by Edward Lee
Jane just shook her head. "I still don't know what you're talking about."
"And, two, I need the money. I have benefactors but let's just say that they're sometimes less than timely in delivering my allowance. There's not an office I can go to, there's no cashier or pay clerk. I have no home, no base, I'm constantly on the move in my responsibilities. Think of it this way: I work for an establishment, like a traveling salesman, only I'm not selling anything, I'm investigating something."
"Mass murders?" Jane asked.
"In a sense, yes. I'm keeping watch."
Jane just kept looking at him.
"I know this is difficult for you to take in all at once. We don't have time for me to explain it all right now, I'll just have to ask you to trust me."
"Why should I?"
"No reason, not objectively." He remained gazing back at her. "Use your intuition. As I've just said, if you'd prefer that I leave, I'll leave. If you'd like to call your friend the police chief-"
"How do you know he's my friend?" she blurted.
Dhevic smiled. "I'm psychic."
"Bullshit." She reached for the phone, began to dial Steve's cell phone...
Dhevic remained unfazed.
Jane hung up. She wasn't sure why, but she knew she wanted to hear what this man had to say, however bizarre. She wanted to give him the-
"The benefit of the doubt is never a mistake, Ms. Ryan."
Jane sighed. "Fine. Just go on with what you were saying."
"I was explaining my television appearances, which are laughable, I admit. But even a laughable warning can be useful to the open-minded."
"I think I know what you're saying. Even a Bugs Bunny cartoon can be educational, right?"
"Exactly!" He seemed enthused that she'd made the association. "I'm ashamed of that stuff, but it does serve my purpose."
Jane supposed she was beginning to understand. "And what were you saying about-what? An iron something or other?"
"It's a relic, or thought to be by some. Belief is everything. If people believe that a relic has supernatural power, then they'll kill for it. The Ark of the Covenant, for example. The nails of Calvary or the Shroud of Turin. A better example. In 1920, construction excavators in Moselle, France, unearthed a pewter tureen that was soon rumored to be the Holy Grail. It was said to heal the sick and effect miracles. People killed for it."
Jane thought she was finally getting the man's point. "Was it really the Holy Grail?"
"It doesn't matter. All that matters is that people believed it was, to the extent people were killed in its procurement. The belief is the power. Do I believe it was the genuine Holy Grail? No. But that doesn't matter."
"So," Jane deduced, remembering what he'd said earlier. "You were asking me about this iron object, a relic. You're telling me that certain people believe that it has some occult power?"
"Yes."
"And the belief in that power is the cause of Danelleton's murders? The ones this week and the murders twenty years ago?"
"Yes."
"And the people who seek this object are in a cult?"
"Yes. Exactly. Marlene Troy, Carlton Spence, and others-there will be others, all seduced into what you can think of as a cult of worship. It's like an infection. Indoctrination into the cult is spread from one to another. Because of this relic, Ms. Ryan, this simple and very old piece of iron that I believe is connected to this facility?
She was starting to get confused again, listening to him while continuing to look for red flags, something, anything, to indicate that Dhevic might be a flake. But she just wasn't seeing it.
"What is the object?" Jane finally asked. "What's this relic you're asking me about."
Dhevic's steady accent rolled out in crisp syllables. "It's an iron rod, about a foot-and-a-half long. It has a ring on one end, and a star-shaped ball on the other. The star shape is a luciferic symbol."
"Luciferic," Jane repeated.
"The Morning Star."
Even Jane remembered her old and rather boring mythology classes. "The first nickname for Satan."
"Yes. He has many names, but that was his first. That's what God called him when he threw his once-favorite angel off the twelfth gate of heaven." Dhevic paused, watching her eyes. "Supposedly?
"A star-shaped ball. An iron rod. And a campan-"
"Campanulation. A bell, Ms. Ryan." Dhevic pointed again to the engraving in the old book. "What's inside of a bell?"
"I don't know what it's called. A ringer, I guess, a gong?"
