shadow responded.

"But not the same ones, or to the same extent," the Cat countered.

"True," the Shadow conceded.  "Very well, I will do what I can."

As Jacob walked back to the door of the abandoned building he glanced around; the Cat and Dog had disappeared.  No matter, he knew what was needed and had already thought of a plan.  He checked the four stakes he had stuffed into his belt under his trenchcoat, making sure he could access them easily.  He stared at the wide open door for a moment before ripping it off
its hinges and hurling it away, ensuring a way out.

Jacob took a few moments to collect himself, all of himself.  The Cat had been right, he had never done anything like this before.  He would need the fearful violence and hoped-for skill of whatever it was that shared his body.  Walking down the stairs, he felt the hostility towards wrong-doing wash over him and welcomed it.

Reflecting the lights of the club away from himself, he put his plan into action.  Jacob walked up to club-hopper and shook him to get his attention.  "Hey, we got to get out of here!" Jacob yelled to be heard.  "There's some police getting together a couple of blocks down to raid this place.  I heard them saying that as I passed.  You should get the hell out of here while you have a chance."

Jacob had no idea if his idea would work or not, but he suspected that the police were seen as a more present threat than vampires.  He said the same thing to a few more people before feeling the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  He turned towards the raised platform and on it was a most striking woman with raven hair.  He watched as she let her newest victim
slip to the ground, her dark eyes never straying from him.

Jacob could feel the almost irrepressible pull to violence against the fiendish parasites that were preying upon the unsuspecting.  But, not knowing their strength or number gave his opponents too much of an advantage.  He noticed the raven-haired woman motion to two people on the dance floor.  He needed to isolate them, test his own strength and skills against a controlled number.  Hoping his rumours about a police raid would work their trick, he moved further into the club.  He was looking for a place with some isolation from the rest of the club; he found it on the right-hand wall.  It was a small alcove which seemed to support those who had fallen into
unconsciousness for reasons other than blood loss.

He didn't have time to clear those people out, hoping that he could work around them.  Jacob took off his jacket and slung it over his arm, keeping the stakes hidden.  The biology student inside of him offered an idea as to how he might be able to identify the vampires.  He switched to infra-red vision and looked around him.  Even in various states of consciousness, the people around him all gave off a very specific spectrum of heat.  Forcing himself further into the alcove, Jacob waited.  He didn't have to wait long.

As two men walked into Jacob's view he saw them not as images from visible light, but as images of heat or lack thereof.  It was odd, after looking at humans so much through the infra-red spectrum, to be presented with creatures so clearly different.  Though human-shaped, it was as if all the heat was muted within the two men's bodies.  Switching back into visible
light, Jacob caught the look of surprise on the two men's faces.

Jacob forewent the idle chatter to simply drop his coat exposing the stakes around his waist.  The two men removed all doubt as to their nature as they growled, revealing oversized incisors,  and charged Jacob.  One was sent flying back as a bolt of light smashed into him, dazing him.  The other continued forward with murderous intention.

Throwing himself to the side, Jacob escaped the onrush and returned the favour by flying into the man from the side, pinning him to the wall.  With a quick motion, Jacob impaled the vampire's chest with a stake.  The vampire then exploded outward, reduced to nothing.  Though shaken by the exploding vampire, it made sense to Jacob.  How better to hide yourself from the world than to leave nothing of your kind behind.

Jacob moved out of the alcove, anxious to see if his plan to get the people to leave had worked.  He jaw clenched in frustration -- as the music still played, the people still stayed.  He could feel his anger increasing as he went back to pick up the other vampire, dazing him again with a solid fist to the face.  He switched back to infra-red to get a clearer picture of the
situation that he was in.  As he looked out over the crowd he noticed nineteen muted heat signatures.  The numbers should have worried him more than they did, Jacob thought, but the desire to destroy the undead vultures overpowered his sense of fear.  Still, his priority was to get the normal humans out.

Jacob drew upon the spotlights flashing around the ceiling to add fuel to his own reserves of light.  Feeling their power reach a peak in his tingling hand, a bolt lanced out, destroying the sound system.  With the noise gone, people looked about uncertain as to what was happening.  A limp body flying through the air, courtesy of Jacob, caused the panic that Jacob had hoped it would.  Strategically illuminating certain corners of the room, occupied by gorging vampires, only added to the panic as people rushed to leave.

Outlined against a wall, Jacob became the target for the vampires rage at having their prey slip away.  That was fine by Jacob; a crackling of his light aura could be heard, creating its own music.  As some vampires pushed their way through the writhing crowd, others too busy trying to grab a few more people for a later snack, Jacob simply waited.  Two came at him, both felt the full sting of his light-lances.

He turned at a scream and watched as a young man desperately tried to ward off a lady vampire with a cross.  The vampire scoffed, grabbing the cross out of the young man's hand.

