Modern Rituals

by J. S. Leonard

  “Pathetic,” Tomas said, grasping the lever, wondering at the weakness of regular men—men without vows, without purpose.

  “Why do we men even bother with women and love?” He moved the lever from Off to On.

  Cold, fluorescent light flickered alive—the room, now naked and exposed, lacked mystery. Tomas looked around and saw only the power box and grey concrete walls. He spotted a flashlight on the ground and retrieved it.

  “What do we have here?” Tomas said.

  He turned it on and nearly blinded himself.

  “Take your time, mate,” he said. “I will meet you outside.”

  Tomas proceeded up the stairs and exited to a welcoming, illuminated multipurpose room. The light offered an opportunity to look for supplies. Tomas revisited the kitchen and rummaged through each drawer. Empty. A tall, stainless steel refrigerator—new to him—stood in a corner. As he approached, his blurred reflection stared back at him from the door’s glossy surface.

  “Tsk. Who the hell chose these clothes?” Tomas said, sneering at his plaid button-up and khakis. He bent to examine his face, massaged his bald scalp and checked his teeth.

  Movement behind him in the reflection. He froze.

  A slight girl, tattered and moldy, limped across the multipurpose room to the maintenance corridor. She took no notice of Tomas in the kitchen. He turned around slowly and knelt down behind the counter.

  “I’ll end this bitch right now,” he whispered and crept to the kitchen entrance.

  Crouched like a panther, he gazed around a cabinet to time his attack—he jumped, arms flared, swinging, catching air…

  She was gone.

  Tomas drew in a deep breath, looked left, right. He glanced at the power main’s door, which swung inward and ajar. He made for the corridor, but stopped when a deafening, electric snap resulted in darkness.

  5

  Anthony had retreated inside himself. He lay on the floor, curled into a ball, seeking solace among heart-wrenching sobs.

  He and Brenda had been close friends in high school, finding love for each other while attending college. They’d married after Brenda graduated, and she’d supported Anthony while he pursued his law degree. She’d given him three beautiful children. All was well and good. Anthony completed school at the top of his class and found work with ease.

  As the path of his career soared, the hours required of him soared with it. Brenda raised their children alone, for the most part. Several years passed, and she grew lonely, eventually discovering love with another.

  Anthony blamed himself. He had his suspicions of her infidelity, though terror of the truth stopped him from giving them chase. Until the day he forgot his jacket and almost avoided Brenda’s lover.

  Dammit…I pushed her away. I tried not to. I worked hard. For her. For the kids.

  “Dear God, what have I done? Why am I here?”

  A loud crash from up the stairs snapped Anthony out of his depressed stupor.

  “Who’s there? Tomas?”

  No. I could have sworn I heard Tomas leave.

  Adrenaline—that miraculous anti-depressant—launched Anthony to his feet and he regained his composure. He stood in the gated exit of the power room, scanning in all directions.

  No one.

  Rough, rope-like hands strangled him. They yanked him backwards. His feet hovered off the ground, and he smashed into the power main.

  Sparks flew. Light turned to darkness. A strange warmth crept over Anthony’s chest. Though he no longer choked, his lungs refused to allow air to enter.

  An electrical surge banged and a high-pitched hum faded, and emergency lights coursed alive, hazy red, basking the basement in a photographic-lab glow. As his vision returned, he distinguished a silhouette before him: a face clarified in the murk, eyes fixed on his, murderous—an unleashed demon whose sole purpose was to take life.

  Anthony opened his mouth to scream, but his throat gurgled and he tasted metal. His head slumped onto his chest. Something protruded from his right breast: the lever to the power box.

  He hung there, dying.

  I deserve this.

  6

  Explosive thunder and lightning flashed from the maintenance door. The multipurpose room’s lights extinguished. Darkness swallowed Tomas. He stopped. In a slow wake, red emergency lights gleamed, bathing the hall in a bloody glow.

