In Tongues of the Dead

by Brad Kelln

  He headed up the pathway to the entrance of the hospital. Matthew followed behind.

  They went in and Jake led Matthew quickly through the lobby to the elevators. There was one standing open, so Jake stepped in, Matthew right on his heels. Jake pressed three. When the doors opened, he saw a sign: Pathology and Laboratory Medicine / Day Surgery.

  He followed the purple trains to the nursing station. As he and Matthew approached, a nurse looked up, then came down the hall to meet them.

  Jake immediately recognized her. “Jenna?” he asked, surprised.

  “Hi, Jake,” she said quietly.

  “I didn’t know you were working here.”

  “Yeah.” She noticed Matthew. “Who’s this?”

  “You’d never believe me. A mutual friend asked me to look after him for a while.”

  “A mutual friend?”

  “Listen, I’ll tell you later. Right now I need to know about Wyatt. What’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry,” Jenna said quickly. “Of course. Follow me.” She headed down the corridor, Jake beside her and Matthew right behind him. “There’ve been some complications,” Jenna continued. “Your wife’s in the waiting area and could use your support.” She stopped at the waiting room door and motioned Jake and Matthew in. “I’ll be at the nursing station if you need anything,” she said to Jake. “The doctor will be with you in a couple of minutes.”

  Jake thanked her and went to his wife. “Abby?” he said gently. The room contained uncomfortable-looking vinyl chairs, a few tables, and a small play area in one corner.

  Abby was pacing. She paused and turned to him, her face red from crying.

  “Wyatt’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?” He put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Oh, Jake,” she said, tears welling. “They haven’t told me. He went into surgery early, and they said there were complications. They haven’t told me anything else.” She collapsed against him.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “It’ll be okay. Wyatt’s a strong guy.”

  “Wyatt,” a voice said softly.

  Abby leaned a few inches away from Jake. She looked around the waiting room. Except for Matthew, they were alone. “Who’s this?” she asked through her tears.

  Jake hesitated. He couldn’t even think of a short version to tell her. He took a deep breath. “It’s —”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Tunnel.” Dr. Merrot, the pediatric neurologist, stood in the doorway. He was wearing his surgical scrubs, mask pulled down, cap in his hands.

  “Oh no,” Abby cried after one look at the doctor’s solemn face. She held onto Jake. “Tell me he’s okay. Please tell me he’s okay!”

  The doctor’s expression didn’t change, which was more answer than they wanted. “I’m going to ask you to come see your son. Wyatt’s resting right now. We’ve done all we can.”

  “All you can? What does that mean?” Jake asked.

  “There was a bleed. That, combined with the actual location of the tumor — there wasn’t any way we could —”

  “What are you saying?” Jake demanded.

  “I wish I could tell you something different, but Wyatt’s awake right now, and I think you should see him.”

  “You want us to say goodbye to him!” Abby started to sob. “He’s too young. This isn’t right.”

  “Goddamn it,” Jake said. “There must be something you can do! Should we get another doctor?”

  “Please,” Dr. Merrot said. “It would be good if you could be strong for Wyatt. He needs to see you right away.”

  Jake held his wife close as she sobbed. They had to keep it together. It wouldn’t help Wyatt to see them like this. “Come on,” he urged. “We need to go.”

  Abby took in deep breaths, holding them, as she walked toward their son’s room. Jake knew she could compose herself in the short trip down the hall — and she did. He handed her his handkerchief, then wiped the tears from his face, before the doctor led them into the room.

  LIX

  Benicio was lying on something hard. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was on a bench of some kind, and there were books lined up in front of him on the back of another bench.

  Not a bench. A pew. Most of the light came through the stained-glass windows that circled the vast room.

  He touched the back of his head and felt a wet, tender spot where Jeremy had hit him. His fingers felt sticky. His head throbbed.

  He could hear someone talking, but the voice was dull and hollow, and he couldn’t make out any of the words.

