TSS 3: Knight's Son Ch. 15

[tags: Non-erotic, teasing, ]

Bobby learns more about his father than he wants.

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Chapter 15

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Memories Shared

A chilling breeze swept past me as I found myself outside a dilapidated concrete structure. Broken windows and shattered panes marred its façade, and the surrounding asphalt parking lot was riddled with weeds crisscrossing through deep cracks. Although I couldn't feel the cold, an odd sense of awareness told me of its presence.

"Where am I?" I demanded, my voice echoing in the desolate environment. I was in conversation with Charlotte mere moments ago. How was I transported to this unfamiliar place? Had the succubus somehow controlled me and brought me here while I was unconscious?

My attention was drawn to a figure bundled up in a thick coat a few feet away. Instinctively, I moved toward them, only to see Charlotte's silhouette standing before me, her expression a blend of sorrow and apprehension.

"This is a memory I'm not proud of," she confessed, her voice laced with a mixture of reluctance and vulnerability. "We won't be able to interact here, no one can hear us, but I wanted to..." She trailed off, shaking her head as if struggling to find the right words. "No, that's not entirely true. I don't want to show you this, but I believe it's only fair, considering I've been privy to your deepest secrets. So please, watch, and try not to judge me too harshly for what I used to be."

I nodded in understanding, a swirl of emotions rising within me. This experience was far from what I had anticipated when gaining access to Charlotte's memories. Where were the carnal escapades? Where were the explicit and debauched encounters spanning centuries? As she claimed to be ancient, why was she showing me something that seemed relatively modern?

The crunch of gravel under tires diverted my attention as my gaze fixed upon two men who pulled up in a yellow and black sports car, their forms shivering in the cold. Anger surged within me as I recognized one of them.

"Protector Stephens and Carpenter Brody," the voice from the bundled coat called out in an unfamiliar feminine tone. While I had initially assumed it was Charlotte speaking, the softness of the voice suggested otherwise. Surveying the empty lot around us, I couldn't fathom how she'd arrived here unless she was dropped off. The only vehicle present belonged to the two men. "You're late."

My father, appearing much younger than my last encounter with him, stood behind another man draped in thick white robes. I focused on controlling my emotions, invoking the calming exercises I had honed over the years to master my temper. The urge to confront him, to channel my anger into my fists, was strong. But I remembered Charlotte's caution that we couldn't interact with this memory and rooted myself in place.

Inhale... one, two, three, four... Exhale... one, two, three, four...

"Let's not waste time on pointless arguments," the man I assumed was Protector Stephens retorted with a sneer. "We're here to assist the Daughters of Respite with your mission, not to play your underlings."

My father's subtle flinch in response to the man's tone surprised me. Memories of my interactions with my father painted him as an overbearing and authoritative prick.

Then the woman, still hidden within the furry coat, pushed back her hood, and my breath caught in my throat. Though I couldn't place her, she was captivating. Soft brown hair framed her cherubic face, freckles scattered across her cheeks below luminous blue-green eyes. While her figure was concealed beneath the coat, she appeared no older than nineteen at most.

"If we could skip past the chauvinistic nonsense, I'd appreciate getting on with this," the woman said, her voice gentle yet laced with unyielding strength that gave it an iron edge.

"Of course, of course," the older Knight waved off her comment dismissively. "Just a quick question, if I may. Is it true that the Daughters of Respite don't experience menstrual cycles? What's it like to escape the clutches of the monthly mood swings?"

"Protector Stephens..." My father's voice carried a note of both exasperation and disapproval.

If the woman took offense, she didn't reveal it immediately. Instead, she did something even more unsettling. She smiled, her lips painted a glossy pink curving into a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire Cats.

"That's right, we don't," the young woman responded, and suddenly the world around us shifted. Everything seemed to slow down, colors dimming. The woman strode purposefully toward the confident Knight, and just as suddenly, the world snapped back into place. A sharp gasp escaped the robed Knight, his body tensing as a dagger was poised near his groin. "We're always ready to strip the power from someone who thinks they can belittle us. So why restrict it to just one week every month?"

"Uh...," the Knight stammered, his voice strained as the pressure increased from the dagger against his groin.

