by Matthew Buza
There was a long pause in the room as Lazarus carefully thought about what he said next. “Isaac, you might, if you choose, begin working in an unorthodox profession and there's often a learning curve and an adjustment. It's nothing we haven't dealt with before. I understand that Rowe may have been a little vague and that might be concerning. How about this? Just give it a try tonight? Just try it once and we will see where it goes. Is that something you can do?”
Isaac nodded his head. “I really don't know. I'm not a religious man and the thought of working with a séance seems a little like snake oil.”
Lazarus smiled. “You aren't religious?”
Isaac shook his head.
“You are a better fit for this position than you know. The problem is the religious folks who aren't comfortable with it the first time. For you, it's just something silly. How about this, naturally it is up to you, it is always your choice but give it a try, just once. Do you think you can do that?”
Isaac paused for a moment. “A séance, a séance.” His voice drifted. He lifted his head. “I've got nothing to lose so I think I can do it.”
“I need help here. I've been doing this for too long and it is starting to wear me down. I need a young man like yourself to assist me. You are a smart man. Just think, I can't promise you much in this world other than life and death, but I can tell you there will be zero pill-popping crazy people jumping around in cages.”
They both exchanged a wide smile. Lazarus clicked his right heel and walked back out of the large meeting room. He stopped for a moment, holding the door with his hand. “Everything you need is in that closet over there. Just follow the instructions on the parchment. The setup is key. Don't get lazy on me.”
Isaac nodded as Lazarus walked out of the room. The door clanged against the supports and Isaac was left alone in the room. He looked down at the parchment where a circle was drawn and points indicated candle placements. In the center was a large circular table with chairs. He felt a twinge of nerves as he saw the outline of a body. The placement was in the center of the table where the arms and legs were spread in a cross. An annotation was penciled in charcoal that read Donation.
Isaac wondered carefully, donation for what?
Lift With Your Legs
The black body bag sat carelessly along the edge of the wall. Ripples in the plastic fabric folded over the curves of the young woman contained within. Isaac couldn't take his eyes off the clear form of a hand pressed against the side as if fighting the plastic bondage. He expected to see the bag move at any moment, the woman tear through the edges and run screaming out of the room.
The muffled voices of the police officers edged into his mind and distracted him from the discarded life on the floor. Lazarus was speaking quietly with the two police officers and the middle-aged woman. She clutched a small piece of fabric in her hands, the plaid pattern oozing out between her fingers. When she thought no one was looking, she brought it to her nose and took in a short breath. Her eyes narrowed as she smelled the perfume and a light mist clung to the edge of her eye. Isaac assumed there must be some connection to the corpse lying against the wall.
Lazarus turned to the main room. “Isaac, are we ready?”
A short nod. “Yes, sir. Everything is set up in the room.”
“Can you help Officer Castillo with the body? Please place it on the table with the head facing north.”
Lazarus turned to the woman still clutching the fabric and placed his hand on the small of her back. He gestured to the room. “Mrs. Jones, let's go into the room and find a seat.”
Isaac crossed the room to join the officer next to the body. Officer Castillo was a stocky Mexican man with a tightly cropped beard. A small gold chain hung from his neck and Isaac could see the cross swinging and flickering in the fluorescent light.
Isaac didn't expect the Boston accent in his voice. “Alright, wado you want the bitch's feet? She gotta a nice set, but she ain't using them no more and it a damn shame.”
The officer's comments caught Isaac off guard. His eyes bored into the man's flaking scalp. “I'll take her head. Why don't you focus on her feet instead?”
“Whatever you want. I was just joking, you know?”
Isaac's hands locked behind the woman's head as the plastic crinkled under his fingertips. He could feel the woman's hair gathered beneath her neck like a soft pillow. They shuffled their way into the main room to greet the others. The body let loose a hollow thud as it hit the wooden tabletop. Isaac slowly unzipped the black plastic bag. The woman's soft white skin was a bright contrast against the dark wooden tabletop. The bloodless autopsy stitches cut a patchwork across her chest and abdomen. He couldn't help but try to imagine the woman's story and how life's choices brought her to this basement room surrounded by cops and candles.
Where was her family? he thought.
What would they say about their daughter or niece being removed from a body bag and placed naked onto a séance circle? That word, séance, still floated through his mind.
Isaac caught Lazarus's face. What did Lazarus mean by séance? He didn't actually believe he was going to speak with someone who was dead. He mentioned a man earlier, so what is this woman's purpose?
The group shifted and moved towards the table. Isaac could hear their footsteps on the tiled floor as Lazarus spoke softly with the officers. His experience with Lazarus was limited, but he felt that the man's voice had changed. There were layers of dominance and confidence that could be heard as he spoke with the guests. They all stared into his eyes. They hung on every word as he confidently described the facility and lightly joked, reassuring them that the ritual would be safe for everyone.