"A striker. The relic I'm inquiring about is said to be the bell striker... from this bell." His finger remained on the bell in the engraving.
Jane looked at the engraving, then back to him.
"That's what some people believe, just as some people believe a four-leaf clover will bring them good luck."
"You're losing me again," Jane said.
"God has a Messenger," Dhevic continued. "That messenger is an angel named Gabriel, and Gabriel announces himself with a trumpet, according to the Bible. There are many references to God's messenger. It was Gabriel who was sent to deliver the message to Daniel of the coming of the Seventy Days. He announced the birth of John the Baptist, and he informed Mary that she would give birth to Jesus. Yes, God's messenger. Well..." Dhevic's voice lowered. "According to myth, Lucifer has a messenger too, and that messenger's name is Aldezhor."
The strange name seemed to flit about the room, like a moth seeking exit.
"The campanulation-the bell-shaped designs left at the murder scenes-are Aldezhor's emblems. They pay homage to Aldezhor's tool-the bell in that engraving, which is called the Cymbellum Eosphorus or the Bell of the Morning Star. You've heard the term hell's bells? This is where it comes from. When it sounds it's time for the Messenger to speak for his master. To put it more simply, Gabriel blows a trumpet, Aldezhor rings a bell."
Jane tried to absorb the information. An occult relic that people were killing for? A talisman? What does this have to do with me? she thought.
"Some people believe in guardian angels," Dhevic said. "Well, let me put it this way. Angels have guardians, too, on earth. Think of them as stewards, custodians for the cause. I am one such custodian. My duty is to follow Aldezhor, the Messenger. Ultimately my job is to retrieve the iron striker and return it to its keepers at the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, where it was kept hidden for five hundred years. It's my job.
It is not a clergical duty, and it's certainly not a Catholic duty. It's simply my job and I've been doing it for my entire adult life. Do I believe that the striker is genuine? Of course not."
"That's a relief," Jane said. "But your job is to track down this phony piece of metal that a bunch of satanic kooks think is from hell? Am I getting this right?"
"Essentially, yes."
"Who do you work for? An investigations firm?"
"No. The job was handed down to me."
"By whom?"
"That I can't say. It's a professional confidentiality."
Hmm. Jane's mind turned over question after question. Even the situation seemed incredible, simply the fact of this man being here in her office, discussing this bizarre topic. "Aldezhor. The devil's messenger. A demon that this cult believes in."
"Not a demon," Dhevic corrected. "Worse."
Jane almost laughed. "What could be worse than that?"
"Aldezhor, like Lucifer, is a fallen angel. He was once God's messenger, and was ejected from heaven along with the Morning Star. The Archangel Gabriel replaced him." Yet another pause. "According to the myth."
"So what's all this have to do with me, my post office, my employees?"
"Proximity. God's message to the world is a message of peace, hope, faith, and love. The devil's message is one of hate, lust, betrayal, and murder. It's almost funny. What could be more ironic than postal employees-who are messengers themselves-being utilized to deliver the word of Lucifer?"
Jane shook her head. "But why my post office? Why not a larger proces
sing center in a big city? Why not Miami or Jacksonville?"
"Again, proximity."
"I don't understand."
Dhevic opened his mouth to speak but faltered. Something happened. He looked off and appeared suddenly pained. His eyelids fluttered, and his hands trembled on the desk. Is he epileptic? Jane thought, alarmed. Is he having some kind of fit?
"Oh, God," he muttered.
"Professor Dhevic? Are you all right? Should I call an ambulance?"
He steadied his hand. When he looked at her again, there were tears in his eyes.
"What's wrong!"
Dhevic ground his teeth. "I told some lies to you," he groaned. "And with me, there's always a price to pay for that."
"What? Lies?"
"I'm an augur. Do you know what that is?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Jane blurted.
"I'm a seer, Ms. Ryan. I see things. The past, the future..."
I called this one totally wrong. "You're a crackpot, just like Steve said!" She put her hand on the phone, but his own hand instantly pressed down on top of it.
