“But why all the lies?” Ellie managed to get out between sobs.
“Small town people can be very judgmental, you know that Ellie. Isn’t that why you left town in the first place?”
“That isn’t fair.”
“And treating me like this is?” Cletus’ words had their desired sting effect. “When your father left your mother needed help and so your grandmother and I took you in. Your grandmother wasn’t right, everyone knew that. There was no way she could have cared for herself, let alone a granddaughter. So I did what I thought was best. Everyone has secrets in their past that they wish they could make go away. I just thought that if I kept them from you, you wouldn’t have to carry that burden. Perhaps our family lineage wasn’t derived in the normal honorable way, but we have always stuck together and for that I’m damned proud.”
Cletus’ eyes were misty now too.
“Why didn’t my grandmother ever get married? Surely she had suitors, you could have been free to live your own life.”
“Oh boy.” Cletus began, unsure how to continue. “I know we told you that your grandmother was suffering from Alzheimer’s but that wasn’t exactly true also. She was autistic, never was quite right in the head. Your biological grandfather took advantage of her, saw himself an easy target I guess. When she got pregnant he ran off and left her to care for your mother all alone, so I stepped in and raised your mother like my own daughter. Over the years people just sort of forgot, or at least paid us the respect of silence, you know one of those small town dark secrets that nobody talks about. My God Ellie we never wanted to hurt you.”
Ellie grew silent. The hurt and pain inside of her was almost too much for her to bear. She felt as if her whole life had been a sham, one giant lie told one after the other. At last she couldn’t keep her emotions in check any longer and she began to sob uncontrollably. Cletus came around the counter and sat on the stool behind her, placing one arm gingerly about her shoulders.
“I don’t know what else to say Ellie. I never thought you’d find out and I definitely didn’t want to hurt you. Who told you about this?”
“It’s not important.” She managed to get her sobs under control. “I need to know one more thing.”
“Okay.” Cletus said with quiet resolution.
“Who was John McGinty?”
Cletus couldn’t contain his look of disbelief. “Where did you hear that name?”
“I told you it’s not important. Now are you going to tell me or what?”
“He was your great great grandfather. Dana, your grandmother, was only my half sister. My father had an affair with a young prostitute. That prostitute was the daughter of John McGinty. We never talked about it much, although we all knew. It wasn’t something we were proud of.”
“But who the hell was he? I mean I feel like an amnesiac waking up from a terrible nightmare.”
Cletus sighed. “Truth be told Ellie, I don’t know much about him, nobody did really. He was an archeology professor I think, came out here to retire and died shortly after.” He paused briefly, searching for the right words.. “I’m sorry Ellie, I wish I could tell you more, wish I knew more myself, but I don’t.”
“My god,” Ellie said, “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
This time, Cletus had no response.
When Randall got home that night Ellie poured her heart out to him. He listened quietly, not wanting to interrupt although tons of questions were being raised in his own mind. When she was finished he hugged her tight and consolingly stroked her hair. They were seated on the living room couch, Aiden was asleep in his bed. It was nearly midnight, Randall had been busy working on the missing prostitute case. The long hours were taking their toll on everyone and Ellie felt like a widow in her own home. Randall had tears in his eyes as he spoke to her.
“You know this doesn’t change a thing, I still love you with all my heart. I know it must be difficult for you, finding out that your roots aren’t planted exactly where you thought they were, but it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still the woman I fell in love with and you’re still Aiden’s mother, but most of all you’re still a wonderful person.”
She reached up and stroked his chest over his uniform, pausing momentarily to look up and make eye contact, the lunacy of the situation bearing down on her. How could she begin to tell him the extent of the story? There was no way. The dream, the library, her nagging feeling that a woman named Abby whom she had never met was in trouble, how could she possibly explain all of it? The lump in throat began to grow.
“Randall.”
“Yes?”
“There’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy.”
His laugh, though intended to be reassuring made her feel small and vulnerable. “I won’t think your crazy. Now what is it you want to tell me?”
THIRTY-NINE
This time her actions inside Porter’s Study were more frantic. Her time was drawing short. The ominous raven spoke louder than words. She would not sit around and wait for her demise, to be stalked like wild game by Jack and that god damn demon; instead she would take the fight to them. Abby thumbed through Porter’s diary again, looking for the two passages that still held fast in her mind. After a few minutes (although to Abby it seemed like an eternity) she came across the first entry.
7 April 1996
She traced her finger along the page until she found the line that she was looking for, she read the words once again.
“Destroy the tomb of the dark one, for it is there that he draws his power.” I enquired how I was to accomplish this and he simply replied, “On this date the demon was given new life and it is within these numbers in which he shall be laid to rest. Behind the second beast lies the passage in which all shall be revealed.”
