“For you, Gabbi. A light to guide you home.”
His voice sounded overly loud in the quiet of the room.
His pain was echoed in that emptiness.
The statue gazed down at him in sympathy and kindness but without any answers to the depths of his loss.
Moving away from the alcove, he took a seat in one of the pews facing the altar, feeling out of place, a stranger in a strange land. Once, long ago, he’d believed in the divine grace of God, of his intended plan for the salvation of his people. He’d been a faithful churchgoer, finding comfort in the Sunday ceremonies, a balm for the chaos he faced each day on the force.
All of that had been shattered on a summer night seven years ago.
For the first time since entering the room, Cade allowed his gaze to rest on the figure nailed to the crucifix above the altar. Accusations and anger filled his heart as he stared at the face of the one known as the Lamb of God.
Lamb is right, Cade thought. Off to the slaughter you went, without even a hand raised in resistance. Where, then, was the Lion of Judah? Where was the one who ordered the demons to flee, the one who faced the darkness of the Evil One?
I’ll tell you where.
Abandoned by your Father and left to die.
Just as my Gabrielle was abandoned in her hour of need.
Cade looked away. He’d lost his faith at the moment he’d lost her. Nothing since had managed to heal that wound. The events of the last few days had started it bleeding anew.
Had it really been her? He struggled to come up with a definitive answer. His mind said yes; he’d heard her voice, seen her face, felt the love for him that flowed from her like a gentle caress. Yet his heart said no. It couldn’t be her. Believing it meant that instead of finding that promised salvation in the heaven she’d always believed in, she was left to roam that horrid wasteland on the other side of the barrier. A hundred different questions drifted through his mind. How long had she been there? What had happened to her since the night she’d been taken from his side? Why had it taken her so long to reveal herself to him? Had he done something to damn her for all eternity?
And the biggest one of all.
What caring God would send her there in the first place?
He raised his face to the cross once more. You left us when we needed you most. Is it any wonder that I turned my back on You in return?
The man hanging on the cross had no answer.
Cade had not expected one.
He’d long gotten used to working on his own.
A glance at his watch told him he’d been in the chapel for half an hour. Knowing he’d be useless unless he managed to get some rest, Cade got up and walked out, headed to his quarters, never once looking back.
Behind him, in the empty chapel, the candles were slowly snuffed out one by one as if by an unseen hand.
Only the candle Cade himself had started was left to burn, its solitary light shining steadfastly against the darkness that swept in to surround it.
*** ***
Cade awoke.
It was not the slow, gentle awakening he had known in his earlier years before the harsh realities of life had became commonplace. Nor was it the swift rise to alertness that had characterized his time as a STOP team leader. This was electrifying, brutal in its suddenness, like being dropped into icy cold water. It caused his heart to drum in his chest and his breath to come in short, sharp gasps.
Wide-eyed, he stared for a moment at the nearest wall, his senses on high alert. He was overcome with the unmistakable feeling that there was someone in the room with him, close, very close; the hair on his back was standing stiffly upright as if charged by a massive amount of static electricity.
Yet his danger sense had not kicked in. He did not feel the need to reach for his gun or get out of the way of an impending blow; in fact, what he felt was more a rising sense of curiosity than anything else.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he rolled over.
Even in the dim lighting he could clearly see the woman who was standing in his doorway only a few feet away.
Gabrielle.
“Hello, Cade,” she said, softly.
She wore the same robe she’d worn in the Beyond, the hood pulled up to partially obscure her face, but Cade knew without a doubt that it was truly her.
He scrambled to his feet. “Gabbi? Gabbi!” he exclaimed, rushing closer, his arms outstretched as if to hold her.
“No!” she shouted, stepping back, one hand upraised to stop him. “Don’t touch me!”
Cade pulled up short, only steps away, pain and confusion chasing each other across his face.
In response, she reached up and withdrew her hood, revealing her face. Her soft skin, her rich full lips, the elegant curve of her throat — Cade could only stare in stunned amazement.
But before he could ask how the transformation had occurred, Gabrielle’s face began to shift. Like a mirage wavering in the heat, the phantom mask behind which she had hidden herself faded away.
Cade was left staring at the same sight he had seen on that summer night seven years ago, her face stripped of its skin, her beautiful eyes staring out at him through a sea of bloodied flesh.
The mask returned as swiftly as it had faded, but the point had been made.
Without a word, she pointed to his hands.
Cade glanced down at his bare skin and suddenly understood.
He’d removed his gloves when he’d lain down to sleep. With his hands bare, his Gift was ready for use whether he wanted it or not. Gabrielle, in turn, appeared as solid as she had in life. This was no ghost or shade, intruding where it didn’t belong, but his wife, brought back and seemingly whole again. Touching her would have been like touching one of the living, he would have been bombarded with her thoughts, emotions, and memories.
Gabrielle took a step closer to him. “You must hurry, my love. While you wait, the Enemy has already breached your defenses. They’re inside the walls, getting closer every minute to what they came for.”
