Nephilim Genesis of Evil

by Renee Pawlish

  Nicholas mumbled an apology.

  “What?” Gino leaned over, his thick arms on the edge of the table. “What did you say?”

  “I said I was sorry,” Nicholas said, a little louder. He watched his mother go back into the kitchen. Geez, he hated her as much as he hated his father. She took everything from the jerk! And she never sticks up for me, he thought. Never.

  “You mind yourself.” Gino flicked a big hand at him, palm open. Nicholas flinched. Gino chuckled. “You better be scared.” Gino stared him down, until Nicholas dipped his head, gazing at his plate.

  “Now, what was I saying?” Gino asked, taking a big bite of noodles and tomato sauce. Mary had finished cleaning up, and she was back at her place opposite Gino, her posture tense.

  “Uh, you were telling Nicholas to get his stuff packed up,” Mary said softly, forcing her red lips into a smile. Her makeup was extra heavy today, but it couldn’t hide a dark blemish on her left cheek.

  Gino stuffed another bite into his mouth. “That’s right.” He seemed oblivious to the tension palpable in the room. “I want everything packed up by the time we get back. Once your mother and I take care of things with the rental agency and get a flight, I want to be ready to go.”

  “What about the sheriff?” Mary asked.

  A deadly stillness fell over the room. Nicholas’ head was down, but he looked askance at his mother. She was staring at her plate, her lips a thin line of fear.

  “What did you say?” Gino asked, his voice neither loud nor soft, but eerily calm.

  “Nothing,” she whispered.

  Nicholas slowly moved his eyes the other direction, spying on his father. Gino was looking coldly at her. His silence was worse than him raising his voice in anger.

  “I’ll get everything packed,” he said to distract his father.

  Gino continued to stare at Mary. He looked from her to Nicholas and back again. “Good,” he finally answered, still looking at Mary. “I’ll handle the sheriff. Besides, they don’t need us to stay. We had nothing to do with Mick’s disappearance.”

  Nicholas shifted his eyes again. His mother was smart this time. She nodded her head once and focused on eating. Stand up to him! he screamed silently. But he knew why she didn’t. Because she was scared, just like he was. He finished his lunch as well, even though he had no appetite. His stomach was in a knot from the anxiety he’d had locked inside all morning.

  His father had been on edge since the moment Nicholas got up. He spoke to them in angry, clipped tones as he stalked around the cabin, looking for his fishing equipment. Even after spending an hour at the lake, his mood remained unchanged. Then the sheriff had stopped by to see what else Gino could tell him about Mick and Nicholas’ activities of late. Clinton had also asked to speak to Nicholas. He overheard his father from the bedroom, lying to the sheriff, telling him that Nicholas and his mother had gone for a hike and wouldn’t be back for quite some time. He wanted desperately to tell Clinton what he had seen the other night in the woods, but he knew what would happen if he came out of his room. That same fear kept his mother in her room until the sheriff had gone.

  But the visit had left Gino even more irritable. He didn’t like that there was attention being focused on him, or on Nicholas. Once Clinton had gone Gino announced that the family was going back East, away from the trouble in the Crossing and Clinton Truitt’s questioning. Since that decision, he had acted with manic precision, organizing what would need to be done before they left: clean the cabin, take care of the early departure with the rental agency, arrange their airline tickets – the list went on.

  “Nicholas, clear your plate and go get started,” his mother said to him.

  “I want things cleaned up around here,” Gino said as Nicholas passed him on the way to the kitchen. “We’re going down to Boulder, so you’ll have plenty of time.”

  Nicholas nodded and went to the sink. He filled it with water and poured in the soap, one ear tuned to his father’s movements.

  “Mary, take your dishes into the kitchen and go get ready. Let Nicholas clean up the rest.”

  Nicholas heard chair legs scraping on the floor, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as his mother got up from the table. She cleared the dishes and brought them into the kitchen, slipping them into the soapy water. She didn’t say a word to him, but left the room. He heard her go into the bathroom, then heard water running.

  Gino came into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “You stay here, understand?” He crossed his arms and glared at Nicholas.

  “Yes, sir.” Nicholas continued washing dishes.

  “Those other punks aren’t around anymore, but I don’t want you out messing around.”

  He stayed silent.

  “What?” Gino barked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He heard his mother come into the kitchen. He snuck a glance at her. She had spruced up her hair and threw on more makeup, but it didn’t hide the fear in her eyes.

  “Let’s go.” Gino grabbed a set of keys off the counter. “We won’t be gone for more than a few hours.” He clipped Nicholas on the side of the head, just hard enough to sting. Then he left the room, grumbling at Mary. Nicholas gritted his teeth as he attacked another dish. The front screen door slammed.

  “Jerk,” he said under his breath. He looked out the window over the sink. “I hope you die.”

