Its purpose, the elderly nun recounted, was to confound and confuse God’s people. Also to tempt and terrify them. It was to wreak havoc and evil to the extent that humanity at large would finally ask why a loving, merciful and just God would allow these terrible scourges and deeds to flourish on earth; they would then be prepared to explore and possibly embrace an alternate.
Indeed, the Hellspawn periodically assumed man’s form and sat at the side of many of mankind’s monsters, leading to multiple genocides where millions of God’s creatures died, including the ovens of Auschwitz, Treblinka and other death-camps where millions of His people were systematically murdered.
But as Maria had spent time with Sister Raphael, her confidence had grown to where she ceased to be a passive listener and began to probe for discrepancies, contradictions or illogical and unsupported conclusions. Not to be satisfied with high-profile and obvious evils, Maria reasoned that a demon with the power he was supposed to possess must have made more of a mark, if he existed. So, she pressed the old nun: “Sister, can you tell me more of his influence? Other than the terrible Holocaust, I mean?”
Sister Raphael nodded and didn’t disappoint. From memory she obliged Maria, counting off on her fingers.
“We believe the demon or possibly some of his familiars had a hand in working with dozens of dictators and mass murderers in places such as: Turkey where 1.2 million Armenians died in 1915; East Timor where a three-quarters of a million people vanished or were murdered from 1966 to 1998; the genocide in Rwanda in 1994 where another 800,000 died; and, North Korea where 1.6 million died in purges and concentration camps from 1948 to 1994. From 1975 to 1979, 1.7 million people were also systematically eradicated in Cambodia.”
Maria stared at Sister Raphael now beginning to understand the significance of the hunt for Adramelech. “He was responsible for all that?”
“Indeed, we believe he had a hand in much of it,” she said simply. “In each case there was always an ‘adviser’ or ‘confidant’ to the perpetrator of these horrors. However, in-depth and painstaking research was never able to find any history on them. They appeared out of nowhere, supported and influenced evil, and then disappeared without a trace.” She wasn’t finished.
“For instance, we can go back a little further to Stalin’s purges from 1934 to 1939 when 13 million of his own people died,” Sister Raphael said. “We believe Adramelech took on the persona of a Dimitri Kuznetsov – an adviser to Stalin – who whispered in his ear and caused the deaths of millions.” Then she gave a tired and disheartened sigh and said: “But the Chinese win hands down for deaths in their Great Leap Forward of 1958 to 1961, and their Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1969 which took more than 45 millions lives. Adramelech was also thought to have been instrumental in these cases when he assumed human form and worked with, or advised these mass murderers. Unfortunately we have no way of knowing for sure all of his deeds since we do not have a complete record of when he was in the Deathsleep and when he was active.”
Finally, Sister Raphael presented Maria with photographs and copies of paintings and faded drawings depicting mankind’s greatest killers including Kahn, Hitler, Stalin, Mao and others. In each rendering or photo, standing or sitting beside some of mankind’s most voracious killers, was another individual, seemingly tall, dark haired and handsome. Whether in the 13th Century or the 20th Century, the man was the same. A consistent look of smug satisfaction creased his features as he seemed to stare at the camera or artist with a knowing leer. His face chilled Maria to the bone.
At last Sister Raphael settled back and removed her eyeglasses. “The problem is, Sister Maria, modernity has taken its toll on ancient or traditional beliefs that were once accepted as gospel.” The old nun smiled at her own analogy. “Those in the Church today who know of the Hellspawn’s existence choose to believe that it has been recalled to blackness, or that it never existed at all. Still, as we have trained exorcists in the wings for when they are needed, so too we have always maintained a brigade ready to battle the demon when it surfaces again. Hence, Cardinal Malachi’s people.”
Sister Raphael then asked Sister Maria if she’d heard of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Maria nodded that she did indeed know about them. In fact, she had written a paper on them during her college days. The nun asked her to detail what she knew about the scrolls.
Maria related how they had first been discovered in 1947 in a cave near the Dead Sea setting off a ten-year search for more ancient records which eventually yielded hundreds more scrolls and artifacts from the period. She moved on to how some scholars believed the Essenes had somehow gathered and hidden the scrolls as they abandoned Qumran at the time of the Roman incursion in 68 C.E., two years before the collapse of Jewish self government in Judea, and the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 C.E. Maria covered their history and a brief summation of what information most contained.
Sister Raphael folded her arms and nodded with a slight smile, obviously impressed with Maria’s knowledge. Then she spoke in an even more hushed tone. “As you obviously know, within the ancient Library of Qumran, there were three categories represented among the Dead Sea Scrolls: Biblical, Apocryphal (or pseudepigraphical), and finally Sectarian,” she said. “The Sectarian scrolls related to pietistic commune and include ordinances, biblical commentaries, apocalyptic visions and liturgical works. But there was one scroll among these, which was secretly spirited away early in the discovery process and hidden from both civilian scholars and the general public by an archeologist who was also a Catholic priest. This scroll dealt exclusively with the Hellspawn. It revealed the genesis and a limited history of the Beast. However, buried deep in the text was one critical piece of information which it seemed had been overlooked. I quote: ‘...until the Wood touches this demon, earth will be forever plagued’.”