“What?” Cade replied, confused. He couldn’t seem to focus, his emotions flaring like a storm-swept sea; his soul ached at the knowledge of her loss, while his heart shouted with joy to see her standing before him.
Her voice grew stern. “There’s no time. You must get to the Reliquary. You must protect the Spear!”
“How did you get here? Where have you been? What’s happened to you, Gabbi?” Cade was suddenly frantic with a need for information. He had to know that he had not failed her.
But Gabrielle would have none of it. “Listen to me!” she cried, startling Cade into silence. “You’ve got to act, before it’s too late. Hurry! If the Spear falls into his hands, all will be lost. Go, go!”
With her final shout still ringing in the air, Gabrielle vanished.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cade headed for the Reliquary at a dead run. On his way he used his radio to raise the alarm, so that by the time he reached the entrance to the lower levels he found Riley and Olsen waiting for him, weapons in hand. Duncan appeared out of an adjoining corridor seconds later.
Cade wasted no time with long explanations. “We’re under attack, and I suspect our defenses have already been breached. Olsen, get us some backup. We’ll meet you in the Reliquary, unless we run into serious resistance before we get there.” Nodding at Riley and Duncan, he said, “You two are with me. Watch your backs.”
As Olsen disappeared back the way he had come, the other three cautiously descended the stairs leading to the hidden corridor Michaels had revealed to them earlier that morning.
They moved forward quickly, knowing that every moment might be the difference between success and failure, between saving a life and ending one. They passed through the outer rooms, and then through the final tunnel that led to the Reliquary.
It was there that they received their first confirmation of what Gabbi had foretold. Both guards were missing from their stations, and the reinforced vault door to the Reliquary was sta
nding wide open.
The sound of Cade chambering a round into his weapon was surprisingly loud in the still tunnel.
“Keep your eyes open,” he said, moving through the door with the other two at his heels.
The scene that met their eyes was incomprehensible.
Earthquake. That was Cade’s initial thought. And, indeed, it was easy to imagine that an earthquake had occurred, considering the devastation before them.
But Cade knew the answer wouldn’t prove that benign.
The monitoring room was a disaster. Computerized monitoring stations lay strewn across the floor. So, too, did the filing cabinets and desk drawers. Looking through the viewing window they could see that the Reliquary chamber itself had been ransacked. One section of the room seemed to have been consumed in a great fire. Scorch marks covered the walls, floor, and even the ceiling. The fire response system must have gone off, for water still rained down throughout the room, and puddles pooled here and there on the floor. The glass chambers that had once housed the precious artifacts had been destroyed where they stood, the glass shattered across the floor and pedestals. The relics themselves were either missing, destroyed, or buried among the rubble. The great steel doors that had led to the secondary vault where the Spear itself had been stored had been torn off their hinges and lay haphazardly against other debris. Oddly, their smooth, polished surfaces seemed unsullied by the dust and soot that coated most of the rest of the room.
Cade and his men quickly moved inside.
The side gallery where the watch commander’s office had been was gone completely, buried under a mound of fallen earth, concrete, and steel.
Similar piles of debris were scattered throughout the room.
Cade stood at the center of the disaster, amazed at the destruction.
How in God’s name did they do this? Why didn’t we hear anything up above? It seemed impossible that they could have accomplished so much in so short a time.
Another question loomed.
How did they get in?
“Commander.”
The voice was little more than a whisper, but it was enough. Cade bent down, peered into the pile of debris in front of him, and began digging through it furiously. Duncan and Riley jumped in to lend a hand. Olsen showed up seconds later with several other Templars, men Duncan recognized as members of the Preceptor’s security detail. They fanned out and began to search the place in more detail. Soon the badly wounded bodies of Preceptor Michaels and his aide, Jonathan Donaldson, were pulled free from the rubble. A medical team was sent for immediately.
Donaldson was drifting in and out of consciousness, but didn’t appear to be mortally wounded. Michaels, however, was clearly in trouble. A wide gash split his forehead from just above his eye all the way back past his right ear. His left arm was bent at a strange angle below the elbow, and a wide bloodstain spread across the front of his shirt.
Duncan and Cade carried him over to clear a spot on the floor and set him down gently. As Duncan tried to staunch the thin stream of blood from the Preceptor’s head wound, Cade tore open the man’s shirt to get a look at his injuries.
A large gaping wound could be seen just below the left side of the man’s ribcage, the occasional flash of glistening pink revealing the damage to internal organs. Minor knife cuts and what appeared to be bite wounds covered his chest, arms, and legs. To make matters worse, the Preceptor was still losing blood at a tremendous rate as his heart fought to keep it pumping through his damaged form.
“Can you do anything for him?” Cade asked.
“As soon as the medics get here, we can…”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it. We don’t have time to wait for the medics. He’ll be dead by then!”
Duncan looked up defiantly. “Then no. No, I can’t do anything for him.” He’d vowed not to use his strange power. It was a vow he intended to keep, no matter what the circumstances.
Cade had other ideas, though. His hand moved to the gun at his side. “I’m giving you an order, Sergeant. I don’t care what your personal problems might be; you’re going to do what you can to save this man.”
