GNELFS

by Williams, Sidney

  He took the book with him over to the B'nai Israel temple.

  The rabbi was a thin man whose dark hair was thick and curly, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses which gave him a boyish look even though he was around forty. He had slipped off the coat of his dark suit and had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt as he worked in a small auditorium.

  "Rabbi Benjamin Estleberg, I'm not sure if you've heard of Jake Tanner," the secretary said.

  "You're the mystery writer. What can I do for you?"

  "Sorry to drop in unannounced. I'm doing a little research." He left it at that, no need to lie.

  "I've got time for a few questions," the rabbi said. "I'm just trying to get things ready for a temple youth program."

  He sat down on the edge of the stage and invited Tanner to sit beside him. "What I'm looking into deals with symbols," Tanner said, slowly easing the book out of its plastic bag. "It may look silly, but a friend pointed out to me that this children's book has some genuine symbols in it. I find that kind of interesting."

  "Let me see."

  Estleberg carefully flipped through the pages. He spotted a couple of the symbols himself and nodded when Tanner pointed out a few others which were more obscure.

  "Interesting indeed," the rabbi said. "These are very old, not something you'd find in the Talmud or the Torah. You’cw heard of the Kabbalah? Sometimes it's spelled with a C and sometimes with a K.”

  “Madonna studies it."

  "It isn't ancient itself, but it deals with old concepts. Some of these markings are quite odd. Some I've never seen. I wonder if the creators were Jewish? You know the ‘live long and prosper' sign in Star Trek is Jewish, Mr. Tanner. That’s Jewish. I once used it on a flyer when I was a campus rabbi to draw interest"

  "Really?"

  "Oh, yes. You'll see it on the front of the Torah, the scrolls, here at the Temple. It means shalom, and I believe it was Nimoy, who is Jewish, who contributed the salute. It could be that something similar has taken place here. The artists wanted their symbols to look realistic, so they drew on things they had seen somewhere or other."

  "Possibly so. But do you have any way of tracing the meanings of these things?"

  "Good question. I might be able to help you with some of them."

  They walked back through the hallways to the rabbi's office where he pulled out a few scholarly volumes and began to flip browning pages. The smell of old paper touched Tanner's nostrils as the rabbi adjusted his glasses and peered down.

  "Many of these things deal with evil of one sort or another," Estleberg said. "The Kabbalah was devoted in part to speculation about evil. It speaks of the Sitra Ahra or the world beyond, the evil realm. I'm simplifying a great deal, but you may find some commonality with your own background. You are what? A Protestant, a Catholic?"

  "Protestant."

  "You have had some introduction to the notion that the devil, created by God, was cast out of heaven then?"

  “Yes.”

  "In the Kabbalah there is also teaching about the destruction of the realms God created which concentrated on judgment without mercy. They were done away with, but the remainder of those worlds is now supposedly a basis for evil. Some writers attributed personification to that evil, hence the discussion about demons and devils."

  "I'm not sure I follow you."

  "You're talking about a broad realm of writing encompassing more than a thousand years. It is mysticism and speculation, much of it compiled in the dark ages. It discusses demons of many sorts who plague man. Many of these symbols, which are not particularly part of the Kabbalah, no doubt make an effort to keep the demons on their side of the wall, so to speak."

  Tanner nodded. It coincided with what Danube had said.

  "Walls or gates?"

  "Gates, I guess. Yes."

  "So there could be keys?"

  "Indeed there could."

  "Keys to be found in some other book?"

  "Perhaps, yes."

  The rabbi closed the volume. "Many of these markings are not familiar to me."

  "Keys would be forbidden markings. Symbols used to open the way for evil."

  "Indeed."

  "So some of these could be that?"

  "Perhaps."

  "Have you ever heard of The Book of Raziel?"

  "Oh, yes. You're speaking about something even further back in mythology. Supposedly it was taken away from man and plunged into the depths of the ocean.”

  “I've heard that. Why was it taken away?"

