PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE
One of the U.S. states
Late 1970s
A car was cruising through the late Southern afternoon twilight. It was
a large sedan, proof of the driver’s successful lifestyle. Gliding like a
silver shadow into the approaching darkness, it left behind ever so
thinning glimpses of the passing day. The driver was in his forties,
broad-shouldered, with a sturdy neck. He grew a flawless Clark Gablelike moustache on his upper lip. Next to him sat a woman in her late
thirties. She looked as if she had just stepped out from a high fashion
magazine. Strands of wavy hair fell on her shoulders her lips were, like
her husband’s, full and sensual. Every once in a while they’d exchange
glances and smiles.
In the back there were two little children. A boy and a girl. Every once
in a while they’d exchange mild shoves and pinches. Then they assumed
their positions by opposite windows and stared into the dark that grew
heavier and heavier.
„ We’ll be there in about an hour, Cathy.“
„ Yes, dear, unless the rain interferes...see that black cloud in front of
us, it seems to be heading this way, carrying rain, too.“ Just as that last
word escaped her mouth, a large drop of rain fell on the wind-shield.
„ You must be a prophetess of some kind, or at least you were one in
your past life darling, answered the man, showing his straightened,
brilliantly white teeth. Cathy tried to smile back, but nevertheless kept a
serious face while keeping her eyes on the vast space ahead of them.
Midweek traffic was sparse: by this hour most of the locals were already
at home or in pubs. The headlights, switched on over half an hour ago,
cast their light forward for hundreds of meters, then, unnoticeably,did so
less and less. Pavarotti’s song about a Crying Clown was coming from all
six speakers installed inside the cabin, the man sang along, using every
little bit of Italian he knew. Soon he would know nothing.
When he felt the wheel move to the left a little on its own, the man
frowned and made a quick mental calculation regarding the time of his
last visit to the auto-shop, and what was done to his luxurious sedan. The
check took place about three and a half months ago, and the car was, he
had been told, in immaculate condition, which, of course, he already
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knew. He’d never had any problems with them. Besides, some of the
reasons was this particular German manufacturer made history were
safety and quality, parameters that pretty much set the car’s fancy price.
Nick was the name of the man who was frowning and deliberately
ignoring his wife’s inquiring look, which was burning a hole in his right
cheek. Just as he started to think that the whole accident was just his
imagination, the turn happened again. This time even the kids stopped
looking through the windows with dull expressions on their faces, and
stared at their father.
„ Daddy can’t driiiiiiiive...“, the girl shouted.
„ Shut up, you“, the boy answered, underlining his statement with a pull
on the girl’s hair.
„ No, you shut up, he’s not your...“
Whatever it was the girl was about to say, it got irreversibly lost inside
her mother’s scream.
„ Nick...what are you doing?“
The man didn’t answer, because all of his attention was on the road
ahead while he was struggling to maintain his direction. The wheel was
now frantically going left-right although the man’s strong hands
desperately tried to hold it still. The car started accelerating.
„ I don’t...I don’t know what’s happening...I’m not accelerating, I’m not
accelerating...“
Another sound, non-engine-related, appeared inside the car. It was a
scream, coming from the woman’s mouth, as the car continued to
accelerate. In the back, the children started crying, almost simultaneously.
In the next couple of seconds the wheel furiously twitched from side to
side, as if some invisible, incredibly strong arm had been turning it,
despite the driver’s efforts to take control.
Then, with all the cacophony present, a strong, sharp sound, similar to the
snapping of a tree branch was heard. Father – Husband – Driver
screamed. He was staring astounded at his shirt while holding the wheel
firmly. The left arm of his expensive Prada shirt was torn and a broken
bone pierced its way through the bloody hole that seemed grotesque
compared with the blue colour of the fabric. Shocked as he was the man
started thinking how the broken bone reminded him of the tip of some
African spear. The woman’s screams became even louder now that she
had witnessed this dreadful scene. All the beauty of her face disappeared
in an instant.
„ Nick...oh, Nick...Niiiick!“
By now, the children were beside themselves with fear, aware that
something terrible was going on, something not even their big daddy
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could make right. The Mercedes was rushing at over 200 km/h and was
gradually turned into a long, silver stream, which flew over the road
under the last remaining light from the sky. The car was furiously
changing lanes with constant screeching of its tires. By then everybody
inside was screaming. The children could clearly see their mother’s hair
go up...and up, until it stood almost vertically , while the blood on the
man’s sleeve had spread over the entire arm. The bone had obviously
pierced an artery, and now blood was spurting over the inner side of the
windows and the windshield. Miraculously, the man’s hands still held the
wheel firmly, even though he knew the end was coming. What he didn’t
know, and neither did she, was why the end was coming, for all four of
them, and what the force was that took control over his $ 50,000
automobile in such an uneventful, common, late afternoon, in their, thus
far, normal and successful lives.
The car eventually left the paved road and continued rushing toward
massive old trees.
„Mother of God...mother of God...mot...“
The crash was terrible. Both of the adults’ rib cages were smashed almost
instantly in the moment of impact, their internal organs now forming a
mushy, separable mass. The girl managed to let a scream out, when she
flew into her parents arms for the last, final hug .
The next day, pictures of a wrecked automobile, now looking nothing
like a Mercedes 500-s, appeared in all the newspapers.
Tragedy on A-75. Due to reasons still unknown, an automobile driven
by businessman N.L., returning from the aqua-park with his family, flew
off the road at nearly 220 km/h. His son is the sole survivor, and his
condition is currently critical. The boy, still in a coma , suffered over
twenty fractures and doctors are fighting for his life.
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CHAPTER 1
Somewhere in the USA, today
He was awakened by a sense of coldness and terror. He opened his
eyes, then closed them again but there was no difference, the darkness
was absolute. Then he opened them again and kept them open until they
started to sting and tear. There was no other sound apart from the sound
of his own breathing, the noise air made while entering his nostrils.
Even though he had just now woken up, his breathing was short, as if he
had just finished a mile-long run. Again the same dream, the same...
nightmare.
He was never able to comprehend its meaning but also realized that he
didn't really want an explanation, and tried hard not to think about it
anymore. He was afraid, terrified of what he might find, and that it knew
him, knew of him, in some dreery way was part of him. Feelings of
horror that used to overwhelm him during his dream, if it could be called
a dream, was always compelling, was always piercing. Now he was
breathing in short, shallow contractions, like a man who couldn't dare
take a normal breath, in case it could somehow reveal his hiding place.
Who was he, what was he hiding from?
Hiding wasn't really the word he would use to describe his current
situation. Because he wasn't hiding. No, he was...he was...it wasn't him, it
could never be Him! Because he was a man, a reasonable being, a
humanoid, and no human would ever do such a thing. No human would
ever be a mentally able to do such a thing . But then, why would he so
clearly remember all the horrors from his dream, or whatever-that-statewas-called ? In total dark, his shaking hands were searching for a
cigarette pack, found it and after a few failed attempts, managed to light
a cigarette. The embers from the cigarette were making uneven, sparkling
red circles before his dilated pupils. He swallowed the minimal amount of
saliva left in his mouth. It felt like swallowing razors.
Aahhh …an unwilling groan escaped him. Swallowing reflexes came
back, and he had no choice but to obey. This time, pain wasn't the only
sensation. Then he felt something else. Something that tasted like metal,
salty, something that turned his stomach...something...like blood. Where
was the blood coming from? He searched the inside of his mouth with
his tongue, looking for some sort of a crack, or a wound. Nothing. After
another swallow there was no doubt about it. He was swallowing blood,
but not his own . Slowly, he put his feet to the hardwood floor, and
remained in that position for a few long minutes, leaving the arms
behind his back for support.
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No way in hell was he turning on the light. His heart started pounding
again, like it did during his...dream. .
The fear which embrace him was far to strong to let any other emotion
develop in his brain.
He wanted to cry, he had wanted to cry for days, and he knew that he
was on a verge of a nervous breakdown. Mental issues were nothing new
for him, God knows that was true, but this feeling was unlike anything he
had experienced before...all those doctors' appointments, all those
tests...all those pills he took regularly, for the most part. And now, after
all - this?
Voices hurrying him, threatening him, warning him...voices coming from
the darkness.
Like a convict sentenced to death but refusing to stand up and walk down
the corridor one last time while the priest and the executioner were
waiting patiently, he turned his head left and right in complete darkness.
Chilling air in the room made the sweat on his body feel as cold as ice, as
if it didn’t come from him but was somehow laid down over him, straight
from some unknown dimension. Nightmare. Stumbling his way to the
bathroom, he became more aware of the coldness with each successive
step. He let the sensation from his fingertips guide him along the roughsurfaced walls. People are usually more afraid of the dark and what is
hiding in it. He was afraid of the light and whatever it was bringing. With
his bare foot he hit the door and hurt his thumb. Then he entered the
room. His pulse was sky high and stil rising. He still couldn’t take it
anymore. He turned on the lights and stared at the mirror.
No…no, no…n…nooooo !
The face staring back at him wasn’t his own. In fact, he couldn’t be quite
sure, because all he could make out of it were the eyes. His eyes.
Everything else was unrecognizable, covered in blood which was heavily
dripping on the floor and his bare feet.
Gradually, one voice singled itself out from the many and spoke
surprisingly clearly, while he was looking at his-stranger’s face in the
mirror with sheer terror.
Go to the cemetery…there you will find the place …start digging…and
remember…if you fail…you will relive this moment for all eternity, only
worse, much worse…you know what eternity means, don’t you?
The voice echoed in his head, telling him a few more things, providing
him with further information, then disappeared.
The bloody faced man nodded the whole time, then his shoulders started
shaking in a series of uncontrolable sobs that had taken over his entire
body.
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CHAPTER 2
Namibia, 2nd half of the 20th century
Something pulled the boy out of his sleep, although he couldn't certainly
tell whether they were part of his dream or not. His dark, serious face
suited more to a sixteen-year-old rather than a boy of ten. Slowly he rose
from his ground bunk and left the hut, careful not to wake any of his
family members, still asleep. By then he was certain he heard something
or someone trying to cover its movement. He quickly ran to the trees that
grew along the outer circle of his village, and from a two-meter height
noticed barely visible approaching shadows. With them came a silenced
barking, headed unmistakably in his direction. Then he saw long spears
gathering and reflecting the pale moon light. Whoever was coming had
no good intentions, it was clear to him. They already came too close and
the boy realized he wasn’t going to make it back to the hut unnoticed.
Then he let out a high: pitched scream that was carried all over the
village in that final moment before dawn. Next moment he jumped to the
ground and made a run towards the bush, which represented the nearest
kind of cover from unknown attackers.A few silhouettes emerged from
their huts intrigued by the shout, looking around aimlessly. In any case, it
was too late for any kind of organized defense.
The attackers struck the village with furious power.A crowd of half-naked
people soon covered the place between the huts , their screams created an
unbearable noise and terror in the hearts of those still uninjured, who
were running around seeking shelter. Those who ran for cover never
reached it and ended their lives face down in dry African dust, shot with
spears or arrows. The massacre lasted for over an hour, which was the
time nedeed for complete annihilation of the Sipo”s tribe. That night, 342
members were wiped from face of the Earth.The scent of blood spread
through the air, mixed with moisture rising from the ground. At sunrise,
the only remaining sounds were the attackers’ dry voices calling each
other, and when all the bodies on the ground definitely ceased to move,
Sipo could see strange, nearly naked men rummaging through corpses in
a way which clearly indicated they were after something, or someone.
Further aside, a large man stood and shouted orders. He was obviously
the leader, although he didn’t take part in the search.
When one of his men approached him with a suggestion that they should
leave, which the boy realized by the moving of his hands, the man he
considered to be the boss simply waved his open hand in front of the first
man’s face and he collapsed to the ground. By now there was enough
sunlight for Sipo to see the wound on the poor man’s throat made of
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flesh, slime and some whitish stuff , that Sipo only moments after
recognized as a bone. There was nothing in the executioner’s hand that
could inflict such a wound, not a knife, not a machete, nothing, but that
thought would not cross Sipo’s mind again until much later.
Right then he was too scared to think rationally, too scared to think about
anything other than his mere survival , whether they would find him or
not.The smell of blood and burned wood filled his nostrils, which were
spreading and shrinking instinctively, as if he were an animal. Crouched
inside the thick African bush, naked and dark skinned, he resembled a
young antelope. The warriors who had struck his village wore nothing but
pieces of cloth over their hips. Tall and muscular, they were a genuine
representation of a thousand-year-long mixture of Massai genes that
came from the north all the way down to Kalahari. Thick braids of hair,
covered in red mud, fell on their sweaty backs like curled-up snakes
while they walked between the bodies with their large, bare feet, and
thoroughly examined every corpse. Their leader stood aside the whole
time, not taking part in the process he had ordered. Sipo gazed at the
stranger who had ordered his men to kill his whole village, who
annihilated everything Sipo had and loved in his life. Wide oval shoulders
carried cruel, large head. His face was covered in vertically drawn lines,
from his forehead way down to the chin. Parted lips revealed two rows of
white, pointed teeth. Unusually big eyes were glancing in all directions
not fixing on anything for more than a moment. But Sipo knew, felt, that
this creature somehow managed to see everything around him. Suddenly
his large eyes stopped on the bush that was his hiding place.
Ordinary, human eyes could never have spotted Sipo. The bush was too
thick and the darkness hadn’t fully retreated, still as he was, Sipo was just
another shadow amongst the many. But the man’s eyes were now still
nailed to the same place, which caused new chills along the boy’s spine.
In some inexplicable way, the boy was certain this man had seen him.
Then, all the leader’s attention was focused on the spot Sipo was hiding
in.
A mortifying growl left the man’s throat:
Urghatan!
The boy did not understand the scream that roared over Kaoko wasteland
that early morning. Warriors stood still, some of them even with one foot
up in the air. Their leader’s authority was unreal. None of them dared to
move before the next growl.
Sibombve karahhan!
Only then did the naked bodies move , all in the same direction, towards
Sipo’s hideout. One by one, they were getting closer. What Sipo could
not understand was why were they gripping their spears so tightly,
pointed high above their heads, even if they had spotted him, which he
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didn’t believe despite being so terrified. They were dozens of meters
away from him, but the distance was becoming smaller and smaller.
Again he stared at the group leader, who’d moments ago slit a man’s
throat with his bare hand. Now the same figure stood aside, slowly
moving – backward. He grabbed the branch of amarula tree next to him
and just stood there, motionless.
‘But why, I’m… I’m just a kid’, after a long time Sipo’s brain made a
logical conclusion, apart from few instinctive thoughts, regarding
nothing but bare survival. Naked warriors were now moving with extreme
caution but further reducing the distance along with the time Sipo had
for escape, if there was ever any chance of it.
Urghatan mulilo!, a roar was in the air.
Now!
Sipo leaped from his shelter and ran for his life in the opposite direction.
Yells came from behind, followed by a spear that found its way through
the entwined branches and struck the ground just inches away from his
left leg. Being so tiny, Sipo had one advantage. He could easily slip
through thick, thorny underbrush which represented an impassable
obstacle for his hunters. Finger-long thorns which were scattered along
every branch, scratched deeply in their chest and muscles. The boy wasn’t
stopping, although he was heavily scratched himself, he knew what
would happen if they get him. But the thing he didn’t know was – why?
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CHAPTER 3
South Carolina, USA, present day
The best word to describe the crowd in front of the cinema box-office was
indescribable, the human body density per square meter, inch, centimeter
or foot was absolute. The long-awaited sequel had its premiere tonight
and most of the tickets were sold out in the first two weeks, but still many
people showed up at the theatre, hoping for an extra ticket.
‘Stevie, I can’t wait to see this, I’m so excited’, a chubby, dark hair
girl whispered to her date, while squeezing his hand.
‘ Me, too, I’m sure it’s gonna be cooooooooool, Veronica’, after that
line they briefly kissed, which was very fortunate for them, because
seconds after the kiss a crowd of bodies headed towards them, had they
still been kissing, they would’ve certainly lost their front teeth.
A hundred and twenty minutes later the movie was finished, and it was
obvious that it was in no way the landmark of a new point in movie
history. Visitors leaving the theatre were passing the crowd in front of the
theatre who were giving them many inquiring looks, saying “was it worth
it?.” But they were ignored. Let them see for themselves, they bought
their tickets, right? Somehow they managed to get to the car and soon
they were driving toward her place. The girl had a busy day waiting on
tables at the local diner and couldn’t help closing her eyes once in a
while. When she opened them, she was surprised to see that they had
missed their exit long ago, but the boy wasn’t showing any signs of
distress .
‘Stevie, you missed the turn, what’s wrong?’
The boy cleared his throat before answering.
‘Well, we’re not that much in a hurry, honey, it’s only eleven so I
thought we stil have time for a little ride’.
What’s up with him, if he wants me to suck him, why doesn’t he just say
so, his ever so practical girlfriend thought.The boy’s father’s sedan
slowly but surely left the lights of the town behind. Then came
Arthurtown, Dixieanna, Pinewood… the girl was getting upset.
“Stevie…what’s this all about?” Her boyfriend answered just with a
smile.
“Steven?!”
“Veroni - honey, I thought we should go somewhere where nobody
would bother us, and we could be alone”.
“And where exactly is that ? Besides, what’s wrong with this spot, right
there by the road?”
“Nothing, but we’re going to a totally deserted place”.
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She began to realize.
‘Over my dead body, you hear me? I’m not going there’, the girl
hissed.
‘Whoa, hold your horses, like I’m taking you to the gates of hell, and
not some small, romantic pond?’
‘Steven’, her voice was now ice-cold, ‘that place is hell’.
‘Yeah? Since when?’
‘Don’t try to be dumber than you are, you know about the murder that
happened down there’.
‘OK, so someone got whacked, but more people die crossing the streets
any day of the week, and I don’t see people avoiding pedestrian crossings
because of it’.
‘I told you not to play dumber than you are’, she warned him again but
it was too late,the wheels of the sedan were already touching the gravel
as they entered the darkness of the back road. Soon, the only remaining
lights were their parallel car-light beams which cut through the darkness
in front of them, while the air was dampened with a scent of rot, so usual
near swamps. However, there was nothing unusual or malevolent in this
smell, it simply stated that some of the plants once living here were now
dead and had become food for other forms of life.A few minutes later, the
car stopped near the swamp which was the boy’s final destination. The
fan was spinning for a while, then it also stopped. Nothing could be
heard, except for the frogs or the occasional call of some lonesome night
bird.
“Steven, I’m begging you, let’s get out of here, we can go anywhere
and you can do whatever you want to me, but please let’s go”,the girl’s
trembling voice was trying to mellow the boy sitting in the driver’s seat,
looking at her like he’d never seen her before.
“Hey, easy with the moaning, right? Or at least explain to me what’s so
scary about this place, I don’t see anything, not a thing”.
“Stevie… this place is evil, I feel it, please listen to me just this one
time… I promise you, you’ll have it your way from now on, just please
get us out of here”, the girl was begging again. Steven was quite for a
second, as if he was pondering her offer, but the erection in his pants was
too present (also a bit painful) to be ignored. Eventually, as had happened
so many times before,the man’s little head prevailed over his big one.
‘OK, we’re leaving, just give me one quick blowjob and we’re out of
here’. The girl wanted to say something, but her date was already
unzipping his pants. Soon his penis was out in the open, and that was the
sight that always caused tender feelings in her.
Not this time, no. she was staring at it as if it were the enemy,
something standing in the way of survival which was about a mile,a mile
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and a half from where they were. Her face came rushing towards the
boy’s crotch.
“Hey…easy, it’s not a rental, what’s the rush?”, Steven asked, surprised
with the hasty manner his girl went down on him. Not that he didn’t
enjoy it, only it would’ve been nicer if she were more gentle, he thought,
surrendering to the girl’s movements.
They didn’t see when something moved on the other side of the pond.
Then the frogs and the birds went silent, the last remaining hoot of the
owl was soon gone, too. Nothing new was happening inside the sedan.
The boy was completely preoccupied with his struggling to come, partly
because of his position and partly because of the girl’s tension. On the
radio, the Red Hot Chili Peppers were explaining how there’s nothing
wrong with slicing your own throat …
Slowly, a dark silhouette moved through the pond’s surface, making
small waves that soon disappeared into the darkness. A pair of bloody
red eyes was fixed on the lovers’ car , 100m away. The headlights could
be seen clearly, as well as the illumination from the cabin. Vague sounds
of music were reaching out through the windows, rolled almost to the top.
“Yeah, baby, take it…that’s it, you’re so good, yeah…that’s it”,the
youngster was repeating lines from the porn he still watched regularly...
“Yeeeaaahhh…you’re so talented, hmm…”
The girl was indeed trying her best. Her head went up and down like a
yo-yo, the only sounds she made were from an occasional choke, or loud
breathing through her nose.A reward, however, seemed to be head the her
way for Steven was in the heights of an approaching climax. The girl
could also feel him coming and she frantically moved her head up and
down.
‘Ahhh…’ was all the boy had to offer during the next few moments.
The girl didn’t complain when hot semen filled her mouth, she could only
think of two things while she was working on her boyfriend.
Make him come and do it as quickly as possible! Since that was done,
the girl felt that her time in that creepy, scary place was soon over.The
penis, still in her mouth, became limp, and she spat on the semen and
wiped her mouth.
‘Damn, that was good’ the boy murmured with eyes still closed.
His girlfriend had done her part, now it was time for him to do his, as
she reminded him in a rising voice :
“Steven, you said, you promised we’ll get out of here after I blow you,
so start the fucking engine now “
Words escaped her mouth much faster than the liquid had entered it. As
the girl shouted a drop of semen hit Steven just above the upper lip.
“OK, I’ll just smoke this and we’re off…”
“Steven !”
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This time he actually turned and got a bit scared when he saw his
girlfriend’s popping eyes stare at him. Her breath was short and
interrupted, nails grabbed his upper arm.
‘All right, all right… what’s wrong with you, we’re leaving, you don’t
have to rip my arm off’. The girl was quietly staring at the swamp ahead
of them, in its greenish foggy glow. Steven started the engine, which
made her relax a little.
We’ll be out of here soon, and this moron will never get to touch my tit
after this, let alone get a blowjob…
The car reversed and came almost to the waterline. Steven shifted into
first and slowly drove off the same way he had come. The girl lit a
cigarette, trembling. She didn’t offer him one.
‘Everything’s about blowing with you tonight, if I may notice’.
Just a little more…just a little more…
Neither of them saw when something emerged from the water and headed
toward the car.
In the full moonlight, water was swiftly dripping from a massive body
now standing on damp ground.
‘There, you see nothing happened, and you were scared shitless’,
Steven continued with his smart-ass approach.
‘Eat shit and die’.
‘Hey, easy, what’s the matter with you?’
‘Just drive and shut up!’
Headlights cut the darkness like lasers, casting their light in all
directions thanks to many holes in the road. During one brief moment
they were able to see a long line of lights on the freeway, before the
surrounding trees blocked their view again. Suddenly, from out of
nowhere, something hit the back of the car.The massive sedan shook a
little and the girl let out a scream of sheer panic.
‘What? How?’
‘I told you, you moron, this place is curs…’ words come out from the
girl’s mouth along with a horrified screams.
‘Thuum!’ something had hit the car again, and then, no matter how
strongly Steven hit the pedal, the car started slowing down. By then the
boy was also panicking, shaking like a leaf. He was desperately
struggling to move the car, which was sinking more and more into the
soft ground. Then, as if by some spell the motor switched off. Both of
them were still conscious enough to lock their door.The smell of shit
suddenly spread around the cabin, one of them couldn’t control their
bowels anymore. Silence came back, but it was no ordinary silence. This
one was heavy, intense and…evil. Inside the cabin, two young people
shook like leaves, not daring to raise their heads. Seconds passed while
nothing happened, then Steven couldn’t take it anymore, he rose up
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slowly and began scanning the surrounding darkness, but nothing could
be seen. The girl was still lying on her seat, she didn’t want to move.
Steven looked around some more and then talked to her:
“Hey…get up, whatever it was it’s gone, there’s nobody out there…”
Right then, a huge claw crashed the window and grabbed his face.,
while the girl started to scream without looking up. Some sort of
unearthly roaring came from outside, the most terrifying sound she’d ever
heard, would ever hear.
‘Aah..’ the boy’s scream was buffered, and then his entire body rose
from his seat. Steven was not a small man. He was about six-foot-five,
weighing over 200 pounds. When she finally looked up, the horrified girl
saw how his upper body disappear through the broken window.The
horrible scene was amplified by the even more horrible sounds of
breaking bones. For an instant everything stopped, then, in a brutally
strong motion the body was thrown back. It was missing its head.
By the time the dark silhouette had crossed over to the girl’s side of the
car, she’d already lost all will for resistance.
Their decapitated corpses were not found until the next day. The public
were only partly informed of the atrocities that accompanied these
murders before they’d been replaced with new murders and new
atrocities, as always.
13
CHAPTER 4
Momma Ghaani was a woman who knew. In her long life she had never
married nor had she taken part in any of the ordinary chores reserved for
the female part of her tribe. She didn’t go to the shore of the Kunani river
for a bucket of blurry water she would carry back on her head, like all her
girl friends did . Still, at the age of thirty, she gave birth to a girl named
Thlamini. That day the entire village was celebrating, for they believed
that Ghaani had a child with Simandu, a forest god, half man-half lion.
That meant that her daughter would also possess supernatural powers.
Years went by and Thlamini became very tall and pretty.
Many suitors offered fortunes in cows and other livestock in exchange
for her hand . They came from far away, since rumors of the beauty from
Kaoko Land traveled far and wide, across hundreds of miles.
Being a fortune-teller, Thlamini’s mother gained respect in Obundiva,
their village. Chiefs came to her hut seeking advice, or simply wanting to
hear about their future. Two women lived and raised cattle without men.
In the fields, Thlamini was always ready for singing. Their tribe, Herero,
was famous for their height and beauty, women especially. That kind of
fame caught the eye of the European colonists, mostly from Germany,
and in the next years many extraordinarily looking men and women were
born as a living prove of the passionate nights which some natives and
some settlers had shared in the vast plains of northern Namibia.
What gave away Ghaani and her daughter was blood. Ghaani’s father
was a white man. It could clearly be seen from her unusually light skin
and gray eyes. One morning, many years ago, people with blond scalps
and beards, as they have never seen before, came to the edge of the
village. They were big and strong, and their language was unknown to the
natives. Many villagers ran away from their pale hairy faces because they
thought the settlers were some mean spirits.
As time went by, the darkskinned natives started to adjust to those
strange people who came to their village to trade, or to seek man power.
Nobody could even suspect the events that would take place in the near
future, as well as many years later.
This is how it all began.
On one pretty autumn day one of the yellow-haired men laid his eyes
upon Inkozi, the most beautiful girl in the entire village. When she walked
with a bucket ful of water on the top of her head ,the young man
trembled. He spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand, so she
gave him only one short look. Cold disdain from her eyes instantly wiped
14
off the smile from his face. It was a look Alfred Miller would never
forget.
From that day he could be seen around edges of the village mostly by
himself, seeking the object of his desire. He was a young, strong, and by
the standards in his homeland handsome man. His blue eyes were unlike
any other Herero people had ever seen. After a while, they got used to
his presence and started to nod back at him. Sometimes he left for a
while, but always came back.
Inkozi never let anyone discuss this strange gold-haired man, or his
obvious interest in her. On the contrary, the moment she’d hear his name,
she would run off to the field. Local suitors didn’t approve of the sturdy
German, but nevertheless respected him because he always came alone
and paid no attention
to the hostile looks some of the warriors from the village gave him. He
was a foreigner, even a conqueror, but he was brave, and in this
wasteland bravery was considered to be the greatest quality in a man.
Also, he didn’t look like he was ready to step back if challenged, and he
was bigger than the villager’s biggest warrior.
Gradually and secretly, Inkozi started to look back at him. Her big eyes
would fly in the stranger’s direction and almost immediately return to the
road she’d been walking on. Her body would lose its rigidness when
she’d pass the spot he usually stood. Still, she never gave the man a
chance to speak to her, although her cold indifference became milder, as
if she got used to the presence of this stranger who couldn’t take his eyes
off her.
One day, Inkozi realized that she didn’t find this yellow-haired stranger
repulsive any more. She also realized, shockingly, that she had become
fond of him. Was it the colour of his hair or eyes, or was it his
persistance and courage, she couldn’t tell, but she recognized the urge
waking inside her. She would sometimes wake up in the middle of the
night completely wet, even in those shameful and embarrasing places.
She was a grown young woman, and by the tradition of her village, it
wouldnt long before she was expected to become a mother. But with this
pale stranger? That was impossible.
Stories about how some of the white men treated the natives had
reached her village, and they weren’t pleasant. They were said to be cruel
and rude, that they took their women anywhere, anytime they felt like,
and sometimes they would even kill a man out of sheer brutality. Their
fire sticks brought death and not even the sharpest spears were match for
them. Marriage with one of those man was absolutely unthinkable. Still,
many babies unlike all others in Kaoko Land started to appear. With their
light skin and bright eyes, they were solid evidence of their fathers’
origin. Even though villagers were at first puzzled with all this they soon
15
got used to it, as they had got used to many other things in the past. On
top of this, every new male in the family was a good thing, and it was so
regardless of his lighter skin.
Still, Inkozi wouldn’t think of bonding with this stranger that way. Her
mind was saying that, but her heart was saying something else.
Suddenly, Alfred Miller disappeared from the face of the earth. Inkozi’s
behaviour didn’t seem to change, but other women could clearly read the
subtle signs which told of her inner state.
’Inkozi’s changed, Kuru. Look how lost in thought she appears, and I
know why...it’s that Shirumbu’, her cousin Mulani would say to a friend
as they both watched Inkozi from a distance.
Shirumbu was a name for a white, hairy man given to him by members
of Inkozi’s tribe, which suited him perfectly. Weeks went by, but there
was still no sign of Shirumbu. Happy and smiling Inkozi became silent
and withdrawn. For days nothing changed in her isolated village under
the African sun, it was end of the dry season. Then, slowly, skies became
darker at dusk. Cattle could sense the rain coming , they made nervous
noises and dug holes in the ground with their forefeet. Every living being
waited for the rain, which eventually came. It poured all night, and in the
middle of the night Inkozi left her hut to put a few more palm leaves on
the roof, since it had started to leak. She took all her clothes off before
she went out, she didn’t want to wet them. When she went out of the
cabin, she was wearing nothing but a neckless, along with copper rings on
her ankles. It poured heavily, so she had to act fast. Even though she was
a tall woman, she still had to stretch to be able to put heavy leaves on the
roof where water was entering. Lightning was showing her muscular
thighs and buttocks, creating the vision of an African goddess.
In an instant she was completely wet. She was working in fast, familiar
moves, occasionally touching the rough sterns of cane with her nipples,
from which they became firm and sensitive.
Finally she was satisfied with her work, she turned around and headed
back into the hut but stopped immediately. Lightning was now showing
another figure, standing on the edge of the bush. It was him.
As quickly as possible, Inkozi covered her dark triangle with her
gracious hands. Whille she watched the yellow-haired young man who
stood still as a statue, she felt how her heart pounded in her chest. After
that moment nothing would ever be the same again and they knew it.
Then, their eyes met and for the first time, she didn’t look away. Another
lightning cracked in the sky, illuminating the two them, alone, in the rain.
Every living creature was looking for shelter, or was already hidden from
the tropical storm. Inkozi’s eyelids became heavier. In a sort of trance,
her brain was frantically working. She knew what would happen if she
walked towards him. Tremors from her chest spread all over her body.
16
For another long moment they looked at each other, and then Inkozi
moved her legs and walked toward the gold-haired man.
He was still standing motionlessly when she was only three feet away,
his blue eyes ware staring at her face, then went lower, then came back
up. His lips cracked into a smile. When he took his shirt off and dropped
it to the ground, Inkozi felt a trembling between her legs. She wasn’t
dreaming this time, and she couldn’t blame Tokoloshi and other evil
creatures that live in the bush or in the river for the desire that broke out
inside her. Now, the object of her desire was right in front of her as
naked as she was. When he put his hand on her shoulder she let out a
crying sound, as if he’d punched her.
When he touched Inkozi’s left breast, she put her hand over his. With
his other arm, the man grabbed her by the waist and lifted her. Next
moment they started kissing. Inkozi instinctively knew how to do it, and
when their tongues collided, she knew that’s how it was supposed to be.
Then he spread her thighs with his strong arms . Moments later, she felt
something hard and, at the same time, soft, on the outer walls of her
vagina, something she knew she wanted to feel inside her, as soon as
possible, as deep as possible. Long-repressed passion was now pouring
out of her, like the rain rom the sky. She let out another cry when he
entered her. She buried her nails in his strong back and bit him, like a
lioness. She felt a salty taste of blood in her mouth, but the man seemed
to feel no pain. Gradually, his hard spear was entering her deeper and
deeper. Inkozi thought she was going to faint. She embraced Shirumbu’s
hips with her long, powerful legs, allowing him to enter her all the way.
He did enter her all the way, followed by her scream that cracked the
African night .
17
CHAPTER 5
The Moon was emerging from behind the clouds, shining upon the
crosses made of stone. Wind was whizzing through this, otherwise
peaceful, night. A pair of boots was approaching through the short grass,
accompanied by a series of thuds.
The man was medium-built and was carrying a pick in one hand , a
shovel in the other . As he inconsiderately walked over the graves, some
of which had been there for forty, fifty, sixty years even, he constantly
murmured to himself. In this game of shadows played by the light of the
moon, his face was a collection of dark lines intertwined with bluish light
from the skies. He looked as he was sleepwalking. When he came to a
freshly dug grave, he stopped for a second, as if he was pondering
something. Fresh flowers were covering the mound, creating the strange
image of an isolated paradise island but the man with the tools in his
hands wasn't impressed. He got to his knees and started to uncover the
mound with his bare hands.
Then he stopped and grabbed his head.
“Arghh...” a strong and painful groan unwillingly escaped man’s
mouth. A bit later it was followed by another one.
Then the man cried out and started shaking his head hysterically.
'All right...all...all right...I will...do...it...', he was saying, but it sounded
like he was vomiting. Nobody was around to hear him. In one sharp move
he grabbed his shovel and started digging through the fresh grave. Sweat
quickly covered his face and started to drip from the chin down to freshly
dug ground. Eventually he'd reached the coffin. The coffin was white, it
looked as if it had never been in the ground, even in this cold moonlight
after almost four days under ground. The man got a pair of pliers from his
pocket and started to remove the screws that held the lid together with the
rest of the coffin. When he was done, he was completely wet. He was
looking at the glowing surface, shaking his head slowly. Then he let out
another groan.
“All right...I know...yes...all right...”, words without meaning escaped
him again. He raised the lid. Inside the coffin lay the body of a beautiful
young woman. Her upper lip was raised high, showing her straight white
teeth. She seemed to be smiling in some eery, frightening way. Her eyes
were open, hands crossed over her chest. The man walked a few steps
back, terrified by this scene. His breath was out of rhythm, he was ready
to collapse any second. Then he took a few more steps back, turned and
ran towards the exit. He didn't look behind, he was just moaning heavily.
He moaned his way out through the cemetery gates. At the same moment
18
the moon hid behind the clouds. When the light reappeared, the path the
lonely man had been running along seconds ago was deserted.
Moonlight reflected from the dead girl's teeth, showing her face. Inside
her eyes, a perfect circle of the moon could be seen, her hair was
collecting the deflected beams of light. It seemed as that part of her was
still alive, and was now defying its owner.
Nothing was moving, nothing was breathing. Suddenly, tiny blinking
appeared in the distance. At first it looked like a fog cloud, lying near the
ground. It was green. But, unlike the fog, this particular entity knew
where it was going – towards the freshly dug out coffin. In the next few
minutes, the green light had completely surrounded it, but no one was
there to witness this surreal scene. Then the light started to rise, coming
closer and closer to the corpse. As if it were a living creature, a green
cloud was entering the girl's body through her nose, her half-open mouth,
strokes of light went under her dress, searching for other body cavities.
This fantastic scene lasted for a couple of minutes, until the green fog had
completely disappeared inside the corpse. After that, everything was still
for a while. The night was cold and bright,the girl's dead eyes still
focused on the sky they couldn’t see. Then it happened. Her eyelids
closed, then opened again.The same thing happened a couple more times,
then her fingers started twitching and slowly as had happened to Lazarus
before, the girl's corpse rose from the coffin. She was now sitting and
staring at the darkness. Her mouth was closed and the eery smile had
disappeared. Her lips were tight for a while, then they relaxed, which
gave her face a serious expression. The next moment her dead lungs
inhaled. She exhaled a scent of rot and decomposition, but this had
disappeared after a few breaths. Slowly, the girl put her hands on the
edges of the coffin and rose up, then she put one slim leg over the edge
of the coffin, then the other. She stood silently for a few long seconds, as
if she didn't know what to do, or where to go. During this period of
hesitation, her eyes seemed to become more aware of her surroundings by
the second, her head and arms more synchronized. Then she licked her
upper lip. Her smile was no longer frightening. It was a smile of a normal,
satisfied and confident young woman. A beautiful woman. She started
walking slowly at first, as if she was trying to shake the slumber off her
limbs, then faster and more confidently.
……………………………………………………………….......
In the morning,the local gravedigger and his younger assistant were
staring at the empty coffin they themselves had buried just days ago. Now
it was empty.
“Better go notify the police”, the older man said, trembling, and the
younger man nodded. Just before they left, the younger caught a weak
glow on the ground with the corner of his eye. He reached down. When
19
he stood back up, he was holding a torn gold chain with a cross hanging
on it.
20
CHAPTER 6
Patrick Lombard, policeman, actually homicide detective, had made a
decision to improve his physical condition at the age of forty-five. Today
was his jogging day. He wasn't looking forward to it, since he always
thought of running as nothing more than an unpleasant, necessary
commitment. He was one of those people who were able to make
themselves get up at the break of dawn three times a week and run the
empty streets. He was currently in the middle of his 4 km route.
‘Half done...half to go...”, he was encouraging himself, but with little
success. He ran past a knocked-down garbage can and saw one torn tshirt, one old jacket and one plastic bag with a local store logo.
“Just a bit more, just a bit more”.
Another early morning martyr passed him by and they exchanged polite
waves.
“At least I’m not the only idiot sweating this way instead of with a wife,
or a mistress”,it occurred to him as he imagined himself in the sheets
with some busty lady - a much more pleasant time than this insane anklebusting.
‘Probably burns more calories that way, as well’, he concluded,
dispirited.
When he returned to his apartment, he was soaking wet. He took off his
clothes and hit the shower. As hot water tapped his back he brooded over
a case from the other day, when a twelve-year old girl was raped and
nearly murdered under the great bridge. She was currently in IC, and he
didn’t manage to find out anything from their brief interview except for
the fact that she was attacked from behind and that she was remembering
the pain from the penetration, her first, violent penetration.
“How sick does one have to be to do that?’, Lombard thought, but he
quickly recalled many cases that made this one look like a dreamy first
date, roses included. Then there was this already closed murder case from
a couple of weeks back, since the suspect had been arrested, and the
victim, an old photo album salesman, buried. There was still some
paperwork to be done. Yeah, there was also that immigrant from Korea,
shot to death in his own store by an unknown suspect. Racist messages
were written on the walls and for a moment he was wondering whether
the perpetrator was trying to send the police on the wrong track?
He’s seen that before. Even after almost twenty years in the service,
human nature never ceased to amaze him, especially its darker side. He’d
regretted choosing this line of work too many times to even remember.
By the time he had realized how affected by stress he actually was, his
days at the academy were long gone. Years passed, and he hoped that
21
time will do its thing and that he would eventually get used to the fact that
a corpse is a corpse, whether it was a ninety- or a twelve-year old , but he
was wrong. He did master the art of faking calm in public, and no one
knew about his wake, grim nights. Patrick hadn’t turned to booze or
cocaine to get away from the stress, like some of his colleagues had tried
unsuccessfully. Neither did he become a fitness fanatic. Actually, during
his contemplations Lombard was often wondering:
“Where did all those years go?’, followed by an inevitable question that
occupied him the most, “Where was I during that whole time?’
He couldn’t answer the first question, but he could answer the second.
He was either in his office or in the streets, solving some murder or rape,
or both. The level of sexual brutality included with the cases he’d been
assigned to were unbelievable. Sometimes it seemed to him that no one
was allowed to leave this world without being violently and brutally
fucked.
“What’s wrong with all those fuck ups?”, he would sometimes think as
he stared at fresh reports on his desk and wonder if they’d ever actually
experienced consensual sex. Those who raped and those who were raped
were a rather motley crew, no racist pattern in most of the cases. Seems
like the color of the cunt (or an ass-hole, for that matter) made no
difference to the boys (rapists were mostly male) who were satisfying
their pathological urges in a way unthinkable (Lombard sincerely hoped)
to most.
“You don’t understand, Patrick, if a woman wants to give freely, I can’t
get it up, you see?”, Jack Coburn, multiple rapist/murderer had tried to
enlighten Lombard when he was finally caught.
“So you had to kill them?”
“No, that’s not why.”
“Why, then?”
“Hey, you are a cop, but you don’t look dumb to me.”
“I am dumb.”
“The evidence, you idiot, ever heard of a corpse accusing his
murderer?”
“No, ever heard of DNA tests, Jack?”
“Of course I have.”
“Well. If you did, how come there was so much of Your sperm found
in…both holes of Your last unfortunate girlfriend, hm…Doreen, I believe
her name was? That’s the only reason you’re sitting here now”, Patrick
asked flatly, aware that his colleagues were watching behind the onesided mirror.
“Well, you could call it an accident, if you will.”
“Care to explain that to me? As I already said, I’m dumb.”
22
“Fucking rubber fucking snapped, you stinky fucking jerk-off cop,
how’s that for an explanation !”, Coburn yelled, trying to reach Lombard,
but the cuffs, fastening his leg to the table, stopped him. Patrick didn’t
move a muscle, instead he just stared at the man blankly. They sat
silently for a while.
“Jack, you know what happens now, don’t you… I mean, you can
forget that sad story about your ill-fortunate childhood, or you being
crazy, since neither of that is true…besides, prisons are already full of
scum like yourself, who somehow managed to convince the jury that they
themselves were “victims of some terrible circumstance, and that it
wouldn’t be fair for them to get the chair for some murders or whatever,
since they can’t be released”. Some of them were victims, before they
became what the are now…but not you, Jack.”
Jack Coburn was quiet, the grin on his face was slowly disappearing.
Patrick noticed that, and he was glad, because he wanted to take his time
to explain all the delicate details regarding this man’s near future.
“…and I can tell you that this same jury is starting to lose patience, and
all that crap about sad childhood, violent parents, mean teachers or bad
school friends just doesn’t work to good anymore.”
The man he was talking to was getting paler in the face, so much so that
it soon blended into the gray background of the surrounding walls.
“Anyway, here’s your story: Your father is a respected doctor, your
mother teaches Arabic language, you live, or should I say lived in an elite
neighborhood, you probably don’t know what it’s like to have a hole in
your socks, or to have no money to spend partying…but that didn’t stop
you from killing five young women. Let me be more specific: from
bloody butchering them , Jack, and then killing them!”
“I…want…a psychiatric evaluation, detective Lombard.”
“And you’ll get one, but be sure they are going to find you completely
sane, so sane you could become a priest, or a humanitarian worker, and
that there was never any problem in your judgment when it came to
understanding right from wrong.”
Jack Coburn’s face was totally white.
‘But…’
‘You will get a place to speak about all of this, but you will be taken
there by a thousand-volt rocket, and I sincerely hope that the
electrocution will not kill you immediately…or from the second try, for
that matter, you bloody son of a bitch.’
Jack Coburn’s trial was short, and the jury made a unanimous decision ,
guilty of first degree murder. He was executed at dawn a few months
later, and he wet his pants as he was taken to the execution room.
Lombard’s wish had come true. It took three shocks to kill Jack, and the
medical report said that death had occurred after seven minutes.
23
It was Patrick’s day off.A few days before he’d managed to clear his
schedule for Wednesday, since he wanted to pay a visit to his new friend
who, unaware of Lombard’s intentions, had gone with his mistress to a
mountain…to screw their brains out, he thought. So, he had nothing else
to do than go out in the early morning, run for a while, and then spend the
rest of the day relaxing. For some time he roamed his two-bedroom
apartment doing what all single men over forty usually do – made a mess,
convinced he was actually getting rid of it. He moved piles of stuff from
one place to the other and back. Then he sat in front of his computer. As
he was waiting for the system to start, he was deciding which way to go.
