The Arrival

by J W Brazier

  Mary’s second transformation … the cold … the foul odors … It was all too much for Deborah.

  “Mary!” Deborah shouted.

  The young girl’s physical features and behavior changed back as quickly and noticeably as with the earlier bizarre episode. Mary looked at Deborah, bewildered. Mary again seemed clueless to the outlandish event.

  “Dang, Doc, what’s got your panties in a wad? Are you sure you’re alright? You’re acting weird.”

  Deborah’s heart pounded. There was no denying what she’d twice seen and heard. Deborah tore her eyes off Mary and refocused on a frightened Nurse Thompson in the doorway.

  Beverly’s eyes darted back and forth from Mary to Deborah, a hand to her mouth, the other gripping the door frame. Deborah read her pleading expressions and signaled with a quick nod to go. Beverly welcomed the dismissal and scurried out the door.

  Deborah wanted to follow Nurse Thompson, but faced Mary. What her eyes saw and her mind tried to comprehend left no other assumption but demonic possession. The idea of satanic possession, a clear impossibility, confounded her. Those were religious fantasies … or were they?

  She felt silly thinking about praying to someone or something she didn’t believe in, or didn’t exist, but it couldn’t hurt she’d reasoned.

  “Mary, like I was saying, you’re close, so hang with me a little longer, and this will all be over soon.”

  “Okay, Doc, I hope you’re right. I’m so ready to get my money and get the hell out of here. No offense to you.”

  Deborah forced a grin. “Not to worry, Mary, I understand.”

  Mary pounded and molded her pillow. She found a comfortable sweet spot and flopped on her side with a mischievous grin, as if nothing had happened.

  “Later, Doc. I’m gonna take a nap. Don’t forget that walk you promised.”

  “I promise, Mary. I’ll come and get you.”

  Chapter 3

  At 8:00 a.m., a line of severe thunderstorms unleashed its fury, pummeling a hundred square miles of central Arkansas north of Little Rock. The massive storm engulfed the small town of White River, showing no mercy in its wet march north to the Missouri line.

  Meanwhile, in New York, Ian had returned from a trip abroad and checked his answering machine messages. Charles’s voice message sounded stressed. The machine’s time stamp was over a week old. He attempted to return the call several times during the day, but Charles never answered. The message asked for his help, but gave a warning: “Ian, it’s urgent. I need to speak with you in person. I’m at White River General Hospital. Avoid GEM-Tech security; they paid me a visit and they’re looking for you. Come quick.”

  He booked the next flight out of New York to Little Rock, Arkansas.

  During his flight, he explored his map of White River and memorized important escape routes in and out of the town. He arrived in town at 10:30 a.m. and spent another hour driving around and scouting the area. Satisfied with his escape routes, he parked his airport rental two blocks away from the hospital.

  The accursed rain had already burrowed its way under his clothing in the short walk to a small visitor’s park in front of the hospital. Cold to the bone, he found shelter under a small pavilion and looked for any threatening reason to abandon his visit.

  With the wind blowing rain sideways, his shelter useless, he decided to use the miserable weather to his advantage. He’d seen no obvious GEM-Tech security surveillance anywhere. If he detected any sudden appearance of GEM-Tech’s thugs, he’d abandon the hospital, head back to the parking lot, and use his rehearsed escape routes.

  He flipped the collar of his full-length oil-skinned coat closer against his neck and secured his fedora. Adjustments made, it was time to move. He darted out from under his temporary shelter into the steady downpour and toward the hospital.

  A brilliant flash of lightning, followed by deafening thunderclaps, announced his entrance through the hospital’s front doors. He stopped twenty feet inside, a pool of water gathering at his feet. He looked left and right for quick exits and hallways of escape.

  Traffic around the main lobby was sparse, with no immediate threats. Center lobby, leaning on the reception desk, a flirtatious young security guard stroked the receptionist’s hand. Ian’s imposing stature and odd manner of dress soon distracted the security guard’s enticing chatter.

  The guard let go of the giggling girl’s hand, looking both surprised and embarrassed, and then assumed a suspicious posture. Ian studied the young guard’s intentions, guessing his macho stance was simply eye candy for the girl.

