“…And we have a special announcement today, folks,” came the announcer’s voice over the speakers. “This is for a Mr. Samuel Buckland, a Mr. Samuel Buckland.” Sam groaned and reached over to turn the radio off…but what he heard next stopped him. “The announcement says, ‘The girl told me you’d be listening, Mr. Buckland. Find the nearest computer. Open your email. Good luck.’ Cryptic, isn’t it? If you know what this is about, let me know!”
Sam stared at the radio, then brought his head up and turned the wheel to avoid hitting oncoming traffic. Returning to his own lane and flicking the music off, he considered what had been said. He knew that Caitlin had access to Gabriel’s knowledge, and Gabriel was supposed to know pretty much everything God did.
This could be a trap.
Still, the voice hadn’t asked anything of him except for getting to a computer and checking his email. Could they track him that way? Did Gabriel know exactly what computer he would stop at, if he did?
Making a decision, Sam turned off on the next exit and headed for the nearest hotel, a Best Western. His Falcon was very distinctive in the parking lot next to the Toyotas and Hondas which most people had stored there.
Sam walked to the desk, tapped the bell. A few moments later, a pock-marked teenage boy with sallow skin and shallow eyes walked up. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Do you have a computer room?”
“That depends on if you’re paying for a room, sir.” The employee’s boredom and job dissatisfaction was evident in his voice. Directly to the right of the desk, the sign Business Lounge – Internet Available called to Sam.
“How much is a room, then? One night.”
“What size? Double, queen, king…”
“Double. Double is fine. How much?”
“One bed or two?”
Sam had to fight back the urge to punch this kid in the face. He clenched his teeth “Just one. How much?”
“That’ll be $49.99, without tax. Pay-per-view movies will be extra. Could I use this same card in order to charge room service, emergencies, anything out of the ordinary…”
“Yes, yes!”
“Can I have your card, sir?”
Sam reached into his pocket. His wallet was gone. The police had taken it. Of course.
“Umm…hold on. I left my money in my car.”
The young man sighed. “Of course you did, sir.” His head bobbed. “Go on, go get it. I’ll be right here.”
Sam rushed out to his car and opened the glove compartment, found the spare I.D. and MasterCard that he kept there for emergencies.
“Where the hell you been, son?” came a voice from behind him. Sam turned to see an older lady, black, with spectacles magnifying her eyes as she looked behind him at his car…and the piles of locusts, flies, and scarabs that were still in it.
Sam just shrugged. “Here and there.”
The old lady laughed. “They might not want you back then, they send you off like that.” With another chuckle, she turned away, heading toward her hotel room.
It’s easy to forget there are still normal people in the world. Shoving open the door, he reentered the lobby. The pizza-faced clerk was still there, absorbed in the digital world of his iPhone. “Get lost?”
“You have no idea.” Sam dropped his I.D. and card on the desk. The clerk rang up the transaction, printed up a parking pass, and handed Sam his room key without looking at him.
“Room 224. Put this pass on your dash so security doesn’t give you a ticket. Checkout is at 11:00 a.m.; breakfast starts at 7 and goes till 9.” The boy glanced up from his Facebooking.
Sam was already gone.
“Goodbye to you, too, sir.” He began to compose a post about the rudeness of customers.
~~~
Sam sat down at a desk in the “business lounge” area of the hotel, turned on one of the PCs. A helpful display nearby informed him that his login information was his room number and the password was “business19.”
“Real secure, guys.” He leaned forward toward the screen, opening up his Gmail account. Several emails from people offering condolences for his loss, some spam mail…and one from an encrypted account, subject line, “Top Secret.” There was an attachment. A big one.
The mouse pointer hovered over that email for a few moments. This could still be a trap, Sam thought. Maybe I should just…walk away.
As he was considering that course of action, his finger double-clicked the message.