He was often cruising the web, exploring all kinds of things. Being
almost a cyber-maniac, he was able to spend the entire day in this
chair.The only breaks he took were for short visits to the bathroom or the
kitchen. Even though he made a promise to himself not to spend this day
off in front of the computer, everything seemed to be heading that way.
At 8:10 he was connected. At 10:10, precisely two hours later, his other
line rang.
“Oh…not again, just when I was on a role…”
“Pat, is that you?”
“I’d like to say no, but yes, it’s me.”
His partner, Tony McCarthy, had overheard this comment, which was
one luxury Patrick Lombard could not afford, not this time. McCarthy
cleared his throat.
“I know today’s your day off…”
“Hey, Tony, cut the bullshit, will you, I see this was supposed to be my
day off but it’s not anymore, OK?”
“Pat, fuck…something came up.”
“I get that, tell me already.”
“Patrick, it’s the swamp again.”
“Yeah?”
“We just got a call, our team is already at the scene, along with the
forensics…two more bodies were found.”
For the next couple of minutes McCarthy spoke without being
interrupted. When he had finished, Patrick Lombard wasn’t thinking
about his day off anymore.
24
CHAPTER 7
Mud! Sipo knew he had to find the mud as soon as possible, otherwise
he's wasn’t going to make it, and the barking of the dogs was a constant
reminder of that fact. His bodily scent was guiding the animals to him
unmistakably and they were getting closer. It had been more than half an
hour since the chase had started, and the boy was starting to lose strength
in spite of all the adrenaline that was rushing through his veins.The beasts
which were after him could sense it too.
Suddenly he was knee-deep in what he was seeking so desperately for .
Rain had been falling for weeks and stopped a few days ago, but the
Gods had let a bit of water stay under one shady acacia bush, just enough
to turn dried ground into mud for some time.The boy leaped into the soft,
sticky mass that glued to his skin instantly, like some sort of a cape. Mud
was colder than air, it was a relief for his sore muscles, so much so that
the boy had stopped for a moment and surrendered to this pleasant
feeling. He quickly snapped out of it, though, afraid he might fall asleep,
thus bringing the hunt to an end. For one brief moment he stared at the
thick , liquid mass just inches away from his face, then plunged his head
in it. When he stood up, he looked as if he'd been soaked in chocolate.
Then the chocolate figure blinked, removing the mass from the eyes, and
continued to run. Soon after that,the first of the exhausted dogs got to the
muddy pond, with its tongue hanging out. Then another two or three dogs
joined him, and they all started to sniff, wail and explore the site.
The game was over, they'd lost the little fugitive.
Muddy footsteps were lost in the bush just meters from the opposite
side of the pond, along with the bodily scent, which left the animals
clueless. Their masters' shouts were getting closer, but all they saw when
they got to the pond was a bunch of animals with their tails between their
legs, looking scared and lost. Warriors looked at the tiny footsteps, then at
the dogs again, and knew that the chase was over.
It took the exhausted boy a while to realize that the hunt was over, and
that he was safe. He listened to the surrounding sounds attentively, but
nothing could be heard apart from the usual sounds of the African
wilderness. He slowly sat down on the ground. It took him another couple
of minutes to calm his breathing. Only then did he allow his mind to
recall all the dreadful images from last night's massacre. He was watching
them all over again.
Unknown warriors taking the village by storm, first moans breaking
into the otherwise silent night..a woman running, her child tied to her
back with a piece of cloth.A spear hit the child, but the woman doesn't
25
stop. Then the spear didn’t fell out of the child's body, only to be replaced
with another. This time the hit was so hard it went right through child and
mother and came out on the other side, just under the woman's breast. She
fell to the ground with the child still tied on her back, and moved no
more.
Scenes of horror went one after another in front of the boys watering
eyes. All his tribesmen, all his close and distant relatives were now dead.
Somehow, Sipo knew he was the only one who had survived. He broke
into tears, silently at first, but soon he was weeping frantically. Alone in
the wild, surrounded by thorns and beasts, he began to tremble. His
father, Maketla, was killed when he tried to confront the attackers, along
with other tribesmen, they didn't stand a chance, the attack was carefully
planed and perfectly executed. Dozens of warriors cut down the sleepy
men as if they were sheaves.
The Sun was approaching its peak, frying everything below, and many
hours would pass before it turned into a soothing red circle sinking
behind the horizon. Sipo knew how many creatures were waiting for
nightfall, to creep out of their holes, pits and caves in search of food. He
didn't know what proteins are but he did know that meat was what many
nocturnal animals lived on…and that his thin body was a perfect meal for
them. He quickly chased those thoughts away, since it was so hot he
could not even imagine the Sun ever coming down. In the same time, the
feeling of hunger was rising inside him.
His stomach turned into bagpipe, with empty bowels sounding every
once in a while. He began looking for edible berries, plenty of which
were fortunately around. Then he stumbled upon a plant he knew was
edible,whose root was very nourishing, even though it didn't taste so
great. He swallowed it all with huge appetite, knowing he was going to
need a lot of strength in order to survive. The meal lasted for over half an
hour, during which Sipo , still covered in mud, resembled some strange
wild animal. He was bending, climbing, kneeling and digging the plants
out with his fingers. Since there was no water to wash the roots, he
merely shook off excess ground hanging from the treads and then
chewed.
Tasteless as it was, the food still filled the boy’s stomach, and he was
moving again. But discouraging scenery was waiting for him at the top
of a nearby hill. Vast green fields, as far as the eye could see, almost
blending into the skies on the horizon. His eyes were desperately seeking
for any sign of human presence. Everything around him soon turned into
two entities: one blue, another green, nothing in between. Hours passed as
the boy was walking, too frightened to stop.
He had no idea how long he walked, or when exactly the night fell. Cold
air was carrying eerie sounds. His teeth chattering from the cold, Sipo
26
approached a large tree and looked up at its crown. He knew he could be
facing death if he climbed up there.A poisonous spider, snake or a
leopard, any of those animals could be up there, waiting to strike.The
laughter of a single hyena was coming from somewhere around him, soon
followed by others. Sipo recalled seeing human corpses mutilated by
hyena packs. It was the most frightening thing he had ever seen. More
laughter, this time closer. In a split second he made his decision. It was
better to end in leopard jaws, or bitten by a black mamba, than be torn to
pieces by raging hyenas.
Even though he was so weak he could collaps, fear had given him
additional strength, and he reached the lowest branches in one jump. For
a moment his body was swinging, but soon after he continued his
climbing. Fortunately, his body wasn’t too heavy, so he could easily
reach thicker , safer branches in the middle. Not a moment too soon,
though. In seconds,a strange combination of stirred dark bodies and roars
surrounded the tree. Ten, maybe fifteen hyenas were staring at him. He
froze with fear.
Hamba, hamba 1 , he yelled at them. Minutes went by filled with
nervous looks from both the boy and his predators. Then, all of a sudden,
the hyenas had disappeared into the night, embarking on a search for
more accessible prey.
Morning found him starving and frozen. His teeth were chattering
unwillingly, and that little sleep he had caught had frequently been
interrupted with fear of falling from the treetop. He slowly climbed down
to the ground and started stroking his limbs in an attempt to heat them up.
Soon he had continued walking and came across one of the rare high
grounds in the area. So far he had kept away from higher ground, staying
out of sight in case his attackers were watching. This time he had to see
where he was if he wanted to stay alive. Soon he had reached the top of a
small hill from where he could clearly see the green hell that surrounded
him. Nothing but treetops, everywhere. Fatigue, shock, hunger and that
constant, overwhelming sense of fear began to break the boy’s body and
spirit. He had been abandoned by his forefathers, but couldn’t understand
why, what had he done to them ?
Unless some miracle happens soon, he was going to die, he knew that.
He was not born in the wild and he was unable to survive much longer
without help. Making it through the night was miraculous enough, but he
would not be given another chance like that, he knew that.
Never in his short life had he felt so alone, never had he been so alone.
Then he felt his heart clinch, not with fear or desperation but with hope,
which suddenly appeared before him like antelope. Far ahead, on the very
1 Go away (author's note)
27
edge of the horizon, he saw – smoke! Thin and straight, it was too even to
be natural.
No, this smoke came from fire made by human hands.
Sipo, little boy from Kaoko Land, who had become an orphan just
hours ago, but to whom these hours seemed to last forever, had nothing to
lose anymore. His little feet ran from the high ground back into green hell
and towards the smoke which was soon out of his sight. From now on, he
could only hope he was running in the right direction, and that he would
get there before another night fell.
CHAPTER 8
Many nights had passed since Inkozi's encounter with the blond
stranger and her slender, dark ebony body started to change. Women from
the village were the first to notice, they whispered among themselves,
secretly pointing at her. With every new day it became undoubtfully clear
that Inkozi was carrying new life. Her stomach was slowly getting bigger,
her girly breast became fuller and heavier. On her face there was this
new, serene expression of a woman who knew the secret of a physical
relationship with a man, and now she could feel new life inside her... she
had her last period about three month’s ago and was now able to
approximately determin the exact day of birth. Soon the entire village
knew Inkozi was expecting, and it was divided into the ones in favour
and the ones against. Everybody knew who the father was, but no one
spoke about it. Inkozi's father , Dingan, was confused, then angry, and he
had practical reasons to feel that way. In Kaoko Land, children were
always considered to be bearers of good fortune, so Inkozi's pregnancy
was a good sign. However, father Dingan's mind was currently on lobola,
an ancient law that was determing the exact number of cows the groom
was supposed to give to the bride's family. Ten for a pretty young virgin,
nine or eight if the girl wasn't a virgin, seven for a woman with
child...all of that was determined long ago, and father of Inkozi's child
could not be an exception, no matter if he was black or white.
One morning Dingan woke up only to discover that all mahangu beer
from his barrel had mysteriously vanished during the night. It hadn't
occured to him that the same beer could be making its way through his
stomach towards the bladder. All he knew was that it was gone and that
his headache was unbearable. Then he went out of the hut, and
immediately stopped. He opened his eyes wide, closed them, opened wide
again...the image stood still. Twenty cows stood before his sleepy eyes
(the exact number wasn't found out untill later, since father Dingan wasn't
capable of counting anything at that moment), chewing peacefully. Soon
28
his barrel was filled with freshly brewed mahangu beer. He drank for two
days straight, paid for with one damara thick-tailed sheep and two
chickens. Also, his status in the village had improved noticeably since he
had received twenty cows, putting him amongst the highest-ranked
villagers. One's wealth in the wilderness of Namibia was in cows, and the
twenty he was given plus the seven he had earlier made him a respectable
person, everything thanks to his Inkozi. Women give birth to children, as
it's always been, and Inkozi's bloated belly had brought him not ten, but
twenty cows! The matter was settled as far as he was concerned, even
more considering that no one in the village was remembering twenty
cows being given for lobola, let alone for an unborn child.
Alfred Miller and the dark lioness shared many more nights of passion
after that stormy night. He would often come to the edge of the village at
night, and they would disappear in the bush, where they would spend
hours making love, surrounded by sounds and scents only a African night
could provide. White men had skills and strength when it came to
lovemaking, which couldn’t be said for the men from Inkozi's tribe, who
did those things quickly, not caring about the woman's feelings or needs.
With most of them everything would be over quickly, most women from
her tribe never knew what orgasm was. Inkozi knew. Many times she had
sailed on the tides of ecstasy with the blond stranger, who as time passed
by, became less and less of a stranger. He became her man, and she
surrendered to him passionately, like a woman in love. As his climaxes
were approaching, she would press him with all her strength, waiting for
his semen to reach her already impregnated womb.
But there were times when her lover would stare at the distance with a
strange look upon his face, and Inkozi could sense something was about
to happen, but she never asked him why. In time they had both learned
basics of each other's language, still they understood each other using
more than just words. Something was telling her there was something
about Alfred she could not understand. His gazing towards the north
made her feel weary and uneasy.
In those moments he seemed to be expecting something, or someone...or
fearing something, even though Inkozi had a hard time picturing her man
in a state of fear. Still, that something she could sometimes see in his eyes
couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Who was he, what was he afraid
of?
The man who stood alone before her entire village like a lion, in order
to get to her?! His eyes would become gray as he stared into the distance,
unattached, unaware of anything around him. She feared those moments
deeply, although she never thought her lover would be the man she was
going to spend the rest of her life with.
29
Herero people’s views on the matters of life and death were almost
incomparable to western philosophy. According to them, they were
strongly intertwined, with the dead often visiting the living, and the living
falling into a state of trance to get in touch with their late dear ones.
Inkozi assumed Alfred had a home, a family, wife and children
somewhere far away, but she didn't mind. Being so pragmatic, Herero
people couldn't understand why the white settlers thought it was shameful
to trade women for cattle. Personally, she had no problems with that,
since everything was subject to trade anyway. Back then, paper money or
coins were worthless to the man in the middle of the Namibian
wilderness,a well-bred bull was worth a lot. That is why Inkozi's father
took pride in his new found fortune, brought to him by Alfred Miller, as
he laid drunk in front of his hut.
Six more months have passed, and one night as Inkozi went out for
water, a sharp pain crossed her hips. She managed to keep her balance
and carry on. Women in her tribe were not expected to be soft and gentle,
and were pillars of their homes, often doing harder work than men.A few
minutes later the pain had reappeared, this time sharper. Her balance
wasn't so strong anymore, but she managed to stay on her feet. Not far
from her was Komala, her close friend and a mother of two. She
immediately knew what was going on.
'Inkozi, wait, slow down… you, you're having a baby'.
Only then did Inkozi realize her contractions had begun. Two women
had reached the inside of the hut, and put her down to the floor. The
contractions were now more frequent and much stronger, and soon a
couple more women had entered the hut. Inkozi's mother, Kulumba,
stood by her daughter's side, as well as her two sisters, Nauma and Katilu.
A few long hours later, the hut was filled with the sound of a baby crying.
The child cried strongly while the women went out of the hut feeling
happy, but somehow confused. Soon after, a small baby girl with light
brown skin was resting peacefully on Inkozi's chest, sucking the milk
from her big bloated nipple. That night Ghaani was born, future mother of
a girl named Thlamini and grandmother of a boy named Sipo.
30
CHAPTER 9
“Bodies were on the seats but the heads have not yet been found...”
McCarthy was informing Lombard about the double homicide at the
swamp as they were driving to the crime scene. The reason this particular
swamp hadn’t been turned into an eight-lane highway or a shopping mall
was environmental.
Biologists, namely botanical experts, claimed that this swamp
represented an ecosystem for itself, containing rare water plants that
could be found only in a small number of locations in the country, along
with endangered species of birds...their demands were loud enough to
prevent '...tendencies, motivated exclusively by profit, to destroy the
unique ecosystem whose survival was of the essence for the entire
country', eventually forcing the investors to leave the project, after a long
and tiring trial. That was twenty years ago.
“I’m not sure, Patrick, but this seems like it was done by some lunatic,
some…I don’t know, how much strength does one need to rip
somebody’s head off?”
“What do you mean?” said Lombard after a long while.
“I mean, Devor said…”
“Who’s Devor?”
“Devor is our ME, Patrick, what’s wrong with you?”, McCarthy asked,
confused.
“Right, Colin Devor…what did he say?”
McCarthy looked at Lombard again before answering.
“Devor said it takes enormous strength, and no human being is capable
of doing it , because splitting the cervical vertebra and the rest of the
tissue in one stroke, it just seems impossible for…a human.”
Lombard didn’t reply.
“Also, Colin, I mean Colin Devor said…”
“Where is Devor?”
“He’s here somewhere…”
“Get him, now.”
McCarthy returned after a while, accompanied by a thin, tall man.
Heavy-rimmed glasses stood on the tip of a narrow, pointy nose. He had a
serious expression on his face as he was listening to McCarthy, who was
saying something to his ear.
“Mr Lombard, Tommy said you wanted to talk to me.”
Lombard, who was practically lent to Columbus Police Department a
few months before, met with Dr Devor on several occasions, but were
31
always held back, always at a distance. Lombard couldn’t understand
why but he got used to middle-aged ME’s withdrawnness and stopped
thinking about it.
“Mr Devor, hm…Tommy told me some unusual things regarding the
way the victims were killed.”
“You mean the fact their heads were ripped off from their shoulders?’
“Yes, that is exactly what I mean.”
“Well…”, Colin Devor started slowly, “I have to admit this case is
highly atypical, to say the least.”
Lombard stood silently, as well as McCarthy next to him.
“…the way the victims were decapitation is really unusual, since the
wound doesn’t correspond to any of the weapons characteristic for this
type of injury. No knife, however tough it may be, no machete, no
chainsaw…I simply can’t say how the bodies were separated from the
body…except maybe…”
“Except maybe?”
Now Devor stood silently.
“Mr Lombard, I don’t know how much you know about animals?’
“I know a few things, for example, some walk on four legs, some swim
in the see, some fly, and some walk on two legs…those are the most
dangerous.”
“I was serious, detective Lombard.”
Lombard glared at Devor, but Devor did not look away.
“So was I, Dr Devor.”
The ME cleared his throat, pushed the rim of his glasses up a bit and
continued:
“You see, in the places where the head, the skin, the cervical vertebra
and the entire musculature used to be…all that tissue was torn in a way
similar to an animal bite, but around here there are no such animals, nor
will there ever be, and there was no report of any animals missing from
the zoo.”
“At least we can rule the dinosaurs out.”
“Funny.”
Not so much, I’m sorry, go on.’
“The way the victims were decapitated, all the evidence indicates it was
an animal from the family of cats, I mean, big cats.”
“How big, Mr Devor?”
“Judging by the bite, a lion.”
Now Lombard had nothing clever to say.
“A lion?”
“Yes.”
“A lion living in the swamp, a swamp lion?”
32
“You said that Mr Lombard, but I have never heard that such animal
exists, at least not here in the US.”
But you are being a wise-ass?
“Neither have I, but from what I can tell, the attack took place near the
shore, and next to the car we found some alge, definitely carried from the
swamp somehow.”
“Where are the bodies?”
“In the morgue.”
“Whole bodies?”
“We haven’t found the heads yet, Patrick”, McCarthy interrupted.
“So that’s all?”
“More-less.”
“I’m not sure I understand your formulation”, Lombard said to Colin
Devor.
“Well…one thing is not completely clear…trails of jaws are visible,
you can see where the fangs had cut the aortas on both bodies.”
“Assumptions, Mr Devor.”
“Maybe for you, but not for me, Mr Lombard.”
The silence that followed this sentence was unplesent. McCarthy
loosened his tie, nervously moving the weight of his body from one foot
to the other. Lombard smiled vaguely with the corners of his lips, but
soon returned to his old, serious self.
“All right, you said something is not completely clear, what is it?”
“Tracks around the bodies tell us there was another type of animal.”
“Yeah? What was it?”
“A crocodile, Mr Lombard.”
“A crocodile…is there a chance for me to see those tracks, Mr Devor?”
“You’re standing on them, detective Lombard.”
Patrick Lombard slowly looked down at the tips of his shoes and
realized he was standing inside some sort of recess in the sand.
“This is the path that the creature took when it attacked those kids?”
“Yes.”
“And these are…”
“Tail marks, detective Lombard.”
Lombard felt a sharp pain blast through his temples.
Is this how I’m spending my day off? Talking to some whack who
started reading some fairy tale to his grandson last night, and now he’s
trying to finish it here, with us?
“So it’s a crocolion.”
“Judging from the tracks, yes”. Colin Devor’s face was deprived of any
humor.
When he returned to his apartment, Patrick Lombard went into the
bathroom and stayed inside for a long time, taking an ice-cold shower.
33
CHAPTER 10
Germany, late 16th century
The sky was pitch black, even though it had only been afternoon.
Weeping winds carried the leaves that had fallen to the ground while
ravens flew across the vacant field all the way to the edge of the forest,
then disappeared in the distant treetops. The air was damp with humidity,
but not a drop of rain fell to the ground, it remained floating in the air,
creating a moist mixture of scents. In the far distant corner of the plain
something was moving. At first just a black spot , it turned into a creature
strolling across the field. There was something unusual about this
creature, it seemed to glide over the surface rather than walk, without any
visible movement of the knees or hips. Its spine was completely straight,
its shoulders laid back a little.A few minutes later it had reached the
center of the furrowed field. The creature was a woman.
She had a serious look on her face, her hair was hidden under a black
kerchief. Steely blue eyes were scanning the surrounding landscape. The
ravens had landed on the highest branches and were now observing the
person that stood below. Their obsidian black eyes remained fixed while
their heads were moving from side to side.
The sky became even darker as clouds were lowering. It was strange
that it hadn't started raining yet, as if some unnatural force was keeping
the rain in the clouds.
The woman began untying her long, black rope.
She was doing it slowly, without looking at her hands. From the rope
she pulled out a package. Bigger than her fist, it was wrapped in some
sort of a filthy cloth. Slowly, she began untying the package, inside was a
pile of white powder . With her other hand she grabbed the powder and
turned a little to the left, while pouring it over the short grass. When she
made a semicircle, she turned to the other side and did the same there.
The ravens silently watched the almost perfect circle made of white
powder was created on the ground in straight, intertwined lines. When she
was all done, she was standing inside a pentagram rounded by a full
circle. She turned towards the sky which by then had become completely
black. She raised her hands and spread her fingers.
'Hmmm, ahmm..rahan da santra...sistus de status...konventrus
demoni...konvertus satanus...', her voice grew stronger with every word.
After a few sentences she stopped to listen, her hands still raised to the
sky.
34
'Rahan da santra...sistus de status...konvertus demoni...konvertus
satanus...'
Her voice became higher and louder while the wind became stronger.
Branches were bending toward the ground, astounded birds were flapping
their wings, trying to keep their balance.
The woman was repeating incomprehensible words, adding some new
ones.
'Morto domini, morto venus...satanus polis...'
Strokes of air were moving her rope, uncovering her big white breast
edged by a web of thin blue capillaries. She started rolling her eyes, as if
in a trance. Then, suddenly, thunder struck, which made the woman grin.
Slowly, she started to sway. Her had moved from side to side, as if her
neck was a weak branch unable to carry itself. Her scarf fell down to her
ankles, although she wasn't aware of it. Long blond hair fell on her
shoulders, then down her back. She was beautiful, although not too
young. She could be somewhere around thirty, thirtyfive years old.
'Morto demonis...konvertus satanus...'
Lightning cracked the sky, followed by sounds of thunder, when the
last raven had flown away, screaming fearfully. The only living thing
remaining in the field was this woman with her rope opened. Suddenly
there was a blast of impossibly strong green light.The woman's wailing
came to a climax.The light that was surrounding her created an unreal
image.
“Ahhh”, the woman gasped, although it couldn't be said whether it was
a gasp of pain or ecstasy. The surreal image hadn't stopped there and was
now gaining the form of something between a man and an animal. The
head was formed first, followed by the rest of the body, glowing its green
light.
The veins on the creature's neck were thick as a man's index finger,its
eyes were threatening to fall out of their sockets. On the sides of a big,
strong head there were two short thick horns, bent upwards. Glowing
hands were lustfully examining the woman's entire body. Her eyes were
now closed, it was clear she was enjoying this moment. The thing had a
strong, muscular body, with a tail similar to a crocodile's growing from
his lower back. On his front side, however, an erecting penis was
emerging, similar to a human's, only much larger and thicker. The woman
closed her hands around the creature's sturdy neck as he lay on top of
her. With its strong arms the creature had ripped the clothes loosely tied
over the woman's hips, revealing the golden hair between her legs. The
next moment the creature strongly and ruthlessly entered the woman's
vagina.
35
The scream of pain that escaped the woman's lungs was real this time.
Still, she was hanging on to the creature's neck as it started moving up
and down strongly, as if this was a real coitus. The monster let out a
silenced growl, like a lion or a tiger, only more frightening, more
ominous, with a scent of something unexplainable, something out of this
world. Its movements became faster, it was obvious the moment of
esctasy was near. Suddenly it let out a scream that roared across the
empty field. It was so terrifying it would make almost every human being
run with total, utter fear.
Still, the woman who was lying under this creature had a calm, satisfied
look on her face, which only made the image more bizarre, more
blasphemous. The creature was now trembling hysterically, in one
moment his penis fell out of the woman's vagina. Semen was still coming
out of it, as if he was urinating rather than ejaculating. The woman
grabbed it and quickly put it back inside, as her thighs were glowing from
the spilled fluid, smiling all the while, eyes still closed.
The hands the creature was resting upon were thick like the legs of a
large human. Its eyes were dark red, nothing like human or animal eyes.
Its body was covered in short thick hair that stood straight up. The
woman was looking at it gently, still holding him between her, now
relaxed, thighs. She wasn't appalled by her lover's physique, she was
gently stroking the back of his head, like lovers do. Then, slowly, the
creature began disappearing, vanishing into the air, while the woman was
still holding it firmly. In the end, all that was left on the field were dark
skies, grim branches and a naked woman lying with her legs wide open.
She couldn't see the two females hiding in the bushes, scared beside
themselves not far from the scene that had just ended, praying silently,
eyes staring at the ground.
It was late autumn in Germany, in the year1585.
CHAPTER 11
Hours had passed since Sipo had climbed down from the hill and started
walking towards the smoke. Since he had lost sight of his goal almost
immediately upon descending, there was nothing left but to pray and hope
to stay on the right path. He didn’t mind his aching feet, and the rest of
him wasn’t feeling much better, either. He knew he had to go forward in
order to survive. Monotonous green scenery would, with the first sign of
darkness, become a home of fear, roars, hissing, mumbling and other
36
frightening sounds. The Sun was already on its descending path , he was
aware what would happen to him if he stayed in this wilderness for
another night.
The young boy once again remembered the massacre that had struck his
village and his eyes filled with tears, but he managed to blink them back
and look ahead of him. Humans, himself included, were nothing but
intruders in this vast green space, and were swallowed by the wild on
every possible occasion. A small lonely boy was possibly the easiest prey
there was, unless some kind of miracle was about to happen. The first
sign of a miracle had already happened last night, and the second sign
was spotting the smoke rising on the other side of the valley.The third
sign was the least possible, and it consisted of him making it to this place
alive.
He walked hastily and cautiously at the same time. Already he had
managed to miss a couple of holes and snakes on the ground but stopped
when he had heard a big cat’s roar nearby. He was constantly very
scared. Fortunately, feelings of hunger had left him long ago, his stomach
had shut down after everything it had witnessed, and wasn’t complaining
now. But Sipo knew this state would not last forever, the hunger would
rush back, unless he himself get eaten, bitten by some poisonous
creature, or starved to death. Alone, without any protection, he walked
forward, to the only possible salvation left for him in this green hell.
Recent events were now stored in his mind as pieces of an unrecognizable
past, somewhere deep inside he was still hoping they were not true, that
nothing so terrible could have ever happened.
Then a sharp pain had brought him back to reality, in which he was
walking through the unknown jungle full of danger, towards a pillar of
smoke somewhere far away.
His stomach came back to life just as he was passing some shrubs with
various berries, most of them already known to him. He ate them
voraciously, often swallowing leaves as well. Most of the mud had
already fallen off of his body. He looked like an ill and wounded turtle,
with its shell torn to pieces, which somehow walked on two legs. A
branch full of juicy red berries the size of a small cherry, popped up in
front of him. Even though he had never seen this kind before, he put a
couple of them in his mouth. The berries tasted a bit sour, unlike any he
had ever tried. Still, he continued eating them and didn’t stop until about
thirty of them were gone. Then he carried on. Time went by, he wasn’t
stopping to take a break, sunlight was still shining upon the treetops high
above his head. Down where he was, more and more shadows were
appearing, along with the distant sounds of the upcoming night.
The first wave of pain cut him so sharply he lost his breath. He grabbed
his cramping stomach as he used to many times before, only this time he
37
felt no urge to empty his bowels. All he felt was this overwhelming pain
that went through his body, all the way to the ribcage. For a second it was
gone, only to return ten times stronger.
“Ahhh...”, gasped the little boy, since he couldn’t scream. He paid no
mind to the sounds around him, all he thought about was how to ease this
pain. He lowered himself, searching for a more pleasant position, then fell
to the side. Images were flashing before his eyes, trees were twisted up,
he was hearing laughter and chuckling followed by yelling and crying. He
was halucinating, but he wasn’t aware of it yet, which only made him
more frightened. Incredible colours were passing before him.
“Berries”, it finally struck him. His late mother had told him that never,
under no circumstances, was he to eat unfamiliar fruit. Until now, he had
always listened to his mother. Still lying on his side, he started vomiting.
First the food came out, then the slime. Then he passed out, but not before
he managed to let out one strong, sharp shout.
That is what saved his life.
……………………………………………………………….......
He woke up inside a hut, similar to the ones he had grown up in, with a
straw roof and wooden walls made of chunks thick as a man’s arm. He
was completely naked, the cloth around his thighs was gone. Something
was cooking in the centre of the hut. Instinctively he felt the hunger,
followed by the urge for vomiting. His tired stomach wasn’t ready for
food at that moment, but the boy knew he would have to eat something
soon because, as every child in his village knew:
“If you’re hungry, sickness will attack you, if you’re hungry, you’ll not
be able to escape the beasts chasing you, if you’re hungry for long, you
will be taken by Tani, goddess of death”.
It was a local goddess, worshiped only by Sipo’s tribe, as far as he
knew. He was wondering whether Tani had really taken all of his
tribesmen with her and imagined all of them seated somewhere, waiting
silently for him to join them. His bed seemed strong enough to support an
elephant. He was alone, as he often was in these past few days; it seemed
it has been a year since he encountered another human being. The hut was
spacious and clean.
’So I made it after all’, Sipo thought, certain that he had managed to
reach the source of smoke on the other side of the valley. Or was it the
smoke that had reached him.
Noise from outside the hut made him crouch a bit, moving his knees
closer to his chest. A strange person, unlike anyone he had ever seen, was
standing in the entrance.A huge, fat woman was looking at him with
curious attention.
38
Something about her was at the same time completely unknown and
very familiar to Sipo..
A few moments later,the fat woman entered the hut. She was really big,
like some big fish from the sea he heard about from the warriors who had
seen the ocean and its inhabitants. Her breast was larger than his head, her
upper arms were wider than his legs, maybe even his torso. On her head
was a wreath made of flowers and feathers from some unknown bird. Her
deeply gauged eyes were staring at Sipo with obvious curiousity. Slowly,
her fat lips spread into a smile, and then Sipo froze. The woman’s mouth
were filled with sharp pointed white teeth,the same as the leader of the
group that had destroyed his village. The terror in his eyes was so clear it
made the woman step back, puzzled. Then she realised what was
happening and broke into laughter:
“Ha ha ha...you poor scared boy”, her massive shoulders were shaking,
and then she hit her thigh so hard Sipo was sure that a punch like that
would immediately send him to Tani’s kingdom.. He tried to smile as
well, but the expression on his face only made the woman smile louder.
“You little, little boy...if I was going to eat you, I would’ve done it
under that tree in the valley, where I found you.”
Slowly the laughter faded, and the woman continued to look at the little
boy. Sipo was still shrivelled in the corner of the bed, looking smaller
than ever.The woman’s eyes were now scanning him all over. After a
while, she spoke. Her voice was deep and resonant, as if it came from the
inside of a hollowed instrument.
“So, you’re the one?”, she asked, clearly not expecting the answer.
“Hmmm... I had no idea you’re so small... I mean, young”, she went on
as the boy was watching her closely. She moved toward the fire and
grabbed a wooden plate. Then she poured some sort of mash and handed
the plate down to Sipo. When the boy made no effort to take the plate, she
waved her head.
“I must have been living away from human kind longer than I thought”,
she said, bringing the plate to her lips. She took one bit gulp and handed
the plate back to Sipo. This time, the boy accepted the food, gulping
himself moments later, like a lion cub, completely forgetting the vomiting
urge from before. The woman was watching him the entire time with a
distant look upon her face. Every once in a while the boy would glance at
her, but he would soon return to the food, his only objective at the
moment. When he was done, he put the empty plate on the floor, next to
his bed.
“My name is Kirsa, I forgot to tell you that, Sipo.”
The boy nodded and introduced himself anyway:
“My name is Sipo.”
“Did you eat well?’, the mighty female asked and continued:
39
“I hope you did, because there is a lot you need to hear and learn, as far
as I know.”
Sipo either didn’t hear what the woman had just said, or he had
misheard her.
“My mother and father were killed, all my brothers and sisters too, they
were all killed.”
“I know, Sipo.”
Then the boy started to cry, tears were pouring from his eyes, running
down his dark cheeks smohered with dirt on their way to the ground. All
the time while he was weeping, the woman sat motionlessly, showing no
desire to hug or comfort him... she just stared at him with a sad look on
her broad face. As Sipo was falling asleep again, it hadn’t occured to him
how this woman could know his name.
40
CHAPTER 12
Lombard had been feeling low for days. Everything was annoying: the
TV, the politicians, especially this new set of laws proposed by the
Republicans, then globalization, anti-globalization, peace forces, lounge
war-supporters, jogging, shopping, NBA...and yes, there was a spot at the
end of a long list reserved for the female population. This morning he was
struggling with the washing machine, reluctantly recalling the
conversation he had with his buddy Freddy from Seattle, right after he
had bought a washing machine.
“Pat, what's wrong with you, have you lost your mind? After all those
years of using public laundries, you just went and decided to wash your
own pants and socks? Next thing you'll tell me is that you've found
yourself a boyfriend.”
“Eat shit.”
“I might do that, but I sure as hell won't do laundry.”
“You're an ass hole, Freddy.”
Now, as he was struggling with this overused old can, he began to
realize maybe it was him who was being an ass hole, instead of Freddy
from Seattle, who may have been crazy, but definitely wasn't dumb , no
way, which was more than could be said for himself. Eventually he gave
up and kicked the machine door a bit harder than he wanted.
“Ahhhh!”
Just as he was getting ready to unleash a thunderstorm of curses, a
phone rang.
“What?”
“Hello, is Mr Patrick Lombard on the phone?”
“Not on, but standing by it...it's me, who's asking?”
“'My name is Johhny Darkwood, I'm a reporter – freelancing at the
moment.”
“'How nice.”
“No, Mr Lombard, this is a highly competitive line of work and...”
“I suppose you didn't call me so that we can both cry over a freelancer's
destiny, Johnny?”
“Sorry...no, not at all, I...actually, I ve got some questions for you, if
you have a minute?”
“Not really, but never mind, go ahead.”
“I found out you're leading the investigation on that double homicide
near the swamp, and if my sources are telling the truth, those are not the
first homicides happening there, am I right?”
“Who told you?”
41
“Who told me what?”
“Who told you I was the lead detective ?”
“Well, down at your precinct they were so kind..”
“Right, I see”, Lombard snapped, feeling like an ass for the second time
this morning.
“I was hoping you could tell me something other than what was already
in the papers.”
“...so you can have your story and sell it later on...”
“...and pay my rent, Mr Lombard.”
“Unfortunately it's not gonna happen, because I got nothing, at least
nothing more than what's in the papers, assuming you read them.”
He immediately regretted this tirade, the young man on the other end
was neither rude nor inconsiderate, and also becuse he was remembering
his own youth and the times when he would do anything, well, almost
anything for ten bucks or so. Still, there was something else. He wasn't
being completely honest with the kid, he did have some information other
than what was in the papers. He also knew he could give some of it to
Johnny, guilt-free, especially because nobody knew he had that
information, and also because that information alone wasn't much, but it
was probably enough for Johnny to build a solid article and 'pay the rent',
assuming the freelancer was telling the truth. Meanwhile the line was
silent, the kid was breathing heavily through the nose. Lombard could
feel the kid wasn't bullshiting him.
“Even if I knew who you were, kid, which I don't, I really can't help
you, sorry.”
“At least you're not some screaming asshole who hangs up on people
right away.”
“Glad to hear it, hmmm...Johnny.”
OK, Mr Lombard, if you ever change your mind, my number is...'
“I'm not gonna change my mind because there is nothing I could tell
you.”
And then he glanced at the washing machine. It took him less then two
seconds to make up his mind.
“Wait, what do you know about washing machines, Johnny?”
“Washing machines?”, the kid was repeating slowly, as if he was
tasting that last sentence with his lips.
“Oh...washing machines, you said? I know a great lot, at least in theory,
and once...no, twice I repaired the electric cooker in my parents' house,
the principle should be the same…more or less.”
“'It is, except you use one machine to cook your food and the other to
wash your dirty underwear.”
“The connection there is hard to miss.”
“Help me.”
42
“To dirty his pants,a man's got to eat...and to eat, he's got to cook...cook
where?...on the cooker, wash his pants where? In the washing machine”
“Excuse me for not applauding, my hands are a bit busy at the moment,
holding my head, firmly.”
“I got tools.”
“Listen Jooohnny, I'll put you to a test: but if you fuck this up – I
believe that is the general expression – there will be no story, however, if
you can make this piece of crap tumble again, there might be something
for you to hear, OK?”
“I have never heard a proposal so sincere in my life.”
“And you probably won't hear it ever again, now tell me honestly...have
you ever published anything?”
“Yes sir, honestly I have.”
“All right, here's my address.”
The kid wrote it down, mumbled a few mhhhm-s in progress.
Finally, Lombard asked:
“When can you get here?”
“Right away, Mr Lombard.”
…………………………………………………………………
About fifteen minutes later a brown-haired young man was indeed
standing in Lombard's doorway. He was wearing a brown leather jacket
that had probably been through a lot, jeans and boots to match the jacket
with a large bag in his right hand. He was about 5foot8, weighing around
125 pounds. Too little for a sumo wrestler, too much for a jockey, so
Lombard concluded the only profession this kid could possibly choose
was indeed a freelancing journalist. Johnny swiftly took the bag with his
left hand, extending his right hand to Lombard.
“Nice to meet you, Mr Lombard.”
His grip was surprisingly strong.
“You too...got tools in there?”, he asked, looking at the bag.
“Yes, sir.”
“For fixing, I hope, not for breaking into houses?’
“I'm already inside your home, so no, no need for breaking,.”
Normally quick and sharp, Patrick Lombard felt like an ass for the third
time that day.
“All right, it's over there...you go alone, I can't stand to look at the damn
thing.”
The battle between Johnny Darkwood and the washing machine lasted
for two and a half hours, during which he made two trips to get some
parts. Meanwhile, Patrick was sitting in front of his computer, checking
his e-mails and browsing the web.
43
When the sound of a tumbling machine roared through the entire
apartment, he unconciously broke into a smile. He went to see Johnny
and noticed half of his butt showing from his pants for god-knowshow
long. Good old Plumber’s Creek, Lombard thought.
The kid, still on his knees, breathing heavily, said:
“It should work, but I can make no promises, what with all the Chinese
extra parts and all that crap...”
“If I boil my pants tomorrow, you're dead.”
“Got it”, the kid groaned a bit louder and rose up with a painful look on
his face.
“If your writing is as good as your repairing, you just might earn
enough to pay this month's rent. Come on, let's go into the living room.
How about some whisky?”
“Definitely.”
Lombard quickly returned from the kitchen, carrying two glasses. Then
the two of them sat down.
“OK...now, as I've promised...ask.”
“Mr Lom...”
“Oh, and cut that Mr bullshit, it's really annoying.”
“OK, Mr..I mean, Patrick. First, I got something to say as well,
actually.”
Lombard sat silently, waiting for the kid to begin.
And the kid began telling the story that lasted until the early hours of
the next day.
The ice in their glasses was long gone as two men talked. They were on
their third round.
“You know, Pat', the kid switched to the short nickname without asking
for permission, 'I'm a huge fan of the outdoors, which includes the
swamp.'”
He drank a sip of tepid whiskey before he continued:
“As a kid I used to go everywhere there were trees. Any small forest
and hop, I was in. I even had to repeat a grade because Id spent too much
time in the woods, and then my dad returned from school and came into
my room, holding a belt in his hand. I never repeated any grades again,
but still continued exploring the wild.”
Lombard nodded.
“And then I discovered the swamp. I was immediately fascinated by its
smells, its magnitude and its secrecy...all those reed, birds, snakes,
bugs...”
“You forgot the frogs.”
“The frogs, of course, millions of frogs. As I said, as a kid I was
happiest when I was alone...”
“You didn't say that, but it is clear from everything else you said.”
44
“I forgot I'm talking to a cop here. So, as I didn't say, but wanted to, I
preferred being alone.”
Lombard raised his eyes from the floor, first at the kid, then at the glass.
For a while he doubted his decision to invite this kid to his home, but
soon realised it was a good call. After all, the machine was finishing its
second pile, which wouldn't have happened had the kid not been invited.
The kid went on:
“Years went by and I continued roaming. The things I've seen. I think I
knew about every incognito fuck in this country, as if everyone was
coming to the swamp especially for that. I have heard all kinds of
womens' sighs and screams, and in time I was able to tell the real orgasms
apart from the fake ones.”
“Congratulation “
“Same thing happened the other day, I mean evening, when that
happened.”
His eyes suddenly became darker his lips shut tighter. None of those
signs escaped Lombard, who was paying more attention than one would
say, judging from his posture. He was now completely focused.
“As I said, in time I was able to tell the difference between real and fake
orgasms. As you know, they can scream like they're being cut open, while
they're actually having the time of their lives.”
“I'm not an expert like yourself, but I think I know what you're trying to
say.”
“That particular night was unusually quiet. I remember stars appearing
in the sky about an hour after sunset.”
Lombard thought to himself: this kid has an eye for detail, he could
maybe become a successful writer, less talented than him were already
writing, anyway. He fought back his professional urge and didn’t
interrupt him with various questions.
“Then I heard somebody scream, it was a woman’s voice. She was
screaming, ‘Robert, look out, he’s coming, ahh, he’s comiiing !’. At first I
thought she was saying I’m comming, but then she let one another
scream, and it was not a scream of ecstasy, Pat, trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“It was a scream of a person completely terrified, it went on, ‘Robbie,
Robert!’, then it yelled once more and after that it was gone. Nothing
could be heard after that.”
All of a sudden the room went silent, even the washing machine had
stopped its turning. The only sound was coming from the wall clock.
After a while Lombard decided to break the silence.
“What did you do then?”
“Nothing, it was pitch black, and I didn’t feel like going to the place
where those screams came from.”
45
“I understand, I wouldn’t be in much of a hurry, either.”
The kid named Johnny glanced at him, then looked at his drink, but
didn’t reach for it.
“But I came back the following morning…” he stopped for a while
again, then continued:
“At first I could see nothing but cane, green water and frogs, as usual.”
Johnny was now floating on the rivers of memory, which was
something Lombard has often seen in his career as a detective. This time
was different, though, because the kid wasn’t a criminal under suspicion
and they were not inside a police station. He was sitting in his own
apartment, talking to a freelance reporter who had just repaired his
washing machine.
“Then I saw a red piece of cloth. It was attached to a bamboo, about
three feet above the water, near the shore.”
“Near the shore?”
“Yeah, about ten feet away, give or take a foot. Something didn’t seem
right to me, so I went into the water, which I don’t usually do. When I
grabbed the…cloth, I noticed it left a red mark on my hands. I didn’t have
to smell or lick it to know where did it come from.”
Lombard nodded, creating an image in his mind.
“Further away… I found something else. It was a finger, a thumb. It
was stuck between two bamboo canes together with a part of a hand.”
For some reason, Lombard thought that an index finger would fit this
picture better than a thumb.
“It was a man’s thumb, nicely manicured, I remember it well.”
“Did you report your discovery?”
“What?’ asked Johnny, as if he didn’t understand the question. ‘No, I
didn’t.’
“Why not?”
Johnny diddn’t look him in the eye.
“Well…cops aren’t really highly ranked on my list of public employees
I enjoy talking to.”
“I’m a cop.”
“Yes, you are, but back then I was a teenager who stole his dad’s car, at
the time I was supposed to be in school which I didn’t like so much, and
also…I don’t know, I couldn’t stand them asking me all those questions I
couldn’t answer.”
‘How can you possibly know what would their questions be?’
‘Are you kidding? I just know. They wouldn’t be much different than
all those TV-cops, which means it’s only a matter of time before one of
the twenty five cops present stands in my face and shouts, ‘Do you still
jerk off ?!’, which means I’d have to start lying, and I don’t like telling
lies.’
46
“That’s an interesting opinion.”
“What surprised me most was that there was nothing on the news about
it, not a thing”
“Maybe you missed it.”
“Maybe, but not the next time.”