  "I don't know."

  "Perhaps because its contents included keys, and someone misused those."

  "Perhaps, yes."

  "Theoretically these markings could be keys?"

  "Yes. If someone had somehow found the book.”

  “The keys, then, could be used?"

  "To unleash the powers from the other realm, Mr. Tanner? You have a very good imagination. You must be working on a supernatural suspense tale."

  "Just trying to make sure I understand it all.”

  “You would have to study a long time to grasp everything. Scholars have devoted ages to all of this material.”

  “I think some things are falling into place for me," Tanner said. Though the rabbi had mainly served to confirm Danube's speculation, Tanner did have a better understanding. But he was looking for something more. "How much of this is real?"

  "It's not something that we deal with regularly, Mr. Tanner. Just as Christians don't do exorcisms that often. This teaching goes far back into history, and there are many modern concerns we have to be about. Who is to say what was real to our ancestors? We don't deal much in mysticism these days."

  "But someone taking it seriously, someone seeking to unlock the gates could conceivably be dangerous."

  "I would think someone trying to perform magic would be a bit questionable, yes."

  Especially if he succeeded, Tanner thought.

  ~*~

  Marley was sipping his morning coffee and thinking about his sermon for Sunday when Althea arrived at his office. He stood up and smiled, offering her coffee. She declined that and his offer to sit.

  "What's wrong?" he asked.

  “Have you talked to Mrs. Davis again yet?"

  “Not this morning."

  "There's something very unusual about all this. It may be in your field."

  He smiled and lifted his coffee cup. "Is the celebrated agnostic and skeptic acknowledging there's something she doesn't understand?"

  "It's not funny, Marley. Something happened to me last night. It was like things were out of control. Like, well, like someone playing a cruel prank. Except there was no one there."

  "I don't follow you," the minister said.

  "Something I couldn't see, a force or something, dragged me through a pile of shattered glass. I say it was like a prank or joke because my ass took the worst of it."

  "What?"

  She recounted the events. "I had to go get stitches, and that was embarrassing. The techs at the emergency room kept snickering, and it hurt."

  "Are you sure you didn't just stumble and sit down on the bulb?"

  "I wish that was what happened. Are you turning skeptic now? I'm telling you, Marley, something dragged me. You're always talking spiritual warfare, give me answers.”

  Her tone convinced him she wasn't in the mood for their usual banter.

  If Althea—always the questioning one—was frightened, then something odd must certainly be taking place. Perhaps demonic activity was really at hand.

  He swallowed, excitement tingling at the outer edge of fear. He had read about this phenomenon, had debunked false reports and had counseled a kids who had reported involvement in self-styled satanic activity. He’d always kept his mind open to possibilities, but he'd never been faced with real spirits or war with powers and principalities.

  "We need go back and talk to them," he said. She could be in danger, and the child could be harmed even further."

  "What can we do?" Althe
a asked.

  "Demons can be rebuked," Marley said. "Men have authority over them."

  "I didn't feel too authoritative last night," Althea said.

  Marley nodded, realizing he was not as confident as his words. Jesus had cast out demons, but while he himself strived for true faith, he wondered if he would have the courage to face assaulting spirits. Althea's lack of belief left her unprotected, but he also knew people who faced demons had to be spiritually strong and unwavering.

  Priests went through extensive preparation for true exorcisms. Even then, things could be tough. He'd read of exorcisms that took days, the people performing them put through ordeals.

  "We'll go see the Davises," he said. "We can't turn our backs on this."

  "I know we can't. It's following us."

  ~*~

  Gabrielle spoke briefly with her boss, explaining the situation in abbreviated terms and receiving more understanding than she'd expected. After hanging up, she tried Dave's number again. No answer.

  As she returned the phone to its cradle, she remembered the warm moments at the beginning of their marriage. Could Dave have become involved in something so strange?

