by A. L. Mengel
Antoine shoved the shovel into the ground and winced at its hardness. “Soil is stony,” he said.
Monsignor Harrison stepped forward and looked over the hole that Antoine had been starting to form. “The stones protect him. Keep digging. We must forage through them. There will always be obstacles. We must press on, Antoine.”
Antoine looked at the Monsignor, who stared back at him through the darkness, and then he looked back down at the hole he was digging. He remembered, not so long ago, digging a similar hole in the earth, without any assistance, and back then, it had seemed so much easier. Like the soil gave way more easily, he felt he had been stronger. But now, the soil was stony, he was with several other immortals who governed his actions.
But there was no Asmodai.
At least not yet.
And then, when his shovel hit a large rock, sending a shower of sparks, he stopped, drew the shovel up towards the ground, and stopped, leaning on the pole. He looked over at the Monsignor, then to Ramiel, and back to the Monsignor. “Is he going to help?”
The Monsignor smiled and took a few steps closer to Antoine. “He cannot help, dear Antoine. Darius is your maker. This is all you. Ramiel is here, of course, for his support. He loves you. So very much. But he cannot help you. Nor can I. This is something that you alone must accomplish.”
Antoine closed his eyes and turned back towards the grave. He pictured the coffin sitting below, probably caked with dirt, the wood rotted from groundwater. “He is rotting down there. I can tell.”
Ramiel stepped forward and placed his hand on Antoine’s shoulder. Antoine closed his eyes for a moment as Ramiel spoke. “Antoine, you don’t know that for certain. It hasn’t been that long since Darius passed. There still may be time.”
Antoine continued digging, as Ramiel stood back with the Monsignor and Delia. They watched Antoine fight through the stones, tossing the small, egg shaped rocks off to the side, and listening as one or two would ricochet off a nearby grave marker. For hours it seemed, they waited. Waited as Antoine continued hoisting dark earth over his shoulder; as Delia sat on a nearby bench and smoked a cigarette, as the Monsignor paced up and down the path, and as Ramiel crouched next to Antoine as the coffin was revealed.
Antoine pulled at the top of the casket, as it crumbled into his hands. Ramiel reach down into the grave, tugging at Antoine’s shoulder. “Let him go, Antoine.”
As the lid of the coffin tore away, and the stench of rotting flesh permeated the air, Antoine hung his head down and closed his eyes. The warm tears streamed down his face, and he turned around, looking up at Ramiel and the Monsignor, and cried out. “Delia! Come here! He is truly gone!”
Delia appeared at the grave and looked downwards, to where Antoine crouched over the coffin. Antoine looked up at her. “Look at him.” He sunk his head down and felt the warm tears slide down his face. “Just look, Delia. He is gone. Truly gone. His body is gone. Totally rotted out. Is there nothing left to save?”
Delia stooped down and extended one leg down into the grave onto the top of the liner. “We will look,” she said. She eased herself into the grave and stood next to Antoine, over him, and placed her arm around his shoulders. “I am so sorry, Antoine. So very, very sorry.”
And then Antoine stopped and looked towards the sky. Ramiel produced a syringe. “There is no need for that, Antoine.” He bent down and took a small sample of blood. “Amazing that it hasn’t dried up yet.”
Antoine looked down and watched Ramiel’s hands, mesmerized, as Ramiel leaned forward and plunged the needle into Darius’ torso. Antoine spoke without breaking his gaze. “Darius only died a few days ago. And I was insistent on no embalming.”
“That makes sense if you had wanted to resurrect him.”
Antoine looked over at the Monsignor, who was checking his phone. The screen illuminated his face.
“So why can’t we?” Antoine asked. “Why can’t we bring him back?”
Monsignor Harrison put his phone away and took a few steps closer to Antoine and Ramiel. “It’s the decomposition, Antoine. It’s too far along. His body will be liquefying. We’ll be lucky if we can even find out what this ‘Hooded Man’ is having us drink – given all the gases and chemicals produced when a human body decomposes.”
