God's Gone AWOL

[1] The Beginning

Bentley had not been able to fly very far, considering the significant damage to her current form. But even just a residential street of Jericho was better than being in that now-godforsaken church. At least out here she could heal herself somewhat without a dozen eyeballs staring at her in fear, awe, anger, or whatever the hell those emotions were. Even if it hurt more to do so, she was not in the mood for any more attention. Especially not while the one responsible for her original death was around.

In the light of a single street lamp, beneath the sweet scent of the spring's warm darkness, she touched the wound in her side and lifted her hand to examine the result. As she had anticipated, there was a lot of fresh blood. But that was no big deal. She had already died once and would happily die again right then and there if she was allowed, but she knew that no matter what she did, whether it was launch herself from the highest cliff, or provoke Atticus into killing her again, it wouldn't matter. She would just return the same way. And until she did what she needed to do, she was stuck in the inescapable prison of life.

The hand at her side pressed lightly against her skin and a warm current of energy flowed forward from her fingertips. At first, the heat of the magic caused the rhythm of her pulse to increase in weight. Like a series of painful beats, emanating from that horrible gash in her body. After a little while, the wound in her side gradually began to heal itself. The blood stopped running and her ghostly white skin started to sew itself back together like new. However the process was slow, and it almost hurt even more than walking on it. But it was quicker. Similar to ripping off a bandaid. So Bentley continued passing healing energy. She continued until she found she could walk again.

Once that was out of the way, she started making her way down the street.

But then after walking for a while, Bentley suddenly froze and stopped the steady stream of magic. As soon as her hand dropped back down, the blood started flowing anew. But she didn't care about that anymore. A horrible shiver had passed over her body, and that deep sixth-sense told her something that she really did not want to hear right then and there.

Someone was following her.

The air was so quiet, it felt as though the only sound in the entire city was the drip, drip, drip of Bentley's blood falling onto the pavement. She didn't move. She didn't speak. She didn't even breathe.

And then...

She took off running down the street. But she only made it a few steps before a glowing white cord shot out, determinedly tangling itself around her legs. A numbness washed over the lower half of her body and Bentley toppled to the ground, but still remained relentless in her attempt to escape. Her pale hands clawed at the ground, dragging her crippled self along. She had to keep going. She just had to.

Unfortunately for her, that white cord continued to wind up her body, ensnaring her completely from ankles to neck. Yet despite her obvious loss, Bentley still tried running away. Although now she looked like an overgrown red inchworm, leaving a red trail of blood behind as she desperately wriggled her way forward. If she hadn't been injured, she would be able to break free of such a bond easily, but now that her power was significantly weakened, she was practically helpless.

Finally, the pain became too much and she just couldn't take it anymore. Her body fell limp with exhaustion.

"Killing me once wasn't enough for you, then?" She said, but still refused to turn around and look at her attacker.

Atticus stood a few meters behind, gripping the same golden blade that ended her life eighty-five years ago.

The thoughts running through his head were going too fast for his emotions to catch up, and so he let them run. Trying to control them would be more difficult than diverting a river from its course. Among all the confusion of the night, the only thing he knew was that Bentley was here —or at least some version of the Bentley he had once known. There was no saying if she was even real or if the whole evening had just been a further exaggeration of his imagination set off by the smell of cinnamon.

"Who are you?" He asked, not wanting to know the answer.

Now she rolled around to look at him.

"You know better than anyone." Her voice was not hostile, it wasn't even passive aggressive. Her statement was honest and genuine, which almost hurt the angel even more.

She was the exact same as she had been the last time they encountered each other. The same face, the same body, the same ways of being, the same air of chaos and unregulated confidence. Looking at her, Atticus felt as though they were back on the bridge in 1941. Like all the years without her were suddenly meaningless. It was confusing in a way he could not yet explain, so he searched his mind desperately for some tactic to pull out in defense.

"You're dead," Was all he managed to say.

"I'm told I have you to thank for that, Halo Head,"

Hearing her words, Atticus' heart couldn't help but sink a little.

"You don't remember," He said.

It wasn't a question.

"So what?" She asked, "Are you gonna kill me again? You look different now, but you haven't changed a bit,"

"I should say that you haven't either,"

It was obvious that she wanted to pick a fight. But that fight had long since left Atticus' agenda. Instead, he just tossed the golden blade onto the concrete where it landed with a clang. Ignoring the sound, he started walking towards Bentley again. She continued to hold her ground, still wearing her face of shameless confidence. Although this time Atticus could tell something wasn't right.

"So you're convinced I'm Bentley?" She asked, that wicked glint of mischief in her eyes.

"I am," He replied.

"Aren't you scared?"

"My Bentley Hellbourne, despite her reputation, has never been able to fight with fists," Atticus told her, "She likes to threaten people with words and trick them into hurting themselves, but she could never physically fight another person. She enjoys messing around because that's just who she is,"

He had seen through her empty threats.

"I hate you," She said bitterly.

"I know better than anyone," He echoed her words.

The two looked at each other. Bentley glaring at Atticus, Atticus staring calmly back. It had been a long time since she had glared at him like that. One thing that surprised him was how easily he had accepted the fact that she had just come back from the dead. Of all people, he was the one who was the most sure of her death. But seeing her here and now like this, his mindset seemed to have already forgotten that she was gone in the first place. Something about these thoughts made him dizzy.

After a moment of silence, the caterpillar-shaped Bentley started writhing about on the ground again. Trying to break free, but to no avail. The sight was so desperate and painful to look at, Atticus almost felt tempted to laugh.

"Why are you playing with me like this?" She must have seen the humor in his eyes because she was practically furious now, "Why couldn't you just kill me again? You still want to, don't you?"

