Absence of Faith

by Anthony S. Policastro

  "Hold on! Who are you?" the doctor shouted at Stokes. "What are you doing here?"

  "Forgive me...I'm Doctor Stokes from Ocean Village. I'm looking for Doctor Hillgren," Stokes said between gasps.

  "That's me. Close the curtain and wait for me outside," Doctor Hillgren said turning back to the old woman.

  A few minutes later, Hillgren approached Stokes in the corridor. Stokes was still gasping for air.

  "What's the matter? Sit down. Take it easy," Hillgren said.

  "I'm just very concerned," Stokes said between gasps.

  "It's all those people in the ER, isn't it?" Hillgren said. "I'll bet it’s that opportunity-seeking maniac that’s been on the news that has riled them up."

  "It's not some maniac! I'll tell you," Stokes said still gasping for air.

  "You know, I also noticed a rise in the number of abortions," Hillgren said. "It could be related to that Satanist cult."

  "Oh, Lord. Not that, too!"

  "You think it’s related, too?"

  "No, no. It’s not that. There’s more to it," Stokes said.

  "There is?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Fill me in while we walk to the morgue."

  The two men took a nearby elevator down to the basement. Stokes filled Hillgren in the details of the events, which had led to the chaos. Hillgren listened, but had no reaction.

  "You have an increase in abortions?" Stokes asked.

  "Yes. They send us their overflow or any that might lead to complications," Hillgren explained.

  "Who?"

  "Family Planning."

  "Can you find out why there's been an increase?"

  "I can call the clinic later," Hillgren said.

  The men stood in silence for a few moments.

  "Do you really believe this Satan stuff?" Hillgren asked.

  "I don't know," Stokes said. "When fourteen clergy from every denomination in the county get together and talk about it with hopes of finding a solution, maybe there's a problem."

  "You don't say," Hillgren replied rubbing his golden moustache. "I've seen this kind of panic before."

  "You have?"

  "Sure. When the media announced the discovery of AIDS, when the temperature goes up to 90 for three days straight and a few seniors die of heat stroke, suddenly the ER room is flooded with people complaining of everything from a headache to the common cold, and they all swear they are going to die from it," Hillgren explained.

  "This is different..." Stokes said. "This goes far deeper than people dying of heat strokes. People believe they have lost their religion. Religion gives people hope, a destiny, a future, something to look forward to, a goal to achieve, a mountain to climb and all of that is being taken away by this strange disease we can't get a handle on," Stokes explained.

  "See, even you believe it's a disease and not this crazy Satan business!"

  "It doesn't matter whether it's a disease, a plague or an epidemic. What they believe is happening is what's important. Their reality is phenomenological and until we can prove otherwise, this craziness is going to get worse...a lot worse," Stokes said his voice shaking.

  "Phenomenological?"

  "Seeing is believing. Perception is reality. If they experienced it, they believe it happened."

  They entered a narrow corridor with cinder-blocked walls enameled with hospital green paint. The floors were covered with gray enamel speckled with dings that revealed the naked cement under it. They walked a short distance and the corridor widened. The florescent lights cast a cold, frosty hue on everything. Hillgren turned right and pushed two double swinging doors open. A thin young intern with dark skin and short hair met the two. The man's eyes were bloodshot and his white shirt was wrinkled.

  "Hello, I'm Doctor Stokes. I'm here to see...Henry Graber."

  The man turned and walked to a gray metal desk that looked like someone used it for a temper tantrum. The sides were dented and scratched. He picked up a clipboard from the tired desk, and then looked up at Stokes.

  "Number 610A. Pretty bad. Just came in," the young intern said.

  "Thanks."

  Doctors Stokes and Hillgren scanned the numbers on the large silver drawers until they found 610A. Stokes pulled the drawer open revealing the smooth black body bag and quickly unzipped it. The two men stepped back. Hillgren coughed several times. What remained of Graber was a mass of blackened bone and skin. The skin was flaky and hugged the bones like shrink-wrap.

  "It's hard to believe that this was once a living human being," Hillgren said.

  "He was a good friend. I knew him most of my life," Stokes said softly.

  "I'm sorry," Hillgren added.

  Stokes started to close the zipper when he noticed that the esophagus and jugular vein had been torn. He unzipped the body bag all the way and examined the rest of the body. He spotted the remains of ripped skin, muscle and bone in the right forearm.

  "Has there been a determination on the cause of death," he yelled to the young intern.

  "Nothing has been done. We're waiting for the dental records for a positive ID. We got only a preliminary identification from the police," the intern yelled back.

  * * *

  Stokes left the medical center and drove to Graber's house. Graber's daughter, Melissa, opened the door - her eyes rimmed in red.

  "I'm so sorry, Melissa," Stokes said and hugged her.

  He entered the living room. Helen sat in a rocker in the corner staring out of the window.