Patrick Lombard stood and headed to the fridge, where he kept his
drink. He slowly felt his pulse kick in, the numbness from the whiskey
was fading fast.
“Next time?”
“Yeah,a few months later it happened again. I hadn’t gone to the swamp
much since that happened, but I returned after a while, the swamp was
just too beautiful for me to stop visiting it, too beautiful to let it go.”
Lombard was imagining clear green water surrounded with cane, with
many birds, rodents and bugs, and a blue sky above. No people around.
He himself wouldn’t stop going to such a place because of a thumb or a
piece of bloody cloth.
“Next time it happened I was closer, much closer.”
He took a sip from the glass, then finished it all.
“This time I heard a man’s voice, really deep. He was saying something
like, ‘Hey, who’s there…who…what..mother of God, what is
this…ahh..no…noooo…”. Johnny let his voice fade into the air. Chills
went down Lombard’s spine which made him feel uncomfortable. Johnny
was now somewhere else, in some not-happy place.
“Then I heard some angry growling and stirring, canes were breaking,
water was splashing. And then I saw something. It was a creature,
walking on two legs, but something seemed to be dragging behind him.”
“Like a tail?”
The kid looked at Lombard surprisingly, then nodded his head.
“Now that you’ve mentioned it, yes, it could’ve been a tail. Then again,
humans don’t usually have tails, as far as I know.”
“You would be surprised…”, Lombard replied seriously.
“Anyway, whatever it was, it was moving fast, and the visibility was
low. I, on the other hand, ran away as fast as I could.”
“And?”
“And nothing, this time I returned the next day, just after sunrise. There
were broken canes and bamboo sticks everywhere, along with a couple of
deep trails in the mud.”
“Was that all there was?”
“And a shoe stuck in the mud…Reebok.”
“And still you didn’t report it to anyone.”
“Finding one left Reebok shoe in the mud? No…I didn’t, but now I
realize what a mistake I’ve made.”
47
Lombard didn’t react to Johnny’s smart ass remark. He stood up again
and returned carrying a notebook.
“Oh, no. you’re supposed to be talking to me, not the other way round.”
“So you’ll take notes?”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Suppose I do.”
“OK, now if we could just set a timeline on these events.”
“It was all long ago, Pat.”
“Just what you remember, nothing more.”
Then Johnny Darkwood started talking. When he was done, Lombard
knew he was going to spend the next day browsing through the files
regarding the victims from the swamp. There was so much he didn’t
understand, and the more he listened to the kid sitting across the table, the
less he knew. He didn’t like that feeling, he didn’t like it at all.
48
CHAPTER 13
Smoke was rising and disappearing through the round opening in the
hut roof. The night had fallen, just the kind Sipo was trying to get away
from. He woke up covered in cold sweat, the pain in his stomach had
returned. The fat, powerful woman told him she'd heard his scream of
agony right before he had passed out. 'You were very lucky, little boy,
had you stayed where I've found you, you wouldn't have lived to see
another day. Even if you somehow survive the intlaci berries, which you
ate a great deal of, judging from the stuff you threw out in the jungle and
later in the hut, the leopards or the hyenas would've definitely found you.
So I say again, you were very lucky, and you will survive.'
Sipo tried to remember what had happened prior to his waking in the
hut, but he could only recollect bits and pieces of a meaningless dream..
He was surprised when he found out how far away from the hut the
woman had found him. Now he was all alone, just like when he first
woke up.
However, except from his aching stomach, he was feeling well.
He knew his old life was over, but managed to repress the clutching in
his throat. In some strange way, the little boy had outgrown his own age
in the past couple of days, the way children do when they suddenly lose
both their parents. It was nature's defense mechanism, the only weapon
they were given for overcoming the dangers of life coming at them before
they were ready. Many children never survived the loss of parents, but
Sipo had better chances, considering his luck had changed from the
moment had been lying on that soft African ground, vomiting. His luck
came in the shape of a gigantic, strange woman.
Then the sheet over the entrance moved, allowing the familiar, massive
body to enter the hut with amazing graciousness.
“I see you're awake...you were sleeping so solid I could tell you were
still alive only by the sound of your snoring.”
Sipo didn't answer, the woman who had earlier introduced herself as
Kirsa went on:
“As I said, Sipo, there are things you need to know that I must tell you”.
Her face frowned instantly, reminding Sipo of some huge talking hill. Her
fat lips wrinkled together, then spread to their original position. It was
obvious she was trying to find the right words .
“You know, the things that happened, that happened to you, were
written in the past, long ago, before our oldest relatives were even
born.”The way this gigantic woman had compared the two of them,
making Sipo her equal, felt gratifying to the yong boy. She continued:
49
“I don't know much about it, but I remember what my grandmother
used to tell me when I was little.' Sipo had a hard time trying to imagine
this woman ever being ‘little”. The story went on:
“Once upon a time there was a village, not far from where you lived.
Their way of life was similar to ours, or yours, since I left my tribe long
time ago and moved to this place. Then the white men came. You are
familiar with them and you've seen them often, but back then it wasn't
like that.”
Sipo nodded, thinking about the faces of white men walking to the bush
with rifles on their shoulders, looking for lions or buffalos, rhinos,
elephants and other large animals. Sipo was afraid of them and didn't
come near them. With their pale skins, thin lips and bright eyes, they
were like creatures from another, unknown world.
“They came suddenly, with their yellow hair and beards and a language
we couldn't understand. Never before have we seen such people, so
different from us. They started killing forest animals, stealing the birds
from the nests, taking women from our tribe. They carried fire sticks, and
they didn't hesitate to use them whenever somebody stood up to them.”
“Most of the women they took were from the Herero tribes, Himba and
Dimba. Personally, I don't understand what they saw in Himba women,
always covered head to toe in red mud, with their hair tied in ropes, not
braces. Years went by, and the pale-faced men weren't leaving, on the
contrary, they were building large villages they would call cities. Many
of them were killed by evil spirits from the jungle, beasts or poisonous
snakes, some by poisonous Bushman arrows, but others were multiplying,
and more and more white women and children were appearing.”
The walls were red from the light cast by the dying fire in the centre of
the hut. The woman went and threw in some branches which were
quickly caught by flames. Before she sat down, she poured more mush
into the boy's plate and handed it to him. This time Sipo didn't wait for
her to take the first gulp, but he dug in at once. Again the woman was
watching him with the same vague expression on her face, as if her
curiosity and sympathy were blended into some sort of an amalgam. The
boy paid no attention, busy with his food.
“'A very beautiful girl was living in that village I was telling you about.
Many bachelors were offering fifteen, even twenty cows for her, but she
wouldn't marry any of them, to her father's disappointment, as he watched
fortune slipping right through his fingers “
Sipo was listening with his eyes wide open, honored that a grown-up
like this one was treating him like an equal.
“Then one day one of the yellow-haired men came. I don't know exactly
what happened between them, but I believe it was like any other time a
young man and a young woman meet. So...nine full moons have passed
50
since, and then a little girl was born. Have you ever heard anything like
this before, Sipo?”
“It was my grandmother, I know', was the first thing Sipo said to
interrupt the big woman's speech. Hearing that remark made her break a
wide smile full of sharp teeth that made Sipo startle again.
“Of course you know this story, how stupid of me” , the smile
disappeared from her face as fast as it had appeared. Her eyes were
staring at the ground, as if she was pondering how to continue her story.
Sipo was in no hurry, since he just ate and was sitting safely inside the
hut. He was now convinced there was some dreadful reason his village
was burnt to the ground by unknown attackers, but he also knew there
was another reason, and that reason was him, Sipo. Silence was so thick it
could be cut with a knife, disturbed only with the sounds of the dying fire.
The woman wasn't putting new branches in, and soon their shadows were
lowering behind their backs, dancing on the wall of the hut.
“Sipo, your great-great-grandfather brought a curse with him, running
through his veins, and his ancestors' veins, for many years.”
The boy's wide nostrils were spread even more, trying to sense the
smell of danger that seemed to be mixed with the story he was listening.
“I don't know much about it, but I know that one person was accused
of dealing with the demons, and much worse, as you will soon hear.”
The local folks believed that the living, the dead, the ghosts and the
demons were all part of the same world, as it's always been. Sipo's eyes
were now wide open as he listened to this mysterious woman.
“..that person, that woman, lived and died long ago, as well as her child
she had with him, later I will tell you who. But before she was burned to
death at the wooden stake she threw a curse on them. That is what they
did to people who were allying with Jagarthani and his servants, Sipo.”
Hearing those words made Sipo's breath stop.
Jagarthani? Who would ever want to have anything to do with that
creature from the dark?
Who would want to spend the eternity roaming through the paths of
shadows, where there were no animals to hunt, no plants, moon or the
Sun?
“How do you know all that, Kirsa?”, the boy asked, saying his saviour's
name for the first time?
It was also the first question Sipo had asked the host. She didn't answer,
but what she said next completely blew him away.
“The man who wanted to kill you, the man who destroyed your entire
village...is my brother.”
Sipo felt chills go straight to his heart. He just sat there, unable to
speak, staring at the woman, his face shocked with fear.
51
“Ejtana is evil, he's always been evil. He's been evil since the day he
was born”, the woman said, tired.
“He would go to the bush, deep in the heart of the jungle and to the
mountain wilderness and stay there for days, weeks sometimes, every
time he returned he would be different, changed with dark knowledge he
was preparing to use.”
For a moment Krisa stopped. Her eyes were mirrors for the embers of
the dying fire.
“Even then, when we were young, Ejtana was only thinking about how
people would fear him, how they would obey him. I thought he would
change when we grew up, I thought he would become nicer. He became
worse, Sipo.”
The gigantic woman continued the voyage through her memory.
“When the important people in the village started complaining that their
cattle were dying mysteriously, I sensed what was going on, but I didn't
tell anyone. Overnight, tribesmen would lose their wealth, measured, like
today, in cattle. Slowly but surely, their authority was vanishing along
with the cows. People would say it was because these people had upset
the spirits of their ancestors and now they were being punished. Nobody
suspected he was the one behind it all.”
“In the meantime, Ejtana got his first cow, even though he was very
young, around fifteen, as I remember. Soon he got another one, then two
more. It was not long before he had a dozen well fed, healthy cows.
Everyone thought he was preparing for lobola, for one of the local girls.
When it came to achieving his goals, he was very smart. He himself
spread the rumor about planning to propose to a chief's daughter in a
village far from here and that she, being madly in love with him and all,
was helping him buy the cattle for lobola. Nobody questioned his words,
even in his youth he was able to persuade people into thinking the same
as him. Pretty soon, Ejtana grew up to become a respected and honored
member of the community, his opinion mattered more, he even became a
permanent member of the Kangaru court that decided everything, as you
know. Somewhere around that time our father, Sudamo, had died, which
made Ejtana head of the family of seven brothers and three sisters. Except
me, they all got married and moved to other villages. Then our mother
died, leaving the two of us alone. I knew Ejtana loved only one thing
besides himself, and that was power, which he got plenty of, that's how
Jagarthani decided”. There was something dreadfully realistic in her story
that made Sipo tremble again, even though there was still plenty of heat
coming from the center fire.
Krisa was now a mere entity in the night. Her voice became deeper, as
if she was in a trance.
52
“'Soon he began gathering young warriors around him, and they
followed him obediently. He treated them badly, but the more cruel he
was, the more loyal they became. He often said that his role model
was Shaka Zulu, and that he would become the first leader worthy of
comparson to him. If nothing else, he pretty much matched Shaka’s
cruelty. He would often beat his men, injuring them seriously, since he
was a very strong man, Sipo'. The boy remembered seeing Ejtana cut a
man's throat with the stroke of his bare hand.
“ Along with other things Sipo, Ejtana was studying muti”.
Hearing that word made Sipo's eyes grow wider again.
Muti – black magic, practiced by witch doctors, actually known only by
a few. Muti, another name for fear in the vast spaces of the Namibia,
Zimbabve, Botswana South Africa and Svaziland, along with the rest of
the southern part of the continent.
One who mastered the magic was very powerful and respected because
everyone, literally everyone was afraid of its powers. Sipo had heard
about many deaths caused by Muti magic, he had heard many tormenting
stories about secret nocturnal funerals nobody ever witnessed, not the
living, at least.
“He used the magic to make his warriors obey him”, the woman
continued.
“One time he sent some of his men to get some weeds from the bush
necessary for the rituals he'd been studying. When they returned without
them, he killed two of them with his bare hands and dumped their bodies
on the edge of the village. Their mutilated corpses were found the next
day, and even though everyone knew who was responsible, no one dared
accusing Ejtana. Everyone was scared of him back then, even the tribe's
chief, Kotolo.
“Around the time he became what he was, big hairy dogs could often be
seen on the edge of the village, howling gruesomely. 'Then one night I
saw something that turned me away from him forever, something that
made me stop thinking about him as my brother. You must know what
happened, Sipo, because Ejtana is after you, because of the ancient
prophecy you're the most important part of”. After these words the boy
tried to swallow, but his throat was completely dry.
The night was completely dark, and the only visible light was coming
from their dying fire. It was the last remaining light in the utter darkness.
53
CHAPTER 14
Hours of staring at the computer screen didn't make Patrick Lombard
any wiser, at the same time he was trying in vain to keep the professional
distance between himself and the dead woman on the screen.
“Why on Earth did you have to do that, sneak off with some guy in the
middle of that filthy swamp, like you couldn't have fucked him
somewhere else? And where are you now? On the ME's table, last stop
before you start to decompose in some shit-hole!”
“Pat, just when I thought you couldn't get any sicker”, McCarthy said.
“What are you, my mother?”
“If I were, your ass would be black and blue all the time”.
“I'm morbid, and you're kinky?”
McCarthy wanted to answer, but resisted this urge, then stood up and
turned to Patrick on his way out:
“I'll be at Jim's, if you get thirsty.”
Lombard nodded and waved, without looking at his colleague. Again he
was focused on the cases. After a while he rose from his chair and
stretched powerfully, thinking, like many times before, that time always
takes its toll.
“If only I was ten years younger”, he mumbled, then realised he had no
idea how to finish that thought.
“You would do, be, become, make … what”'
“I'm really starting to lose it, McCarthy was right, something is wrong
with me”, he thought, resigned, then left his office.
“Maybe i ought to get laid, lack of sex is probably messing with my
head', he was reasoning further as he wandered the streets. Fifteen
minutes later he had reached his home, passing by only twenty people or
so during the way. There were three messages on his answering machine.
The first was from his insurance company, notifying that he was overdue
with his second payment and had a couple more days to make it or else
his policy would be blah, blah, blah...second was from his old school
friend Sonny, informing him that he was coming to town soon, in case he
wanted to meet up and talk over some drinks. Then there was the third
message.
It was from his new acquaintance, a freelancing reporter (meaning 'an
unemployed reporter'), Johnny Darkwood.
“Lombard, I'd like to meet you soon, I've got something you might find
interesting, but I don't wanna discuss it on the phone. Call me if you
want, bye.”
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Lombard frowned for a moment, made a quick mental note to call
Johnny the next morning, then went to bed, tired as a dog. He didn't sleep
well that night, in the morning he felt beat up, as if he had only spent five
minutes sleeping, which was unusual, even for a homicide detective such
as himself. The only thing he could remember from his dream were the
eyes that even now, in broad daylight, made shivers go down his spine.
Large, blood red eyes.
It was hot as hell inside the car. For some reason the AC didn't work,
and the hot wind entering through the windows didn't bring any relief.
Lombard and McCarthy were approaching the swamp half-boiled by
then.
“This is by far the dumbest thing we've ever done, Pat”, Tony
McCarthy lamented, referring to the field job they'd accepted that day:
specifically- checking the site where the corpses of the decapitated lovers
were found.
“You know our dear boss, Steve Morton, prefers being up to date about
everything, in case the press go at him, and that is where you and I come
in”, Lombard simply answered.
“If that's the case, why didn't he come see for himself?”
“Because he's our boss, Tony.”
“That's the only reason?”
“That's the only reason.”
Soon their car was on the dirt road, entering the tunnel made of tree
branches.
‘What can we possibly find that our boys haven't already seen? You
know what they're like, Pat, goddamn hunting dogs.”
“I have no idea, Tony, I can't even think straight in this heat, to tell you
honestly.”
Tony McCarthy was still talking, but Lombard wasn't listening.
Actually, he wasn't feeling too well. He was sleepy and jittery, and the
last place he wanted to be right now was this stinking pond. And then his
dream came flashing before his eyes again, this time amazingly clear in
detail, and whatever energy he had left in his body had simply
evaporated. Just like in a dream, large red eyes were standing right before
him. Only this time they seemed to be staring directly at him.
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CHAPTER 15
Germany, 1586
The woman's bright eyes were watching the infant as he ravishingly
sucked her bloated nipple, gripping it tightly with his little hands.
Occasionally her hand would touch the child's head, followed by a gentle
song.
She stared at him as if the world around them didn't exist. The baby
was pink and well-fed, making clicking sounds while feeding.
Then the woman heard shouting in the distance. She approached the
window with the baby in her arms and saw the torches in the valley
moving left and right, following the moves of their bearers. Her look,
scornful and hateful, wiped the beauty off her face in an instant.
She went back to the bed and put baby down. The baby boy was
complaining loudly about his feeding being stopped so abruptly and
started to groan, opening his mouth as wide as he could. The woman
started undressing him, and soon he was nude, rolling in the sheets from
side to side. His feet were high up, and soon a smile broke on his little
face.
'You like being naked, Helmut ?', mother asked.
The baby turned his head to the sound of a mother's voice and reached
his hands towards her. Haike Brunneger's eyes blurred for a moment, and
her chin started to tremble.
Uncontrollable tremors went through her entire body and were soon
transferred to the baby, who felt his mother's despair and let out a loud
cry. The woman took him in her arms, gripping a bit too tight. She knew
the end was near, but still hoped she would be faster than the approaching
mob. Unfortunately, it was too late. By the time she'd opened the door the
first men were already at the entrance of her small garden. The boy was
still screaming in her arms. Men dressed in rough peasants' clothes and
women with hats on their heads were looking at her with hatred and
disdain, but also with fear. Their courage was rising from their quantity.
There were near a hundred of them.
'There's the witch...the devil's mistress, to the stake with her...yes, to the
stake...burn her!' They rushed forward like a bunch of wild hogs and
quickly surrounded her. Her struggles to protect the baby were futile,
somebody's large hairy hands had snatched him from her and rose high
into the air. The mob retreated a bit, creating a circle around her, and then
let out a loud sound of approval. Haike Brunneger waited petrified to see
what would happen next. Same hands that snatched the baby from her
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fiercely threw him to the ground. Amazingly, the infant was still alive,
letting out weak coughing sounds, so clear in the surrounding silence. The
mother couldn’t stand the scene and collapsed to the ground. A moment
later, the mob growled as one, and soon many feet were stomping the
child. In an instant everything was over, and the panting mob soon
walked away from the child and turned their attention to the mother. She
somehow managed to stand up and was watching them with a mixture of
hate and despising anger. Not once did she look at what was left of her
baby. The mob moved towards her, but soon stopped. No one was in a
hurry to get near a woman accused of witchcraft, a devil’s mistress whose
child they had just stomped to death, but who looked like an angel.
Finally one big, strong man stepped out in front of the crowd carrying a
bat in his hands, broad-shouldered with yellow moustache. He was
staring at the woman in front of him, but he, also, didn’t dare come near
her. Even though he was two times bigger than her, he seemed frightened
as he unrolled a yellow piece of paper, then cleared his throat and started
reading out loud:
“In the name of the people of Guggenheim County – you, Haike
Brunneger, are sentenced to death by burning on the stake, on account of
witchcraft and allying with the devil whose child you carried!” The mob
was shouting in approval, the flaming torches were risen high.
“You were seen in the middle of the field, Haike, by two good and
honest women, they saw what you did… and who you did it with.”
Mumble from the crowd was heard again.
“You will be executed tomorrow at the town square!”, again everyone
was shouting.
Then his eyes met the eyes of the accused woman.
“ Do you have anything to say, Haike?” Suddenly, everything became
silent, interrupted only by the cracking of the lit torches. The woman’s
eyes glanced over the mob, not looking at anyone in particular, then she
said:
“All I have to say is that you will all pay for what you’ve done today,
and what you’re about to do tomorrow, and none of you will be saved.
Your children will be stillborn, your wives will die at births, your crops
and gardens will dry…whatever you try, you will fail, my master and the
father of the child you just killed will see to it. So listen to me now, you
miserable bunch, your master will not save you from my master’s
revenge, I pray to him, I belong to him, I’m going to his kingdom to join
his son.”
After those words, sigh of fear went through the crowd, in the back,
someone started weeping. When the woman moved towards them, the big
man retreated few steps back She looked at him scornfully.
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“You pathetic man, you were always pathetic, and still you dared to ask
me to marry you… me, whose feet you’re not worthy kissing!’ The man
blushed, but didn’t reply. He knew everybody still remembered the time
when he, Dietrich Klumm, son of a well-respected fabric merchant, asked
the poor girl from the outskirts of the city to marry him but she rejected
the proposal, telling him how she already belonged to somebody else,
even though no one had ever seen her with a man. Some months later, it
was obvious to everyone she was pregnant. Two women swore they had
seen the devil visiting her modest house on many nights. She never
denied anything, she just chuckled at them. From the day she denied his
proposal, Dietrich hated her deeply, and now he was devastated, since his
long-awaited moment of triumph wasn’t going to happen. Instead of
being cheerful and happy, he was feeling insecure and frightened. The
whole scene looked like some poorly rehearsed theatrical piece. Haike
Brunneger wasn’t waiting for somebody to grab her hand and throw her
in the middle of the raging mob. She walked straight toward the crowd
which opened to let her in, then closed silently around her.
58
CHAPTER 16
Branches were snapping under Lombard's and McCarthy's feet as
they advanced through the grove. The heat was unbearable.
“Shit, Lombard, had I known being a detective is so hard, I'd become a
musician or something”, McCarthy complained to his colegue.
“It's never too late, Tony, maybe it would really suit you better. You
know all those movies where a guy lies under the car, pretending he's
fixing something, and a naughty female customer sneaks up to him and
hooop, before you know it, she's sucking his cock, not giving a fuck if the
car slips off of the crane and squashes the poor bastard to death .”
“Hmm...it seems to me you're talking about a porn movie, not a
mechanic's garage.”
“Does it make any difference to you?”
“To me? Shit, I'd do it for free, Pat, if only I was able to get the job.'
'You're my man, Tony.”
“Speaking of sucking, what do you think about traces of sperm found
on both victims' clothes?”
“What's there to think about? Kids were fooling around, she went down
on him, the poor guy jizzed, something was spilled, something wasn't, as
usual.”
“With such a highly developed sense for analysis, I'm surprised you
didn't become the department chief by now, Pat, you're wasting your
talent doing field work.”
“I'm here on loan only, Tony, remember?”
“Yeah, but I mean why aren't you chief of department in your city, Pat.”
Lombard regretted opening his mouth in the first place.
They came to the tape that divided the crime scene from the rest of the
world, it looked pathetic, for not a living soul could be seen anywhere
near it, except for the animals who didn't ask for permission to fly over or
crawl under the tape anyway. Still, the tape had its purpose – it marked
the spot where something had happened. That something was a brutal
murder of two young people, whose bodies were found on the seats of the
boy’s father car. Only bodies, not the heads. The scenery inside the taped
circle was pretty much the same as it was outside. Short stems of grass
with their unhealthy yellowish color. The edge of the swamp was some
thirty feet away, where reeds were sticking out of the water. The birds
were excited because of the two-legged newcomers and were whistling
loudly in disapproval.
“Turned out that famous Dr Devor wasn't so helpful”, McCarthy said.
59
“The man said everything he could, Tony, it's not his fault everything
about this case is very strange, so to speak.”
“Why are you suddenly so full of understanding for this guy?”
“Hey, McCarthy, I don't have a problem with Devor, if that's what
you're getting at”.
“Ok, chill, If you can chill in this heat...”
They continued examining the ground, the growth, they even raised
their heads to the sky. Nothing. Nothing but vague trails in dried mud.
Lombard was feeling familiar tension in his stomach, the kind of tension
he felt every time he investigated the crime scene, the kind of tension that
announced something was bound to be found out.
But not this time.
“Let's look outside the marked site, Tony, there's nothing here.”
Two hours later they were on their way back to their car, their shirts
sticking to their backs.
“All this trouble for nothing, on a day like this?”, Tony McCarthy
protested.
Lombard was miserable himself, dying for a cold shower. At the same
time he was irritated by the progress they had made so far, which
was close to zero. Being a detective, he was well aware the chances of
finding a killer rapidly decrease if no clues were found within the first
twenty four hours.
All they had so far was a yellow police tape that separated nothing from
nothing.
Finally he was back in his apartment, which looked as messy as it had
in the morning when he went out. It was a typical bachelor two-bedroom
apartment. Clothes that could use some washing on one side, dishes that
definitely needed washing on the other. Same could be said for the
windows, whose ability to diminish the sunlight grew with every new
day.
He brought the disk containing all the information on the 'Swamp' case
from the office. As he was sitting in front of the computer, he thought
how many times he had the occupational hazard from long him sitting,
a.k.a. hemmoroids, decorating his own 'opening for metabolism product
removal', the term some proctologist used in some TV show to describe
what was commonly known as an ‘ass-hole’.
“OK”, Patrick said to himself and started to analyze the information
available on this case.
Names: the man was called Robert Ronson, he was co-owner of a
downtown car-wash. No prior convictions. There was a picture of him.
Lombard's face, illuminated by the light from the screen in the complete
darkness of the room, looked spooky. However, the victim's face didn't.
He was a handsome man, with a high degree of facial symmetry,a strong
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jaw and chin. Sensual lips, a bit feminine. Lombard thought about the
things the victim was doing with them moments before he died.
“Robbie, Robbie, got tired of fucking inside the car-wash, under all
those brushes and sprayers? I bet you could fake some malfunction that
would keep the two of you trapped inside for at least half an hour...or
maybe you wanted to get out, get some fresh swamp air?”, he was busy
talking to the victim, murdered and most likely eaten. The arrow on the
screen was pointing further down.
The woman's name was Stella Arnett, age thirty five. She was a
manager in a beauty salon. ‘Awaiting promotion’, the report said. 'Didn't
live to get it', crossed Lombard’s mind. Mother of a five-year-old,
married to a travelling salesman named Kurt Arnett. A classic example of
an affair.
Case number two:
Man, name – Henry Bartok, 52. A gardener. Never married, never
convicted. Small, beady eyes and a bald head shaped like an egg, so
different from the attractive Robert Ronson. His mutilated corpse, part of
it, to be precise, was found near the site of the last murder. There was also
a bunch of details that hadn't entered the official reports on both cases.
After a couple of hours he came to the conclusion that these two crimes
were in no way connected, except for one thing – the killer wasn't found
in either of the cases.
Actually, for a while there was a suspect for the murder of Henry
Bartok, a local bum named Matthew Cambell who died from cirosis of
the liver before the cops could gather any firm evidence against him. In
any case, the coroners agreed that whoever killed Bartok had remarkable
physical strength. Matthew Cambell could barely lift the bottle to his lips
with both hands. Lombard's new Word document was blank, apart for the
number '1' in a corner, followed with a dot. Then something occurred to
him. He could call this freelancer, maybe they could go through the
material together? Moments later the phone was in his hand. After about
ten ringing sounds there was a sleepy, hoarse “Yes?”
“Johnny, it's Lombard, Patrick Lombard, the cop you talked with the
other day, remember?”
“The one whose washing machine I repaired?”
“Yes, that's me.”
“So, what, is it...is it broken?”
“What...no, no, it's fine, it works fine, I'm calling you about something
else.”
“Ok”.
“Do you mind coming over so we can talk some more about that
swamp, I don't know if you remember, but you left me a message saying
how you would like to meet and maybe talk about it sometime?’
61
The silence went for so long that Lombard honestly thought the kid
went back to sleep.
“Johnny, are you still there?”
“When can I come?”
“Right away.”
“I'm on my way”, Johnny said and hung up, not waiting for Lombard to
say thank you.
CHAPTER 17
While the jungle was in its restless sleep, Sipo's savior carried on with
the story.
Even though the night had fallen a while ago, the boy was fully awake.
The story he was hearing sounded so unbelievable that he didn't even
think of sleep.
Born in the heart of the 'dark continent', he accepted the supernatural as a
genuine part of life, although it could not be seen, touched or heard. He
was now listening to another surreal story, only this time more eerie and
frightening than anything he'd heard before, because this time he saw the
embodiment of the story with his own eyes, during the massacre in his
village.
“And then one day I saw something that forever stopped me from
thinking of Ejtana as my brother...”
“As I told you before, his influence grew with every new day”, the
woman continued, moving her hands in circles.
“As his sister, I was the first to notice that his heart was becoming
totally void of kindness, showing interest only for ruling and unlimited
power. Back then I was still hoping he will come right, get married and
have children, like every other man in our village. Since he already had
power and respect, I thought the good will eventually prevail over evel.
But Ejtana didn't have any goodness left in him, Sipo. He never had any.”
He didn’t want people to love him, he wanted them to fear him, and so it
was. If only everything had stopped at that, if only he was just some mean
person...but he was more than that Sipo, much more...'
The boy felt some unknown coldness enter the hut, floating above his
head.A few hairs on his neck stood up like small spikes.
“It was a warm night, I remember it well. The air was dry, without rain.
I also remember it was very quiet, not even the hyenas could be heard,
and they were usually roaming the edge of the village, searching for food.
Ejtana rose from his bunk in the middle of the night and I could see that
62
he was standing above me. I was very frightened, Sipo, although I didn't
know why. After all, he was my brother, but I was still very scared, as if a
stranger was standing right above me. I held my breath, pretending I was
asleep, while my heart was pounding hard. His breathing was all that
could be heard inside the hut. I thought he was never going to move, I
was afraid I would start screaming. I was certain that my brother was on
to something, something terrible, and that it is going to happen that very
night. Finally he stepped out of the hut. I heard him leave, then after a
while, for some unknown reason,I stood up and went after him into the
darkness. The area was filled with those hideous dogs, and they all
lowered their heads and hid their tails when they saw him coming. They
were scared, Sipo, they were scared to death, but they didn't run away,
they waited for him to join them. He walked past them and entered the
bush, and the beasts followed one by one. I still don't know where found
the courage to follow them, Sipo. I was certain the beasts would tear me
apart, and that Ejtana wouldn't do anything to stop them. Somehow I
knew that the person I was following...was no longer my brother.” Sipo
was hypnotized, he was imagining the dreadful scene that took place long
before he was born.
“Ejtana and his four-legged servants finally got to the plain, the
moonlight was shining brightly upon them.” The huge dark woman cast
her eyes on the embers in the centre of the hut, then stopped talking. The
boy was staring at the fire as well, exploring the silence, as if the silence
itself bore some meaning. For a while the air was filled with scents of the
jungle, then Kirsa continued:
“Ejtana stood inside the circle formed by dogs, and then it
happened...without any apparent reason, the smoke started embracing
Ejtana’s body.
It was rising from his back, arms and legs, like he was caught in some
fire, but not the ordinary fire like the one we're looking at right now, this
fire was green, green like the leaves in a tree. There was pain on his face,
his jaw was closed tightly, his lips were spread, showing his sharp
pointed teeth.
“He start to produce some strange groans that frightened the animals. I
was so scared I couldn't speak. Then he started to change: the face I once
knew was turning into the face of a demon, muscles were suddenly
growing on his arms and legs, and from his back appeared...a tail.”
Sipo choke with fear, which made the woman look at him. There was
sorrow in her eyes, mixed with some unknown feeling, as she was
waiting for the boy to recover.
“Yes, Sipo, a tail. Covered in small, bright scales. On his front grew
that thing that men have, and women don't, only much bigger, so big it
looked like a spear. But what frightened me the most were two bumps on
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his forehead, they looked like he had suffered vicious blows to the head.
When the bumps grew to the size of a man's thumb, the skin cracked and
two horns appeared “
She emphasized the end of that last sentence, waving through the air
again. This time Sipo let out a silenced scream. In the heart of Africa, in
the pitch black night, differences between reality and fantasy were
vanishing, and Sipo felt this woman was telling him the truth. Long
forgotten fear appeared in her eyes once again.
“Then Ejtana turned his now hideous head at my direction. Even though
I was hidden deep inside the bush and he could not see me, I somehow
felt he knew I was there. If that...that creature decided to approach me, I
wouldn't be able move. I was petrified.”
“I believe you'” Sipo said quietly, remembering the time he was
watching the creature from the bush, like this woman did long ago. Kirsa
looked at him for a long moment, then continued her amazing story that
made the jungle especially frightening that night, the story that made
darkness and death more powerful than daylight and life.
“When I heard his scream I almost fainted, then he turned again and
walked to the bush on the other side of the plain. The earth was trembling
under his feet while the dogs followed him, staring with their bright red
eyes. Quiet as death now, they didn't look like dogs no more. All the hair
fell off their bodies, their tails were rat tails. They looked awful. I stayed
in the bush long after they all disappeared in the darkness. Eventually I
returned to the hut. When I woke up in the morning, Ejtana was sleeping
on his bunk. He looked the same as always, big and strong, but there was
no tail, no horns, no green scales, no huge...you know what. He woke up
around noon, while I was preparing the food. I tried to avoid his look. But
when eventually our eyes met, I saw that he was staring at me. I looked
down, because he knew I knew, and I knew he knew I knew. He stood up
and approached me from behind. He grabbed my arms with so much
strength I thought he was going to break them in half, and said:
“Don't say a word to anyone, sister, or else you'll be tortured in a way
you could never imagine, even after you're dead and on the other side.”
She stopped talking again, and Sipo thought he saw a tear in the corner of
her eye.
“We hardly ever spoke after that, we became strangers. After a while,
rumors appeared, saying some horrible beast was killing people in the
surrounding villages, not a lion, not a leopard, something much bigger
and stronger. Only I knew who that beast was, because I was sleeping,
eating, living next to it.”
Then she sighed.
“I see my teeth are scaring you, I'll tell you how I got them. My teeth
used to be just like yours, square and white, until one day Ejtana came
64
from the jungle and opened his mouth. They were full of sharp, beast-like
teeth.”
“You are my sister, therefore you must have the same teeth”, he said.
“My protests were useless. A few days later, he returned with three of his
warriors, and they held me as he stuffed a piece of wood in my mouth and
told me to be still. He took s piece of iron and started scraping my teeth.
The pain was so strong it made me faint. When I regained consciousness,
I was alone, lying on the ground. My mouth were full of coagulated
blood. I was spitting clusters of blood, I remember it well.”
“When I stood over the bowl of still, clear water, I knew what had
Ejtana done to me without even looking down. My mouth were full of
spiked teeth, just like his. I cried for days, all the bachelors were now
avoiding me, looking fearfully. Soon I realized the entire village was
avoiding me, but they didn't avoid him, even though his teeth were the
same as mine. This is how I realized what a powerful weapon fear can
be. Nobody stood up to him, nobody so openly avoided him the way they
avoided me. A few painful months passed before I realized that my life
in the village was over. One night, while my brother was wandering who
knows where, I packed my things and left forever. On the edge of the
village I ran into a young man who was once in love with me and was
supposed to become my husband. He approached me and cast his eyes at
the bundle in my hands. He knew I was leaving for good, he knew he
would never see me again. We looked at each other, as if we were both
thinking about all the things we were supposed to have, but never will:
home, children, cattle, crops, and then one day going together away, to
the other side, where all our ancestors are now. Then he told me:
“Ejtana told me to stay away from you, he told me he would turn me
into one of his dogs if I talk to you.”
“I'm sorry, Kirsa”, was the last thing he said to me, then he turned
around and left.
'I wandered through the jungle until I reached this very plain we're
sitting now. There were no tree roots around, and I knew I would have no
trouble maintaining it…all that happened long before you were born.
Now you probably wonder what you have to do with all this, don't you?'
The boy nodded. However, the woman said:
“It's late, Sipo, and you’ve already heard a lot. You need to sleep now,
because you have to be well rested to hear the end of this story, I don't
want you to think all this was just a dream. Go to sleep now, you will
need to remember what I'm going to tell you, since you will soon go
away, far away, never to return. However, something from here will one
day come after you”
65
… to kill you and capture your soul forever, she wanted to say but didn’t.
So sleep now and be calm, Kirsa is watching you, she saved you from the
claws of death once. Next time you will have to do it yourself.'
CHAPTER 18
Huge beech trunks were piled up in the centre of town square while
people started gathering before dawn. They came in twos, in threes,
sometimes whole families together. Rare was the occasion when witches
were burned, last time many years ago, when a local widow by the name
of Urlike Strasser was burned at the stake for alleged witchcraft and
copulating, with the devil. The woman denied the accusations to the last
moment, saying shed never had an affair with any devil, and even if she
did stop coming to the Holy Church regularly, the only reason was her
arthritis, everybody knew she had trouble walking around. It was all
worthless. She was tied to a pole rising from the pile of trunks, similar to
the one that was now waiting for this unfortunate woman. Only those who
weren't born, or were too little to witness the burning, didn't remember
the smell of burning flesh and the old woman's helpless screams in dying
agony, as the flames were licking her calves and thighs, tearing layer after
layer of her heavy peasant dress that fell into the raging fire. The woman
didn't die until her body was burned to the waist. Her remains were
thrown deep into the woods to be finished off by wild animals.
Now, everything was set for another ritual fight with the devil. A mass
was held in church yesterday, and the townspeople were praying for the
soul of the convicted woman. It was a routine act, not taken too
emotionally by anyone.
Around 9 a.m. the square was filled with people. Women wore their
best gowns, men trimmed their beards and their moustaches. By10 a.m.
everyone had become impatient, it was going to be another scorching day,
and parasols started rising everywhere, like mushrooms after the rain.
Then the executioner appeared, ready to start the fire and make sure
everything went as planned. Everybody cheered loudly and openly when
the carriage appeared in the distance, immediately followed by a
collective sigh.
Two mules were pulling a car carrying a cage made of pine branches.
Inside, a creature was sitting on the floor covered with dirty hay. Her eyes
were looking ahead at something nobody else was able to see. Haike
Brunneger's lush blond hair was gone. Instead, her hairless skull was
showing numerous wounds from the brutal shaving, which was also
66
applied to other, intimate body parts. Her hands were covered in deep
cuts, which meant she must have fought back. She was dressed in filthy
rags, long deprived of any color. The wooden cage was going through a
cordon made of people of all ages, and the shouts 'whore', 'devil's slut',
'Satan's lover' were coming from everywhere, followed by a lot of spitting
and cursing.
Haike Brunegger paid no attention, still staring at something in front of
her, not wiping the spit from her face or her scalp. Somebody threw a
deep pan full of boiling oil at the cage, and some of the oil had reached
the woman's face. She twitched for an infinitely short second, then
returned to her previous position. Everybody was screaming in approval.
“That's right, get the whore, hit the slut!”
Eventually, the cart reached the platform, the place of the final act.
The driver went down, opened one side of the cage and moved aside,
limping visibly. His eyes were fixed to the ground, not once did he look
at the woman.
For a while the woman didn't move. A minute passed, then another, the
square was completely silent. Nobody was cursing, nobody was spitting
at the cage. Now that the door was open, nobody dared come nearer. The
angry, blood-thirsty mob became a crowd of agitated sheep. Time was
passing painfully slowly, but everyone stood still, without a sound. Then
the woman moved, showing her battered knees. She started crawling
towards the exit, and soon her shaved head came out. The crowd stood
back, just like they did when they came to her house on the edge of the
forest.
The woman stumbled to the platform by herself, climbing to the spot
where her life would brutally end.
Her wounded feet left a bloody trail behind, the way wet feet leave the
trail on dry sand. Strangely, even the state she was in couldn't entirely
diminish her beauty which was still visible even after all the torture and
the hair-pulling she had gone through. She barely made it to the platform,
completely exhausted. The executioner also was looking away, he didn't
look at her even as he put his hand around her shoulder and placed her
back against the pole rising from the pile of trunks and branches. Then he
tied the rope around her body the way a spider ties its prey, for this
woman was indeed their prey. Soon she was tied upright against the pole,
with the ropes preventing her from falling down. The priest stepped out
from the crowd. He climbed onto the platform, his voice was shaking as
he was saying some lines in what should be latin:
“Dominitium augustus, sentas oracli, simstrus cobus, palatium
diaboli...”
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The woman stared with contempt, then spat at him. Mushy, red saliva
fell on the ropes of the priest who jumped back. He was frightened and he
couldn't hide it. He pointed his shaky finger at the woman and continued:
“Satanus exorcicus, Dionus veritas, Angelikus homini...”
It went on for couple of minutes, while the priest was careful not to get
too close to the woman. When he finished, he turned to the executioner
and said:
“You may begin”. That was all.
After those words, the man grabbed a torch and lit the branches
underneath the trunks. The woman was still gazing somewhere far ahead,
ignoring the upset crowd. Slowly, the smoke started to rise from all sides,
creating a curtain around the convict. Her head started swaying, and her
lips broke into a smile.
“Look at her, she's glad she will soon join her damned lover”,
somebody said but there was no reply. In the next five minutes fire had
caught the trunks, and the smoke, discreet and thin at first, was now going
up in thick pillars. The woman could still be seen, her head was still
swaying.
The crowd stood silently, as if they were hypnotized. Suddenly the
woman started to laugh. But, this was not her voice. Terrified crowd
stepped back again.
“Ha, ha, haaaa...ha, ha, haaaa...”, a deep, unnaturally strong voice was
coming from her throat.
Haike Brunegger's eyes were now completely white and her mouth was
wide open, showing a thick black tongue covered in saliva moving from
side to side like a snake.
“Uahahaaaa...!!”, again a growl escaped the woman's thin neck. People
were making cross signs, several women from the crowd fainted and
collapsed to the dirty, stomped soil. Children were screaming, hiding their
faces in their mothers' skirts. Then a voice broke out, louder than a storm:
“All of you who dared to rise against me will be destroyed, your master
will not save you! All of you who dared to murder my flesh and attack my
servant, who is now tied up on this stake, will die in agony and come to
my kingdom. None of your descendants will see happiness or wealth. I
curse everything that belongs to you, and I will turn it into dust. So hear
me now, you miserable maggots: You belong to me, and you will come to
me!”
Suddenly, the woman let out a terrifying scream, as if she had only now
become aware her limbs were almost burned up. The scream was so
dreadful it cracked the sky. The only time she would stop screaming is
when she paused for more air. There was no sign of triumph left on the
faces of those who remained to watch this scene, they were all pale and
scared to death. On the stake, woman was tossing around in absolute
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agony. Then her screams died, and all that could be heard were angry
roars of the trunks completing their mission. Everything was over, and
everything was just beginning.A few weeks later, when the village had
returned to its usual routine, the live stock started dying.
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CHAPTER 19
The morning was sunny and bright, Sipo stretched his little body,
numbed from the sleep, and looked around. It was his third day in the hut,
and slowly he began accepting it as his new home.
“Did you sleep well, little man?”, the woman asked without looking up,
busy cooking the meal again.
“Yes, I did.”
“I hope my story from last night didn't give you any nightmares?”
“I slept fine.”
“That's good because some things are better left unsaid, and if you can
not avoid talking about them, it is better to do it in daytime, not in the
dark, like I did last night.”
“No problem, Kirsa.”
The woman smiled, eyes still fixed on the pot full of boiling mush.
“So you remember my name, I'm glad.”
“You talked something about me leaving somewhere far away, possibly
never to return. I don't want to go anywhere, I'm happy here with you.
I… I ve got nowhere to go.” His voice trembled, which caused a shadow
of sadness cover the big woman's face.
“Sipo , there are some things we can not control and always feel
powerless before them, like an antelope in front of a lion, or a frog in
front of a snake...it's always been like that.”
“But I escaped, your brother has no idea where I am, why can't we stay
and live here forever, you could teach me everything you know, I could
go find berries and roots for us to eat, and I will grow big and strong, and
when you get old, I will take care of you, forever.”
The woman swallowed what felt like a stone in her throat, avoiding
Sipo's eyes. She grabbed the hot pot with her bare hands and moved it
aside, on the sand. Her face showed no pain.
“She cannot feel pain!”, crossed the boy's mind.
“No, Sipo, I can feel pain, just like you, only I'm able to control it, that's
all.”
The frightened boy got goose bumps all over.
How could she know what I was thinking?
'It's easy, but I don't want to frighten you any more, you better go
outside and wash that dirt off yourself.'
