The Parchment (The Memory of Blood)

by Sylvie Brisset

  She went up, slowly, being careful not to take support on the creaking steps, holding onto the ramp to lighten up her weight. Up the steps, she took her umbrella equipped with a large wooden handle. A ridiculous weapon but it was all what she had. Slowly she approached the open door.

  She saw two men crossing her field of vision. A tall blond in an elegant suit and a smaller man with brown hair wearing a leather jacket, jeans and sports shoes. They did not exchange a word, and moved all the objects of her shelves, shook them, and put them back in place. She had seen enough. She needed help. Alone, she could do nothing against these two men. Especially if they were armed, and she had no desire to check. Slowly, she turned around.

  She had almost reached the top of the stairs when her cell phone rang in her bag. She froze like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights, in the vain hope that the two men did not hear it. For a few seconds that seemed to stretch endlessly, there was total silence except for the ringing phone. Her heart, which had missed a beat, resumed an infernal saraband and pounded her temples. She became again conscious of the danger and tensed her muscles, ready to rush down the stairs. But already an arm came down on her shoulder, and the barrel of a gun was pressed on her throat.

  Unable to think, panicked, she gave a violent blow of umbrella behind her, and luckily, reached "Elegant" in a sensitive part of his anatomy. He bent over, and she tried to run down the stairs. This time it was "Leather jacket" that was blocking the road. A knife in hand, he looked at her with a bad grin, granting no glance to his colleague who mooed, doubled up in pain, hands pressed against his crotch.

  "Stop this bitch!"

  Michaela sized up her opponent. He was confident, and seemed quite agile. She would never pass under his nose. He took up almost all the space. And "Elegant" had already resumed his breath.

  Think, Think. Hurry! she thought in panic.

  "Leather jacket" raised two steps that separated them. So without waiting, she jumped over the banister, and slid on her belly, barely holding the wooden bar to give more impetus to her descent. Her prosecutors uttered swearwords and rushed down the stairs. She nearly lost her balance in the corner of the lower floor, but managed to maintain her position by shifting her weight without slowing her course. The nose lifted toward her pursuers that she could not see, she paid no attention to the level she was. Reaching down, Michaela kept howling. She had forgotten to slow down before reaching the bottom of the ramp and struck the stile violently. She had a pretty good idea of what "Elegant" had just felt.

  "Wow! Gosh!" she blurted, her hand on her crotch.

  But she had no time to linger. Her pursuers were already reaching the floor. She crossed the hall, ran breathlessly on the few meters of the garden. The thin layer of snow that covered the driveway had turned into a slippery mud. She slowed down, afraid of falling. It seemed that she could hear the breathing of her pursuers. She thought about reaching her car parked outside her home, but it was unlikely that they would leave her time to get inside. Facing her, a florist's shop brought a pool of reassuring light. She continued her run and burst into the shop.

  Hidden behind a ficus, she waited but saw neither "Elegant" nor "Leather jacket”. She was breathing heavily, her arms folded across her chest in a protective reflex. The salesman looked at her, surprised, but continued to serve another customer. Michaela granted herself a few minutes to regain her breath, hesitating about what to do. She could not stay here. The way seemed clear. She found no trace of her nightly visitors. She was about to leave when she came face to face with the seller. She jumped, then tried to cajole him with a smile. But clearly, he did not have the soul of a knight rescuing damsels in distress. She said the first thing that flashed through her head.

  "You have roses?"

  The man nodded without taking his eyes off her.

  "I will take a red rose, please."

  She paid quickly, pulled out a rose in hand. The seller had certainly looked like a bulldog but she instantly regretted having left her refuge, and almost turned back. She should have taken a bulky plant and asked him to accompany her to her car. But the florist had turned the sign on the door saying that the store was closed. She took a deep breath, looked around and decided to cross the street. Without ceasing to monitor any movement around her, she got into her car, locked the door, turned on the ignition and drove fast away.

  After being assured that she was not followed, Michaela parked near the porch of a police station. She did not intend to enter, but the presence of security forces at a short distance reassured her. She cut the ignition and thought. Clearly those who killed her grandfather were already in her footsteps. She could call the police but was under no illusions. Surely they would think she had invented the story to accredit her thesis for the murder of her grandfather.

  Still ensuring that no one was watching her, she opened the glove box and took out a padded envelope. Her grandfather had given it to her on the morning of his death. He had asked her to open it only if anything happened to him. Despite her questions, he refused to tell her more. The contents of this envelope frightened her. She handled it as if it were a bomb and placed it carefully on the passenger seat. Too many questions remained. She might find the answers in this envelope. But something told her that it might be even worse when she would have unsealed it.

  After a few minutes of hesitation, she held out a trembling hand and tore the cover. A small tape slipped into her hand. The envelope also contained a faded leather bag. She took the tape and inserted it into her car’s cassette deck. The voice of her grandfather rose in the cabin and she closed her eyes, wanting to believe he was with her. She recognized, in the background, the reassuring sound of a Grandfather clock. He was in his library when he made this recording.

