At first, neither of them understood why it was happening. They had cautiously asked the other team members if any one of them were experiencing the same things. But none of them even hinted of the slightest irregularity or change in their daily lives.
From that time on, the two friends believed they were given the honor and responsibility for guarding the knowledge within the scrolls, and for the dreams and visions they started to receive. All that they were given pointed them to someone who would come, who would need their guidance and direction; but who would have a role in the world far beyond that of their own.
“Come, brother,” Gul said, as he reached up and shook Khel’s shoulder. “Our host has been very patient. We must not keep the kind woman waiting any longer.”
The two turned around and began to walk back to the boardwalk, to Dr. Skramstad.
Khel added, “And once again, we must be very careful in moving the black granite wall that displays the one for whom we wait.”
“And that we will,” Gul replied with a smile.
Suddenly, Khel stopped. “Wait!” he called to Gul.
Quickly, Khel bent down and removed his soggy shoes and socks. An instant later, he sank his toes in the warm white sand.
Watching his tall friend close his eyes and savor the sensation in his feet, Gul laughed a hearty laugh.
Chapter 8
FOUR WEEKS AGO
The longhaired goateed man sat at a booth inside the D.C. diner, fiddling with the teaspoon he used to stir his coffee, tapping it lightly on a napkin on top of the table.
It was just after three o’clock p.m. Earlier, he had checked into his hotel and had eaten some food at the hotel’s restaurant.
The booth he sat in was at the middle of a long wall of booths in the diner. Through the line of windows at his side, he could see his rental car in the diner’s parking lot, and a small distance further from it was the main road.
With his cell phone sitting on the table next to the cup of coffee, he looked at the time: it was 3:05 pm. “Well, I’m here,” he said with a sigh of boredom mingled with tension, “and the note said 3 pm. So, what is it I’m waiting for?”
As he turned his head around, he tried to notice if there was anything peculiar in the diner or anyone who looked suspicious. In front of him, at one end of the narrow and long diner, was the entrance. To his left was a line of barstools, in front of the bar, where three people sat. Behind the bar was a young waitress. There was no sign of the old woman who had served his family back during their vacation. There was a couple in a booth in front of him and four people several booths behind him. But there was no one out of the ordinary.
He waited.
And he waited still.
The rhythm he quietly tapped with his spoon transitioned to a melody of a song that was popular, just over five years ago, that his wife used to enjoy listening to.
Then, his mind wandered to a time a few weeks before their car accident. The same song played on the radio his wife brought with them to Mission Beach in San Diego. Underneath the late summer’s radiant sun, she sat on top of her beach towel facing the ocean. At one side of her towel, the radio tilted up, as it sank slightly into the sand. She watched her two boys, in their swimming trunks, a short distance in front of her, as they tossed a small football between them.
He cringed as the football slipped through his son’s hands once again. For the past ten minutes, he had been struggling to get his son to catch the football for the first time. After each miss, he stepped in closer and closer, hoping that the shorter distance would help his son make a catch. Even though he was now just three steps away and now tossing the ball softly underhanded, the little boy just couldn’t catch it.
Being too afraid, his son always flinched and turned his head to the side, just before the ball reached his hands.
“Ok,” he said to his son, as he stepped forward to pick up the ball from the sand, “Are ya looking at and focusing on that ball?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Are you sure?” he asked patiently and with a smile. “Do you remember seeing the ball hit your hands?”
His son closed his eyes for a moment, trying to remember. Opening them, he said, “I don’t think so, Daddy.”
“Ok, well, I’m gonna try to step closer…and I’ll be almost handing you the ball, I think,” he chuckled. “And keep your eyes open. You can turn your head to the side, but keep your eyes on the ball. It’s what’s gonna help you catch it.”
He was ready to toss the ball once more, but his son was looking down, while twisting and sinking his feet into the sand.
He called, “Hey, dude, you ready?”
Looking back up, his son asked, “Can we play something else?”