Antoine dropped the pieces of the casket that he had been tearing away, and climbed out of the grave. He walked to the edge of the forest, as the Monsignor, Delia and Ramiel stood at the grave looking on at him.
But it was only Delia who looked over at him and understood. For the Monsignor and Ramiel were only governmental subjects; they did not really care, they only were there to protect the interests of The Inspiriti. But Delia, who was the leader of The Inspiriti, looked at Antoine directly as he leaned against a large Oak at the edge of the cemetery. It was done. Darius was truly dead. There was no body to resurrect this time around.
It didn’t matter what type of incantation he was able to perform. Darius was gone. Off to the astral plane. And there was nothing that he or anyone else could do about it.
*****
After the coffin was reburied, they headed back to the Chateau.
The group reached the clearing just beside the cemetery where some random graves were placed. The night was quiet, and the wind had died down. “Follow me and take every step that I do. There is no light and there are grave markers everywhere,” Antoine said, looking back at Ramiel and Monsignor Harrison. He waved forward with the flashlight.
Antoine remembered the feel, and the crunching of the gravel beneath his feet. It wouldn’t be much longer until there was a break in the path and they would have to turn right. If they kept proceeding forward, they would smack into a life sized statue of an angel. No time for first aid this evening.
“Keep with me,” Antoine said as they reached the break and headed off to the right. “I can just imagine if Darius were here with us. He would have grabbed the flashlight from me and taken over.”
Antoine stopped and held his arm out, stopping the other two men. “Wait a minute. I just heard something.”
Antoine looked over towards the forest, and then back over at Ramiel, who was scanning the cemetery. Antoine took a few steps back. “I can sense his presence…”
The Monsignor placed his hand on Antoine’s shoulder and brought his head close to Antoine’s, and whispered. “Is this who I am thinking it is?”
Antoine nodded, and the group ducked down next to an oversized monument. Antoine turned off the flashlight and they listened. There was still an impenetrable silence. Antoine turned around and saw Ramiel make the Sign of The Cross and close his eyes. The Monsignor was fixated on the edge of the trees, just beyond the remaining rows of graves.
“Stay here,” Antoine said. “I know this cemetery like the back of my hand. You three don’t. I’m going to try to get a better feel of what’s in that forest. If he is there, he is being mighty quiet.”
The Monsignor nodded and huddled close to Ramiel. Antoine dashed off to the left and through several markers. He crept to another larger monument, considerably closer to the edge of the cemetery, and then stopped. He looked onwards, into the blackness, and ducked back behind the monument.
Some thunder rumbled in the distance, and Antoine felt a drop of rain on his cheek. The sky started to come alive, as the cloud parted and some moonlight shined through. He could see the stones, the blue hue on the blades of grass, and as he looked over towards the edge of the forest, he saw the mist coming.
Was Asmodai here to settle an old score?
Antoine remembered the first time that he faced him in the same cemetery under similar conditions. But here, Antoine was not resurrecting Darius, as he had in the past. There was no ritual to perform. He was simply acquiring the body to study the blood. Why was he coming this time?
The mist traveled down the stone path and swallowed the markers on either side. Antoine leaned against the monument, and looked over to where Monsignor Harrison and Ramiel were huddled. He could see
them well now that the clouds had parted and the moonlight was shining through. And then he returned his attention to the approaching mist.
And Antoine thought that he remembered. He thought that the night he resurrected Darius was a face-off with Asmodai, and he knew, at any moment, the beast would make his appearance, approaching with thunderous footsteps, toppling trees and ripping branches and limbs to shreds, riding winds like that of a hurricane.
But what he saw, when the mist began to clear, was something completely different. For the beast was not there – it was not Asmodai who emerged from the trees; it was not the demon and his legion of the damned that filled the cemetery with flaming swords – it was hood that he recognized. It could be none other.
And the crystal caught the moonlight, and directed it back towards his face. The red hot potion was boiling inside, as he swung it back and forth, and the mist danced around him as the winds picked up –
Come with me and drink from the blood decanter…
They all froze, watching the hooded man approach on a cloud of white, swirling mist; the mist moved through the cemetery, wrapping around the stones, billowing upwards like low, blanketing clouds, covering the grass, the stones, and the everything in a cloud of white. The mist moved closer towards the men, like the rising tide covering a beach, moving closer with each passing minute.