“What wood?” Maria asked, already anticipating her answer.
“We now surmise it is the Wood of the Cross,” Sister Raphael said. “But this is a recent deduction made purely by accident when a brilliant biblical scholar went looking for ways to help Cardinal Malachi and his people, and studied anew the writings of the secret scroll.”
Maria couldn’t help asking: “Oh? Who was that?”
“Me,” the old nun said, with a gap-toothed grin. She then put away the last of a series of remnants of parchment scrolls. Next she pulled out a leather bound book with its cover intricately embossed and its perimeter pierced and ringed with leather lacing. Maria could make out Spanish writing on its cover but, having only taken one year of high school Spanish, couldn’t decipher it.
From this, Sister Raphael read a report of a small South American village and how the village had been plagued by a creature of the night which killed and drained its victims of their blood. After killing a Catholic priest, the creature - betrayed by a frightened familiar - had been tracked down by Catholic monks, burned with holy water, and had a blessed stake driven through its heart. The monks had forwarded a report to Rome and it was duly entered into the secret records.
Next she put aside this manuscript and pulled out a modern file. Inside were newspaper clippings and computer printouts listing crimes of murder and mayhem in various cities and towns beginning in the December of 1989 in and around Panama. They were followed by more murders over the next decade and a half which seemed to spread around the world. These killings were selected because they all seemed bound by a common thread – bloodless corpses for which no perpetrator had ever been caught, tried or convicted.
The elderly nun extracted a faded, typed report from the file and read a brief tale of an American soldier who was thought to have seen the demon in the jungles of Central America, and survived its initial attack. Next, she held up to Maria a horrible tale of a deputy sheriff in Vermont who had been partially skinned alive, drained of his blood and left nailed to a cellar door in a town called Woodstrom. More work of the Beast, she mused. “The soldier from Panama, who lives in New York today, just happened to have been the She
riff in Woodstrom, Vermont, when his deputy was murdered; we believe Adramelech was tracking him, the Sheriff I mean.”
Sister Raphael closed the book and looked at the young novice for a long moment before saying simply: “There is no more that I have to share with you, Sister Maria. But, believe this, child, as you believe anything most holy: It lives again.”
Without another word Sister Raphael blessed herself, got up and left the library, her stooped figured weighed down with the burden of uncompromised truth. An old priest instantly appeared and waited patiently until Maria also left. Then he locked the room tight. He watched the small, pretty nun slowly walking away down the corridor. He mused that she looked so tired, vulnerable and alone, almost like a child.
Maria met Brother Fagan for transportation to her hotel. The revelations she’d just heard lent more and more credence to the entire situation now causing her to become even more worried. What if she were unable to use this so-called “power” of hers to sense anything? What if she couldn’t perform? Was she about to cause some cataclysmic event simply because she couldn’t measure up to their expectations?
The young novice from a Quebec small town sighed and sank back on the limo’s cushions. What had she wrought upon herself?
~ 14 ~
The ride back to the Holiday Inn that evening was relatively silent. Brother Fagan knew there was a lot on her mind and said little as he drove, leaving her with her thoughts. When she said good night, he merely smiled and nodded.
The next morning, Maria was summoned to Cardinal Malachi’s office. Finally, she thought, she would see how the “other half” of the Church lived. She was prepared for great opulence when she entered the office, but not for what she saw.
As she entered, he stood up from behind an intricately carved and much battered mahogany desk, an African sandalwood letter opener in one hand, a telephone in the other. He continued his phone conversation but motioned her with the letter opener to a cracked, worn but comfortable, tufted leather wing chair in front of his desk. She took a brief moment to look around the office. On the walls hung evidence of Malachi’s travels around the world.
There were photos of the cardinal standing beside a spear-carrying Zulu in Africa, shaking hands with a U.S. Navy officer on the deck of what appeared to be a U.S. Navy nuclear submarine, and having coffee with a tired-looking Pope John Paul II. Obviously, the latter was taken after the assassination attempt. She noticed other photos where he stood, a much younger man, beside Presidents Nixon and Carter. She gaped at the Carter picture because, with a huge grin, Cardinal Malachi was holding up a can of Billy Beer behind President Carter’s head. Another more recent colored photo showed him visiting the Oval Office and sipping coffee with President Obama.
Maria also noticed an assortment of voodoo masks from Haiti, ritual masks from Africa and what she took to be a crossed pair of North American Indian peace pipes.
On the other walls were an eclectic mix of beaded Inuit sealskin moccasins, an assortment of swords, daggers, rifles, pistols and other weapons from various countries, and a worn-looking tiger skin. Nearby, movie posters for classic movies such as Casablanca, Niagara and Citizen Kane hung next to nautical-looking memorabilia. Cracked and broken pottery, faux Egyptian statuettes, and hundreds of ancient, very dusty leather books completed the décor, effectively lining the other two walls on shelves bowed from the weight of the volumes. His office, thought Maria, looked like a set from an Indiana Jones’ movie rather than that of a Prince of the Catholic Church. She jumped as Malachi abruptly dropped the phone on its cradle, and loudly cleared his throat.