  She cursed him under her breath, just in case he had launched some effort to harm Heaven. She recalled an old Ray Bradbury story her brother had read to her when they'd been in junior high. What was it? "The October Game," about a father using his daughter to exact vengeance on his wife. She closed her eyes as the shiver touched her. How horrible. It was almost unimaginable Dave could do something like that, even more unimaginable than this very real nightmare that was taking place.

  She checked to make sure Heaven was still sleeping and then headed for the bathroom. Her eyelids sagged as warm shower spray caressed her flesh, and absently she picked up the soap and began to lather it across her abdomen. White puffs rose, and, tilting her head back, she let the water spray to the roots of her hair. It seemed to melt some of the fatigue.

  She let her head roll back, let her mouth open slightly, let her thoughts clear. She ought to call her mother, talk to her without revealing the full extent of the situation. No need to worry her or paint a picture so gloomy her mother would want to rush to them, but she needed her support.

  After luxurious minutes, she turned off the water, shaking her hair as the swirl began to gurgle down the drain. Yanking the curtain back, she seized a towel.

  She was rubbing water away when she stepped from the tub and walked in front of the mirror. Steam had clouded the glass, but in an instant her eyes focused on the letters which had been streaked across it as if by someone's finger.

  YOUR DAUGHTER WILL SUFFER. Beneath this was an arcane symbol, like one from the Gnelf book.

  She looked toward the door. Still closed, her robe undisturbed where she’d hung it. No one could have walked in, yet somehow something had found access to the glass. She had heard nothing over the water’s spray.

  Grabbing her robe, Gab wrapped it around herself and cinched the belt tight. Then she hurried to check on Heaven. The child was still sleeping, undisturbed.

  She did not rush to her for fear of waking her, but she watched for a long time, praying for her safety. Somehow she would fight. She would protect Heaven from whatever assaults were launched against her.

  Whoever was after her child, Gnelfs or whatever, they would not destroy Heaven. She wouldn't allow it. Not unless they took her first.

  ~*~

  Tanner came by around lunchtime and she tried drawing the symbol from the mirror. The condensation had dried before she could snap a picture.

  "It's a little different than the others," he said. He briefly outlined what the rabbi had told him. "Maybe they used this as some kind of gate."

  “Or maybe they're taunting me. Letting me know how close they are. Letting me know they're getting closer. And stronger."

  Chapter 11

  The girl at the LAX Hertz counter had long red hair, and sunlight had darkened the freckles that dappled her cheeks so that she looked like a schoolgirl except for the noticeable swell of breasts beneath her uniform blouse.

  She smiled sweetly as Danube made his request, and when she spoke he detected a thick Southern drawl.

  “Have you learned your way around the city?" Danube asked, softening the usual harshness of his voice.

  "Mostly. There's a lot of city here. I always thought Birmingham was big enough. This place is spread out everywhere."

  “You are from Alabama. I thought we might be related."

  She touched her hair. "'Cause of this?”

  “Common descendents, Ms. . ?"

  As she returned his credit card, his fingertips brushed against the back of her hand, and something deep in her eyes seemed to click.

  "Devon, Devon Rogers. Maybe we are related," she said. "Way back."

  "Way back," Danube said, locking his gaze on her blue eyes. "Back far in history, perhaps my ancestors and yours were close."

  She nodded, her eyes focusing on something unseen. "I could use a guide," he said. "I haven't been in the city in a while."

  She stared at him, frowning for a moment as if she wondered why she was nodding in agreement. "It's my friend Rosemary's day off. I could call her. Then I could be out of here in about an hour. We cover for each other, in case we have auditions or somethin'."

  "That would be fine."

  ~*~

  An hour and fifteen minutes later, she had changed into civilian clothes, faded jeans and a bright yellow blouse that matched the ribbon she had used to pull her hair back into a pony tail. She sat behind the wheel of the rental car, guiding it through the twisting maze that carried them away from the airport. She'd been handling L.A. traffic for two years, so it wasn't hard to find a place in the flow.

