GNELFS

by Williams, Sidney

  Tanner embraced her. "They found stab wounds on his body. It looks like somebody sat beside him and poked at him until he ran off the road."

  "Oh, God." Gabrielle buried her face against his shoulder.

  "She didn't need to hear that," Katrina said, giving Tanner a hard, cold look.

  "It happened," he said.

  "Is everybody going crazy?" Katrina asked.

  "It's my fault," Gab said.

  "No. It's the fault of whoever is causing this," Tanner said.

  "Dave? Or whoever."

  "Maybe Danube will know something."

  "You're trusting this guy?" Katrina shrugged. "He's a nut. He just wanders in with some explanation about nuns in the Balkans and you guys buy it?"

  "Katrina, we've seen unbelievable things happen," Gabrielle said. "We have to trust him. He's the only one with any answers."

  "So he's snowed all of you. He must be some kind of cult leader. Don't drink any of his Flavor Aid. You think Dave is out in California summoning hobgoblins to aggravate Heaven and kill preachers?"

  "Somebody's doing something," Gab said calmly.

  "I think it's getting worse," Tanner said. "Up until last night they were all pranks, even the assaults on Heaven weren't deadly. Now they're getting brutal, and they actually were able to do things to Marley physically. Before they were able to assault Heaven, but when they went after Althea they manipulated the things around her. Think about it. It was the same here with the table. They didn't directly assault us."

  "They didn't kill Marley directly if they caused him to run off the road," Gab said.

  "No, but they were able to affect his actions. It's like they're gaining ground. Any one of us can serve as their channel—or whatever Danube was talking about. All of us have the gate symbols in our brains, and the more tangible the Gnelfs seem to us, the more they're able to do. I think they're using our thoughts to take physical form."

  "You're all going crazy," Katrina said. "Gab, you shouldn't be hanging around with this guy. I might have known a writer would be weird."

  Tanner grinned in spite of their grim situation.

  "What I'm saying is that these forces are gaining power over us. It's like they're using our thoughts, our images to make themselves real, tangible in the here and now."

  "You’re saying the more we conceptualize them—"

  "The more that concept becomes real," Tanner finished.

  "That's crazy," Katrina said. "Y'all's imaginations are coming to life?"

  "No, our imaginations are being used by spirits without form to create forms for themselves. We're open to being used because we've seen the symbols of the gates in the children's books."

  "Did you get all this from that rabbi?" Katrina asked.

  "No. I'm a writer. I'm thinking it up as I go along."

  "It doesn't make sense to me," Katrina admitted.

  " Heaven was susceptible first because she has the imagination of a child and no skepticism," Gab said.

  "That's why she was cut directly," Tanner said. "Marley had reached that point in his car."

  "And they could strike any of us now," Gab said.

  ~*~

  Althea returned to Gab's place in mid-afternoon, tired and ready to collapse. She had not cried for Marley, but she'd felt tears as she'd spoken with his wife. She knew holding her own grief back was not emotionally healthy, but she could not indulge personal pain. She had to be on hand for Gabrielle and Heaven. Marley had died for his calling, and she would not relinquish the commitment to help people. It had cost her a marriage, and it had cost her in other ways, but she couldn't run away from that responsibility now. She had made a vow.

  True, her involvement had been with catalogued theories, but confronted with a reality totally alien, she would face this evil in whatever form it chose.

  She had suffered as a child, trapped in the world of her mother and her mother's lovers. She remembered Theodore, the one who had moved in, the one who had wanted to be her "uncle" the one who’d left scars that had not been erased even by therapy.

  People could find so many ways to hurt each other and use each other.

  Some entirely different method was being used to attack Heaven, but was it that different? It all wound up being the same thing—assault, violation that tore at the very soul. Someone out there had feelings perceived as needs, and whatever had to be done, whoever had to suffer, to fulfill those needs did not matter. Marley was dead, others were hurt and frightened.

