Hallelujah, Amen
Written by the Purple Freak.. I mean, Scribe, Morte (with much help from the Purple King)
Author’s Notes: Ok, there’s some confusion that needs clearing up. First of all, this story takes place after my current one, tentatively titled “Scream and Live”, but before my next one, which I have no title for. Also, if you’re prone to heart attacks, don’t read this story. Why? Cause Morte actually acts half-way decent in this one! Shocker, I know.. And I’d like to thank de Purple King for putting up with my endless questions and not throttling me like I know he wanted to. And now, on to the story!
She opened her eyes, reaching unconsciously for the knife she kept under her pillow. Realizing where she was, Sabrina sighed, grimacing.
"Sabrina Ancasta Brachode, you are in the house of the Purple Court, not an abandoned building. No one is getting into a building full of powerful mutants! Get that in your thick head!" After her little speech, Sabrina sighed again, as was her habit, and closed her tired eyes. When would she ever stop waking at strange noises? This made five times this night!
Sabrina sat up, stretching her white arms above her head. Opening her eyes, she looked blearily at herself in the full-length mirror opposite her bed.
She wasn't such an odd-looking duck. In fact, were it not for the dead-white skin, the naturally ink-black lips and hair, the brilliant purple eyes, and her near anorexic figure, why, she'd look normal!
The young mutant snorted at the iron dragons that made the frame of her mirror. Yeah. Right.
She frowned as the knocking sound that had awakened her started again. What could it be? It seemed to be coming from the walls...
Sabrina shook her head at herself, disgusted at the slowness of her brain. "Duh, Morte.. You stupid shit.."
She gracefully leaned back against the wall, and, closing her eyes, carefully opened the telepathic link to her teacher’s mind.
~Mr. Booth?~
~Good morning, Morte. What is it you need?~
~Do you know who's using a shower?~
~I am, Morte. Why? ~
~The pipes are banging.. It woke me up.~
She 'heard' him sigh mentally. ~Again? ... I'm sorry I woke you.~
~It's ok, sir, I need to get up before three PM anyway. Although..~ she peeked at her clock, ~.. six-thirty in the morning isn't my ideal time... why are you up so early?~
~It's Sunday, Morte. I'm getting ready for Mass.~
~Oh. Can I come, too?~
She heard the pleasure in his 'voice'. ~Of course, Morte, but you need to get ready quickly.~
~Sure thing, thanks.~
After gently breaking the mental link, Morte opened her eyes yet again. Raising an eyebrow, she noticed that the knocking sound had ceased. In fact, now that she thought about it, it had been quiet for the latter half of her and Mr. Booth's conversation. "I wish I knew how he can function and talk mentally at the same time.."
The morbid young girl rose to her feet, picking up dirty clothes from the floor and throwing them in the general direction of the clothes hamper. Moving swiftly towards her closet, she accidentally knocked over a vase. Catching it in the crook of her arms, her bare hands brushed the white lilies, which immediately withered and died.
"Nine layers! I liked those flowers..."
Dispiritedly, she threw the flowers away and started going through her clothes, muttering, "Mr. Booth, I hope you appreciate this.."
Steven Booth walked out of his room, straightening his white church-going suit. Raising a blond eyebrow, he looked at the time on his white and gold watch, then searched mentally for the most morbid of his students.
Finding her coming down the hall, the headmaster turned to her. "It's about time, Morte, we need to....go?"
The teacher stared blankly at his student, stunned into silence. For where he had expected to see a black-clad, veiled girl, he found a totally different vision.
Morte's skin had the pink glow of healthy flesh. Her normally black lips were pink as roses, and a slight blush was on her cheeks. She had a black scarf around her neck in stark contrast with the white lady's business suit he had given her, and the requisite black gloves on her hands. Her legs, too, had that healthy glow that was so unlike her, though it looked to be more the work of hosiery. The entire ensemble was completed by a pair of white pumps on her feet.
"What's the matter," her sarcastic voice cut in on his thoughts, "never seen a girl before? I knew you were devout, but I didn't know you were a priest!"
Still gaping slightly, he said the first thing that came to mind, "A business suit, Morte?"
"Yeah.. Would you rather I go change into my ripped pong‚-and-leather dress? Or my blood-red rubber cat suit? Or my black-and-white striped bondage outfit? Or-"
Steven held up a hand, interrupting her. "No, Morte, the business suit is fine. Come along, or we'll be late."
Going out the door, the Purple King blinked and raised a blondish white eyebrow, remembering something. "And since when do you own a bondage suit, young lady?"
In the car, instead of continuing the discussion they had been in about the bondage suit, Morte merely stared glumly out the window, showing none of the enthusiasm she normally did for arguments.
"Penny for your thoughts, Morte? You seem unhappy."
