Raising Lazarus

by Aidan J. Reid

  The lawyer leaned back and crossed his arms while the officer pulled his seat a little closer to the table. He glanced at the cassette recorder, pleased that the little tape inside was still rolling.

  “You were fond of him, weren’t you?”

  Marcus’s smile gave him the answer he needed. Eyes were still looking to the heavens as if they were watching a movie there.

  “Was your friendship… sexual?”

  The man continued to be raptured by the image on the ceiling but Chris could see there was a blush on his cheeks. A guilty little smile wavered before he stapled it down with his top row of teeth.

  “I don’t understand. Why did you have him beaten in that case?”

  Marcus slowly dropped his eyes onto the face of the officer. What was left of the smile had disappeared.

  “He was dangerous. Talked about things in his past. Horrible things. Things that he said had distorted him. He said he wasn’t the man I thought he was. He talked to me about wars, death and the ugliness in people’s souls. He said it changed him into someone else.”

  “So, you wanted to beat some sense into him. Was that it?”

  “There was a real nasty streak in him,” Marcus continued, ignoring the question. “He was saying things and doing things that scared me. I tried to fix his path but then she appeared and took him away.”

  “You’re talking about Molly Walker.”

  “When I saw him with her on TV, I knew I had lost him. It was down to me to help save her and stop him before it was too late. I tried warning her. Scaring some sense into her.”

  There was an anger in his voice which put Chris on high alert. The two viewers in the connected room saw it too, with Roy leaning forward and gripping the table leg between his legs.

  “Stop what? What kind of things was he saying?”

  “Some crazy story about finding redemption. He talked about ‘cutting the head of the snake so he could return to life’.”

  The blond man shook his head as if trying to free trapped water from his ear. His hands were raised in the air, rubbing his face hard in agitation, fingers sliding up through his hair.

  “OK, OK,” Chris said. “Calm down. Take a breath.”

  When the red fury had drained from his face merging with his bronzed complexion, Chris started again.

  “So, tie it all together for me, Marcus. There are too many moving parts here. Help me out,” Chris said and watched the man take a big gulp and nod.

  “All roads point to Lazarus,” he said. “Everything I did was to save him.”

  “Save him from what?”

  “What he’s about to do.”

  Both officers, the lawyer and the governor edged toward the end of their seat at the same time without knowing it, watching the blond man who looked on the verge of tears tremble with the words. He wet his lips and peeled them back over clenched teeth, softly shaking his head from side to side, eyes scrunched tight as if fearing what was coming.

  “What is it? What is he going to do?”

  FIFTY

  Molly was lying on the couch, head supported by a pillow with the bedcovers tucked in and around her. A laptop was on her stomach, a word processor document on the screen and she was highlighting bodies of text and scrutinising the accompanying word count. She minimised it and was greeted by a window of a newspaper’s front page. Browsing through the articles, she spun off several moderately interesting tabloid gossip and rumour stories, ignoring the bold image at the top of a smiling pontiff waving from an airplane.

  “No getting away from it, is there?”

  Louise was on her phone but didn’t look over, offering a little grunt. Every few seconds, there would be the peal of a bell, a little electronic beep from the phone which would alert the user of another successful match or fresh message on the dating app. Molly looked across to see a smile on her face as her fingers moved with lightning speed across the touch pad, half expecting smoke to start rising from the phone.

  It made her hand tetchy, craving her own device but it was on the table out of arm’s reach which meant she’d have to emerge from her carefully built cocoon which she had no intention of doing. The TV was on, sound down and she diverted her eyes to it. The computer continued to bathe her in a bright light which made her feel like it was sucking moisture off her face.

  Live coverage showed the Pope giving a morning Mass, standing behind a lectern addressing a congregation of umbrellas and coats in the swirling rain. To the television viewer it appeared as if Divine inspiration itself had intervened and protected Him from the worst of the weather, clouds above parting, barely a whisper of air against his vestments. As the camera switched to another angle, Molly saw the rain splatter on the curve of Perspex glass that ensconced his Holiness. Priests stood on either side holding out big umbrellas, the kind that inevitably find your face in a crowd of people. They sacrificed their own dry comfort to ensure the pontiff remained cotton dry, the pages he read from paper crisp and the images that beamed on monitors around the park and to billions at home, flawlessly presented.

  Molly didn’t need to turn up the volume to understand the message. A text aid flashed on the screen for the audio impaired, words to the Lord’s prayer. The camera panned around the audience which stretched as far back as the eye could see. Only the sign of trees sprouting in the background like stumps of cauliflower suggested it was a park setting, and even then, people had managed to climb in the branches to get a better look.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?” Louise asked and dropped her phone onto the table.

  Molly was about to answer when her own phone started ringing. She made a show of struggling to get out of her tight bind which worked as her flatmate sat up and reached her the phone.

  “Hey Granda, how are you?”

  “Hi Molly. Can you talk?”

  There was something in his voice which immediately put her on alert. She sat up and managed to remove the cover from underneath, freeing her body and kicking off the covers. Louise was looking over and noticed the serious expression on her face.

  “Yeah, everything OK?”

  “Is Lazarus with you?”