His heart sank, “Aw, really? You don’t wanna play catch?”
“No,” his son said, as he unexpectedly began to walk to his beach towel.
Opening his eyes wide, he sighed a heavy sigh. He hung his mouth wide open and kept it open. With both hands, he lifted up the football over his head and began to bounce it vigorously against his skull.
His wife couldn’t help but laugh to herself.
Soon, he waved for her to come, “Uh, baby?”
Smiling, she stood and walked over.
Watching her getting closer, he noticed how beautiful she looked in her black two-piece bathing suit. She had quickly regained her figure, after their son was born, and raising the ire of her other child-baring friends, she had since maintained her shape without much effort.
“Yesssss?” she asked grinning. She quickly sensed his disappointment and was ready to have some fun with it.
“Did they give us the right baby, when we left the hospital after you gave birth?”
“Oh, stop it!” She slapped his shoulder, still grinning. “There’s nothing wrong with him. He just needs a little bit more practice. Be patient. His coordination still needs some work.”
Complaining, he said, in a rapid succession of words, “He’s seven years old and can’t catch a football. I was catching ‘em when I was in poopie diapers.’
“Of course you were.” She gave him a peck. “Your diapers were all filled up, and even though they slowed you down, nothing could have stopped you from catching that football.”
“You’re darn right,” he said as he kissed her back. From the side, he glanced at his son. “Oh, look at him now,” he complained again. “He’s messing with that Rubik’s Cube you got him.”
Slowly, she turned to look, and then faced him once again. “Uh…he’s messing with the Rubik’s Cube you got him.” She said, as she pointed a finger on his chest.
Squinting at her, he asked, “Are you sure about that?”
“Yeah, you and your absentminded, scientific, brainy head got him that, sweetie.” She continued, “See, that’s what the two of you have in common. You both like doing smart and geeky stuff. He sees you solving that thing while you’re watching TV, and he wants to solve it himself - just like you. Watch, he’ll grow up to be smarter than you are, I bet.” Then, she laughed, “But maybe, I’m not so hopeful about the football.”
He put his arm around her, and they began to walk to their son. With wild eyes, he said defiantly, “Oh, he’ll love football. He will love football. I’ll see to that.” He raised a forefinger into the air, “Rubik’s Cube be dammed! Uh…be darned, that is…”
She stopped. “Hey, remember we’re driving to the Ghetri Museum next week.”
“Oh, are we?” He made sure he looked disinterested.
“Yes. And don’t look like that. I wanna go, and you’re going to like it.”
“Ok,” he smiled and kissed her, “I was just jokin’…just wanted to get you riled up.”
“Can you remember to check out the car? The tires and stuff…all the stuff you guys do for a car before a long drive. I don’t want to have to worry about it when we take that side trip through the mountains.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m on it.” Then, he faced her and wrapp
ed his arms around her. Kissing her on one cheek, he said softly, “Baby, that’s for taking me to these places.”
He kissed her on the other cheek. “That’s for letting me complain. It’s my way of warming up to the idea. And I do end up being glad we went.”
Then, he kissed her lips, “That’s for giving me the best son I could ever wish for.”
She smiled warmly and said playfully, “Well, you do have some redeeming qualities now. Don’t you?”
They turned and walked again, arm in arm.
She said, “Hey, you know they’re gonna have an exhibition of artifacts from ancient Babylonia…some really nice things from a palace they discovered just a few years ago. It’s supposed to be from one of Nebuchadnezzar’s.”
He put on his disinterested look again and said, from the side of his mouth, “Yay.”
She shook her head and slapped his rear.
He called to his son, “Hey, dude, you wanna walk to the roller coaster later and take a ride?”
His son quickly lifted his head, opened his eyes wide, and excitedly said, “Yeah! Let’s go to the roller coaster!”
He reached down and scruffed-up his son’s hair. “All right! That’s my boy. We’re gonna do some cool, fast, scary man-stuff!”