Mr. Buckland, I work for Gregory Caitlin on his “special project” that I think you know about. I found this data and I wanted to send it to you. I swear that I had no idea when I signed on. It started out almost normal, but I think that something is deeply wrong here, and I hope that you’re the one to fix it. He just recently brought something else in, and I’m worried that he’s going to break soon.
Whatever you’re doing, you need to hurry. Good luck. God bless.
“That must have been Michael.” His shaking hand opened the attachment. It was a collection of several files put into one pdf, including dates, research notes, occult symbols. The entirety of Dr. Stone’s paper was included, as were many others from various authorities on angelology and theology. At the end there was a sheet of music, with a particular section highlighted. The notes were dense, rich; Sam was not a musician, but he could recognize the complexity of this segment, with several accompaniments required to correctly perform it.
He cocked his head for a moment, staring at the screen. Sheet music? Why the hell would Caitlin care about -
“Music.” Realization flooded him like SoCal sewers after a rain. Kurtis had told him that angels spoke in music, or something like it, anyway. He had heard Azrael and Michael talking to each other…their words had been songs, but he had understood them so he hadn’t realized until now what that had meant.
Heart racing, Sam searched for and downloaded Sheet Music Player, a program created by DelCo, Caitlin’s company, that could take scanned sheet music in pdf form and perform it through the system’s installed media player. Sam had thought it was a novelty when it had come out; now he was blessing its very existence.
A few heartbreaking minutes later, the download was complete, and Sam moved the musical transcript into the playlist.
Analyzing file…
Sam drummed his fingertips on the desktop.
File analyzed. Playback?
Yes.
The room was suddenly filled with exultant, crystalline music; if there had been a violinist there, he would have wept in despair that he could never achieve this. Played back through the speakers of a midrange computer system, losing at least half of its depth and tone, and still a composer would have felt the presence of the masters before him, and even the coldest heart would have been brought to tears. The notes, the songs, were themselves a work of art…but there was something beneath them, something deeper, which spoke to the soul but went unheard by the mind.
Except for Samuel Buckland’s mind. He heard every word.
This is from Kurtis’ recording. He heard the angels cry over the horrors and rejoice in the heroics of the day the Twin Towers fell. Each life saved and lost was recorded forever in the Book of Heaven; the celestial guardians ferried souls away from their Earthly prisons with trembling tones like the vibrating of harp-strings and stood vigil over those still trapped in the deep, resounding cords of the drum. The victims and victors alike were watched over by the Heavenly Host, and the songs collected the sum totals of their lives within their notes.
And then, the name. Gabriel has come, they sang. Gabriel bears witness. Gabriel brings the Word of God.
Gabriel has come.
With trembling fingers, Sam pressed the pause button on the media player. Rewound 30 seconds. Listened again. And again.
One of the hotel janitors poked his head in, checking on the business suite. For a moment, he had time to wonder What is wrong with that guy? before the music swept over him, threw him back into the almost-for
gotten days when all he had to worry about was what fishing hole to visit today and if they were going camping this summer. The sheer glory contained in that sound drove him back, out of the room, and, the next day, he would quit his job and begin his missionary career, trying to bring people back to God.
Sam traced over the highlighted area of the musical score as it played through Gabriel’s name. This sound. He brushed his hair back from his face. This is it. I can find her now. Thank you, God…and you, whoever you are.
All fatigue gone, Sam rushed out of the business suite, heading to his car to run down to the nearest store.
He needed some chalk.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Francis packed up his work clothes, his utensils, the usual. He tried his best to look normal, to smile and wave like he always would as he readied himself to end his day, tried to keep the sweat from beading on his forehead or his upper lip. He almost jumped through the roof when his relief tapped him on his shoulder.
“What’s with you?” The young lady looked him up and down. He smiled a mollifying grin.
“Been up too long.” He rubbed his eyes. “Need some sleep tonight…not so much caffeine.” He gave the giant coffee cup on his desk a shake. She laughed.