  "My darling granddaughter, if you opened the envelope, it means that I died because it was the express condition so you can open it. I assure you that when I speak, I am very healthy and I have no suicidal intent. I am also, as you know, a very cautious man. If I died, it is because someone wanted it. I have enemies who want at all costs to get my findings of forty years of research. It is the quest of a lifetime. The beginning and end. And so I failed, so close…

  “Remember when you were a kid and I told you legends? The search for the philosopher's stone. Why couldn't we make gold? Matter is made as particles. Change their organization and we will create something new.

  “There is a quest that men have always dreamed of. Managing time. Time travel, immortality. These concepts have always caught the imagination. Religions, all religions, always speak of eternity, don't they?

  “This power exists, darling. You probably think I'm an old fool. Yet. Think of those people who disappear and reappear years later without having aged a day. Think about disappearances in the Bermuda Triangle. Think of the megaliths, these signs as old as time and yet they can be seen only by air, the techniques it took to build the pyramids. Or just think of relativity. There are so many things beyond human understanding. Man believes to be a highly developed intelligence that operates in a galactic universe made for him. But it is perhaps also what would say a bacterium found in a human body. It also colonizes a land that it believes made for it. Is it smaller than we are in our universe? Some butterflies live for only one day. Could they imagine what their life would be if they could last eighty years? Some stars explode, so far gone, that the image of the explosion reaches us thousands years later, and it is as if we were witnessing their destruction. And aging? Is it only a question of cells degeneration? Should we start all over again in every generation?

  “Time is an abstract concept created by men, darling. A man wakes up to begin his day while at the other end of the Earth, another has already finished. Who has the true sense of time? Nobody. It is only a matter of philosophy.

  “Someone well before Einstein had already understood this. Someone has shattered the boundaries of time. Nostradamus has used this power, as Leonardo da Vinci, and many other men, forgotten or doomed to deat
h by their contemporaries who believed them satanic. They were only using knowledge unknown to their contemporaries. I still do not know if the appeal is immortality, at least on a human scale of time, or if it is the ability to travel through time. But this power exists.

  “I have found over the last forty years many testimonies. These documents that you find in the envelope are the last and most important that I could get. They are proof that everything I just told you is true, and not the ramblings of an old fool. And they provide the starting point of this quest.

  “Continue my research my darling, so I can live again. Do not let anyone take over the book. Don't show it to anyone. Destroy this tape after listening. Otherwise your life will be endangered. I am not alone in wanting this power. Others want to appropriate it.

  “You are doubtful, aren't you? You are wrong. Trust me. Think of everything you could do if you had the mastery of time. You could choose your time. Live forever and acquire an extraordinary amount of knowledge. You could change history. And who knows, perhaps bring me back to life. I am giving you this evidence. I know it is in good hands.

  “I kiss you, my darling. This is a goodbye. "

  The voice of her grandfather went silent. She only heard the light humming of the band pursuing its course. With slow movements, Michaela took it out of the cassette player and held it in her hand. Her grandfather asked her to destroy it, but she could not bring herself to do so. She put it back in the envelope. Anyway if it were found by her pursuers, they would at the same time find the book. Keeping the record would no longer be a threat.

  She rested her head against the back of her seat with a sigh. She felt an impending migraine. This story was crazy. Someone had taken advantage of her grandfather. Maybe he was afraid to reach the evening of his life, and had gotten hung up on the impossible. Yet, a little voice breathed inside her, other men were desperate for that damn book.

  She reached into the envelope to get out the leather binding. She did not know what to expect. Pages yellowed by time, which would crack under a finger’s pressure, ready to disintegrate at the slightest manipulation. But she felt glossy pages and some were obviously recent. It was too dark to explore them in the car. And she did not want to take the risk of illuminating with the ceiling light. She put everything back in the envelope and thought about what she would do. At this point, a car passed along at slow speed. Maybe the driver was looking for a place to park. Unless it was something else…The anguish of the afternoon went on.

  "What sort of a mess have I got myself into?"

  CHAPTER - 7 -

  Michaela needed shelter for the night. A safe place, where she could think about all this. Going back to her flat was not an option. The gorillas were maybe waiting for her there. She could not confide in her mother, who would surely believe she was insane. She was not going to spend the night in front of the police station anyway! The hotel was a possibility, but she did not have the courage to be alone.

  She had a friend, a plumber who lived three subway stations from the point where she was. Surely he would help her. She needed time to think about all this. Her little sports car was too recognizable. Her name was written in large blue letters on her professional van. She had to find another means of transportation. Her decision was made. After a few seconds of hesitation, she left her cell phone in the glove box. She became maybe paranoid, but was afraid of being tapped, or that she could be located thanks to it. She took the envelope and slipped it under her sweater, closed her jacket and got out of the car.

