“What was I thinking?” the young priest grumbled, not for the first time that week.
His glasses..slipping off his face..he trips, nearly, managing to catch himself before he faceplanted on the slimy patch of concrete underneath his feet. It was usually a more presentable part of town. However, the villain of the night happened to be some deranged scientist-person who couldn’t aim to save their life.
And there was Father Bartholomew in the middle of it all, dressed in his masked costume and ready to assist anyone caught in the fray. And, as usual happened, he was the only one caught, tonight.
Father Barry rolled up his sleeve, checking where the dart had stuck into his arm. He really hadn’t tried to get shot! He really hadn’t! Hopefully he could get that across to Sister Mary before she bit off his head..
....it’s swelling.
Nice.
When Sister Mary saw this, he was a dead man.
“It would be nice if I could give myself Last Rights,” he muttered to no one, wrapping a bit of the cape around his shoulders.
Fortunately, the walk from his current location to the rectory and little Church where he served the people of this city wasn’t far. Unfortunately, about halfway back, his legs and lower back began to throb painfully. His legs were like jelly, and, though one moment he held himself up easily, the next he was stumbling and flailing for some hold. His palm brushed the wall of a nearby building, and he leaned heavily against it.
Was he dying?
...The only thing that had happened tonight was that skirmish..so..
The dart.
He grabbed his sleeve, still propped up against the building, and peered at the swollen patch of skin. The prick made by the dart itself was hardly noticeable anymore, but the skin around it had altered in color, becoming paler (though that could be the poor night lighting). It felt rougher, too..though he wasn’t sure if that was just the more paranoid part of his mind trying to find something wrong.
“..Church,” he mumbled, staggering from the wall and coming to rest by a fountain. It was a largely unimpressive structure, more of a circular stone basin with a stone tower rising out of its middle. The tower was decorated with little scrolls and flowers, well worn from being exposed to water, wind, and sunlight for a few decades. Water bubbled from the top of the tower (shaped like an enormous bird with its head pointed up at the sky), spurting several inches into the air before spattering into the basin.
Fr. Barry took a seat on the rim of the fountain, clearing his throat and tugging off the cape. In addition to his shaking legs, the air had turned dry and he couldn’t force it down his throat.
Didn’t he have a phone? Sister Mary told him to have it, just in case...
..he fumbled weakly for it, trying to fight through a hazy fog that made the dusky street and chirping crickets and rustling leaves and spluttering water all melt together. Sights and sounds piled into an indistinguishable pile of sensations that he couldn’t define. Then silence slowly swallowed his world, and Father Barry couldn’t even be sure of when he gave into darkness; a darkness deeper than the nighttime itself.
Morning brought the anxious twitters of little birds. They hopped around on tree limbs, or they’d wing to the edge of the fountain for a quick drink and morning bath. It was those twitters that brought the young priest to gradual awareness; that and the fact that he was a morning person, himself. He had to say his Divine Office, after all, and then get ready for Mass! If he woke up early enough, he sometimes had time to eat a little something in-between his morning schedule..
...his skin was comfortably damp and his clothing was sticking to his skin. Fr. Barry blinked, his mind slowly supplying the missing details of last night’s events. The fountain..he heard the water, quite loudly..the fight from the night before..the...his arm..!
He reached up to rub his eyes, yawning hugely and feeling for his glasses, which have fallen off his face. Maybe they dropped onto the pavement.
Fr. Barry brought his hand down to feel for them, only to startle himself with a soft *plop* as his hand splashed into water.
He blinked, slowly looking down.
..He was...in..the fountain.
“I fell asleep..in the fountain.”
Somehow, saying it out loud didn’t make this truth any clearer, nor easier to comprehend. He tried to sit up, stopped by a tingling pain that rushed through his lower back and legs. The air was still dry and he couldn’t..exactly breathe it well. Did he get hurt in the throat, as well? He couldn’t remember.
“Legs first,” he grunted, leaning forward and tugging lightly at his “super-hero costume”, which was really just a suped-up cassock, white with red accents and a big red cross on his chest.
He was expecting, at best, a strained muscle or some light bruising. At worse, he braced himself for one of his legs being oddly twisted at a wrong angle, in which case he would definitely have to find a way to get Sister Mary here..
...but no scenario, either good or bad, could have prepared him for the sight that greeted his wide-eyed stare.
Where a pair of legs and sandaled feet should have been, there, draped a little over the edge of the fountain, was a black-and-white speckled tail. It..in a way..reminded him of his clerical collar..at least in terms of color.
Fr. Barry stared at it, really just looking at it as if it were a part of someone else’s body, because this was impossible! This was some kind of lucid dream..some odd...maybe a hallucinogen? Yes...yes! From that weirdo’s dart thing..after their very long-winded speech about preserving the Earth by giving humans a new..home...
Fr. Barry focused on the tail, willing his leg muscles to move. And, in response to his efforts, the tail end flapped up and down, a slow, jerky movement.
Somewhere over the edge of a few buildings, the dusty haze of golden sunrise could be seen peeping over the city. Soon the sky would color to deep blue, and white puffs of clouds would be crawling overhead. And people would be getting dressed and eating breakfast..and a few of them would soon be putting on shoes and gathering in clusters to walk to Mass. Daily Mass...
Fr. Barry allowed himself to flop back into the fountain water, submerging his head and finding the atmosphere much more comfortable in terms of breathing. He could actually take a deep breath!
...Not that it really mattered, of course.
He’d better enjoy his breaths while he had them, still, because when Sister Mary found him...
