Bane

May 21, 1980

Salem, Massachusetts

"The CBS Evening News with Dan Rather substituting in for Walter Cronkite..."

They all stared at the television with grave expressions, save David, and Karen who played in the den.

"Good evening. Three days after the eruption of Mount Saint Helens in Southwest Washington State, imponderables dust the air like volcanic ash. Ten persons are known dead, seventy-one are missing, and one estimate is that it will take more than one-hundred-fifty-million dollars just for road and bridge repair. Is is an event that defies superlatives. One geologist..."

Clayton stood and hurried to the television, shutting it off. He turned, and stared his father in the eyes. "Coven."

"They're retaliating against The Order. They believe Bane is one of ours."

"One of - how can they believes he's one of ours?"

"...because we hunt them. He hunts them. We kill them. He kills them. Just more efficiently. No bargains, no last rights. A monster fighting monsters. No point in bargaining now. Damage is done, they've declared war on The Order."

"...and they've won." Randall Grifford strode into the living room with Samael Grifford in tow. "We need to leave, now, all of us. Get the kids, get anything you can carry, liquidate your assets. We're going to Driftwood."

Bartholomew stood up, and bowed his head. "Your eminence, I don't understand."

"...we are no longer backed by the church. We've been ordered to withdraw from all our strongholds, and dissolve The Order immediately."

"...but why are we leaving?" Emily stood, and wrapped her arms around Clayton.

"Simple. I killed the Arch Diocese, and had his traitorous head delivered to his driver. We are officially enemies of The Church."

Silence filled the room, and Bartholomew was the first to speak. "You've fucked us all."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. You've fucked us all, your eminence." He balled his fists tightly. "All of my assets are tied up in the bank."

"Relax, Bartholomew Walker. Your assets are fine. The Church has not officially condoned The Order since eighteen-thirty-four. They have no access to our assets. Everything here can be replaced. Take anything you need. Everything else... burn it to the ground."

Bartholomew frowned, and cast his eyes down. "Very well."

Randall Grifford walked carefully up to Bartholomew, and put a gloved hand on his shoulder. "I know these are hard times, but they're not going to come to Driftwood. They're as much targets there as we are, and they want no part of this war."

"Maybe it is time the war is over."

"Blasphemy, Bartholomew. The war is over when there are none of them left. When monsters like Jonath - like Bane - no longer dwell among us. It is over when every last monster is put to the lake of fire. Then it's over. Gather your belongings, take only what you need, and get your finances in order. We go to Driftwood. The flight leaves in three hours."

✟ ☧ ✟

Driftwood, California

1:00 AM

Bane walked brazenly through the front doors of the substation. Police were on him immediately, weapons drawn. He searched the recesses of Jonathan's memories, through words that made little sense; cops'n'robbers, Starsky and Hutch, Dirty Harry ('go ahead, make my day'); he raced through the memories until he found what he wanted.