"You can call me Jules," the woman introduced herself. Once again, the world shifted, a temporal distortion slowing everything down as she returned to her previous position. A girlish giggle escaped Jules, and she pulled her hood back over her head, the dagger nowhere to be seen when the world returned to normal.

"With the unpleasantness behind us, shall we focus on the task of protecting humanity from the monsters that are now freely roaming our world?" she inquired with a hint of determination.

"What are you trying to show me?" I questioned aloud, but Charlotte wasn't present. "And where are you, Charlotte? This is supposedly your memory."

"Watch," Charlotte's voice reverberated around me, although her form remained elusive.

Could the young woman be Charlotte? It didn't entirely add up. The Daughters of Respite were almost extinct, but I knew their reputation. While every member of the Paladonic Knights was male, the DOR was an all-female order renowned for their combat prowess, defending humanity from supernatural threats and possessing near-immunity to magic. I briefly toyed with the idea that Charlotte could be acting as a double agent, but her characteristic flirtatious demeanor was nowhere to be found. The Charlotte I knew would have engaged in banter with Protector Stephens instead of responding with a dagger. Unless, of course, it was all part of an elaborate ruse?

With nothing else to do, I followed Charlotte's guidance and continued to observe.

Jules made her way over to the car, slipping into the back passenger seat. Protector Stephens directed my father to "get in the back with the witch" as he positioned himself behind the wheel.

Without any conscious action on my part, I suddenly found myself uncomfortably squeezed into the middle of the back seat. One moment, I was outside; the next, I was hunched in the back of the two-door coupe.

"Apologies for that," my father whispered to my left. "I would apologize for him, but that's just how he is. He's also one of our best healers in the company."

"You're apologizing because you find me attractive and want to worm your way into my affections," Jules responded with a scathing retort, not even sparing him a glance.

"You tell him, Jules!" I cheered inwardly, even though I knew she couldn't hear me. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing my father taken down a peg.

"Actually, no, I'm not," Bernard Brody countered. "I'm a happily married man. My wife is about to give birth to my son. Here, I've got pictures if you'd like to see them." His voice carried a distinct note of pride as he began scrolling through his phone. Jules continued to ignore him.

"She's not interested in gawking at pictures of your dear Susan, Carpenter Brody," Stephens interjected with a condescending tone. "Unless, of course, you happen to have some racy photos of her? Feel free to share those around!"

"Pig," Jules muttered under her breath.

"I keep telling you, Susan isn't like that," Bernard retorted, a note of exasperation in his voice that suggested this was a recurring argument.

"She would be if you wanted her to be," Stephens laughed, dismissing my father's protests. "Just a single suggestion from you, and she'd be as slutty as the other wives."

While I enjoyed watching my father squirm under the treatment he received from Protector Stephens, a part of me couldn't ignore the fact that Stephens was talking about my mother. The idea of inflicting a slow and painful death upon him felt like too weak of a punishment.

My father seemed to shrink into himself as he put his phone away, his pride wounded by Stephens' taunts.

Observing this version of Bernard Brody, I couldn't help but wonder how he had transformed into the man I'd grown up despising. This version of him appeared respectful and considerate, a far cry from the man who would return home drunk, berate me for imagined wrongs, and then unleash his anger on my mother. Of course, I now knew that my mother had actually enjoyed those moments, being a masochist. Nevertheless, I hadn't enjoyed the emotional and verbal abuse.

"We can skip this part of the drive," Charlotte's voice informed me. "There's nothing more of significance in these conversations. You'll witness the impending disaster soon enough." Her tone was sullen, leaving me with no opportunity to respond before I found myself standing outside a decrepit home.

The place appeared even more dilapidated than the house I grew up in. Missing shutters on one window, peeling paint, and boarded-up windows gave it an air of abandonment. A quick glance up and down the street revealed that the neighboring houses weren't in much better condition.

"Just a reminder," Jules's voice came from within her coat. "I get first dibs on the young women in there. After that, you're welcome to any men and the older women."

"I'm not entirely sure why you witches want the young Vanara, but we'll do our part," Protector Stephens remarked. "Carpenter Brody, are you ready?"

