by J. F. Penn
Dinah swiped her card and burst into the room. The stench of blood and feces made her flinch and she put a hand to her nose as she took in the scene. Abraham was kneeling on the floor by the bed, his eyes glazed and staring. He was naked, rocking his body back and forth as he prayed on his knees in a pool of blood. At the end of each string of prayers, he cut himself with a long razor blade, eyes unflinching. In some places it looked as if he had sliced down to the bone. He hadn’t hit a major artery yet but his blood already soaked the floor. Dinah crouched near him, down on his level but out of the reach of the razor. Protocol said she shouldn’t even be in there, she should wait for security, but she knew this man. She could help him. If he didn’t stop soon he would bleed to death.
“Abraham, can you hear me?” she said in a low calm voice.
He continued praying but in a louder tone as if to drown her out. Dinah couldn’t make out his words. She tried again.
“Abraham, you’re safe now. Please talk to me.”
He seemed to be winding up towards a crescendo in his prayers, and Dinah willed the security guards to get there faster. If they could just sedate him, the cutting would stop.
“It’s OK,” she said. “Just put down the razor now.”
Abraham went silent and cocked his head as if listening. Reversing his grip, he suddenly rose on his knees and plunged the razor blade deep into his belly, grunting as he ripped it across and down. He fell sideways to the floor.
“No ... no!” Dinah shouted and reached for him, unafraid of the blade now as it had served its dark purpose. She crawled through the blood to gather Abraham in her arms. A stream of blood and entrails erupted from his belly, as he had effectively disemboweled himself with the sharp instrument. The noxious smell made her gag but she held him anyway. His eyes flickered open.
“Why Abraham, why?” Dinah pleaded.
For a moment she saw lucidity there. He seemed entirely rational and spoke in barely a whisper.
“God told me to do it. I had to obey.”
His breath rasped and then quieted, his last sound a sigh. Dinah felt a part of him slip away as the alarms rang on and the guards finally arrived with the crash cart. But they were too late. Dinah sat there holding Abraham’s body, her white coat and hands covered in gore. She looked up to the wall above his bed. Scrawled there in blood and feces was a line drawing, a horse rearing up on its back legs as if to crush the body below. The rider on the horse was a black wraith, as if Death itself had come to claim this victim.
“Dr Mizrahi? We need to take the body.” One of the orderlies spoke from the door, a new guy funded by the last grant from Zoebios.
“Of course, sorry ... I just thought … I thought I could get to him in time.”
Dinah tried to rise, slipping in the bloody mess. He helped her stand, supporting her to the door.
“Sometimes there’s no stopping them,” he said. “This one looked on the edge,”
Dinah looked at him more closely, something in his tone alerting her.
“Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“It’s Jacobsen, I only started last week. It seemed like a relatively quiet place then, but now this and of course, Daniel.”
“What have you heard about Daniel?” Dinah asked with growing concern. “I haven’t been able to get to his room yet. Is he still missing?”
The orderly shook his head.
“Word just came in that he’s dead too. Jumped from the top of the Western Wall. The Army have his body and they’re sending someone to talk to you later.”
Dinah looked up at the looming figure of Death on the wall. He had claimed two of her patients today and she would not see him take another. Something had changed, something was wrong here. She didn’t trust her boss, didn’t trust the others here, but there was someone she did trust. It was time to call in a favor from a friend she hadn’t seen in far too long.
Oxford, England. 7.38am
Morgan sat in the window seat of her tiny Jericho house, muscles aching from the run. The alcove had been one of the reasons she had bought the two up, two down terraced house between Ruskin College and the imposing stonework of the Oxford University Press. It was a sun-trap for a tiny part of the day and in the long, drawn out English winters she needed that glimmer of hope. It was a long way from her Tel Aviv apartment with Elian where they had embraced the pulse of the city, spending balmy nights dancing after long days of work researching military psychology. After Elian’s death, she had sold the apartment and now had little desire to be in loud places but she still needed the sun.
This house was her retreat from the mad world of academic Oxford and she barricaded herself in with books and journals. She filled her time with exercise and excess work, a formula to forget what she had lost. A soft meow broke into her thoughts and Morgan patted her lap for the cat to jump up. She had started feeding the little stray and over time it had adopted her. Morgan had named her Lakshmi, Hindu goddess of wealth, prosperity, wisdom and courage which seemed like a good omen when she started to work at Oxford University. The little grey tabby rarely came for a cuddle, being as independent as her mistress. But today she seemed determined to collect her rightful portion of love and Morgan was glad of the company.
The storm had cleared and the sun was out, illuminating a cleaner earth after the rain. Morgan stroked Shmi, her hand scratching behind the cat’s ears as she drank her thick black coffee, a Mediterranean addiction. The British just didn’t know how to make it properly, she thought; they drowned the bitterness in milk. For a moment, it seemed as if she could just rest here, happy and at peace like the cat curled in her lap. But that’s just not me, Morgan thought. I want more than this. Peace is only appreciated as a calm between the adventures.
