The Book of Elements

by Cynthia Woods

  Caeli obeyed and hopped awkwardly into the restroom, bearing most of her weight on her uninjured foot. She really did want to get out of the hospital gown. Salma brought her the clothes she had been wearing when she was admitted; a dark blue pair of jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt that was slightly too large on her slender frame. Both were fresh from the hospital laundry. There was a slight twinge when she pulled the coarse material of the jeans over her swollen foot, but Caeli couldn’t remember a time when she was happier to get dressed. Anything was better than the paper thin hospital gown.

  Caeli overheard snatches of the discussion between Salma and Captain Erickson as she changed.

  "Wow. You packed all that in twenty minutes? I’m impressed," he stated. Caeli detected a hint of something more than a compliment in the captain's words.

  "I can be quite resourceful when necessary, and I’ve worked here long enough to know all the best places to scavenge. I’ve got enough stuff to last us both several days. I have a feeling we’re going to need it. How about you?" Salma asked.

  "My stuff is already there, but I’ll wait until we’re on the road to tell you more."

  As they spoke, Caeli heard a knock at the outer door. One of the officers poked his head into the room and let the captain know that the chief was outside and wanted to come in. Caeli heard the captain politely refuse his boss’s request, but indicated that he would go out so they could talk in the hallway. Before leaving the room, Ben placed a finger to his lips, indicating for Salma not to say anything that would give away her presence.

  Caeli crept out of the restroom. She wanted to know what was happening, and Salma must have had the same thought because she was already standing near the door where she might be able to hear better. Caeli quickly donned her tennis shoes, one somewhat painfully, and joined Salma by the door. Unfortunately, there was no window on this door, so neither of the women could see out into the hall.

  "Chief, what are you doing here? Is there a problem?" The captain stood face to face with his superior.

  "I know the delicacy of your operation, Ben, and I wanted to make sure you had everything under control. Is there anything else that you need before you take the lady to…where is it again?"

  "Sorry Sir, I’d rather not repeat any of that information in a pubic venue," Ben stated formally.

  "Oh, of course not; good call, Ben. It’s been a while since any of our cases were this sensitive. I wasn’t thinking clearly," Chief Matthews replied in a manner that Ben thought clearly overcompensated for the careless inquiry. Now that it came to his attention, Ben thought it definitely out of the ordinary that the chief was here at all, getting directly involved. But, as the doctor so astutely pointed out, this case was more complex than anything that had happened in this jurisdiction in ten years. In fact, not since he and the chief, then his partner, had worked their last case together.

  "That’s ok, Sir. We should be leaving shortly; as soon as she is ready. You know how women can be, especially the injured ones."

  Caeli, on the other side of the door, made a silent display of mock insult which amused Salma.

  "Well, best of luck, Ben. Try not to get shot or do anything stupid like that." The chief clapped him companionably on his shoulders a time or two in a gesture of support.

  "You know where to find me and how to reach me if you need anything at all. I’ll keep an eye on the scene here tonight. If we’re lucky, this will all be over by this time tomorrow," Chief Matthews stated the overused cliché that could have been pulled straight out of any B-rated cop movie ever made.

  Captain Erickson returned to the room after taking his leave of the chief, who moved on to talk with the ladies at the nurses’ station. As the captain spoke, his brow was furrowed, and he kept his voice deliberately low.

  "We’ve got a slight change of plans, ladies. I’ve got this strange feeling. I can’t quite put my finger on exactly what it is, but I do not want anyone to know that you’re going with us, Doc. I believe that other folks are beginning to realize, as I did, that you are a valuable ally to Caeli. Like I said, it's just a gut feeling. I can't really explain it any better than that, but I'm going to take it seriously. So, Doc, would you be kind enough to call one of your nurses and have these bags taken out to Officer Caldwell? He’s waiting in a blue, unmarked SUV at the front door."

  Salma did as Ben requested and handed the bags out to the nurse who arrived with the wheelchair. Caeli was still tired and her foot ached enough within the confines of the tennis shoe not to object to being forced to ride in the chair. When everything was ready, the three left the hospital room, Captain Erickson leading the way as Salma pushed Caeli’s wheelchair down the hall to a lesser used elevator.

  At the front entrance, Salma helped Caeli get settled into the back seat, behind the driver’s side of the SUV. Captain Erickson hopped into the passenger’s seat and, with a nod to Officer Caldwell at the wheel, the vehicle pulled away. Salma returned to the room, picked up Caeli’s chart and took it with her to the nurses' station. She made a point to speak briefly with the chief and then excused herself, explaining that she needed to catch up on some paperwork in her office before starting her rounds.

  She took the elevator up to the sixth floor, where her office was located, and then, checking to make sure that nobody could see her, she slipped into the stairwell and quickly descended to the ground floor. Salma went out an employee entrance that she knew was unmonitored because the surveillance camera had been busted during the recent storm. She got into the blue SUV waiting there, and the vehicle drove off rapidly.

  From above, the chief stood watching from a third floor window as they pulled away.

