Sliver of Divinity

Prologue

New York has a long list of achievements that make it known the world over. From being one of the original thirteen colonies, to the great migration through Ellis Island, under the watchful and welcoming gaze of lady liberty. It is a city of pride and diversity. A cultural melting pot where you can’t throw a penny down the street without it landing near someone with a different background and culture than the person standing right next to them.

On rare occasions throughout the many years, it has also held witness to events that men and women today would call legend. Stories of old that have been lost to time or tamped down by those who chose to accept an easier reality.

However, the events that shape the world have a funny way of making themselves known. They move beneath the surface, like a great leviathan beneath the depths, waiting to be seen once more. Waiting to return to the world and bring to light all of the darkness that humanity has tried to push away.

For what is hidden will always be revealed, and what is lost will always be found.

One

Damien was running.

He careened through the busy streets of Manhattan as if some kind of unseen horror was nipping at his heels. He took corners with the reckless abandon born of familiarity. Each step sure. Confident.

After all. He had lived in the city for his whole life. He knew it like the back of his hand.

As he ran, he did his best to control his breathing. His long arms swinging through the air. His lanky legs pounding the pavement.

At fifteen years old, that was really all he was. A boy with lanky limbs that always found himself running through the street for one reason or another.

This time, however, it wasn’t in order to escape an angry citizen who had been the subject of a prank or to chase one of his friends after they had pranked or messed with him in turn.

Today was a special day. Today was the day that his father was slated to come home. And Damien was running late.

“Yo man, where’s the fire?” a voice called out as he ran.

Damien slowed long enough to address the man that had spoken. He stood outside of the local barbershop, a cigarette in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. His skin was dark, just a few shades more so than Damien’s own.

“Dad comes home today, Ed!” Damien called.

“No kidding! Old Carter’s back in town? What, had enough of life overseas did he?”

“Something like that.” Damien replied with an affable smile. “I need to get over there. I’m already late!”

“Give him my best, and make sure you come see me soon! That fro of yours is getting outta control again.”

Damien paid Ed no mind as he continued sprinting down the street. There were more important things to worry about at the moment than the state of his hair. Although he had to admit that he was in desperate need of a shape up.

Buildings and people alike blurred past as Damien neared his home uptown. His lungs were burning and his legs felt like they might fly straight off, but he was to close now to let that stop him.

If he had taken just a moment to think and observe his surroundings, he would have seen the two men in front of him carrying a couch between them.

Instead, Damien gave out a yelp as he closed the distance, going to fast to arrest the momentum that he had built. He crashed into the couch at stomach level and flipped over it, landing on the soft cushions on the other side.

The men in movers’ uniforms gave annoyed shouts of protest.

Damien, thankful that something soft had at least broken his fall, held up a pair of placating hands as he stood up from the couch.

“Fellas, fellas, I’m sorry!”

“Dammit Damien.” One of the men said. “You need to start paying more attention. This is the third time this month. You know if any of this stuff breaks it comes out of our pay checks, right?”

“Larry, my man.” Replied Damien. “I’m sorry, really.”

“That’s what you said last time too. This couch is worth more than I make in a month. If you messed it up you’ll be hearing from me.”

Damien whistled slowly while people walked around the couch that was sat in the middle of the sidewalk. The other mover, a guy named Hector, watched the exchange with his hands on his hips and then muttered something in Spanish.

“That much for a couch?” Damien asked incredulously. “Who’s moving in here, Jeff Bezos?”

“I wish. He might tip us a couple million for our troubles. Nah, man. Just another yuppie white dude. I swear that’s all that’s moved in since this building went up.”

Damien craned his neck upward. The new apartment building was easily the tallest on the street, and the asking price for a studio apartment was more than Damien’s mother paid for their two-bedroom home.

“I tell you man,” Larry continued. “This place used to be so much different. Used to be a guy like me could make enough to afford a nice place. Now you gotta be some kind of computer whizz or tech guru to even afford a single room.”

“Who you telling?” Damien responded. “They just put up a Starbucks where that old burger joint used to be. Like what we need is over priced coffee instead of some good food.”

Larry let out a chuckle. “I always said you had an old soul, Damien. You get that from your pops.”

Damien’s eyes widened. “Damn, Larry. You just had to distract me. I’m already late. Dad comes home today!”

“Carter’s back in town?” Larry asked with surprise. “Why’re you standing here talking to me for? Go home. But slowly! Don’t go running into anymore couches.”