Abby tapped her fingers against the page, as if trying to drum light on the situation. The answer she sought was in this paragraph, she was certain about it, but what did it all mean. Her head throbbed with the strain of heavy thought. 7 April 1996, what the hell was significant about that date? Try as she might, she couldn’t remember anything important that occurred on that date, so obviously it had nothing to do with a famous event. So how on Earth would she be able to figure out what that meant? Frustrated, she flipped to the other entry that had played on her mind. This one was much easier to find for it was the page scribed in blood. She turned to it almost immediately and stared at the page once again.
The dead shall walk the Earth
And the beasts shall feed upon the flesh of man
Abby concentrated on the bloody letters so long that they began to blend together. She could not make sense out of any of it. Her aggravation reached a boiling point and she reached up to snap shut the diary when something she had not noticed before caught her eye. On the very bottom on the left-hand corner of the page was a very small speck of blood, not much bigger than a pinprick. It probably meant nothing she told herself, still it seemed too perfectly placed to be random. She leaned over the table, placing her head nearly on top of the page and squinted to focus her vision. It was not a droplet of blood. That would have been somewhat circular, this was a tiny squiggle that appeared to be writing of some sort, but there was no way to read it with her naked eye, it was too small to be perceptible. She looked around, searching for a magnifying glass. Perhaps Porter kept one in his study, but there was none to be seen. She pulled open the desk drawers one by one, all of them were empty save for a few dust bunnies and some scattered paperclips. There was no magnifying glass to be found.
She leaned back in her chair and drew a long deep breath. The intensity of her situation was building and she felt trapped. She had begun to sweat again. The salty drops pooled on her forehead and then ran down the bridge of her nose before dropping into her lap. Abby slid the back of her hand across her forehead and flicked the perspiration away with disgust. A few drops landed on the desktop and gleamed back at her, refracting the light from the lantern through the
ir oval bodies. Then an idea came to her so fast it felt as if she had been struck by lightning. She peered over at the lantern. It was made of tin with six sides of clear glass soldered together to form a hexagon. The top was a tin cap held onto the lamp by a small thumbscrew that sat directly in the center. It was a crude lighting device, probably homemade, but for her purpose it might do just fine. She twisted the thumbscrew, it turned easily, and with increasing dexterity she turned it until it popped off into her hand. Then she removed the top and set it on the table. With delicate care she worked one of the pieces of glass back and forth between its soldered sides being as careful as she could not to touch the scorching bulb in the center. After a few minutes the glass popped free and she placed it flat on top of the journal, the red letters clearly visible through the translucent surface. I hope this works. She thought. I’m all out of ideas. She placed her index finger to her forehead and collected a single drop of perspiration and with surgical precision held the drop over the journal until it splashed gently down on the glass covering. She moved the glass until the drop was directly over the small red speck. The writing jumped out at her.
666
The number of the beast. Abby swallowed the small lump that had arisen in her throat. It was an eerie discovery and fitting in this house. Her anxiety began to mount once again; she had hoped that the clue would have provided more useful information. But if it was simply written to create an eerie feeling then why would whoever wrote it go through so much trouble to conceal it? It just didn’t make any sense at all. She tried to recall what she knew about the number. It was originally spun from Latin folklore. In the Latin language there were no adjective modifiers, thus there were no such words as larger or largest. In order to show the importance of each modified noun the adjective was repeated, thus the equivalent of larger would be written large large, and largest would be large large large. Remnants of the practice could still be found in traditions that stretched back to Latin culture. The Catholics were a prime example because Mass was conducted entirely in Latin up to the last century and in some orthodox churches the priest still conducted Mass that way. She knew this for a fact because her parents had been Catholic and she remembered the odd prayers that utilized this technique. “Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might.” That was the way one prayer went, describing the Lord as the most holy.
Numerology also played an important role in Latin lore, and indeed our culture is still full of its influence. The number seven was considered the most sacred, most perfect of all numbers and today we still see evidence of that. The seven wonders of the ancient world, seven days of the week, seven seas, everywhere you looked seven seven seven. In contrast six was considered the most imperfect number because it was close to seven as if it were a heretic trying to impersonate the holy number, thus when repeated three times it was considered blasphemy, so 666 became the number of the beast. It all came back to her in a whirlwind, the Sunday classes she hated so much as a child might prove after all to be her best friend as an adult, but she still couldn’t draw any useful conclusion from the number. She placed her forehead on the table and closed her eyes, rubbing her temples gently as she thought. Wait a minute, there was another seven image closely associated with the number of the beast, the seven signs of the apocalypse. All of this could be found in the Book of Revelations. Abby stared at the bible sitting idly on the desktop. Could the answer be so simple? Could it have been lying under her nose all this time without her knowing it? She flipped back to the earlier passage and read the last line again.
Behind the second beast lies the passage in which all shall be revealed.
Abby’s anxiety gave way to excitement. Salvation lies within. She thought.
FORTY
It’s been quite a while Jack.
“I know.”
I am most displeased.
“I know.”
