by Peter Spokes
I’ve never been very good with this kind of morose conversation and as my views swayed towards the ‘once you’re dead, you’re dead’ way of thinking, I wasn’t really sure that I could contribute anything so I remained silent. But then Al turned his attention to the monitor.
“Anyway, how’s this supposed to work? There’s only one monitor,” he said.
I looked at the large instrument panel in front of me and sat down. “Yep, that’s all we need. Apparently, you can choose which camera to view from the console here. There you are,” I said, “you drag the map around like on the Internet.”
“The visuals look a lot different to the old system.”
“Frank says that’s because they’ve replaced the standard ones with motion detecting ones. You remember those kids that hid overnight in the Carnivores Gallery; and the old chap looking for some shelter for the night? We didn’t see them with the old cameras, but these ones will pick you out whether you’re hiding behind or inside something – here, look.”
Al took a close look over my shoulder at the map on the monitor moving across the reception hall to the security office to one side.
“You see, those two white smudges are us and though we’re barely moving, it’s still picking us up.”
“Doesn’t look very impressive,” Al said waving his arms about as he watched his own ‘smudge’ enlarge for a few moments.
“It’s actually quite clever and much updated from the old system.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Al said quietly and my momentary interest stalled as I saw Al’s hand shake.
“What’s the doc been saying?” I asked quietly with more concern than I intended.
“He thinks I’ll have to stop working soon as the tremors become more frequent. I fell over twice yesterday – balance just went… anyway, you seem to know your way around our wonderful new system so I’ll take the first round.”
“Are you sure, Al?”
“Yeah, I guess if I collapse, you’ll see it on the monitor – especially if I wave my arms about,” he said drily.
Scene 3: Representations
As he headed towards the door, he stopped and looked back at me. “What do you think of the Hall of the Afterlife?”
“I’d say it’s one of our most impressive exhibitions,” I said. “A lot of work’s gone into it, but of course, most of it’s not real.”
“Yeah, well, I guess vampires are hard to find in Boston – at this time of the year,” he retorted smiling.
I smiled back and wondered how he kept his sense of humour. “It’s just that the mummies, effigies and skeletons are real but then they mix them with mannequins and puppets; well, I think it undermines the other exhibits.”
But then I added thoughtlessly, “It’s all nonsense, anyway; the efforts and lengths that man has gone to to preserve or ready his soul for the afterlife when, let’s face it, there is none.”
“No, you’re wrong, very wrong – on both counts,” Al said with an unaccustomed assertiveness. “There is something beyond death and the representation is very important – puppets or not; take the crucifix for instance. Someone can pray to one made from a couple of bits of wood nailed together. It’s not the original cross but it’s what it represents that’s important.”
I thought for a moment and guessed that he had a point though it still seemed to me that looking at an authentic item, such as a mummy that had been embalmed in a sacred ceremony 4,000 years ago, instilled far more awe and wonder than some plastic model made in a factory down the road – whatever it represented – but, as a man with possibly few years left, he needed something other than a straight denial no matter how honest I was being.
Al could see I wasn’t convinced. “Come up and take a look with me,” he said.
“I’ve already seen it, Al; besides, someone should keep an eye on the monitor.”
Al looked at me keeping an overlong eye contact, “Bobby, come up and have a look with me – please,” he repeated.
I shrugged my shoulders and followed him out of the security office and headed towards the stairs and the exhibition of the afterlife.
Scene 4: In the Hall of the Afterlife
At the top of the stairs we reached the entrance to the room and looked around. It was certainly impressive.
The first and most obvious exhibit was the Angel of Death that stood twelve feet tall just inside its entrance.
Its sweeping black bat-like wings reached high and stretched across to the side walls such that one had to walk under them giving a strong sense of having entered its realm.
Its face was quite horrific with a flat nose and simian eyes under a heavy brow. There were long, sharp claws that held a scythe.
I had felt the latter rather incongruous as, I figured, it should have been sitting on the shoulder of an ‘Old Father Time’ character, rather than some dark demon.
I proceeded further into the room and saw mummies, skeletons, sarcophagi and several depictions of gods such as the Egyptian Anubis and Osiris; the Romans’ Pluto and the Greeks’ Thanatos.
To one side was the mannequin of Charon the Boatman, standing in his boat on a long blue undulating ribbon that depicted the River Styx.
The ‘river’ was quite stationary at the moment but in the day, the fans would be on and the blue ribbons would roll and ripple to life.
Charon stood poised to take the souls of the dead across the Acheron to Hades or some other named land of the dead.
He was about eight feet tall and enshrouded top to tail in a black cloak. He leant against the tiller holding it propped under his right arm while his left arm stretched out a bony fleshless open hand towards the viewer as if to ask for a coin to pay his fee for the journey to that underworld realm. I believed the story went that anyone without the fare of passage would wander in the wilderness for eternity.