  "I'm sorry, Helen. We all loved him," he said taking her hand.

  The older woman looked up with watery eyes.

  "Thank you," she whispered.

  "I know this isn't a good time, but I'd like an autopsy on Henry. I was at the morgue and I don't think the accident killed him," Stokes said.

  "Oh no!" Helen said and burst out in tears.

  "I'm sorry. I’ll call you tomorrow."

  Stokes left with watery eyes. He went home and poured himself a glass of Remy Martin VSOP that he brought out only during the holidays. He took a large gulp and swallowed slowly letting the cognac coat his throat as it went down. The experience reminded him of better times, of holidays, and of good friends, and warm homes with crackling fires in their fireplaces. It eased some of the pain in his chest and forced his tense body to relax despite the agony in his heart and mind. Stokes put his head back and pushed the lounge chair into a reclining position. The tired springs and levers creaked. In a few minutes, he was asleep free from his sadness, his fear, and his sense of impending doom that seemed to swallow him.

  The New Magus - Chapter 26

  Kyle lay on a white beach with Chantress next to him. Another woman lay on the other side, but he couldn't quite see her face. He thought it was strange that they had no towels or blanket to lie on and the warm sand did not stick to his body. The surf was violent like an angry, wild animal struggling to reach them, but always falling short and being swallowed by the white sand. Kyle shuddered with fear at the water - it was as if it were alive. Kyle knew if the water reached them, they would be burned. The water was bad; the ocean was bad. The sun was very bright, but its light was cold. Kyle wanted to leave because the sunlight made his skin cold. He knew that Chantress was mad at him because the other woman was there, but Kyle didn't know how she had gotten there - he didn't know who she was or where he was. Suddenly, a man dressed in army fatigues walked up to them.

  "Kyle! Look at yourself! You're naked to the world now! How will you cover up?" the man said. His face was dark by the shadow cast from his floppy-brimmed hat that dripped beads of water. "What will become of you, now that everyone can see you?"

  Kyle looked down at his body and saw he was naked. Chantress laughed at him, but the other woman smiled at him seductively. He wanted to run away. He did run, and then stopped and turned to look at Chantress. She was still laughing and she was still close to him. He ran, but he went nowhere. He moved behind the other woman holding on to her waist. She moved like a snake in his
hands - an evil smile broke across her face. She was nude like him.

  "You can't hide behind her, Kyle," the army man said. He lifted his hat and the sun lit his face. His face was a dark tan, ruddy, unshaven. Kyle's jaw dropped. It was the man he saw earlier in his dreams, who had appeared at the restaurant and in his apartment.

  "Kyle, you must stop what you are doing. I'm telling you this because I'm your father - the father you never knew. I'm telling you because I love you. You are my only son and what you are doing is wrong. Please believe me," the man explained.

  The woman pulled away from Kyle and headed towards Kyle's father. She grabbed him and thrust her hands into his chest one at a time piercing the skin and entering the rib cage. The man screamed in agony. The woman moved her hands around, and then pulled them out holding his heart. The man collapsed. The clump moved in the woman's hand. She turned and thrust it towards Kyle.

  "Now you won't have to worry about him anymore. We have his heart!" she screamed her eyes fiery like her hair.

  Kyle recognized her - it was the woman with the red ponytail from the cult.

  "Nooooooooooo!" Kyle screamed.

  He ran along the beach not looking back. Then he heard a loud ringing that stopped and started several times. He opened his eyes and squinted at the bare bulb hanging in the center of his bedroom. He reached over and grabbed the receiver. He had kicked off his covers during the night and his skin was cold.

  "Hello," he said.

  A fog seemed to swirl in his mind and he had to make an effort to concentrate. His eyes would not focus.

  "Hermes," the man's voice said. "There will be a special meeting in one hour. Make sure you're there. You know where."

  "What? Now?" Kyle protested.

  The dial tone blared. Kyle dropped the phone back in its cradle and rubbed his eyes. He walked over to a chest of drawers and searched for his watch among piles of dirty socks, underwear and scraps of paper. He found it under one of his socks. His eyes slowly focused on the dial - it was 3:04 a.m. He walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stepped in. Black mold had formed on the bottom of the curtain, but he hadn’t noticed. The water grumbled on its way out of the showerhead as if it didn't want to come out. It instantly covered his body with a warm heat and washed away his drowsiness and the chill that had penetrated to his bones. As he washed, he wondered why the Magus would have a meeting at four in the morning. He dressed quickly and left.

  * * *

  When he pulled up to the white clapboard house, the street was filled with cars and he had to park several houses away. The air was cool, but smelled stale, as if there were a pollutant hanging in the air. Kyle knocked on the door firmly. The woman with the red ponytail opened the door and smiled her familiar seductive smile. Kyle stepped back.

  "Come in, Hermes. What's the matter? Did I scare you?" she said seductively with a slight Southern accent.

