by Kris Calvert
The waiter asked if I wanted another coffee and I answered in my best Italian, “Il conto per favore.”
He brought around the check and I dug through my messenger bag for my wallet, finding a few Euros.
The sun broke through the clouds and I shielded my eyes as I looked up and down the street, deciding which way to go. And then I saw him.
I did a double take, but I knew in an instant it was Mike. I shoved my wallet back into my bag and stood so abruptly from the table that I knocked my empty cup to the ground, sending pieces of ceramic flying.
I apologized as best I could, but hurried out into the street only to find him gone. Pulling my bag over my head crossbody, I hurried down the road hoping to see him at the bottom of the hill but I only found more winding streets.
I turned in a circle as I reached the next fork in the road and looked around me hoping for any sign. There was no Mike in sight and I reminded myself I needed to keep it together. Seeing things again was a one-way ticket to losing my mind. The last thing I wanted was to go there again—especially while in Italy.
I stopped looking for him and began to stroll down the road I thought he’d taken. Reading my Fodor’s, I thought about what I wanted to see next and not Mike.
As I came to the Basilica of Saint Mary of the Angels and Martyrs, I stopped and read about it in my guidebook. It was the last great architectural project from the genius of Michelangelo, and I was just in time for Mass.
Wandering into the basilica, I read through my guidebook about the church. The candles lit by the praying souls touched my heart and I lit one of my own and dropped a few coins in the box. I wasn’t a practicing Catholic. I really wasn’t anything, but I felt very at ease and extremely comfortable as I settled into the creaky wooden pew.
I listened to the entire service in Italian and loved every minute of it. The words, although I didn’t understand many of them, warmed my body and gave me a sense of great peace. I’d not stepped foot in a church since Jacob’s funeral. It was just too hard.
I watched as the people of the congregation walked to the front of the church to take communion and I followed. Baptized as a baby and confirmed as a teenager, I knew the drill—I just hadn’t participated in a long time.
I thought that with all the blessings I’d received in the past couple of weeks, my money problems gone, only one sick patient to care for and my new feelings of love toward David, I needed to be more thankful.
I waited my turn and as I opened up, the priest paused before placing the unleavened wafer into my mouth. I tried not to notice, but when he followed me with his eyes as I took a sip from the communal cup of wine, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy.
I walked back to my seat and began to rummage through my bag, taking out what I thought to be my guidebook. In reality it was Grandma Indie’s Bible.
I took a deep breath and thought for a moment about the passage I’d marked after Six sounded off with a book, chapter and verse just a few short days ago.
I opened the Bible and began to read the passage again, still having no earthly idea what it should mean to me. I began to flip through the pages and found markers in certain books. Psalms, Job, and finally Revelation.
“Welcome.”
I looked around me and discovered Mass was over and the small area of the church had cleared out. I was sitting alone, completely unaware of how long I’d been there.
“Hello,” I said back to the young and attractive priest. He wasn’t the priest who presided over Mass, but I was happy to hear his accent. “You’re American.”
“So are you.”
“Yes. Atlanta, Georgia. Well, actually Barlow, but it’s such a small town no one knows it. It’s just easier to say Atlanta.”
He nodded. “I’m from all over, but now just Rome. You seem very interested in your Bible. Might I ask which book you’re reading?”
I turned the Bible over in my hand nervously. “I don’t even know. This was my grandmother’s Bible. It somehow made the trip with me to Italy and stayed in my bag for a couple of days. Weird, huh?”
“The Lord shows himself in many ways, Miss…?”
“Oh, I’m Indie. Indriel, but Indie.”
“Indriel?” An interesting look covered his face and I couldn’t quite decide what he was thinking. I bit my lip and thought about what I was about to do for only a moment.
“I don’t know when I’ll ever have the opportunity to ask this again. I mean, I’m in Italy, and I’ve got this Bible and I have some questions.”
He took a seat in the pew in front of me, giving me his undivided attention. “I’m listening.”
“Can you explain a couple of things to me?”
“I can try.”
“What is Nephilim?”
He sat back and blinked deliberately. “The Bible says in Genesis that the descendants of Adam were spread all over the earth. Some of their daughters were so beautiful that fallen angels came down to earth and took these women who bore them children. It’s said that the children of these fallen angels were famous heroes and warriors—heroes of old, men of renown.”
“And these people—these children of the women and fallen angels—they were called Nephilim?” I asked.
“Yes, but the Bible also says that they were giants. Many believed them to be a race of giants. They possessed the spirit of their father and the human traits of the mother. They were immortal spirits, not immortal bodies. Others interpret it to mean they were powerful.”
I shook my head. “I don’t get it. Why would anyone want me to fear Nephilim today? I mean surely that’s all symbolism—a way to teach or tell a story. What happened to the Nephilim?”
“A better known story than theirs. God saw how bad the people on earth were and that everything they thought and planned was evil. He was sorry that he’d made them and decided to destroy every living creature on earth.”
“The flood.”
“That’s right. The story of Noah.”
“So that was that. Right?”
“The Bible says that the Nephilim lived on the earth at that time and even later.”