“That is him!” Ramiel said. “That is the man with the glass vase of blood! Do not let him get any closer!”
Ramiel ran towards Antoine and tugged at his arm. “We have got to get back to the Chateau. We can’t let him approach us. Or we’ll be here where Darius is buried!” Ramiel turned to run, and then called back. Antoine and the Monsignor stood, side by side, watching the hooded man approach, step by step, a few feet at a time. They stared in unison and saw the decanter, as the man held it upwards towards the sky. Their heads moved in the direction of the decanter, their eyes transfixed on the swirling, crimson potion. The hooded man looked towards Antoine and Monsignor Harrison. He looked towards them with a faceless stare.
This potion will be your salvation. Come with me, drink.
Ramiel fell to his knees and crawled towards the open grave. He reached inside the bag and fumbled through the tools, and found a rag. He held it up to his eyes and covered them. He reached outwards with his arms, flapping away, reaching out towards his companions. “Antoine! Monsignor! We must go now!”
But they did not hear him.
The blood decanter was lowered to the ground, as it levitated and lowered in the cradle of the white mist. The mist cleared from around it as it set itself on the ground and swirled outwards. Antoine and the Monsignor both looked down at the decanter, as the potion glowed.
Ramiel got up on his feet, holding the rag over his eyes. He took an uncertain step forward, holding one arm out in front of him. He felt the solidity of Antoine’s back, patted upwards with his open palm, and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. Antoine lost his footing and they both fell to the ground, toppling over each other, and down into the open grave. Dirt loosened and fell on top of them.
Antoine struggled and coughed. “What the – Ramiel!”
“Stay in here! The Monsignor is still up there.” Ramiel looked upwards towards the opening. The mist was swirling over the top of the grave. He looked over at Antoine, who was looking down at the casket.
“Antoine…the Monsignor is still up there.”
Antoine closed his eyes and sighed. “Is it too late for him?”
Ramiel looked upwards at the mist which still blanketed the opening. “I’m afraid if we climb out we will become enchanted also. I was surprised I was able to break his hold on you.”
Antoine nodded and looked over at Ramiel. “Thank you, Ramiel. You must be my guardian angel or something…”
Ramiel shot Antoine a knowing glance and smiled –
There was a loud crash up above, shaking the ground. Dirt loosened and the sides of the grave and showered on the two as they crouched on the casket. The casket shook on its runners, the sound of steel against steel pierced their ears. Ramiel and Antoine looked upwards, and then back at each other. Ramiel stood and reached for the sides of the grave, grabbing a thick root. Antoine grabbed him arm. “No, Ramiel. Don’t. I’ve talked to Darius. We have been down here too long. It’s too late for the Monsignor.”
Ramiel shook Antoine’s arm off and climbed upwards, into the mist. At first, all he saw was the cloudy vapor. But that was only the beginning. The mist lightened, gradually at first, and then with an increased determination, towards a bright, white hot light, assaulting his eyes; he screamed, attempted to cover his eyes, but was thrown backwards against the opposite side of the grave. Antoine reached up and dragged Ramiel back down into the grave.
*****
There was a crash of thunder directly above them, and they both looked upwards. The mist had cleared. As they gazed above they saw a cloudless sky of stars, and the same familiar blue moonlight.
It was stark and silent. The chill in the air returned. Antoine looked over at Ramiel. “We should go up there. See if he is okay.”
Ramiel nodded and started to climb up the side. Antoine followed and peeked his head above the threshold of the earth. Monsignor Harrison was sitting on a top of a monument, but the mist was gone. The hooded man was gone. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
They both climbed out of the grave. Antoine called out to the Monsignor. The priest looked up, and and smiled. His teeth glistened against the moonlight. He looked over at Antoine and Ramiel. The Monsignor smiled, and his face quivered, his eyes widened. He threw his head back, and laughed, a deep belly laugh. Antoine and Ramiel looked at each other and shrugged, as the Monsignor stood on his feet and held his belly and bent forward, laughing deep from the pit of his soul.