"Nice cross, I think I'll keep it."  The vampire sneered, preparing to strike.  Another hand caught her arm.

Not being able to think of anything witty, Jacob merely said, "I don't think so."

The vampire reeled back in pain as Jacob pulled on her limb with great strength, half her arm now missing.  A moment later, she exploded as Jacob stabbed her with a stake.  The man needed no prodding to hunt for the exit.  As he ran towards the door, a figure moved to catch him.  Instead, it reeled back in pain from a beam of light, and the man made it to the exit and ran up the stairs.

Looking around the room he noticed the raven-haired woman, seemingly oblivious to what was going on.  She nonchalantly paused from feeding to throw a smile at Jacob before returning to her grisly meal.  Amidst the horror and carnage, she stood out like a thing of beauty.  Her allure disturbed Jacob very much, and so he returned his attention to the preying monsters about her.

With most of the people out, Jacob switched his tactics away from protecting the people running for the exit.  He smiled as he counted eighteen vampires either trying to grab a few people as they left or preparing to approach him.  Jacob's crackling aura reached a fevered pitch as he gave himself willingly over to the dance of its music.  Bolts of light flashed out, stakes moved in Jacob's hand as if by there own accord, ground-ridden vampires unnaturally flew through the air while others exploded, their supernatural lives extinguished.

By the door now, Jacob looked down and regained control of himself.  A vampire was trying to pin a struggling young woman.  The vampire finally gained the upper hand and raised himself up, his mouth wide open, pointed teeth ready.  A shimmering blade of light imposed itself between the blood-hungry fiend and the young woman.  The vampire stopped in surprise, he hadn't expected this.  Nor did he expect the sharp upwards motion as the glowing sword cleaved off his head, his exploding a moment later.

Jacob looked around the room, eleven vampires still survived and closed around him like pale shadows.  They spat, hissed, and made guttural noises.  Out of the corner of his eye, Jacob could see the raven-haired vampiress was sucking the life out of another victim.  At his feet, the young lady he had just saved, didn't move, her face betraying shock.

"Go!"  Jacob commanded.  Still there was no movement as the vampires closed, now fully aware of their numerical superiority.  Jacob looked down at the frightened young woman.  Grabbing her by the shirt, he hurled her out onto the stairs, hoping she hadn't broken anything.  With a final, defiant sweep of his scimitar and a blinding blast of light, Jacob flew to the woman and carried her out into the night.

Jacob placed her on her feet, finally succeeded in getting her to run.  He then bound back into the air and hover over the doorway.  The first few vampires that rushed out were shot back into the threshold.  But there were simply too many of them.  Slowly, more and more pale shapes appeared, slinking off in various directions into the night.  Jacob's head hung, both in exhaustion and in disappointment.

Sauntering into the night air, the raven-haired lady looked around, completely unconcerned.  "Hello, winged one.  Its been quite a nice night hasn't it."

Jacob could feel all the rage in his body collecting, but he forced himself through that.  There was a question he had all but forgotten, but one he wanted an answer to.  "What did you do with the baby?"

She simply smiled and cocked her head to one side and said, "The time hasn't come yet, winged one.  But soon, very soon."  She wiped the lingering blood from her mouth and disappeared in a cloud of dust motes, disappearing into the air.

The rage exploded in Jacob as he let out a guttural cry of anguish and despair.  He floated down to the ground as people began to return to the outside of the abandoned building, trying to find friends and loved ones.  Commandeering a cell phone, Jacob phoned the police, telling them about what had occurred, thinking it best to leave out the part about the vampires unless they asked.  He steeled himself and went back downstairs.

Reaching the bottom and looking inside, he immediately turned and retched.  Throwing light out into the room, Jacob could see blood staining the walls.  Bodies were lying dead and broken on the ground, throats and chests mangled.  He heard a sound off towards the platform and carefully walked towards it.

Jacob found a woman barely breathing, her neck showing the signs of two puncture wounds.  She wasn't moving.  Jacob leaned over her.  She was about his own age, looking almost beautiful despite her ragged appearance.  Jacob listened to her steady but shallow breathing; she would probably live.  He sneered at the thought.  According to almost all sources, both folklore and popular, being bitten by a vampire and surviving meant becoming a vampire yourself.  Jacob looked into her face again and wondered if that was the kind of life she would want.

Another thought came into his mind, could he willingly allow someone to become one of the undead.  It wasn't just for their own sake, but he risked the lives of others if he allowed another vampire to walk.  His hand came up and he could feel the energy flowing through it.  It would take so little to send her gracefully into the beyond.  Perhaps, if you wanted to believe that kind of thing, it might even save her soul.  What was he to do?  His hand moved towards her face, coursing with light.

"Help me," escaped a gurgled plea from the woman's lips.  Jacob took away his hand as she opened her eyes and looked weakly around.  Seeing the outline of a lightened figure, she asked, "Am I dead?"