Sipo did what he was told. When he returned to the hut, his plate was
full of hot food while Kirsa sat on the ground across from him and started
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to eat. She ate surprisingly small amounts of food for someone her size.
In between bites she said:
“Sipo, there are reasons why it is impossible for me to accept you offer,
although, as a woman, I'm honored that one great... future great warrior
offers me his lifetime protection.”
The boy was silent, aware he had nothing more to add to that offer.
“As I said last night, take some more meat…there are some things that
happened a long time ago, far away from here.”
She put her plate aside and looked at Sipo.
“Like I said, many years ago pale-faced people with yellow hair came
to our land. One of them caught the eye of a beautiful woman named
Inkozi, and some time leter she gave birth to your grandmother Ghaani.
You remember I was telling you about that?”
“Yes, I told you Ghaani was my grandmother, and I know Inkozi was
my great-grandmother, and my great-grandfather was a white man!”, the
boy said angrily, offended that the woman doubted his memory.
“Yes, that is right, don’t be angry at this old woman who sometimes
forgets what she says.”
It was only then that Sipo realized this woman was much older than she
looked at the first glance. Then there were the spiked teeth, her huge body
and all, along with her decision to leave her vilage and move to the jungle
by herself. And as if all that wasn’t enough, she knew what he was
thinking without him saying anything out loud .
Still, he believed her, even more than that. She made him feel safe.
She could’ve killed him the moment she d found him, if she wanted to,
she wouldn’t be dragging him to this hut, she could’ve done whatever she
wanted with him…but she didn’t, and that was the only reason he was
still alive and healthy instead half-digested in some wild animal’s
stomach. The woman went on:
“So, I told you your great-grandfather brought the curse with him, and
he carried it in his veins since he was born. A long time ago, a very long
time ago, one woman was Jagarthani’s mistress, although that was not the
name they used.”
Sipo held his breath, although outside it was a bright, sunny day.
Jaghartani!
“ She was burned on the stake for that, but Jaghartani spoke through her
when her body was already caught in flames. He cursed everyone in that
village and then left her burned body. Sipo wondered how could she
know all that, than snapped out of his thoughts. Kirsa smiled:
“All in its time, Sipo, not sooner or later. I’m saying, everyone was
cursed, everything that belonged to them was cursed. Then, after some
time, just as everyone was starting to forget the whole incident, strange
things started happening.”
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“Things?”
“Yes, things. For example, the cattle were dying, children were
stillborn, mothers’ cries were cracking the skies. Crop fields turned into
wastelands. The village that was once prosperous and wealthy was now
dying. Fewer and fewer children were born, cows and other live
stock were dying for no apparent reason. The priest who was present at
the burning was found dead in his church. The cross, that is the thing you
probably saw around white people’s necks or waists, made of wood, was
sticking out of the back of his body, if you know what I mean?”
Sipo nodded.
“During the time that followed, the village was vanishing. People were
running away, but they couldn’t escape their fate. “
“Still, not all of the villagers died. Back then, in that far country, one
man was not present when Jagarthani’s mistress was burned. He was out
of the village that day. As far as I know, he was also killed, but not before
he had a child of his own, a child that survived and one day became a
parent as well. Many years passed, during which this man’s seed
continued to live. Decades later they were still not wiped off the face of
the Earth, even though that was what Jagarthani wanted. Still, something
was after them that whole time, some creatures from the other side”, the
woman continued the craziest story Sipo has ever heard, not to mention
he didn’t understand most of it.
‘So this man’s seed went on through many years and through the
wombs of many women, sometimes weaker, sometimes stronger, but
never completely vanished. Then, long after the witch was burned, a man
was born by the name of Rudolph Miller’, Kirsa’s mouth full of pointed
teeth were pronounced this strange name unknown to Sipo.
‘He was a tailor, he made extraordinarily beautiful gowns the pale
women from his home country loved to wear. His wife , they only had
one wife at the time, as strange as it seemed to us, had a girl who died
soon after she was born. Rudolph and his wife Bertha, I believe that was
her name, decided after years of grief to try and have another child, to
leave some proof that they ever existed.’
The boy nodded again. His people believed the most terrifying thing
that can happen to someone is to die without leaving offsprings behind,
because they will have nobody to talk to once they leave this world. It
was the worst fate for a human being.
‘And so one night a child was born. It was a strong, healthy baby boy.
His mother grabbed him, all bloody and slimy, just out of her womb, and
held him to her chest. She yelled from the top of her lungs, with all the
strength left in her after a long and excruciating delivery, then passed
away.
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The boy’s father entered the room to discover two things, that he
became a father, and a widower.
‘The boy was named Alfred. He grew fast and was very healthy. Never
sick, never complained of anything. Years went by, Rudolph got married
againwhile the boy grew to be a man. When he was twenty-five, he told
his father he wanted to go to faraway lands. I’m telling you about these
things the way I heard them, I don’t know all the details myself.
Now ,we got to this man who decided to come to our country, and the
Gods wanted him to meet…I will tell you who, when the time comes.
‘There is no future for me here father, I want to go to Africa, some
people from our country have already settled there’, young Alfred said to
his father. Rudolph Miller looked deeply into his son’s eyes, with the
look that said he knew this day would come. They stood face to face,
same height, same broad shoulders. Slowly, Alfred’s father said:
‘Son, if you want to go, I will not stop you, you are a grown man. You
have always been good, hard-working and honest. But there are some
things I never told you about.’
The young man stood silently as the turbulence he was feeling ever
since he was a child finally started to take shape, but the exact shape of it
was yet to be determined – by his father. And so it was.
‘Rudolph Miller told his son everything he knew about the events in the
village their long gone ancestors came from. He told him how they lived
in a village where a long time ago a woman was convicted of being a
devil’s mistress and burned on a stake. Her name was Haike Brunneger.
Alfred listened carefully, his father went on.
“ She brought a male child to the world, the child she had conceived with
the devil, Alfred. When they came for her, they first murdered the child,
stomped him to death before her eyes. He told him everything, even about
the terrifying voice that was coming out of her mouth before she died,
about the laugh, even about her horrible death.
‘We come from the village of the damned, Alfred. The curse had
reached everyone that was there when his child was murdered, as well as
everyone who had witnessed the burning of the witch, that she was’. She
stood as if to catch her breath for something more.
‘But there is one thing that made us, Millers, survive, unlike all others
who died of plague, tuberculosis or mental illnesses.
The reason was that our ancient ancestor Sebastian Miller wasn’t there
when they went to get the witch, nor when they burned her the next day.
He was up north, far from those horrible events, trying to find a job near
the river they called Meine, because that was where the coal and iron
mines were opening. He and his wife went to find a better life, unaware
of what was happening back home. When he returned two years later, he
didn’t recognize any of the villagers. There were some other people there,
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looking as if they had run away from hunger and poverty themselves.
Amazed, Sebastian asked them what happened to the people who used to
live there. The newcomers told him about some fire that broke out which
pretty much killed everyone in the village. They also told him the rumors
about this place being cursed, but they are poor, so they had no choice but
to settle in the empty houses that once belonged to his friends and
relatives. Once Miller offered them some beer, their tongues went loose.
They told him all about the witch hunt, her laughing as she was burned,
and of her final, dreadful screams. Their story went on about the dead
starting to pile up on the local cemetery that soon became too small for
everyone.’
After those words, for a long time Kirsa was silent just like her little
listener. There was something dreadfully exact in her story, something
horrible was lurking behind her words. Sipo couldn’t stand it anymore
and broke the silence:
‘How do you know all that, Kirsa, who told you all that, who could’ve
known all that?’
The boy cleared his throat and asked:
‘Who are you, Kirsa?’
The woman’s wide face made a painful smile, spiked teeth flashed.
‘Sipo, I was your great-grandmother’s Inkozi best friend, and I waited
for you many, many years.’
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CHAPTER 20
Germany, around the year 1600
Sigmund Delke was a mean man with a sick, twisted mind. Everybody in
his village feared and avoided him. He was tall and unusually dark for
someone born in this country, his deep dark eyes were easily noticeable
in an predominantly blue-eyed environment. Bony and withdrawn, he
showed little interest in socialising with the local people. His wife, a
pale, skinny woman, was seen even less then her husband. She never
looked anyone in the eye, and on those rare occasions when she went
shopping, she would run out of the store as if a devil was after her. The
villagers couldn't agree even about her name, some claimed it was
Sabrina, others said Naida, but the majority of them didn't give a damn.
This strange couple lived on the far end of the village, and most days it
felt like they didn't even belong with the others. Sometimes they
exchange vegetable and meat s with the other villagers, and that was
where all interaction ended.
The only person who visited their seedy, filthy cottage was Haike
Bruneger, the woman later burned in the town square. She was sometimes
seen leaving the Delke premises in the dead of night, in complete
darkness. People who would witness that would usually quickly turn
around and leave, making a cross sign with their hands. It was said that
Sigmund copulated with both women, doing all sorts of bestialities,
which include use of unnatural body holes as natural, along with many
other, even worse things. It was also said that he tortured animals, and
some women swore on the Bible they heard kids’ screams coming from
their house. The Delke's didn't have children.
No investigation was ever started against him, just like nobody prayed
for the soul of Delke's wife when she hung herself on one stormy, rainy
night. Sigmund buried her in the woods somewhere, with no ceremony or
a cross, as if he was burying a dog.
In reality, Sigmund Delke's wife had had a much worse funeral, if
dropping a rough wooden coffin carelessly into a hole in the ground could
be called a funeral.
When the coffin hit the bottom of the hole, one skinny hand fell out of it,
but the husband paid no attention to it. His dark, almost completely black
eyes were focused on the damp soil that didn't fill the shovel too easily.
But, Sigmund Delke wasn't the only one at the funeral that night. All of
a sudden, green light started to appear a few yards away from him and a
few moments later, an eerie creature crawled from the dark. Hideous by
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all human standards, with thick limbs, giant torso and a horrible kind of
human head, it was soon standing by the hole . Two short horns were
rising from its forehead, and a tail was coming out of his back. Short,
thick hair covered his green skin that looked like fish scales.
Delke looked at the creature fearfully, kneeled before him, lowering his
head to the ground, then quickly stood up and continued burying the
coffin, his dead wife's last home. When he was done, steams of sweat
were coming out of his head and neck, mixing with the moist forest air.
The creature approached the hole and suddenly turned his thick, massive
phallus over it, then started to urinate. Sigmund Delke stood silently
aside and watched the fluid from the creature body disappear in the
ground. It seemed to Delke that it lasted forever. Then the animal, beast,
demon, whatever this creature name was, finally stopped pouring the
fluid from its body.
Suddenly a terrifying scream which cracked through the night, came
from the grave. The woman who had been dead for several days was now
letting out a high, dreadfull yell. Delke grabbed the nearest branch, trying
to stay on his feet, his teeth were rattling from sudden coldness while the
steam was coming out of his mouth. His eyes went from the yellow
mound of earth to the horrifying creature. Slowly, the monster turned to
look at him with its surreal red eyes. In it’s eyes Delke saw – nothing.
There was no intelligence, human or any other kind, that could relate to
this look. Delke grabbed the branch firmer, petrified.
Then the creature spoke to him using unrecognizable sounds, unlike any
language known to man. It was growling, hissing, meowing, clicking... no
human being was capable of pronouncing such syllables and blending
them together into some hideous form of language. Still, Delke seemed to
comprehend ever tone, every sound coming from the demon's mouth. He
occasionally nodded, moving frantically his head. The red eyes didn't for
a second look away from the frightened man. After a while the creature
let out a prolonged, deep scream that remained floating in the air.
Suddenly the rain stopped. Delke's pale trembling lips parted in an
apparent attempt to speak. After a long struggle he said:
'Yes, master...they all have to die, all of them who dared to kill your
children'. Then he looked at the mound and the smoke that was still rising
from some places, releasing a strong stench of sulfur and something else,
something Delke couldn't recognize, but instantly made his stomach turn.
It was obvious that every second in the presence of this creature added to
his agony and pain, but there was another feeling as well: a feeling of
utter, total admiration.
His slobbering, trembling voice was repeating: 'Yes, I
understand...everyone has to die, all the people from the square, their
wives, children, cattle...must disappear.' Then his master growled angrily.
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Delke's knees couldn't hold his weight anymore and he collapsed to the
ground, at the same time nodding and sobbing, feeling ecstatic and
frightened to death.
'Yes, everyone...I...your slave...I will obey to your command,
master...after I die, my son will continue my mission, then his son..until
they are all dead...ahhh!!!'
The back of his damped shirt started tearing, and thin streams of blood
were covering the cloth. Then his body was turned on its back by some
invisible force, with its limbs spread wide. The creature moved closer to
Delke in steps so heavy the ground was trembling and stood directly
above him. One drop from the tip of the massive phallus fell on the poor
man's forehead and vaporized instantly. Delke screamed. Then the
creature bent down and spread his huge, monstrous hand with long, torn
nails. The man on the ground had long ago lost control over many bodily
functions, the only remaining signs that he is stil alive were breathing
and beating of his heart. With a precise, delicate move, the torn black and
yellow nail went straight through Sigmund Delke's left palm. The man
screamed again, but the creature was in no hurry to pull the nail out. Then
he went and did the same with the man's right palm.
Then it was time for the feet. All the while the demon made no sound,
unlike Delke who was still screaming in a hoarse voice. Finally the
creature went for the head. This time, the green monster spread its nails,
forming a trident. Then he stabbed all three nails into the man's forehead
and formed an irregular circle around the head. Delke finally passed out.
…………………………………………………………………...
Some children were wondering the woods early the next day when they
found unconscious Delke on the ground and ran away screaming. Some
time later, a few villagers appeared.
'Looks like he's still alive', one of the men said.
'Hey...look at his hands..and feet. Look at his head, for God's sake!'
Sigmund Delke had stigmata on the exact same places like a man who
was crucified many years ago, the man by the name of Jesus Christ.
From that day, Sigmund Delke was a man touched by the hand of God,
well respected and honoured in his community.
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CHAPTER 21
Johnny Darkwood was standing in Patrick's doorway, not fully awaken,
less than half an hour after they had talked on the phone. Lombard was
surprised to see him.
'Johnny boy, I didn't mean you had to come right away, it's not that
urgent, man...I hope your place isn’t too far from here?'
The guy went past him without answering, or looking in his direction.
He looked like he was being raped and then made drunk in order to forget
he was being raped.
He looks ten years older than the last time I saw him, Lombard thought.
Johnny collapsed on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
'You should paint it.'
Lombard was following his gaze.
'I've only been here for couple of months, haven't spent much time
staring at the ceiling, which seems cleaner than the floor, by the way'.
Johnny didn't feel like talking about paint jobs anymore.
'Make some strong coffee. You can put in some brandy, actually put in
as much as you want.'
Lombard knew human psyche.
'Would you like coffee with some brandy, or brandy with some coffee?'
'The second '.
Soon a smoking cup of brandy spiced with some coffee appeared in
front of Johnny, who was still sitting silently. Patrick understood it was
up to him to start the conversation.
'Johnny, hm... do you remember that thing we talked about the last time
you were here? About the swamp and everything you saw there, yes?’
'Yes'
'After that you left me a message saying you'd love to talk about it some
more, you remember that, too?'
'Yes'.
Johnny took a good sip with his eyes still closed.
'Yes...I told you I remembered something else about the swamp...I don't
know why I didn't tell you before, I guess I forgot.'
'Tell me now, Johnny, I'm listening.'
Johnny Darkwood looked at him for the second time since he came in,
half an hour before.
'Like I already said, I've been visiting the swamp for years, it wasn't
some casual thing. It was my home away from home. I don't know how
much you know about it? Not much? First of all, it’s huge, especially for
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a fifteen-year-old. I read somewhere it stretches over 22.000 acres, which
is a lot, really. Most of it is under water, but I guess you know that...'
'That's why they call it a swamp.'
'What I didn't tell you is that I‘ve seen strange things several times
already, but I never gave it much thought. Actually, it wasn't until few
days ago that I remembered everything I saw.'
Lombard didn't understand a word Darkwood was saying, but kept
nodding.
'What did you see, Johnny?'
'I've only seen it ...hm... three times. First I thought it was only twice,
but then I remembered the third time.'
'What did you see, Johnny?'
The boy didn't answer immediately. Then, slowly, he started talking, as
if he were still asleep.
'Fire, I saw fire.'
Patrick Lombard was silent, waiting for the guy he barely knew to go
on with his story.
'The first time I saw them was when I was still very young and just
started coming to the pond, which was the name I was using for the
swamp at the time. The sun had just set, you know, I was never afraid of
the dark, I didn't give a fuck if it was day or night, that's just how I was, I
don't know if you understand?'
'I understand, Johnny, I'm the same.'
'Yes, it was fire, man-made. Looked like a camp fire, only bigger. I hid
in the cane, although there was no need for it. I was too far away for them
to see me'.
'Who could've seen you, Johnny?'
'They...the men, there were a few of them, I guess four or five, standing
in circle around the fire. I think they were mumbling something, standing
completely still.'
'When did you see it again?'
'Few years later, I think it was four or five years later. The same thing
happened again. Fire, and people around it. They seemed to be warming
themselves by the fire, and somehow staring at the fire. Yes, that was the
strangest part. Their eyes were fixed to the flame, like they were
hypnotized. They didn't seem dangerous or anything, I think there were
five of them again, but I might be wrong, it was all long time ago...'
Lombard was silent and totally focused.
'After a couple of days I went to see the site where the fire ‘d been
burning, but there was nothing apart from a black circle made of ash. It's
just that this circle was almost too perfect.'
'Want some more coffee?', Lombard asked. Johnny nodded.
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Now, with a new glass of brandy in his hand, he went on towards the
final chapter of his strange story.
'Same thing happened the third time. Same place, same fire, couple of
nerds staring silently at the fire, as if they had never seen a fire before.
They didn't look like a cult, but they weren't kids, either. I'm not 100%
sure, I never got close enough to see their faces. They were similarly
dressed, I remember, but they didn't wear any robes, hoods or anything.
You get it?'
'I get it'.
Lombard cleared his throat before the next question.
'Johnny...is it possible those fires, as you call them, appeared in regular
intervals of time, more-less?'
'I don't know, maybe, I really don't know. Do you think they could
somehow be connected to the murders, Pat?'
'No, I mean not for now, but it's possible. From what I could see, there
was no mentioning of fire tracks or footsteps anywhere near the crime
scenes, in both of the cases. Even this last time, when the two teenagers
were found, nothing indicating the presence of people was found. At first
we thought we’d found two sets of prints, but it turned out they belonged
to our technicians. And one more thing: since I already tortured you this
much, you have the right to know'.
Then Lombard told Johnny Darkwood all the details he knew on the last
murders that were closed to the public.
'This look like some weird shit with the headless corpses, it's a bit too
much, even for a freelance journalist.'
Now Lombard poured himself some 'coffee', and he made it double.
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CHAPTER 22
Lombard was lost in thought most of the next day. He reduced talking
with his co-workers to the minimum, fortunately, everybody had their
hands full with work so they didn't pay much attention to him.
'...I saw some fires...' Lombard was visualizing Johnny Darkwood's
tale...People standing around the fire, staring at it like they are
hypnotized...similarly dressed, but not in robes...
The only word he had to say after hours of contemplating was 'Shit!'.
Al the information regarding the murders: heads torn off, partial hand
stuck in the cane, people staring at the fire...tooth marks belonging to
some cat, most likely a lion...tail like a crocodile...
'Crocolion?'
'You said that, mister Lombard...'
'Shit!'
'Pat, where the hell have you been, I've been trying to find you all day?'
It was the voice of Tony McCarthy.
'Hi, Tony, I'm here...not too good at thinking today, I guess I'm in some
retro phase.' Tony and Patrick hadn’t know each other for long, but they
instinctively hooked up, making their cooperation extremely successful.
Hence, no long conversation was needed for Tony to understand Pat
Lombard wasn't OK.
'...Pat, I don't know what to tell you', McCarthy began, 'I don't know
what to do with all that bullshit from the swamp, either, except maybe to
wait for the lab to make some stunning discovery, something, anything...a
fingerprint, a footprint maybe, anything...Pat, are you even listening?'
His colleague looked at him the way McCarthy didn't like at all. Patrick
Lombard was absent. His body was there, yes, but the brain was not. The
being that was supposedly in a 'retro phase' was now staring through him.
'Pat?!'
'What...hmmm, yeah.. Tony, I slept for an hour or so last night, I
must've dozed off for a moment, sorry.'
'Eyes open?'
'What?'
'You 'dozed off' with your eyes open?'
'What do you want from me, Tony, if you got a problem with me, say
so.'
What's happening with him?
'Hey, Pat, I was just messing with you, don't get snappy at your favorite
uncle like that, OK?'
'OK'
Lombard suddenly jumped to his feet.
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'Tony, I got to go and stretch my legs a bit, if I go on sitting for another
ten seconds a thrombus is going to form in my...'
'Ass?'
'Nope, the hemorrhoids got dibs on that.'
'Same with me, and we were supposed to bust our asses out in the field.'
'Hey, we're still young, hold on for couple more years.'
'You're right, go stretch your fucking legs, otherwise you'll get another
hemorrhoid, on your brain this time. I'll probably get one, too, from you.'
'There's a friend, for better or worse...'
'...till death do us part.'
It sounded somewhat ominous.
'OK, I'm out now. Take my calls, will you?'
'Always, Pat.'
'And you say I got nothing to praise you for.'
Lombard was already at the door when he heard the voice of Tony
McCarthy.
'Hey, Pat...to hell with the stretching, you do plenty of that anyway, go
home, go to bed, you look...tired.'
‘If you were a professional actor, you’d be starving all the time, Tony’,
Lombard replied with an attempted smile, same as McCarthy from across
the desk.
'Fine, if you want to hear, you look like shit that somehow came to life
and now wants to stretch it legs - you're not far from the truth.'
McCarthy had another question.
'Pat...does it hurt?'
'Does what hurt?'
'You looking like shit?'
'I don't give a shit if I look like shit.'
Soon, Lombard was walking the streets of Columbus, thinking about
what he would report to the bosses regarding the headless corpses. But he
didn't tell anyone about Johnny Darkwood, about the fingers, the fires...
Then he suddenly stopped. Some images from his dream ferociously
flashed before his eyes. They were not here, but they seemed so real.
Fires, reflections from the lamps, the stink of human sweat, and the
screams...he felt like he was watching some movie, not yet made but
terrifyingly realistic all the same. A documentary. He tried to walk
through the web of grotesque images that were dancing in front of him,
tried to maintain his direction. He felt something else: fear, fear coming
from something real, and he knew it.
His heart started pounding like he'd just run a marathon, and now,
42.175 fictional meters later, he was leaning against the nearest building,
trying to catch his breath.
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'Mister, would you like us to call an ambulance?', he heard the voice
coming from a great distance. He turned his head which weighed several
tons now.
Next to him stood an eighty or so -year-old woman, eager to help. He
looked at her and felt the hair on the back of his head go up. Hawk eyes
that were staring directly at him were no match to the woman's caring,
parental appearance. Lombard looked straight at her eyes. Gentle,
Samaritan feeling was obvious to the people passing by, looking at
Lombard's astounded face.
But the eyes...granny's eyes scared the hell out of Lombard. They were
dark like the darkest night.
'Do you need help?', the woman asked again. Her smile was rapidly
retreating, and since Lombard had his back against the wall, and the
woman was turned away from the street and all her attention was
addressed at him, Patrick fell the sudden urge to scream.
'No need for yelling yet, young man, it has only just begun.'
After those words, the woman turned and slowly walked away.
Lombard needed a couple of minutes to regain the ability to walk. His
mouth were so dry he would even drink piss to feel something
liquid. 'That's it...I'm going crazy, there's no other explanation', he
thought, surprised how articulate he appeared now. He had to sit down
and drink some water, gasoline, olive oil, industrial oil,
kerosene...anything. Across the street he saw a Portuguese restaurant. He
drank the first bottle of coke so fast he even made the sleepy and
criminally unmotivated bartender raise an eyebrow.
Working in the bar is deadly for people on both sides. It is equally
lethal to hold on to your position, no matter what side you're on. Second
bottle also didn't last long. When he was done, he burped so loud he made
the people in the most remote parts of the restaurant look in his direction.
Patrick Lombard wasn't a pussy, never. Me against the world, he
thought, just the way I like it.
Fast as a gunslinger, he reached to his jacket pocket and pulled out his
police I.D. which graciously opened, allowing the brass from the badge to
shine its light upon the crowd.
'All right, police officer, back to your food everybody'. Someone
chuckled.
He threw two bucks on the counter and headed towards the exit. But
before he went out, he gave the audience another, even louder burp,
somewhere in the range of a bass-baritone, only to finish it with an almost
playful falsetto, if there is such a thing as a falsetto burp.
'When you put your mind to something, nothing is impossible', some
wise man said once, and many had quoted him since. After this brief
musical-cultural lecture he’d given in the restaurant on behalf of the law
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enforcement agency, he was dragging himself back to his den, tired of
the academic efforts. Dreams, granny, Tony, people...people...people
humming, almost singing...
Lombard dialed Johnny Darkwood's number as fast as Doc Holiday
used to send all those scumbags six feet under back in days of the wild
west , never mind he himself was a bit of a scumbag, it was said.
'Yeah?'
'Johnny...thank God, listen, it's me, Pa...'
'I know, I've been hearing or seeing so much of you lately, Mr.
Lombard, I'm beginning to understand how come you don't have a
girlfriend.'
Lombard ignored the spiteful comment.
'These people...the ones you saw near the swamp three times in all these
years, were they...were they...' Since he failed to finish the sentence in the
next thirty seconds, Darkwood lost his patience.
'Were they what, Pat ? Fucking in the bushes, crapping in the same
hole, eating their own shit...were they what!!?'
'Were they, by any chance, singing quietly, mister Darkwood?',
Lombard asked calmly.
'I'm sorry...I didn't mean...'
'Were they singing or humming or anything, try to remember.'
A long pause came. Finally Johnny Darkwood started talking.
'They were, Pat, they were mumbling something, like they were in
some kind of trance, it sounded like some music.'
'But they weren't singing in English, right?'
'How the fuck would I know, what am I, language professor?'
'How did their language sound to you, what did it remind you of?'
'I don't know, languages aren't really my thing, but it might have
sounded a bit like...'
'German?'
'Hey, I have no idea where did you came up with that, but you might be
right. It seemed they were mumbling, or singing, as you say, in a
language similar to German, I heard German in all those WWII movies.
Mind if I ask you why?'
'Actually, yes, since I don't know the answer to that myself, but I seem
to know somehow...'
'Pat, go home and get some sleep, don't waste your time and money
talking to some wannabe-journalist who was in the middle of writing
something, actually.'
'You're right, sorry for the inconvenience, Johnny.'
'Pat...how did you know they were singing, I mean, you didn't get it
from me. Had you not mentioned it now, it would've stayed forever
buried in my memory.'
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'I don't know, Johnny, somebody told me, somebody...'
'Make him tell you the lottery numbers for next week, you'll have a
much better life.' Patrick Lombard simply had nothing to add to this
remark.
CHAPTER 23
Sipo's days with Kirsa were nearly over, but neither of them wanted to
talk about it. During these few days since they’d met each other the
lonely woman grew attached to the boy. At night, she would listen to his
steady breathing beside her, thinking how close to death he was when
she'd found him, how well he was recovering and how shocked he was
when she told him things he could never’ve even imagined. Then she
would put her heavy arm on his sleeping head and hold it for a long time.
In those moments Kirsa felt sharp physical pain, because she was and
would forever be the empty, no child would ever come out of her belly.
She would curse the beast that was her biological brother for not killing
her, but soon after that she would remember there was another task left
for her, the most important task of her life. She had to save the boy before
they found out where he was. He will find out for sure, there was no
doubt in her mind. No ordinary human being would ever be able to find
anything in the vast space that was surrounding the hut, but Ejtana was
not an ordinary human being. His powers grew stronger, and she knew it.
Sipo has already escaped him once, it will not happen again. The big
woman's heart trembled at the thought of what would happen to the boy if
her brother got his hands on him.
A long, long time ago, when she was still a normal girl, just like any
other girl in the village, an encounter occured that would change her life
forever.
One night, while her brother was out doing something she didn't want to
know about, a bushman entered her hut. A tiny old man, just over fivefoot high, came in without a sound, which surprised Kirsa, since her
hearing had become extremely sharp ever since her brother had become
someone, or something, else. His round belly was covered in drawings, a
single piece of cloth was covered his body from the waist down. He also
carried a bow and arrows, along with a short, sharp spear. His deep,
intense stare was fixed on Kirsa's eyes. The Bushmen were the first
people to inhabit Kalahari. Nobody could find water better than them.
How to set a trap for the prey, how to neutralize snake venom. Actually,
the Bushman were the only people capable of surviving the harsh
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conditions of the place they’d chosen for their home, and in time they
became one with the environment. Now one of those people was standing
right in front of her, with this strange, unfamiliar gaze.
Kirsa felt this man had come because of something very important, so
important it made him leave the wild and come all the way to her hut.
The Bushman spoke in a click language, a kind of language other tribes
were not able to understand or accept. Thankfully, this man spoke to
Kirsa in her own language.
'Your fate, Kirsa, will be nothing like the fate of other women in your
tribe. You have a different road ahead of you. One day a child will be
born, a boy. The beast will try to kill him, because if he doesn't, the boy
will grow up to become a man, and the prophecy says that a man is going
to kill the beast, even if he himself gets killed...your task will be to keep
him safe until the time comes for other people to look after him.'
Kirsa knew exactly who was this tiny man talking about when he said
beast.
'When...when is that going to happen, little man?', Kirsa asked, kneeling
on her bed. Her eyes were now at the same height as the eyes of the son
of Kalahari.
'In the time far ahead of us. I will be in the land of shadows by then, but
not you, Kirsa. You will be alive, you will have to be, because of
everything that will happen to you. In time, girls your age will become
grown women, then old women, but not you.' A sort of smile crossed the
face of the man whose exact age Kirsa couldn't determine.
Ejtana is Jaghartani's servant, Kirsa, and you know it. Your time with
the tribe is coming to an end. When the time comes, you will have to be
brave and leave. You will have to go deep into the wild and survive, in
order to save the child whose grandmother isn't born yet.
His incredibly wrinkled face showed no emotion as he was telling her
this amazing story. Kirsa wanted her own home, her own family, she
wanted to tend livestock and have children, like all her friends did, and
when the time comes she would go to the land of shadows to join her
parents and her parents' parents.
What frightened her the most was the fact she believed this little man
who was standing in the centre of her hut.
'...Be prepared, for you will have the most important role any woman in
your tribe has ever had.'
'When, when will that happen, desert man?'
'I don't know, but what I know is one day a man with golden hair will
come from far away, pale as a ghost. Inside him there will be something
that will be carried to his child, than that child's child, all the way to the
one you must rescue.'
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'The gold-haired man is coming, Kirsa, and the terrible curse will come
with him. He will be the father of your best friend's child. Remember
again, the Beast will put its mark on you, because Jaghartani is already
here, and your brother is his servant.'
Kirsa was too terrified to scream. She put her hands on her head and
started sobbing. When she looked up again, there was nobody in the hut.
One day, Ejtana and his friends returned to the village. He grabbed
Kirsa with his big, strong hands, as if she were a lioness, not his own
sister. They pushed her to the ground while her brother was holding a
piece of iron in his hand. Then she passed out. When she woke up she
realised her mouth were full of blood, her tongue was wounded like she
had been biting through glass. She now knew what the bushman was
talking about. Her teeth were turned into sharp teeth. She was marked.
Soon after that, a gold-haired white man appeared in their village. Kirsa
knew what would happen before anybody else. It wasn't long before the
most beautiful girl, her best friend fell in love with him. Her name was
Inkozi.
CHAPTER 24
Patrick Lombard was sitting in the far end of the park, staring at the grass.
Exhausted as he was, he was fighting a strong urge to lie down on the
bench and fall asleep. Part of his brain was trying to remember the last
time he’d had a good night's rest, but couldn't. A week ago, maybe even
two.
You look like crap, Pat.
His gaze fell down to the bench that was calling him.
Fuck, what would that look like: a representative of the law sleeping on
a park bench in broad daylight? Like, I'm not wearing a uniform right
now due to the specific requirements of my task. And yes, I'm actually
only pretending to be asleep, that is all part of my cover. But why am I
snoring? That is because my boss wanted the best agent in the
department for this job. What could I do, all eyes were on me ?
Suddenly he noticed the bench approaching his face. That was all he saw
in the next hours.
He was awakened by a sense of pulling, like somebody was trying to
take off his left shoe. His brain was slightly recovered from the previous
sleep deprivation, but Lombard still had some problems realizing where
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he was exactly, and why he was there. Eventually, why is somebody
trying to...rob him ?
Patrick Lombard was a cop, no matter if he was in office, the park or a
gentlemen's turkish bath. Unexpectedly fast for a man who had been
loudly snoring just moments ago, he pulled out his .38 Special and
pointed it at the boy who couldn't have been more than sixteen, seventeen
years old.
'Would you like me to make a hole in your head the size of an egg,
which would in your case take the better part of your dumb head off, you
little piece of shit?'
Little piece of shit was instantly scared to death, his hands fell loosely
to his side. Then, suddenly, he enthusiastically began pulling Lombard's
shoes – back on!
'Do they smell?'
'Wh...what, sir?'
'My feet, you idiot, do my feet smell?'
'No...no sir, not at all.'
The boy was ugly, blond-haired and big-nosed – a genuine loser, but
still managed to take off Lombard's right shoe without him knowing.
'No...they don't smell, sir, not at all.'
Lombard cocked the hammer, all he had to do now is gently pull the
trigger. In the silent darkness, it was clearly heard when the boy farted.
'You lying bastard, of course they smell, I spent the entire day walking,
half of the town's population must have seen me crashing on this very
bench with shoes still on my feet...they gotta smell!'
'Yes, sir, you are absolutely right, they do smell, I don't know how I
haven't noticed it before, I really don't know', he was blabbering while the
buggers were coming out of his nose and the tears were running down his
cheeks. He wasn't farting anymore, but his hands were shaking
incredibly.
'Did the granny send you?'
'Ww..hat granny, sir?', he managed to ask.
'The one...that told me everything had just begun, there's no need for
screaming, this is...only the beginning...'
'Noobody se...not me, I came on my own and saw you...sleep, and your
shoes seemed to be my size, so I...I...thought...'
'You're not so good at thinking, little bastard, you seem more cut out for
some shoe store, the way you're putting the shoes back on.'
'Yes, sir...thank you,sir.'
The boy was finished and was now kneeling in front of Lombard, the
master of his destiny.
'Beat it.'
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Little bastard in fact should be in some track team. He wasn't running,
he was flying away from his would-be victim.
Patrick Lombard's eyes followed him to the first turn, then he sat up,
grabbed his lower back and moaned heavily.
He looked at his watch, it was past midnight. He got up from the bench
with even more effort than he needed to sit up and started walking
mechanically towards his apartment.
He barely made it to the door. There were stains on his pants, the jacket
was ready for the garbage can right then and there. Actually, he himself
could jump right into the garbage can, he felt.
Dream ! He had had a dream..no, a nightmare. No wonder he was so
tired, all those firm bench boards gave him nightmares, that is why he
was dreaming all that nonsense. Nonsense? Lombard's heart was
pounding as he was remembering everything too clear, too precise – for a
dream.
It was like everything was happening in some distant past...lamps were
hanging on the rough, filthy walls, it stank of animal fat and human
sweat. Then he heard the loud, passionate sighs of a woman...yes, a
woman, and a man was above her...he seems to be standing next to them,
but somehow remains unseen. What puzzles him is the stench, so intense,
so...real. The man is using his hands for support, laying on top of the
smooth, naked body, his chest is hairy, the hair on his head is black...his
penis, big and also surrounded by a ring of black hair keeps entering the
woman, she is mumbling something while licking her lips. For a moment
he catches the look of the man's coal-black eyes. The darkest eyes he had
ever seen in his life . Then Patrick Lombard notices someone else is
there...
A woman sits in the corner, fully dressed, pale and unpretty, and
watches silently. Tears flow slowly down her face, as if she had seen this
image many times before, and now the last remaining traces of jealousy
or sorrow go down her prematurely aged, dirty cheeks. With her hands
folded on the lap, she watches as the man keeps pounding and the woman
keeps surrendering, with her legs high in the air... Patrick knows the
woman in the corner is the wife of the man who is approaching his
climax, and that she is being forced to watch. He has no idea how he
knows that, but he is certain the woman in the corner is the hairy stud's
wife...
'Mother of God, what is happening, am I actually going crazy?', he
asked, clenching his fists until they hurt.
'This woman, this man fucking her...this stench of sweat and fat as
they...'
He started shaving even though it was 1 a.m. He had to do something! It
was a wrong decision. His hands were shaking so much his face was soon
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completely covered in cuts, with the blood pouring heavily. He looked
like a believer who was deliberatel hurting himself in order to repent of
the sins he has commited, not a 21st century cop, with so much neon and
other sources of light everything around was simply shining...
'...this stench of fat, oil lamps on the walls? When was all that
happening?', he added one supposedly soon, a bit too soon.
After finishing the self-mutilation, Lombard wrapped a towel around
his face and went to bed.
In the morning, when he woke up, he realised the towel maneouvre was
one of the dumbest decisions he had ever made. The blood from his face
acted like glue. He pulled one end of the towel and screamed. Blood
started pouring out of the freshly opened wound, and there were five or
six more to go.
An hour later, everyone in his large precinct, divided into boxes, stared
at him with amazed looks on their faces.
'Pat, go see the doctor, man, this looks serious...'
'Why didn't you ask her to cut her nails, Lomby?'
'You look like you've just been involved in a rape, and it's not certain
what role was yours.'
'There's a plaster loose on your chin, Pat...'
'Just don't tell me you cut yourself shaving, Lombard...'
Lombard ignored all these remarks. He went past his colleagues who
were turning their chairs as he walked by. The only one who wasn't being
a wise-ass was Tony McCarthy. He just looked at Lombard's wounded
face.
‘Pat, either start using electric shaver or grow a beard. Maybe it ‘ll look
good on you, who knows.’
‘Who knows… in any case, where are we on the swamp case, are the
heads found, Tony?’
‘No, nothing. Personally , I doubt we’ll ever find anything, Pat,
‘I agree…but still, heads can not just disappear, can they?’
‘They can, if you grind and eat them, Pat.’
These words woke Lombard up better than a double espresso. He
looked at McCarthy and nodded.
‘You’re right, Tony, if the skulls are ground and eaten, then, then they
are gone forever.’
‘Your intelligence never seizes to amaze me, Pat.’
Lombard tried to smile for the first time since his (second) awakening.
Another mistake. It felt like a dozen fishing hooks were pulling his
cheeks at the same time, like in that movie ‘Hellraiser’ or whatever it was
called.
‘Ahh!’
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‘Sorry, no more jokes…let me go on: there is nothing new on the
swamp case, our beloved chief Steve Morton has either completely
forgotten about the case or he didn’t expect us to solve it in the first
place.’
‘Well then, if he’s so smart, why doesn’t he try and solve it!’, Lombard
shouted.
‘Hey, easy, Pat, no need for yelling.’
Lombard’s look made McCarthy shut up immediately. There was a
reason why Patrick Lombard was shouting, he understood that.
Something was going on with his partner, and McCarthy didn’t like it at
all, but he definitely wouldn’t dare bringing the question up. Being a cop,
Tony knew how easy it was to lose one’s nerves in this line of work.
But so suddenly, so quickly? Until yesterday Lombard was a rock, now
it looks as if somebody else has possessed his friend’s body.
He wasn’t surprised when Lombard made for the door, nor did he ask
him where he was going. Of course, if should it be necessary, McCarthy
would cover his partner,( but then again) Lombard could be out in the
field at any time, couldn’t he?
‘Go where you have to go and do what you have to do, Pat…’
Lombard went outside, surprised to see the street was almost deserted.
It was probably the first thing he liked since he left his apartment this
morning. Covered in plasters, he looked like some loser from a lowbudget action movie. The less people see him looking like that, the better.
For the first time in his life, Lombard was seriously concerned about his
mental health. He was pondering various reasons that could cause his
madness, there was no other word for it. He rarely drank, as far as he
knew smoking never made anybody crazy, he didn’t eat any weird
mushrooms…last time he smoked a joint was at some party centuries ago.
What was the reason for his unexplainable mood swings? Why was he
sleeping in the park? All these questions remained unanswered as he was
turning around the corner with his head down.
Next moment there was a collision, he swayed, but remained on his
feet. Not the person he collided with. A young, beautiful woman was
lying on the dirty sidewalk, staring at him with her eyes open wide.
‘I…I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking, let me help you, please’, he blabbered,
(all at once) reaching his hand to the woman on the ground. She backed
of a bit, which reminded Lombard of his appearance.
‘Again, I apologize, let me help you’, (this time) he made his offer
slowly and clearly.
This time the young woman took his hand. Her hand was thin and
gentle, which made Pat Lombard wonder when was the last time (recall
the last time) he held a woman’s hand. As with some other things it was
a long time ago, that was certain.
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The girl slowly stood up from the sidewalk and started checking her
clothes, accessing the possible damage, she was just a bit dirty. (nothing
serious). Then she spoke in a soft, pleasant voice.
‘It could’ve been worse, I could’ve ended up looking like you, although
I would have to have jumped in a pool full of shattered glass for
something like that’. She smiled, showing (her) pretty, straight teeth.
‘That would be a shame’, Lombard answered sincerely.
They were both silent, like they were waiting for a referee to decide
whether the conversation will continue.
‘May I…may I offer you a cup of coffee, by any chance?’, he asked,
not believing his own ears. He had never looked as awful as he did now,
he’d just pushed a hundred pound woman down to the ground, and now
he was asking that same woman out for a cup of coffee?! There were no
mirrors around, but he was certain he had just blushed, as much as he was
physicaly able to, anyway. Then he remembered all those plasters on his
face and felt relieved a little. No way she could’ve noticed that, no way at
all.
The girl was holding a folder which had somehow survived their crash
without any damage.
‘Coffee? Well… why not, I haven’t had any all morning, I will take
your offer’
For a moment Lombard couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He was
expecting ‘Fuck off, you moron, go to hell, go back to that horror film
audition you’re headed to’, anything, but not – why not, I haven’t had
any all morning ?!
‘The nearest café is some two hundred yards away, we could go there,
if you like?’
‘Sure.’
Soon they were sitting opposite each other in a half empty diner,
sipping filter coffee. Patrick was cursing himself for the attempted shave
at 1 a.m., with the results being as they were.
‘What happened to you, I mean the plasters, who attacked you?’
‘Nobody, I cut myself shaving.’
‘You don’t look like a teenager struggling with a razor, no offence.’
‘None taken. I’ll be more careful next time. My name is Lombard,
Patrick Lombard, P.D.’
‘A policeman?’ the girl asked with a surprised look on her face.
‘That’s what they call us.’
‘What department do you work for?’
‘Robbery-homicide division – murders, rapes, that kind of stuff.’
‘Sounds…interesting.’
‘I guess…what about you?’
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‘Helen. Helen Brown. I am an assistant in the Anthropology museum,
which is far more boring than what you do, trust me. Actually, I’ve never
been in this neighborhood before, and the first time I walk here I run into
a deranged cop who knocks me off my feet, that’s something you don’t
see every day.’
She smiled. Lombard smiled back as much as he could.
They started chatting and soon they were interrupting each other’s
sentences, making jokes, laughing so loudly that few heads turned in
their direction. Lombard forgot all about the dreams and the cuts on his
face, he forgot how desperate he was minutes ago. He was looking at
those lovely blue eyes, and they were looking back. At least his eyes were
not covered with plasters. Eventually, Helen Brown checked her watch,
which was Lombard’s biggest fear.
‘Time flies, and I have to get back to work. It was really nice talking to
you, Patrick, but I really need to be going now.’
‘It was nice for me, too, Helen, would you like anything to eat, or
maybe some more coffee…’
‘No, thanks, I really have to go now.’
Now or never.
‘Helen…if I promise you I won’t knock you down the next time I see
you, would you maybe like to see me again, I mean in this century?’
‘The century had just started, so if we see each other again, it will
definitely be in this century, although…you never know.’
‘Yeah, you never know.’
The girl took a piece of paper and wrote down her phone number, then
smoothly pushed it towards Lombard using only her index finger.