Morgan flipped open her laptop. One of her daily rituals was to check the news in Israel. With the threat of war from different sides each week, she liked to keep an eye on her old home. She also stayed up to date with the latest in psychological research and religious issues. But before she could flick to the Middle East section, one of the scrolling videos caught her eye with an ambitious headline, ‘Global mental health achievable by 2020’. It was a piece on the biotech company Zoebios. Morgan recognized the name as an amalgamation of the Greek words ‘zoe’, meaning eternal life, and ‘bios’, used more to mean temporal, physical life. She clicked the video and it streamed a press conference with the CEO, Milan Noble. He was a stunning man, exuding charisma even from the tiny screen, more movie star than corporate suit. He stood a head taller than the sea of journalists, with cropped hair and chiseled jaw. His eyes danced with passion as he described his latest project.
“Zoebios has expanded into China, India and sub-Saharan Africa in the last two years. We are now the largest provider of primary health care for family planning, pregnancy and birth in Europe and the United States. Our research into early life development has raised the bar on child care models throughout the world. Through education of women, we are lowering birth rates and improving life expectancy across the globe.”
The screen changed to show images of Zoebios facilities with multi-cultural doctors, happy mothers and healthy bouncing babies. As Milan Noble continued, Morgan noticed a trace of Eastern European in his cultured accent.
“But my vision for an improved human race goes far beyond physical health,” he said. “Mental health problems are destroying lives, with increasing numbers of people on medication just to get through the day.” He paused for dramatic effect. “But there is a way to tackle depression and anxiety without drugs. The trials we have run in multiple countries have been successful and we are now releasing this methodology to the wider public free of charge. You have trusted Zoebios with your children and the results speak for themselves, now trust us with your own health. You can register for information packs at our website. Thank you.”
As journalists clamored to ask more questions, the camera faded to show the Zoebios logo, an unfurling shoot of new life, and the company website add
ress. Morgan was intrigued, since depression and anxiety were now the most common mental health issues, causing untold suffering to many and costing millions in healthcare. If Zoebios had a non-invasive, non-drug related treatment, it would be phenomenally successful and she was interested in reading more about their research. She clicked the link to have a look at their site just as her cellphone rang.
“Morgan, it’s Di.”
Morgan’s face broke into a genuine smile at her old friend’s voice. Dinah had been her room-mate and best friend in Israel but their busy lives meant they didn’t talk as much as they both wanted to. Yet when they spoke it was as if time melted away. The memories they shared made a lifetime bond, and they owed each other much for the times of support and friendship.
“Thank goodness you’re there,” Dinah continued. “I need your help with something.”
“Are you ok? You sound upset, what is it?”
There was a pause as if her friend didn’t know how to start.
“It’s Ezra. There’s something strange going on. We’ve had two suicides and I can’t understand why. There’s no one else I trust here, Morgan, and certainly no one with your experience. You know how well we work together. Any chance you can come to Jerusalem?”
Morgan smiled to herself. Be careful what you wish for, she thought.
“It just so happens that I might have a space in my schedule. When do you need me?”
“As soon as you can get here.”
“Of course. It might be time for a little trip home anyway. I miss you Di. It’s been too long, and we have so much to catch up on. I can get a flight late tonight so I should be with you by breakfast.”
“You’re a blessing, Morgan. I can’t wait to see you. You’re going to find this disturbing but fascinating. See you tomorrow.”
Morgan hung up the phone and headed to the bedroom to pack, excited at the chance to be involved in a new mystery. She caught sight of the photo on the mantelpiece and paused to pick it up. Her own smiling face looked out, along with her twin sister Faye, and Gemma, her two year old niece. She and Faye both had cobalt blue eyes with a curious slash of violet, Morgan’s in the right eye and Faye’s in the left. But the physical resemblance ended there and their personalities couldn’t have been more different, just like their parents. Born on the cusp of Aquarius and Pisces, Morgan’s independence had pushed her into the world first. Their parents’ bitter separation meant they had grown up separately but Morgan felt that finally they were getting to know each other. She knew she would do anything for Gemma. The events of Pentecost had threatened all of their lives and Morgan wouldn’t risk that again. This next step would be hers alone.
Sedlec Chapel, Kutna Hora, Czech Republic. 11.02pm
Franco Messina had been to Sedlec before, but never in the middle of the night when the bones of the crypt seemed to glow. What was sickly yellow in the day, resonant of pus and decay, was transformed into golden marvel in the candlelight. Incense hung in the air, delicate smoke blurring the edges of the scene. The ossuary contained around fifty thousand skeletons arranged in bony sculptures and macabre shapes. Most of the bones came from the Black Death but there were rumors that other bodies had been hidden here. For who would notice fresh bones in the bell shaped mounds in the shadows of the chapel? Franco looked up at the great chandelier, which apparently contained bones from every part of the human body. It had eight candelabra, each made of a spinal column with vertebrae lining the arms. Femurs hung down, the balls of the knee joint rounded and smooth. Candles were cradled by plates of pelvis bone, each topped with a skull. Everything was nailed into place and that made Franco shiver a little. Bones don’t bleed but the nails were an offense, forcing these dead to their display of ashen grace. Ropes of skulls with crossed bones were draped around the vault, empty eye sockets peering down at the gathering crowd below. We are all reduced to this, Franco thought, just another femur, just another skull. He shook his head to clear the depressing thoughts.