I ran the torch beam along the exhibits and walked to the far end of the hall where by far my favourite exhibit resided.
Her name was ‘Rose’, or at least that was what I named her for no other reason than I liked the name.
She lay in her coffin, her long, curly auburn hair cascading down over her shoulders. I could just make out her glistening pupils through her slightly parted eyelids which gave her a look of one who was at rest but not completely oblivious to what was going on around her. The tips of her long, pointed upper canines broke through between her ruby lips and for extra – but to my mind unnecessary – effect, a small trickle of dried blood lay along the side of her mouth and followed the gentle curve of her jaw.
She wore a thin burgundy diaphanous gown and I could imagine her dancing graceful and barefoot in a graveyard.
She reminded me of the vampire on the front cover of one of my Anne Rice books.
I thought her absolutely beautiful and marvelled as to how the model-maker could make her look so lifelike.
Though late in my autumn years, I had still not known real love; that is, a love – so I’m told – where you feel the air has suddenly been squeezed from your lungs and the link between the word processing part of your brain and your mouth suddenly becomes disconnected.
She was quite stunning – despite the fangs – and I moved my finger gently along her face. I refrained from gently tapping her forehead as the hollow sound of plastic would have spoiled the illusion – not to mention its obvious irreverence.
I sighed and looked around for Al. He was still gazing at the creature at the entrance and so I walked back to him.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” he said. “And that’s one hell of a sickle.”
I looked up at the tip of the angel’s fifteen-foot scythe resting against its shoulder high above my head.
“That’s a scythe, Al,” I said.
“Whatever. You know he is known as Abaddon the Destroyer; in Islam, he’s Azrael; Samael in Judaism and Old Father Time as
well as the Angel of Death.”
I nodded. “Every culture has him,” I said absently looking back at Rose’s supine form.
Over the years both Al and I had gained an enormous amount of historical and cultural knowledge due to our regular and often rounds through some fifteen years of exhibitions and displays and so I was a little surprised when Al – still looking at the Angel of Death – asked me a question.
“Do you think the Angel of Death’s a good guy?”
I laughed and then grew quiet as I could see he was being serious.
“Well, I believe he was supposedly cast down with Lucifer which must make him pretty bad but then I’ve often seen him portrayed with large feathery angelic wings as if he’s one of the good guys. Maybe he appears differently to different people,” I suggested.
“Come to think of it,” I continued, “I believe the Archangels Michael and Gabriel have occasionally been referred to as ‘angels of death’.”
Al continued to look at me. “I don’t believe the creature was evil or responsible for the killing – the taking of life – just… helping them to end the pain with the transition to death,” he said.
I looked up at Al trying to understand the contradiction in his statement, but said nothing. He had clearly been thinking deeply – too deeply – about this and it seemed to me he was preparing himself mentally for something.
“Probably,” I said.
Al started to walk towards Charon the Boatman.
“Come on, Al; let’s get a coffee.”
Al stared at the gruesome mannequin. “I’ll see you down in the office,” he said.
I hesitated before turning and walking away.
Scene 5: Something on the Monitor
As soon as I got back to the little security office I looked on the monitor for Al.
He was no longer in the hall in which I had left him and so I moved the map around until I found him.
There he was in the Greek section. Odd, I thought, as he was in one of the smaller rooms off the main upper corridor away from the accustomed route.
From there he continued his round until finally I could see him heading to the security office.
I poured a second coffee and returned to the monitor.
“I saw you in one of the Greek rooms…” I said on his arrival, without preamble.
“I thought I’d have a change from the usual round.”
I had my suspicions but let it drop. I passed Al his coffee and sat down.
It was about midnight when I left Al looking at the monitor and started my round. The lamps outside the museum were now out and so only darkness poured through the large windows and pervaded the museum.
I switched on my flashlight and headed towards the first room on my round. Normally, it would start close to the Afterlife exhibition but I decided to reverse my route. Despite many dozens of checks on that specific room, I felt uncomfortable and not a little unnerved with the knowledge that I would need to pass through it.
I drifted through the corridors barely seeing anything. I pointed the flashlight at cabinets and displays but only remotely and through routine.
I realised that all too soon I was treading the final steps to the Hall of the Afterlife.
I stopped at its rear entrance and pointed the flashlight ahead though it seemed as if the beam of light was encumbered in some way from illuminating the hall.
Somewhere in the darkness about eighty feet away was the creature, its enormous wings disappearing beyond the lofty hall.
I shone my torch on the recumbent form of Rose in her coffin still sleeping soundly and I moved further along.
It was then I heard a sound. It was like the sudden snap of a sail in a strong wind.
A moment later I heard static from my radio and a voice.