‘I’m busy till Friday, after that I got some time, maybe we will get
together, that is if you don’t change your mind.’
‘I’d rather change my sex.’
They stood up simultaneously and shook hands in the street as if they’d
just made a lucrative business arrangement.
‘Sometime after Friday, then…how about Saturday, 1.a.m.?’, Lombard
asked.
‘P.m. sounds better.’
‘Then…see ya.’
‘See ya.’
As he was walking back home, Lombard managed to forget everything:
the plasters, the swamp, his mother, his father, brothers, sisters, national
anthem… He was in love.
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CHAPTER 25
Germany, around 1600
The wounds on Sigmund Delke's hands, feet and head were healing
slowly, covered in small yellow scabs. Ever since he was found lying
unconscious in the woods, Delke was the center of everyone's attention.
Nobody noticed he was lying next to a freshly dug mound of dirt,
resembling a grave. Delke was still grumpy and irritable, but nobody
looked away from him anymore, or despised him in any way. Even the
women started bringing food to his house, which helped the thin tall man
gain at least twenty pounds, thanks to the society he was never a true part
of. People were saying that some of the free women were visiting him at
nights...people were saying a lot of things. But mostly they talked about
stigmata that were exactly the same as the ones on Christ's body. That
was the only important thing, everything else was irrelevant. His
character flaws and his lack of kindness didn't matter to the people
anymore. And this new Sigmund Delke possessed something the old
Delke didn't have – eloquence. Not mild, calm, literary eloquence, but
harsh, accusing, offensive...still, his words sounded like the words of a
prophet.
'Be careful, unbelievers', his voice echoed inside the church, 'soon the
day will come for you to pay for all your sins. Can't you see you're
scattering like sand in the wind, that there's less and less of you every
day?'
Townspeople would just stare at him silently, puzzled and confused.
'Yes, you did bad things, served someone else instead of him, and that
is why you will vanish', his voice cracked the roof of the local shrine.
Delke rarely mentioned God's name, most of the time he would say
something like 'the one you've served, the one who died for you, the
one who will punish you for your sins...'
The one will come to punish the infidels...the locals got used to this
manner of speaking. The fact was, nobody knew who Sigmund Delke
actually serve, with spots of sweat gathering around his head like a crown
of thorns. The population of the village was one third of the previous
population and decreasing. No children were born anymore. Stories of the
haunted village were heard in the nearby villages,travellers would keep
away. By now it really had become the village of the damned, no
livestock to plow the ground, no young people to sing and dance, no
nothing...
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One morning, the few remaining villagers were stunned by the sudden
silence. When they went out of their dens, since their homes could not be
considered houses anymore, they were welcomed by dark, cloudy skies.
Then they realized why the usual sounds were missing. The birds had
flown away, every last one of them. Bare, eerie branches were staring
down at the people now, as if they were mocking them, repeating with
every blow of the wind:
We told you so...we told you so...we told you so...we told you...
The reborn Sigmund Delke was alone in his house that night. His
favorite village whore had left, leaving him alone by his dirty, unkempt
fireplace. Delke was staring at the fire with his dark, ruthless eyes,
waiting for something or someone...
Midnight passed, then the first hour of the new day...suddenly, the weak
flame started to fade, even though the air in the house was still.
Delke gulped and felt chills run down his bent spine like ants. It was
getting colder, his breath could be seen in uneven, shattered intervals.
Even though it was practically impossible for a human being to sweat in
that cold by doing nothing, Sigmund Delke was soaking in sticky, smelly
sweat.
Mumbling was heard softly, as if it was coming from a distance, but it
was definitely nearer. It sounded like a bull or some other large animal
humming. But still, it was deeper, carrying something malevolent,
something evil...nothing good for the ones waiting.
The door slammed open, showing some horrible creature surrounded by
spooky green light in the doorway.
'Master', Delke managed to say before falling on his knees. The beast
was staring at him with its inhuman eyes. Then it entered the room in
slow, heavy steps.
Thump...thump...thump...before it stopped right next to the kneeling
servant.
Just like before, when the beast was standing by, watching this man
bury his wife, strange sounds were coming from his sturdy neck.
Mumbling, groaning, growling, all at once, while Delke nodded, mad
from fear.
Suddenly the beast started talking in harsh, barely understandable, but
definitely – German:
'Miller...they escaped, Sigmund. Your job is to find them and bring
them to me dead. All memory of this village must be erased. Miller!'
sounded again, in an extremely strange tonality for such a common name.
'They escaped, and you know what you do, your children and your
children's children also...'
Sigmund Delke, who had given his soul to the devil long ago, nodded
frantically.
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'Sebastian Miller has left the village, go after him as soon as you're
done with the local scum. When the time comes, I will join you, be
assured. All this...all this land has to belong to our mutual master, do you
understand me, you slave?'
Uncontrolled nodding was repeated.
'The Millers must disappear from the face of the earth, along with the
rest of the worms that are still dragging around. Tomorrow, after you
enter the churrrrch', the beast was pronouncing the name of the house of
God as if it was swallowing razors, 'tell them the same thing you always
do, but this time tell them it was all Miller's fault, tell them he went to
serve our master, and that he deliberately fled before Haike was burned,
trying to divert everybody's suspicion. Then tell them you've heard their
massssster (again the beast barely managed to say the word) in your
sleep, and that he'd told you it was Sebastian Miller's fault all those
people are now gone...gone...gone...
And now, listen to me like you've never listened to anybody before, you
miserable maggot. Here is what you will do when the time comes, here is
how you will get rid of all his servants...'
There was nobody else in the room when Sigmund Delke had raised his
drooling chin again. The fire was out, it was pitch black.
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CHAPTER 26
In the heart of the jungle, time went by differently than in the outside
world. Sipo knew that time didn’t stand still only by the motion of the
Sun and the moon. He spent time wandering around the hut and thinking
about the terrible events which had happend to him, and how everything
had changed in his life in just a couple of terrible hours. The face of
Sipo’s father, who was amongst the first victims of the attack, suddenly
flashed before Sipo’s eyes. Before he died, he took two attackers down
with him.
In some other life, it seems , Sipo’s father Makethla, was a proud man,
he had two wives and plenty of cows for Sipo to inherit.
Now all of that was gone , he was the only one of five Makela’s five
children who had survived the attack. His sense of sorrow was mixed
with the fact that his family was gone, but his will for survival kept
searching and exploring new horizons. In the heart of the jungle there
were plenty of horizons to explore. He was surprised to hear Kirsa’s hut
was two-day walk distance from his village. He couldn’t recall sleeping
through the night, he had made only one short break.
Where was the Sun when you woke up?’
’Low, in the valley.’
’Did it go up, or down, towards the treetops?’
’But, but...’
’No but, boy, you were simply so scared you lost track of time.
’That is when you slept, Sipo. You slept until morning.’
Kirsa let him figure it out for himself.
Then he remembered. The night, the cool air, the tree he had climbed on,
the hyenas staring at him from the ground, dozens of them.
The big woman went on.
’Everything about you tells me that something is looking after you, like I
told you before. You survived a night in the jungle all by yourself, you
ate enough intlaci berries to kill a grown-up warrior, you survived the
encounter with my brother, for now.
All of a sudden, strange coldness rushed through his body, making him
want to vomit. Words he was saying were full of bitterness.
’Will I ever be able to live like before, Kirsa?’
’No, you won’t’.
’When will I have to go?’
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’ I will know when, Sipo, don’t worry about that now boy’, she was
smiling while the boy’s heart was pounding . He said the same thing he
did days before:
’Kirsa, I...I don’t want to go, I got nowhere to go.’
The woman’s eyes filled with tears. She moved towards him just as he
had moved towards her. Soon he was sobbing, his head was plunged
between her massive breasts which surrounded his face like warm, soft
pillows.
’He is becoming stronger with every new day, Sipo, and he will come
for you. If you don’t go away, he will definitely kill you. He knows
something we don’t. He knows why are you such a danger to him...and
why he is so afraid of you.’
Both of them remained silent for a long time, they didn’t want to talk
about the past that was coming to get them here, in the hut in the middle
of the jungle.
Kirsa knew many stories, some made Sipo laugh, some made him
scared. After a while he was partly recovered from the shock, holding on
like every child in his place would, some of those dreadful scenes were
blending into fiction, into a story that was more distant every day. The
nights were something else, though, especially just before dawn. He
would often wake up screaming, and Kirsa would immediately appear by
his side. He would talk incoherently about the spears moving up and
down, the screams, his mother Tlamini looking around in panic...then he
would see her lips pronouncing his name silently...then she falls down, as
if she is embracing the ground never to rise up again...the spears were
moving up and down...
Tens of miles away, some other huts were scattered on a plain, no
smoke was rising from one of them. Big ugly dogs were licking their
dirty hair, ocasionally raising their noses towards the sky. The woods
aroun the plain were savagely shattered, as if by some giant paw or hand.
Branches were broken, grass was tumbled upside down. Something or
someone had torn all the plants in the area in an utterly savage manner.
There was some inexplicable hate in the apperance of young trees ripped
out from the ground, lying around like corpses. There were no gorillas
around to be blamed for all that.
The inside of the central hut was half-lit. A semicircle of ten or more
kneeling naked warriors had formed, their weapons were stuck in the
sand beside them. In the darkness in front of them stood a large man. His
massive shoulders and huge head seemed to be made of stone. Nothing
could be heard except the occasional buzzing of the flies. Then the giant
creature started inhaling the stale air, making a deep, rattling sound. The
warriors’ eyes were full of admiration, it seemed that none of them
would make a sound even if they were bitten by a black mamba. Apart
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from admiration, fear was the overwhelming feeling inside that dark,
filthy hut. This massive human figure looked like it had been restored
from some sort of a pit which was his hiding place until this moment, the
voice that started echoing inside the hut wasn’t human.
He is alive...he wasn’t eaten by beasts...he didn’t starve to death...
Minutes have passed after the man had spoken, while the warriors were
looking at their knees. Then he took a deep breathand the new words
were heard, difficult to understand.
I know...where...he...is...and I know...who is looking after him...’ As he
spoke, smell of human fear was spreading through the hut.
Sssssoon...we will be on our way...this time he can’t essssscape...he
must die...along with her ! The creature had finished the sentence with
such anger it made some of the warriors let out an unwilling scream.
Then they bowed and left the hut still on their knees, got next to their
dogs and fell asleep.
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CHAPTER 27
Patrick Lombard was walking home in a state of trance. He knew he had
found himself a girlfriend, although he still had no solid evidence, he
simply knew it and didn’t doubt it a bit. Then he started calculating,
silently at first, loudly moments later.
’Saturday. Today is, what? Wednesday? Shit, but still better than
Monday, or Sunday, definitely. That is, how much? 3x24 is 72, minus 5
or six and that is it.’
He was walking and thinking that way, completely oblivious of the
people who would look at him with curiousity, gazing at his wounded
face all covered with plasters. After he sat in his favorite chair he took a
piece of paper from his pocket. Those seven numbers were still there,
lined up like soldiers. Lombard was staring at them like they were made
of gold.
’Helen Brown...not Jackson, Brown’, he mumbled as he turned the
paper with his fingers.
At work, he was giving his best to open up to his coworkers, even tried
to smile more. In reality, all he was interested in was this coming event.
Saturday finally came with a sense of tension and expectation, and
Lombard dialled the seven digits on his old-fashioned house phone. After
seven rings, just as Lombard was getting ready to hang up, there was a
voice on the other end:’Hello?’
’Hello...this is Patrick, Patrick Lombard, may I speak to Miss Helen
Br..’
’How do you know it’s miss?’
Two tons of rock fell off the detective’s heart.
’Well...she said so when we met, I believe.’
’Hi, Pat, how are you?’
’Good, very good, and you?’
’ Great, I just came home from shopping.’
Lombard didn’t like the pause that followed, since they didn’t know
each other enough to be able to create that comfortable silence, in fact,
they didn’t know each other at all.
’We were supposed to meet today, or am I wrong?’
’You are a cop, and you people are never wrong, right?’
’We’re not supposed to.’
’What did you have in mind?’
Bingo!
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’Anywhere you want: the movies, the restaurant, the zoo, we could
bump into each other in the street again, for start.’
’Hm... Dorsen Square, one hour?’
’Dorsen, one hour.’
’No bumping?’
’No bumping.’
’Then..until then.’
’Until then.’
And so it began.
The date went great. They were laughing, they went to the movies, then
to a restaurant.
After a while, Lombard felt like he had known her all his life, charming
and funny, she was so laid back she made the withdrawn detective dizzy.
At the end of the evening, Lombard tried his luck once again, since he
was on such a good mood already.
’Helen?’
’Yes?’
’Would you...maybe like to go back to my place for a drink?’
She didn’t answer immediately, just looked right at him .
Lombard was afraid that he was to pushy .
’Hey, no hidden agendas here, if that’s what you mean, I meant just one
dr..’
’All right, Pat, no need for exuses , we’re going to have that
hm...drink in your place’
They laughed together, then, indeed went for that drink. In Lombard’s
place they quckly gulped down a glass of Jack Daniel’s and almost
immediately fell into each other’s arms. One minut and twenty seconds
later they were hysterically taking of each other’s clothes inside the notso-neat-and tidy bedroom. The detective was kissing the girl’s neck,
which made her let out a slow, deep sigh which instantly made him hard.
She reached down for his groin and soon found what she was looking for.
Now it was Lombard’s turn to let out a sigh. She held his penis gently and
firmly at the same time, and he felt he was being overexcited, although it
was only the beginning. If they carry on like this, they will both witness
one of those shameful, premature ejaculations.
’First and last with Helen, that’s for sure’, he frantically thought in a
haze of passion.
Somehow they managed to take off all their clothes and rushed wildly
at each other, twisting and turning, tangling and kicking down the sheets.
When he had entered her, she gripped his back so hard Lombard
immediately knew what was going to happen.
Shit, more blood.
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This time he didn’t mind. His strokes became stronger, more nervous.
The climax was near and they both knew it. Again, Helen Brown’s nails
had pierced the skin on Lombard’s back, it felt like she had claws on her
fingers, instead of nicely manicured nails.
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CHAPTER 28
The night was quiet, too quiet. Even the hyenas, who roamed the jungle
every night looking for carrion or some sleeping prey, could not be heard.
Kirsa never underestimated the hyenas, but after years of living on their
territory she had learned to live along with them. That is why the
absence of their laughter woke the big woman up. The child on the bed
next to hers didn't move and was breathing steadily, deep in sleep. Kirsa
reached towards him but stopped, then went out on the moonlit plain.
Outside the air was still, she was not. She turned around again, watching
the small creature sleep on the bunk, barely visible under the moonlight.
The old blanket had fallen down and Kirsa got emotional from the sight
of the thiny body.
'So small', she thought with sadness, then gazed up at the moon.
'Tell me how much time we have left, give me a sign.'
The moon remained silent and distant, the pale glow still covered the
Earth.
'He knows!', Kirsa realized instantly, not thinking about the shiny ball
above her head.
'He found out, god damn him.' The thin hair on her massive hands stood
up, but immediate no danger could be sensed in the air.
'Tell me, how much longer?' the woman repeated, with a hint of despair
in her voice. There was no answer. She waited for a couple more minutes,
then turned and went toward the hut. Suddenly, a large shadow covered
everything around her and the moon disappeared from the sky. The big
dark cloud came over it, with blood red light shining over the edges.
Kirsa, sister of the man-beast, got her sign.
They had no more time, the boy had to go right away. Slowly, careful not
to wake him, Kirsa started packing few things he would be carrying
along. While she worked, images were flashing before her eyes. Images
of her finding the little creature weeks ago, carrying his unconscious body
into the hut, holding his head while he was throwing out the poison from
his stomach .. could it be true it had all happened in the short period of
only past few weeks? Kirsa was an unusual woman by many standards,
but still a woman with maternal instincts somewhere deep inside. Pushed
back and not recognized during her life, these instincts now came out
vividly and harshly. This child could've been her child, she couldn't fight
that feeling. Sipo was still asleep, unaware of the turbulent condition his
savior was in. There wasn't much time left for him to sleep peacefully,
because later, after he wakes up, she will have to tell him that time they
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lived together in the jungle had come to an end, and they must part ways
if he wanted to survive. Suppressed for a long time, large tears started
running down the woman's fat cheeks. She went outside, not wanting to
wake the boy up with sobbing.
'Ejtana..damn you.'
Slowly, the sun was rising on the eastern horizon.
The black cloud dispersed as fast as it had appeared earlier, and the
moon was shining again. Still, Kirsa understood the meaning of the
blackout too well, she couldn't wait any longer.
It's time.
She pressed her hands on the corners of her lips and started making a
sound somewhere between whistling and clicking. She waited a while,
then repeated. For a while she stood completely silent, then the identical
sound came from the surrounding darkness. Kirsa smiled for the first time
since the unnatural silence had risen her from sleep in the dead of night.
She went into the hut and touched the boy as gently as she could. Her
hand rested on his warm shoulder, as if Kirsa was trying to make this
moment last forever. But this time forever had an end. She started
shaking him.
'Kirsa, what happened?'
The woman didn't answer immediately, having no faith in her own
voice.
'Sipo...it's time.'
The boy looked at her for a moment, and then he put her arms around
her and gripped as hard as he could. Kirsa thought her heart would break,
she hoped her heart would break.
'Kirsa...'
'I know, Sipo, but the time has come and you have to go. He knows
you're here and he 's coming for you.'
The boy nodded, not raising his head. He just trembled, holding firmly
the woman who was his everything now.
'Here, I packed you some clothes and food. A friend of mine will come
soon and you must go with him. He will take you to a large town, where
you will meet someone...'
Kirsa slowly moved the boy's arms down and grabbed his shoulders.
She looked deeply in his eyes and spoke in a strong voice:
'Sipo, you and I have already talked about how you will have to go
away when the time comes. You can’t even imagine the powers these
dark forces have, let alone fight them. Your strength will be fully
developed later in life, now you are still too small and powerless to
fight...him'.
But I'm telling you, one day you will be powerful enough to stand up to
him. Then and only then will you be able to get revenge for the deaths of
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your mother, father, sisters and brothers, friends...everyone who was
killed that night. And me, she almost added, but she didn’t say it. Kirsa
knew what was going to happen in the hours ahead, what must happen.
Suddenly, a low clicking sound was heard at the entrance of the hut.
That was what Kirsa had been waiting for. When they went outside, they
saw a bushman of an undeterminable age standing a few feet away from
the hut. He could have easily been thirty or seventy, especially at the
break of dawn, under the dim sunlight. He was exactly the same height as
Sipo. The litlle man raised his hand in greeting, and Kirsa greeted him
mback. They exchanged several fast clicking sentences, all the while
Kirsa pointing her finger in the boy's direction. Much to Sipo's surprise,
the bushman approached him and kneeled, bowing his head to the dirt in
front of Sipo's feet. Nobody had ever showed Sipo that much respect.
His duties in the village consisted mainly of fetching water, or guarding
the cattle, but now this elderly bushman was lying in the dirt before him,
keeping his face down. The confused boy looked at Kirsa, who just
nodded lightly. Eventually, the bushman stood up and moved aside.
Then Kirsa put her arms around the boy and held him tightly. There was
a sense of despair in that hug, which made the boy's throat clench from
grief again. He knew his life was going to be changed irreversibly, and
that the days in the company of this enormous woman who became his
second mother were now over.
'Go now, Sipo, and remember: wherever you go and whatever you do,
be proud, be good. Be worthy of your mother Thlamini and you father
Maketla, worthy of your grandmother Ghaani and your greatgrandmother Inkozi. I was cursed to grow old slowly, but now, finally,
my curse will be gone. What matters now is that one who is after you
doesn't get his hands on you. Nothing else matters.'
'Kirsa..I will never see you again, will I?' the boy asked the question that
had been on his mind the whole time.
At the very end, the large woman couldn't stand any more and started to
cry right there, in front of him.
'No, Sipo, you will never see me again. But we will carry each other in
our hearts for as long as we both live, right ?'
The boy nodded staring at the ground.
They hugged one last time, and remained like that for a couple of long
moments. Then the boy felt the thin, but unusually strong hands of the
bushman drag him toward the jungle. He turned to look at Kirsa once
again. She stood there, with the look in her eyes Sipo will never forget.
Never before or after that will he see the look with so much love, sorrow
and pain.
About an hour after Sipo's departure, Kirsa heard the barking in the
distance. She continued stirring the mahango mush in one large clay pot,
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like she had done many times before during those long, lonesome years.
Next time the vicious barks and growls were much nearer, she knew who
was coming. She got up from her knees and went out to the plain in front
of the hut. The barking was very close now. Nobody could hear the
words that came from her mouth, they weren't meant to be heard.
'Looks like we meet again, my outcast brother.'
Just as she'd finished that sentence, creatures similar to dogs appeared
before her, with eyes full of hate, horrible jaws ready for attack. They
looked like animals, but Kirsa knew who they really were. At that
moment, a giant figure came out of the bush and walked toward her.
Kirsa didn't move.
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CHAPTER 29
The first thing he saw when he woke up was the ceiling, after that his
eyes fell down to a piece of paper, torn on one side.
'Probably from some sort of a journal', his professional mind made a
quick calculation , then he remembered where he was and what had
happened last night. He jumped out of the bed and grabbed the paper.
See you ,lover boy, in clean, female writing.
Helen.
Images,mostly of pornographic nature started flashing before
Lombard's eyes furiously...the erection was instant.
'Fuck', he said as he rushed to the bathroom. He struggled to take a piss,
since his awaked penis was stubbornly staring toward the sky instead of
the toilet.
After that, he dressed and went to work.
After a weak coffee in the office he absently dialed various
community services he was planning to talk to. All of them were related
to the swamp one way or another, or as it was said, were in charge of
the park on one way or another. The garbage disposal company was the
first.
Lombard soon found out that, even with the highly developed
ecological conscience most of the visitors were showing, the amount of
garbage taken out of the park three times a week was rather impressive.
The male voice on the other end of the line was calmly informing
Lombard about the vehicles' arrival and departure times, as well as the
specific dates. No, they didn't hear or see anything suspicious, everything
they (which meant the entire company, Lombard assumed) knew about
the murders was what they got from the press. The conversation with the
tourist company was more or less identical. They knew nothing apart
from what was in the paper, and this time a female voice discretely and
kindly asked him to 'keep it low public-wise, because they have already
been losing customers since the misfortunate event took place.'
Lombard promised he would try his best.
After that, he had two more conversations with the public service
companies whose particular field of work remained unexplained to
Lombard during the entire conversations, and that was it...then the phone
rang, making him turn so suddenly he almost broke the desk panel with
his knees.
'Police station, hello?'
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'I'm sorry, I must have misdialed', he heard a voice he's been waiting for
all day, 'I wanted to talk to the city's finest stud, and I got the police
station...sorry.'
'Helen?'
'Still haven't changed my name as much as I enjoyed last night...well,
early morning, actually.'
'Glad to hear it, I saw your message this morning, you snuck out like a
thief, I didn't hear a thing, which is highly unusual for me.'
'Well, all that’s been happening between us these past few days is
highly unusual for me to, mister Lombard.'
'I don't know what you mean, everything's been pretty normal,
extremely speaking.'
'If you think I just blushed, you're right.'
Patrick Lombard was suddenly feeling better than ever. He had
somehow resisted the urge to call all those boring folks from this morning
and tell them how they were actually very kind, how their wise
comments have helped his investigation significantly, and, at least but
not last how by doing so they also helped the community, that means
they helped the entire USA, and how far from that is helping the entire
planet? He left home like a reborn man, wearing an old suit.
'Hey, Pat...got something new for me?', he heard McCarthy's voice
coming from the back, but he didn't turn around. In this short time
McCarthy had got to know Lombard better than most of the people knew
him his entire life. He just lifted his middle finger high into the air.
'That's my man', he heard Tony say as he left the building.
13 hours later...
The park that was their meeting place bore some unpleasant memories
for Lombard, but he was trying not to think about it too much. After five
minutes of waiting, he saw streaks of blond hair, it was Helen. He walked
toward her, as if the two of them were dueling. Fifty feet, thirty, ten...then
they hugged. Lombard was hoping that his thin shirt would be enough to
cover the strong pounding of his heart.
'Pat.'
'Helen.'
'It's been a while', he began bullshit talk, and got his first warning
immediately.
'Bullshit, it's been 12 hours.'
'13 hours and 42 minutes.'
'Ok...how are you?'
'I'm fine...where are we going?'
'Somewhere we could sit and talk for a while, if you don't mind?'
Lombard was tired like a dog.
'Of course I don't, just say the place.'
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Soon they were looking at each other over coffee cups again , like they
do in the movies. Patrick was longing to hold her coat, pour her drink,
light her cigarette, wipe her a..., he was losing it.
'What are you thinking about, lover boy?', the blonde's intuition was
working from across the table.
For a moment Lombard feared she was equipped with some scanner
that allowed her to read his mind.
‘Me? Nothing. Actually, I would like to know more about you, if it’s
possible, except for what I learned last night, which was awesome’, he
said, emphasizing that last word.
‘You don’t know what awesome is’ she said. For a moment Lombard
was speechless, and then the quick transformation of Helen Brown
brought him back to reality. She started talking.
‘I…first of all I want to ask you do you have a tape recorder, and if you
do, are you going to use it to record this conversation?’
‘No and no.’
‘And what’s that between your legs, then?’
‘That’s not a tape recorder, it’s a microphone, I believe you’ve already
seen it and sang on it, it was really nice, by the way, I liked it very much.’
‘That’s true.’
‘So…?’
‘So…I was the middle of three children. I grew up in a small town in
Pennsylvania named Crocodile Valley. About three thousand souls, real
dump of a place. Only when I moved to Philadelphia and started going to
college did I get the freedom I have always dreamed about. I wasn’t wild
or anything, but I believe I have personally experienced all aspects of an
average college life.
‘No doubt about it.’
‘Were you being cynical?’
‘Not at all, please go on’, Lombard answered, honestly interested to
hear her story.
‘ There is not much to say, really, rather boring I’m afraid, at least to
me. My first boyfriend was called Warren, like Warren Beatty, there were
few others after him. All in all, I didn’t really…my brains out with youknow-what. I spent a lot of time studying, too much actually…’
‘Would you have liked if it was the other way around?’
‘What?’
‘The fucking and studying part?’
‘Another rude comment and this interview is over.’
Lombard raised his hands in surrender and blinked a couple of times.
Helen took a theatrical sip of her cold tea, while Lombard enjoyed her
every move. Life seemed beautiful at these moments like never before.
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‘Actually, I was always interested in anthropology, I guess that is why I
decided to come here and work on my PhD on the Kongaree swamp and
its native settlers.’
‘The Indians.’
‘Same thing. I have so much working material it’s making my head
hurt. All those names, dates, murders, illnesses…but I don’t have any
regrets. I do the thing I love, and I hope to write a good dissertation.’
Lot of these questions and answers was already heard on their first date.
But it seemed none of them had any objections about hearing it again, or
at least they were really good at faking it.
‘How long have you been in Columbia?’ Lombard asked Brown again,
and she replied the same way as she did last time.
‘About three months, although I’ve been here before, you know…I
started this project about a year ago. There is so much to learn in order to
make any data synthesis worth mentioning.’
‘You’re not afraid of what happened there?’
‘You mean the murders?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well…no. I mean, I practically never go to the sites myself, and also,
murders do happen everywhere.
. From what I’ve learned about Kongaree swamp so far, much worse
things have happened there in the past, believe me.’
‘Worse than heads rolling off?’
‘Yes, Pat. The case you’re working on is a real tragedy, but you got two
people. In my case, groups of people have been disappearing, hundreds of
them.’
‘How?’
‘Illnesses, struggles between tribes, conquerors from the old world,
perhaps most of them in magic rituals.’
Lombard raised his eyes.
‘Magic rituals?’
Miss Brown looked at him, confused. ‘Yes, don’t look at me like that, it
has always been a part of our history.’
‘I had no idea.’
‘Now you have, detective Lombard.’
Then Patrick remembered his previous conversation with an
unemployed journalist by the name of Johnny Darkwood.
‘As a matter of fact, a guy I met recently told me he had witnessed
several gatherings in the swamp, people standing in circles around the
fire, mumbling something, maybe that is something like a…’
Helen Brown’s strong laugh interrupted him.
‘Pat, somebody saw something today, I’m talking about what was
happening centuries ago.’
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Lombard felt uncomfortable. He felt stupid, wishing he had kept his
mouth shut.
‘ I was just making a comment.’
They continued talking for a long time. Later on, as they were lying
naked in his bed and he was falling a sleep, he heard her voice through
the mist.
‘Pat?’
‘Hm…?’
‘That man…the one who was telling you about the people in the
swamp…do you know who he is?’
‘No…I mean, yeah…why?’
‘Well, I wondered if you could introduce me to him, I would like to talk
to him on some interesting matters…you never know who might help
you.’
Lombard was struggling to stay awake.
‘I thought you said…’
‘I know, but I’m still interested.’
‘OK, I’ll give him your number the next time I hear from him.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
‘OK…go to sleep now, lover boy.’
Lombard seemed to be waiting for that command. Minute later he was
sound asleep and Helen Brown was standing naked in front of the
window, staring at the dark skies above their heads.
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CHAPTER 30
The dreary day wasn't much brighter than the previous night, rare birds
were flying across the gray horizon pregnant with dark, heavy clouds. It
was Sunday, half an hour before the mass was about to begin. Since the
last priest had been found mutilated on the church floor a few weeks
before, he was replaced by Sigmund Delke, the man who was seen by the
villagers as the chosen one, saved, reborn, purified of sins . Nothing
could be further from the truth, but the village which had lost more than
two thirds of its population within two years seemed oblivious to the
truth. Survivers were dragging along the deserted fields and dirty side
roads like ghosts, resembling more and more the legion of the damned.
Sigmund Delke woke up earlier than usual that morning. He was
supposed to take the priest's place at the mass today, the same priest he
had himself killed.
Before the poor man had died, Sigmund had unsuccessfully been trying
to make him surrender his soul to the devil. Then Delke started stabbing
long, rusty spikes under the tied man's nails. Even that couldn't make the
priest commence the hideous blasphemy requested by the one finally
showing his true face.
He continued calling out the name of Christ even after Delke had dug
out his eyes, cut off both his ears and got down to cutting his fingers, one
by one. Then he began removing the skin from the priests back, and only
after many pale, bloody strips had fallen to the floor of the crook's den
did the priest give in. He swore his loyalty to the devil, and seconds later
Delke slit his throat. Then he took a wooden cross with a spiked end,
spread the dead man's legs open and pushed the tip of the wood towards
the anus. He felt the cross enter the poor priest's body. Eventually he
carried his mutilated body to the church and left it on the floor, but not
before he had spat on the corpse.
All these things seemed to escape Sigmund Delke's mind as he was
busy preparing for church. He had much more important business to
attend to. Since he killed the priest, he was calling the villagers to come
to the church and pray for forgiveness in order to avoid the complete
annihilation that seemed to be waiting for them. The church was packed
that day, the people were hopelessly staring at the harsh, cruel face in
front of them.
'I see you have taken my advice, brothers and sisters, and came today so
that we can all pray to our lord...to our lord for forgiveness of our sins.
Things, we've done things so horrible that there are fewer and fewer of
us every day, and if we are not forgiven today, we will be annihilated.'
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Thin, exhausted faces gazed at Delke as he was talking. None of the
present people realised that Delke wasn't at all underfed or ill. Even
though he was talking about 'all of them', he himself was not included, for
someone watching objectively it was more than obvious he wasn't sharing
the pain he was talking about. But pain and misery had already taken their
toll. Blindness was coming from the people's tired hearts, not letting them
see that Delke was looking healthier than ever, while the others were
dying one by one...it was a pitiful bunch of men, women and children,
representing what was left of a once successful village.
'Maybe, just maybe, we will convince the Lord to forgive us, I say.'
Nobody in the crowd knew what exact sins have they commited that
were so terrible, but if the man with the stigmata says so, then it must be
truth. All along his fake preaching his eyes were straying around the
room. Slowly at first, then more nervous, he ended up frantically seeking
one specific face in the crowd, but couldn't spot it. He interrupted his
'preaching' in the middle of the sentence.
'I see now that not everyone had taken my advice to come to the house
of God. One man seems to think it is not rellevant, or maybe he didn't
come on purpose ? Why, I ask you?' The people were looking at each
other, confusedly looking for that one man.
Delke spared them the futile search.
'Don't look in vain for the one who is not amongst us today. I will tell
you who it is. It is Sebastian Miller. The same one who fled the village
when we were burning that witch Haike, because he was afraid she might
point him out for what he really is, the devil's servant. Yes, that is Miller,
our neighbour, but never actually one of us.'
The crowd was mesmerized. There was a murmur between the old
church walls. They had forgotten everything: who their neighbor
Sebastian Miller was, the man always ready to help unselfishly, who
Sigmund Delke was before and all those stories about his unrighteous
way of life, his sins...they didn't remember anything.
Now, that same man was marking Sebastian Miller as the only one
responsible for all that struck this once prosperous community.
'That is why he is not here today, he doesn't belong here. But we will
find him, and finish this... once and for all.'
Desperate people started nodding.
Delke continued talking for next the half an hour, mostly jibberish, but
for the crowd his words made perfect sense. Then he suddenly stopped.
'Stay where you are, brothers and sisters, and I will go out and return
with the evidence, and you will see I was telling you the truth. Then you
will finally realize.'
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Sounds of approval were coming from the crowd. Delke rushed to
church door, then turned around again and looked at the men, women and
children.
'Stay where you are, and I will be right back.' Men nodded, some
women held their children closer. The crowd began feeling restless, but
nobody was moving.
Then Delke went outside, closing the door behind him. Once outside,
he jammed the heavy door using a big log he had a lot of trouble dragging
the night before. Nobody could leave the church now, but the people
inside couldn't known it.
An eerie smile suddenly crossed Delke's face. He started piling up the
branches and trunks that were lying in the church yard, dragged there by
two poor locals who were completely unaware of its later purpose.
Minutes were passing and beads of perspiration started forming on the
man's forehead. Steam was coming out of his mouth, making him look
more like some beast of burden, doing what it was ordered to. Fifteen
minutes later all the branches were piled up against the wooden walls of
the church. With strength greater than human, Delke collected an amount
of timber two men couldn't gather in several hours. His hands were
shaking as he took the tinder from his pocket. Then he set fire on the
nearest branch. He went around the church doing the same, then stood
back and waited.
In the first few moments,the people inside couldn't scent the smell of
burning wood; tired, hungry and powerless, they obediantly waited for
Delke to return. Then one woman screamed:
'Fire!'
Her voice seemed to finally shake the crowd. They rushed to the door
and tried to open them., but Sigmund Delke was a good servant. The log
he used to block the door was rock-hard, it could sustain a herd of bulls,
let alone a bunch of desperate, starving villagers. Panic was spreading
faster than the fire.
Screams of women and children mixed with the shouts of the panicking
men. Their cries were heard only by one man – Sigmund Delke, standing
in front of the church. Soon, the fire rose to the sky, the heat inside the
church became unbearable. There was smoke everywhere, soon followed
by flames. The whole scene resembled a painting of some deranged
medieval artist.
The luckier ones died from suffocating, the less fortunate ones were
burned alive. Delke listened to the children's screams as they were
desperately seeking consolation in their mothers' arms, and the screams of
people caught in flames. Soon the entire church became one big bonfire,
and smell of burned flesh was spreading all around. It seemed like the
shouts from the church would never stop, but it was not long before
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everything suddenly turned silent. The fire was still raging, noticeable
from miles away. Delke was watching it all with a smile on his face, like
a man seeing the results of his fine labour.
All the village men were burned to death that day, along with their
wives and children. Revenge of Haike Brunneger and Sigmund Delke's
master was almost complete. There was only one seed left to annihilate:
the seed of Sebastian Miller.
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CHAPTER 31
Tony McCarthy was delighted with his partner's sudden changed
behavior.
'Pat, you've become a new man since you started getting laid on a
regular basis. Maybe the boss should offer Helen, or whatever her name
is, a promotion. Since you started banging again you've become so
productive it's a shame you're stuck on only one case.'
McCarthy was the only one in the precinct who knew the details about
Lombard's current love life. Even though they knew each other just a
short period of time, they spent many hours together in pubs, talking
about life rather than work. Lombard liked McCarthy's outgoing
personality, Tony liked Lombard's sense of humor.
'Just don't tell anybody, Tony, and I mean anybody, OK?'
'Sure, I mean, you've become quite a star down here, but I don't think
anybody would be shocked to find out you've found a date. I believe it's
more of a...whachacallit...physiological necessity?'
'Just don't be a smart-ass and keep your mouth shut, can you do that
much?'
'Yeah...one question, though.'
'Yeah?'
'Why does it matter so much to you, I mean, all the guys go crazy
jealous whenever someone finds a new girl and they're stuck with their
old ones, assuming there have old ones at all.'
Patrick Lombard just nodded, not wanting to explain the subject.
'One more question?'
'What?'
'When do I get to meet her, I mean, I've told you about all the girls I've
screwed, or to more politely – which is not really my stile – I've been
with, right?'
'I told you, Tony,' Lombard lowered his voice, 'Helen insists we keep it
low for now, and to tell you the truth I don't care. Once she loosens up,
you'll meet her, you know how those science people can be.'
'Weird, you mean?' McCarthy asked, pointing at his forehead.
'Well...sort of.'
'You don't really want to talk about it, do you?'
'No.'
'OK, but if you want some free advice, listen - they all love to take it
from behind.'
That's how the conversation ended.
116
In the real world ,the swamp murders still remained unsolved, and
Lombard wasn't seeing any new trails, which made it harder for him to
talk to the victims' parents, repeating over and over how there is no news,
but they will be the first to know the moment something come up.
After a while he asked Linda, the black girl at the front desk, to hold all
his calls regarding the swamp slayings, as the press dubbed it, unless it
was one of his colleagues.
……………………………………………………………………………
It was obvious Helen was in good spirits that day. When Lombard came
home, he immediately smelled the roast from the oven.
'Helen, where are you?'
'In the kitchen , where else?'
He hugged her from behind, in a very intimate way. She turned around
and kissed him, which made Lombard's body react like most healthy men
would at that moment.
'Mmmmm...'
'What smells so nice?'
'The roast, dummy' she said and gave him a strong kiss. Patrick
Lombard was a meat-eater. He could have it for lunch every day, with or
without side-dish. But Helen was something else. He remembered their
first dinner, when he watched in astonishment as she gulped a poundsteak. Bloody steak.
'You're a real tiger.'
'You don't have a clue, Pat.'
Lombard felt like he'd known her all his life. Even though he didn't
understand why she insisted their should keep their relationship secret
to the public, he didn't mind. They had fun together, they were becoming
closer and closer, and that was all that mattered.
'Why don't you tell me about your job, Pat, I'd love to know more.'
'You wouldn't, trust me....'
Then Helen looked at him that way, he didn't know why, but the look
made him somehow uneasy.
'But what's wrong with catching bad guys, Patrick, isn't it nice to know
you're making the community safer?'
'You sound like a reporter.'
'But I'm not, I work at the museum and I'm currently dating a homicide
detective.'
'Currently?'
'Only diamonds are forever, you naughty homicide boy.'
Rapes and murders, too.'
117
She went on questioning him about his cases, what he did, when and
where, when was he most scared, when was the first time he shot a man,
was it self-defense, did he ever kill anybody.
Patrick Lombard started talking.
After a while he realized it felt good to let it all out. It had a sort of a
therapeutic effect on him, since he never really talked to anyone about
the stress and the danger of his everyday routine. All those things he had
witnessed, all those deaths, rapes, murders, serial killings...it sometimes
seemed the entire planet was inhabited only by villains. She gave him her
undivided attention so his story went on.
He told her about the time he was chasing some meth-head junky when
suddenly he turned around and fired gun at him. Lombard fired back and
his second bullet hit the target. The gun fell out of the punk's hand, but
he still continued to walk towards the man who'd shot him. After walking
an astonishing fifty feet, the kid collapsed to the ground. When Lombard
approached him, it was obvious that the man was dying .
'He just stared at me, completely aware of what happened...and what
was going to happen.'
'And you...what did you do?'
'Me?'
Lombard frowned, trying to remember the details of an event that
happened so long ago.
'I didn't do anything...I was just looking at him, he was looking at me...I
think.. I felt sorry...he was young, maybe twenty years old...shit...then he
began losing focus, and I got down to my knees and held his head with
both hands. I held him like that, until he died.'
After Patrick finished his story, they both sat silently.
'We are all going to die sooner or later, Pat '
They made love less passionately than usual that night. Lombard
couldn't concentrate. His mind was on something else, something strange.
He was thinking about the boy he had killed. All those things crossed his
mind while he was still deeply inside Helen Brown's body. He also
remembered another dream he’d had a few nights earlier, the blood red
eyes staring at him like they knew him. Like they know him very well.
We are all going to die sooner or later, Pat
I suppose you're right, Helen.
118
CHAPTER 32
Sipo and the bushman were advancing through the jungle swiftly, but
cautiously. Tiny as they both were, they had no trouble crossing over,
under or through any obstacles.
The bushman would occasionally stop and lift his index finger, which
meant that Sipo should do the same. He would listen for a while, and then
they would carry on. They drank water from the holes dug by bushmen
long time ago, on the paths they had walked for centuries. The water was
surprisingly cold and clear. Sipo was accustomed to the sight of the
bushmen coming to his village to trade. Short people with round bellies
wore only small pieces of cloth around the waist, along with various
items of jewelry and the inevitable bow and arrows with different tips,
depending on the chosen prey. Maketla, Sipo's father, used to say
bushmen are the only people capable of surviving in the jungle all by
themselves. Now, Sipo had the chance to see that his father's stories were
true.
The two didn't talk, and the boy doubted any conversation was possible.
Bushmen talked mostly in click language, and they rarely accepted any
foreign language. But, because bushmen were extraordinary seekers,
they were often employed by white settlers during their huntings or
digging for diamonds.
Sipo had no clue where were they going, let alone what would happen
to him once they got 'there.' All he wanted was to turn around and run
back to Kirsa.
'No, we will never see each other again, Sipo', he recalled the words
that stabbed like a knife.
No matter how hard Sipo didn't want to believe it, it was the only truth.
What he didn't know was that his savior was already dead, shredded to
pieces by the fierce blows of that hideous creature, and that ignorance
was one of the very few blessing in his new life. That, and his being
alive and well-fed, so far.
Darkness came gradually. Weak rays of sunlight were surrendering to
the darkness in the space between the giant trees, always damp and shady,
before they disappeared completely.
Then Sipo heard the klicking noises from his passenger, which woke
him from his letargic state. He pointed upwards, and Sipo realized he had
found a place for them to spend the night. The memory of the hyenas was
very vivid, along with the scent the animals were spreading. The bushman
climbed first, Sipo followed. At thirty feet from the ground he suddenly
saw a platform made of leaves and branches that was their bunk for
119
tonight. Sipo smiled after a long time. Compared to the tree he had slept
on during the escape from the hyenas, this was luxurious apartment.
. His guide gave him some dry fruit and some other roots Sipo didn't
recognize. But his stomach was an empty cave in desperate need for
something to fill it. He chewed on the dry, wooden matter. Slowly, but
surely, the matter became mushy, and then it turned into something that
tasted quite like mango. The boy was delighted. The bushman happily
nodded and made fast clicking sounds, showing his small, brown teeth.
After they'd finished the meal Sipo realized how tired he was, and how
much he was missing Kirsa. His heart was hurting him so badly that he
thought it was going to burst in his chest.
As he was falling asleep, the boy was wondering what did his family had
ever done to be swept off the face of the Earth like that? He was alive,
yes, but everything he ever had was gone. What could they possibly have
done to deserve this?
He had no answer. Tired as he was, Sipo soon drifted to the other side,
where two blood red eyes were staring right at him.
Two days they walked through the jungle, and two more times the
bushman seemed to magically find the perfect spot for them to spend the
night. The last night was restless, since they'd heard a leopard growl
nearby. The treetops could not protect them from the leopard. On the
contrary, they would spare the animal the trouble of lifting their corpses
to the high branches, since they were already there. Fortunately, after a
while they heard a baboon scream in agony. The leopard had found his
supper.
