The Keepers
Part 8
by Elizabeth


    Quiet. The world was nothing but muted silence 
these days. All he could hear anymore was the soft 
whisper of feet in the corridor, the soft hum of neon 
lights, the unobtrusive beep of machinery hooked into 
his body.

    The song has faded, the frail old man realized 
peacefully, my master and I are both dying.

    In the centuries he had served The Soulbearer, he 
had never feared death. The Grim Reaper did not know 
him, so long as he served his lord. However, the end 
of the deity within him would mean true and lasting 
death for them both.

    I am afraid of dying. I have seen the rise and 
fall of countless civilizations, and yet I am still 
have too much left to do. Ah well...you knew, 
Stanley, you knew when you accepted the Red Dragon's 
oath, that you would learn what life truly is. To 
know life is to never relinquish it without a fight.

    The notion reminded him that he had to hold on. 
He was aware of the doctors' diagnosis. He could feel 
his heart beating in his chest, growing weaker and 
more weary with every throb of his pulse. It had 
sustained him for far too long and was wearing out. 
Soon that vital muscle would quietly cease to 
function.

    My end will be as quiet and unseen...as 
unimportant as my life was influential. No one here 
realizes what I am...what I have done. They never 
will know.    And in that, I have done my job well.

    Stanley knew that he would live if he could find 
a Keeper for The Soulbearer's power. If a new bearer 
of the power could be unearthed, then he could 
surrender his body to his master and let his soul go 
free.

    I will not, however, be seeking out a new Keeper 
while I am bound by these hoses and infernal 
machines. He sighed deeply, shuddering with the 
effort it took to breathe. I suppose it is better 
this way.

    Stanley's frail, emaciated frame sank back into 
the mattress slightly as he finally gave up the 
struggle. His eyes focused on the door to his 
hospital room as he patiently waited for Death to 
seek him out.

**********

    "So how did it happen?" Jim asked, grabbing a 
styrofoam coffee cup from the counter.

    Mike grinned, filling a cup of his own from the 
nearby pot."Does it matter?"

    "It does and you know it."

    Mike sighed, adding sugar and milk to his coffee. 
"It was a botched Raising. A bunch of young punk 
Users, animators. They were playing at voodoo and 
raised my corpse. They screwed up the spell, though, 
so I became Risen."

    "A perfect zombie, free of an animator's 
control." Jim rattled off skeptically. "Yeah right, 
Mike. Now try the truth."

    Mike glanced up, feigning confusion.

    "I touched you. Your skin is warm, your heart is 
beating." He paused. "You're back in The New York 
Groove."

    His eyes widened slightly in mild suprise. "That 
a fact?"

    "The old bond is there. I can sense your 
thoughts, I feel what you're feeling. And I know that 
you're lying."

    Mike looked away. He grabbed a plastic straw and 
stirred his coffee, remaining silent.

    "You never said how powerful those kids were. How 
strong were they, Mike?"

    It was quite some time before Mike met Jim's 
eyes.

    "They were incredibly powerful, and completely 
untrained."

    "Shit," Jim breathed, "I thought that the Lazari 
were only a speculative ideal."

    "They are," Mike replied, filling two more cups. 
"A Lazarus is the ideal zombie, restored not only to 
action but to life itself. That's me, Jim. On all 
counts, I'm alive again."

    "How long?"

    "This is my fourth day back. A witch broke up the 
ritual after I surfaced from my grave." He paused, 
shivering at the memory. "She took me in and looked 
me over. Then she took me to the crone of her coven 
and let me go when I got a clean bill of health."

    "Is the stuff about abilities true?"

    "Seems to be. I'm definitely a User now...can't 
go back to the department. So far I've only 
manifested some middlin' necro-based abilities, but 
that's it." Mike paused. "What about you? I can feel 
the difference in you...you're a User, aren't you?"

    Jim nodded, putting a lid on his own coffee cup 
and pouring another. "Motorcycle accident, I went 
into a coma. Came back as a psychometrist. I read 
most clearly from the dead."

    "Guess we've both changed a lot, huh?" Mike joked 
quietly.

    Jim met his brother's eyes and felt an old 
familiar calmness touch him deep inside. He 
recognized the sensation and greedily drank in Mike's 
cool, peaceful stillness. At the same time, he felt 
Mike draw on his own inner spark, renewing himself 
with Jim's energetic presence.

    He watched the realization hit Mike. The other 
man gasped, then locked eyes with Jim. The pair 
smiled at each other in perfect tandem. Death had 
separated them for a short time, but it had failed to 
tear them completely apart. The natural bond they had 
shared since birth, the link they had dubbed The New 
York Groove, was still there.

    The brothers picked up their coffee cups and 
headed towards their table. The five new friends had 
abandoned the morgue and headed to the more 
personable refuge of the hospital cafeteria after Jim 
had loaned Gene some decent clothes.

    When they arrived at the table, the twins found 
only Rhea seated.

    "Where's Gene and Julia?" Jim asked.

    "He went upstairs to one of the wards with her." 
she replied. "There's a patient she wants to visit."

    "Probably that old man she's gotten so attached 
to," Jim remarked, "cool old geezer...but he's not 
gonna be around much longer. Weak heart is killing 
him."

    Mike shrugged, setting down his load. He took one 
of the cups and handed it to Rhea. "Two creamers, 
four sugars."

    "Thanks, Mikey." she purred daintily, accepting 
the cup.

    Mike grinned. "Why do you insist on being such a 
tease?"