"Aren't I always?"
"No. Depressed, yes. Unhappy, no, particularly when you're in the middle of an argument. It's not like you to cut one off so fast."
"I pride myself on being chaotic, Mr. Booth. When is anything 'like me'"?
"You're also avoiding the subject. Talk, Sabrina. What's bothering you?"
"Yes, oh horrid torturer." Following that sarcastic remark was a sigh. "I was just thinking about the last time I was in a Catholic church for a service. That was my father's funeral, in case you wanted to know. I had to hide in the back row, as there was a warrant for my arrest, but I went."
Steven leaned forward, a bit of a glint in his eyes. "Is that so? Could that be the reason you don't like churches? An unconscious association with your father's death? Have you ever-"
"If you go Dr. Freud on me, I swear I'll-"
"If you were going to throw kitchen knives at me, you would have done so at our first session."
After a slight pause, Morte's pink lips curved in a disturbing smile. Raising a curious eyebrow, the headmaster gently scanned her surface thoughts. Suddenly, he went a paler shade and leaned back quickly, causing his student to smile wider. "What's wrong, Mr. Booth? Didn't like what you saw?"
"You wouldn't do that, Morte.."
The young mutant made a show of thinking about it, then nodded. "You're right.."
Steven sighed in relief.
"...my vinyl cat-suit wouldn't fit you, anyway. But you'd look cute like that.."
"That's exactly what I'm afraid of, Morte!" He cleared his throat. "Plus, there are no gay bars within thirty miles of here."
Sabrina raised a black eyebrow. "Care to place a wager on that, Mr. Booth?"
The Purple King glanced out the window as the car rolled to a stop. "We're here, Sabrina."
As the driver opened the window, the young lady watched her teacher getting out and muttered, "Who's changing the subject now?" before following him.
Right before they walked into the church doors, Steven Booth glanced back at his pupil. ~Morte...how did you manage to change your coloring?~
~Now, Mistah Booth, a good magician nevah gives awah her secrets..~
~Funny, Morte. Now please tell me.~
~Ok, ok... I'll tell you after the service.~ she replied as Steven found himself surrounded by people, most of them young girls, blocking their way into the church, and cutting him off from Morte.
"Mr. Booth, I just wanted to thank you for your generous donation to the African missionaries," a middle-aged brunette exclaimed, a broad smile on her plump face, "They'll be able to buy many supplies and Bibles."
"Always glad to do my part, Mrs.."
"Milligan. Well, I had better get going, Mr. Booth. The service is about to start.. Thank you again. Goodbye."
Immediately a young blonde girl and a red-head, Denise and Leslie respectively, squeezed into the spot where Mrs. Milligan had been.
"Mr. Booth, my family is having a charity ball for the poor in Iraq Friday night.. Want to come?" Denise asked, batting her eyes in a blatant flirtation attempt.
Before he could answer with a polite refusal, Leslie butted in. "Well, my family is having a dinner and a concert with the Romanian boys choir.. Tickets are a hundred dollars, and half the proceeds go for AIDS research. It's Saturday." She shot a triumphant look to Denise, who looked as though she were about to hiss up a cat-fight.
Readying himself to adjust some minds if it looked as though the girls were going to cause a disturbance, he replied, "I'm sorry, ladies, but.."
Interrupted by the feeling of an arm sliding around his, he turned to find his Scribe at his side, leaning against him ever so slightly and looking seven years older, her eyes on the girls. "But he'd want to take me, and a party here simply doesn't compare to the ones in Paris.. You understand, don't you?" she continued, looking at Steven with a look of affection, moving slightly closer to him in a possessive manner. "Steven, you promised to show me the confessional before the service started, remember?"
A little startled, he replied, "So I did. Ladies.." he bowed his head to the two, who were too pre-occupied with glaring at the seemingly possessed girl at his side. They walked into the church arm-in-arm, but as soon as they were out of sight of the young girls, Sabrina slid her arm out of his and followed him to a pew, her face tight with repressed laughter. ~That was rich!~
~I could have handled myself, no need to bother yourself.~ the headmaster replied kindly, as he stood in front of a pew.
~’Gee, Sabrina..’~ Morte replied, copying his voice. ~’Thanks for saving me from those nubile young girls who wanted a piece of my-’~
~Morte!~ the blond telepath thundered, causing her to wince. ~This is a church. Kindly watch your language. Understand?~ He shot an icy look at her.
Morte nodded, wincing as she stood next to him. ~Ok, ok.. Sor-ry.~
Their argument was interrupted by the choir, who filed up to their risers and sang a surprisingly precise "Gloria." As they took their places among the parishioners, the alter boys, dressed in white and gold, stepped out of the sacristy and, carrying a huge gold cross, made their way around the church, followed by the priest.
