In the local park, at a chessboard table.

My name? Its not important, I lost it a long time ago. I was born on the first tick of the clock for the new century 1-1-1900 in the Village of Sevanavank in what was then part of the Ottoman Empire.  To say my family name aloud would bring danger to myself and any left alive but my first name was Yerazum meaning dreaming. It was said when I was born I cried only a moment then went to sleep soundly with a smile on my face. This was taken as a good sign the first babe of then new century was so content and peaceful. 
More is the pity it was not so. The new century ushered in a new age of darkness for my homeland. I remember when I was 8 and the men who sat about the cafe in the late evenings and discussed anything of importance were particularly active. The ones who shouted loudly for a free Armenia were very quiet and all had worried faces. I was to young to understand then but would soon come to know of the Young Turk Rebellion. By my 9th summer word of a place called Adana was repeated time and again. Could the Turks really be killing Christian? My childish mind could not understand this surely nobody would stand by as entire villages were wiped out and taken. It had to be like the stories I was told as a child of demons and things meant to frighten me and make me behave. Surely its a test of my faith to see if I would be afraid to worship our Lord as we are taught to do.  
My summers rolled onto winters and the wheel of the seasons turned. More and more stories of how the Turks were killing or relocating Christians. Many new families came to live in our village which was far North from the center of the empire. Near the Georgian lands of the Russian Empire who were Christian we felt like these troubles were far away but moving closer each day. One day in July when I was fourteen the men of the village were very troubled. The ArchDuke of Austro-Hungary had been assassinated. War had been declared and the Ottoman empire had joined the Triple Alliance. Soon the whole world was at war.
The Turkish leaders saw Armenians as infidels, and enemies they killed many outright. Others they forced to leave as the army moved their front lines north to meet the Imperial Russian army. Moving ahead of the line thousands of our people flooded into our village. Father and some other men of the village would use their fishing boats to ferry people across Lake Sevan and avoid patrols. They made their way north where the Russians were more friendly to Christians but not much. I was fifteen by now and helped Father load their belongings carefully disguised. I would await his return oddly enough always missing a few crew to unload the nets each day. One day near the end of autumn he did not return. I took up his cause and used our backup boat to do what I could becoming notorious for my skill at evading the enemy patrols. 
Over the winter things went from bad to worse. People were shot on the streets, churches burned and more and more refugees arrived only to find they were caught without anywhere to go between the advancing armies. Meeting in secret I was sworn into the underground resistance. For my sixteenth birthday I was given a pistol and taught to make firebombs. It was like a game of war played by children. We would hide and seek the Ottomans every night. In the morning say our Lords prayer under our breath while kneeling as the Imam sang the prayers of the Turks. One night on my seventeenth summer while out on my missions we heard the thunder of artillery. The Russians had advanced a small group of boats into out towns port. The Turks deciding our neighborhood was enemy territory shelled it. My Mother, sisters, brothers, for all i know my entire neighborhood was killed that day. I never got to find out for I was shifted to the North and East to help the advancing armies as a guide and translator. It was this day I left my name of hope behind and became the Vrezhkndir,(V-rez-kun-dish)  the revenant, the haunting ghost, the vengeful spirit.
I was proud and felt like I found a new home but it was to be a short lived one. In the fall of my seventeenth year someone called the Bolsheviks assassinated the Czar and his family. Now I was in between a army who wanted to hold their line with the land they gained One who no longer cared about a local boy who helped them. To the south a army who hated me for where and to who I was born, who wanted to kill me for my faith. Over the following year I hid in safe houses when I was lucky and in barns and haystacks when I was not. My pistol always at hand more than one Turk met his end at the hands of the revenant. When the news came in November 1918 of peace the world forgot all about us and the Turks, angry at being defeated intensified their campaign against all Christian Armenians. 
One day just past my nineteenth birthday a convoy passed through town. Heading North with supplies and equipment salvaged from the casualties. I signed up as a teamster and worked my way up and over the Black Sea to the Ukraine. Making connections with the Odessa Mafia who were selling the arms and equipment on the black market. When I was 22 I bought passage to America eventually landing in Chicago where my skills from running a fishing boat full of refugees transferred into smuggling whiskey up and down the Great Lakes. 
Only spoken about in a whisper, a tale to tell the rookie cop new on the beat. The story the old gangsters told their children to frighten them into behaving. The tale of the revenant, the spirit who kills without sound and vanishes like a shadow when the sun bursts forth from behind a cloud. The walking ghost, the man whos soul died long ago but is condemned to walk the earth till judgement day. Nobodys story is quite the same some say his mouth is like a crack in a featureless face. Others say his eyes are polished gemstones and hes some kind of golem sent to avenge his people. Some say his skin is pale and spotless as deaths. Some say hes always shrouded in darkness. The only thing all the stories agree on is if the eyes are the windows to the soul his are shattered panes laying on the blackened soil of that bombed out village where the dreaming was abruptly ended. 