“Meaning?”
“That evil is real. Evil is present.”
The young priest blinked deliberately and I felt so at ease asking him questions I just continued mindlessly. “Who are the marked?”
“The marked of the book of Revelation?”
I looked down to Grandma Indie’s Bible and opened it where she’d placed an old ribbon. It was indeed Revelation. “Yes.”
“The book of Revelation is quite a mystery. People devote their entire lives to reading and deciphering its text.”
“Just explain it to me the way you would in a Sunday School class.”
He laughed. “I like you, Indie.” After a long pause he began. “It has to do with the Apocalypse. There are seven seals that are opened. Each one significant in its own way. When the sixth seal is opened the chain of events continues—earthquakes, stars fall from the sky, mountains are moved from their places. And then…”
“Yes?” I found myself on the edge of my seat, hanging on every word he said.
“Four angels appear at the four corners of the earth and another comes from the sun, ready to mark the servants of God on earth. The Bible gives the number of one hundred and forty-four thousand. It represents twelve thousand from each of the twelve tribes of Israel, but again, Revelation is full of symbolism.”
I paused a moment and closed the Bible. “So who is marked? Because it seems to me that if you read it literally, it’s only the Jews.”
“And if you do your research you’ll find there are many who think they are the marked.”
“And what do you think, Father?”
“I think evil exists. I think we will all be judged. I believe in the holy trinity and protection that lies within.”
I nodded and took in everything he said to me, digesting slowly the barrage of information. “I know you don’t know me. I mean, you know nothing about me exce
pt my name and that I ask a lot of questions, but why do you think my family would want me to know that I was marked? I feel like they’re calling to me—wanting me to know things.”
“May I ask what you’re doing in Italy, Indie?”
“I’m here with work. Well, that’s misleading. My boss is very ill and I am his personal nurse.”
“So you’re a nurse?”
“Hospice.”
“You aid those who are suffering.”
I nodded and he took my hand as a warm glow filled our union. I looked to him to see if he saw it too, and once again as when Spirit showed itself to me, I was alone in my visions. “Indriel, I think you are a lightworker on Earth and I know when the day comes for those to be divinely marked as servants of God, you’ll be there.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Father.”
He stood to leave and paused for a moment as if he needed to say something, but couldn’t decide it he wanted to. I watched his face intently and finally he broke. “Indie, I want to warn you of something.”
“Yes?”
“The balance of good and evil in the world is a very delicate thing.”
“Be sober-minded—be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” I recited the verse George had left for me without even thinking.
He cocked his head to one side.
“I had a patient write that down for me. I thought maybe he was trying to tell me something before he died. Even my Aunt recited it to me.”
“If you think you’re receiving messages, Indie…you are.”
“And what do you think that means for me? Should I be afraid?”
“Satan and his demons are brilliant. They use all your weaknesses, failings, sins and secrets against you. But know this, Indie. The reason the world is such a mess isn’t because God is some kind of sadist who comes to inflict pain. God didn’t force us to reject him any more than Satan can force us to follow him. We do it to ourselves.”
I nodded as I took in his words.
“May God bless you, Indriel.” The young priest walked away and I hung my head and decided to say a prayer. I didn’t know if I was losing my mind. Maybe this was the way Jacob felt before he turned to alcohol and drugs. Maybe I too was dancing on the thin line between sanity and lunacy.
I lifted my head and looked to my watch. It was getting late and I wanted to grab dinner out before I headed back to the hotel. Even if I were eating alone, it would give me a chance to process all that had happened last night and today.
I stood and made my way to the door to the outside where I could see it had begun to rain yet again. Stopping, I saw the older priest who’d presided over Mass. I wanted to say thank you. I paused and gave him a smile. “Grazie, Padre.”
He replied in English. “You are welcome, my child.”
“I wanted to thank the younger priest. What is his name? He was too kind to me today.”
“Chi?”
I scrambled with my translator. “Ahh…giovane sacerdote? The young priest?”
“Lo sono l’unico sacerdote.”
“Non capisco?” I asked, telling him I didn’t understand.
A young schoolboy walked behind me and stopped. “He says he’s the only priest.”
“No,” I said as I shook my head. “Giovane sacerdote. The young one—brown hair.”
The priest shook his head at me. “No. Lo sono l’unico sacerdote.”
The boy looked me in the eye. “He says no, lady. He’s the only priest.”
I began to feel dizzy. This wasn’t happening again. It couldn’t be happening again. “Thank you.” I breathed the word as it barely came off of my lips.
My ears were ringing and I no longer felt in control. I was dizzy as I walked onto the front steps of the church and into the rain, not bothering to search for the umbrella in my bag.
I looked to the sky as everyone searched for shelter and let the rain pour down on me. I wished for the lightning to strike me, to put me out of my misery. Instead the storm raged overhead and I was helpless to the world around me and even more powerless against the one that thundered in my own head.