By time the memory of his wife and son ended, the time was 3:20 p.m. He had finished his second cup of coffee and needed to use the restroom. He didn’t want to get up, in fear of missing something, but he needed to go.
He picked up his phone, stood up, and walked to the back, toward the restroom.
After exiting the restroom about a minute later, he made his way back to his seat. He saw a man facing away from him, walking to leave the diner. He hadn’t seen him earlier. That man wore dark pants and a thick, black hooded coat that reached below his waist, making him look a little husky. The hood was up over the man’s head, and he looked more than peculiar during the warm day. After exiting the diner, the hooded man walked out of sight.
Reaching his seat, he leaned down to slide back in and noticed a three-by-five index card next to his coffee cup. The writing was familiar.
It said in large letters, “Don’t lose the black van.”
He looked up and out toward the parking lot. Just then, an old model black full-sized van slowly drove through the lot. All of its windows were tinted black, and the driver’s side window was cracked open slightly. He saw the light-colored, crew cut hair of the man driving it.
Immediately, he focused his mind on the driver and began to sense his description. He was young, possibly in his early twenties, strong, wearing a gray t-shirt, blue jeans, and black boots. He was Sik.
Quickly, he turned to find the waitress. Waving at her, he said, “Thanks, gotta go.” He dropped on top of the table the first bill he could find from his wallet: it was ten dollars.
For a split second, he stood and thought whether he should grab a smaller bill, in order to swap it. “Screw it,” he said, as he put his wallet back into his pocket, “I’m in a rush.” Hurriedly, he trotted out of the diner.
Jumping into his rental car, he saw the black van make a right turn out of the parking lot, then a slow right onto South Eads Street. He followed in his car, as quickly as he could, cutting in front of a vehicle, as he maneuvered to get out of the lot. Soon, he was on South Eads, just a few cars behind the van.
When the van turned onto 18th Street, and then made a left, he was immediately behind it.
Suddenly, the van sped up and made a right, then a quick left against a red light.
He, however, stopped his rental car at the red light, and his eyes followed the van, as it made another left on a road. The van was getting away. Nervously, he said, “Don’t lose the black van, man!” He made the left turn, while the light was still red. As he finished the turn, the light turned green. Scoffing at the light, he said, “Thanks for nothin’.”
The left turn ahead was green, and he followed other drivers making it. After the turn, he tried to find the van once again. It was nowhere in sight. He made a left turn back onto South Eads, searching for it and moving his head to and fro.
After two or three blocks, he passed the driveway of a hotel on the right and saw no vehicles on it.
Up ahead was an intersection.
Suddenly, the black van raced out of the hotel driveway he had just passed. In it, Sik steered and slammed into the rear corner of the rental car, crushing it in. The van’s wheels burned tread marks on the road, as Sik jeered, “Let’s have some fun.” Then, he spun the van around, to position it directly behind the rental car.
The longhaired man tried to gain control of his car, as its rear end rotated almost ninety degrees around. He saw a vehicle going the opposite direction that swerved to miss him. Quickly, he veered one direction then another. His reflexes were quick and spontaneous, and he could feel his heart thumping within his chest. As the wheels of his car spun and gripped the road, his nostrils smelled the hot rubber. Finally, he regained control of his car.
Sik put the van closer and closer, behind the longhaired man. Then, he floored the gas pedal so that it rammed into the back of the car, forcing it towards the approaching intersection.
The longhaired man exerted all his effort on his brake pedal, trying to stop his car from moving any closer to the red light, and into the intersecting street. In front of him at just a car-length away, vehicles were swiftly crossing.
Gripping his steering wheel, Sik growled in anticipation of a collision.
Suddenly, the man saw a gap in the cross-traffic. He floored the gas pedal. Drivers screeched their tires and honked their horns, as he sped through, but he made it safely out. From his rearview mirror, he saw the van make a speeding right turn at the intersection. Trying not to lose it, he hurriedly made a right, another right, and then a left to go on the same road as the van.
