by D P Wright
Kessler tugged at her coat, trying to urge her to move into the cover of the shadows but instead she knelt down and stared at a jumble of pictures and an assortment of items which lay spread out at the base of the altar. “What’re you doing?” His voice was sharp with agitation.
“These are the lost. Those that have vanished from our community.”
“Vanished?”
“Yes, it started happening a few months ago. A child here, a husband there. Soon every day people were just disappearing off the streets. We are all very close here at St John’s and knew everyone of the lost, knew everyone of the heartbroken wives, husbands and children that they left behind.”
“I didn’t know. The newsreels have not reported it.”
“No. We tend to fend for ourselves down here, nobody takes much notice of us. The congregation leave pictures of those missing with items that were important to them in life by the altar. It helps them pray to God for their safe return. Gives them hope.”
False hope, Kessler thought cynically. “Does anyone know where they were taken? What happened to them?”
“No. My uncle was looking into it but…” Bethany tailed off, lost in thought. She picked up a small dirty doll that had been splattered in dark red and tried unsuccessfully to brush off the blood before taking a picture from her pocket and placing it in the centre of the pile. Three priests, one of whom looked very serious and the other two, much younger, smiled broadly.
Kessler assumed the old priest to be Father Jacob, “Who are the other two priests with your uncle?”
“Brothers Glaxon and Rothery. They lived here with us and helped my uncle run St John’s. They went missing the night he died. I have not seen them since.”
Kessler shook his head, aware that time was not on their side and eventually managed to drag Bethany away from the altar. Holding her firmly behind a column, he looked into her eyes and barked, “Get a hold of yourself, we don’t have the time for this. Now snap out of it and show me where he was found.”
“His study.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she stifled a sob. Her bottom lip quivered, “Over there, beyond the chancel.” She pointed to the east end of the church.
Father Jacob’s study was in complete darkness. Kessler turned on his torch which immediately revealed evidence from the priest’s violent demise strewn throughout the room. The ancient wooden door lay in splintered pieces on the stone floor, part of the frame and the hinges still hanging from the wall. Bookshelves, which must have lined the study, were overturned with all their contents scattered everywhere. An old wooden desk with the delicate carvings of flowers and winged children similar to those seen in the nave lay at an angle in the centre of the room. Large gouges and deep, jagged scratches defaced the once beautiful golden wood which now lay cracked and broken. It was as if some savage animal had been let loose. Examining the scene further, Kessler noticed no computer or machinery of any kind, no plastisteel or network jacks existed in this world. He knew of a few antique dealers up in Hightown that would kill to get their hands on the precious wood, stone and paper that lay within these walls.
Kessler’s attention focused on an area that was clear of clutter, the floor covered by a grey rug which was matted with a dark substance. He knelt down and dabbed the area with his fingers. More blood. “He must have died here. Whoever it was certainly made a fine mess.” Empty vials, similar to the sim Kessler purchased back at the skin lab, lay everywhere. He picked one up and smelt the spent capsule revealing a sickly, sweet aroma. It was definitely some sort of chem but none he had ever smelt before. All the caps were marked with the same image – a bright yellow sphere, burning like a sun. It was common for different types of sim to be branded and Kessler knew most of them but he had never seen this on the streets before. He put a couple of empty caps in his coat pocket and, still kneeling close to the floor, looked up at Bethany who was staring at the chaotic scene, wringing her hands nervously. “Did your uncle ever indulge in chem?” Bethany turned and stared at Kessler blankly, “Just to take the edge off?”
“No, of course not. Why do you ask?” She spoke quietly, her eyes fixed on the empty vial which Kessler was holding up to the torch light before her.
“It’s a tough city, Bethany, especially living this far down. Many citizens do it.” He looked away from her, the innocent shock in her eyes making him feel embarrassed at suggesting such a thing.
“No. Never. He spent time helping chem addicts at the local skin labs, he was always very clear that it was the Devil’s scourge. A blight on our community.” She spoke in a whisper, her stare unmoving from the cap which Kessler still held between his fingers. “Why would people want to hurt a man who had spent his entire life helping others?” She wiped away a stray tear and cleared her throat. “All these beautiful things,” she said glancing at a pile of overturned books and torn paper as she walked over to the desk. Taking a small metal key from a chain that hung around her neck, she opened a drawer amongst all the carnage of splintered wood, and took the contents from within. “Got it.” She stood by the desk, arm in the air holding a silver ring dangling by a piece of string. Kessler leaned closer and took it in his hands to examine it. The ring bore the symbol of a black book with a sparkling cross filled with diamonds and it was immediately obvious to him that it was as beautiful as it was rare. He had never seen anything like it before.
“This place is full of treasures, that’s for sure. This ring would fetch a small fortune in Hightown. More than enough creds to live comfortably.”
“The knowledge within these books, the history behind all these items from the past, is the real treasure, Mr Kessler. Rediscovering our soul is far more valuable than any credit or Hightown residence permit.”
Kessler doubted that. “When the air has poisoned your lungs or the filth of the city has infested your body, all these books, this learning, means nothing. Credits can buy you a better life, not knowledge, not a soul.”
