The Unforgiven Sin

by R. Twine

  ‘These are the questions I have asked myself hundreds of times but never found answers to. But why are you so sure this incarnation of yours is the last one?’ asked Phil and went immediately on. ‘You see, your birth was brought about, undoubtedly, under the auspices of both Angels, and it means your essence may be totally engulfed either by the dark side or by the light. It’s highly likely that Satanail may need your son to implement his plans. And this time everything may happen in a way that you wouldn’t even know about it. By the way, where’s the third vial now?’ Phil inquired quite unexpectedly.

  ‘It stays with me,’ I said in reply.

  ‘Be careful, Miriam. You cannot be one hundred per cent sure Satanail will not do you any harm,’ Phil said closing the book. ‘I want to help you. And let this help of mine be a token of repentance for the sins I committed,’ he said jokingly and pressed the hidden button.

  The shelves parted, and we found ourselves in the library again.

  ‘You’re safe, Miriam, for as long as you don’t have a baby. But it’s hard to imagine what will happen afterwards,’ Phil warned.

  ‘Currently, I live with a man,’ I said. ‘What do you think may happen to us in the future?’

  ‘I’m afraid there’s no definite answer to your question. Satanail will be trying to take hold of any man you will become intimate with.’ I felt dizzy and exhausted; I wanted to leave this house as soon as possible.

  ‘Thanks, Phil,’ I said. ‘Phone me if you happen to find something of interest. Thank you, your advice was really important to me.’

  The demonologist smiled and wiped the small beads of sweat off his forehead.

  ‘Good-bye, Miriam,’ he said closing the door behind me.

  Outside, I gave a sigh of relief and walked hurriedly away from the place heedless of the Dobermans barking their heads off. The hotel was situated nearby; I took the keys from a doorman and went upstairs to my room. The aftertaste of the meeting I just had was weird; my heart was aching with a dark foreboding.

  I slept awfully that night: one moment I would fall into a troubled slumber, the next I would jump up awakened by some inner jolt. In a pre-dawn haze somewhere on the border between my dream and reality I saw my mother and an old woman – they were sitting by the fire in the cave where I had last seen them.

  ‘Miriam,’ said my mom in a voice that seemed to be coming from far off. ‘Take care. Stay well. And be careful of your relationship.’

  ‘Beware of your instincts,’ screeched the old woman.

  The ghosts merged into darkness only to be replaced by The Book of Shadows. Hairy hands were reaching for me out of it, beckoning. A suave voice started whispering.

  ‘A huge earthquake is going to hit the world if I ever get into the hands of my earthly master… He’s the one capable of turning his most sacred desires into reality and changing not only his fate…’

  The ring-tone shook the slumber off me. I reached for my mobile and said in a barely audible tone of voice.

  ‘Hello!’

  ‘Miriam Henderson?’ asked a male voice.

  ‘Speaking!’

  ‘Good morning Miss Henderson, this is the police station calling. My name’s Nino. I’m calling you in connection with Phil Brinstein.’

  ‘Is something wrong?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ I whispered, the blood freezing in my veins.

  ‘We found your business card on his table. When did you see him last?’

  ‘Yesterday. We spent half of the day together. I left late in the afternoon.’

  ‘Would you mind coming to the station? We would like you to give a statement,’ Nino asked.

  ‘All right, I’ll be there in an hour,’ I murmured.

  ‘I’ll be waiting for you,’ said the detective and hung up.

  I sat staring into space and listening to the beeps of the telephone.

  There was a lot of noise and bustle at the police station. Hardly had I uttered my name when one of the policemen hurried towards me.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Henderson! Thank you for coming. Take a seat, please. My name is Thomas Nino,’ said a pleasant-looking man of about forty pointing at the chair. He then sat down opposite me behind his desk.

  ‘As I’ve already told you, Phil Brinstein is dead,’ he said.

  ‘What could possibly have happened to him?’ I was barely able to speak.