    "It's in my nature these days." she replied. "I'm 
the Keeper of Power now. You have to expect that 
absolute power will corrupt absolutely."

    "Yeah," Jim snorted, "you're a real wicked 
woman."

    Rhea grinned evilly, sniffing at the cup between 
her hands. "You call this hot coffee?"

    Jim shrugged, sipping his own lukewarm drink. 
"Hey, it's hospital coffee.  What did you expect?"

    Snorting impatiently, she held the cup between 
her hands and shut her eyes. Both men watched 
fascinated as the skin of her fingers turned 
absolutely crimson, then faded back to its naturally 
pale hue. When the color left her hands, Rhea sipped 
her drink carefully. The brothers noticed that steam 
was now rising from the liquid.

    "Ah," she sighed contentedly, "now that's hot 
coffee."

**********

    The elevator ride to the patient floors was a 
silent one. Julia took the time to inspect Gene 
Simmons from the corner of her eye. Her mind was a 
whirlwind of strange thoughts and uncertainties.

    Did she really believe this story she was being 
handed? Gene Simmons was really a god, and the 
Simmons she knew was nothing but a ghost, a phantom.  
How could a phantom exist in the real world?

    Then again, the headline in the entertainment 
section of that day's newspaper was awfully 
convenient. It was the only reason she'd even 
remembered KISS at all, she'd never been much 
enthralled with KISS in particular.  That morning 
she'd read about the band's upcoming comeback tour.  
Apparently, after retiring, they were suddenly 
deciding not to call it quits just yet. Rehearsals 
were being based out of an airplane hangar mere 
blocks from the hospital they were standing in. Even 
stranger, there was still no word on whether it would 
be original lineup or not...

    It won't be original lineup if the rest of The 
Elder are dead, she realized.

    The second strange part about this whole deal was 
the fact that she trusted both Gene and this Rhea 
girl almost instinctively. Somehow, she knew they 
were being truthful. While she was technically a 
Null, power still lived in her flesh and her 
rudimentary magick training had given her a small 
measure of access to it. Julia was gifted with a keen 
sensitivity to others as well as excellent intuition, 
both the results of magick. She knew that those two 
were telling the truth.

    "Penny for your thoughts." Gene offered, looking 
at her closely.

    Julia shook herself out of her thoughts. "Sorry, 
just still trying to absorb all this."

    He smiled at her encouragingly. "You're doing a 
damn good job so far."

    "I guess coming from a god, that's a major 
compliment."

    "It is, and that's straight from Gene Simmons. 
You keep your head in a crisis, and you're a great 
thinker. Quite the little businesswoman, in my 
opinion. You'd do well on the staff of TONGUE. Want a 
job?"

    That forced a laugh out of Julia. "Thanks, but 
I'm happy as an M.E.. Hell, look at all the 
interesting people I meet in this job!"

    Gene chuckled. "That is true."

    The elevator finally reached its destination and 
the pair stepped out.

    "Who are you headed to see?" Gene asked as they 
made their way down the hall.

    "He's a patient here." Julia replied. "Sweetest 
old man I've ever met. I was here when they admitted 
him and we kind of hit it off. He's like a long lost 
grandfather or something. I visit him every day, and 
I don't want him to worry about me."

    "Wonderful of you." Gene replied, smiling 
strangely.

    Julia stopped walking and glared suspiciously at 
Gene. "What do you know?"

    He feigned innocence. "I don't know what you're 
talking about!"

    "Yes you do you womanizing, money-grubbing, power 
hungry pig! Now spill!"

    "Those are some very unbecoming words for a 
pretty girl to be saying."

    "Gene!"

    He chuckled. "Why don't you go visit your friend, 
dear? You don't want him to worry, right?"

    After staring Gene down for several moments, 
Julia finally stomped past him with a huff.

    The pair finally arrived at a particular room. 
After knocking softly, Julia entered. The lights were 
down low and the blinds were drawn.

    "Who's that?" a soft, weary voice called 
hoarsely.

    "It's me, old man." Julia chuckled quietly.

    A dry laugh cut through the darkness. "My lovely 
darling Julia! Turn that light on and come here...I 
want to feast my eyes on that lovely body of yours."

    "Look but don't touch, you lecherous old coot." 
she shot back kindly, turning on the bedside lamp. 
"How do you feel?"

    The senior's eyes fluttered shut and he sighed 
heavily as Julia perched on the edge of the mattress. 
"I feel the end drawing near. My time is almost up, 
little girl, and you still won't give a dying man his 
last taste of warm female flesh."

    Julia reached out and stroked the deeply lined 
cheek affectionately. "How's that?"

    "A cruel tease, wench. Especially when you know 
how deeply I am in love with you."

    "Love you, too, you miserable bonebag."

    The patient laughed again, but the chuckles soon 
broke down into a fit of horrible hacking. Julia 
steadied him with a hand on his shoulder until the 
coughing subsided.

    The old man looked up to toss off another dirty 
yet gallant remark when he noticed Gene standing by 
the door. "Who, lovely girl, have you brought to see 
me? Is this your other lover?"

    Julia giggled, motioning Gene into the room. "I'm 
so sorry. Gene, come here. Meet Gene Simmons. Gene, 
this is my friend, Stanley Einsen."

    Gene's eyes met the dark pool's set in Stanley's 
face, and in those murky depths he saw the glint of 
starshine.

    The Soulbearer stared back at him.

    "I know," he replied shortly. "We've met."