Damien said his goodbyes to Larry and nodded to Hector who regarded him with a stern glare. Then, he took off once more, going even faster thanks to the small break he just had.

On his way home, he passed no less than three other members of the neighborhood who stopped him, asking how he was or offering a friendly greeting.

Damien had lived uptown for all his life, and his parents had lived here for years before that. The people knew him well and they knew him in return. Most of them had asked after his father in the last few years since he had gone on deployment.

They would offer words of comfort or support. Being a kid with a father in the army wasn’t easy. But the sense of community around him definitely made it easier. It was almost as if he were surrounded by family. Uncle’s, aunt’s, cousins. People that made him feel like this great unknown world that he lived in wasn’t as bad as so many others said.

At the mention of his father’s return, he was greeted by warm, genuine smiles.

Carter Hayes was an uptown staple. He had prowled the streets when he was Damien’s age, getting into all kinds of trouble. The people here had watched him grow from a gangly boy to a respectful young man to a respectable man in his own regard.

They had seen his first love. His marriage to Damien’s mom, Lisa. Damien’s birth.

Now, they got to watch Damien run through the streets of Manhattan. A near mirror image of his father at that age, except a few shades lighter thanks to his mothers pale skin.

If time repeated itself, then he would turn into someone that they would learn to respect as well.

The sun was starting to dip below the buildings, heading toward its journey on the other side of the globe, as Damien finally came into sight of his building.

He was late. Very late. No doubt his father was already home, sitting in his favorite arm chair with a beer in one hand and his other arm draped around his wife’s waist.

Damien had missed the homecoming, but all that mattered was that his father was home at all. For good this time. Three tours had been enough that the army had finally decided that he deserved to retire if he wanted to, and he desperately had.

Carter had always been the type of man that held connections with people close. None more so than the one he shared with his wife and child. He had been gone for to long, only coming back in intermittent bursts.

Now, thankfully, he was here to stay.

Damien crashed through the front door of the building and took the stairs two at a time. Normally, the walk up to the fourth floor would have been a drag, but he was running on pure adrenaline now.

He crested the landing and turned down the hall, his heart pumping in his chest.

The door was unlocked. An oddity in New York city where crime was rampant, but not here in this building. The reputation and respect held toward Carter Hayes would make even the most desperate man reconsider any thoughts of entering his home without permission.

There were balloons in the kitchen and a banner that displayed “Welcome home, soldier.”

If Damien had been here to see it, he would have no doubt been treated to one of those teary-eyed videos where the soldier comes home and everyone cries.

But no, he had to lose track of time and then take his sweet time getting home.

Oh well, with any luck there would still be some cake left over if everyone else hadn’t fallen on it like a pack of wolves.

However, as he wandered further inside of his home, Damien noted the distinct lack of chatter. There were none of the loud voices and boisterous laughter that he had expected.

His fathers coming home was supposed to have been a party. A gathering of the closest people in the family to celebrate the fact that he was finally home for good.

But there was none of that.

Damien made his way down the hall and toward the living room, the excitement in his chest slowly giving way to a different emotion.

Worry.

Surely there was nothing to worry about, though. Damien was really late after all. Maybe everyone had just left already. He would walk into the living room and see his father sitting in his chair and everything would be fine.

But as Damien entered the living room, his eyes travelled to where his mom was sitting on a small chair of her own.

She must have heard his footsteps as he got closer, because she looked up from where her head had been cradled in her hands. Her makeup was running. Dark lines tracing down her face.

At the sight of Damien, her body shuttered in a racking sob. She held his gaze for a moment more before hanging her head again.

Damien moved as if he were in a dream. He watched his mother, tears slipping through her fingers and onto the floor.

He turned his head and saw two men in military dress sitting on the couch.

They rose to their feet in slow motion, removing their hats and putting them under their shoulders.

The men spoke, but Damien couldn’t hear them. Couldn’t, or didn’t want to.

Instead, his gaze drifted further around the room until it landed on the easy chair that sat in front of the TV. He stared as the men continued speaking in quiet, hushed tones. They asked if Damien understood, and he nodded absently, never taking his eyes off of that chair.

He watched as they replaced their hats on their heads. Watched as they saluted and made their way to the door.

Watched as his mother shook.

Watched that chair as if his father would magically appear in it and start laughing, having pulled a prank just like back in his youth. Back when he was Damien’s age.

But the punchline never came.

Damien watched the chair, and the chair remained empty.