Later that night with Imamu asleep, Dr Peale flicked through one of the books he had been given, A Complete History of African Tribes by Dennis P. Dickson. It was thoroughly researched and full of detail but he could not find anything relating to either the location or the ornament. Out of the two books he was sure this was the one that could help him so it was with a languid motion that he opened African Tribes: One Man’s Journey by Christian Moor. The author claimed to be something of an authority on the subject claiming to have walked “the length and breadth of these lands on which humans first set foot”. The upside was it was easy to navigate, done in alphabetical order and with accompanying pictures. Eugene was getting too tired to focus. He couldn’t tell whether or not he felt a bit under the weather. Some of the masks looked very similar which would make Eugene react like he’d been hit with a static shock. Near the end of the ‘G’ section he did the same thing only this time his attention didn’t go anywhere. It was the smallest section yet but it was exactly what he was looking for. A sketch of the ornament matched up perfectly. The accompanying text went as follows:
“A small artefact is thought to be the centrepiece of what is known as gRoobai. The tribe it spawned may be the earliest in all of Africa, even preceding the San tribe of Namibia. This belief is supported by the customs which were found in the last half century, engraved into the stone of low-dwelling areas. They are primitive and barbaric. Their distinguishing feature appears to have been the removal of lips. Rather than penance there is a theory this was done so they were forced to speak an inhuman language. Large mammals were hunted whereas nocturnal creatures such as the endangered Pangolin were viewed as sacred, giving rise to the idea they worshipped some night god variant. It is unlikely they had rivalries with other tribes given their isolated habitat. It may have even been considered blasphemous to venture far away from home. With their close-knit community and esoteric lifestyle it is of a high probability that the gRoobai believed in reincarnation of some kind. There had to be an end goal for such an austere existence.”
Dr Peale needed a moment - the removal of lips, the inhuman language - now he knew the source of Jason’s behaviour. Just how he had become indoctrinated and learnt another dialect in a matter of weeks promised to undo any kind of rational approach. The same feeling Eugene had had the evening before he was called to the hospital intensified, of having no choice but to veer off the scientific path. He was going to have to be as open-minded as one possibly could. He managed to leave Imamu in peace but was up earlier than him. As soon as the professor grabbed his morning brew, Eugene accosted him with his finding.
They spoke for a good two hours about it. Prof. Odili represented the realist, claiming that Eugene’s desire to believe in something fantastical was urged on by the fact he had put so much into the case, but whenever Imamu was asked to explain Jason’s actions from a logical standpoint he could offer little but a mental breakdown. In those moments it was Eugene who grew more confident. Imamu gave him an unconvinced nod and promised to be done with the translation ASAP. Throughout the afternoon Eugene reread the passage and further inspected the artefact, wondering how something theorised to be tens of thousands of years old was in such superb condition…and that strange admixture of stone…Eugene moved it around in his hands like he’d just seen it for the first time. He slipped it back into his pocket as he was accustomed and let the judicial system know that he was getting closer to “understanding the nature of Jason Bickley’s actions”.
When Imamu returned he pushed through Eugene’s door without knocking and was in a state of euphoria. “Good news! I thought it would take longer than it has, but,” he needed to catch his breath, “once we had sussed one of the tricky character’s it all clicked – it’s a poem, here look.” The printed translation was put in front of Eugene who was just as excited. Imamu had something to add before reading. “English was not the only translation we attempted. We managed to complete it in German and Chinese also.” There was a pause as he scratched his head. “I can’t explain it but in each case, though the poem changed it still rhymed, like it consciously sought out the right words, like it was speaking through the other languages.” Eugene could see it pained Imamu to sound so unscientific. The English translation ran as follows:
To live where the sun can’t reach, down in subterranean land
Isolated you’re not
Earth’s ear for divine command
Be done with daylight, true purpose blooms in the shade
Address the night sky
Blessings rain down on the ancient-made
The mask is a guide, fallen bodies don’t go in a heap
Loyalty rewarded
Spirit of gRoobai amends death to temporary sleep
One generation recycled eternal, provided there is one at hand
Ruin calls the wanderer
Begin again in cavernous land
Eugene needed a moment. His mind, professionally geared towards identifying causes, was now juggling all kinds. Once he managed to steady himself it was the last line that jumped out. “Begin again in cavernous land – that’s what Jason was attempting when found by the police!” he shouted at Imamu who suspended judgement. Eugene ran the butt of his pencil over the four paragraphs. “So a genuine belief in resurrection as Christian Moor had touched on, but then why would a distinct outsider be driven to carry out such a thing?” Eugene looked at Imamu with a face that was clearly frustrated. “You’re not going to solve this in the next ten minutes so you should probably take a break. Get something to eat.” Eugene did as the professor suggested. After a good feed they spoke about things more clearly in the lounge.