Franco stood in front of Ivan, who had brought him here tonight after long months of proving himself worthy of this final privilege. Tonight he would be part of the Thanatos ceremony, the culmination of his trials. Franco knew the rewards this would bring. He saw the riches that Ivan had been putting away and it was what he wanted too. He had been recruited several months ago, when Ivan had seen him fighting in a bar brawl. Perhaps he had taken it a bit far that night, the man's face mashed to a pulp. But after that, Ivan had asked him to do some 'security' work and had encouraged him to invest in his fighting skills. After a few weeks Ivan had introduced him to other men who were part of the Thanatos network. Together they formed a vigilante group, taking out unwanted parts of the community based on directives from above. Some people might call them surgical strikes, cutting out the bad parts of society so that the good could thrive. Franco was a believer in nationalism. He didn't want the gypsies or the rag-heads, the crazies, beggars or fags around. Who did? He didn't even draw the line at women, prostitutes who diluted the family values of the city, but he always had his fun first. It was easy work, paid well and the police seemed to look the other way.
Franco touched his arm where the tattoo would be added after tonight. Ivan had said that he would be eligible for full membership after the ceremony and the tattoo protected those who wore it. If you had the tattoo and were caught, there were always men around who would get you out of trouble. It was currency, valuable all over the world. The work was dangerous but the pale horse's head was protection, although Franco had wondered aloud one day what lay beneath the violence. Ivan had explained that Thanatos was the ancient Greek personification of Death and the pale horse tattoo represented the prophecy that Death would take a quarter of the world in the end times. Franco didn’t quite understand the details but it didn’t matter because the tattoo was a passport to the other side of the law and a whole new level of wealth and power. That’s what I’ve been looking for, Franco thought. That’s why I’m here.
He looked around surreptitiously. There was an air of expectancy, a silence that seemed to echo around this chamber of bones. About thirty people were in the room, mostly men with a few women dotted around. He looked at one woman standing near him, her dusky features like a film star’s, expensive suit in midnight blue framing her slim figure. Her shining copper hair was pinned on top of her head and a tattoo of hieroglyphics wound down beneath her clothes from the base of her neck. Franco wondered why she was here, what deeds she had performed in the name of Thanatos. She wore a black mask, as all of them did, but when her gaze met his, her eyes were like a frozen river. He looked away quickly, understanding that some deeds were not as base as a fist to the head and evil could walk in stiletto heels. Franco's glance angled away as if he had never been looking at her.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room changed and the rustling of clothes indicated the movement of people parting. A tall man climbed the raised dais to stand in front of the altar. He wore a long dark robe with a mask of black silk molded tightly to his face. Only the top echelons knew the true identity of the man who embodied Thanatos. Franco knew that this was the dark Master they all served, and tonight he would pledge his own allegiance. Thanatos raised his hands.
“You are the chosen few and this is a landmark event. You are part of the turning of the hands of time, for tonight I will send you out to usher in the prophecy. It has taken years to build the network we have in place but now we are ready to release the pale horse of Death into this world. Soon the Devil’s Bible will be returned to this altar. That moment will mark the beginning of the end, for the words in that book will finally fulfill the Revelation and tonight you will witness the re-enactment of the birth of Thanatos.”
Franco listened intently. None of this had seemed important as money had grown fat in his bank account but it seemed that events might now be escalating.
“For those of you at the ceremony for the first time, I tell our story so that you may understand,” Thanatos continued. “For those who
have stood faithful with me over time, I tell this story to renew your strength and purpose in the prophecy.”
He strode to one end of the dais and Franco saw the audience lean towards him, eager for his words.
“Abraham was beloved of God and was promised a son even though he and his wife were old. He was promised that endless generations would stem from his seed. He believed that God would keep this promise. Even as his bones grew weak and he stumbled to tend his sheep, he knew that God would be faithful. His God would not let him down.”
Thanatos now walked to the other side of the dais and looked further into the crowd. Franco felt his gaze like a jolt of electricity. He was energized by this man and moved closer to hear more clearly.
“God did bless Abraham with a son, Isaac, dearly beloved and precious to his father. Abraham prayed daily that he would grow to be a great man and fulfill the words of his God. But one day God told Abraham to take his son to the top of Mount Moriah and there to sacrifice him.”
There was a silence, a collective breath held in the crypt of bones.
“What kind of God is this, that demands the sacrifice of children?” Thanatos said, his voice soaring in the chamber. “And what kind of father was Abraham to do his bidding? But a man of faith would not back down from that direct order from on high. Obedience to God was of the highest importance. So Abraham took his son Isaac to the mountain and tied him down, even as the boy shook with fear. Tears ran down his cheeks as he begged for his life. Abraham wept and pleaded with God, but no reply came. Abraham raised the knife.”
A pause. Thanatos looked around at the crowd. They waited expectantly although Franco sensed they knew what was coming.