  A bitter biting wind lashed her face. She pulled up the collar of her jacket and ran to the subway, listening to her steps clicking into the night. The warmth of the subway contrasted nicely with the outdoor temperature. But it also attracted people left out of society, or who put themselves on the fringe of it. Passengers on the platform no longer look like those of peak hours. Some slightly drunk young people railed on the quay, the neck of their bottles of beer near their lips. She tried to be as discreet as possible, and waited impatiently for the arrival of the subway. One of the gang noticed and stared at her with a lecherous smile. Slowly he walked in her direction. Michaela began to panic when a screeching announced the arrival of the train. Relieved, she ran into the nearly empty train, and waited with increasing nervousness for doors to close. She closed her eyes in relief that the youths had remained on the platform.

  Minutes later, she reached her destination. She relaxed when she found the street. Steve lived in the city center, an apartment above a cinema. The street was busy and offered more opportunities to leak than the subway. The lights of Christmas gave a festive air, and despite the cold, many passersby lingered in front of decorated shop windows. Finally she reached his building and rang. Receiving no response to her call, she became agitated and was preparing to renew her gesture when Steve's voice reached her on the intercom.

  "Who is it?"

  "This is Michaela. Can I talk to you?"

  Before she could say more, the front door was unlocked. She hurriedly slipped inside. After having gone up quickly the staircase, she stood before Steve’s door, which he had left half-opened. Voices reached her as she entered the interior of the apartment.

  "Brian no, you cannot watch TV more. It is time to go to bed now! No it's not Mom. She will not be back until tomorrow. So go to sleep."

  Steve obviously had some problems with his offspring. Smiling, she walked into the living room. It was a real mess. Toys were lying around. The cushions of the chairs were stacked on the floor, in what certainly had to represent a hut. The vestiges of a pizza sat on the coffee table, surrounded with candy wrappers and with barely touched glasses of orange juice.

  Michaela collected some logs to sit down on the couch. Her stomach let out loud protests. She had not eaten since her frugal breakfast and began to feel hungry. The rumblings had not escaped Steve, whose head appeared on the side of the partition of the lounge.

  "If you feel like it, you can finish the pizza."

  Before she could answer, a little kid with messy brown hair appeared at the foot of the same wall.

  "Who is it?"

  Steve ran his hand through his hair, sighing. He grabbed his four-year-old son in his arms, threw him over his shoulder like a sack and under the delighted little cries of his son, carried him to his room.

  "Go boy! I said to bed!"

  Michaela smiled and began to relax in this family environment. After taking off her jacket, taking care to keep the envelope inside, she grabbed a piece of pizza. It was almost cold, but it seemed divine considering how hungry she was. She was finishing her dinner when Steve reappeared. He dropped into a chair, sat up suddenly, took a small car on which he sat down and settled back comfortably.

  "What brings you here?"

  "It's a bit complicated. Can you give me shelter for the night?"

  "Of course, you are always welcome." He let the silence be established and added a little embarrassed, "I heard about your grandfather. I'm sorry."

  She nodded in silence. "This evening I did not really want to be alone."

  Now it was Steve who nodded, not knowing what to say. Michaela had always been discreet and modest. Obviously she did not want to talk. Just find a place to spend the night. She knew that anyway if she changed her mind and wanted to confide in him, he would be there. It was useless to tell her.

  "We will make some space and try to make you a bed on the sofa. Maryse is on call at the hospital tonight. She will not be back until tomorrow. I'll get what is needed, and I'll go to bed. If you want to talk or anything you just have to ask."

  "Thank you."

  Steve brought her the necessities and together they made a bed. The lounge was quickly cleared of toys and food scraps.

  "Make yourself at home."

  He kissed her quickly on the cheek and after wishing her good night, quietly left the room.

  ***

  Michaela sat by the window, watching the passersby on the street. So much had changed in her life the
past few days. She was now on the run and it was a very unpleasant feeling. She wanted to discuss this matter with someone to see things more clearly. But she could not confide in Steve despite his kindness. Already, she had endangered him by coming to his home. She envisioned the possibility of starting right away but did not feel the courage to.

  She should have opened the envelope of her grandfather earlier. When he had entrusted it to her, he had stipulated to open it if anything happened to him. Tearing the envelope meant accepting his death. And she had not felt ready for it. Even today, only the questions raised by the presence of her unexpected visitors in her apartment had pushed her to open it. She had always loved her grandfather and rejected the idea of never seeing him again.

  Obviously someone knew of the existence of the book and wanted to appropriate it. If he had already killed at least two people, the so-called Graam and her grandfather, he would surely not hesitate to kill her too. Was this book really worth the bloodshed? She seriously doubted it. But she could not induce herself to give it to these killers. It would be as if her grandfather had died for nothing. He asked her to continue his quest. She could at least give it a try.

  She had first to put the book in a safe place. Who to trust? She thought of Porkelevitch. Strangely this man inspired confidence. If he were as effective as she was told, he would learn sooner or later the existence of the book. And he had another advantage, he was nothing to her. She was ashamed of this thought but was reassured by thinking that the killers would probably not make the connection between them. Unless they had followed her this afternoon. She peered into the street below, but saw nothing unusual. People walked quickly to seek refuge in cinemas or restaurants. Nobody seemed to invigilate the apartment.