Dr Peale was slumped on a couch, admiring the great weather beyond the driveway when he abruptly asked, “What’s your honest take on possession?” Imamu kind of laughed and then saw that Eugene wanted him to answer it seriously. “Well look, there are a great many people in these lands who are full of superstition, but I think it hinges more on the concept of karma. Those who don’t have any kind of standard of life – of course they want to believe if they live correctly they will be ‘saved’, but possession? I’d have to trust first-hand evidence and discount histories many claims.” Eugene gave a dispirited looking nod. “Normally I would be fighting your corner but by the same rationale, what transpired in such a short space of time doesn’t logically add up, does it?” The last part was fired back at Prof. Odili who at least conceded, “It’s highly unusual.”
The following day Imamu was away trying to decipher a few symbols that Jason had drawn. In the meantime Eugene was completely absorbed with the poem. He pictured the scene of the crime and reread the ancient text. “The mask is a guide…fallen bodies don’t go in a heap” was repeated until it lost all context. Something like a migraine was bothering him. He fetched a glass of water. When he sat back down something gloriously came back to him, what the chief of police had said, about attempting to arrange the bodies in a certain way. Yes! Perhaps it was the features of the mask that needed imitating for the burial – hence why he needed a certain amount of bodies! Eugene wanted to yell this discovery at Imamu who wasn’t here. He quickly wrote this down and then focused on the statement from Doug.
Jason’s friend had claimed he had seen some graffiti that was high up on a building and then no longer there the following day. He said it was “symbol-like.” Nor in the location or any of the books had Eugene seen these symbols. He doubled checked the artefact which did not bear any. As things stood they were a product of Jason’s mind. The hours went by and Dr Peale wondered where Imamu had got to. He returned as late as 11 p.m. “Sorry for not letting you know what’s going on, but we figured we should decipher the last one so you didn’t have to wait another day.” Another sheet of paper was put in front of Eugene with the symbols and their supposed translation. They read:
Put to rest
Align
Rise up
Dr Peale nodded at each one before blurting out “Commands!” Imamu again
had the same sceptical reaction. “Jason was being commanded to do this.” The doctor grinned then refocused on the poem. “Hmm, this thing about there needing to be ‘one at hand’…I guess the idea is newly revived members will see to it that you too are revived once dead.” He leant back into the chair as he fleshed out this theme. “Followers of gRoobai constantly needed to reaffirm their loyalty, if they were to live again.” Dr Peale truly felt the relationship between Jason’s actions and his findings were getting clearer by the second, so much so that he began to envisage airing these theories in a court of law. Imamu who was calmly standing by the door had to raise the key issue, “But for this opinion to actually work would entail some kind of genuine possession or hypnosis.” Eugene looked back at him in a calmer manner. “And that could very well be the case. For now I think the time has come to go back to my patient. Great improvements have been noted in his condition. Now that he is more lucid of mind he is more likely to disclose things which will help me tie everything together.” Though not entirely in agreement, Imamu had run out of objections. Within the week Dr Peale booked his return flight.
6
On the afternoon of the long trip back Eugene sat in Imamu’s lounge, speaking freely to the host who was thanked for his hospitality and (more importantly) efforts to further this case. “Stellar work,” he declared while enjoying his tea. As he went through the customary checklist he pulled out the artefact from his pocket. Prof. Odili frowned at it. “You know, you should really get a proper case for that, or give it to a museum once this case is done.” Eugene paused then replied, “Yeah, once everything’s wrapped up.” Ten minutes before the taxi was scheduled to grace the driveway they speculated about the big issue. “I still think there must be some information about Jason that hasn’t come out,” said Imamu. “He must have been reading about tribal histories, their customs must have resonated with him. He then simply took it to the extreme upon finding this lost den - he probably saw it as fate.” Imamu began to gesticulate as he constructed his point. “Killing must have changed his mental make-up. Then the stress of getting captured. His later actions, while singular, were not without their basis.” Eugene appreciated the input but had to bring up a few things.
“There’s definitely the chance he was reading up about tribes, though nothing was found on his computer. And then how on earth was he found speaking another language?”
“Was he really speaking another language though? And isn’t the sole witness an overworked screw who must hear all kinds in a place like that?”
Eugene smiled at Imamu who was doing a good job as prosecutor. “Okay then. Assuming he was found to be reading up elsewhere about tribes and got greatly interested in them, would that result in a person who was, by all accounts of those who knew him, a content and balanced individual with no history of mental health problems to suddenly be inspired to carry out multiple murders and attempt some kind of ritual burying?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. It’s difficult to know where somebody’s mind is at.”
“Still, even if I were to concede all of that, the duality to his personality of which I was a first-hand witness was like nothing I’ve treated before and the reason I came all this way.” Imamu nodded at the doctor with no reason to object. “I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it.” A moment later Eugene’s mobile rang. The taxi was outside. “Right, I’ll be in contact.” Imamu walked him to the door. “If I happen to find out any other details I’ll send them over as soon as I get the chance.” Eugene was much appreciative. “Ready for the journey back?” asked Imamu, alluding to the fact he looked tired. “Sure, I’ll sleep on the plane.” With a final wave from inside of the taxi the doctor flashed one more look at the professors’ swish pad and was taken to O.R. Tambo International Airport. Once there he checked his suitcase in and grabbed a chair in a café. Instantly the poem came out and was studied. Despite the bustle around him not much could break his attention. The one thing that did came from the airport’s speakers. “Ladies and Gentleman flight number BA2496 to London has been delayed by five hours due to hazardous weather, that’s flight number BA2496 to London has been delayed due to hazardous weather. British Airways would like to apologise for any inconvenience caused.” Eugene took his eyes off the poem and duly groaned. It wasn’t long before the great African sun began to sink.