  She would do everything in her power to keep Heaven from suffering the trauma and the horrible nights she herself had known, and if possible she would help Gabrielle fight back.

  "You look pretty tired too," Gab said.

  For the first time Althea noticed how deep and black the circles under Gab's eyes were. "None of this is your fault," she said.

  " I must have done something, something that's brought the wrath of hell down."

  Althea shook her head, remembering the guilt she had carried for so long. It had been years before she had spoken of it, not until she had begun to make breakthroughs, to achieve understanding. Now she heard the feelings that had once plagued her coming from Gab's lips.

  "You are being made a victim," Althea said softly. “Someone is using Heaven to bring guilt and pain to you. The blame goes to whoever is behind this, Dave or whatever or whoever it is."

  Softly she touched Gab's hair, wishing she could offer comfort, but all of her training and experience did not give her words. This was a hell that had to be endured.

  ~*~

  Danube watched through the cabin window as the jet climbed through blue-gray storm clouds. Tiny droplets of water formed on the glass outside, were quickly pressed flat and became small moist streaks like the tracks of tiny slugs. Then they were above the clouds, and he was looking out across a blanket of damp gray cotton, but he felt like he was sitting still.

  It had been a mistake to leave Gabrielle and Heaven.

  He had faced many dark forces during his time with the order, but now he could sense something or someone had seized great power. Vibrations inside him were more intense than he had known, even in the presence of almost pure evil.

  The use of the gates was just the beginning. More and more power could be obtained, and if the proper doors were opened he could only begin to list the nightmares which might be released.

  The drugged-out man he had left in Los Angeles could not be responsible, nor were the Gnelfs' creators aware of the full extent of the powers with which they had dabbled. What did that leave?

  Some other lunatic who had been able to lay hands on forbidden writings.

  He wondered how bad it would be if he lost. In losing, at least he might be set free. Free for the first time in almost an eternity.

  A new scene fluttered into view, projected above the clouds from his memory, a dirt road, crowded on either side by people, hundreds of people, perhaps thousands. They shouted and jeered at the man walking down the road, Roman legionnaires behind him.

  Danube had stood among the crowd, not jeering or throwing things or spitting. He was too young for that, too young to be swept up in the frenzy. He did not understand why they hated the man so. He could not explain the fury in their cries. The man—he had hardly known him—had seemed so gentle, so caring.

  Many things were confusing. He could not understand why his father had been so withdrawn the night before, so despondent and sick.

  Had he been upset because he knew his friend was to be punished?

  Shimmers of heat danced across the brown dust, layering the ground, and he could smell the sweat and the blood which dripped and oozed from the man's mangled back as he passed.

  Then as the man reached the spot where the boy stood, he turned his face toward him. In his eyes was the same kindness that had always been there, but the pupils were clouded with agony.

  He reached out then, touching the boy's cheek. The contact left blood and dirt as he was prodded on, and the lad's tiny hand re
ached up to feel that sticky residue.

  The boy knew then that his father had betrayed the man. The realization seared into his brain as if he had been struck by a solid ray from the overhead sun. The man had trusted his father, had loved his father, and had been destroyed by him.

  At that moment he knew he would have to make amends for the man's betrayal, he would have to atone.

  Now, so much later, he could still remember the look in the eyes, the touch, and the anguish he had felt. Had any of it prepared him for what was coming now? Could any of his past experiences or his dedication since the moment the stranger's hand had touched his cheek prepare him for what awaited?

  Perhaps he was facing the last battle, the battle that would release him from his commission and would let his soul go free to whatever reward or condemnation was to be bestowed upon it.

  Chapter 14

  Tanner slept for a while, showered, and tried to write, but his imagination was blocked by thoughts of Marley. Rising, he started toward the kitchen. The computer popped as it cooled, making him wheel and look back … at nothing. A smile of relief crossed his face, and he continued. He was not thirsty, but a glass of water, the act of running the tap and drinking, promised to bring solidarity, an anchor in reality.