"Listen to me," he croaked. "I have visions. It's in my blood, my heritage. I have these moments that I call inklings. I know that they are channeled to me from...somewhere else. Always for a reason, a reason that empowers my calling. It's not a job, Ms. Ryan. It's a calling. I lied so you'd believe me. My calling was handed down to me through my blood, my ancestors, my heritage."
"Let go of my hand," Jane said very slowly. "I'm calling the police."
"Not yet! Listen!" He looked sick again, his head bowing back and forth. He looked like he might pass out at any moment. "I'm an augur, and augurs aren't allowed to lie. It's a violation of our oath. If we lie, we're punished. I'm being punished right now."
"If you don't let go of my hand, I'll start screaming-"
"When I told you I didn't believe that the striker was genuine, that was a lie too. It is genuine. And it's manipulating people now, your people. Here. I know it's here, and I know it's been here for the last twenty years. You've got to let me look for it. You've got to let me find it, otherwise many many more people will die."
Another bout of trembling allowed Jane to finally snatch the phone away. She stood, backed up to the wall, and dialed Steve's number.
But her finger stopped before hitting the last digit.
Her eyes were locked on Dhevic's. He stood up slowly and looked down. His eyes seemed bottomless.
"Aldezhor is terrifying to look at," he whispered. "He's indescribable."
"You're insane," Jane whispered back, unable to tug herself out of whatever hold he'd put on her.
"Demons serve him, the most unspeakable things..."
"Leave...me...alone..."
"I told you, I'm a seer. I can see heaven and I can see hell. They both exist, they very much exist."
Jane opened her mouth to scream for help but a final look into those huge empty eyes paralyzed her.
She could see someone there, deep beyond his gaze.
"He's waiting for you," Dhevic said. "Your husband. Matt."
Jane dropped the phone.
"Can you see him? You can see him, can't you? He's waiting for you-in heaven..."
"I can, she realized. It's him.
Matt was smiling at her, standing in an aura of tranquil bluish white.
When Dhevic blinked, the vision snapped.
"But someone else is waiting for you too. He will manipulate you through your fears, your weaknesses, and your dreams. Don't fall to his seduction, Ms. Ryan. Aldezhor. The Messenger."
Jane screamed at the image-that thing looking back at her in Dhevic's gaze. Then the image whited out. When the scream had ripped out of her throat, she teetered against the wall. "Jane? Jane?" Several employees had rushed into the room to help her.
Dhevic was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
I
Jane felt sick to death driving out of the west branch lot. Dhevic, Dhevic, Dhevic, the name kept pounding in her mind. And those things he'd said? Those things he'd shown her?
She didn't know what to think now, or what to believe.
All she knew was this: I have to tell Steve.
The nausea began to abate once she got out on the main road, opened the car windows, and let the air blow on her face. Yes, she needed to talk to Steve, but what would she say? And what would he say in response? I can't go in there and tell him that Dhevic is an augur, for God's sake! A bell from hell? A fallen angel named Aldezhor? I can't tell him that! I can't tell him Dhevic showed me visions of heaven and hell! He'll think I'm nuts!
But what had she seen, really? She rolled over every conceivable explanation. Hypnosis, the power of suggestion under stress, simple gullibility in the face of a very good liar and actor. But why? Why would Dhevic go to all that trouble? He'd known that she was involved with Steve, and he'd known her dead husband's name, but that could all be explained logically. He could've seen her and Steve together. He could've read her husband's obituary a long time ago. Not too difficult. But again it made no sense. What purpose could Dhevic have in wanting her to believe this?
Unless it's true, was the only answer she could come up with.
She cleared her mind of the whole mess, took deep breaths, and drove straight to the Danelleton police station. I'll figure out what I'm going to say when I say it, she decided. She parked in the visitor's lot and was taking long strides into the clean red-brick building. Cops milled about at the booking desk, several nodded or said hello. Then a sergeant was politely directing her to the proper hallway. A wave of relief swept her when she saw the sign on the door: Chief Steven Higgins. The door was ajar. She raised her hand to knock but paused. Movement caught her eye, and something else.