It took Atticus a moment to figure out an appropriate answer to this.

"Killing you after you've already been weakened would be the same as shooting someone who brought a knife to a g*n fight." His comment was ruthless, but his voice was entirely emotionless.

This seemed to have offended Bentley more than anything. In the past, she could withstand any form of humiliation in the world, be it social isolation, of s****l theme, dishonorable behavior, anything. But the one thing she could not tolerate was being pitied. Especially not by Atticus pash de Ophaniel. He had known this for years, and had long since discovered how to use it as a weapon.

"So just kill me anyway!" Her face was becoming as red as her eyes, "It'll be easier. It's my own fault for bringing the knife."

"I don't feel like it," Was all Atticus said.

He knew that if he hadn't stopped Bentley from moving she would have punched him in the face right then and there, physical pacifist or not. She must have also realized this, but instead of trying to verbally punch him somehow like she usually did, Bentley just gave up.

"So what is this, then? What do you want from me?"

Once again, Atticus elected not to say anything at first. His cat-like eyes blinked slowly, then turned to look at her round red ones.

"Why were you brought back?"

"It's none of your business." She stopped rolling around, apparently giving up for the time being.

"I suppose I'll just have to take the slower route." He pulled out the mysterious glowing white light he had picked up in the church. "What is this?"

"Let me go and I'll tell you," She bargained.

Atticus nodded and released the white cord that had been holding her in place. It uncoiled, spiraling once, twice down the length of her body until it had retracted completely. Once liberated of her bindings, Bentley slowly got back to her feet. The significant amount of blood loss didn't help her weak limbs, but she looked so determined to stand her ground that Atticus didn't bother trying to help her in any way.

"I wasn't actually expecting you to release me," She said. "I almost feel bad,"

"Why would you feel bad?" Atticus asked.

"For..." She was bent over still, her breathing unstable. It looked as though she was just barely able to stand on her own. "For doing... THIS!"

All of the sudden, her arm came down and an extravagant puff of red smoke erupted on the concrete in front of her. As soon as it had obstructed Atticus' vision, Bentley bolted in the opposite direction. She still couldn't fly, and the ordeal was horrifically painful, but staying behind with Atticus was absolutely not an option. So she just ran on two barely-functional legs, for no reason other than to simply get away as soon as possible.

However, she had barely made it ten meters before she ran smack into Atticus again. Before she could toss another smoke bomb or run away again, he reached out and seized her by the wrists, holding tightly and refusing to let go. Even as she wailed and squirmed.

"Okay! Okay! I already said I'm sorry!" She was unable to break free of Atticus' grip. "There's no need to grab me like this!"

"There are actually several reasons," He replied. "If you don't like it, then answer my question,"

"Fine! It's a piece of God's soul, alright? Jesus, would ya let me go now?"

A piece of God's soul? Now that was interesting. Atticus tilted his head, but still didn't release his grip on the demon —much to her dismay.

"I wasn't gonna use it or anything. I promise!" She said quickly, mistaking his silence for something less contemplative.

"I believe you," He said quietly.

"You— you do?"

Atticus just nodded.

"Can you let go of me, then?"

After a moment of hesitation, the grip on her wrists loosened and Bentley was finally set free. But before she had the chance to make any sort of move, whether to flee or retaliate, Atticus' middle and index finger tapped the center of her forehead. Her whole body suddenly went limp as a ragdoll, unable to move a single muscle. Of course, Atticus was an angel, so by nature he would not let her fall to the ground —especially not while she was injured. But he wasn't exactly polite about catching her, either. He roughly held her aloft, but was careful not to touch her any more than necessary.

"Hey! What happened to our agreement??"

He had paralyzed her movements, but unfortunately not her mouth or mind. Naturally, she was upset. First, her plans for provoking him hadn't worked out. Now she had been physically restricted against her will. For the first time in a very, very long time, the shameless white cheeks of Bentley Hellbourne were flushing in embarrassment. It had really turned out that her first excursion back among the living was not shaping up at all how she expected, and all the worst possible events were all occurring simultaneously instead.

"Did you really think you could just show up like this and expect me to let you go?" He asked.

Bentley did not reply, which meant he must have made a good point.

Atticus adjusted his hold on the demon, then started dragging her back towards his house.

She kept glaring at him, but he allowed her to glare all she wanted. What he had said was true. Despite all the conflict between them, all the rage he had once felt whenever he saw her face, he really didn't feel like fighting anymore. Especially not with Bentley again —at least not at the moment. So he just continued walking in silence, ignoring those burning red eyes below him.

"Why didn't you die?" She asked randomly.

"What do you mean?" Was that supposed to be some sort of insult, he wondered.

"When you grabbed that piece of soul back then. Last time someone did that, he was evaporated on the spot. Why weren't you?"

"You held it and you were unharmed." He recalled watching the light fall from between the fingers of a mysterious demon clad in black.

"You couldn't kill me, Atticus pash de Ophaniel," Bentley said bitterly, "Answer my question."

"I'm sorry, I don't know the answer." His words were honest and equally as confused, "Maybe it has something to do with you coming back. Let's find out."

Bentley continued to glare at him.

"Now you're talking like someone who's come back from the dead. Eighty-five years ago, you would have already murdered me at this point."

At this, a small smile played its way onto the angel's lips. He considered her words very carefully before looking back down at her.

"Eighty-five years is a long time, Bentley," He said sweetly.

END OF EPISODE 1

RJ's Note: Hey everyone! Thank you very, very much for reading the story. If you liked Episode 1, be sure to vote, review, comment or share :)

Also, this Jester is really curious, who's your favorite character so far? We love hearing feedback from readers so if any of the characters stand out to you, please let us know!!

-Red Jester