On the last day, Sipo noticed the growth around them was getting
thinner and thinner, which made it esier for them to walk, but also made
them more noticeable for all the predators lurking in the jungle. They
were walking fast, with their backs bowed down, ready to get down on
the ground at the slightest sign of danger. Once again the boy and his
clicking guide were lucky. Soon after that, the first houses appeared in the
distance. Sipo had visited the larger human settlements before, but the
thing he enjoyed most was to go back to his own isolated village. He
wasn't at all impressed by civilisation, with all its smells, noise and
overcrowded streets. Soon the last high trees were behind them, it almost
seemed some disease had struck the jungle and made it retreat before the
rare pastures with skinny cows which wandered over them. Two little
figures were passing the first scattered huts when the bushman suddenly
stopped and put his hand on Sipo's shoulder. It was one of the few
physical contacts between the two of them since they started this journey.
Never were they more than a couple feet apart from each other, but Sipo
still trembled when the bushman touched him. For a moment they just
glanced at each other, and then the bushman handed Sipo a leather cloth,
120
and put his other hand on the boy's shoulder. Then his tiny hands grabbed
the boy's head, pressing their foreheads together. It was an expression of
their deepest emotion and respect, but it also meant goodbye, Sipo knew
their ways were now parting.
The bushman made a vague movement into the distance and raised his
fist, which meant Sipo had to go on in that direction for one more day.
Then he headed back to the jungle, his mission was complete. When he
reached the nearest trees, the bushman turned and raised his hand again.
Sipo waved back, suddenly realizing he couldn't swallow the saliva that
was gathering inside his mouth. He watched his guide disappear like he
had never beside him at all. Then he glanced at the piece of leather the
bushman had give him. There were letters on one side of it and he
understood it was an address. He slowly spelled the name out, the
teachers who came to his village had taught him that. The name on the
cloth was unknown to him. He didn't know who it belonged to, but he
knew he had to meet that person. He slowly walked toward civilisation,
accompanied by the smell of the wild flowers and the sounds of the
Damara sheep which looked at him for a second, then went back to their
usual business.
121
CHAPTER 33
The first thing he noticed was the absence of light. His eyes were
blinking, but nothing had changed. Sensation was followed by pain,
coming from behind his back. Hands. Hands tied so tight he could barely
move his fingers. Even though he couldn’t see them, he knew they were
swollen from all the captured blood, and it made them look like fat,
chunky sausages.
The scent in the air was unmistakably clear. The scent of blood, so
similar to the taste of iron filled his nostrils every time he inhaled. What
puzzled him most was that he still didn’t feel any fear, he tried to get up,
but only managed to roll to the side. As much as he wanted to know
where he was, he could not make it out. No water humming nearby, no
birds calling, he couldn’t scent horse shit, nor the heavy, drenched scents
coming from a kitchen. Still, he knew he was underground, the scent of
moisture that was mixed with the taste of blood could never be so strong
above the ground.
Then he heard a sound, soon another one. Someone was walking slowly
and heavily, and seemed to be dragging something over the soil. Yes, it
was soil, he knew because the steady sound the moving object made was
too faint to be made of stone. He instinctively clenched his swollen,
aching hands, which made the pain worse. The sound was coming from
above. His pulse was rising the first signs of fear started forming in his
chest.
‘Trumph…trumph…trrrumph…’
The sounds suddenly disappeared, and the silence was overwhelming.
After several long seconds he heard the sound of a large key turning a
lock. The hinges had ben dry for long time, and they complained
furiously for being awaken from a long slumber. The darkness was still
complete. He heard the heavy door being shut, but not before a new smell
had entered the room. It smelled like sheep ….or goat. Sharp and strong,
it filled the room instantly. The next thing he heard was the sound of two
metal objects rubbing together. Judging by the sound, somebody threw a
heavy, massive iron down to the ground. Then he lost consciousness.
He was awaked by warmth. No, it was heat. Fire – no, not fire, but
something very hot was nevertheless positioned not far from where he
was. Steady sounds of airbags blowing into a hot pile of coal, stones and
God knows what else proved his point. He was soaking wet, partly from
the heat, partly from fear.
Then he realized something which made him absolutely terrified.
122
He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know what he was. He didn’t
know anything.
He was breathing in a series of short, interrupted inhales and exhales,
which made his heart pound even harder. Heavy footsteps were
approaching him, not carrying anything good, and he instinctively moved
backward as much as he could . The air was getting hotter and there was
nowhere to hide. One fast, rough move explained to him why he couldn’t
see anything. A dirty cloth that was tied over his eyes was now lying on
an dirty floor, next to his bare feet. He didn’t look up right away, his eyes
were fixed on something he already knew was there. Few feet from him
there was a metal coffin full of holes, and it was the air coming through
those holes that kept the beast inside alive. The beast was pile of white
hot knives and points of spears mixed with a glowing ember which at
some places rose over the edges of the coffin, it looked like the top of
some raging volcano.
Only then did he look up. Above him stood a man he had already seen
before. When and where exactly, he couldn’t tell. Dark, fierce eyes were
staring at him. His hate was growing, and the sole object of it was – him.
He really didn’t understand why, but he somehow knew for whom this
giant pile of heated coal was prepared.
Suddenly, the man opened his mouth:
‘You thought you would run away, you miserable maggot? You thought
you were out of reach of your master? Now you will find out how all
those before you felt before they were burned to death …but you…you
will suffer much worse than all the rest the fire had ever swallowed.’
The tall figure came to the metal coffin almost theatrically and pulled
out a long, heated spearhead…the words he couldn’t understand with his
mind but he understood with his heart, were :
‘For centuries there were rumors of the spear HE was killed with. Or
were that nail wounds? Maybe even a crown of thorns, like the one I’m
wearing?’ Then he laughed and moved his dirty black hair from his
forehead. Then he reached and took one of white hot spear with his bare
hand. His victim gazed at scene which was developing in front of him
in utter disbelief .
There is no way he feels no pain, no way his skin and flesh aren’t burned
to the bone, he thought as he watched the hideous creature hold the hot
spear with his bare hands. The figure came nearer. He was desperate to
tell him he had nothing to do with anything that would make him worthy
of being cut open by hot iron, to tell him he had no idea who the man
with the spear was, to tell him he had no idea even who he was. The next
moment, the scorching piece of iron was hovering high above his head.
Then it went rushing toward his face.
‘…AAAAHH!!!’
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Patrick Lombard woke up screaming, leaping out of his soaking bed.
He went on screaming, holding his hands above his head, like a helpless
victim trying to protect itself from the inevitable blows. He went on
screaming even as he was running across the apartment, crashing into the
furniture. Only after he fell over a chair did he understand it was all just a
dream. A dream.
‘Honey…?’
Lombard was breathing heavily, keeping his head down, but mercifully
was certain that he was lying on the floor of his own rented apartment.
‘Pat?’
He looked up and saw Helen looking at him with a sense of fear and
caring. He couldn’t tell if she was afraid for him or of him. She just stood
there, with her nicely shaped figure under a night gown and a triangle
shape between her legs. But right then he felt no passion at all.
‘Pat… darling, what happened?’
He didn’t answer, instead he just ran past her into the bathroom. He
threw up until streams of bitter yellow fluid stopped pouring from his
mouth.
‘Pat? What…happened?
Lombard used his last bit of conscience to hold back the word that was
balancing on the tip of his tongue.
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CHAPTER 34
When they returned to their village and found that it had been wiped
off the face of the Earth, Sebastian Miller and his wife Heidi started to
wander from place to place. During that time Sebastian learned the craft
of a blacksmith while Heidi was already a weaver. They managed to
make ends meet, but were constantly on the edge of poverty.
One day they came to a spacious, dusty place named Grottenburg,
where the news of Heidi’s period being late added to the unfortunate
situation - the last thing they needed was a new mouth to feed, when
they barely managed to feed themselves.
It was well past sunset when they came on the edge of town. They
knocked on the nearest gate, where they were given directions to the
place where they could find oatmeal and shelter for a small amount of
money.
When they knocked , a large man opened the door.
’What do you want?’ he asked briefly, assesing them from head to toe.
’Good evening, we were told we could find food and shelter here. We
could use both’ Sebastian Miller said, while the scent of food was
rushing through an ajar door, making their long suppressed hunger even
worse. They kept looking at each other for a while, then the man moved
aside.
’Come in, the food is ready.’
For the next half an hour, the Millers were eating , they didn’t say a
word, just exchanged occasional glances over the plates. When they were
done, their host started to question them. The Millers told him who they
were, what they were, where they’ve been, after a while the man asked:
’Why did you leave home, then, you seem like good people going
through a hard time, like so many nowadays, God is my witness’ the host
said , making a cross sign timidly.
’We went north, looking for work in mines or at blacksmiths...it wasn’t
long before we realized we weren’t going to find what we were
expecting, so we decided to go back home. During our travels we
managed to save enough money to start our own blacksmith business and
Heidi is a weaver, a good one.’
’What was the name of your town again?’
Miller told him.
The man’s eyes spread wide as he stared at them. The Millers looked at
him, puzzled, not realizing what could have caused such an unexpected
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reaction. Just when Sebastian wanted to ask him if something was wrong,
the man started talking:
’I’ve heard of that town...they say that your town is cursed, that
everybody in it died, and now you say you’ve just came from there...how
could that be?’
Miller told him what they saw when they came back from their journey,
and what they learned from the new, poor residents...all that time the man
was slowly nodding, not taking his eyes off of Miller. End of his speech
was followed by a long, uncomfortable silence. All that was heard was
the ember cracking in the fireplace. Then Gunther said:
’Sebastian, have you...have you ever heard of a man named Sigmund
Delke?’
Miller said that he has, that it was a poor man who used to live on the
edge of the town, quite ill-tempered, a widower who wasn’t really
friendly to anyone in the town.
’That was obviously before you left the town.’
’What do you mean?’
Then the Millers heard the fantastic story of Delke’s stigmata that had
made him an esteemed member of the community, along with how he
fortunately survived when the church was burned down. As an act of
God, Delke was saved because he allegedly helped some powerless old
woman who was unable to come to the church herself. God-fearing as
they were, the Millers listened closely.
’I met him a while ago, when he came to my inn with some people, a
strange looking crowd I must say, and started asking questions
about...You. Miller is a common name, but when you told me where
you’re come from, I assumed you were those people’
’What people?’
’People he’s looking for.’
’We don’t understand, why is Delke looking for us?’ Heidi spoke for
the first time that night, still remembering Delke as an odd, crooked man
who didn’t get along with any of the townspeople, ’they were never our
friends...or anybody else’s friends, as far as I know.’
Gunther took a deep, painful breath before he continued.
’He was looking for you, Sebastian, he said you would probably be
travelling with your wife...he said you were the Devil’s servant, both of
you. He also told me you were the ones responsible for the annihilation
of his town. His friends confirmed his words.’
’But, how, why...we’ve never harmed anyone, especially not him. Why
would he say something like that?’ Sebastian Miller thought out loud,
visibly shocked.
’I don’t know. Maybe you can tell me’, Gunther said, staring at
Sebastian.
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’I’ve got nothing to say to you about those ridiculous accusations. We
have never served the Devil, nor do we intend to, and this Delke, if
anyone was on Devil’s side – it was him’ Miller said.
Silence fell again, even heavier and darker while the Millers looked at
each other in disbelief. These accusations were serious, many people had
trouble defending from similar attacks, some even lost their lives. And
now the Millers were accused of being the Devil’s servants! And who had
accused them?! None other than Sigmund Delke, the lowest member of
their former community. Gunther spoke again:
’You can spend the night here, but you must leave at dawn...I don’t
know what to think- I saw you pray before dinner, while you weren’t
aware I was watching. Devil’s servants do not act like that. Still, this man,
as much as I didn’t like him, made some very serious accusations, and
I’d rather not interfere. If you are honest Christian souls, God will help
you, if not, may He have mercy on my soul for giving you shelter for the
night.’ Then he rushed out without a word. This is how the Millers have
found out they were being hunted by some very suspicious people. They
would have to be very cautious from now on. Now they had something
they’d never had before- they had an enemy, but they didn’t know why.
What they also didn’t know was that the hunt for their seed woud last for
centuries.
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CHAPTER 35
The phone in Lombard’s office was silent all morning, but he didn’t
mind; he chewed on a tuna sandwich and sipped coffee as he glanced
over the headlines.
’Same shit, different day’, he said when a piece of tuna fell out of his
mouth and landed on the paper on some half-naked blonde’s eye.
’Sorry’, Lombard said when Tony McCarthy opened the office door.
From all the faces that could interrupt Lombard’s morning routine,
McCarthy’s was the most acceptable.
’Hey, Pat, what’s new?’
’New Jersey.’
’Funny. I, on the other hand, have just received an anonymous call...an
old woman was found dead, most likely strangled, her place was
ransacked and all. Seems like the killer was after money, just like in that
drugstore robbery on Seventh.’
’In my younger days, I often thought there must exist an established
quota, a precise number of murders, rapes and all the other philanthropic
activities one city can offer, and then after that there would be some kind
of a truce, or at least a slow period.’
’You were either very young or very stupid.’
’Apparently I was both.’
McCarthy went on, bringing up the topic that had been avoided in the
past few days.
’Nothing new on the swamp, I’m afraid we’ll have to store that one
soon, as much as some of us would hate it, Pat.’
’That’s not up to us to decide, Tony, our boss gets the final say.’
McCarthy was silent for a while, and then he looked at his partner
again.
’ You look like you haven’t had much sleep lately.’
Lombard had already heard several colleagues say that, and he didn’t
like it. He could see it himself. Under his eyes were two dark ovals, the
skin on his face seemed tired. It looked like he’s been deprived of sleep
for quite some time. He actually haven’t sleped well these last few days
and when he woke up, he would usually try to forget the things he’d seen
in his sleep.
Ever since that night, when he dreamed of the dark man that was having
intercourse with some blonde woman, while the man’s spouse was forced
to sit in the corner and watch, he’d been dreaming various things every
night, and not one of the dreams was nice. They all seemed to address to
some ancient times he knew little about. But, in some strange, frightening
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way, everything seem so familiar to him . The smells, the sounds, the
motions... everything felt so vivid and terrifyingly realistic. One night, he
dreamed of a church being burned to the ground. The thought of the
people’s screams he’d heard along with the smell of burning ceilings in
that dream still made him tremble.
’Damn it, dreams should never be like that. Never!’
’Pat...what are you talking about, man?’
Lombard realized his mind had drifted off, and that Tony was still in his
office.
’Nothing, Tony, nothing...It’s just, I’ve been having these weird dreams
recently, and I wake up with my mind all twisted up, that’s all.’
Tony didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, he said the exact
thing Patrick was hoping he wouldn’t.
’You know what, Pat, maybe a couple days off would do you good,
now that you have company and all. You seem a bit tired, it may not be
such a bad idea to chill out for a few days and...’
’I’m all right!’ Lombard responded
louder than he wanted,
consequently achieving the exact opposite effect: normal people who get
enough sleep do not act like that.
’I’m sorry, Tony, I’m a bit nervous.’
’It’s OK, Pat, no problem. Actually, I’m off to check some report that’s
been waiting for a while, and I’ll catch you later, OK?’ Tony said and
went out . Lombard yawned until his jaw hurt. Against his will, he started
thinking about the state he was in.
Dreams. Lombard always thought of himself as a man of a strong
mental constitution. No, he is a man with strong mental constitution. For
all those years on the job he never had any problems. He had seen plenty
things that would drive almost everybody insane, but not him. Yes,
sometimes he would dream of crime scenes, especially if the victims were
children, but that was usual for most of his colleagues. Also, some of
them were on booze or coke, many were visiting shrinks on a regular
basis, more than half of his precinct was divorced...
He’d never got married, and he also didn’t drink much. He would
occasionaly go wasted from whisky , but it was far from his regular
activities. A few times he tried coke, but he didn’t enjoy it much. That
was all before crystal meth was so wide-spread and became a significant
part of his life, with all the murders done by those under the influence of
this, perhaps the worst drug of them all. Skeletons with a paranoid look
in their eyes walking around the town, believing somebody was out to get
them...or the others who killed their dealers when they couldn’t find any
money for the drug. Some would just overdose and lie on cold, metal
tables in the city morgue...he kinda got used to the pain and emptiness the
killers, the victims, and those who took their own life left behind, and
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learned to live with it. After years of frustration, he managed to ’leave
work after work at work’, which many cops couldn’t.
And now, after all these years, what? He dreams some medieval
bullshit, feels the smell of burning human flesh with his sleeping nostrils,
he can’t understand, but somehow knows the language he hears in his
sleep...
’Am I going crazy?’ he asked himself, again much louder than he
wanted.
An unexpected knock snapped him out of his thinking. Seconds later,
Sammy, a young uniformed police woman who came to read to him one
of the reports regarding the swamp case walked in .
’Hello, Mr. Lombard, how are you?’
Lombard looked her in a way that made the girl’s eyes drop to the floor.
’I’m all right, Sammy. So, what’s new?’
The girl started to read, occasionaly lifting her eyes from the paper to
check on her superior. Lombard listened at first, but he didn’t even notice
when his mind drifted back to whatever he was thinking about before
Sammy came in. He was still looking at the girl, but he was actually
looking through her. He saw her lips move, obviously forming words that
made sentences that made sense. Sense?
His head was a mess, there was less and less sense in it. Fire...and the
smell of burning flesh, the man standing outside the church,
laughing...wait a minute...that was the same man that was banging that
blonde, while his wife was sitting in the corner. How does he know the
woman was his wife? He just does. And now the same man is standing
next to the burning church..laughing...happy as he watches the fire.
He...he...
’He set the church on fire!’
’I beg your pardon ?’
He was thinking out loud again, but this time it was worse. It wasn’t
Tony who’d heard him, but Sammy Jordan, young and focused on work,
looking at him astoundedly.
’Nothing, Sammy, sorry... an old case crossed my mind just now..I’m
sorry, please go on.’
The girl stared at him, which made him want to scream.
Just keep blabbering, you stupid little bitch!
The girl’s trembling voice went on, they both felt uncomfortable and
wanted to put an end to it really soon. Minutes later, after the report had
been fully presented, the girl stormed out of the office, leaving him alone
and very nervous.
He began feeling strange tremors in his stomach.
’Am I really going crazy?’ he asked again. Fortunatelly, this time he
was alone, and many people talk to themselves when they’re alone.
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Lombard began thinking about his strange and unusual behavior in a
civilised manner. Talking to himself, sudden mood swings,
insomnia...everything came at him at the time when he should feel
happier then ever. He got himself a girlfriend, was in relatively good
shape, was complimented for his skills in bed, he wasn’t in any debt, no
reasons to be displeased professionally, either. Then why?
His shift somehow came to an end, and Lombard went out of the
precicnt, trying to avoid as many people as possible, exchanging glances
with only a couple of them.
Outside, the day was beautiful, but he seemed unaware of it. The only
thing he was looking forward to was seeing Helen again, since she said
she would wait for him in the apartment. Helen. Beautiful, a smart blonde
who came into his life so unexpectedly. However, even if he couldn’t put
his finger on it, something was going on there. These dreams, these
nightmares, now that he’s got a girlfriend? Nothing was wrong when he
was single, and now, when he should appear happy and bright, he began
having these crazy dreams. Usually, Helen would be awake, talking to
him after he would wake up screaming, soaking wet.
You were screaming in your sleep, honey.
As glad as he was to see that she was there, next to him, realizing it was
all just a dream, he was also ashamed.
All I need now is for her to think I’m going mad, and I’ll be really
screwed, crossed his mind as he was hurrying back home. Eventually he
got to his building, moments later into the elevator. The smell of roast
meat hit him in the face as soon as he opened the front door. He
unwillingly remembered the burning flesh from his dream and trembled,
thinking how unbearably morbid that thought was. He snuck into the
kitchen like a cat, wanting to surprise Helen. She wasn’t there. He came
into the living room. It was empty. All that’s left is the study and the
bedroom. The bedroom was also empty, but he felt he wasn’t alone. Then
he slid towards the study without a sound, and saw her sitting behind his
computer, staring at the screen.
’What’s so interesting, honey?’
She leaped out of the chair.
’Oh, Pat, please don’t ever do that again, you’re going to give me a
heart attack, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?’ she sad and put her
hands around Patrick’s neck.
’I didn’t mean to scare you, you just didn’t hear me come in.’
He barely finished the sentence when she stuck her tongue in his mouth
and moved her body even closer. He instantly realized that the food could
wait a little longer. Moments later they were rolling on the floor, naked.
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CHAPTER 36
Sipo had been walking for several hours while people passed him by,
but nobody paid any attention to him. Fortunately for him, there was a lot
of water along the way, and in the distance he could see the skyline of a
city, bigger than anything he had ever seen. He had no idea where he was,
let alone which city was it.
He was wearing short pants and a t-shirt, with a small bag under one
arm and lightweight sandals on his feet. He was naked no more, the bush
was behind them and the thing called civilization was waiting for him.
Every time his fingers touched the leather carrying the address, he would
feel a bit calmer. After he first stepped on the city asphalt, he just stood
still, feeling the rough, hard surface below his feet, analyzing the new
feeling to the detail, and he didn’t like its unfamiliar hardness. Trucks
drove by, making heavy noise, cars were dragging in lines that resembled
long, lurid snakes. He passed the first blocks of an earth houses, soon
replaced with concrete ones. Their ugly facades made them look like
unfinished ruins, with smoke rising from the chimneys and the smell of
food coming from the kitchens. Only then did Sipo realize how hungry he
was.
Sipo was a child of the wild , not really familiar with urban
environment, but he was familiar enough to know what had to be done in
this situation. He looked around himself, a lonely orphan boy in an
unknown, big city, one of many. Wars, malaria and other diseases, along
with classic manslaughter, made many children orphans so that they had
no choice but to roam aimlessly on the streets of various African cities,
cities that were always a conglomeration of people born there and
newcomers coming from far away rural areas in search of a better life.
But the little boy didn't know about any of that when he approached the
policeman who was staring blankly at the dirty, crowded street.
He was three feet away from the policeman, looking up at him. The
man shortly gazed at the kid, then turned and continued to watch the
crowd of overweight young women with lush waists and bosoms. By the
standards of many African cultures, they were real beauties, weighing
two hundred pounds each. The policeman watched as they walked away
fifty yards or so, and then he realized that the boy was still standing by
his side.
“ What do you want, kid ?“ he asked Sipo with a dull expression on
his face.
Sipo gave him the piece of leather with the address on it. The officer of
the law stared at the writing, then started reading slowly moving his lips
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as he did it. An aspiring police officer in this part of the world didn't
necessarily have to make top scores during his education, as this man was
clearly demonstrated. Still, he managed to read whatever was written on
the piece of leather, and then stared at the boy.
“ Who gave you this? ”
“ My granny gave it to me ”
“Ahmm... where's your granny now? “ The man in an outfit that vaguely
resembled a uniform, was having problems expressing himself, and Sipo
felt he could express himself much better with the use of that long,
wooden bat that was hanging on his belt.
Then he raised his hand and pointed it one direction.
“ There, you see that tall building in the distance...go there, go that
way”.
Sipo realized the talking was over. He stared at the building the
policeman was pointing at, just another little boy with no parents, or with
parents who didn't know where their son was. Sipo wasn't one of those
kids, but there was no way of knowing that this little boy was the
realisation of an ancient prophecy, chased by a creature that would scare
the living hell out of any human being. At that time, in broad daylight, the
little skinny boy wasn't worthy of even a second glance, just another kid
in shorts and sandals. The noise and the smell from the crowded streets
were offending his senses, accustomed as he was to the scents of the
wilderness.
After a half-hour walk Sipo had reached the big building. He turned
around, but couldn't spot anybody he fell comfortable to ask about the
address. Then he noticed a woman dressed in western fashion, strolling
down the street in a hurry, looking straight ahead. Sipo blocked her way,
the woman responded by gripping her purse. Then she saw the boy was
holding a piece of leather in his hand. She cautiously took it from him and
read in an instant, without moving her lips.
“ You're pretty close, boy, it's only a hundred yards away. You see that
building with a black roof ? ”
Sipo nodded.
“ That's the one “, the woman said as she walked away, looking at the
boy one more time.
The hunger was now scratching the inside of Sipo's belly while the
smell of beef cooking in a large pot on the sidewalk made saliva pour
from his mouth. Around the pot, a group of people was handing out filthy
torn bills to a fat older woman who was handing out chunks of hot,
greasy, smoking meat in return. Sipo walked past them.
Finally he was standing in front of a big wooden door, attacked by
worms, moist and time. The hard iron door handle was as high as the
boy's eyes, and he had to make a serious effort to pull it down. Even with
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the use of both hands, he struggled to open the door, but eventually the
rusty, screeching hinges moved and the huge frame opened in series of
short, jerky moves.
The air that rushed at Sipo from the inside was surprisingly cold and
moist, the complete opposite of the hammering heat in the streets that was
torturing every living creature who was unfortunate enough to be out in
the open in that time of day. The dark corridor he entered didn't seem to
belong to this hot, African city. He stared at it for a while, and then he
stepped inside.
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CHAPTER 37
The man and the woman were walking slowly, it seemed like they were
floating in the fog which covered their legs from the knees down. A few
remaining leaves were still on the branches, by the looks of them it was
obvious that fall was at its end. The dark, lead-like sky was hovered
above their solemn, worn off faces while the scents rising from the
ground, making a heavy melange which entered thier nostrils, reminded
them of birth and dying. They continued walking slowly, as if they were
in some sort of a trance. While they walked, they left a barely visible hole
in the dense fog which soon vanished into the air. After their steps were
lost in the distance, everything remained silent, only the wind
occasionally raised white waves of mist higher into the iar.
Then after a while, some other people appeared from the fog, but these
people were different. It was a group of five men who walked with their
heads down, heavy swords were hanging from their waists. They look
like they were ready for battle, although they weren’t wearing any
helmets, armour or shields.
Still, Patrick knew where they were headed and knew who they were
looking for. A man with dark hair and a broad forehead was leading them.
His fierce look stabbed into the shadows nesting by the side of the road
like a knife.
Suddenly he stopped. Four other men also stopped. There was
something strange about the leader, something not quite human. He
slowly turned his head to the left until his eyes caught one spot.
Lombard’s heart and throat were paralyzed with fear. The man’s eyes
were blood red, but his pupils were black. Patrick had seen these eyes
before. He had seen them as the man was leaning in ecstasy, lying on top
of that blonde.
’Him?’ he asked in his sleep, astounded.
Then a long, gnarled finger pointed in his direction, wherever he was at
that point. Veins on the man’s neck were so swollen that they looked like
they could burst at any moment, He was shouting, but no sound was
coming out of his mouth. Still, the other sounds were there; leaves were
rustling, birds were clicking in the distance...but there was no shout, one
that could crack the skies judging from the man’s face. Lombard knew
the leader was looking at him, he was sure. Part of his brain knew it was
just a dream, but the other part felt, sensed, that in some unbelievable way
it was all real. He began to moan, as sweat began to cover his sleepy face.
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Still dreaming, he began to shake his head hysterically and tried to hide
from the creature’s sight, but couldn’t. His breathing was getting heavier,
and then something grabbed his shoulder and started pulling him up and
down. He screamed.
’Pat?’
’Pat ,wake up darling , you were dreaming again...Pat.’
Slowly, Patrick Lombard opened his eyes. At first he didn’t recognize
the woman leaning over him. The blonde...impossible!
’You...you are dead.’
’Pat, it’s me, Helen, wake up, you’re not dreaming anymore.’
These words finally snapped him out of his semi-conscious state.
’Helen...I had a dream...I dreamed of something.’
’ What did you dream of, Pat?’
’I...’ he started insecurely. The girl was waiting patiently, not taking
her eyes off of him.
’I dreamed some animals were after me. There was this huge lion right
behind me, and I thought he was going to get me for real. I heard him
roar, I knew he was getting nearer...I could feel the stink of rotten flesh
from his jaw...’ then he stopped.
’So many details, it feels like you’ve been watching a genuine movie,
Pat.’
By the look on Patrick’s face Helen knew her joke wasn’t very good.
Shadows from the headlights of passing cars were dancing across the
opposite wall. Lombard followed them, wondering why he felt such a
strong, overwhelming urge not to tell her the complete truth about the
dream.
What’s the difference? It could’ve been a man with red eyes, a lion,
Santa Claus with a enormous cock ...it’s just a dream, just a dream...
’Pat , maybe, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to go see a therapist
about all this. I mean, things are getting worse, you can’t go on living
normally if these things...keep messing you up every night.’
Lombard looked at her for a long time, since he couldn’t think of
anything clever to say.
’What are you thinking about, Pat ?’
’I’m thinking about how beautiful you are, Helen, and about how I have
no idea what is happening to me.’
When her lips touched his, he opened them just enough for their
tongues to make contact. At any other time, it would take less to arouse
his lust. But, not this time. All of a sudden he was incredibly cold. But
this coldness wasn’t coming from the room, it was coming from inside.
Helen laid her head down on his chest. Patrick could feel the warmth
from her body, but none of it transferred to him. It was the middle of the
night, and he hoped he could catch a few hours of sleep before dawn. All
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he needed now was dreamless sleep, absolute, utter darkness to hide in,
to blend with. His eyelids became heavier, his heart was beating slower
and slower. When he woke up in the morning, all that was left were some
vague, torturing memories of...something. He got up and smelled meat.
Helen Brown was making breakfast.
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CHAPTER 38
Once inside this dark, cold corridor, the boy was shocked by the sudden
change of temperature. All was black at first, then his pupils slowly
adjusted to the new environment. Distant shouting from the streets
seemed to come from some other universe. So much had happened to
Sipo in such a short time that his ideas of what reality was were
drastically altered. Everything after the massacre kept him in a semiconscious state, and he wasn’t taking anything for granted any more.
A slow, but steady stream of fresh, cool air was coming to him from the
darkness, and he started trembling again. Then he went down the
corridor, as his dilating pupils started taking in more and more details.
Walls and ceiling looked like the skin of a leper,the paint had fallen off
most places, while some was still hanging on weak, tangled threads. Sipo
knew what electricity was and started to look for a light switch on the
wall, but he somehow knew he wouldn’t find one. He was simply
convinced this place hadn’t seen electric light for a long time, maybe
never. He kept on walking and after a while came to another door. His
heart was beating heavily , his breathing was fast.
Then he saw a big black ring hanging on the door.
He grabbed it with both hands, lifted it halfway up, and then released it.
The sound was low and threatening, it kept hovering in the air long after
the iron had collided with wood.
’When was the last time someone walked through this door?’ he asked
himself, feeling something between childish curioustiy and strong fear.
No matter what he did or where he went after that hideous massacre at
dawn, there was this constant, overwhelming fear. One image remained
in his memory above all others –the image of a large man with bloodthirsty eyes, screaming at his warriors, showing his jaw full of spiked
teeth. There were times when he wasn’t so scared, like when he was with
Kirsa, and there were times when the fear rose like wave, like when he’d
spent the night in the treetop with that strange son of the Kalahari desert.
His fear was now mixed with curiousity, like any other young boy Sipo
was in need of an adventure and new discoveries. Strangely, the door
opened on its own, and Sipo slowly entered a large, dim room. He looked
around, astounded. Everywhere he looked there were strange, mostly
scary things. He quickly counted over ten skulls, looking at him with their
dark, empty holes where eyes had once been. The teeth in the skulls were
amazingly white and straight, and Sipo thought they might come rattling
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at him at any moment. Heads of various animals- leopards, lions,
cheetahs, zebras, buffalos and hyenas covered the walls and floors. Small
skeleton, probably from a child, was hanging in the opposite corner. Sipo
swallowed his saliva.
’So...the prophecy is true, you came, little man with great strength’ the
voice echoed, making him scream from fear. The boy quickly turned his
head towards the voice and saw a thin, emaciated man who sat on some
sort of a throne with arms resting on the sides. He could have been a
hundred, two hundred years old, Sipo thought. He didn’t dare to break the
silence, he just stared at him, waiting, as chills went down his spine. Then
the man strenuously rose and stood a full two meters above the ground.
He slowly walked towards Sipo and the boy instinctively retreated, but
the man’s lifted arm stopped him.
’Don’t be afraid, little man...not of me, at least.’ These new, and
strange words had in the past few weeks became his reality, if there was
still anything left in his life to be addressed to as ’reality’.
Sipo looked at the hovering figure, the man was really tall.
’Maasai...he must be a Maasai or Vatusi’ he thought, trying to
determine what tribe did the old man came from.
The stranger’s laugh sounded like wood scraping.
’Yes, I am a Maasai, or at least I was...but it was all a long time ago, it
doesn’t matter anymore, something else matters now. First, you must eat.’
It seemed that everybody Sipo recently came across had an ability to
read his mind. This time he was glad, because the strange looking man
had guessed what he needed most of all – food. A bowl made of rough
clay was standing on the table, smoke was pouring out of it even though
it had a lid on.
’Come on...you have to eat, don’t you?’
Sipo, who was silent all along, didn’t feel the need to start talking now.
He ran to the bowl and plunged his hands into the mash without
hesitating. The man watched him curiously, not offended by the boy’s
behavior.
Sipo pulled his greasy hand out, holding something he would’ve traded
his right arm for until minutes ago. With his fingers he was holding a big,
chunky tail of a buffalo. It was a real treat. Sipo knew these tails were
considered a delicacy by white people in big cities. He stared at it for a
few moments, and then took a large bite. The tall, silent man who was
once a Masai stood by , nodding in approval. The grease was flowing
down the boy’s throat now but he didn’t mind. After days without any
proteine, his stomach gratefully accepted any food that came down.
Finally, the man’s big dry hand closed the lid on the bowl.
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’If you have only two more bites, everything will come out from the
same side it came in, not the other one.’ Sipo panted and looked up at the
old man. He wasn’t afraid anymore.
’My name is Solomon, and you are Sipo, I suppose?’
The boy nodded and wiped his mouth with his forearm. He looked like
any other boy his age, not a day older. For a while the man just stood
there watching, as Sipo’s brain was busy receiving the pleasant sensations
coming from his belly, full at last.
Once he had finished eating, he took a closer look at the old man. His
bony skull was covered in completely white hair that resembled wool,
while high cheekbones gave his face a expression of authority and
mystery.
’A long time ago, when I was young, although it must be difficult for
you to picture me as a young and strong man, right ’ , the man continued,
not waiting for an answer, ’I first heard of things to come. Back then it
didn’t seem so horrible, it was all a very distant future, so distant it
seemed unreal. Then one day I met N’sa in the woods. And he told me a
story that was destined to happen one day. A scary, horrifying story. He
came to me again, this time to my hut.
N’sa spent the entire night talking. While my wives were sleeping, we
were smoking the grass-that-sees-the-future he brought along. His long
pipe was carved out of some shiny wood I had never seen before. It was
all a long, long time ago, Sipo.’
The old man who called himself Solomon continued.
’ Then I heard the words:
One day, there will be two, one trying to kill the other. He will chase
him far, far away if he fails to kill him while he’s still little. But if the
young one survives and grows up to become a part of another world, he
will be able to destroy the evil that has lived for so long.’
Sipo felt his body tremble again.
’Don’t be afraid, Sipo, or else he will sense your fear and it will make
him stronger. When an animal in the jungle senses the other animal is
afraid, what does it do?’
’It attacks, to kill.’
’Very good...you see, the same goes for you and him. Right now he is
stronger than you even more than a lion from a zebra. If he finds you
now, you will not survive, your soul will not survive, and he will take it,
and that is way, way worse than death itself.
His hatred is ancient, Sipo. He hates you because you represent his
demise, that is if you manage to grow up at all. But it won’t be just your
muscles, little man with big strength’, Sipo was again addressed in that
unusual way.
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’You see, the prophecy I saw that night said a day will come when the
seed from the north will combine with the seed from the south, and four
generations later a child will be born so powerful it could beat even the
strongest servant of Jagarthani.’
Like before, that name made Sipo choke from fear.
’He was alive before people existed, Sipo, and now he is more powerful
than ever. You have seen his servant already, haven’t you?’
The boy nodded and lowered his head.
’Ejtana’, Solomon said ,, ’is stronger than we thought he will ever be’ ,
the old man said not explaining who ’we’ were.
’He is the last in the long line of Jagarthani’s servants, and now he is
after the last seed of the white man from the north. You...you know who
your great-grandfather was, Sipo, don’t you?’
Sipo nodded.
’Ejtana is not a human being, at least not anymore, and it’s getting
harder for him to keep his human form not even his master can help him
there. You see, everything began long ago, and I believe you know
exactly when and where, my friend must have told you. Kirsa told you
all, didn’t she, Sipo?’
Sipo slowly nodded again.
’Then you know...it was destined that you become the final goal of
that fourth generation of mixed blood.’
’There will be two, but only one will live to see the light of day...’
’I don’t understand these words, but they seem to be crucial to your
survival, Sipo.’
The old man went on with the fantastic story.
’Sipo...you have white people’s blood in you. Fate wants it that way.
And that blood is exactly what Jagarthani has been trying to annihilate
through the centuries. So far there have always been survivors, there were
always those who somehow managed to escape his claws. But never, ever
have his servants come so close. We don’t have much time, Sipo, soon
you will have to go far away. There you will grow up and become what
prophecy has intended for you. But first you will become sick, Sipo, and
you may not be cured. If the sickness kills you, Ejtana will not get your
soul, and that is all that matters. What will happen to all of us after that, I
don’t know, but at least now you know who your bushman guide was.’
Sipo needed a moment to fully comprehend the meaning of Solomon’s
words. It was him all along, the little bushman who had lead him through
the bush, it was the medicine man, the chief medicine man of the entire
Bushman population !
’N-sa was...him?!’
’Yes, Sipo, you were lead through the jungle by the wisest of the
bushmen.’
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How old could he be, Sipo thought. He wasn’t surprised when the old
man answered his unspoken question.
’Very old, little man with great strength, much older than you might
think. As for me, I am at the end of my road, I will soon enter the
kingdom of shadows. What only matters is that you, the one I was
waiting for all these years are finally here. And that we don’t have much
time left.’
After he said that, he took a bottle half-filled with some ember-colored
liquid.
’Sipo...what you see here is black mamba venom, survived only by a
few people, ever. No child has ever survived. You must take it, and I will
pray for you to survive. Another venom is mixed inside, the one the
bushmen call k-anasa, it will make you forget everything that has
happened to you in your life so far. You will enter a state similar to
death, and stay there for many days. If successful, you will go far, far
away, and years will pass before any of this comes back to you. You will
not know who you are, or what you are, you will belong to a world very
different than this one. Things will be waiting for you there. You are a
small boy now, but like I said, great strength lies within you. The battle
that awaits you will be ruthless and unthinkable for you now. Many
things will try to seduce and kill you, only a few will try to help you. I...I
also used to think I had a choice. It took me a long time to realize I never
had one.’
Sipo couldn’t understand a word that the mysterious old man was
saying.
Then something like sadness flashed in the old man’s eyes.
’Sipo...it is best that you know, so that you can remember one day.
Kirsa died just hours after you and N’sa disappeared in the jungle. Her
former brother was too late to catch you, but he found his former sister.
He shredded her with his bare hands and fed her to his dogs.
That was the end of Kirsa, your great-grandmother Inkozi’s best friend.’
Sipo felt like someone had shoved a fist inside his throat, and then he
started sobbing uncontrolably, paying no attention to the stranger in front
of him. The words that followed weren’t much soothing.
’Many of Jagarhtani’s slaves will sooner or later come after you. But
you will not be aware of this, because you will forget all of this...but, as I
said, one day you will remember.
’Now drink this, and I will pray that the Gods spare you, little man.’
Sipo drank it all in one long, furious gulp. Almost instantly,a sharp pain
cut his entire insides, and then he saw how half digested chunks of
buffalo tail flow out of his mouth, followed by a stream of acid. After that
he didn’t remember anything.
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CHAPTER 39
It was Saturday morning and Lombard was still in bed, on the other
side of reality. He seemed calm, sound asleep. Even if he did have some
dreams earlier, they were gone. But , his peaceful state wasn't meant to
last much longer. All of a sudden an hysterical door bell echoed
throughout the entire apartment and abruptly penetrated his sleep. He
didn’t give up easily, though. Minutes went by, whoever was ringing had
very good reasons for that , or just didn’t have anything else to do on a
Saturday morning. It turned out to be second.
Rrrriiiinnnng...rrriiinnnggg...rrriiinnnggg...
He got up, angry as a man who was deprived of sleep for months could
be, and was now rudely awaken from his long needed state of
tranquility.
’Comiiiiing!’ he shouted from the top of his hoarse lungs.
Lombard was walking towards the source of the unwanted noise full of
hatred when the ringing suddenly stopped. . He had a natural and very
urgent need to urinate, and the fact that he wasn’t walking towards the
bathroom, only made him angrier. He opened the door with such force
that a small, ugly old woman stepped back, obviously scared, and then
gave him such a look one might think he was the one ringing her
doorbell at 9 a.m. and waking her up, not the other way round.
’What?’ Lombard didn’t waste any time on polite manners. The granny
had obviously been up for hours, and had an advantage over Lombard.
Also, it didn’t seem that she had an urge to pee unlike Lombard, who was
desperately squeezing his thighs while he was waiting for this elderly
neighbor-intruder to tell him the reason for her to be on his front door in
this early morning.
’Mister Lombard...’
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked as unkindly as he could, and then spotted
some sort of a bag in her hands.
’I thought you...we’ve heard you were a police officer, and even though
you have just recently moved here, we thought that...’ the woman started
in a nasal voice, while Lombard seriously contemplated the option to
take his cock out and piss all over the source of unpleasantness right then
and there. It seem fair to him– tit for tat.
’...you should be involved in this, being your expertise, in a way...’
’What is being my expertise, in a way, miss...hm...what was it again...?’
’Millwood,’ the lady fired and went on, ’...this security camera from the
front door is out of order, so we thought it would be a good idea to bring
it to you, so that you can give it to one of your coworkers who knows
143
how to fix it...you know, we...’ she was blabbering on, while the
representative of the law was seconds away from wetting himself, ’... are
afraid, with the crime percentage rising and all, and without a camera we
wouldn’t be able to see who is entering our building...’
When Lombard finally realized what was she talking about, he couldn’t
believe his ears.
’ That is why you wake me up on Sunday morning?’
’First of all, it’s not Sunday, it’s Saturday, and second of all, it’s already
nine o’cl...’ Lombard screamed such a curse that the woman wasn’t able
to finish her sentence, she just squeaked through her shut, wrinkled lips,
and stared at him with her beady eyes. Just as she was about to say
something , Lombard grabbed the bag from her freckled hands and shut
the door in front of her face.
’I can’t believe that old witch...what an idiot...Saturday
morning...couldn’t she wait until 11 at least,?’ Lombard was cursing on
his way to the bathroom. Patrick Lombard never paid much attention to
the toilet seat, this time he was ready to take a piss even if the cover was
down. The first wave of pleasure hit him so hard it made him fumble with
pleasure.
’Oooooohh...’ was followed by an inevitable fart, then more pissing.
’I can’t believe it...’ he still mumbled, but the anger in his voice wasn’t
so strong any more. He looked at his swollen face in the mirror and didn’t
feel impressed, the story of his age was written all over it .
’Fucking camera...fucking witch...fucking Saturday morning...’
Then he suddenly realized something that shocked him at first, then
surprised him, and eventually made him happy. There were no dreams
last night, no dreams at all !
Suddenly he felt much better, so much better he was almost ready to
forgive the granny for waking him up just minutes ago.
In the next ten minutes all hygienic issues were taken care of and
Lombard poured himself a cup of filter coffee.
He was thinking about today’s duties. Number one was lunch with
Sonny Everett, an old friend Lombard hadn’t seen for a long time. Sonny
had called him twice in the last six months, wanting them to finally meet
each other. This time Sonny said only a short:’I’ll see you, Pat’, and
Lombard knew his friend’s patience was running thin. Then there was an
afternoon weekly shopping, possible light jogging he already knew he
was going to avoid, and last, but certainly not least, Helen.
Helen Brown.
Patrick was still getting used to the fact that he jumped to this new
relationship simply by knocking a woman down in the middle of the
street. Same thing happened a few times after, only this time in his
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bedroom, and to be totally honest –a couple of times in the kitchen. Helen
didn’t spend the night at his place, her work had piled up, she said.
’Ever since I met you, Mr Lombard, I’ve been neglecting my work.
That analysis I’m supposed to be writing for my mentor, Dr Conrad is
running seriously late. I mean, it’s not late, I’m late in handing it over.
What am I going to say to him : ’You know, professor, my disertation is
not nearly over as I’ve been spending most of my time staring at the
ceiling with my legs up? And you said the thing you like the most about
me is that I stand with my both feet firmly on the ground ?’