  He lifted his head and took another look around. He was in a church, a very large church that could hold five or six hundred people easily. Benicio guessed he was in Saint Andrew’s United. Maury and Jeremy must have dragged him up from the basement after they conked him on the head.

  He stayed still and listened. Yes, he could hear the voices better, and the first one was definitely Jeremy:

  “The boy wasn’t with him.” Jeremy sounded impatient.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Benicio had no idea who the voice was — not Maury, he was sure. The next voice confirmed it:

  “Listen,” Maury said. “You guys claim you’re angels hunting down the last bastard angel child. The cardinal has told us we share that bloodline and that’s why we’re sick all the time. Good old Father Benicio says everything the cardinal says is crap. You touch me once and heal a bullet wound. Who are we supposed to believe?”

  “You are not Nephilim.” A second voice spoke with confidence. “If you were, you’d be dead already.”

  “How the hell could you know that?” Jeremy challenged.

  “I know,” Second Voice said resolutely.

  There was a moment of silence, then Maury spoke again. “We’re not going to just hand the child over to you. I know what you’re going to do.”

  “That’s not your concern,” First Voice insisted. “If you aren’t providing assistance you are an impediment.”

  “Whoa, whoa!” Jeremy shouted. “We’re not saying we won’t help.”

  “The boy will die no matter what you do. There is no alternative. His life was forsaken at birth. If you do not help us, the boy will die anyway. If you help us, we will free you from your mortal illness.”

  Silence again. Then Jeremy spoke. “You can cure us?”

  No answer.

  Benicio strained to hear. He must be a few rows away from the men. Four men — at least. He’d heard four voices. Maury and Jeremy for sure, and the other two were probably the men — or angels — he’d seen on the street.

  Suddenly he felt a hand on his leg and only barely managed not to scream. A man with a kind-looking face crouched next to him.

  “Shh,” the man cautioned with a finger to his lips. “I’m Harold Grower, a friend of Dr. Tunnel’s.”

  Benicio looked at him, surprised.

  “Just try to stay down. Whatever you do, don’t get near the angels — especially if they try to change forms.”

  “What?” Change forms? Who the heck is this nut?

  Harold held his finger to his lips again, then smiled warmly, stood and walked away. Benicio was too tired to lift his head to see where the guy went. He listened again.

  “We should ask him, then.”

  “Want me to get him?” Jeremy.

  “Yes.” First Voice.

  “What if he won’t talk?” Maury asked.

  “He’ll tell us where the boy is.” Voice Two.

  My God — they’re talking about me! Benicio got ready to panic. He heard footsteps as someone approached. He sat up, which made his head swim, then looked around the sanctuary for an exit. He had to do something, and running away seemed like a really good idea. He saw an exit across the aisle.

  Too late. Maury and Jeremy were alarmingly close.

  “Hey, Father, don’t worry. We’re just going to talk to you,” said Jeremy.

  Benicio’s head was really pounding. He tried to get to his feet, but stumbled.

  �
�Whoa,” Jeremy said gently. “You’re going to hurt yourself — you should let us do that for you.” His laughter echoed through the church.

  Benicio started to climb over his pew to the pew behind. He wanted to put distance between himself and Maury and Jeremy.

  The men were moving now, cutting him off. Maury was at one end of the pew and was coming toward him. He turned and saw Jeremy blocking the other end of the pew.

  Benicio realized he couldn’t outrun them. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “You work for the church. You know this isn’t right.”

  They closed in on him. Benicio put his arms up to shove Jeremy away, and Maury took advantage of his unprotected front and punched the priest in the stomach. Benicio doubled over, and the two men grabbed his arms, dragged him to the front of the church, and dropped him.

  Benicio looked up and saw the men he’d encountered in the street. The men who had assaulted the cops.

  “We meet again,” said the younger one. Benicio saw that he held the large black portfolio under one arm.

  The larger one grabbed Benicio’s hair and lifted his head. “Where is the boy?”

  Benicio didn’t answer.

  “I will only ask one more time.”

  “Hey, wait,” Jeremy objected.