Now he was walking, walking toward the security door. Once he was through, it would be just a few minutes to his car, then he could drive away, find a hotel, empty his accounts in the morning, and get the hell out of here before Caitlin realized what he had done.
He pulled out his I.D. from his chest pocket. Went to swipe it. Dropped it instead. Bent over to pick it up.
“Francis.”
He froze. For a moment, his mouth worked, but no sound came out.
“Francis, can I see you for a minute?”
With agonizing slowness, Francis turned to the man who had been his employer, whom he had betrayed…and who was probably going to kill him. Francis swallowed, then nodded to Gregory Caitlin.
“Sure. No problem.”
Caitlin returned the nod and motioned for Francis to follow him into the big office which served as Caitlin’s command center. He moved behind the desk, sat, typed on the computer for a few moments while Francis stood and waited. After an agonizing two or three minutes, Caitlin swung his chair back to look at Francis. It was only now that Francis could really see the effects that this time had had on Caitlin; the circles under his eyes went beyond dark, his skin was sallow, sickly, and his emerging beard left him looking more like a street-side soldier preaching about how the end was nigh than an up-and-coming leader of industry and politics.
He’s really crazy. My God, he’s lost it entirely, hasn’t he?
“Is there anything you would like to tell me, Francis?” Despite his appearance, his voice was smooth, soft, encouraging, just like always. Francis felt relaxation spreading despite himself as Caitlin spoke. “Anything at all?”
He knows. Francis swallowed. Might as well…
“Yes, sir, actually.” The researcher paused, drawing himself up as much as he could and looking his companion in the eye. “I think that you’ve lost sight of what’s right here. I think that you’ve let yourself be consumed by…by whatever power you’re using to keep her trapped here. You’ve gone too far, Mr. Caitlin.” Francis’ nerve broke for a moment, and he looked down, wrung his hands. When he glanced up, he thought he saw a shadow behind Caitlin’s seat, stretched out where no light could shine. A blink and it was gone before he could be sure he had seen it at all.
“Go on.” Caitlin’s eyes were level and his face smooth, and his hands moved to fold in his lap. Francis shook his head before continuing.
“So…so I emailed Sam Buckland. I sent him all of your files, gave him everything. I hope he can stop you.” Again, Francis summoned his courage to look into the imposing face of the other. “You can kill me if you’re going to, Gregory, but I did what was right, and that will follow me to Heaven. The angels exist, God exists, and what you’re doing is wrong.”
There was no response from Caitlin.
Francis walked forward a few steps, standing before the desk. “Mr. Caitlin, please. Let them go. You still can, you know. You can fix this. You can set them free again.”
Caitlin looked up at Francis and Francis could see the war within the man. The flesh around the eyes trembled; the bottom lip quivered. The calm certainty which Caitlin had worn the entire conversation unraveled like an unfinished sock, and he was on the verge of tears.
Francis was shocked, confused; he had not expected the man who had orchestrated these terrors to…to weep, to cry like this. He came around the desk to comfort Caitlin, perhaps to help him realize how wrong all this was.
But all he found was the pistol Caitlin was holding in his lap. All he heard was the gunshot as the pistol fired. All he felt was astonishment and fear as he crumpled, first to his knees, then to the ground, his own blood pooling around him in a crimson lake. His fading eyes floated back up to his murderer.
Caitlin was staring down at him, his eyes almost blank, his face almost smooth. Entwined about his shoulders was a snake, glistening golden and black scales, easily a man’s wrist wide. The snake’s face hovered near Caitlin’s right ear, and its silver tongue slipped in and out of its mouth as it whispered to him.
Then it was gone, and Francis had one more thought:
I hope the angels forgive me.
TWO HOURS LATER
“He’s coming, you know.” These were the first words Gregory had spoken since Francis had come in, blustering, screaming about how he had gone insane, how he had sold them all out to Samuel Buckland, and then taken his own life with Caitlin’s pistol. Gregory’s shock had been total; he had never suspected either betrayal or insanity from his head technician.