Turning my gaze to my father, I was surprised to see him donning spiked gauntlets. He was already clad in a chainmail shirt and sturdy leather trousers. A kite shield leaned against the back bumper of the car. His weaponry was complete, with a pistol holstered at his left hip and a short sword secured on his back.

"Just need you to cast your protective spells on me, and I'll be set, Sir," Bernard responded with a nod.

Taking a moment to assess the group, I realized that Stephens likely fulfilled the role of their healer, my father was their tank, and Jules served as the primary damage dealer.

Stephens gestured with his hands and muttered an incantation under his breath, then turned his attention to Jules. "Need any magical assistance?" he asked, a suggestive tone lacing his words.

"I'm immune to your magic, remember?" Jules retorted dismissively.

"There's more than one kind of magic, you know," Stephens persisted, undeterred by her response. His eyebrow waggling continued as if he'd forgotten the encounter in the parking lot. Or perhaps he just enjoyed the act of rejection?

"I'm immune to all your magical tricks," Jules snapped back, her glare directed at the healer. "Your young Knight has more of a chance than you do, and that's only because he's a gentleman. But I have no interest in either of you."

"Give me an hour, and I'll change your mind," Stephens continued his advances, blatantly ignoring her obvious lack of interest.

"If it takes you an hour to satisfy a woman, I pity your wife," Jules shot back, her words laced with sarcasm. "Now, if you're done pretending to be impressive, can we focus on the task?"

"Fucking frigid bitch," Stephens muttered loud enough to be heard by everyone.

Ignoring his comment, Jules waited for my father to take the lead. Bernard positioned his shield before him as they approached the front door, with Stephens trailing behind. My father counted to three softly, then turned the unlocked doorknob and charged inside.

Describing the ensuing chaos in this journal will be challenging, but I'll do my best. I had no prior knowledge of what a Vanara was until I laid eyes on one. The tallest of these creatures stood around five feet tall, possessing ape-like heads and tails but human-like bodies. They wore children's clothing, and the males preferred going bare-chested.

The interior of the dilapidated house made more sense after seeing these Vanara, but at the moment of our entrance, I was perplexed. Monkey bars, poles, ladders, hanging ropes, and a single couch filled the front room. Vanara were suspended from various points, all turning to face us as we barged in. A heavy silence hung for a brief moment before the creatures let out an ear-piercing collective screech.

My father drew his pistol from his hip and fired two precise shots at the lead creature. The monster barely flinched and retaliated by launching a golden energy ball toward us despite being hit. Bernard raised his shield to intercept the projectile before quickly repositioning to take aim again.

"Focus on their heads or hearts!" Jules yelled as she emerged from behind my father. The world seemed to slow as she drove her dagger into one Vanara's eye and then pierced another's heart. I noticed that time manipulation didn't affect every Vanara as one continued to launch its glowing attacks at Jules.

"Watch out!" I instinctively cried out, though I knew they couldn't hear me.

"They can't hear you," Charlotte's reminder stung with a hint of annoyance.

"Why are you showing me this?" I demanded, my frustration growing.

Charlotte remained silent.

Lost in Charlotte's response, I missed parts of the ongoing battle. When I refocused, Stephens was mending a scorch mark on my father's left shoulder. Bernard had discarded his pistol and brandished a short sword in his right hand.

The fight raged on, my father deflecting projectiles with his shield while Jules maneuvered to strike a few of the Vanara, then retreating to cover. Stephens quickly healed my father when needed, but he ignored Jules when she was hit in the leg by a thrown dagger toward the end of the battle. At first, I thought he was being cruel, but then I remembered that his magic wouldn't work on her.

"We're clear!" my father shouted after a few moments of eerie silence. He turned his attention to Jules, noticing her pained expression, and swiftly moved to her side. "Here, keep pressure on it. I know healing magic won't work on this, but I have an emergency first-aid kit in my pack back at the car." He then hurried out of the house.

"I'm familiar with wound treatment," Jules hissed through clenched teeth after him.

"What a waste," Stephens commented, kicking the lifeless body of a small Vanara. It appeared to be a child.

"We should collect genetic samples for our research," Jules remarked, her tone somber. "I wish we could have taken some of them alive, though."