Bethany continued, ignoring him, “As for the ring, I don’t intend to sell it. It belonged to my mother, the only thing I have in this world that used to be hers. Uncle was keeping it safe for me until, as he always used to tell me, I was responsible enough to wear it.” Her voice trailed off in thought then all of a sudden burst into anger, “I want the people that did this to me, to this church,” she waved a clenched fist across the room, “to burn in hell.” After shaking for a few moments in silence she placed the ring around her neck, underneath her rain protector and dress.
Kessler looked upon the girl who had lost all those that had loved her, a girl who was now all alone and only had one thing left in this world, hatred for those that had done this to her. She gripped tightly to the hatred, its fuel giving her the energy to continue. Where was her God now? “Don’t worry they will,” he said reassuringly. “First we need to find a reason why this happened. Has anything been stolen?” Kessler needed a motive. His thoughts kept returning to the empty vials of sim. He had seen chemheads lose it many times before and if the priest was messed up with that business then it could be connected. Theft came to mind but sitting in this room amongst ancient items that would fetch a small fortune up town, he doubted that was the case. Looking at the state of the study and the defaced altar, a violence had been unleashed onto this place that suggested more than just a simple robbery.
“I can’t tell in all this mess,” Bethany’s eyes darted throughout the room finding it difficult to focus on any one thing that may have been taken. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe it was the ring they were looking for? I know many that would kill for something that rare.” Silver and especially diamonds were almost unheard of on Dis, only the very wealthy Hightowners may ever have hoped to own such wealth.
“I don’t think anyone would have known about it, my uncle always kept it in this drawer, for safe keeping.”
“Not that safe. In fact, that drawer would be the first place that I’d look for valuables and they didn’t even try to jimmy the lock.” Kes
sler looked around for a console to access the church security and personnel files. “Did your uncle not use any tech whatsoever? How did he survive? How did he run this church without access to the Mainframe? I need anything that reveals something about the time leading up to his death? His records, accounts, journals? Anything?”
“Books, he believed in books.” Bethany trembled in shock as she fought hard to get the words out of her throat.
A muffled noise from outside the room made them both freeze in their place. “What was that?” Bethany placed her hand over her mouth and stared at the flickering shadows outside the doorway.
Out of habit, Kessler’s hand went straight for his weapon, “Sounded like a door. We best be quick.”
“That shelf over in the far corner is where he kept his journals.” She pointed to an overturned bookshelf under which were a pile of beautifully-bound black synthleather books, each had the date written in gold leaf on the front and spine. Kessler immediately started to rummage through them.
“All these books are from years ago.” Kessler spoke out of breath as he slowly made his way through the huge pile.
“His current diary would be in his desk,” Bethany said in a matter of fact tone.
Kessler stopped his search and looked up at her, “Thank you for the information,” he sighed sarcastically as he got to his feet.
Bethany continued unaware of Kessler’s annoyance, “I remember as a kid thinking he was funny, the only person I ever knew who refused to use computers. Stuck in the old ways. He was always at his desk, scribbling his thoughts down in that journal, eyes squinting close to read the text over his glasses which always were slipping down his nose. His eyesight was awful and of course getting a bioware implant or cyber fix was not an option.” She laughed at some memory. “He would always scold me for talking about any type of tech, and would tell me in a stern tone, ‘The cold metal of machinery had taken us a long way from the warmth of God.’” She mimicked her uncle’s deep voice and smiled before emerging from her memories and sadness returning to her face.
Kessler put his torch in his mouth and using both hands frantically continued his search. Books were thrown either side of him, discarding a wide range of texts, all depicting words and scenes alien to him. “Are you just going to stand there or you going to be of any help?” Bethany was still in the middle of the room staring into space.
“Of course.” She took a deep breath, “Sorry.” Reaching down to the base of the desk she immediately picked up a black-covered book similar to the hundreds Kessler was searching through. “Here it is.”
Holding a bundle of diaries and sweating profusely, he looked flustered and glanced up at his expressionless companion, “Thank you,” Kessler repeated with a mixture of annoyance and more sarcasm as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He was not sure that Bethany Turner knew how precarious their situation was.
“You know Mr Kessler, I always thought the exciting life of a detective would keep a person fit but I think I am doing you a favour hiring you. You obviously could do with the exercise.”
He did not register Bethany’s jibe, but was staring down at the surface of the desk which was now clear of the books that had cluttered it. Words appeared in the shaking torchlight, again in a tongue not of the detective’s understanding, crudely hacked onto the desk’s surface.
“What are you staring at?”
“Take a look at this.” Kessler spoke as he produced a viewfinder from his pocket and scanned the surface of the desk.
Bethany walked over to where the detective was standing.
“Oh my.” Bethany’s words caught in her throat.
“Do you understand it?”
“‘Lux Ferre’, I know what it says but I do not understand its meaning. It doesn’t make sense…”
“I recognize the word ‘Lux’, it’s a new chem that has been doing the rounds all over Downtown.”
“I was only a young girl when my uncle took me in and he was an old man even then. He was always concerned that there were not any kids for me to hang around with and worried that he wasn’t much fun and didn’t know how to raise a girl. To keep me amused he spent his free time educating me. He taught me an old language that only him and I knew how to speak. It was like our secret club. We used to leave each other messages that only we could understand.”