~Cool, priests really do wear those cassocks. And the alter boys have the same color scheme as you, Mr. Booth.~
~Yes, Morte. Now please be quiet.~
Stung, Morte turned away and watched the priest as he made his way behind the alter and made the sign of the cross.
"Parishioners, guests, I am Father Andrews, and I welcome you to our church. I thank everyone who has come here today; God bless you all. And now, let us pray."
The regular church-goers, including Mr. Booth, knelt on the padded bench in front of them. Sabrina, after a pause, followed suit, bowing her head and folding her hands as she saw her teacher do.
"Lord God our Father, who art in Heaven.."
Morte heard her headmaster muttering his prayer beside her. "..give me the strength to handle my responsibilities as the Purple King, and please give me understanding with Sabrina, and please watch over my students, even those that don't believe in You.."
At that moment, the priest finished the prayer with "In Your Name we pray.. Amen".
~Umm.. Mr. Booth?~
~Yes, Morte?~ he replied, much calmer then before.
~I-~ Morte was interrupted by a stately-looking man, who had stood and was reading an excerpt from the Bible. ~I'll tell you later.~
~Alright, Morte.~
The uncomfortable mutant listened to the readings, feeling more and more out of place as the verses read spoke of forgiveness, and mercy. How could a girl who could kill with a touch, whose mutant power was uncontrollable death, know mercy?
Forcing her thoughts on a different path, Morte let her eyes wander around the church, noting the beautifully stained glass windows; a friend's uncle did that for a living, and she knew from experience how expensive ones of this size were.
As her eyes lit apon the statue of the Virgin Mary, Mother of God, she smiled sadly, remembering her grandmother's statues. The statues, flickering in the light of the candles, and the chants in the dead of night, pleas to the very angels of heaven, chants to raise the dead...
About an hour later, Sabrina was jolted out of her blood-drenched reverie by the sounds of feet, and people standing. She looked towards her teacher with a half-panicked look, and saw him looking back at her worriedly, a hand out to help her up.
~What's going on?!~
~It's just Communion, Morte... are you ok?~
~Do I have to participate?~
~No, it's strictly voluntary. And you must be Roman Catholic to participate.~
~You go without me then.. I have this thing about wine.~
He nodded and joined the line without her. As she watched, trying to calm her shaking body, the line inched forward. While she struggled to rid herself of the feeling of a tight band on her chest, she watched Father Andrews placing the wafers in the mouths of the people, an alter boy at his side letting them sip wine.
As soon as the parishioners returned to their seats (which was an extremely long time to the nervous Sabrina), the priest announced the dismissal prayer. Getting on her knees with the rest, the young mutant waited anxiously until he proclaimed, "Amen. And now my children, you are dismissed."
Morte shot to her feet like a rocket, and started for the door. Before she could get out of the aisle, however, Mr. Booth stopped her with a hand on her shoulder, causing her whirl around with a panicked look on her face.
"Sabrina, I need to stay for Confession.. Is that alright?" he said, giving no indication of concern, then after a slight pause, sent telepathically, in a 'voice' full of worry, ~Morte, what is wrong? You look as though you've seen a ghost.~
"It's fine.. I'll wait outside, ok?" ~In a very real way, I have. Please, Mr. Booth, I'll explain once we're gone, but please, please, I need to get out of here!~ she replied, the panic of a claustrophobic in a tight place in her mental voice.
"That's fine. See you outside." ~Of course, if it bothers you that much.~
"Thanks, I'll see you there." With that, the young mutant bolted outside, thankfully not knocking anyone over.
With a sigh of extreme worry, Steven Booth stepped into the confessional.
Twenty minutes later, the Purple King stepped out of the church, looking for his student. Not seeing her near the doors or at the car, he hurried over to the driver.
"Good morning, sir." the brunette man said, opening the door for Steven.
"Good morning, Jonathan do you know where Sabrina is?" Mr. Booth asked, casting a worried glace around the near-empty parking lot.
"Yes sir. Miss Brachode is in the cemetery. If you don't mind me saying, sir, that's no place for a girl as upset as she appeared."
"Knowing her, it's probably the most comforting place for her to be.." the worried teacher said softly, then raised his voice for the driver to hear. "Thank you Jonathan."
"Glad to be of service, sir."
The extremely concerned teacher nearly ran through the cemetery, the slight wind ruffling his immaculate white-blond hair. As he came near Sabrina, he slowed, so as not to run into the stone couch she sat in.
She turned and looked at him, her purple eyes looking blood-shot, as though she'd been crying. "Do sit down.." she said weakly, turning her eyes back to the cliff twelve feet away, and the ocean beyond it.
"Is everyone gone?" she asked as he sat, adjusting the black trench-coat around herself.