Antoine walked a few steps closer to the Monsignor. Antoine cocked his head to the side and extended his arm outwards to the priest. “Monsignor Harrison…”
And the Monsignor stopped laughing just as abruptly as he had started, turned and faced Antoine directly. Antoine couldn’t help but notice that the priest somehow looked…different. His eyes were still wide with life, but he stopped, and looked at them, hovering like a clown. And then he threw his head back and laughed again. “I am finally saved! I always thought that maybe…just maybe…that I would have had faith in something that was nothing. But now I know it’s something!”
Ramiel’s face shifted as he walked over to the Monsignor. He walked over close to the man, as he had calmed, and Ramiel put his arm around the priest. “You doubted your faith your greatness?”
“Oh please!” he said. “I have been questioning my faith for years. It was a long time running. I didn’t have the courage to tell others – besides you.”
Ramiel shook his head and looked over at Antoine. Antoine shrugged his shoulders. Ramiel grabbed the Monsignor’s arm. “I need to speak to you more specifically about what you experienced tonight, Monsignor. Your doubts, they are very common. I would imagine even among the Clergy at times. But tonight…this ‘Hooded Man’…he was not a harbinger of salvation.”
The Monsignor pulled free from Ramiel and stood apart from the two men. He glared right at them. “Don’t either of you question my faith!”
Antoine looked over at Ramiel, who placed his arm on the Monsignor’s shoulder. “It’s not your faith that we question. Its tonight’s events. You do believe that there will be false prophets, right?”
The Monsignor scoffed and said nothing. Ramiel looked over at Antoine. “Let’s go back and pick this up tomorrow?”
Antoine nodded, as they walked towards the edge of the forest and back to the Chateau. The Monsignor continued to tell his story of how he spoke with the hooded man, how he drank from the decanter, was saved, and would be immortal forever.
As he talked, Antoine looked over at Ramiel, and they exchanged worried looks.
Ramiel watched the Monsignor. “Then you certainly believe, as well, that tonight could have bee
n a temptation of falsehood? A delusion?”
The Monsignor threw his head back again in laughter. “Let’s go, boys! Stop being silly. The night is about to end, and I’m ready to retire. You guys can stay here and perform whatever incantations for Darius that you like, but I am going back to the Chateau!”
*****
Once they arrived, Antoine closed the door behind them. They rushed towards the back of the Chateau. “Giovanni!” Antoine called. “We need help in the kitchen!” They ushered the Monsignor to the kitchen table and sat him at one of the chairs. He continued laughing, his deep belly laugh, as the group examined his eyes.
Antoine looked down at Monsignor Harrison. His eyes, completely stark white, were surrounded by black and bleeding lesions. Ramiel went to the kitchen sink and took a washcloth and ran it under some cool water. “Monsignor, your eyes are white!” Ramiel inhaled a deep breath as he touched the cool washcloth to his flaming wounds.
“I saw God!” He sat up, placing his hands on the table. “I can see nothing now…but I saw God!”
Ramiel held his hands up to the Monsignor’s eyes and winced. “Your eyes must be burning. I know it. I can feel it.”
“I saw God in that light! I saw God!”
Antoine shook his head and looked down. “You didn’t see God, your Highness. God is not in that mist. He is not in that decanter. Or that potion. That is the blood of Satan! You didn’t see God. You saw Lucifer. You drank from the Devil.”
THE TOWER OF BABYLON:
BLOOD RAIN
They once thought she had been a witch.
And for those crimes, they sought to burn her at the stake. It was the same morning, early with a chill in the air, which she remembered – as she woke in her bed, the covers still pulled up towards her neck; she could still smell the soot and the smoke and ash.
There was a knock at the door.
Delia closed her eyes. “I’m still resting.” And after, a few minutes of silence followed. She was taken back to that same morning; that morning when a similar knocking was heard. But on that particular day, her door had been made of wood; the small dwelling that she lived in was made of hardened clay – and it was hundreds of years earlier.