But, he lost it. For almost a minute, he progressed straight ahead, not sure whether he should take any turns. But then, across the street, he saw the black van at his right parked in front of a hotel.
After speeding to it, he came to an abrupt, screeching halt behind it, almost ramming into its bumper. He jumped out of his car and ran to the driver’s side of the van. There was no one in it.
Peering up and down the street, he saw no one who looked like the driver. As he walked to the entrance of the hotel, he looked up and saw its name: Montreme. Standing fifteen stories high, it had large windows at its street-level facade. He looked through the windows to see inside. There was no one he could identify.
Feeling the warm sun, he began to sweat. Because of the excitement, his heart was still thumping, and his lungs drew in deeply the warm air. As he looked through one large window, he began to notice something appear, on the outer surface of the window. Moisture was forming on it, and then their tiny drops started to coalesce. He touched the window and made a narrow swath through it, with his forefinger, and he felt the window grow cold. Soon, he witnessed the tiny drops form into ice crystals, at several areas across the window, and he could hear the high-pitched crackling and squeaking of ice over glass.
He stepped back to the edge of the sidewalk to more easily see what was happening.
The ice crystals began to take the shape of letters. Seconds later, he could read words on the window.
It said in large letters, as though it was written by someone’s finger, “What can be unmade can be remade.”
He didn’t understand.
As he squinted at the lettering, his eyes caught a glimpse of a figure, reflected from the window, and standing on top of the building, opposite of the hotel. It was the man in a thick, black hooded coat, with the hood pulled over his head.
Immediately, the longhaired man turned around to face him.
The hooded man was watching him. Then, the man lifted his hand and pointed toward the rooftop of the Montreme Hotel.
Before the longhaired man could turn around to look above, he began to hear metal objects smashing and clanging down on the sidewalk,
and on the street, just a short distance from him. As he heard people begin to gasp and scream, he saw them look up at the top of the Montreme.
People on the sidewalk ran away and lifted their hands up to protect themselves from the objects being dropped from the rooftop.
He looked up.
Long and short metal pipes sped to the ground, followed by concrete bricks, then blocks of wood. A man at the edge of the Montreme’s fifteen-story rooftop was dropping them. He was the driver of the van: Sik.
The bricks exploded on the asphalt and cracked segments of the sidewalk. Some of the pipes impaled the surface of the street.
Then, Sik dropped something wrapped in a large bed sheet. Soon after it, he dropped a second similar one.
The first object rotated in the air as it fell, looking rigid. After one turn, the sheet unwrapped itself from the object and floated away. The object was a clothed mannequin, and the blonde wig that was on its head separated as it dropped.
After throwing several more metal and wood debris, Sik disappear from the edge of the roof.
Watching the second falling object, the longhaired man noticed it had the shape of the mannequin and was similarly wrapped in a large cloth bed sheet. It slowly rotated as it fell, but the thing inside the sheet looked less rigid than the first one. After spinning in the air, the wind blew away the sheet.
Suddenly, he heard people gasp in utter astonishment and horror.
The second object was a real woman, blonde and similarly clothed as the mannequin. She looked unconscious, and the wind speeding past her moved her limbs in peculiar angles.
He could sense she was still alive. Witnessing the woman fall to her death, he froze in shock for an instant. Then, regaining his composure, he quickly looked back and read the crystallized message, on the glass pane of the Montreme.
Perplexed, he thought, “I can’t unmake her and remake her - I can’t make living things.” Then, he thought, “But what if she’s already alive? Can she still be alive after I remake her?”
Thinking swiftly, he formulated his bottom-line options, “Option one: she hits the ground - she’s dead. Option two: I could unmake her then remake her - she’d be either alive or very dead afterwards - at least she’ll have a fifty-fifty chance.”
RB 01 Through Flesh & Bone Page 18