"checkmate" I say and without another word get up and leave the table. 

Monday afternoon finds Revenant at the entrance to the Church of St Gregory the Illuminator.  One of the first Armenian churches to be built in the US its only a bit over fifteen years old now. Walking through the great wooden doors crested by the seal of St Gregory he dips his fingers in the vessel of holy water and crosses himself. Walking up to the altar he silently reads the words "thy kingdom come" in Armenian and English. Kneeling at the alter he lights a candle in memory of all those he has lost in his life and he speaks a silent prayer for all his countrymen killed for their beliefs. Suddenly the memory of his mother comes to mind and a tear escapes his eye. Clutching the parcel he always carries he thinks of the bible he was given when he was confirmed, the few photos he had of his family and a small pouch of dust collected from the ruins of the Monastery of St. Sophia of Sis.  He doesnt ask for forgiveness for his sins, only that his fellow countrymen found peace and are in fellowship with the Saints as martyrs looking down and watching over him always. 
Clutching his medallian of St Gregory he whispers "Blessed St Gregory light my way, blind my enemies with your light and always show me the right path. Be with me now and always guiding and protecting me. You who saw the one begotten in a vision lay a hammer down on the site where our church was born always find the ways to use me to build or break as our Lord wills it."

Walking out he drops a well worn and tarnished 500 dram coin, hard to find in the US the currency of his long lost homeland and birthplace of his church it held special significance to him that he pays his tithe this way. Hearing it clatter through the slot in the donation box to land with a satisfying thud in the bottom. Walking outside into the bright sunlight he smiled, Gregory was shining his light on him today. 

Tuesday afternoon and Revenant is not feeling as chipper as yesterday. Spending the afternoon well into the evening driving to Saint Paul MN. He has come to lead a new crew with tips and techniques for smuggling by barge. Getting into town he stops at the special precinct and walking in he gets a mean glare from the Desk Sargent. 
"Yea what do ya want?" He asks
"My wallet was stolen I need to make a report"
With a huff and a grumble he mutters in a hushed tone "Interview room 6" and turns his attention to a racing form.

Walking in hes greeted with a smile by a detective. Pulling his wallet out he nonchalantly lays it on the table and says "My wallet was stolen I need to report it"
With a smile the detective takes the wallet, pulls out several hundred dollar bills, writes the name on the ID card down and smiles. "We caught a pickpocket just now, he had several wallets is this yours?"
He nods takes the wallet and stands to leave with a nod of thanks.
"Enjoy your stay here in Saint Paul Mr Nicosia and we hope there is no more troubles for you" The detective says with a grin.
Nodding with a small smile Revenant turns to leave barely noticed by the Desk Sargent still making notes on his racing form.