TWENTY-FIVE
I stood on the cool marble that was the floor of my hotel bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. Mascara ran down my face and I braced myself against the sink as I tried to stop my body from shaking. The fear, the adrenaline, the emotion—I couldn’t contain it any longer. I dug through my makeup case and found my magic pills. I wanted to take two, but knew my sleep cycle was completely confused. The last thing I wanted to do was sleep through another appointment with Lewis. He would be more tired than usual tonight and I needed to have my wits about me as best I could. I popped the pill in my mouth, forgoing the water. The bitterness at the back of my throat made me gag and I began to cry harder.
Still wearing the soggy black sundress and cardigan, I pulled the folded towel left by housekeeping from the side of the tub and started the water. I slid to the floor as I sobbed, holding one hand under the faucet waiting for the water to warm.
I laid my head on the side of the tub and tried to process everything I’d been seeing. I could no longer distinguish what was real from what was only going on in my head.
As the water became hot I stood and pulled the wet clothes from my body, each piece heavy and doing its best to cling to me. I struggled, and it only made me cry harder. Finally free from the heavy fabric I climbed into the hot bath slowly—my body so frigid the water burned and tingled against my skin.
I slid into the tub and my sobbing became more internal as I twisted my face, trying to hold in the emotion. As I moved deeper into the water I felt my sanity slipping away with my body. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something pleasant. I pictured myself under my tree in the park back home in Barlow. It was a beautiful sunny day and I’d propped myself up against the thick tree trunk to breathe in the sweetness of the Southern breeze. In front of me was my blue spiral notebook and as I plugged my ears with the small white headphones I began to relax to the sound of Mozart. The violins sang deeply as if they were telling me a sad story. I closed my eyes—the sunshine heating my skin. I was peaceful. I was home.
I felt and heard a thud beside me and opened my eyes to find a single red apple had fallen from the tree. Taking it in my hand I looked up, searching for where it came from. Slowly, I brought my eyes back to the luscious red object in my hand. I smiled as the warmth of the sunshine made me feel safe.
Bringing the apple to my mouth, I opened wide—my teeth easily breaking through the skin, my tongue touching the sweetness of the fruit. I chewed slowly enjoying the firm, grainy feel of the fruit in my mouth as it melted into juice. I swallowed and wiped my chin, anxious for another bite.
I brought the succulent red goodness to my face once more and felt something tickle my lips. Pulling my hand away I wiped my mouth and found the remains of a maggot.
Dropping the festering apple now covered in writhing white worms, I stood and coughed, wanting to vomit. Falling to my knees, I closed my eyes tightly. I couldn’t breathe. Chocking, I could feel myself turn blue as the pressure behind my eyes became unbearable. Twisting my body over, I landed on my back trying to gasp—a last effort to bring fresh air into my lungs. Slipping away, I dropped my head onto the grass and opened my eyes.
Staring at me from above was Lewis Thornbury, his electrifying green eyes piercing mine as he stood over my body from the top of the tub, our faces a whisper apart.
I shot up as he grabbed me by the throat with his massive hands and began to squeeze, slowly pushing my head under the water. I grabbed at his expressionless face as my body crashed against the old tub.
Pounding against the side of the porcelain with my arms and legs, I struggled as my head thumped and the final beats of my heart pounded out in my head. I looked into the eyes of Lewis Thornbury as I felt my heart beat for the last time and saw nothing but a dark, empty void. Closing my eyes slowly, a blinding light overtook me and
I allowed my body to float peacefully in the water and space around me.
I saw her in the distance called out to her. “Grandma Indie.”
She took my hand and I pulled it to my face, elated to see her. I felt an overwhelming sense of love and peace—such joy and happiness. A heaviness was gone from my mind and my heart. I pulled her to me, trying to embrace her tightly. She caressed my face with her hand and smiled as she shook her head no but said nothing. I put my arms out, grasping for her, wanting to be in her light. Taking me by the waist and turning my body, she faced me away from her as the darkness of my recurring dream came rushing back. I looked down to the long white nightgown that covered my body and gazed at the endless hallway in front of me that led nowhere. With a push I was running—the darkness encompassed me and at once I saw a flash of light and felt the heat and wet deluge that covered me.
I sat up with a gasp as I choked out the water that had filled my lungs. I looked behind me to find Mike holding Lewis by the throat in midair. I felt my own neck as I watched Mike drop him to the floor like a ragdoll, placing one knee in his chest and pulling a sword from thin air.
Lewis turned his face to look at me as he choked and blood spurted from his mouth. I didn’t have a voice to scream, I didn’t have the air in my lungs to cry. I clung to the side of the tub and stared into the green eyes of a monster.
Mike looked to me before turning back to Lewis and lifted his sword high above his head, bellowing loudly as the weapon, shining in the light of the crystal chandelier came down upon the chest of Lewis Thornbury.
With a sharp intake of breath, I sat up in the tub and looked around me, out of breath and alone. Coughing violently, I threw up over the side of the tub. Wiping my mouth I climbed out, barely possessing enough energy to pull a towel from the warming rack nearby.
I covered my body and tried to catch my breath. I was wet from head to toe and dripping as my body shook. In the distance the phone was ringing. I pulled myself to my feet, only to slip in the water surrounding the tub. As the phone stopped I crawled out of the bathroom only to hear it ring again.