“Ok, so what does it mean?” Kessler was getting impatient with Bethany’s reminiscing.
“Yes, of course, it means Light Bringer.”
A few moments passed in silence as they contemplated the words before Kessler moved from the desk and took hold of Bethany’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.” He moved for the door, taking the diary from Bethany and placing it in his pocket.
“Ok, I just want to take some of uncle’s stuff with me. I…”
“We don’t have the time,” Kessler interrupted her, all he could think about was leaving. Fast. “We need to… what’s that smell?”
Bethany had not noticed the distinct bitter acrid smell of smoke. He grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the study when immediately they were confronted by a barrage of heat, a wall of flames cracking and roaring. The large pile of books that had been thrown to the floor by the Venter had been set alight, the old paper quickly turning into a maelstrom of fire and smoke. Large flames coiled and danced their way throughout the church, the nave was a shower of embers as the ancient wooden beams embraced the inferno.
Bethany threw herself towards the blaze and screamed, “No! We can’t lose them!” Her desperate wail was cut short by the big arm of the detective as he wrapped it around her midriff and drew her protesting form close to him. She was writhing in his arms in a panicked frenzy. “Let me go, let me go you fool, you don’t know what we’re losing.”
“The whole place is going to come down!” Kessler shouted over the chaos.
Suddenly, as he was holding her tightly in his grasp, trying to shield her from the overpowering heat, there was an explosive grown as the statue of Christ came crashing down around them. Bethany let out a terrified shriek then went limp in Kessler’s arms. Flames began to flow up her leg and the detective frantically smothered them using his coat. He looked at Bethany’s tear and soot-stained face to make sure she was ok, amongst all the chaos she looked so innocent, almost at peace.
The detective surveyed the diabolical scene that was playing out before him. Fire performed its demonic dance over all that was precious to the poor girl. The statue of Christ was bathed in flame, its face half black, cracked and broken, making part of its mouth misshapen into a bestial grin. Towering flames were spread across the centre of the nave between Kessler and St John’s large front doors. “Think, damn you, think.” He bellowed as the blaze took hold, “You may be a Midtown bum not worth a damn,” he took another look at Bethany’s unconscious face, “but this girl’s got some good in her, she doesn’t deserve this!” The din of the inferno drowned out his frantic cries.
The intense heat backed him and his unconscious companion onto the altar. He turned to shield his face from the inevitable as the flames began to lick his legs and arms when he saw, in amongst the raging fire and thick black smoke, the gleaming white stone head of a child, his wing tips just visible through the thick haze, holding the bowl of water Bethany had used for prayer moments before. Rising up off his knees, he found a new energy and vigour and powered through the fire to reach the statue. Pain and the weight of Bethany strained every sinew and muscle.
The child looked up at the detective with an innocent face. Time seemed to slow as the fire closed in. Kessler focused on the kid’s virtuous features, everything else seemed insignificant. His delicate hands were raised, offering Kessler the bowl of water. He took off his coat, drenched it in the precious liquid and wrapped it around Bethany. Setting himself against the flames, he charged forward carrying her limp form in his arms, shielding her from harm. He only had one thought in his mind and that was the trapdoor which led to the crypt and, hopefully, to safety.
&nb
sp; Within moments, a blackened mass of smoke and fire burst through the hatch, shattering the old wood, and tumbling down the steps. Kessler was just able to smother the flames that had latched onto him, check Bethany was still breathing, before collapsing onto the cool stone floor at the base of the stairs.
The crypt brought with it a brief respite from the raging torrent above. The roar of the flames were replaced by the staggered breathing of the unconscious Bethany and Kessler’s rasping coughs. He lay flat on his back, an arm still protectively wrapped around his charge who remained covered in his soaked coat. He could smell scorched skin and singed hair. His knee ached and his right arm, which had borne the brunt of the fire, felt tight, the burnt skin crackled and blood wept through his shirt.
The pain was getting worse, every slight movement brought agony. Kessler was tired, his eyes were heavy and were stinging from the thick smoke of the blaze. He just wanted to close his eyes for a moment. Find peace and quiet. He thought of sleep and how much he needed it. All the chaos of the fire was beginning to slip away, become a distant, blurred memory, replaced by an overwhelming desire to rest, allow sleep to carry him away from all this harm. He had earned a rest, what would it hurt just to close his eyes for a while? He began a dazed dream.
He imagined thousands of stars across a clear night sky. The space to take a breath…
A brief spike of reality suddenly penetrated Kessler’s consciousness. The air had that thick damp quality and he could smell the heady fumes of chemicals. He opened his eyes wide. Downtown. The crypt.
Black smoke was beginning to fill the room. The stars Kessler had seen in his dream were now thousands of burning embers raining down around him. Above, the church floor, which had stood firm since ancient times screeched, groaned, blistered and buckled under the blazing chaos. He lifted his head to his right and looked at the prone Bethany and back to the stairs leading out of the church to the graveyard. The floor above had already given way and a column of flames now barred his way out.