The Emerald Tablet: Omnibus Edition

by JM HART

  Terry shoved his right middle finger into his ear.

  The medics jumped out of the van, opened the back door, and pulled out the gurney.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  The medics unfolded the gurney’s wheels, secured them on the ground, clicked them into place, and asked him, “Sir! Sir! Step aside!”

  Terry moved and the signal was lost. Frustrated, he wanted to scream. He was scared, hungry and cold. He stared at the gurney and then at the patient, thinking to himself, So much pain and suffering! He saw the person lying on the gurney was mapped with bruises similar to the dead woman’s, and presumed she must have been dug out of the rubble as well. He stared at the unconscious face, and held his breath. Shocked and paralyzed, he forced himself to look closer at the bloody fingers and the black and blue arms. She must’ve tried to claw her way out! He started crying. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair was hanging lifeless, caked with blood and muck. The tube she had down her throat was taped to her cheeks and covering her face … But he knew that face. He took her hand, and without looking up at the medics, asked them, “She’s okay, yeah?” Tears trailed down his cheeks as he choked back the pain and uttered, “This is my wife. Tell me she’s okay — please …”

  “Sir, are you sure this is your wife?” one of the medics asked him.

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve got great timing,” the medic remarked. “The big fella upstairs, he knows what he’s doing at times like these — I wish he’d let us in on some of his secrets.”

  The other medic continued wheeling the patient into the hospital.

  The other one said to him, “What’s your wife’s name? Sir, come with us. What’s your name?”

  “Terry,” he replied as the automatic doors opened in front of them.

  “What’s your wife’s name, Terry?” the medic asked him again.

  “Amy,” Terry answered, following the gurney and listening to the medical jargon as the medics gave the triage nurse his wife’s details: “Woman; mid-thirties; pulled from rubble of house; unresponsive to sound or touch; possible fractured skull; bleeding from the head, temporal area; treated for suspected spinal injury; protruding broken left ulna and radius; lacerations to the left side of the head.”

  “Put her over there — number eight,” the nurse instructed them.

  They came to a stop, and parked her where the dead woman had been.

  The ER nurse pulled the curtain behind them, blocking his view of his wife.

  He caught a glance of the organized chaos as another nurse emerged holding a folder and clicking a pen.

  “Terry, is it?” she asked him.

  “Yes,” he replied. “How is she?”

  “The doctors are examining her,” the nurse answered. “I have a few questions you need to answer so we can treat her properly. Can you tell me whether there are any serious medical problems — heart? Diabetes? Epilepsy? High blood pressure?”

  He answered the questions as the nurse ticked the relevant boxes and then handed him the completed consent form. He took the clipboard and signed the form.

  No sooner had the doctor flung the curtain back than the bed’s synthetic wheels silently moved down the corridor on the blue vinyl floor. The medics rushed Amy away, and an orderly returned the young fella to the room.

  Terry saw the boy’s cheek had been stitched up, and he had been changed into a white hospital gown, but he was still unconscious.

  The nurse came back, and as she clicked the bed’s wheel locks into place, she informed Terry that Amy was going into surgery, adding, “As soon as I know anything, I’ll let you know.”

  Hours passed, and when Amy was finally returned, she had bandages around her head and a cast on her arm.

  The same doctor who’d treated the boy said to Terry, “She has a small fracture of the temporal bone. We’ll have to wait for her to regain consciousness before we can make a complete assessment. She should make a full recovery. However, the next seventy-two hours are crucial for both of these patients.” He closed the curtain behind him, blocking out the chaos.

  Terry sat silently in the grey plastic chair between the two, who remained deaf to the mayhem around them. He didn’t know the boy, but vowed he’d look after him until his parents had been located. Resting his eyes and praying for the two patients to wake, he hoped the boy’s name wasn’t Casey.

  The orderly came back in and placed a pink plastic bag of clothes on each of the beds. “The nurse wanted you to know … his school shirt had been labelled. His name is Casey.”