  He shoved open the maintenance door and stared into a red abyss. Sparks jumped from behind the chain-link fence bordering the power main’s room. They came in flashes, leaving violet, sun-kissed impressions in Tomas’ vision. Tomas blinked away the phosphorescent swirls and darted down the steps. Through the fence he saw Anthony hanging limp against the wall, blood drizzling from his mouth, suspended by a wound in his chest.

  Tomas whipped around to look for the girl. The room was empty.

  He placed a finger on Anthony’s neck and felt a faint pulse flutter and stop.

  He ran.

  Up the stairs.

  Into the multipurpose room.

  To the kitchen.

  To the skybridge.

  Where is she? She is mine to kill.

  Malvado had returned.

  7

  Tim, Susan and a few others were busy collaborating on HULK performing scans and calculations. Theo watched a window on his computer console where punctuated, rhythmical lines danced further apart until ceasing all movement. The glowing line now dawdled along a flat, linear path. It was dead and Anthony along with it.

  Theo hurried to open another window containing a camera feed positioned below Anthony’s feet. The feed displayed an unremarkable drain that drank hungrily of the blood flowing from Anthony’s wounds. His blood, sanguine and thick, traveled down in pulsating globs and—Theo knew and now imagined—collected in a teardrop, glass vessel where heat sterilized the blood and a vacuum removed from the vessel oxygen and nitrogen. He switched feeds to the hemo-automation delivery center. A robotic arm grabbed the container and deposited it in a tube. It whooshed away.

  He opened another window. This contained a graphical representation of Facility 7’s complex conduit system where a blinking dot traveled down a tube many stories high. The vessel fell, its velocity controlled by a precise ratio of air-pressure-to-line volume, and when it came time for the vessel to end its journey, the pressure rose and the vessel landed like a feather.

  Theo touched the feed window’s configuration dialogue and selected Blood Chamber. There, the vacuum tube’s Plexiglass door slid upward and the vessel tipped on its side, its mouth landing in a carved stone channel that connected with a dizzying network of similar conduits. The vessel’s top popped, spilling the blood into a stone aqueduct that traced a red line through a maze of labyrinthine patterns creeping in all directions: vertical, horizontal—even inverting under and over—defying gravity. It ended in a reservoir shaped like a man, and as it filled, it pulsed bright orange.

  The camera feed shook. Amida’s blood chamber rumbled, having claimed its first victim.

  8

  James could have sworn he felt the ground move.

  Keto, Colette and Olivia stopped their frantic search and looked at him.

  “You feel that?” James said.

  “I’m glad it wasn’t just me,” Olivia said.

  “It can’t be good, whatever it was,” James said.

  They resumed ferreting around the statue’s base. Thus far, they had found nothing, but James’ hell-bent persistence drove them onward.

  “James, what are we—” Olivia said.

  “Found something!” James said.

  James had dug up a shrub from a minuscule, circular planter, and he held it in his hands now, roots dangling. From the hole, a horseshoe-shaped handle protruded, centered directly beneath the rear of Buddha’s head. James wrapped his hands around it.

  “Ready?”

  The group seemed to tense as James pulled.

  The handle came a foot out of the ground, grinding as James extended it. When James c
ould pull no further, the handle settled and a chunk of Buddha’s back tumbled to the ground.

  “Well I’ll be…” James said.

  The compartment held a tiny, wooden figurine of a small boy. He stood tall and proud—fists tight, arms taut and pulled back—and he wore a frown. James reached into the hole and grabbed hold of the statue—an electric thrill ran through his fingers.

  “Yeesh!” James said, yanking his hand away. “That was weird.”

  He shook out his hand, drew in a breath and then reached for the little statue once more. The shock, though subdued, repeated and left a lingering vibration in his palm. He placed the statue next to the other in his pocket.

  “James, look,” Olivia said, gazing up at the Buddha.

  James took a step back and looked up.

  “No way…”

  The writing on Buddha’s back wiggled and adjusted. Light-filled lines changed shape, and jumbled letters writhed into words.