  “No. He went to his place to move the rest of his stuff over. Why, what’s wrong?”

  She could hear his voice in the background relaying her message. A woman’s voice responded and Roy passed it through the phone line.

  “Do you have his address? It’s very important.”

  “Yeah. I mean, why?”

  “Just the address Molly, please.”

  “Durham Road, up near Baywater. Apartment 301. Everything…”

  She heard her grandfather pass the message on and there was a shuffle of feet in the background. More voices. A door slammed. Molly tuned her ear closer and heard a conversation between her grandfather and the woman again, something about having his own transport. For a moment, she felt she had crossed lines with another caller and couldn’t piece anything together. Louise continued to watch. Molly raised a hand to stop her from talking. She closed down the screen of the laptop and moved it inside the bag. It didn’t fit, and she reached in, and found a scrunched-up paper ball. She removed it, stuck it in her pocket and got to her feet, pressing the ear tight to the headset.

  “Granda, you there?”

  After a few seconds she heard footsteps in a corridor, and more dialogue. Then his voice came back.

  “I want you to listen to me carefully. OK?”

  “You’re starting to scare me now.”

  “It’s fine. Just do as I say.”

  “OK.”

  “We have reason to believe that Lazarus might be preparing to do something today at the park. We have a suspect in custody who says that he has it on good authority that he is planning to make a threat to the Pope.”

  “What?” Molly said and spun around and looked at the images on the TV screen. “That’s crazy!”

  “Listen. The police have to deal with every threat the same. They’re taking no chances so they’re g
oing to take a squad car around to Lazarus’ apartment now. Did he say he was coming back straight after?”

  “Yeah,” Molly answered and looked at her watch, “but that was a couple of hours ago. He should have been back already.”

  Roy Walker said something she couldn’t hear to a person on his end before returning to the phone.

  “There may be a chance that he’s already there and if that’s the case then we have to get to him first.”

  More discussion on Roy’s side, back and forth which almost spilled into debate until Molly brought him back to the phone calling his name.

  “Sorry. You have your car?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you drive to Wellesley Avenue, near the Park?”

  “It’s going to be cordoned off.”

  “They’ll let you through. Just tell them your name and that you’re with Inspector Linda Bressan.”

  “OK.”

  “Linda Bressan.”

  “OK, OK. Got it. Where will you be?”

  “I’ll see you there. Just park up and if you have any contact with Lazarus, call me immediately OK? Molly, you there?”

  She was on the verge of tears and the voice had caught in her throat. She was nodding her head, trying to hold back the emotion. Louise rose, coming close and rubbing her arm which helped the moment pass. She swallowed and took a deep breath.

  “OK.”

  “I’ll be there in thirty. I’ll call you on the way.”

  He hung up and Molly tried to offer a hopeful smile but didn’t have the strength to maintain it. The tears came quick and sudden, but she brushed them away, no time to offer an explanation. She grabbed her car keys off the table and left the apartment.

  When the lift had descended to the car park level, she sprinted to her car, phone open and bringing up the contact list. Inside, she held the fob out the window, pointing it at the gates and watching it slowly open as the car edged ahead. The phone was on her dashboard and she had it on loudspeaker, the dials slow and steady.

  The press of paper in her pocket, made her remove it. When she flattened it out on the dashboard, she recognised it as the one taken from Lazarus’ apartment. The list of cities and dates. Highlighted was this year. Their city. Hadn’t she watched flashes of the Pope’s European tour in previous years? Madrid, Zagreb, Sarajevo…Visiting the same countries ordered on the list. Why had Lazarus been interested in the Pope’s movements? She remembered the words of the lecturer in the library suddenly. If he was ‘cursed’ with eternal life, he’d seek vengeance too. Her mind refused to believe it.

  When the gates had fully extended, she drove through the exit and up the little ramp, crawling to the edge of the street. She looked both ways and then down at her phone as she pulled out, mumbling a curse under her breath as she slid up the gears. When she had settled on third, she reached for the phone to make sure she had the right number – the photo of them both smiling left no doubt.

  FIFTY-ONE

  The phone vibrated off the toilet seat lid and fell to the ground. He looked down at it, gave a little shake of his head as he watched it wiggle its way into the corner like some terrified animal, hiding from view behind a plastic ceiling tile. He was about to pick it up, when it stopped suddenly, a spider playing dead, noticing that it had been spotted. He looked back up into the open square hole, reached up a hand and trailed the bundle toward him. When he had carefully lowered it, he walked over to the small bed and laid it out like a neatly pressed suit.

  His nostrils were stuffed with tissue and he carefully teased the buds out. The blood had finally dried, and he tossed them onto the floor. He took a sharp inhalation before gently pinching the end of his nose. The metallic taste had finally left his throat. He walked over to the small bedside table and took a sip of water to dislodge the remaining blood, before standing before the bed again.