  “Stop interfering.” The younger man turned, reached out and grabbed Jeremy’s jacket.

  Maury grabbed the younger man’s arm. “Hey!” he said. “That’s not part of the deal.”

  The young man let the portfolio fall to the floor with a thud and reached for Maury.

  The older man dropped Benicio. “You should have stayed out of this,” he said to the brothers.

  “I just don’t think we need to start smashing the priest up,” Jeremy argued, struggling against the man’s grip. “Let’s give him another chance.”

  The older man looked at Benicio. Benicio hoped Jake was already at the children’s hospital with Matthew.

  “Where is the boy?” the older man demanded.

  Benicio said nothing.

  “Hey,” Maury said. “Benny has this psychologist friend in town here. Some guy named Jake. We saw him and he mentioned something about having a sick kid at the hospital.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jeremy chimed in. “Maybe Matthew is with him at the children’s hospital.”

  The man released Maury and Jeremy, then shoved them both.

  “Where is the children’s hospital?” the older man asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jeremy said.

  Maury shrugged.

  “Then you are no longer of use to us,” the younger man said.

  Suddenly there was a gun in Maury’s hand, and it was pointed straight at the younger man. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

  “I think there’s been more than enough excitement.” Harold stepped out from a side chapel.

  “Who the hell are you?” Jeremy asked.

  “Hello, Azazel,” Harold said to the older man, then turned to the younger. “Hello, Shemhazai.”

  “Hello, coward,” Azazel said harshly. “Let us finish our work. You do not need to interfere. It is our destiny.”

  “Destiny doesn’t play a role in such matters,” Harold said. “It is about your path, and you’ve been terribly misguided.”

  “You call us misguided only because your judgment is clouded by personal regrets. Don’t preach to us,” Shemhazai retorted. “You didn’t spend generation after generation suffering. All the Nephilim must die. All of them — your adopted child had to die, and now the boy we seek.”

  His adopted child? Benicio thought. What’s going on?

  Jeremy looked from the two men to Harold. “What are you guys talking about?”

  “Be quiet,” Shemhazai said, then lifted Jeremy and threw him into the altar with an otherworldly force.

  And then Benicio heard a gunshot.

  Maury continued to point the gun at Shemhazai. Smoke curled from the barrel.

  Benicio looked at Shemhazai. A section of his face was missing. The bullet had shattered the bone around his right eye and carved a large entry wound. Yet there was only a tiny trickle of blood.

  “This isn’t your battle,” Shemhazai said. “You should have left.”

  “And this isn’t the deal we made,” Maury said. “Maybe you guys should fuck off.”

  Shemhazai flung his arms out, stretched, and a golden figure leapt from the body even as the host fell to the floor. In an instant, the golden figure wrapped itself around Maury.

  Jeremy shouted.

  Harold took a step forward.

  Benicio prayed. But to no avail. The golden figure sank into Maury’s body and disappeared. Maury stepped backwards and fell.

  The body of Maury lay motionless for seven seconds, then stood up and spoke. “Hey guys, did I miss anything?”

  Azazel laughed.

  Harold smiled at the body of Maury. “You are now at your most vulnerable.”

  “What?” Azazel asked.

  “You must inhabit a new host for at least twenty-four hours. If you do not, you lose your hold on the Earth and risk banishment or annihilation.”

  Azazel looked worried. The body of Maury frowned.

  “Get out of my brother,” Jeremy commanded. He had picked up his brother’s gun, and was pointing it at Maury.

  “Don’t do it.” The body of Maury held up its hands. “You’ll kill me. I’m still your brother.”

  “He’s not,” Harold said. “Your brother is gone.”

  “Shut up!” the body of Maury shouted.

  “Get out of him!” Jeremy screamed. Tears filled his eyes.

  Benicio saw Azazel slowly inching toward Jeremy. Jeremy noticed the other man at almost the same time, but kept his eyes fixed on the body of his brother. “Get away from me!” he shouted at Azazel. “What have you done with my brother?” he asked the body.