  ‘This morning we received a call from a woman who introduced herself as Mister Brinstein’s housemaid. She told us some strange things were happening. The master of the house wouldn’t open the door for her in the morning as he usually did. Nor did he answer when she tried to reach him on the phone. Besides, his dogs which, as a rule, stay outside, turned out to be locked inside the house: the woman heard them barking. Brinstein’s car had been parked near the garage…’ the detective paused. ‘When the patrol car arrived, the policemen forced their way into the house and found Mister Brinstein’s lifeless body there. They also found his dogs locked in a separate room… According to his housemaid and the friends we had time to interrogate so far, Mister Brinstein never locked up his pets with the exception of the rare cases when he, for instance, was receiving guests who happened to come to his house for the first time…’ The Detective paused again and scrutinized me for a long moment. ‘It means,’ he coughed, ‘that somebody slipped into his house at night, locked up the dogs whose presence an alleged murderer was very well aware of, and suffocated Mister Brinstein by using most probably the pillow which was found lying by his feet… though, it might well have been that Brinstein locked the dogs up himself and let the murderer in; it might have been a person he knew very well but who had never come to his house before, though it could well have been someone he didn’t know at all. The autopsy will soon tell us the exact cause of his death.’

  ‘What do you want me to tell you?’ I asked.

  ‘Everything. The exact time and purpose of your visit, for instance. You’re not a suspect: your alibi was confirmed by the doorman. But we need your help in investigating this case. Phil Brinstein was a well-known man and had a lot of influential friends now eager to know what happened to him,’ explained Nino and asked me without a pause. ‘Why did you come to see him from Los Angeles?’

  ‘To satisfy my curiosity. I wanted to see his library and to know his opinion of parallel worlds,’ I answered calmly.

  ‘You crossed the entire country only to know his opinion? I guess, you could have easily done it by phone. Besides, you have a tight working schedule, don’t you? Please, tell me the true reason of your visit.’

  ‘I see nothing special in my coming to a famous specialist to get his advice on issues concerning parapsychology. My visit had nothing to do with his death,’ I assured the detective.

  ‘Still, I’d like you to be more exact about the reason of your visit,’ he insisted.

  I gave up.

  ‘We arranged our meeting two weeks ago,’ I said. ‘I got interested in Mister Brinstein because he was a well-known occult demonologist. So I wanted to get acquainted with him and ask him some questions about the hereafter.’

  ‘Is this all?’

  ‘Yes, it is. We met; he heard me out and then showed me several books. This visit was very important to me: Mister Brinstein shed some light onto some problems that have been plaguing me; he was instrumental in understanding one very personal situation.’

  ‘Hmm, I see. He really was a specialist rare to come by. You say he helped you to understand something?’

  ‘Yes, it was exactly so,’ I confirmed.

  ‘Did he drop a hint that he may have been waiting for somebody?’

  ‘No, he didn’t. It was only esotery we talked about. I can go with you and show you the books we were looking through, if you don’t mind.’

  I was eager to see The Book of Shadows once again. It attracted me like a magnet.

  ‘Not a bad idea,’ said Nino picking up the receiver and dialing somebody’s telephone num
ber.

  ‘Are you sure he was killed? Maybe, he died a natural death?’ I asked.

  ‘We’re not sure,’ the detective replied and switched his attention to his conversation on the phone. ‘Hello! I’d like to bring Miss Henderson to the crime scene…Yeah, I guess it would help the investigation…I promise you…,’ said the detective to his invisible interlocutor at the opposite end of the line and hung up. ‘Miss Henderson, we’ll go there immediately, and you may go home afterwards,’ he said getting up from his chair.

  There was a police car standing by the gate; some plainclothes officers were scurrying about the garden. My heart was about to jump out of my ribcage when I saw Phil’s house again. The dogs were barking incessantly in the backyard. A young man came up to us and put out his hand to greet us.

  ‘Good afternoon, my name’s Dmitry Carter, I’m the insurance company’s agent,’ he said, introducing himself. ‘The collection of books was covered by insurance, and I’ve already begun checking whether everything is intact.’

  We entered the house. The atmosphere inside was heavy, and my head started aching immediately.