The muzzle of the gun inched upward slightly.
The two men stared at each other.
*** ***
In the end, it wasn’t the threat of the gun that caused Duncan to give in. He’d spent the last three years protecting this man day and night. He had the power to save him now. How could he not use it?
Duncan gently lowered Michaels’s head to the floor and moved to the Preceptor’s side. “I’ll give it a try. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
“Do what you can.”
Duncan placed his hands on either side of the bloody gap in the injured man’s flesh. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and called upon his power.
To everyone else it looked like Duncan was simply praying over the older man, but thanks to his Sight, Cade could see the brilliant blue glow that suddenly burst from Duncan’s palms, bathing Michaels in its light. As Cade watched the outer edges of the wound began to knit together, flesh merging with flesh. The flow of blood slowed, but did not stop.
Suddenly the light flared, spluttered, and died.
Cade glanced anxiously at his teammate. “What happened?”
“I’m… not sure.”
Duncan’s hair was disheveled and rivers of sweat streamed down his face from the effort. He shook his head as if to clear it, shifted his hands slightly, and tried again. This time, the light merely flickered once before dying out. Duncan kept at it for several more minutes, to no avail.
Finally, he slumped back on his heels, exhausted and confused. “I’ve never encountered anything like this before. It’s as if something is actively working to resist my efforts.”
Despite all he had done, blood was still flowing from the chest wound. And there was very little else they could do for Michaels.
Michaels must have understood his situation, for he suddenly tried to speak to them. Whatever he meant to say, however, was drowned in a fit of coughing.
“Easy, Preceptor, easy. Help is on the way,” Duncan told him, holding his hand for reassurance.
But the Preceptor would not be silenced. He tried again, but couldn’t get the words out around the sudden stream of blood that surged up out of his throat. His message dissolved into a fit of hacking as he sought to clear his airway and to draw another breath into his punctured lungs.
Cade knew that the man had only moments left to live. Without Duncan’s attempt at healing, he wouldn’t have survived even this long. Whatever he was trying to tell them was about to be lost forever.
Knowing he had no other choice, Cade made a decision. Stripping off his right glove, he seized Michaels’s bare hand in his own.
Darkness.
Chaos.
Figures rushing about; the stench of decay heavy in the air; shouts of pain, of fear. He turns, determined to raise the alarm, to let the others know that the attack is under way.
A figure is suddenly there before him, blocking the way to the exit.
He pauses, and that is his mistake. A moment of chilling cold as something shoves its way into his flesh, then pain, terrible pain, the kind of pain that drowns out everything else in a great overwhelming curtain of white noise, cutting, tearing, savage pain.
A hand grasps the back of his neck, pulling him closer, driving whatever it is farther into his body, twisting, turning, the pain echoing, building, reverberating through his very soul.
Hot breath in his ear, a familiar voice, “Die, you bastard!”
Then falling, falling, the impact with the floor barely felt as the pain reaches up and engulfs him in its tender arms, nestling him in its horrifying embrace.
As darkness threatens, a face looms before him.
A familiar face.
And then the voice again, a whispered, “Rot in hell, Fool.”
Cade jerked his hand free, stopping the flow of images.
Duncan opened hi
s mouth to ask what Cade had seen, but the expression of rage on the commander’s face caused him to swallow his question unasked. He watched in amazement as Cade surged to his feet and stalked across the room to where the Preceptor’s aide, Donaldson, was being tended by two of the other soldiers. Pushing them aside, Cade reached down, seized the injured man by his lapels, and hauled him to his feet.
“You son of a bitch!” Cade screamed at the other man, shaking him as he did. “Where are they?”
Several of the other Knights rushed forward, intent on helping Donaldson, but Riley and Olsen swiftly interposed themselves between the injured man and his would-be rescuers, protecting their superior with guns drawn.
Duncan could only kneel there, stunned, the tension in the room going from bad to worse as the men from the protective detail drew their own weapons in response.
The room dissolved into chaos. Cade was yelling questions at Donaldson, who though obviously terrified, refused to answer. The local Knights were trying to edge closer in an attempt to pull the two men apart, while Cade’s men worked to keep them at bay. Threats and commands were flying left and right, no one listening to either.
Finally, Duncan had had enough. He drew his pistol, pointed it across the room at a pile of debris, and pulled the trigger.
The echoing gunshot brought everyone, including Cade, up short.
Into the silence, Duncan said, “Preceptor Michaels is dead.”
For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Then, “And this piece of shit is the reason,” replied Cade. He tossed Donaldson to the floor in disgust and anger. “He lowered the wards and let the Enemy in through some kind of back door. When Michaels discovered his treachery, Donaldson killed him.”
“How can you know that?” asked one of the locals.
“Because the Preceptor told him,” Duncan replied quickly, cutting Cade off before he could answer himself. The last thing they needed at that moment was a discussion of the Heretic’s powers. He would deal with the Commander’s wrath later; right now they needed to defuse the situation. The men from the detail knew him. They’d be far more prone to believe a simple explanation from him than one from Williams.
The Heretic: Templar Chronicles Book 1 Page 16