Tears formed in Jacob eyes as he lightly stroked the side of her cheek.  "No, you are still in the world of the living.  There are still things you have yet to do."  He heard the faint sounds of sirens moving toward the building, and added, "Be still now, people will be here shortly to help."

He rose and stumbled up the stairs, back into the night.  He looked towards the sky and asked in anger, "Why?  Why God?  What did any of them do to deserve this?"

Moving to the spot where he had last seen the raven-haired vamp, he made a different offering.  He hoped it would carry on the wind.  "I know your kind by sight now.  You can add whatever threat you want there, but let them know I'm coming for them."

Jacob fingered the white angel costume he had just bought.  It was only twenty dollars without the shirt and accompanying wings.  Somehow he didn't think he would need a pair of small fake wings.  He didn't know exactly why he bought it.  Maybe he needed something to remind himself who he was supposed to be after last night.  He looked at the sandals and stuffed it all into a duffel bag.  There wasn't really all that much in there anyway: two pairs of pants, three make-shift shirts, and some socks and underwear.  He heard a knock and looked up to see Father Joseph watching him.

"Sounds like you had a busy night last night," Father Joseph said.

"Yeah, something like that," Jacob said, zippering up the bag.

"They think some of the people they found at the club might survive," the father added conversationally.

"Good for them,"  Jacob whispered.  He had spent the rest of last night helping the police and emergency crews carry out the bodies of the dead and wounded, comforting the survivors and trying to be where he was needed.  Never far from his mind was the thought that he could have easily prevented some of the carnage.  Nor the decision to let the young woman live.  He hoped he didn't pay for that choice in the future, anticipating he would.

Finishing with his thoughts he looked up at his friend, feeling he owed him an explanation for the packed duffel bag.  "I'm not going back with you to the monastery.  I need to go somewhere else, find where my head is.  I can't sit back anymore and watch the world go by."  Jacob added jokingly, "That's pretty much what you monks do."

Father Joseph smiled.  "Of course, I understand.  In fact, I was happily surprised you stayed this long.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy your company very much, but you staying with us was just a transition.  You belong to the world and to God -- they both need you.  And they both need you out there, helping their children.  I actually wanted to give you something."

Father Joseph offered Jacob a book which Jacob took.  The pages were empty and a pen was attached to the spine of the book by a thin piece of ribbon.  Father Joseph added, "I thought it might be helpful for you to figure things out.  And you'll always have something to write with, seeing as the pen's attached."

"I see, impressive,"  Jacob said.  He then sincerely added, "Thank you.  But you didn't need to get me--"

"Just write in it," Joseph cut off.  "And when you come back and see me, tell me all about your travels.  I'd like that.  Do you have any idea where you're going?"

Jacob did.  "I thought I'd visit old friends of the family down south, in Louisiana.  I'll tell you all about it when I see you next."

The camera zoomed in on the impeccably dressed, thirty-something woman with perfect hair.  She spoke in that articulated voice typical of  television reporters.  "In what Detroit authorities are calling that city's worst ritual massacre in memory, forty-one bodies, mostly young people, were found today, their blood completely drained.  Ten others were injured."

The camera replayed shots of a large warehouse with scores of police, a tall glowing person, and many others moving about as the voice continued.  "They came to this abandoned industrial building, the site of an underground night club to let off some steam and to have a good time.  What they didn't know was that they were walking into a much darker world."

The images switched to a young woman barely on the sane side of hysteria.  "It was awful, blood everywhere -- people screaming.  All I know is that the music stopped.  I saw blood, and everybody started running to the door.  My friend -- she's still in there."  She started crying, her hand raised and pointing off-screen.

The image switched back to the reporter as she continued.  "Police aren't sure as to the nature of the cult that committed these bizarre murders, but have suggested they might be related to Halloween and Detroit's infamous Devil's Night.  Of the forty-one bodies recovered, sixteen of them had already been reported missing.  The police are crediting a previously unknown metahuman for preventing the death toll from being greater.  He repeatedly refused our requests for on-air interviews, but did have this to say as to the cause of this tragedy."

An image of Jacob appeared, anger and resignation competing in his voice.  "You can't count out basic, cold, grungy evil.  It exists because you, and people like you," he paused before adding, "and me, sit around talking about the causes of evil rather than doing something about it.  The choice is ours."  Jacob sighed, turning towards the hustle of police and paramedic activity.  "The future doesn't look too good now does it.  If you'll excuse me."

The image of the reporter came back on.  "The scope of this tragedy is being felt throughout the Detroit community.  But this was only the worst on a night full of tragedy, as last night also saw the worst outbreak of arson activity on Devil's night in over ten years.  One question the police refuse to comment on, but one that many people are wondering about, is what happened to all the blood that was drained from the victims.  This is Maria MacDermott, CNN News reporting."

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