“Hey, Bobby, you okay?” I heard Al.
“Yeah, I’m good; why?” I said, not feeling at all good.
“Looks like you’ve found yourself an intruder?”
“What?”
“Well – I’m looking at two marks in the room you’re in and one of them is moving slowly towards the other – which one is you?”
“You’re shittin’ me, Al – I’m stationary,” I said moving the flashlight around quickly in several directions. “There’s nothing here!”
“I shit you not, Bobby,” I heard Al reply. “One is moving towards the other… from the east.”
“And which the hell way’s east?” I said my voice rising; I was feeling a little strung out as it was.
“From the main entrance where the guy with the sickle is standing,” Al answered.
“That’s ‘scythe’,” I said a little irrationally.
“What’s that, Bobby?”
“‘Scythe’, Al, the sickle’s a scythe!”
“Well, whatever, I’m coming up – wait, it’s now about twenty-five feet away… twenty feet… come on, Bobby, open your eyes, it’s right in front of you – I’m coming up!”
I kept swinging the flashlight before and behind me but I saw nothing.
“There’s nothing here!” I repeated, and then wondered if Al was having some fun with me after what I said earlier about it all being so unreal.
“Hey, Bobby, it’s stopped.”
“Al, Frank said these systems can be a bit ‘glitchy’. I reckon it must be an error,” I said failing dismally to convince myself.
Then static – and Al’s voice went dead.
“Al, are you still there?” I said still trying to maintain a calm voice.
I heard nothing.
“Al, are you there?” I repeated, giving in to some hysteria. I had never realised how the loss of the radio static can make one feel so alone.
Then after several more moments:
“Yeah, loud and clear. You’re right about this being easy to use. I’ve just pressed a ‘run diagnostics’ button.”
“And what does it say?” I said still waving the torch about.
“Good news,” he said.
“So, the system’s faulty,” I said taking a deep breath.
“Well… no, Bobby; the good news is that all its tests have passed… but there are still two of you in the hall… wait a moment, it’s moving towards you again – and quickly.”
Then I felt a sudden chill and…
Chapter 3: Death
Scene 1: Rose
I felt awake and though I knew nothing, I understood everything.
I felt calm as if all that I had ever been responsible for was now at an end and I could now rest in gentle contemplation.
A feeling of restfulness slowly spread to my limbs and I could sense myself smiling; no worries, concerns, anxieties. The words no longer held meaning; others may trouble themselves with their import but I was free of it – detached and outside of it.
I felt rather than saw blackness and light around me above and below – within and without.
Then my monochrome world moved and a gossamer veil parted and I saw gentle pastel shades and then delicate hues before deep washes of colour.
I had a profound feeling of being extricably meshed within the everything; interwoven into the fabric of the all; part of and equal to all that was, is, and will ever be.
I could see in the ethereal iridescence small white discs that gradually became larger until I saw them as faces.
I felt a presence and a strong feeling of awareness as if someone of tremendous gravitas was analysing my moves; judging my worth.
Then I became conscious of a face of such unearthly beauty and for an endless time I felt an impossibly intense anguish and a longing – no, a craving – deep in my psyche, to be with her.
It was crazy for it was Rose – my vampire – and yet it didn’t seem crazy.
I said nothing and knew that was okay; words had no meaning anyway; t
hey were superficial. The world was made up of far more profound and powerful things such as feelings, thoughts and emotions. I was not surprised therefore that my being was open to her.
When she spoke, it was with such gentleness that her voice seemed part of the moving that flowed gently on the air – and I felt her words;
“The Boatman is not here for you for this is not your time, and you have no payment. I am at fault for it was your friend I expected to guide.”
Then after a minute or a millennium, “I am so sorry but I must return you to your shell – there is another with a greater desire and imminent need.”
I felt the tears coursing, cold, down my face. “Please let me stay,” I begged.
The countenance of radiant majesty smiled and I felt my heart break deep inside. “It is for me to help when the time arises and for you… that time has not yet come,” she said fading.
Scene 2: Return to Existence
All was suddenly black and I felt as one so acutely abandoned and unbearably lost.
I was aware again of my very mediocre senses and one in particular was persistent.
I heard Al; “Hey, Bobby, you still there?”
“… Beauty… such…” was all I could say.
“You smoking something up there? Stay where you are, I’m coming for you.”
“No, Al, I’ll be right down.”
As I got to my feet I headed towards the hall entrance glancing at Rose as I passed and then stopped and looked up at the Angel of Death. I then turned about and headed to the Greek room – now certain of the meaning of Al’s earlier visit – and removed a particular cabinet key from my pocket.
Scene 3: Back in the Security Room
Back in the security room I sat and stared at the coffee granules melting into the hot water of my cup, aided by my shaking hands and wondered what it was all for.