It’s better this way. As always, the voice was soothing, comforting. At least now you don’t have a traitor watching you…unless he’s gotten to someone else.
Gregory shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His eyes misted as they wandered over the pallid corpse on his floor. “He wasn’t very social; I don’t think he would have told anyone before...” He trailed off.
Better safe than sorry, don’t you think?
Gregory’s face scrunched like a child confronted with bitter medicine. “I…I suppose.” He tapped his index fingers together. “I could lock down the facility, keep anyone here from getting out. Sever the hubs so no emails or phone calls can leave.”
Good. That way, no one can warn the Buckland boy.
“Is he really going to be able to find us?” He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I mean…”
You have the book now, but the Keeper is connected to it, its knowledge, through Solomon’s power. Destroy Buckland, sever the line, and then the power is yours to do what you must with it.
Gregory shook his head. “I don’t want to kill him.” Each word felt like a thousand pound weight being lifted by his tongue. “There…there have been too many people who have died already. I’m…done with it.”
The voice chuckled. What about your grand plans, Caitlin? Your schemes for improving humanity’s lot? Have you given up on them?
“No, but…there has to be a better way than this! I mean, capturing angels, sending genies to kill innocent people? Is this how it’s supposed to be?” Gregory was crying now, forgetting to speak softly as he argued with this nameless, shapeless voice.
Power must be wielded to have any use, Caitlin, replied the voice. Imagine what the consequences would be if the power fell to another? They might not be as…discerning…in its use as you are, as you will be.
Caitlin’s head sunk into his hands as the voice continued.
Destroy Buckland. We can do this together, and then you’ll have everything you ever wanted. Peace. Happiness. Justice.
“What if I don’t?” It was a whisper, inaudible.
I think you know what happens if you refuse. Images flashed before Gregory’s mind: implication in the murders of Martha Stone and Kurtis Birch. Himself behind
bars. His wife driven to drinking and drugs. The collapse of California, then the United States. Civil War.
Gregory sighed.
“What should we do?”
He thought he heard a light hissing in his ear before the answer came.
We need to prepare.
~~~
Sam Buckland pocketed his new phone and pulled out the materials that he needed from his Wal-Mart bags: incense, chalk, a small brazier, a map of the world. He spread his hands, and the images, tracings, and writings reappeared for his examination as the door closed behind him.
Sam’s face hardened as he stared at the tracings around his fingers; this would be a difficult ritual. Angels, it seemed, were no easy customers to command, or to track. Nothing for it.
He squared his shoulders and set to work.
About three hours later, Sam was washing the chalk dust off his hands. The entire room, floor to ceiling, was decorated in Solomonic script; symbols for the constellations were in the proper places, and the channels were drawn to focus the energy onto the map, to find where Gabriel was, where her energy sang to Heaven.
“One more thing.” He pulled out the silver dollar he had received from his father, and his eyes shed tears again as he knuckled the coin one last time, finger to finger. His father had many faults – nosiness, a short temper, and a loose sense of morals were a few – but Sam had loved him for the lessons, for the trips, for the constant support when he had been younger and the evident pride in the man Sam had become.
“Thanks, Dad.” His voice croaked as he dropped the silver dollar onto the center of the map. He stood, raised his hands to the ceiling, and began his spell.
“Heavenly Hosts, guide me. Heavenly Hosts, protect me. Heavenly Hosts, hear me and show me the way.” He reached into his shirt pocket and turned his phone on. A few button pushes later and the segment of the song that was Gabriel’s name was echoing through the room.
The sound seemed to rebound off of the drawn lines and symbols; it was all Sam could do to keep himself standing as the music seemed to pull at his soul, trying to draw it from his body, send it
(to heaven)
Chains of Prophecy: A Tale of Mythic Discovery Page 15