He poured coffee from a carafe into a set of heavy mugs, passed one to her without asking if she took cream or sugar, and without even a greeting, essentially picked up where Sister Raphael had left off; he lost no time in cutting to the chase. “Do you believe what Sister Raphael told you? Do you understand the significance?”
“Yes sir,” she said, meekly.
The cardinal nodded slowly, weighing her answer, and then dropped a newspaper clipping on the desk in front of Maria. It was from the Gotham Gazette, one of almost a dozen New York newspapers he had scattered about his desk. “Here’s one Sister Raphael doesn’t have yet,” he said.
Maria picked up the clipping. The headline read: Monster Seen in Bronx.
“We believe it’s Adramelech,” Malachi continued. “It’s almost as though he’s daring...nay, helping us to find him.”
She watched him turn and approach a window overlooking other Vatican buildings. The cardinal clasped his hands behind his back and spoke as he stared down to the street below.
“Unfortunately Maria, we live in the 21st Century, a time when technology has become the new religion and the ever-faster central processor a substitute for a Supreme Being. And, believe it or not, there are many members of the Church that have signed on to this way of thinking.
“Last week, I mentioned an administration problem that prevented us from going to war with the Beast? Like most things in this world, it all boils down to money...or the lack thereof. For years, our budget used to hunt this thing down has been blindly approved without any need for justification nor financial reporting. However, new technology, some sort of Enterprise Resource Planning system, has highlighted what many see as a miscellaneous item of no value; therefore, the system eliminated our budget for the Hellspawn project. Essentially, it grounds us.”
“The resources have just been...taken away?” she ventured, hesitantly.
“Exactly. For decades we have – presumably – been operating under the radar. Now we have to call attention to our operation and justify our expense.” He laughed shortly, without humor. “Can you imagine standing up in front of a budgetary committee of these jokers and saying you need money to hunt down some goblins and ghosts, in particular a demon that would make Buffy’s hair curl all by itself? It doesn’t wash very well. No...the only way I’m going to get the budget back, is to see the Big Man himself and get him to sign an Executive Order of Reinstatement.”
“The Big Man...?” she asked.
“His Holiness.” He spun about in frustration. “For more than ten long years, we’ve been waiting for this demon to show itself again so we could get another crack at it. And now, we’re not ready.”
“Must it be now?”
“Yes.” His tone was uncharacteristically harsh, clipped. “Now is when we have an extraordinary opportunity. We have discerned and validated one of the creature’s patterns. Apparently whenever a mortal escapes its intentions, it always finds that person and kills him or her. And, it never gives up. We believe we have such a man being hunted by the Beast even now. It tried to kill him in Panama and failed for some reason. Then it showed near a VA hospital where our man was convalescing and took out a priest who had been ministering to him. Finally it went for him in Vermont and failed again. It’s as though this man has the most extraordinary luck, or someone or something is protecting him. Anyhow, we are hoping for a fourth try. As I explained before, we’ve been keeping him under surveillance using the Watchmen – Catholic priests providing 24-hour monitoring – while waiting for this demon to show. Also, we have had nearby a group of highly trained and deadly efficient Jesuit priests code-named the Crusaders.” Normally they would be ready to move in at the first sign of its presence and attempt to kill it.
“Unfortunately when you can’t pay your bills, you can’t keep everyone in the field. We’ve scaled back operations and recalled the Crusaders. The Church is no longer in a position to act quickly.” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “So, to save the intended victim we have a temporary strategy. We’ll extract him at the first sign of danger.” He gestured towards the newspaper. “And, since the demon’s quarry lives in New York and some sort of monstrosity has been sighted in the Bronx, we believe he’s nearby – getting ready to strike.”
“Then why not just get him away now?” Maria asked.
“We need to keep Adramelech engaged, to dangle the bait, as it
were,” Malachi said. “We must keep him from going to ground again as he has done so often. So, we’re walking a tightrope, trying to keep him engaged until we’re ready for the fight.”
“Does this man, your ‘bait’,” she said it with distaste – “know this thing is after him?”
“No, he doesn’t,” Malachi admitted, looking her in the eye. “Nor will he.”
“This is the soldier I read about?” she asked. “The one whose deputy and wife were killed?”
“Unfortunately.”
“How awful,” Maria said, feeling sympathy for a man she’d never met.
“Indeed, it is awful. But we’ve had Crusaders murdered by the demon as well. One in Vermont while keeping an eye on Sheriff Montague after the tragedies. Suddenly Mr. Montague packed up and disappeared to New York City where we lost him. We initiated one of the biggest ecclesiastical dragnets in the history of the Church using a cover story about him being a perfect bone marrow match for a sick cardinal as a cover. Luckily one of our priests spotted him on the street in New York. Based on our standing orders, he befriended and sheltered him until we decided what to do. Eventually we decided to provide some anchors so he didn’t disappear again into the woodwork again. We helped him re-enter society.”
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