"Yes, Sabrina, they are.. Do you want to talk? You know I'll listen."
She nodded, and stood, walking towards the cliff.
Afraid for her mental state, the headmaster followed quickly. "Sabrina.."
The latter turned, a foot from the edge, and smiled sadly. "I'm not going to jump, Mr. Booth.. I promised I wouldn't, and I...." she turned back to look at the water, and said, in a considerably more burdened voice, " I keep my promises.... except for once.."
Steven put his hand on her shoulder, and was surprised to find it shaking. In fact, her whole body was. "Sabrina.. Perhaps we should head home."
The young mutant nodded, placing a gloved hand on top of her teacher's. "Ok." she whispered, then turned, and followed him to the car.
As soon as Jonathan had closed the door, Sabrina un-tied the kerchief around her neck, and then, grabbing the 'skin', peeled it off her neck and face, revealing her natural pale coloring beneath.
"Surprise," she said, with a weak grin, "the magic is revealed."
"What is it?" the headmaster asked, perplexed. "It looks like a Halloween mask."
"It's a latex mask.. Made with my features and the measurements of my face. I ordered it on-line.. Had a feeling I might need it."
"I see. Well, that was smart thinking; it certainly came in handy today."
"Yes..... it did..." she replied, the vestiges of a good mood disappearing, as she frowned, her mind obviously on whatever was bothering her at the church.
After a pause, the telepathic doctor spoke softly. "Sabrina.. What was bothering you.. What promise did you break?"
"One to my grandmother. No, not the one that chased me out of the house. The grandmother I'm talking about is the one on my mother's side, my grandmother Katherine."
"I didn't know you had another grandmother. You never talk about her."
"No, I don't, do I? Well, I spent much of my time with her, until I was eleven. That was when she....died." Morte squeezed her eyes shut, then continued.
" I was the one that found her.. Dead, with a knife in her back. The police never caught the person who killed her. Everybody knew who she was, but she was so rich.. She practically owned the city. I couldn't get her..too much security at her home. But when I realized what my powers were, I paid the man she hired to do it a visit. He didn't die quickly."
"I see.." Mr. Booth said cautiously, letting her take her time.
"But you asked what promise I broke, and I'll tell you. From my childhood, my grandmother trained me in her religion.. In voodoo. Grandma Katherine was a powerful voodoo priestess; people came from all over for her help.
"She showed me all she knew, nothing was secret from me. I knew who asked her for help, I knew how to help them myself, and I knew the price of the power that she - that we wielded. Cause I could do it too.. Calling ghosts, making voodoo dolls.. All of it. I had learned all she knew by the time I was ten.
"She told me constantly that I was to be her replacement, and that she wouldn't live for long. I remember, in the year before her death, her saying that a lot.. That she wasn't long for this world, that I would have to go on without her. Of course, I didn't believe her. She was Grandma Katherine, the powerful voodoo priestess, of course she would live a long life.
"The night before she died, she warned me that if I wanted to have a relationship with someone, I would need to have it before my sixteenth birthday.. She also told me that she would die soon, and that I had to continue in her stead, no matter my grief or where I was.
"I laughed at first, but then she got so serious.. She was never serious with me. So I promised. She smiled, and hugged me, and then we went to bed. I went to school that day, and she kissed me, told me she loved me, and waved good-bye. And.. And I never.. Saw her alive.. Again..."
The young mutant's voice, choked with tears, ceased issuing forth, as she bit on her lip to prevent tears.
Her teacher, shocked at the heavy burden his student bore, merely sat there for a long while, then stirred, saying softly, "I'm sorry, Morte.. It must have been painful.."
The young mutant, having gained control of herself, straightened up and said, in a distant voice, "Indeed."
"You can cry, you know."
"No, Mr. Booth, I really can't." she answered, her voice becoming cold and disinterested as her emotional shields went up.
"Why not, Morte?" he asked as the car came to a stop outside the home of the Purple Court.
As Jonathan opened her door, the young killer replied, “Because I am Death. And Death can't cry over the dead. I had a nice time, Mr. Booth." With that, she stepped out of the car, and made her escape to her room.
Steven Booth sighed sadly, then stepped out, muttering to himself, "But you're not Death.. You're just a young girl."
The light in Morte's room, when she turned it on, caught something gold in a picture frame and made it flash. Walking over, Morte looked at it.
In the frame was a rosary, onyx beads with a gold crucifix, and a picture of Sabrina, about age ten, and an older woman with silver eyes who looked just like her. Both were standing in a cemetery, smiling at the camera.
The Scribe smiled faintly, and, kneeling on her bed, reached to the glass-less frame to trace the face of the woman in the picture.
Wiping a tear from her cheek, she whispered, "Hallelujah, Amen."