  CHAPTER 19

  The morning sun shining through the large, brightly colored, stained glass window cast rainbow reflections across the sparsely furnished room. The rectangular room was larger than most of the others in the ancient complex, nearly two hundred square feet. It was located at the termination of a long hallway rarely visited, without invitation, by any of the others who inhabited the facility.

  The room contained a full-size bed, placed in a corner where one side and the headboard were embraced by the stone walls. The beautiful headboard displayed a hand-carved fresco depicting planets, moons, stars, and other icons of the night sky. A simple white, wool comforter hung to the floor, and a single white, feather pillow rested against the headboard.

  In the corner beyond the foot of the bed was a short chest of drawers with three wide drawers. It was topped by a short cabinet. The entire piece reached no more than three and a half feet off the floor, where the top held an empty stone basin, a glass pitcher of water, and a half empty water glass beside it. Halfway down the same wall that the dresser occupied was the only entrance to the room. The thick wooden door was secured by a heavy bolt that could be drawn across it to prevent unwanted visitors. The bolt was in place today as it was every day.

  In front of the sun-lit window was an oversized oak desk with several drawers in the lower half and cubby holes in the upper section. All of these were filled with an assortment of scrolls, books, papers, writing utensils, and a sundry of other well-used research implements. A tall chair with a high back, made of the same sturdy oak, was in front of the desk and occupied by a gaunt, older man who, despite his years, sat with his back straight as he reviewed an ancient, yellowed parchment and made notes in a worn leather notebook.

  Deacon Antonius recently uncovered new details that had eluded him for years. Events of the past few days now brought them to light, providing him with previously unattainable insights. He was excited at the development and eager to add the latest knowledge to the collection of data which he spent the latter half of his life gathering testing, and then documenting the results. He knew the culmination of his effort was at long last drawing near.

  A soft tapping on the door only barely intruded on his ruminations and current work. He ignored the sound, knowing it would go away as it always did, eventually. The tapping came again, t
his time more insistent. A voice on the other side of the door called out to him.

  "Sir, your visitor asks to see you again today. Will you come out? She insists that I remind you that she has traveled a great distance to speak with you and has waited two days already. Shall I send her away?"

  Antonius stopped writing, deliberately laid the pen on the page, and carefully covered the parchment on the desktop with a soft black cloth that resembled velvet. He pushed the chair away from the desk and lifted himself to stand up and stretch his stiff limbs. He casually walked over to the door and slid open the bolt. He tugged the heavy door until it moved just far enough to allow him to slip through the narrow opening. Antonius stepped quietly out into the dimly lit hall, immediately closing the door behind him.

  He stood a full six feet tall with a few additional inches to spare. The rigid manner in which he carried himself gave the illusion of being slightly taller than he really was and accentuated the gauntness of his lean frame. He wore a knee length, dark tunic, a pair of dark pants, and black leather boots which reached almost to his knees. His jet black hair, cropped to lay straight and short so that it just barely covered his ears, was only just beginning to display a gray hair or two.

  The man did not smile. His stance indicated that he was not pleased to be called away from his research, but he decided that today was the correct day to grace the visitor with his presence. Deacon Antonius never knew where his next piece of data would come from so, especially after all that had happened the past few days, he was loath to turn away anyone who might be able to offer him more knowledge or a chance to further enhance his skills.

  Certainly, she must have something interesting to have been willing to wait this long. The other residents were well acquainted with the deacon's excessive penchant for isolation when not methodically instructing his students. If they had not been able convince her that she should leave him in peace then she must believe her news would be of particular interest or that her request for aid would be sufficient to warrant his intervention. Aside from his eccentric behavior, the deacon was also renowned for the vast knowledge of unusual ailments, accumulated over the course of his lengthy and unfinished quest, and for his expertise at being capable of applying that knowledge to situations others believed could not be successfully resolved.

  The man that Deacon Antonius now followed through the halls was short by comparison. His shuffling gait causing the folds of his brown robe, three inches longer than his legs, to rustle lightly as he led the way down the hall, around the corner, and then down two more halls before reaching the main entry. Here, a woman was sitting on a bench, waiting patiently.

  She did this each of the past two mornings shortly after sunrise. Each morning her request to speak with Antonius went unanswered. If he did not appear today, then she would have been forced to leave and hope to find an alternative solution, though she had no idea who else might be able to help her with this specific case.

  As the men approached the waiting visitor, Antonius quickly made a visual assessment of the lady in her long, draping black habit and matching veil. He estimated her age near fifty. Her lack of fidgeting or any other outward sign of agitation revealed her to be someone who with patience. She stood up as she saw him draw near and waited to be introduced.

  The short man, who originally granted her entry and carried her request to Antonius each morning, simply nodded slightly to the nun and left the room without another word.

  "Sister, what is it you seek from me?" Antonius asked in a flat, uninterested tone, getting straight to the matter at hand. He did not waste time with social pleasantries.

  "Your aid. I ask not for myself, but for the one you left in our care these past twenty five years. He suffers greatly, ever since the boy child crossed over. Will you go to him?" She implored, not at all offended by the man’s lack of courtesy. She had known him long enough that she no longer made the futile attempts to engage him in such a way.