Isaac pulled the black plastic body bag out from under the woman. She was nude and sprawled across the table. Her exposed dead body stared up at the suspended ceiling tiles. Isaac's forearm brushed up against the woman's leg and he could feel the bend of the light blond hairs. Her skin was smooth but firm like the cadaver he worked on in class. The smell of formaldehyde slowly worked its way through his nose causing his stomach to ache. He kicked himself for missing lunch. It would be a long evening and the smell would work its evil.
He felt a chill rush over his body. Somehow the room seemed colder than normal, as if a window was left open to the cool evening air. Light goose pimples scattered across his forearms as he reached under the table and pulled out two small cloths and laid them across her exposed breasts and midsection. The white fabric draped down and tucked between her legs and breasts.
Officer Castillo's disappointment was palpable. His face looked like a young boy who just had his toy taken from him. His eyes remained on the cloth covering the woman's midsection. A small ‘V’ marked her pubic region as her thighs rested together. The pressure in Castillo's pants softened as the hairless view washed from his mind.
All of the eyes were focused on the woman laid across the table as Lazarus broke the silence. “Well, could everyone take their seat at the table? We can go ahead and get started in a few minutes. I just need to borrow Isaac for a minute and step outside. Is that OK?”
A muffled agreement could be heard as the guests slowly sat in their respective seats. Their heads dipped slightly towards the nude body before settling into the wool-lined chairs.
Lazarus closed the room's door to just a crack and leaned in close to Isaac. He whispered softly, “You're doing just fine. Please make sure everyone is comfortable. Drinks. Food. Anything.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, make it quick.”
“I don't mean to be rude.” Isaac paused a moment catching his breath and debating in his mind the next words. “Could you please tell me what the fuck we are doing here? I mean we…I…I am dragging some woman's naked body around with some fucking pervert cop? And who the hell are these people?”
Lazarus smiled. “And waste all of the fun? Seeing is believing and right now I need you to believe. Don't worry about the…decorations. Just focus on the even
t.”
The thing that Isaac hated more than anything was cagey answers to direct questions. He didn't appreciate the direction this new job was taking, but he was determined to try to make it work.
“I'm just very confused about what is going on. I just placed a woman's body onto a table. The candles, salt on the ground? This…this doesn't feel right. I have no idea what we are we doing here.”
“I understand that, but right now you need to watch. Your world view will change in a few minutes, but until then, it's not worth talking about. Just stand and observe, OK?”
Isaac took a deep breath and looked up to the corner of the room and back down at Lazarus. His voice was uneasy. “Maybe, I guess.”
Lazarus reached into his pocket and pulled out two canvas bags with small ribbon ties. “There's one last thing. I need you to hold these. If something starts to get a little out of control.” He shifted his weight and his voice dropped. “Out of control means something crazy. Like people saying odd things in languages that don't seem normal. Do you understand? Especially those cops."
“I understand.”
“And so help me god, if you see a levitating person, I need you to act. If that happens, you jump on the body and you to break this across my face and the second goes into the face of the girl on the table.”
Isaac held the bags in his hand and thumbed them across his palm. They were light and had the consistency of sand. He rolled the bags, placing them into his pant pocket.
Isaac shook his head softly and bit the edge of his tongue. “OK, I will wait to see if anything odd happens. And you want me to throw this across your face when it does?”
“Naturally, only if it gets out of control.”
Isaac lifted his eyebrows. “And out of control means floating people and speaking in strange tongues? Sure. That sounds logical.”
Isaac spun around in a circle and was exasperated lifting his hands to his face. He turned back to Lazarus. “Did you hear what you just said?”
“Listen, I don't have time to convince you. Just sit in that room and if something beyond your imagination occurs, do it.”
Isaac's anger boiled over. “Sure, what the fuck. You want this shit thrown in your face then fine. You've got it.”
Lazarus's face turned as he heard the sarcasm in Isaac's voice. He reached for the door and paused, whispering, “I am depending on you. I will be lost for the ceremony, but you are my anchor.”
There was a pause before Lazarus spoke again. “If you don't want to be here, then the door is right there up those stairs. You are free to leave and never come back. But if you stay, you are committed. It's your choice. But listen to me, if you stay, and talk to me like that again, you won't remember hitting the floor.”
Before Isaac could respond, he was alone as the wooden door slowly closed. He looked around the main room and debated whether or not he should return. It was quiet except for the slow hum of the fluorescent lights. He was forced with a choice. On one side, he could walk out and return to Tennison and accept the devil he knew and continue dealing with psychotic inmates, having feces thrown at him, being pissed on, kicked, punched, and generally harassed. The other option was staring him in the face. Through the double doors and into the dimly lit room where a séance was about to occur. A séance. He still couldn't believe he was only a few feet away from some voodoo ritual. A voodoo ritual that was now part of his medical degree. He was studying to be a medical student during the day, and training in Lazarus's mystical basement at night.
He whispered, “Fucking trapped.”
Lazarus's words ran through Isaac's head, Right now you just need to watch.
Watch what? Some psychic ritual? Some snake-oil ceremony?