  “I am your brother,” the body of Maury said.

  “No, you’re not. Don’t lie to me!”

  “Don’t shoot. Please,” the body said, and began moving toward Jeremy. “I can prove I’m still Maury. Let me show you something.”

  “Don’t take another step,” Jeremy cautioned.

  The body of Maury kept moving.

  Azazel started moving, too.

  Jeremy fired once, and Benicio watched as the body of Maury deflated right next to him. Then Harold moved with surprising speed and tackled Azazel in front of the altar, knocking him to the floor. Azazel managed to get to his hands and knees, but stayed at the altar. As Benicio watched, a golden figure emerged from the body of Maury, then immediately writhed in agony. The golden skin began to turn red, then blistered. Shemhazai could no longer be on Earth.

  Azazel pushed himself from his knees, stood unsteadily, then limped toward the back of the church.

  Harold walked slowly to Jeremy, and Benicio joined them. “I need to follow Azazel,” Harold said. “But first, are you going to be okay? Because there’s something I’d like you to do.” Harold went to the pulpit and picked up the black portfolio. Benicio held his breath.

  “Jeremy,” Harold said, “you’ve suffered a terrible loss today. I understand that, but this story is far from over. You can help make sure your brother didn’t die for nothing.”

  Jeremy looked at Harold.

  “Would you help me?” Harold asked, and put a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, Jeremy nodded.

  LX

  Jake and Abby stood in the doorway of the surgical recovery room. A white curtain strung across part of the room obviously blocked the view of various machines and other equipment. There was a single bed in the room, surrounded by many small machines on carts. Wires led out of the machines, beepers beeped, and lights flashed.

  They didn’t see any of that.

  They only saw the little boy on the bed.

  Their little boy.

  Wyatt lay in the middle of the bed, a blanket pulled to his shoulders, his arms outside the blanket. Wires and
tubes from the small machines were taped to his arms. The top of his head was wrapped in pristine white bandages.

  Wyatt looked so peaceful.

  Jake and Abby stepped into the room. For the first time he noticed a nurse off to one side monitoring all the various machines and equipment. She avoided eye contact with them and kept to the side of the room.

  Dr. Merrot came in behind them. Matthew was behind the doctor but slipped past him and stood near Wyatt.

  Abby and Jake approached Wyatt’s bed, and the boy’s eyelids fluttered. He turned his head slowly and looked at them.

  “Mom.” He sounded like he was just waking up. He’d never been good with mornings — he needed to wake slowly or he’d be grouchy all day. Jake was stabbed by the thought.

  “I’m right here,” Abby said. She sat on the bed and held his hand in both of hers. “I’m right here, you hold on.”

  “Hey, guy,” Jake said, sitting next to his wife.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “I love you,” Abby said. “I love you with all my heart.”

  Wyatt smiled. “I love you too, Mom.”

  Jake looked at his son then pointed to his eyes, then his heart, then at Wyatt.

  “I love you too, Dad,” the boy said. “When can we go home? I don’t like it here.”

  They didn’t know how to answer.

  Dr. Merrot spoke. “You’re not ready just yet, young man. Your parents wanted to see you — they were bugging me so I had to bring them in.” He smiled warmly.

  Wyatt nodded. It wasn’t clear how much he understood of what was going on.

  “Is there anything you need?” Abby asked.

  Wyatt didn’t answer.

  “Wyatt?” Abby said, a pitch of urgency to her voice.

  “Mom.” Wyatt’s voice was weak. His lips barely moved.

  “Wyatt, honey,” Abby said very gently. Her eyes filled with tears.

  Dr. Merrot came to stand at the foot of the bed.

  “Wyatt?” Jake called, his eyes filling with tears.

  “Wyatt, don’t,” Abby cried. “Not now. Don’t.” She was squeezing and wringing his hand in hers. “You mean everything. Everything.”

  Jake leaned over the bed. He bent and kissed his son on the cheek. “I love you.”