  Deacon Antonius moved to open a door at the right of the main entryway and walked through it, followed directly by the nun with whom he spoke. A short path took them into the woods where a section of the forest stretched out to touch the former monastery's walls. After a few minutes of winding through the dense pines, they came to a grassy clearing. Antonius bent down to pick up a fist-sized rock with a reddish-brown stain from the soft ground and then seated himself on the remains of a charred tree trunk. It looked as if it had been recently toppled and burnt.

  Antonius waited for her to decide whether she would stand or take a seat next to him. As the nun looked around, she could not remember this clearing being here the last time she walked these woods. Granted, it had been many years ago, but there was something odd about the place. At last, she decided. She chose to stand a few feet away from Antonius, out of arm’s reach in the remote environment. Even seated as he was, the length of his tall torso almost allowed him to look her directly in the eyes.

  "How does he suffer?" Antonius asked in the same flat tone, unaffected by her emotional plea moments before.

  "He cries out in anguish. His skin is hot to the touch as if a fire burns within. He shakes as if chilled while the sweat pours out of him. He has not eaten anything in days and has only taken in the small amounts of water we are able to force past his lips to sustain his life. He does not answer when we ask how else we can tend to his needs. None of our usual ministrations are able to give him ease." Her description was accurate, though not exactly what the deacon anticipated.

  "Sister, has he spoken anything yet?"

  "Yes, but nothing that made sense to us. It seemed mostly gibberish," she replied.

  "Then let us go, now." Antonius stood and reached out his empty hand to hold onto the Sister by her upper arm as he began to walk further into the woods. The trees seemed to close around the two, and then they disappeared from sight.

  They emerged outside the door of an old, run-down, red brick building located on the corner of intersecting paved roads. The deacon released the woman’s arm and motioned for her to lead the way into the building. After she recovered from the shock of their method of travel, she led Antonius up a short flight of steps made of the same red bricks as the church. They entered through the gray double doors topped by an illuminated sign. The name ‘St. Anthony’s Church and Orphanage’ was displayed in bold, black lettering against a background that might have been pale blue when it was new.

  Inside, the freshly painted and clean lobby belied the dilapidated façade. They turned to the right and stepped into an open freight elevator, which they rode up to the third floor. The floor was well lit by fluorescent lights in the ceiling spaced every eight feet. They passed several doors, most of which were open, permitting Antonius to see people working on various administrative tasks. In one room, he saw rows of sewing machines. There were a few ladies and some teenage kids working at these, stitching together pieces of black, gray, and white fabrics.

  At last they reached their destination. There were two occupants in the last room on the left. A man who couldn’t have been older than fifty five sat on the edge of a small bed, one of many such identical beds filling the room. A young woman, attired similarly to the Sister who sought his aid, was trying to console the man as he mumbled incoherently to the air in front of him, not even noticing her presence.

  Hearing this, the deacon rushed into the room. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Antonius sent both Sisters away and closed the door behind them. He grabbed a chair from beneath a small desk at the side of the door, and sat it down directly in front of the troubled man, who continued to mumble. The words were not gibberish. They were meaningful to Antonius. He listened carefully, hurriedly recording as much as he could on a small pad which he retrieved from a pocket near the bottom of his tunic.

  "No…had no choice…saw it happen….my son……couldn’t help it." The voice was hoarse, stuttering out words in between gasps of pain. It sounded as if he was trying to make excuses, but he did not sound apologetic.
/>
  "Dead…dies for her…so much better than me…set me free." After a few minutes of this, the man suddenly went quiet again. His eyes momentarily regained their clarity, and he recognized the figure sitting before him.

  "Please, make it stop," this time the man begged coherently.

  "It will be finished soon, Rannul. Not much longer now," Antonius replied.

  The man began to tremble so severely that Antonius wondered if he might be too late. He hoped not. He had waited for this day for more than ten years, ever since his first attempt to obtain the book failed. This time would be different. Antonius was better prepared. He couldn’t afford to fail a second time.

  Carefully, the deacon reached out two fingers and touched Rannul’s feverish forehead, closed his eyes, and travelled the pathways of the infirm man’s mind. Antonius called forth the knowledge that he desired in order to further his own purpose, heedless of the negative effects his mental browsing might have on Rannul. The deacon skimmed over the details of Rannul's life.

  Rannul, son of a sheepherder in a small coastal town in Norway, had never gained much from schoolbooks, laws, or propriety. Honesty and hard work were the qualities in his father that prompted him to leave home at an early age and roam the countryside. Rannul made his way using his talent for picking the perfect folks upon whom to prey. He mastered the art of the con very quickly and could easily gain a few coins out of pity, guilt, charm, or remorse, depending on the necessity of the situation.

  Despite his reckless behavior, his inherent good looks and youthful body won him the favor of many ladies. Rannul was a strikingly handsome man. Women swooned over his tall physique, dark hair, and deep blue eyes. He was very good at using his assets to the best possible advantage.