  3

  Possession: Sophia. Scotland

  Sophia sat with Father McDonald in the church as the warm rays of the afternoon sun streamed through the stained-glass windows. She pressed her back hard into the pew, looked upwards and became transfixed as she squinted at the fragments of colored light. Breathing in the familiar smell of beeswax, she had a sense of security and peace.

  “Sophia,” she heard and then remembered where she was and why. She felt a cloud of depression hang over her. She’d just turned fourteen, and she felt as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. She knew that if Father McDonald hadn’t seen the angel at her birth, he might well have had her institutionalized by now — or surely sought an exorcism for her. Over the years, he’d grown to accept that angels, good and bad, are among us. Righteous souls, Ibu, spirit guides, from different cultures, with different names, all from the seed of the light, the one light of the universe, just waiting to share, to guide, but never saturate us as the darkness does. Neither Father McDonald nor Mother Catherine had chosen to share Sophia’s secret with their fellow clergy, because the fear of being banished and called a heretic was still very real. Sophia was indebted to both of them for the decision they’d made.

  She slowly focused her crystal-blue eyes on Father McDonald’s weathered face.

  “Sophia, are you feeling alright?” he prompted her gently.

  “No. Father, last night I dreamed an amazing dream that felt more like a memory, and it was so sad. First I saw Casey again, the boy who drowned. Then I dreamed that deep within the ground was a burning altar in front of a fiery pit. This time, a savage flaming beast appeared. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. The dreams are frightening, they seem so real. Why did God keep me alive? Why didn’t I die with my family? I’ve wished and prayed to die so I could be with them again.”

  Father McDonald slid along the hardwood pew to sit closer to her. “Sophia, you can’t talk like that! There’s always a reason; we just don’t always know what it is. The light is with you: feel it in your heart, and feel no fear – when the time comes, only certainty can exist. The shadow of doubt will be the world’s end.”

  Sophia contemplated his words before replying. “I also saw, in my dream, that darkness covered the days. A black cloud of evil ascended from the belly of the earth a decade ago. Then, I saw a flash of circulating blood cells; a girl with dark hair, spinning her bracelet, and next to her, an old key. People had become monsters — possessed — and were killing each other at random. Then, the images changed to a train; like a serpent moving around a mountain. The driver was on his mobile phone, yelling and screaming. All the blood was rushing to his face, and he threw the phone out the window. It was as if I was following the phone, tumbling off the edge of the cliff. Then I was back with the driver who accelerated, the train went faster and faster. It was going too fast for the curves; it derailed, tumbling over the side of the mountain. The engine dragged one carriage after the other. The engine exploded on impact. All because the driver was full of rage! Then, I was on a busy city street, and saw more blackness: evil clouds were swarming around people’s heads and bodies, it looked like static noise, eating their auras, their surrounding light. Behind me, I heard a woman say, ‘You have little time before the sun suffocates and the moon weeps. The rivers coursing within the soul of man will turn black. Judgement will surpass mercy, the blood of humanity.’”

  “Oh, Sophia!” />
  She stared into his old face and could see he was in pain, searching for answers he didn’t have, and she felt a tear escape from the corner of her eye.

  “I’m so sorry your dreams are full of horror!” he said. He pulled her into his fragile arms and held her tight. He let go, and used his thumb to wipe her tears away. “What about the others?” he asked her. “Did you see them again?”

  “Casey is nearly ready, he is happy with his adopted family. Kevin, he was in my dream,” Sophia replied. “I think he too, had seen Casey drowning. Then Kevin vanished too.” She involuntarily took in another deep, jagged, emotional breath, “It’s time, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he answered, “I think it might be time, Sophia. Father Thomas will settle in tomorrow before taking over my position, and we have the fete. We’ll be free to leave soon afterwards. Go on the sleepover with your friends. Later in the evening tell Gemma’s mom you’re not feeling well. I’ll come and get you. We’ll head off then. We won’t be missed until the next day. Pray to see the way, Sophia; God will show you. Try and have a bit of fun tomorrow.”