  A sign to Ian’s left pointed the way toward the elevators. The pimple-faced young guard flashed a quick, pleasant grin and stepped aside as Ian passed. Ian smiled, nodded, and continued toward the elevators.

  He stopped short of entering the elevator and returned to speak with the receptionist and ask for directions. A large white tag on the young girl’s pale blue blouse read Tanya in bold black letters. He touched the tip of his fedora, in a respectful greeting.

  “Hello, Tanya.”

  She blushed and smiled.

  “Tanya, I need the room number of Mr. Charles Wagner, please. He may be registered as Dr. Wagner.” Ian stepped back upon seeing water drip off his hat and onto the marble counter.

  “I’m so sorry, Miss. I’m making a mess.”

  Tanya reached for a paper towel. “Oh, don’t you worry, you’re fine.” She giggled, dabbing at the water with the paper towel, and then tossed it in the trash. She picked up her clipboard with a patient list. “Now let me see here,” she said, taking her time running her finger down the list.

  Finally, she stopped and looked up at Ian with a fretful expression.

  “Are you an immediate family member or blood relative of Mr. Wagner?” she asked.

  “No, I’m just a close friend.”

  The girl seemed hesitant. Her eyes and wrinkled brow conveyed, I so want to help you, but …

  “Sir, I have—”

  Ian was quick to cut her off: “It’s Taylor, Ian Taylor. Please, call me Ian.”

  “Okay, Mr. Taylor. I understand he’s your friend and all, but Mr. Wagner is on the sixth floor, our intensive care unit. I’ll have to call and speak with an on-duty ICU nurse.”

  Those two words—“intensive care”—were an immediate jolt, as if she’d poked him with an electric cattle prod. He couldn’t speak. His thoughts spun.

  Intensive care? What did GEM-Tech security do to him? he wondered. He stepped back from the counter. He would visit Charles one way or another. The nice approach would be better and less trouble for everyone.

  “Intensive care? Was there an accident? Is he alright?” he asked.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Taylor. I can’t give out personal patient information. Wait just a moment and I’ll call the sixth-floor charge nurse. She’ll know if Dr. Wagner can have visitors.”

  “Thank you. I’ve come a long way. I had no idea of his condition.”

  Tanya smiled and made the call. Her discussion brief, she turned to Ian and smiled. “Mr. Taylor, the floor charge nurse is on her way down to speak with you, all right?”

  Ian smiled and pointed toward the waiting area. He remembered Charles describing medical waiting areas as a patient’s self-induced purgatory.

  “Thank you, Tanya. I’ll wait over there,” he said.

  Ambling into the small waiting area, four jaded-looking would-be patients filled out a thick clipboard of papers. He took a seat in one of the uncomfortable hard plastic chairs with a clear view of the elevators. He’d allow them twenty minutes tops. An elevator ride from sixth floor to lobby shouldn’t take long, he figured.

  What happened since we’d last talked … to land him in the hospital? he wondered. What concerned him was their last phone conversation. Charles mentioned Abram Solomon, a secret project, and Palestine in the same breath. I think Charles is in deeper trouble than he’s told me, he thought. Impatient, he tossed a worn, uninteresting magazine aside and checked his
wristwatch a third time. He needed answers. Time’s up.

  He stood and headed for the reception desk. The young woman and guard had renewed their flirtations, and then he saw a petite nurse dressed in green scrubs exit the elevators.

  “Mr. Taylor, Ian Taylor?” the nurse said as she approached with an outstretched hand.

  Ian smiled, grasping her firm grip. “Yes, that would be me.”

  The nurse’s expressive stare conveyed her curious surprise. She looked him over from head to toe. “Well, my goodness, you are a tall drink of water, aren’t you? It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Taylor. Dr. Wagner spoke a great deal about you. Please, pardon my staring, but my, my, going by his accounts, you’re not the age I expected. You’re younger than I imagined.”

  Ian grinned, not wanting to offer any explanations. “Yes, well, thank you. And you are?”

  Embarrassed, the short brunette laughed. “I apologize. I’m Janet House, one of the ICU nurses. Dr. Wagner is one of my patients.”