  His parents were walking down the short path to the road, where the rental car was parked. Mary walked a step behind Gino, her head down. As they approached the car, two men stepped out from the trees beside the road. Nicholas didn’t recognize them. As he watched, the two men appeared to be talking to his father. Nicholas stretched over the sink, trying to see them better. But the sunlight sifting through the tall evergreens created too many shadows, obscuring their faces. In what Nicholas knew was his father’s angry stance, Gino put his hands on his hips, his back went straight as a pole, and his head bobbed up and down. One of the men stepped forward and said something else to him. Gino stopped moving and stood still. Then his hands fell to his sides and his body relaxed. The man turned to Mary and tipped her head to look at him. She didn’t resist his touch, but nodded her head at him. Gino nodded his head as well. The man signaled and Gino and Mary followed the two men down the road, disappearing around a bend.

  Nicholas gazed outside, puzzled. His father was so determined to get down to Boulder, he was surprised that he and his mother would have gone with the two men. He dipped his dishrag in the soapy water. Maybe the men were with the sheriff’s department, wanting to know more about him and his friendship with Mick. If his father was being questioned more, this would make him even angrier. Nicholas wiped the sweat off his forehead. That would mean one thing: that he had better watch out.

  He finished cleaning up the lunch mess and went into his bedroom. A fan stirred the heavy air as he dragged his suitcase out from under the bed and started pulling clothes from the closet. He had a lot to do before his parents returned, and he wanted to have it all done when they came back. No sense in asking for more trouble.

  CHAPTER 39

  Rory awoke from his nap with a start, wondering what had pulled him from such a deep and, for once, dreamless sleep. He was lying flat on his back on the bed. The curtains in the window swayed with a slight breeze, carrying with it the high-pitched hum of an outboard motor coming near. The sound of the engine must’ve awoken me, he thought as he yawned. He rolled over on his side and checked the alarm clock. Barely one o’clock.

  The motor noise died, and he could hear someone walking along the pier. He rubbed his face as he went out into the living room to see who had come to visit. He opened the door and saw Myrtle hurrying up the path with Boo trotting beside her.

  “Hope I’m not disturbing you.” She scrutinized him as he let her into the cabin.

  “Not at all.” He smiled, but immediately felt like she had him under a microscope.

  “You look tired.” Without being invited, she took a se
at at the kitchen table, tossing her sunhat down on another chair. Boo curled up near her feet, panting loudly.

  Rory ignored her comment. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No, thank you.” She gestured for him to join her. He sat down, wondering what had prompted this visit from his landlady.

  She continued to stare at him. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  “Is everything okay?” he finally asked. “Did something happen at the Crossing?”

  Myrtle placed her hands on the table, nervously tapping the old oak surface. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Did they find that boy, or Samuel?”

  “Oh no,” she replied quickly. “Not really.”

  “Not really? What does that mean?” It wasn’t like Myrtle to be at a loss for words. Rory crossed his arms and waited. Sometimes silence was the best prompt.

  “I needed to tell someone,” she began slowly. “And the only person it could be was you.”

  He leaned forward. “Tell me what? And why me?”

  “Do you believe in the paranormal?”

  He hesitated. “I’m a skeptic.”

  “But you’ve seen things, and you write about it. I’ve read your articles, but haven’t you ever run into something you couldn’t explain?”

  He didn’t like where this was going, but nodded slowly. “Sometime I thought I did…”

  “I suspected that’s why you came to the Crossing. To write about the Nephilim.”

  “That you say is nothing more than a farfetched rumor.”

  She stopped to clear her throat. “It’s true that Brewster’s grandfather left the town, telling stories about how everyone had disappeared. I’ve heard that a time or two from Old Man Brewster himself. And supposedly everyone that heard the story dismissed it as the ramblings of an old drunk. Lord knows he did enough drinking that they could make that assumption. But supposedly Brewster’s grandfather witnessed them.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “Before the elder Brewster left town, that night he came home so drunk, he swore up and down that he was chased by spirits. One even approached him and tried to hypnotize him. But before it could, he managed to escape, I don’t know how. He hid in his cabin until daylight, and then he fled. When he finally got the courage to come back, all the townspeople were gone. Taylor Crossing had become a ghost town overnight.”

  “That’s about what I heard from Anna,” he said.

  “She probably remembers bits and pieces of what Jimmy told her, or what she heard from Old Man Brewster. It’s just like the stories about Barton and this cabin.”

  “You mean how he went crazy from the isolation.”

  “That and the voices.”

  Rory sucked in a breath and his vision momentarily blurred. “What voices?” he strained to remain calm.

  “Voices in this cabin,” she said. “Maybe that’s why Barton lost his mind. Not just the isolation, but folks said that he told them about voices he kept hearing out here. Of course no one believed him.” She paused and studied him carefully. “Are you all right? You look pale.” She threw a hand to her face. “Oh my, you’ve heard the voices!” She scanned the room cautiously, then let her eyes fall back on him.

  “No,” he insisted. “You reminded me of something, that’s all.” He could tell that she didn’t believe him.

  Silence grew between them. A clock in the living room chimed. “So what brought you out here?” he finally asked. “It can’t be just to tell me about the Nephilim again.”

  Myrtle placed her hands on the table and sighed heavily. “I don’t think it’s just a bunch of rumors.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s been all this strange stuff happening.”

  “Like what happened to Mick and Nicholas.”