Darrow stood his ground, not wanting to show any sign of weakness in front of the demon, but his knees were shaking so badly he had to struggle just to remain upright. The boiler room was exactly as he left it, even his bed was unmade from the last time he slept in it. The demon was speaking to him somewhere from beyond, whispering in his ear like the first time he had made himself known to him. The eerie rasping voice was more unnerving somehow than if the demon had chosen to appear before him. When it spoke Darrow could feel its breath against the nape of his neck, acrid and cold. It was the coldness that bothered him most, the frigid temperature that served as a constant reminder that this thing was pure evil.
Tell me then Jack, how is it that you intend to fall back within my good grace?
Upstairs Abby forced herself to maintain her composure, but the very presence of the raven chilled her blood. The damn bird had been sitting outside her window glaring at her with those blood red eyes. What the hell was she to do? Oh how she missed Brenda, longed to see her ghastly friend if only for one last time, hoping that the little girl had one final piece of advice for her, a way out of this living nightmare. But Brenda was gone Abby knew and she doubted that she was ever coming back. All she had now was that god-awful bird to keep her company.
Within the recesses of her mind a plan began to form, a plan that preyed on the very fabric of her moral decency. Trying times call for desperate measures. She tried to convince herself that there was another way, but in her heart she knew there wasn’t. She was going down in the basement again, there was no way around it. Her only guide into this world of the absurd was a journal she had found hidden in the study of a man who might very well have been crazy at the time he wrote it. Still, she could see the one entry in her mind clear as day, the one entry that might hold the key out of her living nightmare.
April 7, 1996
“Destroy the tomb of the dark one, for it is there that he draws his power.” I enquired how I was to accomplish this and he simply replied, “On this date the demon was given new life and it is within these numbers in which he shall be laid to rest. Behind the second beast lies the passage in which all shall be revealed.”
Porter’s journal echoed again and again through her head. She grasped the bible that she had taken from his study, and opened it to the book of revelations using the date as her guide. 4-7-96.
Chapter 4 verse seven read: “The first creature was like a lion, and the second creature like a calf, and the third creature had the face of a man, and the fourth was like a flying eagle.” This was the key to her salvation, she was sure of it, although she did not know yet what it meant. Yes she would venture into the basement one final time and look for the way out of this nightmare. Of course if she couldn’t find it there was always another way. She shuddered as she looked at the rusty blade of Porter’s hunting knife, then she placed it under her pillow and drifted off to sleep.
Outside the rain began to fall. It cascaded down in ferocious torrents, pelting the raven and the windowpane relentlessly. Neither Abby nor the black bird stirred, aware that the cold gale winds that blew inward from the ocean were just the beginning of the storm.
FORTY-ONE
The boat rocked to a gentle stop in New York harbor after weeks at sea. The crew of the Bengali was happy to be rid of their ominous cargo and the eccentric American named Talcott who had dominated the mood of the boat since its charter. They worked fervidly to unload the contents, which consisted of pepper, tea, and of course the large marble sarcophagus that the American was so protective of. He stood at the end of the pier and watched with steely eyes as the crane hoisted his precious cargo high into the air suspended in a large fishing net. He did not breath a sigh of relief until it was laid down gently on the wood planks of the dock.
“You men! You’re not done yet. Not until you load that thing onto the train.” Talcott shouted and pointed as he watched the six crewmen detach the clasps from the cargo netting.
All of them had spite in their heart for the pushy American who had ordered them around for the past several weeks without the slightest hint of respect, but they were e
ager to see him on his way and collect their money, which was more than ample compensation for the work they had done. Money talks and the American had plenty to spend so no one dared voice a complaint, instead focusing on loading the sarcophagus onto the wheeled pallet that would serve as transport to the waiting boxcar. The task was arduous but within fifteen minutes they had loaded the marble coffin onto the train. Talcott handed a large wad of American dollars to the captain who smiled greedily. Each American bill may well have been a pound of gold when traded against the rupee and the entire crew was eager to get their cut.
When the freight doors were closed and Talcott was satisfied that his cargo was safe, he and McGinty and a handful of hired hands boarded the passenger compartment and headed for their sleeping quarters.
Inside the modest cabin McGinty threw his well-worn black duffle bag onto the bed and began to undress. His clothes reeked of fish and salt water and he was eager to catch some much-needed sleep. He peeled off the malodorous clothes and sat for a while at the edge of his bed in nothing but his undergarments. He was unable to shake the feeling that something bad was bound to happen. Despite his best efforts McGinty was unable to let go of the nagging feeling that clawed at the edges of his subconscious. Perhaps it was just the superstitions of the Egyptians that had him on edge; after all he had been inundated with their lore and myths for several months now. Yes that was it he told himself, nothing but foolish superstitions and not anything to worry about.
He peeled off his socks and lay back on the bed, succumbing to the soft mattress as it cradled his aching back. It was thin and well worn, but compared to the knotted hammock he had been sleeping in for the past several weeks it felt like heaven. The train lurched forward and jerked his entire compartment before the train caught up with its own inertia. McGinty closed his eyes and it wasn’t more than five minutes before he was fast asleep.
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