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Janet—if I may call you ‘Janet’?”

  Nurse House blushed. “My Lord, yes, Mr. Taylor. We’re pretty informal here at White River General.”

  “That’s great, Janet. Charles and I go way back. How is he, and can I visit him?”

  She touched Ian’s arm. “Gracious me, I’m standing here jabbering away. Yes, you may indeed. He’s stable for now and he’s been expecting you. I know he’s anxious to see you. I’ll explain in the elevator. You ready?”

  When Nurse House mentioned Charles being stable, Ian cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, please lead the way.”

  As they walked, she filled in the blanks on Dr. Wagner’s condition, but the prognosis didn’t sound good.

  *

  Nervous and hesitant, Ian’s hand rested on the door handle to Charles’s room. He felt, to his regret, the pangs of guilt and remorse. Friends stay in touch, they visit, not wait years, he thought. A busy schedule, always his excuse, and then time slipped away. Now he was visiting his dear friend at death’s door, in an intensive care unit. He’d waited too long. When Charles sees me, he’s going to blow a gasket right off, I know it. How should I explain my appearance … and will he believe me?

  He glanced toward Nurse House, watching from the nurse’s station. Janet smiled and motioned to go inside the room. Ian took a breath and opened the door, not knowing what to expect.

  Charles lay elevated in bed, eyes closed, attached to a heart monitor and several other machines. Wires on his head and chest, and bags and tubes attached to arms and legs, dangled around him. The chill in room temperature felt abnormal. Ian had enough medical training to be dangerous, but recognized low readings when he saw them.

  He started to move toward Charles, but stopped. His hand shot to his chest and the object under his shirt. The amulet had warmed, as it had on other occasions, and he knew why. Something else was in the room.

  Ian caught the fleeting glimpse of a shadow as it escaped through the wall near the window, trailed by a muffled shriek. His encounters with specters had begun after he’d started wearing the amulet. Why was there a malevolent spirit haunting his friend’s room? With the specter gone, he noticed that the machine’s reading showed marked improvement. He had his answer.

  Charles is beset with more trouble’s than he’s telling me, he mused. The amulet around Ian’s neck had cooled; the room was clear. He laid his damp hat and coat aside in a chair at the foot of the bed, and then eased up next to Charles.

  He stood and watched Charles’s slow rhythmic breathing and stared at the face of a dear old friend. Charles looked haggard and thin, his skin pale, eyes sunken and dark, his hair snow-white. His friend looked twice as old, something he’d envisioned but clearly wasn’t ready for in person. He wiped at the corners of his moist eyes.

  Ian’s thoughts drifted back to their time in Palestine when they were much younger men, searching for their zealot Jew. Their expedition forged a bond of true friendship tested in the perils of war and bloodshed.

  He admired Charles for his bedrock character and true convictions of faith. Charles was a man of true grit. His influence had been an inspiration that guided Ian in many ways during his own personal quests for eternal truths. He loved Charles like a brother and wished he’d told him sooner.

  Ian reached out and held his friend’s hand, fighting back tears. Charles stirred from sleep and blinked several times to focus. His eyes wandered, then opened wide and fell on Ian’s coat and hat. He turned his head to find Ian beside him. Charles smiled. He looked relieved.

  *

  “Well, well, the long-lost Mr. Ian Taylor. I’d recognize that old hat anywhere.” Charles strained to focus. His expression changed, his eyes narrowed.

  Ian waited, expecting his friend’s shocked reaction at seeing Ian’s youthful appearance. He was familiar with Charles’s facial animations. Charles’s eyes grew wider, and his reaction now was similar to that of the day after they’d arrived in New York all those years ago. They’d found men dead around the Jew’s container. The corpse’s state of preservation showed a mysterious and marked improvement.

  I was right: there goes his blood pressure, Ian thought.

  “Oh my God, Ian, except for gray hair at the temples, you haven’t changed that much since we left Palestine.” Charles paused and shook his head. “Thirty-some years and you’ve aged so little. My God, man, how’s that possible? We’re the same age, for goodness’ sake!”