  ‘Who’s going to inherit the books?’ I asked. ‘Phil Brinstein’s library is unique. A lot of people would want to lay their hands on these treasures. If the murder theory proves right, you’ll have to look for the perpetrator among the followers of the occult.’

  ‘Would you like to get into my shoes and take over the investigation? You’ve been doing a pretty good job so far,’ said the detective, undisguised irony in his voice.

  ‘I just want to help you,’ I said in reply. ‘There aren’t many specialists of his level of competence in this sphere.’

  ‘You’d better take a good look and see if anything’s changed here since your visit yesterday, Ms. Henderson,’ Nino said.

  I looked around. The number of books in the library was so huge that even if several of them had disappeared I wouldn’t notice it anyway.

  ‘Judging at first glance, everything remains just as it was yesterday, but I’m not sure,’ I said and then asked. ‘Excuse me! Can I have a look at the book kept in the hiding place? We spent about two hours there yesterday. I hope it is intact, isn’t it? This is the most valuable book in all of Mister Brinstein’s collection.’

  ‘Which hiding place? And which book are you talking about?’ asked the insurance agent, sounding astonished.

  ‘No hiding place was mentioned in the report,’ said the detective and glanced at me inquiringly. ‘It is right there, behind the bookshelves,’ I said, pointing my finger. The bewilderment reflected on the faces of those present seemed strange to me but I gave the explanation anyway, just in case. ‘There’s a secret room behind the bookshelves which contains one of the three priceless copies of The Book of Shadows created by the devil himself. Mister Brinstein told me yesterday that his house was under full surveillance…’

  ‘Indeed, there’s the strong box behind one of the shelves where Mister Brinstein kept his securities. I’ve found three more ancient books there. But this is clearly not the room you are talking about. The alarm system doesn’t cover anything of the kind,’ said Carter.

  ‘Well, look for yourself then,’ I said, pressing the button behind the tome. The book shelf opened up.

  ‘It just cannot be!’ I exclaimed, seeing the strong box built into the wall. ‘Believe me, there was a door yesterday!’

  ‘Will you please open the strong box?’ said the investigating officer turning to the agent.

  ‘Just a sec…,’

  Carter found an appropriate key in a huge bundle of keys and opened the door. The detective quickly put on gloves, unloaded the content of the box onto the table and told me to come over.

  ‘Here you are! But I beg you not to touch anything with your hands.’

  ‘But I see there was no book here all along. And it couldn’t have been here, anyway. Where’s the room gone? Who can explain all this to me?’ I kept on asking.

  ‘Will you please calm down and tell us which book you’re talking about? There are thousands of books here!’ the detective asked me.

  ‘I’ve already told you,’ I answered back. ‘There was the copy of The Book of Shadows written by Satanail himself, the Prince of Darkness. Phil told me there are only three copies in the whole world, and he had one of them. I saw this book with my own eyes in the secret room yesterday! But now this room seems to have disappeared for no particular reason. Was it a trick of some sort? A mirage? An optical illusion?’ I was getting increasingly furious. ‘I cannot understand what’s going on. These three books from the strong box were also lying on one of the shelves in that room yesterday. But The Book of Shadows is gone, it has disappeared!’

  ‘Seems very strange, eh?’ said the agent turning to the detective. ‘I checked the documents one more time – there’s no book with such a title in the list.’

  ‘You must have overstrained yourself, Miss Henderson,’ the detective told me. ‘It might also have been the result of the shock you went through. It often happens in such situations.’

  I was silent. I simply didn’t know how to defend my words.

  ‘Don’t be so frustrated, Miss Henderson,’ the detective said. ‘You’d better sit down and relax. Incidentally, we’ve managed to find something in Mister Brinstein’s fountain pen…’ he said, handing me a small slip of paper rolled up into a tube. ‘It’s not yet clear what these words mean and to whom they were addressed, but apparently Mister Brinstein wrote them shortly before his death and then hid the message hoping that it would eventually find its intended recipient. Have a look,’ he said encouragingly, because I couldn’t bring myself to unfold the paper.