  “We have to leave to see the way,” Sophia said, and then stared off into the distance, listening, and said, “Someone or something is coming.”

  *

  The corridors were silent, the nuns were asleep and the quarter-moon was giving no light, but still the old walls were being scaled by the shadows. Mother Catherine lay sleeping on her rickety single bed, which faced an old wooden wardrobe that contained nothing but two habits and a set of drawers. There, in her three-by-three room her rosary lay on a bedside table, on top of her Bible. Her eyelids had no movement behind them, because she didn’t have any dreams.

  Suddenly, she was sitting upright, wide awake. She reached for her necklace and Bible and clutched them to her chest. Feeling unnerved, frozen, she waited and felt the silence amplifying…

  After a few moments, she heard Sophia’s scream shattering the night and echoing down the long corridor and into her room. She jumped out of bed, pulled her robe on and ran down to Sophia. The poor child’s nightmares have become more frequent! she thought.

  When she reached for the door handle, the screaming stopped.

  Father McDonald was climbing the stairs behind her, panting and moving as fast as his arthritic bones would allow.

  Mother Catherine entered the room and registered the prominent smell of sage. She let her right hand fly up to her crucifix. She saw that Sophia’s body was suspended above the bed, illuminated with white light. “Oh, God, have mercy upon this child! Shower her with your blessings!” she cried out, frantically rubbing the crucifix between her fingers.

  Father McDonald entered the room, out of breath, and declared, “I think He already has.” He stepped towards Sophia and spoke to her in a soft voice: “You’re in the hands of God, Sophia: don’t be afraid.” He suddenly grabbed at his chest.

  “Father, what’s wrong?” Mother Catherine asked.

  He ignored her, and his pain. His brow was covered with sweat, and some of it was dripping into his eye. He wiped it aside, and began to read from his leather-covered book: “Bless this child, O Lord …”

  Slowly, Sophia’s body started to descend.

  Father McDonald knelt beside the bed and continued his prayer.

  Mother Catherine joined him.

  The light around Sophia began to diminish, and as she descended peacefully, her body became encircled by a rainbow.

  Behind them, the bedroom door swung open and Sister Clare burst into the room, glaring at Father McDonald. “What’s going on here?” she exclaimed. “Why is that child screaming?”

  Mother Catherine grabbed the interfering young nun by the arm, pulled her into the corridor and whispered to her, “Please keep your voice down! The child is fine. Father McDonald is with her. There’s nothing you can do here.”

  Sister Clare was unconvinced, however, and bellowed, “What’s going on? What’s he doing to that girl?”

  Mother Catherine drew in a slow breath, and told her, “Go back to your room and pray to be released from the bondage of your negative thoughts!”

  The young nun stepped closer to Mother Catherine and uttered, “Father Thomas will hear about this!”

  Mother Catherine stepped back into the room, told her “Please leave!” and closed the door.

  Father McDonald remained by Sophia’s bed, kneeling down and speaking in a soothing voice: “See yourself! See the energy, Sophia! Pull it back towards you, and draw in the light — all the way … that’s it! You need to want to be here.”

  The light swirled into Sophia’s stomach; colors mingled and merged, fading and sparkling within each flicker as the light settled inside her.

  “Good girl!” Father McDonald said to her. “Well done, Sophia! That’s the best control you’ve ever shown!” His old bones creaked as he stood up. He put his hand in his coat pocket, took out a white handkerchief and used it to mop his brow.

  Sophia’s cheeks had turned pink, and her long blonde hair was fanned out around her head as if blown there by a sudden gust of wind. She opened her eyes, wiggled her toes and smiled at her favorite nun.

  Mother Catherine stepped closer, looked down into the girl’s eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “I love you,” Sophia responded.

  “I love you too, sweetie,” Mother Catherine said. “But how are you feeling?”

  Sophia smiled and answered, “I feel humbled. My body feels really heavy, but my heart feels light; strong; full of love; vibrant — a cup with an endless flow.”