A scent.
Perfume? she thought.
She put her eye to the gap in the door and looked in.
Steve was standing behind his desk, his jacket off, his shoulder holster and gun draped over the chair. There was someone standing next to him, and at first Jane was too shocked for the image to register. Every excuse flowed through her mind: Don't freak out, don't jump to conclusions. It's a civilian employee, a clerk, a secretary or someone. Maybe it's a police officer in plainclothes. Maybe it's someone from the town council or the mayor's office.
It was someone, all right.
A woman. A statuesque blonde in a beige pinstripe business woman's suit, long toned legs, high heels, a short skirt.
They seemed to be whispering. Then Steve put his arms around the woman. She returned the gesture and they embraced. It was a long, even intimate embrace. Jane thought she was feeling sick earlier, when she'd seen Dhevic. Now, in an instant, she felt ten times more nauseated.
The last thing she saw was Steve kissing the woman.
Jane's heart felt wrenched out of her chest. Part of her wanted to storm into the office and start yelling but.
No. That's not me. She would've loved to put him on the spot, ruin everything for him with this other woman, wreck his day just as he'd wrecked hers. Throw a tirade right there in his office, a real Jerry Springer-type fracas. But then she thought a minute more and realized how useless that would be.
I've been had, that's all, she thought. It happens all the time. Men do this to women every day-I should've seen it coming. Instead I set myself up. Just turn around and walk away.
Jane looked back inside. Steve and the blonde were still embracing.
She turned around and walked away.
"Sometimes you make me feel like I'm just some big muscular moron," Dan said.
Sarah smirked. "Dan, I hate to tell you this, but you are a big muscular moron." She stood aside, arms crossed, watching his biceps bulge as he lifted one box of letters after another off the collator rack and slid them into the take-away shelves.
Thanks, thanks a lot," he said.
"Dan, there's nothing wrong with being a big muscular moron." Now she actually had to chuckle.
"Yeah, and look at you.
I guess your beach bunny days are over, now that you're the big boss around here."
"I'm not the boss, Jane is. I'm just the new DPS manager. True, I'm your boss. I'm the boss of everyone who works in the DPS station. But that's not really the point, is it?"
Dan was big, a weight lifter. Blond hair, dark tan, rugged-the perfect Florida mold. He wiped sweat off his brow with a brawny arm, then laughed, a laugh of defeat. "Yeah, there she is, little Miss DPS Manager, arms crossed, tapping her foot, watching the big dumb moron load letter boxes. Supervising, right? Making sure the job gets done right. Making sure the big muscular moron doesn't screw up. Well, let me tell you something. I do my job. I don't screw up. And if you don't want to date me anymore, that's fine." His pecs and biceps flexed again when he lifted the next box. It was a little overdramatic; he didn't have to flex them so tightly, but he just wanted her to see. He knew the kind of guy she went for, and he was it. "Plenty of girls in this town who'd be happy to date a guy like me."
"Dan, Dan, what is this date business all of a sudden? We never dated! We can't date-it's against postoffice policy for employees of the same office to be romantically involved."
He shook his head in more frustration. "Look, all I know is I walk in here and ask you what time we're getting together tonight, and you pull this stuff. We've been going out for almost a year. To me, that's dating."
"No, Dan, that's two friends fooling around. We were the same pay level and had the same time in grade. All that's changed now."
"Yeah, since your big promotion. All of a sudden Sarah the Party Animal becomes Sarah the Responsible Manager. Gimme a break. You're such a hypocrite, it's almost funny. Christ, I can't believe how much you've changed in the last two days."
"Oh, poor little Danny Boy getting a little insecure. Big tough Danny Boy doesn't like the idea that a woman two years younger than him is now his supervisor."
"That's got nothing to do with it. Some people are for real, some people aren't. You aren't."
"Poor little Danny Boy's masculinity is being shattered. The big strong muscleman can't hack being a subordinate to a hundred-and-twenty-pound woman-"