  I obeyed. Having put on thin gloves as I had been told to do, I carefully unrolled the small scroll of paper. “He will be everywhere and in everybody,” said the text written in an uneven hasty handwriting. Suddenly everything blurred in front of my eyes. With a quick movement of my hand I put the small sheet of paper on the table and said hastily.

  ‘I don’t know what it could mean. Why have you shown this to me?’

  The detective gave me an attentive look but said nothing.

  ‘I’ve checked everything!’ the insurance agent jumped into our conversation, having put his documents aside. There’s no book with such a title in my list, that’s for sure.’

  I shrugged silently in reply while Nino made a note in his notepad and turned his attention to me again.

  ‘You know, rumor has it that Phil Brinstein belonged to the secret society of Satanists,’ he said, staring at me. ‘Its members are the important and the powerful who pull the strings in our world…This is why there are people eager to see this murder case solved as soon as possible.’

  ‘But the autopsy results haven’t been made public yet; why are you so sure it was murder?’ I demanded. ‘The dogs locked in the room and the pillow lying at Mister Brinstein’s feet aren’t proof enough Phil was murdered.’

  ‘I’m not certain about it, it’s just my assumption,’ said the detective in reply. ‘Phil Brinstein must have known some magic rituals and methods of conjuring demons… Maybe, he didn’t just have allies, but enemies as well. It’s highly likely that by steering the investigation in this direction we’ll be able to find not one, but several motives for someone to kill him.’

  ‘Most probably, you’ll have to pursue more than one lead,’ I made an assumption, ‘because previously Mister Brinstein was a well-known psychiatrist…’

  ‘These three manuscripts from the strong box mention Satan, too,’ said the agent, jumping in again. ‘But, admittedly, an ordinary man would never be able to untangle all these writings. The late Mister Brinstein must have spent years decoding them…’

  ‘Where’s the hiding place gone?’ I asked again, feeling uneasy.

  ‘You still insist there was a secret room here, don’t you?’ asked the detective, pointing his finger at the wall. ‘You also insist there was a book in the secret room? But you have to understand that w
e cannot possibly believe you. Apart from you, there are two of us here and neither of us sees a room nor a book. I understand, Mister Brinstein did show you one of these manuscripts…Have another look at them, will you?’ said the detective.

  ‘Be careful because these books are extremely old and their pages are very fragile!’ the insurance agent cautioned me.

  I made myself as comfortable as I could and started thumbing through the book called The Mystery of Birth. The text had been written in a language which was unfamiliar to me so I focused on the illustrations because they perfectly reflected the essence of the manuscript. The manuscript touched on the subject of the propagation of dark forces and contained information on demons, evil spirits, incubi, succubi and some other beasts and creatures. There were patterns describing the process of mutual influence going on between the earthly world and the dark world: it appeared from the text that man was capable of generating suchlike creatures through his seed. Suddenly the pictures in the book became alive and started moving as if trying to show me something.

  ‘Look! These creatures in the pictures are moving as if they were alive!’ I exclaimed, pointing my finger at the illustration.

  ‘What are you talking about, Miss Henderson?’ the detective asked me, looking down at the book over my shoulder in bewilderment. ‘I do see the pictures, but they aren’t moving!’

  ‘I can’t see the moving creatures you are talking about either,’ took up the agent, who was gazing at the book, too.

  ‘True, there are some illustrations, but the creatures depicted in them don’t move, I assure you,’ confirmed the detective.

  The two men stared at me with a look of suspicion on their faces.

  ‘You really didn’t see the pictures come alive?’ I asked them.

  They exchanged glances and shook their heads in unison.

  ‘It appears everything I see is seen only by me alone.’

  ‘Yes, it appears so,’ the detective said. ‘One out of the two can be correct here: either something is wrong with you or something’s wrong with us. But we, the ones who don’t see anything, are in the majority. You don’t look like a crackpot and you have no reason to fool us… Tell me, please – are you involved in some kind of sect or something?’ asked the detective, narrowing his eyes.