There was hope! Of course there was hope, for wasn’t he one of the chosen of God, with nothing less than the healing faith of the Xristos coursing through his hands? He had brought a sick and dying prince back to his mother’s arms there must be hope for him as well. There was no sign of Felix or his foppish, smooth-faced friend. He risked a quick look back over his shoulder. Somehow he managed to find the steps and staggered downward, his left hand gripping the cold metal railing. He had never wanted anything more than to bring his knowledge and his powers to the world, but to them he was a danger: light to their darkness, good to their whispered evil, courage to their cowardice. He gritted his broken teeth and forced himself onward through the blizzard, silently cursing the cowards who would so savagely attack a man of God. If he could cross to the other side he could disappear into the maze of streets and alleys and, if he was very lucky, reach safety. Despite the awful pain welling up in his stomach and the blood draining from the stab wounds in his back, the bearded man increased his pace, his heaving lungs on fire, his bleary eyes searching for the steps that led down to the frozen canal.
It had to be Rayner, Felix’s sodomite friend from Oxford. He heard muffled footsteps in the snow behind him, the footsteps of a running man. His eyes were almost swollen shut from the beating he’d taken, but if he could only make it home, home to his little girl, Maria, he would be all right. The bearded man brushed a bloody hand across his face. The pain in his upper back was excruciating, and his right ear had been torn to shreds by Felix’s second shot. The snow was blinding and he beat at it furiously, desperately trying to see where he was going. The bearded man stumbled out of the kitchen entrance of the enormous house, blood and vomit streaming from his open, gasping mouth. “La mediocridad se impone.” - Fermina Alfonso, Cantante de Opera Cubana “Man has an invincible inclination to allow himself to be deceived.” - Friedrich Nietzsche, “On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense” “There is no proletarian, not even a Communist, movement that has not operated in the interests of money, in the direction indicated by money, and for the time being permitted by money-and that without the idealists among its leaders having the slightest suspicion of the fact.” - Oswald Spengler, The Decline of the West Genre: det_political, Red Templar Paul Christopher
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