  As he passed the windows, he noticed the sky turning charcoal. Evening was turning into night quicker than he'd expected. He realized he did not relish shadows and flipped on an overhead light.

  Then he was at the sink, running the water, letting it cool, filling a glass, sipping. The metallic taste that always seemed to taint tap water touched his tongue, and he poured the remainder down the drain. It was time to head back to Gabrielle's. When darkness came, things happened, and he didn't want her to face them alone.

  Humidity seemed to indicate he would not need a jacket, but he decided to take one anyway in case the night turned chill. He was on his way to the hall closet when he saw the man in the corner near the arm chair, a blond-haired figure dressed for shadow, black shirt, gray pants. blond hair, which seemed soft and delicate, drawn back from his forehead.

  He took a step toward Tanner, and at first it appeared that he was using the long stick in his right hand for support. Then Tanner realized he was holding it without letting the tip touch the floor.

  "Dave?" he asked.

  The man's smile was immediate. It folded back his thin lips, revealing gleaming, even rows of teeth. "No. You're mistaken. I'm not David," he said. “Not her husband."

  "Then who are you? Are you responsible for what's been going on?"

  “You could say that I've made it possible, I suppose."

  “What do you want? What has Gab—or the kid—done to you?"

  "You're quick with questions. Are you a brave man, Mr. Tanner? As brave as the heroes in your novels?"

  Tanner held back his retort. He had not been frightened at first—he had been angered—but now he began to wonder about the confidence of the man in front of him. Could this man, in spite of his size, be dangerous? He seemed somehow sinister, evil. He stood at the edge of the room, completely calm, no sign that he sensed himself an intruder. Tanner wondered about an escape route. The crosspieces in his living room window were metal, so he abandoned any thought of diving through.

  "No, you have no exit."

  "Do I need one?"

  “You should have stayed away from her."

  "She needs me."

  “You cannot even protect yourself."

  Tanner started to edge left, hoping he could make the couch and dive over before the man could attack with the staff.

  As he glanced back at the intruder, he saw shadowy figures forming around him, small, greenish, almost transparent yet real, their outlines matching drawings in storybooks, huddling together and snarling. They seemed to gain substance, until Tanner was looking at solid little monsters with twisted faces and grime-covered flesh.

  The smile on the intruder's face broadened as he stood there amid his charges, like Walt Disney surrounded in a magazine photo. But this picture was hideous, frightening.

  Tanner fought his own thoughts. Realizing the creatures were enabled to assume their forms from his imagination, he closed his eyes, and tried to think the creatures back into a book. He pictured them trapped in stories, seeking to erase them from his living room. If he could do that, if he could deny them, perhaps they could be removed.

  When he opened his eyes again, they remained, but they were not as tangible as they had been a moment before. "They're not real," he said. "They’re discorporate entities that you're seeking to make into Gnelfs."

  "But I am real," said the man, "and I have the ability to control them whether they are Gnelfs or spirits."

  He waved the staff, and the images deteriorated into wisps of green. Like snakes, they swirled through the air of the room, streaking away and slithering along the walls, around the corners, dashing about in a frenzy before settling back to the floor and rematerializing.

  "You didn't banish them," the man said.

  Now they surrounded Tanner, grinning monsters brandishing pikes and scythes and laughing. He looked from one to the other, searching for an opportunity to bolt. They left no opening, and as if to prove it, two of the creatures broke from the others, cartwheeling, crisscrossing each other's paths like precision gymnasts. Knives were clenched in their teeth, but they quickly slipped them back into their palms when they landed on the balls of their feet.

  As they poised, one at Tanner's right and one slightly behind him and to the left, he realized they were about to rush him. Their small round eyes, dull but filled with evil.

  Then they charged, blades slashing the air in front of them, frenzied motions. Lifting himself onto the balls of his feet, Tanner jumped upward, clearing the one in front of him by only a few inches. If they hadn't been trying to kill him, it might have been comical.