The day after Eugene was scheduled back, Jason was penned in for his first bout of reconstructive surgery. The doctor wanted to get there for some words of encouragement before the prisoner went into theatre. I guess he considered him a friend at this point, one who he was confident of getting a much milder sentence after proving his actions were not technically his own. With thirty six hours to go before general anaesthetic Jason was asleep. Though sedated and restrained it was protocol for a member of staff to walk along the corridors at night and monitor patients. A peek into Jason’s room showed him twitching. It made the staff member pause. He watched on to see the head or leg move and realised it must be some kind of bad dream. A check up the next hour showed Jason to be peacefully asleep.
Each new day began with a dose of vitamins. One of the staff members would help feed them to Jason while another undid the restraining straps. As they made their way to his ‘room’ they discussed how out of all the patients here they least liked going through this routine with Jason. He had yet to be institutionalised. Something of his humanity remained, in his conversation and general manner that recalled the outside world. There was a tender resignation about him like a man who could not begin to understand his predicament. In turn this made the staff more conscious of their duties. As always they first peered through the observation glass. That was when they stalled. A moment later they got in contact with the head of their institution.
From the other side of the door they could see there was a grimace, one that didn’t move. Quickly they unlocked it and rushed to the side of Jason’s bed. They did not need to check for a pulse. Jason Bickley was no more, and it did not appear that he had gone peacefully. The staff members could only look at him for a moment before turning to the floor. His face didn’t really make sense. There was a deep furrow in his brow while the cheeks pushed up right underneath the eyes like invisible hands were gouging his sinuses. Some kind of severe fit which had stiffened the facial muscles was the unofficial call. The real cause of death quickly became the task of the coroner. Eugene was informed straight away, due to land in a few hours. The tragic day went on and the doctor did not get back in contact. The hospital pin-pointed the flight number to learn it had been delayed. When he still didn’t get back they feared he was scheming to take legal action against them for improper treatment, so concerned he had been about the medication.
The hospital hoped the autopsy would not peg the cause of death on medication. Jason’s disturbing expression remained for a long time after he passed. The coroner was perplexed at this part of the body which still had a lifelike quality about it. There were no traces of self-harm so suicide was unlikely. The toxicology report came back in the green so medication wasn’t a factor. Histology or the study of diseases via skin tissue was essential. Again the results came back clear. It was when Jason was opened up and had his heart examined that the coroner felt he was getting somewhere. One of its four valves looked to have hardened up. This could have trigged a cardiac arrest during sleep. Things got messy as Jason’s parents were sure it was down to negligence or too much medication. They remembered during their meeting with their son that he claimed that he was always drowsy. The hospital assured that was an unavoidable side-effect to the sedatives which were essential to prevent any more self-harm. It was mainly Jason’s mother who led the charge here. Jason’s father was not sure to make of it, of where his moral compass pointed regarding a murderer. It was the same with Doug though everyone else at the office “didn’t want to hear that scumbag’s name ever mentioned again”. The official cause of death was given as “cardiac arrest due to undiagnosed heart valve disease,” a classic symptom
of which was excessive tiredness. Even so, as the coroner stowed Jason Bickley’s body away, still with that bizarre expression, he knew this cause of death had not been rendered with the greatest conviction.
It put an end to the suspended court hearings but it made Dr Peale’s whereabouts a growing mystery. His mobile and office phone were never answered. Emails were never returned, not even Imamu’s. The South African professor had dug out another bit of information. He’d chased up the current status of author Christian Moor, unsuccessfully, “though I did find out he graduated from Cape Town University where an incomplete paper is. The librarian didn’t know whether Christian meant to turn it into another book. It’s dated about month after African Tribes: One Man’s Journey. Near the end he forwards a theory about a spiritual link between the ornament and its possessor, ending with some concern about apostasy being punishable by death. Not sure what to make of that. I’ve scanned and attached it anyway. Do let me how the case is going.
PS - The poem continues to fascinate.”
As it went Eugene never got back.
A year after Jason’s death the chief of police, the one who had been issuing public statements was sure about the nature of Dr Peale’s disappearance. He had been sceptical throughout the doctor’s relationship with Jason and was taken aback with the decision to go abroad and “witch hunt” as he put it. His lasting opinion was that at some point the doctor had realised how poor his judgement had been and was consequently shamed into never showing his face again. Those who considered this opinion gave it a mild nod, acknowledging the possibility. For a man of repute to vanish inside a highly interconnected world kept most wondering.
Had Imamu’s disappearance a week later reached London perhaps someone else would have been inspired to continue where Eugene left off…
Dare to Read: 13 Tales of Terror Page 12