  FIND THE FATHER

  RETURN THEM

  A COMRADE IS LOST

  James and Olivia stood awestruck at the transformation. James snapped around, eyes wide, and stared at Olivia.

  “Dammit,” he said. “We need to find Anthony and Tomas.”

  “I’m sorry—you guys are at it again. What happened?” Colette said.

  “Shit! Sorry Colette—the letters switched around,” James said and read them to her and Keto.

  “Find the father? James, pull out those toy statues,” Olivia said.

  James held them before the group.

  “Maybe they’re related. Mother and child perhaps?” Olivia said.

  “Well, if they are, and we need to find another one, then we’re screwed,” James said. “This is a big place.”

  “Maybe there’s another clue somewhere?” Colette said.

  “Maybe, but right now we need to go,” James said.

  9

  “Replay the clip,” Theo said.

  Susan did.

  The monitoring station boiled as Theo processed the video.

  “Volume up—now.”

  Susan ran a voice clarification filter on James’ and Olivia’s brief conversation.

  “James, look,” Olivia’s voice said. James’ followed: “No way…”

  Theo watched, unbelieving. Someone—or something—had interfered with the ritual.

  “Scan for all forms of energy. Living, dead—anything that might inform Parts 5 and 6 of the third talisman’s location,” Theo said.

  Susan executed the scan—for a third time. The results remained the same: only the original ritual members, Trevor and the interfering specters registered.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Susan said. “No known entity is interfering with the ritual.”

  “Get me Trevor.”

  A tornado of vivid flashes tore around Trevor’s helmet. The suit flailed in full operational mode, boots staked to the ground, arms covered in flared tendrils, each sucking in spectral particle matter as it circulated about Trevor. He repositioned his hands into the densest spectral clouds.

  Trevor was a hazmat suit centered in a nucleus of paranormal radiation—and loving every second of it.

  A blue dot blinked in the upper corner of the helmet’s HUD.

  “Surry—answer,” Trevor said.

  Theo’s face appeared as a hologram reflected in the visor.

  “A little busy here, Theo,” Trevor said, jabbing his arm into a thick cloud of cosmic dust.

  “Trevor—Pythagorus was a joke,” Theo said.

  His face disappeared.

  Trevor stumbled.

  Prior to Trevor’s dispatch, Theo had called to communicate a hunch that the ritual might fail, sabotaged by elements outside of Purgatory 8’s control. If Theo confirmed those suspicions, Trevor was to join the group and coax them into the remaining sacrifice sectors—namely into Super-814N’s kill zones.

  Theo had just green-lit that plan.

  This flew well outside Theo’s jurisdiction. General Holmes would never approve a sudden addition to the ritual’s participant number, which could produce negative markers in the God’s cytoplasmic readings. If Amida discovered the truth—that it was an elaborate, artificial setup—humanity could kiss its ass goodbye. Trevor believed in Theo and knew full well Theo’s decisions took the good of the world into consideration—he had less faith in the general, however.

  Trevor swallowed and closed his eyes.

  The weight of his task—removing the participants if Super-814N didn’t do her job—bore down on his shoulders. A tormented spirit, she operated of her own volition, after all. Though she’d performed admirably in the past, this ritual was obviously different.

  He gritted his teeth.

  I didn’t sign up for this.

  As the last particles whisked into the suit’s confinement grid, Trevor detached his feet from the ground and ran through the forest toward the school. He arrived at an abandoned wooden shack, stepped inside and searched for a particular knot of wood. He pressed it. The shack’s walls, decrepit and riddled with holes, shifted and creaked as the floor parted, revealing a fluorescent-lit set of stairs lined with corrugated metal. Trevor followed them underground and came to a locker with a small screen beside it, on which he placed his hand. A viridescent line traced the display, followed by a beep and a click as the locker opened. Inside, several articles of clothing hung neatly. Trevor grabbed a slim-fit collared shirt, sans tie, and dark jeans—he wasn’t much for khakis—and changed out of the suit.