  Alarms started to beep.

  “Charles, calm down! You’re in a hospital, for crying out loud. You’re setting off alarms, and they’ll kick me out.”

  Ian really had wanted to share every detail with Charles, but hadn’t planned on doing so in an intensive care unit.

  “Hey, buddy,” Ian said, then smiled and patted Charles’s hand. “I’ll tell you everything, but first, calm down. Let’s visit awhile, okay?”

  Charles nodded, and the machine’s alarms began to silence. His vitals appeared to normalize. Nurse House burst into the room. Ian and Charles both looked up and grinned.

  “Ms. House, no need for worry. I’m okay, just a little excited to see my old friend.”

  Janet House grinned back, but ignored Charles and checked his vitals anyway. Satisfied, she headed for the door, but didn’t leave without a parting word: “You two behave yourselves, or you, Mr. Taylor, will be back in the waiting area. And you, Dr. Wagner, will experience a nurse’s revenge,” she said, pointing a wagging finger with an impish frown.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the two said in almost perfect unison.

  Nurse House left the room. Now silent, his eyes searching, Charles studied Ian’s appearance. Those awkward moments of scrutiny felt uncomfortable for Ian.

  “Talk to me, Charles. What’s going on, why are you in intensive care? What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m sorry for staring, Ian—a doctor’s curiosity. I’m questioning your ageless appearance. You and Abram appear to share either an unknown medical trait or a mysterious secret. I’m anxious to hear your story.”

  Ian turned his head away from Charles, considering his answer. The thought that he and Abram Solomon would share any similarities was repugnant.

  My guess, Ian thought, Abram’s powers spring from hell itself. He pursed his lips. Charles will think I’m telling another tall tale. He sighed as Charles pushed a buttoned pad next to him to reposition his bed. Still … I hope he believes the truth, fantastic as it may sound.

  “All right, Ian, I recognize that look. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I apologize. I hope you’ll tell me your secret later, but first, we’ve other serious business. Pull that chair over, please. We have to discuss a dire matter that concerns both of us, and we haven’t much time.”

  Ian’s left eyebrow cocked and pulled the chair near the bed, then sat. “Okay, Charles, we’ll get to my story in a minute, but first, you said ‘dire’ and ‘we’ in the same breath. I smell trouble. So what trouble are ‘we’ in now, Charles?”

>   “I’ll explain, but first, could you tell if GEM-Tech security followed you? Did you see anything unusual, odd, or out of the norm?”

  What Ian had seen when he entered the room definitely wasn’t normal—and why Charles’s fixation on GEM-Tech? What had Charles gotten into that involved him?

  “Okay, wait, Doc, you’ve said a lot. Let’s talk. Tell me more.” He stood and pulled his chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Charles, slow down and start again. You’re worried, and that’s understandable. You’re in a hospital bed in ICU of all places. This isn’t where I expected to meet up with you, but here we are. I know you’re concerned and maybe your questions are legit, but at the moment, they’re not my top priority.” Ian softened his tone. “Listen, I’ll tell you everything if you’ll back up and tell me why you’re in the hospital. Sounds to me like you’re up to your eyeballs in enough trouble already—nothing illegal, I hope.” He placed his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands, and leaned forward. “Go ahead. You have my full attention.”

  Charles turned his head toward the sound of rain and wind assaulting the window. His countenance had changed, as if adrift in a sea of distant memories. Ian waited. When Charles spoke, his voice was calm, as a man apparently reconciled with his life-and-death predicament and at peace with himself and his Maker.

  “I’m dying, Ian.”

  Those two words struck Ian as if a horse had kicked him in his chest with two hooves. He jumped to his feet, stammering to respond to his friend’s blunt, unexpected statement.

  “You’re … ah—ah—Doctor Charles, a brilliant scientist. You’ve … You’ve got doctor friends. Something can be done, can’t it?”

  Charles shook his head. “Not this time, Ian. I have advanced inoperable brain cancer. I’m one stroke away from heaven’s gate. It’s down to a matter of days. Besides, my old heart’s misfiring and it’s tired; it wouldn’t survive the treatments or surgery.”