  She was not dazed, but her eyes were rather blank, and she found it hard to focus her thoughts. Danube had given her an address across town. The freeway would get them there quickly enough, and she was happy to take him, but she wasn't sure why. He was nice, but he was a stranger.

  She shouldn't be taking him on a drive, leaving her job for him. Except that she felt compelled to help him, linked to him in some way. With his accent, they couldn’t be closely related to her family back in Alabama, but some sort of tie, some deeper connection seemed evident. Maybe they did share common ancestry, although it seemed spooky, as if he had some kind of magical power over her.

  Without thinking further, she swept the car up onto an entrance ramp and swirled it around onto the freeway, jockeying into the lane.

  ~*~

  The apartment was in a little brick and wood building at the end of a narrow street. It wasn't yet a bad neighborhood, but given time it would continue to decay. The building had probably gone up in the late sixties from the look of it, and the rustic ranch style had weathered badly so that the once-darkened surface was now faded to a brownish gray.

  "You want me to go with you?" the girl asked.

  "Maybe you should wait in the car," he said.

  He moved on up the walkway and rang the bell on the door numbered for Dave's house. When he got no answer he looked cautiously around and then used the same credit card which had paid for the car to open the lock.

  The apartment had the stale smell of a place that had not been used in some time. The air was dry and hot and seemed to lie across the room like an oppressive blanket.

  The curtains were drawn, so only narrow rays of sunlight crept into the room, splaying across the couch and the coffee table littered with forgotten mail and other debris.

  A few bills and circulars were among the envelopes, but Danube found nothing that might indicate where Dave might be.

  Moving on into the bedroom he found clothes piled on the floor and covers twisted about at the center of the mattress as if they had been left so when someone had climbed from the bed.

  The nightstand drawer held a torn box of condoms. Several of the individual packages were gone. He moved on to the closet. Only a few shirts and pairs of pants hung there, a
nd the dresser was also barren; still no sign of where David Davis might have gone.

  Behind the dresser he found a letter that had slipped down to the floor and was trapped against the wall. It was from Gabrielle, and had been torn open. A snapshot of Heaven had been enclosed, but David Davis had not bothered to display it.

  Finding nothing in the bathroom, Danube let himself back out the front door and found Devon talking with an emaciated woman in a faded bathrobe. The woman's blond hair had been permed by someone with no knowledge of hairdressing, and she wore orange eye makeup.

  “This is the manager," Devon said.

  “You looking for Mr. Davis?"

  "Yes. He's a relative."

  "He's probably still off with that girl."

  "Girl?"

  "Kinissa."

  "Oh?"

  "Little Asian girl."

  Danube nodded. “Do you know where she lives?”

  “He gave me an address in case someone was looking for him."

  She turned and headed back toward her office. Danube followed with Devon at his heels, the puzzled expression on her face indicating this endeavor was doing nothing to clear up her own questions about why she was there.

  The woman riffled through a stack of papers and finally produced a torn scrap with a barely legible inscription.

  ~*~

  After a lengthy nap, Heaven crawled out of bed and found her way to the bathroom. Her bladder felt as if it were about to pop open, and the grogginess from the drugs made it seem like her head was floating. The sensation was worse than the feeling that came when you hung upside down on the monkey bars for too long.

  After flushing, she wandered back down the hallway and found Mommy asleep on the couch. Her head lay at an odd angle, and she had a twisted expression. It was late afternoon, and Mommy still wore her robe. Everything felt funny. Sick days were always like that. The time passed differently, just sort of oozed by, and the day was gone without anything happening in it.

  Heaven hated that. As bad as school was, it had its good parts, and she always felt awake for it, alive. Everything felt sort of dingy now.

  She missed Terry even if she didn't miss the other kids, and she missed the story reading and some of the games. Why did all of this have to happen? Why did Daddy leave? Didn't he love her anymore? And why had the Gnelfs started bothering her? They had always been so much fun before. So sweet and happy on television. But now they were coming after her, slobbering, threatening, wanting to hurt Mommy.