Patrick felt proud. He, and he alone, was the reason this girl’s beautiful
legs being, as she said, pointing at the ceiling.
I’m sorry, mister professor-doctor, but this Swamp study can wait for
another year or so, my balls can’t...
He imagined the old professor staring at him in shock.
’Professor or not, stay out of my way, because when Lombard’s balls
are on the move, nobody is safe’ he went on with his contemplation,
feeling way happier than half an hour before. If that old woman had rang
his doorbell now, she would’ve been greated by a completely new man.
After the testosterone episode was over, Lombard came back to reality.
’Yeah...first lunch with Sonny, then shopping, after that jogging...then
Helen.’ Suddenly he realized he wasn’t going to make the shopping and
the unusually early lunch at 11:30 a.m.
’Shit...shit shit shit...’ he couldn’t cancel the lunch, if he turned
Everett’s offer down for a third time it would be probably too much for
his old friend, Sonny Everett was known to be very serious about his
arrangements. Nobody ever refused Sonny Everett three times, and
Lombard knew it all too well. He stared at the fridge, and the fridge
stared back at him.. Only cold wind was coming from it. No meat, no
lasagna, fruits, vegetables or beer cans on the way. The thing was
completely empty. Since it was Saturday, followed by Sunday, he will eat
– what, air? – until Monday morning. Not just him, but Helen, also, and
she has such an appetite. Shit. The phone snapped him out of his thinking,
it was Tony McCarthy.
’Hey, Pat...you’re up? Great. I was just checking if you want to come
for a cappucino down at ’Le Bra’? I’m in your neighborhood, I could
drop by if you want, and I’ve got fuck all to do’
A light bulb flashed in the Lombard’s head.
’Nothing to do, right, Tony?’
Lombard was a cop, but so was McCarthy, and he knew when
someone was trying to trick him. He didn’t have a chance to ask Patrick
what was on his mind, since he told him himself.
’Look...we’ll have coffee, no problem, I just need to ask you for a
small favor first, if you don’t mind.’
145
’My parents always taught me to say no, I don’t mind, but bear in mind
I was a kid then, and was lied to a lot.’
’Me too, listen, it’s not such a big deal. Could you, and you said you
have nothing to do, come to my place and wait for a certain crew that
fixes security cameras to come and pick one up, while I just go and do
some quick shopping? A nasty neighbor heard I was a cop and asked me
to take care of it. She woke me up at 7 a.m., believe it or not.’
’’Quick’ shopping? You? I don’t think so. I’ve gone shopping with you
twice and never again. You’re worse than the entire nursing home.’
’Which is why I’m not asking you to join me this time. What do you
say?’
Tony was silent for a while.
’You know, I’ve got plenty of friends to have coffee with on Saturday
fucking morning, Pat.’
’Of course you do, Tony, you’ve always been Mister Popular.’
’And you’ve always been Mister Bullshitter.’
’That is what makes us such a great couple.’
’Aahh, I can’t listen to this crap anymore. OK, I’m coming, but if you
waste half a day shopping, you will find your apartment door open, and
the place stripped of everything.’
’You’re a real pal, Tony, what can I say’, Lombard said to nobody,
since McCarthy had already hung up. Lombard called a firm that handled
security cameras seles, repairs and installation. The person responsible
said he would send his team immediately, after Lombard thoroughly
introduced himself, which always seemed to help.
McCarthy was fast as always, he was standing in front of Lombard’s
apartment than ten minutes after he’d hung up the phone. When Patrick
opened the door, he saw McCarthy’s serious face.
’Pat, about this bullshit shopping... don’t even think about staying in the
goddamn ’Spar’ all day, you hear? I got plans for this Saturday, much
more interesting than this.’
’Tony...you’re a sweetheart’ Lombard said in a girly voice.
’Yes, I am, and you’re – what? Gay now?’
’Nothing gets past you, does it? See you.’
Lombard went out to the street, and the day was nice and sunny, just
like in fairytales.
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CHAPTER 40
The dark tunnel Sipo found himself in was full of sharp, harsh noises.
He registered them using only a fragment of his numb conscsousness.
While he walked through the darkness, his lungs clenched from lack of
oxygen.
'I'm gonna suffocate in here' he thought, surprisingly calm for in some
strange way, he didn't care. After all that had happened around him and
because of him in such a short period of time, he wasn't afraid of dying, at
least not anymore. His guts felt like a furnace and a cold tomb at the same
time, it was a sensation he’d never experienced before.
The sounds that were coming at him were of various frequency and
intensity. He heard roaring, growling and squeaking, then it was all
overpowered by a distant thunder from the darkness.
The iron grip that had stiffened his lungs wouldn't let go, and Sipo was
aware that he wasn't breathing. Although he understood he would
probably die if he didn't get some air, his soul remained calm.
'Where am I, am I dying, or am I already dead? What kind of a place is
this?' All interpretations about the afterlife he’d heard in his tribe were
nothing more than distorted images of reality, unlike everything Sipo was
seeing now. Outside was still daylight, but here was dark as in the
darkest, moonless night. No, that wasn't night, it was an ancient
darkness, the one everything originated from.
Then some distant light flashed with a weak, dim glow. It disappeared
before Sipo managed to turn his dilated pupils toward it, ready to absorb
the smallest speck of light that would penetrate the darkness which was
surrounding him.
Suddenly, he felt he was able to inhale.
'Huuuuh', his aching lungs were filled with stale, moist air. He was still
numb and couldn't tell if he was walking, kneeling, lying or running. He
was all eyes, staring at the absolute darkness. Then the light appeared
again, but this time it seemed a bit closer. With it came another sound, a
distant scream. Sipo was looking and listening as hard as he could. He
was in the land of shadows, he suddenly realized. It was a place not
inhabited by the living nor the dead, but a place of their occasional
encountering. The pounding of his heart was the only thing that showed
him that time hadn't stood still. He was now breathing easily, but fast,
sensing that somebody, something from the darkness was rushing towards
him.
What is it?
147
Another flash. This time, Sipo could clearly see the color. Unreal,
pulsing green light was coming at him.
'Arggghh...' it was a scream of rage, not pain or fear. Whatever was
coming at him, it wasn't at all afraid. It was angry, or full of hate. Or both.
What is it?
Sipo still had no idea whether he was walking or sitting, lying, kneeling
or running. He just existed in the land of darkness not belonging to the
living or the dead, waiting for that something to come to him.
Thum...thum...thum...thum...thumthumthumthum...his
heart
was
pounding savagely.
Danger!
Coming!
Death!
In the split of a second, those three words merged into one.
Another flash of green light was followed by heavy , fast footsteps.
Reality as he knew it seemed so far away now.
A green image was now fully shining. It was made of smoking beams
that merged around the same axis, covered in green fog.
Sipo stood and watched, astounded, knowing this green thing was from
another world. He'd never seen anything like this before. Morning fog
was common in the wild, but it always retreated when day came, and it
was harmless. And it was milky white, not green.
This place has never seen the sunlight, the thought crossed his mind.
'Argggghh...'
The scream was so loud it made Sipo sick from fear. Was it fear that
made him gain the feeling of his arms and legs again, Sipo would never
know. What he understood now was that he was standing with legs a bit
spread, in the middle of some tunnel. In some strange way he felt he
somehow knew what this approaching green light was. Something
suddenly whispered in his ear, told him he had to turn around and run
away. Just turn around and run away.
Run, Sipo. Just run. Feel no fear, feel no hunger, feel no fatigue, feel no
thirst. But most of all, feel no fear. Let it run through you and fade away,
for if you get afraid, He will sense it. He is running after you and you
know it ...turn around and run away. Don't look behind, just run for your
life.
Heavy, fast footsteps were getting nearer, whatever it was, it was walking
on two legs
Let it run through you and fade away, Sipo...
Then the green light flashed right in front of him, and he finally saw it.
Some monstrous, awful creature was running toward him.
It's him! Sipo suddenly realized. He didn't know exactly what did the
lord of darkness looked like, and he couldn't recall the descriptions from
148
his tribesmen being anywhere near this. But it was surely Him! Or his
first servant. His first servant!
Turn around and run away, Sipo.
But, he still stood there, staring at the approaching creature. The creature
had green scales for skin, and incredibly big arms and legs. Its neck was
as wide as a bull’s. There was no nose on the creature's monstrous head,
and the mouth was open so wide, showing rows of long, spiked teeth, it
seemed they could take of Sipo's head in one bite. On the top of his head
were two thick, curved horns.
It...is...Ejtana!
'Argggghh...'
Several long, slow moments passed, as his body slowly turned, getting
ready to run. But his eyes were still fixed on the creature. Kirsa's
description was amazingly accurate, and the boy was wondering why it
took him so long to recognize it?
Actually it hasn't been that long since the first flash of light in the
distance to the boy's staring at the creature's hideous face. But, he couldn't
have known it.
Now, Sipo!
A stink that was now coming from the creature’s direction was so
strong and intense, it seemed it alone was able to bring the boy down on
his knees.
Sipo finally realized what was he must do if he wanted to stay alive.
No one was there to see what was going on in this land devoid of light,
devoid of the Sun, moon, stars, animals or people, in the land of nothing,
where shadows rule, where a little boy was chased by Ejtana the Damned,
his greatest enemy from even before he was born.
And finally Sipo began the most important run in his short, wounded
life.
……………………………………………………………………………
In some other world, an ambulance was speeding through the streets with
its rotation lights on. Inside the vehicle, a little boy was lying
unconscious, with a bottle of IV was attached to his right arm and an air
tube in his mouth. Next to him sat a very old man, holding his hand.
He said his name was Solomon Kemusa, and that his grandson had been
bitten by a black mamba, and now they were rushing to the hospital,
trying to save him. Blood was pouring out of the boy's mouth, nose, ears
and eyes. Inside the vehicle, at one moment the doctor shook his head,
angry from defeat, while the old man started to cry.
,
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CHAPTER 41
While Tony McCarthy sat alone in Lombard's apartment, it took him
several minutes to shake the anger off his tensed facial muscles.
Eventually he accepted the fact that Lombard was taking him for a
ride and realized his further anger was not going to make things
different. Bored as he was, he started to look around. He had been to
Lombard's apartment before, but never alone. Now, since there was no
one around to talk to, he was tempted to dig through Lombard's living
space. Still, he had to remind himself that he was inside his partner's
apartment, not at a crime scene.
'Relax, it’s nothing compared to what this nasty
backstabber Lombard did to you.'
McCarthy had to admit the place was pretty clean.
Bookshelves occupied most of the living room walls, Patrick Lombard
sure did read a lot for a homicide detective, Tony realised. He gazed over
the titles, impressed.
The philosophy section was large enough to be part of any public
library, it seemed. Hegel, Plato, Socrates, Nietzsche...they were all there.
'No wonder you are losing your sleep, Pat, with all these books you've
read, assuming you did read them, thought the ever-suspecting McCarthy.
In one corner of the room stood a guitar. Lombard's colleague imagined
Lombard playing some sad, sappy song and almost start to laugh.
'I can't believe he dragged all this stuff up from Seattle.'
'Maybe you should've become a rock star, instead of jerking honest
working people to guard your cave while you're out shopping for brocolli
and raviolli.'
Then his eyes fell on the object that caused his Saturday to start in such
a moronic way.
'And all because of what, some fucking camera you could've brought to
the station on Monday, or maybe it would have disintegrated by then?' ,
he continued his monologue loudly.
He grabbed the bag , took the camera out and immediately diagnozed the
problem. The camera was fully working, the only thing missing was a
small screw that held it to the post above the front door. McCarthy roared.
'Unbelievable! Un-fuckin-believable! There's nothing wrong with this
piece of shit, and these neighbors of his are so retarded they can't even
turn a simple screw!?'
He was close to adding some damage to the camera, and giving the
factory boys something serious to work on. Then he changed his mind.
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These sorts of camera often had adapters that allowed them to be hooked
on any TV set. This one was no different.
'Well...I suppose this is gonna be one boring peep show, but since I got
nothing better to do...' Tony continued talking to himself as he connected
the camera to the TV, using a cable he took from the stereo, after a small
adjustment that required a piece of aluminium foil from the kitchen. As a
kid, McCarthy was a passionate radio ammateur, and knew all kinds of
tricks regarding ampers, watts, volts, ohms and other soldiers from the
world of electricity.
It took a while to jam the cable in, but eventually McCarthy succeeded,
and a crystal-clear image appeared on the screen of Lombard's Sony TV.
A few moments later, he was letargically staring at the faces on the
screen, a variety of homo sapiens in all sizes, colors, ages and shapes..
Young, old, fat, skinny...some of them seemed familiar to McCarthy from
the streets of Columbia, but most were unknown to him. He lit a cigarette,
grinning as he imagined Lombard's reaction to the smell of tobaco in his
smoke free home. Faces kept passing in front of McCarthy eyes.
'What a weird line-up this crowd would make' he was thinking like a
cop again. But suddenly his face became serious, and he looked at the
screen closer. Then he presssed rewind, and after a while play. The same
thing repeated several times. Ten minutes later he was talking again.
'Son of a...bitch' he slowly said as traces of smiling started showing on
the corners of his lips again.
'Smart son of a bitch, but not smart enough’ Tony went on, letting two
cigarettes burn in the ashtray, with pillars of ash as long as children's
fingers.
When he was finished, he seemed way happier than when he'd entered
the apartment. He wasn't so angry and pissed off at Lombard anymore.
On the contrary, he couldn't wait for Lombard to return, since he had a
few questions for him.
'You thought you were so mysterious, Pat, but you forgot your partner
was the wise Tony McCarthy' , he murmured to himself.
A few blocks down the street, Lombard was really trying to get his
shopping done a.s.a.p. His shopping cart was ¾ full with all sorts of stuff.
In the next fifteen minutes he got to the cashier, paid his bill, got to his
car, put all the groceries inside, spilled one yoghurt while doing it and
went on home.
'Hang on, Tony, I'm coming' he thought as he accelerated the car.
McCarthy was at the door, waiting.
'Tony, my friend...glad to see you haven't killed yourself' Lombard said
as he went past McCarthy, his hands busy with shopping bags. McCarthy
didn't offer any help.
After he was done, he and McCarthy sat on the couch.
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' I'll just grab one beer myself and then we're out to get some coffee,
Tony, I didn't take that long, as you see.'
Tony took sip from his botlle before answering.
'No, Pat, you didn't, although I still believe you could've gone without
keeping me here like a moron, with a camera that's working perfectly to
wait for the repair men who never showed up.'
'Hm...they didn't, really' Lombard looked at the bag, and then at the
camera connected to his TV. The cable was curved behind the TV like a
snake.
'I see you've been messing around while I was away.'
'Yep.'
'So...anything interesting on it, maybe some nice elderly woman I could
introduce you to?'
'No, no grannies, but I did see one subject I wouldn't mind being
introduced to.'
'Really? That's interesting, although not many babes come around here,
as far as I know...' Then he stopped.
McCarthy was slowly sipping his beer, looking mysterious and
contented. Lombard stared at him, puzzled.
'What's the matter, Tony, you look like you found some...conspiracy
going on, what's happening?' Lombard asked, trying to sound as
indifferent as possible.
'Conspiracy? No, nothing like that. But I might have stumbled upon
one.'
'This is getting interesting, I must admit.'
Tony didn't answer. Instead, he reached his hand to the camera and
pressed play.Until that moment Lombard was certain that something had
happened. When the camera showed one specific face, McCarthy
pressed pause.
The frozen face that was waiting for the door to open made Lombard's
heart pound harder.
'OK...I don't see anything wrong with this picture, Tony?' Lombard
asked, although he felt that nothing would be the same any more.
'Well..it's nothing, really...it’s just that you've been so mysterious I
thought god knows what was happening to you...' Tony said but didn't
come up with the clearest of answers.
'I don't understand.'
'Me neither...I mean, this person...I've been seeing her for about ten
days, standing on the other side of the street, behind the drapes of that
Greek shop. Now, I see her ringing the door of your building.'
Lombard's ears were buzzing, Tony's voice suddenly became distant.
...actually, it's my first time in this part of town, and I run into a cop
that knocks me off my feet...that's not something you see every day...I've
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been seeing her for about ten days, standing on the other side of the
street...
'Pat...hey, are you all right, man?' McCarthy stared at Lombard ,
looking serious.
'Yeah, just a small headache, Tony.'
'It looks like a big fucking headache to me...did I say something wrong,
maybe?'
'What?'
'I said...' McCarthy stared at Lombard so intensely it made Lombard
sick.
For the first time in his life he realized how all those poor bastards in
the interview room must feel during interrogation.
'...are you OK?'
'Yeah, I already told you, don't be a pain in the ass.' He walked up to the
fridge and took a bottle of whiskey out.
Tony McCarthy felt this whole situation was getting more and
more serious. His thoughts were confirmed when he saw Lombard
drinking a glass of fire water bottoms-up without even offering him any.
'No, thanks, Pat, no spirits before noon for me.'
But Lombard didn't hear him. He just stared at the screen and the
beautiful face of Helen Brown which was staring back at him.
CHAPTER 42
The crumbling ceiling cracked from moisture was the first thing he saw
when he opened his eyes. His eyelids felt like lead, and he knew he
wouldn't be able to keep them open for long. Distant at first, on his right
he heard moaning. An old woman was lying on her side on the bed next
to his, eyes closed, while a thin tread of saliva was hanging from her chin,
dropping down on what was once white linen. Sipo's jaw felt numb, he
was unable to open his mouth even just a little. Everytime he inhaled it
felt like breathing fire. With great effort he turned his head to the other
side and saw another skinny human body, it was an old man who looked
even worse than the woman. He was either dead or very near death. Then
he saw another pair of eyes behind the old man, and another hospital bed.
The tired boy realized he was in a room full of sick, old people.
'Big house where sick people lie' he called the hospital.
'What am I doing here with the elders?' The spasm in his jaw didn't let
go, on the contrary, it seemed to get worse. Sipo took another painful
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breath and closed his eyes while darkness covered his mind again, and
this gloomy place with it.
Outside, a very tall, old man was slowly walking through the yard of
the two-floor hospital building, his eyes fixed on the ground. His
wrinkled face was very concerned, because Solomon Kenusa was indeed
a very concerned man at that moment. He knew the boy had days of
struggle for life ahead of him.
At that moment even he, the man with secret knowledge, couldn't tell if
the boy's tiny body would have enough strength to survive.
Solomon was a man with a turbulent past.
In some other, forgotten time, he was a mighty warrior. He came from a
long line of warriors. His father was chief of the Himba tribe, from the far
north of Namibia. Both men and women in the tribe were very tall and
slim, like all Massai people. He was fifteen when he killed his first lion. It
was a sign of good fortune, long awaited by his tribe. In his youth, tribal
wars were a common way of resolving disputes. By the time he was
seventeen, Solomon already had twelve enemies under his belt, in return
he was wounded nine times, three of them being almost fatal. Three times
Solomon came to the edge of death, and three times he came back to life.
Years went by, and Solomon grew up to be a strong, powerful warrior. In
the early morning on his twenty-first birthday he was awoken by crying.
One of his father's wives was sitting in the dust, pulling her thick, heavy
braids stuffed with red clay, soon other wives joined her. Solomon didn't
need to ask what had happened. His father, mighty Xani had died during
the night, and his soul was already on its way to the land of their
ancestors. On that same day, the village bowed before the new chief. The
next seven nights were silent, as people said goodbye to their beloved
leader. On the eighth day Solomon officially became the new chief.
The years that followed weren't much different than the years before,
when his father ruled over the vast spaces the tribe was occupying. By
that time, white settlers were nothing new, and the trading between white
and black people was unavoidable, Solomon understood that clearly. He
didn't like the pale faced man and saw them as conquerors which they
were. However, Solomon had a gift for understanding the situation, and
he didn't delude himself into stopping the unstoppable. Pale faces came
because that was the will of gods, and there was nothing he could do
about it, no matter how sharp his spear or brave his heart.
Changes in his own life came suddenly. One day, Solomon went for a
walk to the jungle which was surrounding his village. His warriors didn't
approve his lonely walks, they thought he was exposing himself to enemy
arrows for no real reason, but one move of Solomon's hand would put an
end on every discussion. Same thing happened on that day, many years
ago.
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The morning was cold and windy, but Salomon didn't mind, since he
was immune to frost and cold, and his big feet left traces in the dirt as he
walked deeper into the jungle.
Solomon was prone to philosophy, at least for a member of his tribe.
Since his early age, he had wondered why everything around him
happened in some certain way, and began to question the laws and the
changes in the nature around him. In some other place, many wise men
were pondering exactly the same questions, and they made conclusions
that made history. Solomon was born in the heart of Africa and he didn't
speak those people's languages, nor had he ever left his land. He had no
idea the world around him was an enormously big place, but still, he
seemed to have some idea about it. He was getting bored with the
traditional affairs in his tribe, such as battles or women snatching, and
thought they were as meaningless as the children's play in the sand.
He thought about those things on that day, while he walked down the
cleared path through the thick bush of thorns, and suddenly stumbled
upon a bushman whose head barely reached his elbow. Solomon never
underestimated the Sons of Kalahari, who had lived in this waste land
long before his own people came from the north. He knew well their
skills, their knowledge of venoms and almost unreal tracking abilities
which nobody could match. Their small bodies made them better
prepared for living in the bush, unlike the people from Solomon's tribe,
who’s even women were often over over six feet tall. The short man was
staring right at him, no fear in his eyes, while Salomon watched him,
puzzled. He was very surprised to hear the bushman speak in his own
language.
'I see you've finally arrived, Solomon...I've been waiting for you so
long.'
The young chief quickly gazed at the man's hands, but there were no
weapons in them. The bushmen were excellent with bows and arrows. It
was known that a single arrow from a bushman could kill a grown
elephant. Every young warrior from their tribe had to go into the wild
alone and kill his first elephant in order to prove he had become a man. If
they were successful, they would return from the bush with the elephant’s
liver. Without that initiation test, they couldn't get married or have any
personal posessions, they had no social status - they were simply nothing.
Their initiation consisted of this: first they didn't wash themselves for
days, nor did they come near any water at all. Then they placed the tips of
their arrows in very strong venoms which they made themselves and only
then did they go after the elephant heards. Or they would go in search of
the lone, grown males.
Once he picks a grown elephant, the bushman never lets go, until one of
them is dead. Most of the times the elephants were the ones who didn't
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survive the encounter. A young warrior would then follow his chosen
animal for days, waiting for an opportunity to get within the striking
range of his short bow. Striking the tip of the elephant’s trunk was most
effective., From the moment it was hit by poisonous arrow , the elephant
was sentenced to death. The strong venom would circulate through his
body, killing him slowly, but surely. Bushman would follow the
agonizing animal for days, waiting for it to collapse. Once that finally
happened, he would thank him the way it had been done for endless
generations in Kalahari, and then he would get to work. He would enter
the animal's body through its anus, get the liver out and eat a piece of it
raw, since it was a delicacy for the bushmen. Then he would pack as
much as he could bear on his shoulders and return to the village to be
accepted as a grown-up man. After that, the majority of the tribe would
go to the carcass and take as much meat as they could before the hyenas
and lions came.
This time, the bushman's hands carried no venomous arrows, they were
empty and pointed to the ground.
'Who are you? '
The bushman didn't answer.
'Solomon, you are brave and strong, and your people love you, like they
loved your father before you.'
Solomon didn't know where the man was going with his monologue,
small man's beady eyes showed no emotion. Something like a vague
smile was floating on his lips, but Solomon knew he wasn't smiling.
'You will have a different destiny from your father, and your father's
father. You are destined to become part of the battle that will take place in
the future. Today a girl was born, and one day she will give birth to
another girl, who will one day give birth to a boy. That boy will fight the
curse cast upon some white people many, many years ago, and that curse
will come here because the blood of your people will mix with the blood
of white people. Solomon silently waited for the man to continue his
unbelievable story. Some strange feeling that this encounter was crucial
to him grew stronger by the moment.
'Decision time is still far ahead of you, Solomon, many Suns will die
and be born again before this time comes. You will become a father many
times, and your first son will carry on where you stop. You will not end
your life like your father did, mourned by his wives and warriors. Instead,
you will go to another place, and there you will, when the time comes,
meet the one who will take on Jagarthani's first servant.'
These words stabbed Solomon like a spear.
'Jagarthani!' The young chief couldn't be scared easily, for he despised
fear. Like all men in his tribe did, he consider it to be a sign of weakness,
fit only for women and weak, worthless men. Now the claws of fear were
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grasping his massive chest in a strong, iron grip. His mouth was dry like
the riverbed in the summer. The short man was still talking.
'Fear not, mighty Solomon, because what comes at us', the man used
plural for the first time, 'we cannot avoid. We can only win or die. Those
are our only options.'
That was the first time Salomon and N-sa had met.
When Solomon returned to the village, his world wasn't the same.
On that night, he conceived his first son.
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CHAPTER 43
After they found out they were being hunted by Sigmund Delke and his
bunch, Sebastian and Bertha Miller became full nomads, rarely staying
in one place for more than a couple of days. Rain or shine, hell or high
water, they were constantly on the move. Fate has decided that
somewhere on these grim, lonely roads Sebastian got Bertha pregnant.
His throat tightened as he secretly watched her walk became slower and
slower, how she got tired more easily.. Weeks went by while her stomach
grew. Sometimes they were able to use it to their advantage, since people
were more willing to open the door of their homes, or stables in most
cases, when they saw a pregnant woman. Then the cycle in Bertha's belly
came to an abrupt end. One calm spring afternoon she felt a sharp pain in
her back and knew instantly what that pain meant.
'Sebastian...baby...it's coming.'
Sebastian’s knees went weak. They were on a dusty road , the night
was falling. They tried to get to Bertha's cousin's home not far from the
place they were so she could have a proper labor, but nature seemed to be
faster. Bertha's body couldn't take any more punishment caused by nonstop walking with little or no food at all. The delivery had obviously
begun and Sebastian was struck by panic. He desperately looked around
as if he was trying to find help inside the dusty growth by the road or
from the tree tops above their heads. But, there was yet another reason for
his staring. That reason was Sigmund Delke, once a fellow villager, now
a stalker from their nightmare. Miller didn't know exactly what had
happened to Delke during his absence from the village. If he knew, he
would be much more scared. Right then, he and his wife were more
vulnerable than ever. The labor and the days that are going to follow were
not in their favor. Dark thoughts made his wind-struck face wrinkle from
worry.
'Where can we hide...where can we move?' he had no answer. Then
Bertha let out a short, sharp scream, and these thoughts were replaced
with new ones that required his immediate action.
'Sebastian...' the woman collapsed, he barely got hold of her before she
fell to the ground. He put his palm on her sweaty forehead and started to
stroke it. The previous months had not been suitable for gentle touches;
they were now deep in their memory...Sebastian felt his heart pound
fiercely. He stared at his wife, she stared back at him. For a few moments
they were both speechless.
'Bertha...don't worry, everything will be all right, you will see.'
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The woman tried to smile, but a new wave of pain overpowered her
again. Sebastian tried to make himself as useful as possible. In the next
half hour Sebastian had lit a fire and boiled water in two of the three pots
they were carrying, luckily for them, the labor had started near a clear,
fast creek. The water got warmer just in time, when Bertha said through
her teeth:
'It's coming out... the baby is coming out.'
Sebastian Miller was never so afraid in his life. He instantly forgot the
danger they were running away from, he forgot they were hungry, cold
and tired, everything disappeared as he fearfully stared at Bertha's naked
belly. Only then did he realize how big the belly really was.
Another yell pierced the long gone spring sunset. 'Sebastian! It's
coming out... you... must help me '
For the first time in his life, Sebastian assisted the labor that night.
When a small, wet head came out of his wife's body, he froze for a
moment, not knowing what to do next, but then got a hold of himself.
'Push, Bertha, come on, push...'
Soon , tiny shoulders appeared , he gently got hold of them then
pulled them toward him. His wife let out another yell, followed by a
moan. This seemed to be going on forever. And then, suddenly, a small
creature went out of the woman's body with a 'plop', just like a large fish,
Sebastian clearly heard the sound. He stared at the creature covered in
blood and slime as it waved its limbs uncontrollably through the air. It
hadn't yet inhaled. As he hysterically thought about what to do next, he
realized he was losing precious time.
'Sebastian...hit his back, for God's sake!'
This snapped him out of the trance. He took the baby by its feet and
turned it upside down. He slapped the baby's but nothing happened.
'Sebastian...the baby has to cry, you hear me, or else it will choke...do you
hear me, Sebastian?'
Seconds later his large hand slapped again. And again. After a long
period of silence, a small, squeaking sound finally came from the little
lungs. Bertha started crying, as well as her husband, although he wasn't
aware of it.
'It's alive, Bertha, it's alive...' he kept saying as tears ran down his face.
Then he took his knife, cut the umbilical cord and tied the best knot he
could manage. After that he just stared at the baby.
'Sebastian, water.'
This time Sebastian reacted much quicker and started bathing the baby.
He washed the blood and slime off the small, jittering body. Then he put
the child in another pot, pulled him out and wrapped it in the clean piece
of fabric they had been saving for this occasion. Finally he passed the
infant to Bertha, it was a baby boy. Bertha offered her swollen tit to the
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infant lips. Soon a clicking sound was heard, followed by many more,
each faster and more nervous than the last. When the baby started to cry,
Bertha immediately understood - her milk hadn't started flowing, but the
baby was still determined to get it. She started pressing her breast with
her hands, ignoring the enormous pain which could clearly be seen on her
face. Once again she tried to feed the baby, once again her struggles were
in vain. Deeply scared, Sebastian knew there was no time to waste and
that he has to do something. By then, the darkness had almost completely
covered the empty space around them. He could still see the houses in the
distance, but much closer to him was something that made him happier –
stables. He had to reach them, if he wanted his son to suvive this night.
'Bertha, I'll go get some milk, I'll be right back, you just lay still', he
said it all at once, as if the woman was getting ready to get up and leave
some where.
Sebastian didn't wait for her to answer, he got up and started to walk
toward the dancing lights in the distance. When he came close to the
nearest stable, he stopped and listened. No sound was coming from
inside, but a strong smell from the blend of cow droppings and hay hit
his nostrils. He carefully stepped into the dark and started to look for big,
dark silhouettes when one short Moo broke the silence. Sebastian slowly
came to the first animal, hoping it wasn't some ill-tempered old bull. It
wasn't, but it was still a young male, thus useless for Sebastian’s needs.
He went on, moving his lips in silent prayer. And the God had answeredthe next animal was a grown female.
He stroked her head and back for a while , then slowly put the pot
below her. Soon, in almost complete darkness a stream of milk hit the
bottom of the pot, and Sebastian sighed in relief. It felt like gallons of air
were trapped inside his lungs, waiting for this moment to rush out. He
went on milking the kind animal for a couple of more minutes, until the
pot in his hand became heavier. Breathless from relief, he stood up and
with almost prehistoric awe kissed the animal between the horns, then
silently went out. When he finally returned to his wife, he saw that the
baby was sucking Bertha with full strength. His wife had that serene look
no male human being will ever be able to feel and completely understand.
Still, he understood enough - while he was away on a mission, Bertha's
savage pressing finally paid off, and milk was flowing between the
baby's tiny, hungry lips.
'It's flowing, Sebastian.'
On the edge of tears he stared at his treasure, confused, then started to
laugh. The exhausted man divided the milk from his pot into two smaller
pots and gave one to his wife, who also started laughing. They were still
laughing when they drank warm cow’s milk, but the baby didn't hear
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them - fed and pressed tightly against his mother's warm breast, he fell
asleep not letting the nipple out of his small, toothless mouth.
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CHAPTER 44
Lombard, motionless, stared at the screen, aware that Tony was
looking at him, but still unable to look away. The information he had just
received hit him like hammer.
...It’s my first time in this part of town...
...I have been seeing her for the last ten days or so, standing across the
street...
’Pat?’
Lombard turned his head toward McCarthy in one infinitely long move.
’Yes...?’
’You’re pale as death, man...what happened?’
Lombard was struggling to regain control.
’Nothing, I forgot to buy some detergent, I’ve got no more excuses now
that the washer’s fixed.’
’You ran out of excuses long ago, are we going now?’
’Yeah.’
A bit later, the two of them were sitting in the garden of ’LeBra’ caffe.
Actually, there was Tony McCarthy and a stuffed bird who possessed the
ability to drink espresso. McCarthy waited patiently for Patrick to say
something, and Lombard wasn’t telling anything, even more patiently.
’Nice day.’
’Yeah, nice day.’
Tony was a patient man, but he wasn’t made of stone. By the time they
got to their second espresso, he had lost it.
’Pat, you look like you just swallowed twenty E’s...how does it feel?’
No answer.
’The minute you saw that girl’s face, you sort of...petrified. If you
weren’t blinking, I wouldn’t be able to tell you apart from the wall behind
your back. What’s wrong?’
Lombard and McCarthy hadn’t know each other for long, actually
they’d known each other since Lombard came to Columbia few months
ago. They had been friends one day after a few games of pool, when they
both got wasted. Tony was feeling particularly miserable because his
girlfriend had left him...in a way. If that same girl could have seen her
former sweetheart at that moment, she would’ve seen him bursting into
therapeutic laughs with Lombard, and the tears that ran down his face
could never be mistaken for the tears of grief. And so it started. Detective
– me, detective – you, we both love pool, beer and dirty jokes. What more
could you want from a new found buddy?
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However, the first and the most important characteristic of their
friendship was mutual respect.
That was why Lombard was in such a difficult situation now. He
decided to cut the bullshit short.
’Tony...the girl you saw on the video is...her.’
’Her?’ McCarthy repeated astoundedly.
’Yeah.’
Then his face beamed.
’Hey, man...you’re supposed to be celebrating, not looking like that,
you look like you’re desperate for toilet paper. Am I, by any chance,
missing something?’
’No, not a thing.’
’If I got you drunk now, I believe I would get some more words out of
you, detective Lombard.’
’I can’t, I’m having lunch with an old friend I had already cancelled on
twice, he’s sort of a colleague, he has a P.I. office up in Seattle. Today is
our last chance to meet in this beautiful sunny state they call South
Carolina.’
’Any other day, you’d have a glass of whiskey with me?’
’A bottle, Tony.’
McCarthy sipped his espresso.
’What did she do to, hm...get you so deranged, Pat, she seems like a
nice girl?’
’She lied, Tony.’
’She lied...they all lie, so?...how many children did she forget to
mention?’
’She told me something that you just managed to prove wrong, Tony,
and I...I’ll be damned if I know what it is all about.’
’Me?! All I said was that I have seen her stand across the street, I
would’ve never even noticed her if she weren’t such a babe, and if she
weren’t so...persistant.’
Lombard was feeling that his throat was dry, too dry.
’The day we first met, she told me it was her first time in this part of
town, Tony.’
McCarthy was staring at the table in complete silence, as he often did
during the interrogations back at the precinct. Lombard didn’t like that.
’Are you rich, Pat?’
’You mean, in spirit?’
’No, I mean in dollars.’
’No, you know I’m not.’
’I know...you’re a nice guy, no doubt, but you will surely agree with me
on this one: not too many chicks would spend their days waiting for you
to knock them off in the middle of the street, face covered in bandages.’
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’Plasters.’
’OK, plasters. Anyway, she told you something that wasn’t true, yes?’
’Yes.’
Two gorgeous girls passed by their table, casting flirting looks when
their skirts were on the same level with the guys’ eyes. Tony lusciously
stared at their asses as they walked away, but one look at Lombard made
him get serious again.
’Pat...there must be some explanation, I mean, you’re not missing any
money from the apartment, or a stereo, TV, nothing like that?’
’No.’
The tedious conversation went on a bit longer, then they both gave up.
Today was not a day for talking, they got up from the table
simultaneously.
Before he got in the car, practical Tony McCarthy fired out some
practical advice.
’Pat, you know what to do. Go and ask what’s going on, and if she
starts bullshitting you, dump her, there are plenty more around, all
around us’ he said and waved to the girls at the bar, who were sipping
some colorful drinks.
They smiled back and lifted two pairs of perfect silicone tits.
’...or you can take her into custody, let her cool off over the weekend,
today is Saturday, she’ll be out by Monday, saying how sorry she is for
all the lies, and then the romance will go on, as well as the getting-laidpart, you know what I mean - piece of cake.’
Then he walked away and soon his Camaro was rushing down the
street, raising clouds of dust.
Lombard felt relieved, the only thing he wanted at that moment was to
be alone.
...it’s my first time in this part of town...
He strolled like a robot towards the ’La Dolce Vita’ restaurant, where
he was supposed to meet with his friend Sonny Everett. After finding out
that he was half an hour early, Lombard collapsed into the nearest bar
stool and ordered a large beer. Halfway down the second glass he started
to feel relaxed. When he was finished with it, he felt that sharp debris of
pain, anger and anxiety had lost litlle of their edge. Just as he was about
to order another beer, the large figure of his friend Sonny Everett
appeared in the doorway. In two steps, or at least that is how it seemed to
Lombard, he leaped across the restaurant and got to the bar, confirming
his presence with a mighty punch on Lombard’s unexpecting back.
’Pat, you old piece of shit...finally.’ Everett wasn’t waiting for
Lombard’s response in any way, but turned towards the bartender ,
pointed at Lombard’s glass and made a V sign with his fingers. The
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bartender got the message, and minute later they were sitting at the bar
drinking beer, first one for Sonny, third for Lombard.
A bit later they moved to the table and ordered two large Texas steaks.
They were by no means vegetarians, nor did they understand them much.
While they were devouring the meat in their plates, hosing it down with
more beer, Lombard began explaining how he ended up in Columbia, so
far away from their Seattle. He skipped a few details, but Everett seemed
pleased to hear Lombard was sent to assist on a particular case he would
rather not talk about in detail. They were remembering the old days,
discussing their future plans, actually Lombard’s friend did most of the
talking, and Lombard sat, listening.
’So, more or less the same old shit, Lomby...except you got yourself a
girl. Something serious, or just for fucks?’
’Serious...I think.’
’You think?’
’Fuck it, you never know, do you?’
’No...I mean, yes.’
Everett eventually gave him the same concerned look McCarthy had an
hour earlier. Before he asked the question, he drank half of his glass in
one gulp. He was famous for it, Lombard remembered vaguely. But
before anything else, it was his intuition that had brought him a lot of
money lately. He was in no way a shy man.
’What’s troubling you, Patrick, tell your old friend.’
’Nothing, Sonny, why?’
’I’m asking because your face is so low now I’m starting to believe
you’ll drink the rest of that beer through a trunk.’
Lombard sighed.
Just my fucking luck, the one man that knows me like the back of his
hand had to come and meet me today, of all days...
’...anyway I can help?’
’Hey, Sonny, back off, OK?’
He was unintentionally too loud and aggressive again. Some guests
raised their heads and turned towards them. Sonny Everett slowly put the
glass back down on the table.
’ Hey, take it easy, Pat.’
Lombard felt his ears burn.
’Sorry, I’m a bit tense, I didn’t mean to yell.’
’It’s OK, I know what it’s like when my wife has a period, it’s no
picnic, believe you me.’
They continued eating and talking about the good old days, and the
conversation became more relaxing, soon they were laughing again.
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’And then the husband came and caught them naked in bed, in that
position...can you believe it? You bitch, why’d you tell me you hated it
like that?...hahahaha...hihihihih...’
They drank another beer, and soon the struggle between alcohol and
cholesterole began inside their guts. They were tapping each other’s back
on the way out, but this time Lombard was in much less pain.
Then something occured to him. Actually, he was amazed with the fact
that he hadn’t mentioned it earlier, during lunch.
’Sonny...you said it yourself, if I ever needed your help, I could call
you, right?’
’ Of course, any fucking time, Pat,. I mean it.’
’I’ll keep that in mind.’ That was enough for Lombard, and he stopped
thinking how Everett would be able to help him, because he knew.
Soon, they said good-bye to each other and went on their own separate
ways.
Intoxicated by the beer and the meat, Lombard started thinking about
Helen again.
He couldn’t understand why’d she told him she had never been in this
part of town before, when McCarthy told him what he did.
Helen...what’s this all about, Helen?
The following hours were a nightmare.
When he heard the front door unlock, his heart started pounding like
crazy. Helen Brown was all smiles when she entered the flat until the
moment she saw him, then the smile disappeared from her face.
’Pat, are you all right?’
’Helen...we need to talk, now.’
She put the bags of groceries down and sat in a chair opposite him,
perfectly calm.
’I’m listening’ she said simply.
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CHAPTER 45
Fortunately for Sipo, he was admitted to one of the best hospital in the
city, never the less modest and of limited capacity by most western
standards, but a miracle in that part of the globe. As a result, there were
fewer patients who left the hospital feet first compared to most other
hospitals in the city. Sipo’s internal bleeding had stopped during his
second hospital day, and his contaminated body managed to prevail,
partly thanks to the hefty number of blood transfusion units he had
received.
Slowly, the boy’s strength was coming back. One week later the traces
of venom had almost completely disappeared from his system, and he
could finally use the bathroom without help. Another significant change
had happened – he was as hungry as a lion the whole time. He just ate,
and ate, and ate...he thought his stomach would burst. In the mirror, it
looked like the belly of a bushman, hard and round like a ball.
Scenes of people dying around him left him indifferent. He just had a
feeling he had witnessed something, somewhere, before, and that
something was way, way scarier than any of this. Soon, he became
oblivious to images of people in white coats closing the eyelids of old
patients.
Still, something wasn’t allowing him to remember anything more than
the weak, trembling memory of the smell of blood and screams of agony
he was sure he had heard before. And that was it. Something else had
happened: the fact that he had no idea how he got there or where did he
came from didn’t bother him at all. He loved the morning routine, when
a white man with a beard came to his bed and nodded approvingly. He
would often stroke the back of his head, talking in a language Sipo didn’t
understand. Actually, Sipo didn’t understand any languages anymore. If
he did, he would hear the doctor say that the boy’s amnesia was probably
caused by a specific protein found in his blood, discovered along with the
black mamba venom. He would understand the confused looks of the
doctors who couldn’t find a reason for such an enormous amount of snake
venom found in his stomach, and substantially less in his other tissues.
They assumed the boy was the object of some spiritual rite, and that he
had been forced to drink the venom, which explained why there were no
bitemarks anywhere on his body.
That was, without a doubt, what saved his life, they said.
Days went by, but Sipo’s ability to speak didn’t restore. The nurses
tried, as much as their time and enthusiasm would allow, to teach the boy
some words of his own native tongue, or what they thought was his native
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tongue, but without any success. The boy remained silent, staring at them
with his big round eyes. After a while, they gave up.
Things at ’Ehafu’Hospital , which was Ovambo for ’fortune’, were
actually not so much fortunate place for many . The litle orphan was a
sad sight even for the hardened hospital nurses.
’Poor child, who knows where his parents might be.’
’Supposing he has any...you see that nobody ever comes to visit him.’
’Wasn’t there an old man with him when he was admitted, tall and very
silent?’
’Yes, but he left soon after doctor Simundson had told him the kid will
live, and he never came back.’
’Typical male...leaving a child like that...who is he, anyway?’ Nobody
knew. There was only a name on the entry list – Solomon Kemusa.
Apart from being a doctor, doctor Simundsen was also a humanist and a
philanthropist. He had devoted his life to treating people in far away,
undeveloped parts of the black continent, far from his native Sweden.
He came to Africa as a young, just graduated doctor , and stayed for
good. Like so many other white people , he fell in love with the vast
open spaces, breathtaking sunsets and the astonishing spontaneity of the
black people, so unlike the distant, estranged human relations in the
countries of the western civilisation.
Dr. Simundsen felt the other people’s sufferings, and his particular soft
spot were those of the children. In his forty years of practicing medicine,
he had seen enough orphans to fill several school buildings, but his heart
never turned to stone. He would remember his own childhood, Easter and
Christmas holidays, familiy picnics and goodnight kisses. He knew many
of the children he had seen would never feel even a shred of that
happines, he knew that many would be taken by the ferocious winds of
life which were blowing hard in this endless wilderness. He had seen the
deaths of many men, women and children in those overcrowded rooms of
Ehafu hospital. Sipo’s condition was so bad when he was admitted that
the old doctor had little doubt he would also add to those depressing
statistics.