With everything running through his mind, he thought of the woman on the table. They had to be breaking some law dealing with dead bodies. Was it fair to leave her alone? For some unexplainable reason, he felt he needed to stay to make sure the dead woman would be protected. Lazarus said he just needed him to watch. He needed to be an observer and nothing else. Isaac knew he could do that task.
What was the risk? Just hang in the back of the room for an hour and then head home.
He dropped his head knowing that his future, for now, was with Lazarus. He entered the room. Everyone was sitting at the table. Isaac could see the small smile on Lazarus's face. It wasn't a mocking smile. There seemed to be an honest joy that had been missing in their previous interactions. As if a father was watching his son walk for the first time.
Lazarus pointed to the empty chair next to him. “Why don't you take a seat, Isaac?”
Breaking Free
“How do you know? Do you actually feel something?”
Isaac was twelve with not a hair on his face. He was sitting on the porch staring up at his grandfather whose gray hair plowed decades across his scalp.
The old man took a deep breath and thought about the question. “Well, I'm not sure I feel something specific, like a slap on the back or anything of the sort. It's more of a warmth. You know when your Nan makes you up some hot chocolate like she did over the holidays?”
The young man smiled and nodded his head.
“That warmth is what you feel. More of a comfort. Your Nan and I pray every day. Not everything is acted on, but we're heard. We know that's the truth.”
“But how do you know someone is listening?”
“You've got to trust it.”
“It's hard to believe something you can't see.”
“It's not that hard. You know when you go off to school each day that your Nan and I will be home when you get off that school bus, right?”
The wind moved through the trees, shaking the branches and the new spring leaves. “But that's just school.”
“Yes, but your Nan doesn't look at you each day and say ‘we'll be here when you get back’, you just trust it. She gives you a kiss and you say goodbye and it all works out.”
Isaac was skeptical. “I guess.”
“It's sort of like that. Faith ain't nothing big, it's just a small thing that builds and builds in your mind. You go about your day like we all do, focusin' on things that matter in the moment. You worry about school, or sports, or your homework. We all do. But at the end of the day, there's that little spot left over, that moment when you remember you are not alone. That someone is looking down on you.”
“I wish I could just see something. I'm not asking for some miracle. Just something small.”
The old man shifted in his seat and smiled. “Every night you close your eyes and while you sleep, your heart keeps going, your lungs keep breathing, and blood keeps moving through your body. That's a miracle in and of itself. You close your eyes and dream away the night. You can see anything inside your mind's eye, but are you focused on what you see? You've got a brain, you can dream. Hell, you've got more senses than just sight, but is that the only way you will believe? There's more to it than just seeing.”
He reached back and ran his fingers through his hair. In the distance, the cicadas chirped their song. The silence fell over them both before the man leaned in again. “Isaac, think about this. You are like a river and there are many streams flowing in. They each feed more and more water. As the river flows, it gets bigger and bigger. Eventually, you can't believe that this large river was built from a small stream. So don't lose focus on the river by concerning yourself with some small stream. I'm losing you again, eh? Well, just give it time. Time is always your friend.” He reached out and squeezed Isaac's shoulder.
Isaac closed his eyes and sought out the gaps in his mind. He tried to focus on the river. Seeing himself floating along. But his mind narrowed and he was lost trying to trace back to that first stream. He reached out and pulled gently at his grandfather's fingertips. He wanted to touch the faith that he talked about. He didn't want to feel like an outcast. He tried plumbing the depths of his mind, looking for that spark. He could feel the pounding pulse of his heart through his throat, his rhythmic breaths desper
ately moving oxygen into his body, and the tingling of his fingertips against his plaid shirt. He could not find it. That thing he was looking for was just a void.
It was almost a decade later and Isaac stood in the entryway to the conference room deep in the belly of a Pioneer Square historic brick building. His eyes were closed as he focused on the darkness. His mind was far from empty. He could see images slowly melting, their colors merging in a kaleidoscope of reds, blacks, and oranges. He was searching through and replaying the events in his mind. He could see the woman's body lying on the table, the cops surrounding them and Lazarus at the head. He could still smell the burning candles giving off smoke that swirled through the air and over the group.
In the center room, Lazarus lay still on the couch outside a medical office. From his waist up, he was covered in a fine gray powder. It collected across the face where Isaac had struck him. Through the powder, a red welt could be seen forming on his right cheek just below his eye. His breathing was shallow as his body melted over the edge of the cushion. His arm hung loose with his fingers resting on the ground. Beneath the cracks of folded skin was a soupy mixture of powder and blood that streaked back across the floor to the conference room and to the base of Isaac's shoes.
Isaac lightly swayed. In his mind, he could feel something new. He felt like he was sitting in a bathtub naked watching the warm water slowly climbing up the edge of his skin. Each piece of exposed flesh wanted and craved the warm relief. He was flooded with new emotions. Each one nestling in like a flash flood in a desert canyon. He knew what this was. He could feel it birthed from that night's experience.
Seeing is believing.
He opened his eyes and pushed open the doors and walked into the conference room. He could hear the squish as his feet walked through a thick line of blood. It had pooled in the center of the room and was now overflowing, finding lower areas to travel and gather.