"Heh, yeah," Stephens chuckled. He crouched over one of the creatures, lifting its shirt and then dropping it in disgust. "Never mind. Even the females have hairy chests."

Bernard returned with the first-aid kit, ready to tend Jules' wound.

"Is sex the only thing that occupies your mind?" Jules questioned, wincing as Bernard tore her pants to access the wound.

"Sorry, but I need to see the wound," Bernard said, focusing on his task.

"Just because you're sexually frustrated doesn't mean the rest of us are as cold-hearted," Stephens chimed in as he joined them, holding Bernard's discarded pistol. He aimed it at Jules, his tone condescending. "You know what? I'm tired of your attitude. It's quite tragic that your injuries turned out to be fatal. Especially for someone as attractive as you."

"What? They're not—" Bernard started to say, then shook his head. "It's not loaded. I emptied it into that big one over—" but his words were cut off as Stephens pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to slow again, the world losing its color. I watched as Jules tried to move away, but her actions caused her wound to worsen due to the needle Bernard had just placed in her leg. The gunshot echoed, and Jules fell to the ground, clutching a new wound on her chest.

"Huh," Stephens shrugged his shoulders with a cocky grin. "I must have reloaded it. Fancy that?"

"What in the world are you doing?" Bernard stood up, his eyes filled with rage as he confronted his superior. "She's an ally! Why would you shoot her? Are you out of your mind—"

A second bang echoed around the house, and my father fell across the woman. A new hole in his head. Of all the times I'd dreamed of watching my father die, wishing for it to happen, actually seeing it made me feel numb.

"Well, damn," Stephens chuckled, looking down at the lifeless bodies of the other two. "Seems he caught a bullet between the eyes. Looks like I'm the only one left standing."

"You'll... pay," Jules managed to say before a fit of coughing overtook her, accompanied by blood. A memory flashed briefly, reminding me of Willmont's final moments, but I pushed it aside.

My father was dead. But how could that be? He'd mentioned his upcoming son's birth, placing this memory before I was born. None of this was making any sense. I had vivid memories of an older Bernard Brody, drunk and berating me, telling me I would never measure up, that I needed to be stronger, wiser, and better, or else the world would chew me up and spit me out.

"Don't worry," Stephens' lips twisted into a sinister grin. "I'll make sure to have some fun with you before your body gets cold."

The world shifted again, and Jules made a swift move. When time resumed its normal pace, I saw that Stephens had a new adornment around his neck: the hilt of a dagger just above his collarbone, blood spattering his hand as he gripped the weapon and pulled it out.

Jules and my father's lifeless forms were surrounded by a fresh coat of vivid red gore. Then, there was a final gunshot, and the scene faded away.

I stood in darkness, grappling with the emotions stirred up by witnessing these deaths. I was confused, uncertain about why Charlotte had shown me this memory. Yes, I'd seen death in the caves and even among the Varanas, but watching these three humans meet their end was profoundly different.

"I'm sure you're feeling lost," Charlotte's voice echoed around me. "With my eidetic memory, I can still vividly recall everything that happened back then, even though I was a different person."

"So, you were Jules," I uttered, the realization sinking in. "But wait, were you playing both sides? How were you immune to magic if you only pretended to be a Daughter of Respite? And why—"

"Keep watching," Charlotte interjected somberly. "If you still have questions after the next part, I promise I'll address them."

"There's more?" I asked, feeling a sense of unease, yet I was abruptly transported to a different location. One that was familiar, although much less crowded than before.

We were back in Purgatory. The dull, faded tiles underfoot blended into the off-white walls and stained drop ceiling. The space was still vast, and with fewer souls around, it seemed even more extensive than I remembered.

My father was easily recognizable, rubbing his forehead while surveying his surroundings. Charlotte—or Jules—was a bit more challenging to identify. She wasn't in her usual demonic form, nor did she entirely resemble the person I had known as Jules. Instead, her appearance shifted fluidly between the two states, her form in a constant state of quasi-liquid transformation.

"What in the world?" Bernard stammered, his eyes locking onto the peculiar apparition. He instinctively reached for a weapon that wasn't present.