  “Sophia —”

  “I need to go outside, or at least stand,” Sophia interrupted. “I need to connect with the earth, ground myself in reality.” She sat up, moved slowly to the edge of the bed, touched the wooden floor, drew in a deep breath and said, “That’s better.”

  The smell of the sage had almost vanished, and the corridors outside the room were silent.

  “Mother Catherine,” Sophia began, “I’m sorry.” She turned her face to the floor, saddened at the memory of her vision. “He won’t listen.”

  “Who?” Mother Catherine asked. “Who won’t listen? What child says ‘humbled’?” She looked at Father McDonald, inviting him to say something.

  He sat next to Sophia on the edge of the bed, his weight causing the old mattress to sink.

  Sophia kept her eyes cast down and announced, “Father, I had another dream. I was watching over Casey when I saw the darkness was gathering power like a storm. It now has many faces, and lives above us, like the clouds. It lives within fear; thrives in a wounded heart, in jealously, greed and rage; drifters in life who don’t know where their consciousness sleeps. What does that mean: where their consciousness sleeps?”

  “God will be with you always, I have no doubt,” Father McDonald replied. “And I, too, am here for you always.”

  Mother Catherine had backed away so she was almost touching the wall, but she had an overwhelming need to know what Sophia meant. She stepped forward and moved closer to her. She spoke softly, stroked Sophia’s hair gently and asked, “Who? Sophia, who won’t listen? And won’t listen to what?”

  For some reason, Sophia couldn’t answer Mother Catherine. She put her hands under her knees and stared at her own feet while swinging them across the floor. She elected to speak to Father McDonald instead, by mumbling, “I know. I’m not afraid for me, but I am afraid for you and Mother Catherine, and everyone else, because I can see, and I don’t want to!” She swiftly reached for the comfort of her mother’s medallion, making sure it was still under her nightshirt. Reassured, she let it go.

  Mother Catherine let her hand rest atop Sophia’s head. “Afraid for me? Why?” She then thought better of asking the question, and added, “No, don’t answer that.” She felt a chill as she pulled her robe tightly around herself, and brought herself to the present moment. “I’ll get some hot chocolate, to help you sleep.” She held fast to her crucifix, put aside her troubling thoughts and said, from
the heart, “Sophia, have some fun tomorrow! Be a child! ‘Humbled’, indeed!”

  Sophia started to braid her hair and smiled up at her. “You’re going to rub poor Jesus right off that necklace of yours!”

  *

  The fresh morning air drifted in to Sophia’s room through the open window that overlooked the grounds. The room was the same as Mother Catherine’s. Sophia woke to the sounds of hammers clanging, trucks beeping and the hoisting of tents, and soon after opening her eyes she heard a slight tap at her door. “Come in.” Her friends Lisa and Gemma burst into the room, jumped on her bed, and started holding hands, bouncing around like little kids excited that today was the day the three girls would be performing their ballet piece in order to raise funds for new computers in the town’s library.

  Sophia made a quick decision to forget about the restless night she’d had and pushed aside her feeling of impending doom. Today, she’d acknowledge only what came through her five senses and give in to being a fun-seeking teenager. She jumped up on to the old, rustic-style bed and felt it creak and moan under the strain of the girls’ combined weight.

  “Hey, Sophia,” Gemma said to her, jumping off the bed, “I have something for you. My mom bought these jeans, and they’re way too big for me I thought you’d like to try them on.”

  Sophia jumped off the bed and started pulling on the jeans under her nightie – her first pair of denims. She found that they felt strong and heavy.

  She looked in the mirror that was mounted behind her bedroom door, seeing behind herself and into her mostly empty wardrobe. She took the brown woven belt hanging off the door, wormed it through the loops of her jeans, and fastened it tight around her waist. She flicked her braid, which was the length of her spine, out of the way and dug her hands into the jeans’ front pockets. She liked the new feeling she was experiencing, having almost forgotten what it was like to wear something new.

  The jeans were a tad too long and dragged on the floor. Gemma and Lisa laughed as they watched her shuffle across the room.