  "Oh, no. You just answered the door so fast. I didn’t expect it to open right away," Kyle lied, the nightmare replaying in his mind.

  "Oh. Well come in. We have a lot to talk about," she said smiling.

  "Sure," Kyle said.

  He hesitated and then entered the foyer.

  "In case the Magus never told you, my name is Nidal," she beamed.

  "Hi."

  "Hi," she said and grabbed his arm. Her touch made his groin tingle.

  She led him down the steps to the basement. Red candles were placed on each step instead of the usual black ones. The room was also lit with red candles and Kyle could see the anxious faces of the people standing there waiting for him and Nidal. Their eyes sparkled in the dim light. Kyle had never seen such a look. She led Kyle to a front row seat and stood in front of the group. She took a deep breath.

  "The Magus is dead. He has joined our savior and we must choose another among the high priests. According to the Book of Procurements we must cast secret ballots," Nidal told the group. "I will pass out the ballots. Please write your vote down and hold it until we pass the opinion box."

  Nidal picked up a steno pad and a pencil and handed it to a thin woman with stringy gray hair in the first row. The woman wrote on the pad, then ripped off the page and handled the pad and pencil to the person next to her. When they had all written their votes, Nidal handed a cardboard box to the thin woman. She stuffed her ballot in the slit in the top of the box, and passed it to the next person. When the box was returned to Nidal, she opened each ballot and read the names. Then she placed the ballots in separate piles representing the three high priests. At the end, she counted the number of votes in each pile out loud.

  "Hermes is the new Magus," she said and bowed to him. The others applauded and chanted. Kyle felt a rush of adrenaline speed through his body.

  "Hermes! Hermes! Hermes!" the crowd chanted.

  Nidal took out a golden chalice out of a box on the altar and emptied a hospital bag of human blood into it.

  "Tonight, we drink to Hermes, our new Magus," she said holding up the chalice. She handed the cup to Kyle and he looked at her intently. She nodded to him and he sipped the cool blood. It tasted metallic and sour. He handed the cup back to her and she sipped the blood, and then handed the cup to the woman in the first row. After the chalice had reached everyone, Nidal took it from the woman and handed it to Kyle.

  "Raise it over your head, holding it with both hands," she told him. Kyle obeyed. The small crowd fell to their knees and bowed their heads in unison. Kyle looked from person to person and soaked in the power that was flowing from each one, the power that was forming in his head, the power he had over these individuals. Nidal tapped Kyle on the arm and motioned for him to lower the chalice.

  "It is done. Hermes, you are our new Magus. May you lead us true," she said to Kyle. The members slowly stood to their feet and began to leave. As they left, some patted Kyle on the arm, others shook his hand. All were silent. After the last person ascended the stairway, Nidal spoke.

  "Congratulations," she said smiling. "I'll fill you in on the details at my place. Follow me in your car," she said her eyes on fire.

  She turned and emptied the remaining blood in the chalice into a utility sink near the washer and dryer. Then she blew out the red candles one by one working her way around the room toward the stairway. She grabbed hold of Kyle's arm and walked with him up the stairway. She blew out candles as she approached them casting darkness in her wake.

  Kyle followed her gray BMW into a dirt driveway that cut through a thickly wooded area. The bumpy, forgotten driveway turned to gravel and led to a clearing. Set back in the clearing was a small white Victorian house, lit only by the lights from the cars. The once white house was faded with many layers of paint chipped off revealing the naked wood beneath. Kyle stepped out into the cool darkness and stood near the opened door of his car. Tall blades of grass tickled his pants. Several wild dogs howled in the distance, their ominous, haunting pain echoed through the darkness.

  "Is this your house?" Kyle asked.

  "No, I rent it. Come on in," she said, switching on a small penlight attached to her key chain.

  "Why don't you leave a light on?" Kyle asked.

  "I do, but the bulbs keep burning out and I forget to replace them," she explained.

  She used the tiny flashlight to illuminate the doorknob, stuck a brass key in, and turned. The door opened with a swish and the two entered the house. She flipped a switch and tiny table lamp with Tiffany shade came to life. All of the furniture, the sofa, and the gents chair, were Victorian. The gents chair had been re-upholstered with a blue and red floral print. The room was neat and well kept. A faint trace of incense filled the air and reminded Kyle of a flower shop. The room was small, comfortable, and well decorated.

  "Sit down. Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

  "A beer would be nice if you have one."

  "I think I have some."

  She left and came back several minutes later wearing only a smile. She handed him the beer and there seemed to be
a glow surrounding her.

  Kyle stared at her taking in her radiating beauty and innocent vulnerability. His eyes moved up and down her slender, perfectly shaped body.

  "Remember the last time we made love...well that really wasn't part of the ceremony. I asked the Magus if I could...I hope you didn't mind?"