  “That. And Ed and Samuel missing. And then there are two hikers reported lost, and Pamela and Douggie haven’t been seen since yesterday sometime.”

  “No one’s seen either one?”

  Myrtle shook her head.

  “And what hikers?”

  She related what Travis Velario and Clinton Truitt had told her.

  “I admit that it’s a lot to happen all at once,” he said when she’d finished, “but what has this got to do with the Nephilim?”

  “Because of what I saw today.” He waited her out. Her light brown eyes watered and she cleared her throat again. “I went to check on Joan earlier. The café was empty, so I went through the back and into their living quarters.” She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “I saw Samuel there. He looked terrible, not even human anymore. And there was a smell coming from him, like a match being lit. He was controlling Joan somehow. He said ‘I call you’ to her, and then he led her away.”

  “Where did he take her?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.” Her shaky voice signaled her fear.

  “You saw this?” he asked. She nodded. “Why didn’t you say anything? Or tell the sheriff?”

  “I was scared.” Her lower lip quivered. “Rory, I don’t know how to explain this at all, and Clinton will think I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy. But I know what I saw. And the only thing I can come up with is that the rumors are true.” She wiped her eyes and firmly met his gaze.

  “Do you really think something like this could be true?”

  She stood up, startling Boo. The dog sat up and watched as she began pacing. “I keep telling myself it can’t be true! But I saw Samuel put Joan in a trance and take her away. Just like they tried to do to Brewster’s grandfather. And what about everybody disappearing?”

  “I don’t claim that any of this makes sense. But I know what I saw, and I can’t explain it any other way.” She stopped pacing and approached him. She took his hand. “You know something’s going on. I can see it in your face.” He didn’t say anything. “Will you look for them? Maybe you can go with Sheriff Truitt. It would be safer that way. You wouldn’t have to tell him what I suspect, but you could look around the mountains, and see if you can find Samuel and Joan. Maybe Samuel took her to that clearing in the woods with the burned spot that Sheriff Truitt mentioned. Maybe it’s some kind of ceremonial place. Go and see what’s there. Please.”

  He studied her, searching for anything that might tell him that she had crossed over into some form of insanity. All he saw was fear.

  “Please. I’m worried about Joan. And the others.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out. “All right, I’ll go.”

  “We can go to my cabin and call for the sheriff.”

  “No,” Rory said. “We’ll end up having to explain what you saw. I’ll go by myself.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ve been in some dicey situations before, and I survived. I’ll be careful.” He stood up. “But I don’t know what you expect me to find.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Lillian puttered around the post office, humming an English folk song. She was trying to remain upbeat in spite of all that was happening in the Crossing. Yesterday she had called Joan and invited her over for lunch, hoping that a little companionship would ease Joan’s concerns. Now, a day later, Lillian was worrying as well. She hadn’t seen Joan all morning, and Samuel should’ve been back. And with all this stuff with those boys. She sighed. What is this world coming to?

  She thought about Joan again. Poor thing. She’ll be lost without Samuel around. Lillian had a momentary pang of regret for the companionship that she’d never had.

  She took a deep breath, soaking in the office smells of aged wood, paper, and ink. The building had been constructed on the foundation of the original post office building, and a few relics from the original post office were in a glass case by the door: a saddlebag with US Mail stamped on it; some old ink bottles, and a few pens. She thought about that time, so long ago. Delivering mail was very different back then. Much more difficult than what she did now.

  She went back to her desk behind a short counter and picked up
her book, still humming to herself. She had a fleeting thought that she couldn’t remember such chaos in the Crossing in all the summers she’d worked here, but then the romantic hero of the novel soon captured her imagination, and she was lost in another time and place.

  • • •

  While Lillian read away the time, Ed Miller stood in a grove of aspens watching the town. The early afternoon heat did not bother man or spirit, for they existed outside of the natural state of the mountains. His eyes roved up and down Main Street. The Crossing was quiet. It was Tuesday, the middle of the week, not as popular for tourists. A few boats drifted out on the lake. Half a dozen cars were parked along Main Street, their owners out enjoying what the mountains had to offer. Back In Time Antiques was closed because Travis Velario had gone home, dawdling over a long lunch. The Silver Dollar Café was empty and barren, as well as the Colorado Mountain Art Gallery. Anna and Jimmy were inside the general store, fugitives from the rising temperature. As spirit and man looked on, the silhouette of Lillian Chadwick crossed by the open back window of the post office. Had Ed Miller been capable of conscious thought, he would know her as just the mail worker, someone of little importance in his life. But the spirit within discerned more, reckoning back to a forgotten time when it came here with the others. It knew that the post office worker was more. She was the one who delivers the message.

  He moved forward through the trees. No one was around to see him watching her. No one would know that he was here to claim her. No one would know that her role had been set into place long ago, when blood was spilled, and that it was her fate to fulfill that role. Soon she would know. Soon she would serve another purpose. The one who delivers the message would help prepare the way for them.

  The gathering was almost complete. The one with water, the one with fire, the one of the earth, and the one who prepares the dead had assumed their places.