  When he came down, two more rushed him. He dodged and dove, launching himself with all the strength he could summon from his legs. Headlong he plunged over the back of the couch, hitting the cushions with a grunt. Bouncing forward, he planted his feet on the living room floor and tried to head toward the front door.

  Behind him, the Gnelfs dematerialized again, and in an instant tiny green streaks shot along the walls and reformed in front of him.

  Their laughter now was a loud cackle, and one of the heavier creatures, stoop-shouldered and with a misshapen head, lurched forward. Its gnarled hands were clutched around the shaft of a scythe. With its tongue sticking out one corner of its mouth in a parody of a determined face, it took aim and swept the gleaming silver blade downward.

  The thin, honed edge raked Tanner's shoulder, then sliced his shirt and bit into muscle as it flayed open his upper chest. Blood gushed. Tanner raised his hand to the cut, as if pressure would quell the flow, and when hot blood coursed through his fingers, he knew the wound was deep.

  He staggered, his vision clouding from pain. He felt as if his brain were adrift on some dark sea. Still clutching his wound, he reached toward the wall to steady himself with his other hand, fingers stretching toward that stability. Before he could touch the paneling, the scythe came down, slicing away the digits at the second joint. As spurts of blood sprayed from the opened veins, Tanner looked down at the severed tips.

  Numbed by the sight and by the loss of blood, he closed his eyes and let his body sway. The pike jabbed into his back with great force, but he could barely feel it. It was a sudden pressure. He was aware of the blade's presence, but it did not immediately hurt.

  He did not react when the foul breath of the Gnelf behind him touched his neck and swirled around to his nostrils. His strength was gone as a green hand gripped his face, tilting his head backward so that his throat was exposed.

  When his head toppled from his shoulders, all function ceased. Stories about the eyes and brain working after dismemberment did not prove true. He did not see. He did not hear. The satisfied laughter of his attackers and their summoner fell on dead ears.
/>   ~*~

  The telephone made both Gabrielle and Althea jump when it pierced the silence. When she answered, Gab had no idea who to expect on the other end. Dave? Tanner? Danube with bad news?

  It was Terry's mother. Missing Heaven at school, her young friend had been hounding his mother to check on her. Jill Guillory had the bright, soft voice of a suburban housewife, and she apologized for disturbing Gabrielle.

  "I know you're probably trying to keep things quiet for Heaven. What is it, the flu? Terry's been climbing the walls at school without her to talk to."

  "It's one of those things," Gab said. "We're not sure what it is. The doctor is with us now."

  "Oh, did we call at a bad time? Terry was hoping he could talk to Heaven."

  "It's not a bad time. The doctor is a friend."

  "Do you think Terry could talk to her? He's about to pull my arm off."

  "Sure. It'll probably make her feel better to hear from him."

  Gab cupped the phone, looking toward Althea, "I guess it's okay to let her talk to one of her friends."

  "I don't see why not."

  Heaven was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

  She had no expression.

  "You've got a phone call, kiddo," Gab said. "Your buddy Terry. You feel like talking to him?"

  Heaven sat up, noticeably brighter.

  "I miss him."

  She reached for the telephone, almost snatching it. "Hi, Terry," she said.

  "Hello. How are you?"

  "Okay. Mommy makes me rest a lot."

  "I miss you at school. It's boring without you. I just kind of hang around."

  "It gets kind of boring here too. There's nothing to do."

  "Can't you watch TV?"

  "I don't want to."

  "Why? Oh, the Gnelfs? Is it the Gnelfs?"

  Heaven looked up at her mother, wondering if Gab could hear what Terry was saying. "Yes it is," she said softly.

  "What'd they do?"

  "Everything."

  "Wow. They were mean?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "Why are they doing it?"

  "I don't know."

  "What are you going to do about it?"