The Last Handful of Clover - Book 3: The Stone in the Stream

3.05 The Sound of His Spirit Breaking

June 16, 2:52 am

In the midst of conducting his symphony of death, the Wanderer heard a voice.

He was surprised, to say the least. Never before had contact been initiated with him, the way that he so often initiated it with his angels. This voice came to him unbidden. And that fact alone caused him to freeze atop the stone, his arms outstretched to the night sky. And since he was the conduit by which all his angels were animated, he felt the ongoing ravishment of Salt Lake City take a pause as well, like a gasped and held breath.

"You've won," the voice said, with palpable despair. "Nothing I have done has mattered. I've lost everything and everyone I ever cared about. If you can bring me peace and end this, then you can have me. I'm yours..."

Slowly, the Wanderer, now known as Command Sergeant Major Sutton Deary, lowered his arms, and brought his gaze down to the shadowed ground.

The hazy shape of a man knelt before him in the dust of the wash. No footprints led to his form, and indeed, Drouillard thought he could see the shadowed image of the sagebrush and rocks through his shimmering body.

"Richard Pratt," he said. "So, you have come to me defeated. So soon, my friend, so soon! I thought we might spar for a time, or that you might at least endure until this city was fully ground into the dust. I must say, I'm disappointed that you would give up so easily."

The man, who was already on his knees, sank even further into the dust.

"Where am I?" Richard said, looking around, confused. It was clear the ghost could see the dry wash around him, even in the meager light of the stars.

"This is the heart, my friend. And from here, I reach into infinity and play my chess pieces across the great board of what you have called the Hereafter."

"Am I really here?"

Drouillard laughed. "No, of course you're not. You're in my mind, you fool. You only see what I see, and what I let you see. But what I do not understand is how your pathetic soul has found your way to me. And why you have come."

Richard moaned, and as Drouillard watched him, the tragic ghost crouching in the dust became only more pathetic.

He's even less of a worthy adversary than I had imagined, Drouillard thought. The thing is actually weeping!

"I came... to tell you..." Richard said, between gasps. "I came... to tell you that you've won."

Drouillard laughed. "Did you ever doubt that I would? You and your pathetic defiance. You've changed nothing. You have been a gnat in my ear, but no more. You clearly believed yourself to be far more than you were..."

"I know. I wanted to fight you. I tried, but it was useless. I have no strength left, and all I want is this pain to stop. I want to know that Keith is safe, and I want to rest. If you can promise me that, then..."

"Then what?" the man on the rock asked, with venom in his voice.

"Then... I'll be yours. You can have me. I'll... do whatever you want."

Stepping down from the rock, George Drouillard crossed to Richard, and drew his eyes to within an inch of the ghost's shimmering face. "Yes, you will, Richard Pratt. But do you think I need your permission to use you?"

"No, I..."

"Don't you know I'm fucking god, you pathetic shit?" Drouillard hissed.

Richard just trembled, the tears streaming down his face.

"I just want..." he stammered.

"I don't care what you fucking want!" Drouillard roared into his face. "Stop telling me what you want! Start telling me what you will do. My angels serve me. They do my will. Do you know what my will is, Richard Pratt?"