Walking out into the night air of this crisp late October evening he cuts through Mears park to reach the Green Lantern. Holding the door for a obvious off duty cop and his prostitute escort he walks into what appears to be a quiet boarding house with a man behind the desk nodding off. 
"Room for the night? He asks. The cop nods and slips him a $20 note. Looking over at him Revenant does the same. "Room 6" He says with a nod handing them both a key. There was a awkward moment when both men stood before the door until Revenant finally uses his key. Entering the room they are greeted by a elderly man who smiles. The room looks like any boarding house room with a desk, chair and bed. Dropping the key into the old mans hand the cop walks over to the Wardrobe and opens it walking inside followed by the others. Behind a false back wall a staircase leads down. The sounds of music and loud conversation get more distinct as they all descend to the secret basement. Ending at a guarded door the man opens it revealing a speakeasy complete with a jazz bang going strong. The 3 part company with the cop and his date heading to a open table, the escort giving Revenant a sly smile before turning away. 

Stepping up to the bar he holds up 3 fingers and is given a double shot of whiskey. Tapping his feet to the music he chuckles noticing the Mayor smiling and shaking hands with "Dutch" Sawyer the owner. Raising his glass he toasts Saint Paul the city that didnt notice prohibition had been enacted. 

Several drinks and dances later he drags himself back up to the lobby to get a real room. Waking up weary and hung over he does his morning prayers and slowly gets around for the day. Leaving a generous tip for the maid he steps out to a cloudy Minnesota October afternoon. With a small smile he thinks about one special errand he wanted to do before getting down to business. 

"Barev Dzez Mr Nicosia my friend, I hope you are well." Came the Armenian greeting when he entered the very familiar coin shop. 
"Barev Dzez to you my friend Jason. I am well thank you. How is your family?"
The 2 old friends made small talk and Revenants eyes strayed to the old map of the Mediterranean Sea particularly the island of Cyprus and city he took his adopted last name from. Eventually Jason clapped his hands together and smiled broadly. "I have some things I think you will like." He reaches down under the counter in one of the floor safes and pulls out 2 small flats. Opening the larger one facing Revenant his eyes widened. 

There were 3 coins from the 9th century, the reign of King Leo V whos face stared through time at him picking one up he shuddered, this was gold from his homeland. Mined from Mt Ararat where it is said Noah's ark came to rest this was a living piece of his history.Picking one up carefully he looked in reverence at the face of Constantine on the back both men holding the cross of the faith they professed and protected as it grew from its early years.
[img]http://www.ancient.eu/img/r/p/750x750/7838.jpg?v=1569518468[/img]

Four other coins were from the 12th century depicting King Hetoum and Queen Zabel holding a cross up between them and the pair of lions that symbolised their rule on the obverse also bearing the cross. [img]https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/fb/Hetoum_and_Zabel.jpeg[/img]

Snapping the flat shut he smiled and looked over at the second, Jason beaming opened it slowly with much fanfare. What was inside nearly made Revenant fall to his knees. The cross of the Knights Templar gleamed at him in its rosy copper/gold alloy. This was a coin used by the crusaders, this was gold from the holy land.

[img]http://users.stlcc.edu/mfuller/caesarea/Skull/AnjouCoinA.jpg[/img]

Nodding solemly without shutting the flat he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a envelope containing cashiers checks. "Im not even going to haggle the price, you already know their value to me is without measure."
With a smile and nod Jason takes the 3 checks "I must apologise but I do not have enough change to cash these"
"Keep it" replied Revenant. "Give it to your new grandson at his baptism." 
"Many thanks my old friend, it is almost time for midday meal it would honor me if you joined me for kabab"
"your wifes kabab? I would not miss it for the world."

The 2 friends retire to the back room of the shop eating and talking about all kinds of things. The subject even came up of how some of those coins came from the Bishop of Chicago and how someone was dropping them in the tithe box. Later after a coffee they parted warmly. Revenant made his way to the riverfront and the caves erroded out of the limestone bluffs. The perfect place to store whiskey in secret his bvrge was nearly loaded with his special double barrels. Marked corn syrup the 50 gallon drums held a secret drum inside with 43 gallons of whiskey. He watched the men make the final preperations and he daydreamed of the week long journey he would make with it getting to the secret drop off just South of Dubuque the booze would be transported to Chicago to fill the needs of speakeasies across the city. Closing his eyes he rested his mind before joining the crew making ready.