  10

  Colette gasped and burrowed her head into James’ chest.

  The four stood before Anthony’s body, bathed in red emergency light.

  “I think I’m going to be sick,” James said.

  Olivia approached the body.

  “Whatever did this was strong,” she said. “That lever isn’t exactly sharp, yet it was pushed through his chest, piercing the left pulmonary—er, lung. This was a horrible way to die.”

  “I’m still getting used to how calm you are in these situations,” James said.

  “We need to get back to the classroom and find Tomas,” Keto said.

  “Agreed,” James said. “The sooner we get out of here, the better. We still don’t know where that thing is.”

  They headed up and into the multipurpose room, then to the skybridge stairs. As they reached the second floor, Colette stopped them in front of the bridge doors.

  “What is it?” James said.

  “I thought I heard something,” she said.

  They listened. Silence.

  Colette shrugged, and James pushed through the doors and led the group onto the bridge connected to the classroom building. They kept low, staying out of sight.

  A voice—male—shouted from elsewhere in the building.

  “Um…okay, now, I heard that,” James said, signaling them to stop.

  “Help! Anyone!” The voice echoed in the distance.

  “I don’t recognize that voice—it’s definitely not Tomas or Horace,” Olivia said.

  “Should we help him? That thing might be out there,” Colette said.

  James leaned over the side rail in the voice’s direction.

  “Is anyone here? Anyone?” The man yelled.

  “Man, we can’t just leave him out there,” James said. It sounds like he’s getting closer.”

  “I think it best we regroup. We don’t know this person’s intentions,” Keto said.

  “True—but maybe they can help us,” James said. “Keto, can you accompany Olivia and Colette back to the room? I’ll go after this guy.”

  “If that is what you want, we will await your return,” Keto said.

  “James, I’m coming with you,” Olivia said.

  “You sure? Could be dangerous,” James said.

  “I’m not much for waiting around,” she said. “Let’s go.” She turned to Keto and Colette. “See you back at the classroom.”

  “Be careful,” Colette said.

  James watched as
Colette and Keto continued across the bridge, then he and Olivia backtracked into the multipurpose room, descended the stairs and exited the front doors. The shouts originated beyond the classroom building, past a clump of small offices—further still, in a field or even beyond the forest’s edge. They pursued the faint cries.

  “Help! Anyone! Dear God, where am I?”

  They rounded the last of the smaller structures. A high-fenced basketball court stood before them, and James immediately made eye contact with a man standing beneath a hoop.

  “Thank God! Someone!”

  The man ran to them. Olivia and James braced themselves.

  James noted his attire. It was casual—even stylish. The man’s features sharpened as he jogged their way. He oozed charisma. Tanned, square-jawed and well-proportioned—James had seen his type before on Abercrombie billboards. He gave them a half-cocked smile through which gleamed pearly white teeth.

  “Thank God!” he said again. “I’ve been searching for hours.”

  James turned sideways and held up his hand.

  “Whoa, there. Who are you?”

  The man slowed and kept a comfortable distance.

  “My name is Trevor. I’m lost—I have no idea how I got here. Where are we?”

  “Your guess is as good as ours,” Olivia said.

  “What? Are you serious?” Trevor said.

  “Unfortunately,” James said.

  “You said you’ve been here for hours,” Olivia said. “Where?”

  “Mostly searching the wooded area, trying to find a way out. I kept running into a wall or something—it was weird. Before that, I was in the school—but it was empty, so I was trying to find a town nearby,” he said.

  “Have you been attacked?” James said.

  “Attacked? What? No—why?” Trevor said, voice cracking.

  “Tell us what you were doing before you came here,” Olivia said.

  “That’s just it—I have no idea how I got here,” Trevor said.

  “No, what were you doing before you came?” Olivia said.

  “Oh. I, uh, was giving CPR to an old man. I’m a fireman—standard procedure. He was a goner anyway. But that was back in Middleton,” Trevor said.