  The little improvised waistcoat bulged fat on the front, a pipe length as long as a forearm running down its centre. Lazarus lifted the doggy flap on the chest and slid the contents out from the hollow pipe and admired his work before studying the individual components. A runner’s belt with four empty drink holders, two on the front with two on the back connected to the main body of the jacket. Twisted wires trailed from a fuse box connected to a circuit board where he had managed to solder a kill switch. It dangled loose, allowing him the comfort of choosing where to hide it, either in his palm or on his body. The connections passed his close inspection and Lazarus studied the fuse, flicking the button and seeing the spark of the loose wires at the end.

  He moved back into the bathroom, reached up into the opening and pulled out a plastic bag, again careful with the contents, handling them with all the timidity of a first-time father with a new born. He pulled out the four plastic bottles, filled with nails, screws and bolts and shook each one like a maraca before he inserted them into the belt buckle. Once they were slotted he adjusted the belt until it was closer to the heart of the suit, the source of his creation. He pulled out three separate little airlock bags from the bigger bag, coloured powders of grey and black and opened each, holding his nose inside he breathed deeply; a pleasant smell which made him smile. A plastic tube, finger length was hidden within the wires and circuit board. He took it out, turned it upside down, tapping it to make sure it was empty before filling it to the top with the ingredients from the bags and then screwing the lid back on. When he returned the tube to its resting place, everything tucked inside the hollow pipe, he made a final check to make sure the charges were connected, before lifting it carefully off the bed.

  It felt heavier than he expected as he slipped his arms through the openings. The length of the cold pipe was cold across his chest. It easily fit on his thin body and he stepped into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He ensured the bottles were fastened secure. A hoodie was looped over the shower door and he lifted it off and gently lowered it over his head and pulled his arms through. He inspected the slight paunch on the front. The university logo was distraction enough to prevent closer scrutiny.

  Turning sideways, he passed a hand from his chest down to his belly. It wasn’t very noticeable and there was little else he could do at that stage to streamline it further. He pulled the bottom of the hoodie up and found the dangling switch. Lazarus threaded it through the inside of his sleeve opening until the other hand found it. There was a little protective case around the switch which he would need to flip over like an old lighter, and he got comfortable with it in his hand, pulling it back up through until he felt it tickle the inside of his forearm.

  Looking up, the mirror reflected a faint smile which was eager to burst on his face. He finally let it and felt an intense wave of excitement and nerves all at once, but above all, one emotion rose highest. A feeling of serenity knowing that he was on the verge of completing something that he had chased for a very long time. He watched the tears begin to form in his eyes, the triumphant smile spreading across his face. He was so close, it was now within arm’s reach.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Lazarus flicked his hood over when he stepped out of the apartment complex. The weather hadn’t abated, with a howling wind that whistled past ears. The rain battered him from all sides as he made a brisk walk to a phone box, ducking behind it for cover, looking up and down the street. He was beginning to feel self-conscious about his weighted under jacket, earlier enthusiasm beginning to recede. After a few frantic minutes, he saw a taxi emerge and stuck out a hand. It slowed with the driver leaning across the passenger side and rolling down the window.

  “You order?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, leaning forward at the waist as far as he could manage. “Richmond?”

  “Jump in.”

  Lazarus opened the door a crack, fearing that the wind would rip it clean off. When he had a better handle of the air current, he widened it, allowing himself to slip in slowly, pulling the door closed.

  “Where to?” the eyes in the mirror asked as they pulled off the side of
the road.

  He was glad to be sitting again and looked down at the front of the water specked hoodie. He hadn’t anticipated conditions in advance but was pleased that some foresight had presented him with the cover that not only concealed the device but protected him against the elements.

  “Just up to the park.”

  “You’ll be hard pushed to get near there mate,” the driver said. “Roads in and out are all closed off. Bloody joke – country’s at a standstill for a man in a frock.”

  “If you can take me as close as you can get that’d be great.”

  Lazarus watched the man shrug as they drew up to a set of traffic lights. He turned on the radio and flicked through the channels, having to make do with the only one not giving commentary or gospel, which was Funk Soul. The taxi man’s mood resonated with the tunes and for the next fifteen minutes Lazarus was serenaded by hits from the Commodores to Stevie Wonder.

  When traffic began to choke up and the driver was inching forward for the sake of making a show of moving rather than actually moving, Lazarus settled up and stepped out and into the rain again. The pavement was lined with people, all moving in the same direction, which made their slow pace only slightly more bearable. A few of the more zealous or impatient, found routes through the stationary traffic. Many of the drivers pushed up bumper to bumper which closed some avenues for the crossers. Lazarus had studied the programme and knew he had another hour before the Mass ended, giving him enough time to slot into position. Armed with that knowledge, he tucked in behind a bull of a man, moving into the slip stream and held his arms in front to protect his chest.

  After ten minutes of the human plough bulldozing his way through people, Lazarus looked out from under the canopy of umbrellas and saw in the gap of sky that some speakers were attached to the lamp posts – the drone prayer of the pontiff spreading out across the masses who responded in unison. Despite the fast progress the bull had made, he started to become obsolete, his size preventing him from squeezing through gaps that an obstacle free Lazarus could manage with little effort. They reached an impasse at one street corner, people huddled under a line of trees which reached for a hundred metres down the street. There was no movement on either side. No-one coming or going. Spectators content to stand where they were, hemmed in on all sides.