Then a miracle happened. It was coincidently Doctor Simundsen
himself who was standing next to the heart rate monitor attached to
Sipo’s body when the amplitudes on the screen became higher and more
frequent.. He took hold of the boy’s hand and held it gently, because there
was nothing more he could do. The tiny rib cage had entered the state of
convulsion he knew all too well. The boy was in the last, terminal stage,
after which there was only death.
And then, just like always, the line on the screen became flat. It was all
over. There was nothing but sorrow in the eyes of the man who had seen
that same thing too many times to shed a tear now. The small hand
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gripped Simundson’s fingers once more, and then let go. The boy, known
as Sipo in some other world, had just died.
The doctor had almost reached the door when a sudden sound made
him stop. It was a sound he couldn’t have mistaken for anything else. A
series of equal, steady – beep, beep, beeps ...that could have come only
from the heart rate monitor. There was only one of those in this room, he
was certain, and that one was still attached to the boy’s body. He felt the
hair on his neck slowly rise, he turned and looked at the bed he had been
standing by for the last ten minutes. Then he looked at the screen- it was
showing the average values of heart rate for a living person. The boy was
alive.
Sven Simundsen knew what he had seen just moments ago: speeding,
raging pounding of the small heart that was losing its final battle, then the
typical chaotic contractions common for the patients with minutes, or
seconds left to live, then a simple flat line which meant it was over. Now
he was astoundedly staring at the boy’s skinny ribs as they went up and
down with every new breathe.
The old doctor didn’t believe in miracles, no matter how often he had
wished for them. Now, he was witnessing one. While his chin was
shaking, the only thing he managed to say was:
’I don’t know how...but...you will live, my boy...you will live.’
And Sipo lived on, or came back from the dead, doctor Simundsen
wasn’t sure which was true.
At the same time, somewhere deep in the jungle, an old bushman was
gazing at the dying fire. The flames suddenly rose up again, and became
much stronger and higher.
His incredibly wrinkled face looked at the dark sky, then his toothless
mouth split into a wide smile. The only thing he said with utmost respect,
was ’Kirsa, he’s alive.’
CHAPTER 46
During his career, Patrick Lombard had interrogated many people, some
of them were good, some were bad. But he always had a superior role in
those interrogations, since most of the people he was questioning were
either suspects in a crime or close to becoming one unless they were
witnesses. Still, even they were never too relaxed in front of the
detective. It was always like that.
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But now , in some other time and place he was sitting across the table
from a woman he loved , and was getting ready to interrogate her.
Shit, holy shit – how did that happen – shit shit shit !
Helen was looking at him calmly, waiting for him to begin with
questions that were on his mind. Then she said:
’OK, Pat, I think I know what this is about -you got tired, didn’t you?’
He felt a short, sharp pain in his heart, typical for those in love.
’No, Helen...I’m not tired, I’m not tired of you.’
’You fell in love with somebody else, but you still like me, so you need
some time alone to clear your head, is that it?’
Her sarcasm was hurting him and couldn’t have been further from the
truth.
’Helen, this is no time for jokes.’
’I’m not joking.’
He cleared his throat .
’When we first met...you told me something that turned out to
be...hm...untrue.’
’Really? And what that might be, Detective Lombard?’
’Helen...you told me, after we bumped into each other, remember...’
’I remember.’
’You told me it was your first time in that part of town, and you ran into
an insane cop who knocked you off your feet?’
’ Honestly I don’t remember, even if I did say that, I don’t see why
you’ve got such a problem with it all of a sudden ?’
’That’s not what I’m talking about, Helen.’
’Then what are you talking about, if you don’t mind me asking?’
’Helen...it wasn’t your first time in that part of town.’
For a moment everything was silent. Brown looked at him with a look
he didn’t like, one that didn’t...belong to her.
’What are you trying to say, Pat?’
’I just said it, Helen.’
’I still don’t understand.’
’Helen...a colleague of mine had accidentally seen you stand across the
street from the precinct, by that Greek cafe several times, or, to be more
precise – day after day.
She was now laughing with her familiar voice, so dear to him, and he
was praying that her laugh was sincere and that Tony McCarthy was the
biggest jealous ass-hole he had ever seen in his life.
’Pat, you’re crazy, I guess that’s why I love you so much.’
They both froze.
...I guess that’s why I love you so much...
One of your colleagues with too much free time on his hands saw
somebody that looked like me and then told you it was me. Actually, I
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think I should be the one asking questions here, demanding an
explanation – why did you let, or maybe even arrange for some shortsighted cop to stalk us, when we both agreed to keep our relationship to
ourselves. What is it, occupational deformation of some sort?’
Lombard was feeling tired.
’Helen...Tony has the eyes of a hawk and the brain of an owl.’
’I’ve always loved zoological comparisons, but I still don’t see how, if
he’s as bright as you say, could he’ve made such a mistake?’
’Helen...he noticed you by accident...you stood there day after day...’
’Patrick, I already told you he had mistaken me for somebody else, and
frankly, I feel I’m being arrested in here. Just tell me under what charge,
if I may ask?’
’Helen, there’s a security camera in front of my building, right?’
’I don’t understand what you’re trying to say, Patrick.’
Almost unnoticably, the tone of her voice had only slightly changed,
unless the person who listening was a homicide detective.
’What I’m trying to say is that I was rudely awaken by a nasty elderly
neighbor this morning, and that same neighbor shoved a camera in my
hands, it was a security camera from the building entrance...do you want
me to go on?’ he asked and went on, not waiting for an answer.
’The camera was supposedly broken, but all that happened was the
screws from the holder got loose, and somebody needed to tighten them.’
’And?’
’And then Tony, a colleague of mine called me and asked if I would
like to have coffee with him. I had to do some shopping first, so I asked
him to come at my place in case the maintenace crew came to fix the
fuckin’ camera that turned to be perfectly fine. He, by the way objected
at first, but I managed to persuade him. When I came back, I saw that
Tony had found a way to entertain himself while I was away. He
connected the camera to the TV and watched the footage. That’s
occupational deformation, Helen.’
Helen Brown didn’t interrupt him, the smile was gone from her face.
’He told me he saw a woman he wouldn’t mind getting to know a bit
better, if you know what I mean. And then your face appeared.’
’So?’
’Helen, Tony said you were the one standing across the street from the
precinct for days.’
The silence that followed spoke louder than words, Lombard was
watching the sun go down on the horizon.
’Helen...why did you tell me you’d never been in this part of town
before?’ Lombard finally asked the thing that’s been troubling him so
much.
’Patrick, I don’t even know where to begin...’
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Just say something, say anything, damn you.
Never before had he seen Helen looking like this. She just stared at the
floor, but not like a person who’s got nothing to say, like a person who
doesn’t know what can, and what can not be said. Lombard had seen it
many times.
’Patrick, I can’t tell you about it now, you wouldn’t understand.’
’I wouldn’t understand what, Helen?’
’Anything.’
’Could you be a little more specific, please?’
’I can’t.’
Lombard felt his chest rise from anger and despair. It was that in this
strong and painful way he understood how much he cared about that girl,
and how only a miracle could set things between them straight again. He
tried to remember what number in the Commandments was ’Thou shall
not lie’, but couldn’t.
...they all lie, Pat...
He got up and went to the bathroom, since the pressure in his temples
was becoming stronger by the minute. He washed his face with ice-cold
water what seemed to drain the anger out of his body. I’m sure I can
understand whatever was happening, no matter what she said. She doesn’t
seem like the cheating type, and how could she be cheating me – in
advance, we weren’t even a couple back then ? That would be the first
case of premature cheating in the history of the world. After he managed
to calm his subliminal jealousy, Lombard was feeling much better and
ready to go on, or even change the topic of the conversation. Maybe they
could go see a movie, or go to a restaurant, and then he could ask again
why’d she lied to him.
He entered the room, eyes fixed on the zipper that got stuck halfway up.
’Helen, let’s go out somewhere, we don’t have to spend the entire day
like this. What would you rather do? Restaurant or movies, you choose.’
Nobody answered. He realized why when he looked up, even before he
said the woman’s name.
Helen Brown wasn’t there , while the front door of his apartment were
wide open.
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CHAPTER 47
The years that passed had taken their toll on Sigmund Delke. Instead of
rewarding him after he had set fire on the church, killing almost
everyone in the village, his master had threatened him, saying that he
would burn in hell for the rest of eternity unless he carries on fulfilling his
demands.
„If you fffail to accomplissssh your task, you will regret you didn’t burn
in the churccch along with the resssst of the missserable maggotsssss,
undersstand?“, he was told.
Fear of eternal agony had become a part of Sigmund Delke’s life ever
since that night when he buried his wife, when the creature first appeared
before him and did what it did.
Pissing on the grave, screams that came from it, piercing through his
palms and feet as well as tearing the skin on his forehead with its long,
black nails he remembered so well, after which there was only darkness
until he was awakened by peasants... that was all long ago.
Today, many years later, his mission still wasn’t completed. Somehow,
Sebastian Miller and his wife, along with their children, were still out of
his reach.
’How could that miserable bastard manage to hide from me all this
time, along with that whore of his, and their discusting lot ?’
It was their lot that worried Delke the most. As far as he knew, the
Millers had two sons and a daughter. Their oldest son, Alexander, was
now seventeen years old.
People were afraid of the stranger’s grim, dark posse as it went down
dirty , dark roads, asking about a man and an woman, who were
accompanied by a young lad, seventeen or eighteen years of age.
The same Lad grew to be a handsome man, and many young girls
would gaze at him as he walked by , unaware of the attention he caused.
Delke would groan painfully because Alexander Miller, the child of the
damned, grew stronger every day, and he knew it. The more strenght
Miller gained, the more difficult it was for Delke to kill him. He had no
doubt Sebastian Miller knew he was after him, and that he had told his
son everything. Once he heard the Millers spent days roaming around
their former village, Delke’s face turned purple from anger.
’How dare that worm come back to the place where all of his friends
and relatives were burned, turned to ashes?’ asked the man who belonged
to the underworld, but the answer escaped him. On those rare occasions
when he would gaze into filthy mirrors inside even filthier inns he stayed
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in, he would see a tired man with a face harsh from winds and rains. His
unusual servants followed him silently – servants serving the srvant, they
were.
Many years later on some distant island in another part of the world,
these people would be named differently - they would be named Zombie.
But then, in the darkness of the medieval German countryside, nobody
paid much attention to their sparkless eyes, their mechanical motions and
inhuman patience. Actually, people avoided staring at them, as if they felt
these creatures are neither living nor dead.
Delke felt his days were numbered while his body has gone through
changes : big, black scabs started appearing on his body. One morning he
woke up and saw the first big , ugly spot near his adam apple, the first of
many to come. With his fierce, murdering heart, he understood he was
being punished by his master for not completing his task.
’If you fail, I will turn you into a ffreak nobody could stand to look
at...nobody will come near you, the children will run away from you
screaming ...Before you die and come to me, you will be forsaken by
everyone. If you have no son to go on where you stopped, you will be
tortured forever in the deepest corridors of my master’s castle. If you fail
to do what you’ve been ordered, the master will wait to have his
revenge...and you... will have your skin torn off and your body burnt in
flames, again and again, until the end of time... The voice disappeared in
the distance. That happend a long time ago, but Sigmund Delke knew the
meaning of the hideous lump on his throat that came out of nowhere. It
was the beginning of the end, after which there was no heaven for him.
Delke was a villain, but he wasn’t stupid, he knew what to do. Woman .
He needed a woman immediately. Delke had had many whores in his life:
sometimes he had them alone, sometimes with the animals ; he enjoyed
watching the drunk and dizzy women get their bodies torn by the
animals’ big, hard penises... but now he had no time for funny games. He
needed a woman for the most natural act of all – procreation. Sigmund
Delke didn’t like or need children in his life. But now, he longed for a son
to save him from the eternal agony after his unholy life finaly ended.
He didn’t have much time, he knew he would only become uglier and
more repulsive with every new day...which is exactly what happened. On
the following day, when he woke up, he saw another black scab on his
cheek, just below his right eye. His own scream reminded him of his
laugh as he watched the villagers being burned to death inside the church.
’Woman...I need a woman ! ’
His neverending journey soon took him to a small, remote village.
There he found what he was looking for.
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She was a fat, ugly slut who would lie down with anyone for a handful
of coins, often without them. It was hard to imagine a woman get any
lower that this.
Her name was Mathilda, but most of the local people wouldn’t say her
name. They simply refered to her as ’the whore’. They said that even she
had lost count of the number of miscarriages during her atrocious life.
They also said she wouldn’t say no even to dogs, horses or donkeys.
Twice she came close to being burned on the stake like a witch, but both
times the local doctors had saved her, saying she was mentally ill, and
those people are forever marked by God.
On a cold, rainy night, Delke rode into a stable which was quiet, apart
from Matilda’s loud, steady snoring. He came to the stack of hay where
the filthy castaway was sleeping. Her clothes were filthy and full of holes,
pulled up enough to show her fat, ugly legs. Delke’s face, now almost
entirely covered in scabs, turned in contempt. By then, he was looking
like a walking nightmare. He slowly unbuckled his belt and let his pants
slide down to his ankles. He wore nothing underneath, even though it was
the middle of winter. The smell that had spread throughout the stable was
incredible but the fat whore didn’t wake up, unaware of the hideous
creature above her. Blood rushed into Delke’s penis, even though there
was no sign of sexual arrousal on his face. It was as if some strange force
took over his penis and made it hard and big. This image could be seen
inside the dreams of insane people, but, this was no dream - it was all
very real, as the sleeping woman would soon find out.
Seconds later, Delke leaped on top of the woman like a beast. Next
moment , his black buttocks covered in scabs and lumps were between
the surprised victim’s legs. The woman opened her eyes and immediately
screamed. The gruesome, scabby face was inches away from her own,
with the most repulsive stench in his breath, something even she,
accustomed to every kind of human stench, never felt before.
’Aaaaahh...’ she managed to yell but no one from the village was
around to hear her. Even if they did, they wouldn’t mind, because
everybody knew who used to spend the night in that stable. She let go,
decided not to resist. Then, she saw something that made her blood turn
cold. As if the discusting face with the scabs and the terrible breath
wasn’t enough, bloody red eyes were staring at her, with hatred so present
it could be cut with a knife.
’You ... filthy whore....are chosen...for this assignment... you are the
chosen one...so be it.’
The terrible smell from the man’s mouth and the strong pounding into
her worn off genitals wasn’t subsiding. The pain she was feeling between
her legs wasn’t there because the man was too big, no, it seemed to come
from something else ...and it felt as if her womb was on fire.
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The whore by the name of Mathilda couldn’t take it anymore and
passed out. When she woke up, she was alone, and all that was left of the
unknown rapist was his stench. On her thighs she discovered a couple of
scabs that had fallen off his body, and got stuck in her slime. She hardly
managed to sit up , there was no strengh left in her. Then she noticed
how one man from Delke’s posse stare blankly at her and her legs felt
weak again, but the strange man paid no attention and spoke:
’Woman, you got pregnant last night...and you’ll give birth to a boy.
Take care of him more than anything in your life before. If anything
happens to the boy, you will be tortured in ways you can’t even imagine,
that would make your life so far look like a fairytale...if anything happens
to the boy, you’ll wish you’ve never been born at all. Maybe you can
already guess who the boy belongs to, if not, you’ll find out...and never,
and I repeat, never, under no circumstances should you take him into a
church! Understand?’
The woman had just enough strength in her to nod once, and then she
collapsed to the ground again.
That is how Diether was conceived, the son of Sigmund Delke, destined
to finish his father’s mission. As for his father, his half-decomposed body
was found in a shed several weeks later surrounded by dozens of dead
rats. People said the rats died because they ate his flesh.
CHAPTER 48
Nicholas Lester was a successful lawyer. First he became a respected ,
and soon after that an important part of the Levy & Sons consulting firm.
He was advancing qucikly, it seemed not a week went by that he didn’t
make a substantial amount of money for his employers which didn’t go
unnoticed by Neil Levy, the firm owner.
The outside world, wrapped in dark rainy clouds was staring at him thru
the thick glass on the tenth floor of the office building.
Neil was alone in his office, waiting. His nickname, ’Steely Neil’ came
from that very quality of his, that almost unnatural ability to wait. No one
had ever seen him anxious or upset.
’Only a fool never gets upset’,the famous sentence by Socrates was
framed above Neil’s head, a classic example of his sarcastic nature.
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Anyway, that didn’t stop him from sending a number of criminals down
the road of no return, either personally, or through one of his many
lawyers. He’s been in this business for decades.
However, the reason this grey-haired man was now sitting in his office
waiting for Nicholas Lester to arrive was not work-related. Just as he was
thinking about the perfect location for the fishing trip with his grandsons
this weekend, he heard a knock on the door.
’Come in’ he said and straightened himself up in his working chair.
Although he was old and not too corpulent, Neil Levy posessed an iron
authority which made the man who had knocked on his door stand still
at the very center of the carpet, and wait for Levy-senior to talk.
’Nicholas...sit, sit and make yourself comfortable’ , he said and Lester
sat on the large leather sofa that would look good even in the office of the
president of the USA.
Levy didn’t waste any time, he knew his employees never felt very
comfortable inside his office, although that didn’t happen very often.
Nicholas was no exception.
’You’re probably wondering what’s wrong, so let me tell you– there’s
nothing wrong. I didn’t ask you to come here because there’s a
problem...actually, the reason I called you is completely different.’
Lester politely nodded .
’...being in this business this long, I have learned that communication
between the employer and his employees should be as direct as possible,
do you agree?’
’As much as the circumstances allow , yes, Mister Levy.’
’Always tactical, right, Nicholas?’, Levy’s face spread into a smile, then
he went on.
’That is why I have always tried to find out what is it that my
employees want, especially those I consider to be better than the rest, and
you know that my standards are very high, right?’
’I am aware of that fact, sir.’
’You are, of course, one of my better employees,’ he said and waved his
hand, stopping Lester from saying ’thank you, sir’ , ’ ...so I sometimes
take the liberty of enquiring about my employees’ personal desires or
problems, at least for those I care more about ’
Levy knew human nature better than most people. That is why he
managed to notice a touch of anxiety that flew over young Lester’s face.
’No, Nicholas, you are wrong...I am not, in any way, refering to your
adolescent flirtation with marijuana, if that’s what you meant... frankly, I
tend to believe that it would do good for my lawyers to get to know that
other side of the coin, thus to know what makes our clients seek our
protection, and I believe we have protected most of them thus far, haven’t
we?’
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’Yes, we have, sir.’
’Actually, I wanted to talk to you about some other matter’ he said and
reached for a nicely crafted wooden cigar box packed with Cuban cigars.
’Want one? No? That’s understandable, for an athlete such as yourself.’
Nicholas Lester felt the first signs of sweat form under his armpits. He
still couldn’t figure out why the big boss called him to his office, and as
time went by, it was all getting less and less obvious.
Levy cut the tip of one of the cigars, and as soon as the bluish smoke
came out from his lungs , pleasure could be seen on the old man’s face.
’Maybe they don’t make life longer, but they make it more bearable, at
least to me.’
Nicholas Lester nodded once more.
’I assume you got plenty to do right now, rather than sit and listen to
this slow, old man as he’s polluting the air with his cigars, saying a bunch
of stuff that don’t make much sense?’
’No, not at all, Mister Levy, everything is all right with me.’
’I understand you and your Mrs don’t have any children?’
The question came out of the blue.
’No, sir.’
’But, you want children, only you still haven’t been able to conceive,
right?’
’That’s right.’
Neil Levy put the cigar down, then crossed his fingers and rested his
chin on them. He stared at Lester with the vaguest of stares. Then he
cleared his throat.
’Nicholas...I have received some information that your wife and you
have applied for an adoption, is that true?’ Tension in the air had grown
after this question, even though both men remained sitting still. Lester
was astounded. How could his boss know something so intimate,
something he hadn’t told to anyone, absolutely anyone in the firm? And
then he remembered he was talking to Neil Levy, the man who could find
out almost everything.
’Mister Levy...the information you have received is correct. Although
I’m not sure how it’s connected to my job here in your...’
’It’s not, Nicholas, not at all. Don’t be offended, I didn’t mean anything
wrong, at least not from my point of view.’
’Which is?’
’Which is – I would like to help you, if you would let me.’
’Help me ? How?’
Levy stared at Lester again. This time he seemed to be chosing his
words carefully.
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’Listen, Nicholas. First of all, I am not a racist. Never was, never will
be. I lost ¾ of my entire family in Auschwitz, what you see in front of
you are....the remains. what I am trying to say now is that I don't have
problem with the color of your skin.’
Nicholas Lester didn’t know how to answer to this.
’The reason I called you here was not to discuss racial or family issues.
We are both too busy for that sort of talk. So again, Nicholas, I am telling
you I heard your wife and you wanted to adopt a child’ this time he
wasn’t asking but simply stating the fact, because Neil Levy never talked
about things he wasn’t certain about, and this time was no exception.
’That’s right, sir, we want to adopt a child.’
’And from what I’ve heard, you want the child to have your color, is
that right?’
’We think that way would be best for us and for the child to.’
’I’m adopted, Mister Lester.’
These words fell from out of nowhere, hard as a million rocks.
’Sir?’
’I said, I’m also adopted mr. Lester.’
Minutes ago Nick Lester felt the first beads of sweat slide down his
upper arm. Now, It felt like it was flowing in streams.
Neil...adopted?
’This should stay between us, Nicholas.’, he added few second later.
’That goes without saying.’
’Nothing goes without saying in life, Nicholas, except death in the end
of the road, take an old man’s word for it.’
Nicholas sat there, petrified, listening to the man who had chosen him,
of all people, to be the one to hear his confession.
’My parents, as well as five of my siblings were killed in Auschwitz, I
was the only one who survived. Our last name was Goldberg. Their first
names would mean nothing to you, so I won’t bore you with details,’ he
said and went with his amazing story.
’By the end of the war, I was just one amongst the many Jewish
children roamnig around the ruins of Europe, knocking on the doors of
crammed shelters. My best friend in the whole world, Samuel, died in
my hands two hours before the allied troops came to our rescue. A few
hard months later, I came to America. I was adopted by a certain wealthy
Jewish family , whose head and ultimate authority was my late
stepfather, Jeremiah Levy’.
For a brief moment he look his straight in the eyes and said :
’You are the first one who has ever heard this, apart from my sons’.
Then he cleared his throat and went on.
’And now I come to the reason I called you here, Nicholas. After hearing
all this, I believe you may get some idea of how a man like me feels about
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anyone who want to adopt a child – I, in my heart, got nothing but utmost
respect for those people. So now I’m asking you, Nicholas Lester, to
carry on with what you and your wife have intended to do and adopt a
child, and give it a chance for a new life - the same chance I was once
given myself..’
The old man’s voice trembled at the end, and for the next ten seconds
the only sound in the office came from his deep, heavy breathing. After a
while that seemed like eternity to Nicholas, Neil Levy came to the
conclusion of his amazing story.
’Go where you have to go and do what you have to do, Nicholas, and
don’t bother with the legal aspects of the adoption. I know some lawyers
that can handle that for you.’ After those words both men smiled for the
first time.
’And have no regrets, ever. Sometimes one adopted child is worth more
than the entire world’ Neil Levy’s usual voice returned, and Lester knew
this conversation was over. On his way out he somehow managed to say.
’Mister Levy?’
Neil Levy looked up from his mahogany desk.
’Yes?’
’Thank you, sir.’
On his way out, he closed the door as quietly as he could.
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CHAPTER 49
Patrick Lombard stared at the hallway of his building with his mouth
open in astonishment.
’Helen...’ he called the woman’s name, but there was no one to answer
him. It still took him a couple of seconds to fully realize what had
happened and to understand that his girlfriend had suddenly fled from the
apartment. A thought occured to him, although he couldn’t tell precisely
what that thought was.
Patrick, I can’t tell you anything about it, you just wouldn’t
understand...
’Wouldn’t understand what, Helen?’
Pain and anger blended into a bitter melange.
’Helen...’
His arms suddenly became heavy, they turned into two logs which
were all of a sudden sawn to his shoulders, dragging him down, where
bags of groceries were still lying on the floor. Patrick looked at them, as
if he were at the crime scene. He cast his eyes over the groceries the two
of them would never eat together, and the bottle of wine they would
never drink.
’Helen...what happened...?’
Slowly, very slowly, he started seeing things that for some strange
reason had been escaping him until now. He suddenly realized he had
never been in Helen’s apartment, the one she’d been living in since she
came to Columbia and never been to see her at her work. It seemed
incredible to him now.
Anthropology department.
A few times he walked with her to the street which led to her part of
town, but never further than that. She always had something to do, was
always in a hurry ...
’I’ll see you later at your place, sweety, I really gotta go now’ she
would say to him, then she would be gone. Being a homicide detective,
he just couldn’t understand how he had never been able to elbow his way
to her apartment. To see where she lives, where she sleeps, where she
takes baths...when she’s not with him.
’Is this how my Satruday should look ?’ he asked himself. ’Is this the
weekend I’ve been looking forward to so much?’
The bags on the floor were now silent witnesses of all that happened. Or
rather, what didn’t happen. He took all three and carried them back to the
kitchen and placed them on the counter. Then he threw them all in the
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garbage and went outside, on a scorching, sunny day. While he walked
through the scorching heat, Lombard remembered Tony.
’Why the fuck did you have to watch that fucking tape, Tony? he
angered , but also knew that he couldn’t blame his partner for dividing
the truth from the lie without even knowing it.
Columbia wasn’t a large city, unlike most other USA capitals. Lombard
was driving slowly, hypnotized, so much that he felt the horns which
were ruthlessly honking behind him had nothing to do with him. As he
waited for the lights to change, he suddenly noticed someone was waving
at him. It was a colleague from his precinct whose hand, when she took a
closer look at his face, remained floating in mid-air, and the look in her
eyes changed from kind to serious, then cautious. Stories of Lombard’s
unstable mental state were no secret anymore. Then the lights turned red,
and the woman crossed the street in a hurry, looking away from
Lombard’s car and disappeared in the crowd.
Only then did Lombard remember to raise his hand which went
unnoticed. He knew he had to go find Helen, but he didn’t know where to
start. Then he snapped out of the limbo he was in.
Museum – apartment – apartment – museum...? he was pondering, then
chose the apartment and drove to the place where Helen said she lived.
It was a simple, well-kept five-story building. He parked the car on the
other side of the street.
Get out Patrick, and get to work, turns out today’s not your day off,
after all.
He entered the hallway and saw a sleepy receptionist.
’Hello, may I help you?’ ,a suspicious middle-aged man asked him.
Lombard thought about showing his police I.D. right away, but eventually
decided not to, but this was a private visit to the person who lived here,
or at least was supposed to live here.
’Hello, my name is Lombard, Patrick Lombard, I’ve come to visit a
friend of mine.’
’Which floor, sir?’
’Third, I think, I’m not sure.’
’Name?’
’Helen, Helen Brown.’
The receptionist looked up.
’Helen Brown?’
Lombard’s guts slowly, but surely, started to rise.
’Yes.’
The man stared at the screen in front of him, then turned his head.
Patrick’s stomach was harder than stone.
’Mister...Lombardo, there’s no one by that name in here. Is it possible
you’ve made a mistake?’
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’No, I haven’t, I haven’t!’
He realised he was yelling, but it was too late.
’Mister’ the receptionist wasn’t so kind anymore, ’no need to raise your
voice. It seems you didn’t hear me when I told you there’s no one by that
name living here, or maybe you would like to hear it from the police?’
Lombard pulled out his I.D. He did it so fast, the receptionist almost fell
off his chair. Even though he was completely in charge of the situation so
far, he was just a scared receptionist now, standing in front of a seriously
angry officer of the law.
’Mister Lombardo, I...’
Lombard ignored hearing the Italian version of his name again ,
scratched behind the ear and frowned.
The receptionist was now trying to be helpful.
’There is one apartment...but I’m not sure, I don’t think anybody lives
there, at least I’ve never seen anyone come out.’
’Take me up there...now!’
The receptionist sighed relieved and went to follow the given order. For
a minute he wanted to ask for a closer look at his I.D, but changed his
mind, it seemed authentic enough.
’This way, sir.’
Nobody said a word in the elevator. When they went out on the third
floor, Lombard was feeling like he was on duty again. The last door down
the hall had a number 304 on it. ’Here it is.’
’Do you have a key?’
’Yes, but...’
’Open it.’
The man stood still, eyes fixed to the floor. Lombard started to sweat.
A kind word turneth away wrath...the old and rarely used biblical quote
crossed Lombard’s mind.
’Listen, mister...’
’Smith.’
’Mister Smith, you have nothing to worry about. I am a policeman, and
I don’t intend to steal anything. I’m simply asking you to unlock this door
for me, and later, if you want, we’ll make an official report.’
’According to the rules, I must...’
’Listen, you can stay beside me the whole time, I repeat, I don’t intend
to steal or break anything. I just need to check something. If you would
be so kind and open this door for me, I won’t forget you, mister Smith.’
If Mr Smith had one too many unpaid parking ticket’s , reports of
indecent exposure or similarly serious violations of the law, never found
out, but these words seemed to have an effect on him. Slowly, almost
ritually, he took out a large set of keys, found the right one and put it in
the lock. One second passed, two, three...
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’I don’t understand, all the apartments in the building are easily
unlocked...’ he shifted the key left and right, more anxious by each turn.
Eventually he looked at Lombard again, not knowing what else to do.
’Step aside’ Lombard replied without looking at the receptionist. He, on
the other hand, had seen enough action pictures to know what’s going to
happen next. The door stood firm after the first kick. It shook a bit, but
stayed in place. For a fraction of a second Lombard thought that it might
be better to shoot the fuckin’ bastard with all six bullets he had in his
revolver and let it bleed to death, but decided to give it another kick.
’Slam!’ the sound echoed, and the door were no more an obstacle for
the two men to enter the apartment.
But, what waited inside was enough to make both of them freeze in
their place.
First it was the darkness, so unlike the sunny day outside. Along with
the darkness came a flow of cold, damp air.
’What in the name of...’ Smith began, but Lombard quickly silenced
him, then pulled out his revolver and gripped it with both hands. Even
though he was completely shocked by this eery scene, Smith couldn’t
help feeling a little bit excited. He already imagined himself telling
everybody he knew about this action, with his part in it being
significantly altered, of course.
They slowly entered the hall. Lombard felt that the scent of moisture
was getting stronger.
South Carolina was infamous for its high temperatures that accelerated
the decomposion process for everything that wasn’t alive. But this place
felt like the inside of a tomb. Lombard pressed the switch on the wall, but
nothing happened.
’I...really don’t understand...this can’t be happening, our residents are
very decent people who take good care of the building...we’re running no
whore house here, sir...’
Lombard wasn’t listening. Instead, he walked toward the first room on
the left, some ten feet away from where he stood. He advanced cautiously
with his back against the wall, even if damp and coldness were his only
enemies so far. Actually, he was hoping to find nothing else in this
dreadful, creepy place. He stopped for a moment in front of the door and
listened. All he could hear was his own deep, laborious breathing.
’One...two...three...’
He quickly turned around but the room was empty. No carpet, no
furniture, nothing. Here the smell of damp and decay was so intense it
made him press his elbow against the face and dive into the sleeve of his
expensive ’La Garage’ shirt.
This room was also unusually cold. It was something so unknown, so
unlike anything he’d ever seen, but in some horrifying way it was
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becoming more familiar with every second. He went into the next room,
not much different than the previous.
’I told you nobody lived here, I couldn’t imagine that...’
’Shhhh...’
Lombard looked inside the bathroom and saw black stains going down
the walls of the tub, creating a bizzare, morbid image. All that was left
was the kitchen, and that’s where the smell was the worst. It was as dark
inside as all other rooms of the apartment, but Lombard’s eyes had
slightly adapted by now, so he could make out the objects around him. A
dirty sink, dirty floor and an ugly wooden table with even uglier chairs,
was all Lombard could see. Just when he was about to leave, he noticed
something else. It was large enough to be a refrigerator, similar in shape .
Then he realized it was a refrigerator.
He heard a sound that made his heart pound hard, the familiar,
unmistakable sound of a working fridge. There was no source of
electricity anywhere in the apartment, everything was turned off. Except
for this thing that worked perfectly.
Lombard immediately remembered ’Christine’, the well-known book
by Stephen King turned into an even more successful movie. What was
the refrigerator supposed to do now? Open the door by itself and burp?
Fart?
Disappear?
Turn into Helen Brown?
None of that happened, but what did happen would stay in Lombard’s
memory for the rest of his life. He was already at the end of his nerves
when he opened the fridge door wide. The light from the interior shone
over his amazed face.
Lombard had seen a lot in his life. But, what he’d just seen he couldn’t
have imagined even in his worst nightmares. He blinked once, then again,
but the image in front of him didn’t change. He stared at the decomposing
heads of the teenagers, whose bodies were found at the swamp...how long
ago he couldn’t exactly remember. Heads stared back at him with their
dead eyes, covered with thin grey and white veil. Both of the victims’
had such impressions on their faces they were clear evidence of the
horrors they’ve been through before they had died. Lombard assumed the
last thing they both saw was the face of the attacker. Or a devil,
something whispered in his ear. He was still standing there petrified,
when his colleagues finally entered the apartment with their guns
unneccesarily pulled out of their holsters, just like he had, half an hour
before.
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CHAPTER 50
Sipo’s recovery, or better- his mysterious escape from the claws of
death was quickly forgotten in the place where life and death collided all
the time. In fact, no one paid much attention to the boy except for Dr
Simundsen, who ran as many tests as he could with the equipment at his
disposal. The boy who had come to the verge of death (and actually
crossed the line, Dr Simundsen was certain) became completely healthy
overnight , even the effects of black mamba venom had disappeared.
The boy’s lungs, heart, kidneys and liver were functioning perfectly.
Simundsen examined the boy-wonder, as he referred to him, head to toe
twice, but even before he was finished with the second round of tests he
knew he wasn’t going to find anything unusual, and he was right. But,
something was still wrong with the boy - he didn’t regain his ability to
speak. When he woke up from his coma, and couldn’t answer any of the
questions he was asked Dr.Simundsen thought it was all due to the shock
he had suffered. But as time went by, it became clearer that something
had struck the boy’s speech centre. Not only had he forgotten to speak,
but he also didn’t seem to understand what was being said to him, which
was another unusual thing about the boy who miraculously came back to
life.
Dr Simundsen wasn’t the only doctor in the Ehafu hospital, but as it
happened, he was the only one who was observing the boy closely from
the moment he was admitted, and thought of him as ’his own’ patient.
The boy also seemed to react to this extra attention, his eyes would
spread wide every time the doctor came to do morning visit, and one time
he even spread his lips into something that resembled a smile. Slowly, he
began to understand some basic questions and was answering them by
moving his head up and down, or left and right. Simundson had no idea
what will happen to the boy when the time comes for him to leave the
hospital. Orphans flooded the streets of the city, and the boy had a good
chance of joining them.
Then, one day Dr Simundsen received a response to his call from
Liberty, an organization specialized in adoptions, specifically searching
for parents willing to adopt. These days supply was far bigger than
demand, and calls like these didn’t come very often, there were three
hundred beds in ’Ehafu’ hospital, and about five hundred patients. He
called Liberty several times each year about the adoptions, and this year
was no different. As far as he knew, at this moment he had only two
children who were, from his point of view, ready for a new home. Sipo
was one of those two.
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Four weeks had passed since Sipo was admitted, and Simundsen had been
too busy with new emergencies that demanded his attention much more
than the boy who had almost completely recovered . Truth be told, he
had almost forgotten about him, and made no logical connection between
opportunity for possible adoption and the small patient .
The next day Simundsen passing near Sipo’s room, saw him play with
some wooden toys near his bed. In an instant he remembered: ’Sipo!
That brave, little boy who had cheated death!’ He was back in his office
in three minutes, and back on the line with Liberty in four.
’Liberty organization headquarters’ a woman’s voice said, ’how can we
help you?’
The Swedish doctor smiled for the first time that day.
’You can’t help me personally, but I believe there is somebody here
who need your help...’
After a few minutes of talking and reading the data from the medical
chart, the conversation was over.
’The boy is healthy and smart...you won’t be sorry ’ he said, then hung
up.
Weeks had passed since then, and he went back to his usual practice.
Just as he was finished with a routine gall bladder surgery and was
headed toward the restroom, he heard:
’Dr Simundsen, doctor...’
He turned around and saw a nurse with the name Leyla written on her
coat looking at him apologtically.
’Doctor Simundsen, I’m sorry, but there’s somebody waiting for you
outside your office. A man and a woman...not from around here, I mean,
not from our country’ she used the word our in a way that pleased Dr
Simundsen.
’All right...what’s it about?’
’They told me they were sent here by Liberty, they told them to come
and see you personally.’
The lines on his forehead become more visible as he tried to focus,
distracted by the screams of new emergencies just driven in from a car
crash.
’Come and see me?’ he absently asked.
’All right...I’ll go and see what’s this about’ he said and waved to the
nurse who gently bowed her head.
When he came back to his office, he saw an unusual couple standing in
the hall. One look at them was enough to tell that they were foreigners,
and that they were wealthy. The tall, athletic man was wearing a shiny,
light shiny suit, and the woman was a real beauty. When she looked at
him with her large almond eyes, Simundson felt something he thought
was forever lost inside his elderly body. The only thing this young couple
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had in common with the locals was the color of their skin. Their
predecessor’s had obviously descended from Africa, And that is where all
similarities stopped.
They quit talking when they saw him and the man folded his hands for
a moment, which told Simundsen how nervous they both were.
’Doctor Simundsen?’
’Yes, that’s me.’
’We were told at Liberty to come and see you and that..you...might be
able to help us.’
Everything came rushing back to him, along with the conclusion:
Another miracle, for the same boy?
Still, he began very cautiously.
’I’m not sure I understand.’
’We...the doctors told us we probably won’t be able to have children, so
we decided to adopt one, to begin with.’ Simundson liked this ’ to begin
with’ part.
’We were told you called Liberty and said you got a ...boy with no
parents, is that right?’
Miracles never happen to the same person twice, Simundson thought
and almost said out loud.
’Yes, that’s right, mister...’
The man quickly held out his hand,
’I’m sorry, my name is Lester, Nicholas Lester, this is my wife Cathy,
short from Catherine.’
A smooth, shiny hand soon found its way to Simundsen’s hand, and he
felt like he was holding something extremely valuable and rare.
’Nice to meet you...listen, why don’t we step into my office and talk
about this further, do you agree?’
’Certainly, thank you.’
The conversation between Dr Simundson and the african-american
couple lasted over half an hour. The doctor told them the boy’s entire
medical history, along with the state he was in when he was admitted, and
the nature of his recovery.
When he came to the part when the boy had, by all medical criteria,
died, and come back to life like Lazarus, Simundsen stopped. The Lesters
didn’t understand why.
’Is something wrong, Dr Simundson?’ Catherine Lester slightly
nervously asked him.
’No...nothing, I’m just a little tired, I apologize.’
They talked on, and the swedish doctor learned that the couple didn’t
just look wealthy, but actually were really sucessful. He was a lawyer in
one of Seattle’s most respected law firms, and she was (what else,
188
Simundsen thought) one of the executives in a respectable cosmetics
company.
When he asked them why did they’d travelled so far, and wouldn’t it be
easier to adopt a child from the States, they answered that they were
proud of their African inheritance and once they realized they would
never have their own children, they knew they had to find one right here
in Africa, where their roots were. Dr Simundsen said he understood that.
There was no further reason to wait for anything.
’Would you like to see the boy now?’
The couple exchanged glances, then nodded.
Soon, all three of them came to the door of Sipo’s room. Before they
came in, Simundson cast one last look at the couple. His look was sharp,
as if he was trying to get to the bottom of the souls of the people who
were anxiously looking back at him. Then he entered the room, and the
Lesters followed closely.
Sipo, who quit playing, was now lying on the third bed from the door,
and looked up at them..
Simundson smiled as he approached him:
’Sipo, some people would like to see you, is that all right with you?’
The boy stared at Nicholas and Catherine Lester for a while, then
nodded.
’I really have to go now, come to my office when you are ready ’ ,
Simundson said at once and left the room.
When the Lesters came to to Dr Simundson office an hour later, he
noticed the wife had been crying. The husband put his protective arm
over her, and so they stood before the doctor, like a couple of scared
school kids.
Nicholas Lester cleared his throat once. And then once more. Finally,
he said in a trembling voice:
’Doctor Simundson, I...we...thank you, sincerely.’
After a relatively short administrative procedure, everything was
finished in the next three weeks. On the morning of the first day of the
fourth week, Sipo was sound asleep in his seat of a Pan-Am Boeing 747
flying to America.
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CHAPTER 51
Patrick Lombard was a pragmatic man, part of it came from the job,
but the bigger part came from his personality. That quality more than
once helped him to solve cases that seemed impossible, and made the
young detective rise to a ’promising’ level . Apart from that, back there in
Seatlle, Lombard was well-known but a rether moody professional.
Personally, he wasn’t trying to change the way people saw him, nor did it
seem to matter to him at all. His high solving rate spoke loud enough.
It was that same high rate that brought him to Columbia, the capital
of South Carolina. When his boss, Rudolph (Iron Rud) Coleman told him
that he will be ’loaned’ to the Columbia Police Department to help solve
a bizarre double homicide, Lombard felt usually indifferent.
’How long do you think it’ll take, Rud?’
’Well, that’s completely up to you, Pat.’
’I guess you’re right...so, when am I supposed to leave?’
’Yesterday.’
’Where’s the file?’
’On your desk.’
’Creepy stuff?’
’Very.’
This conversation had teken place five weeks after the headless corpses
of two young teen’s were found inside the car near the swamp.
’ Is that’s how long it took the good people at Columbus P.D. to realize
they weren’t going to find any answers by themselves?’, he contemplated.
The swamp seemed to be concealing the answer from the outside world,
as if the giant trees and the water plants were the only witnesses
of that horrible event. Witnesses that couldn’t talk.
The swamp...
Lombard had no wife or children to spend time with away from
work, and that is why he spent a lot of his free time in front of the
computer. The internet became an important part of his life, and his
closest friend. Sometimes he would search through history websites for
hours, sometimes it was sport, and sometimes...those other sites, the ones
you’d probably close when your grandma would entered the room
without knocking, though Lombard didn’t have a grandma .
When he came home that day, he searched a word he’d never searched
before. He typed the word Swamp and soon the screen became flodded
with the sites related to the subject. In fact, there were so many links
that Lombard started to believe this whole planet was one big swamp, but
nobody managed to tell him just yet.
190
After a while he found what he was looking for:
Congaree Swamp National Monument
He started to read and soon got lost in the world of giant trees, animal
wildlife and historical facts. All the while he couldn’t think of any
sarcastic remarks.
This, as he would learn, fascinating place was first mentioned sometime
around the year 1700, by a certain Spanish explorer named Hernando de
Soto. The first settlers of the swamp were Indians from the Congaree
tribe. Like many times before, the ’discovery’ of the new land by the
white people at the same time meant an inevitable change for the natives
who lived there. The Congaree tribe was no exception. White people
brought death for many of them, not only by muskets or swords. What
they brought was as lethal as a sword, but more mysterious and
unbeatable even for the wise Indian shamans - measles virus. Having
immunity against the virus, most white people survived without many
difficulties, but the Congaree indians, who had the bad fortune of being
among the first tribes to meet Hernando Cortes and his men, were
almost utterly swept off the face of the Earth.
Lombard kept on reading, the wheel of time kept on rolling...
After that, the swamp was for decades ruled by King Edward of
England, who gave the settlers the right to exploit the land, but never set
foot on the swamp.
Lombard was alergic to any form of colonization.
’King of England...I’d like to see His Royal Highness fall into the
swamp from one of his posh ships, and how his servants pull him out of
the water, his ass covered in alge and frog eggs...how would he feel about
’his property’ then?’
In 1776, the state of South Carolina decided to divide the land between
the new settlers, apparently without consulting the previous ’ owners’.
As a boy, Lombard had often thought he would grow up to become a
historian instead, but he became a policeman. While he read, he thought
about what his life would be like, had he chosen to study history. Soon,
he would gave up, he was born to be a detective and that was the end of
that.
At 2 a.m. he finally turned the computer off.\
A few days later, he was on a plane flying to Columbia, South Carolina.
......................................................................................................................
...
The huge room he was sitting in was full of people and all of them
were cops, like himself. Their faces were dark and serious...most of them
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turned to him, being the center of attention. Steve Morton, the precinct
commander and Lombard’s temporary commanding officer was the first
to talk.
’Detective Lombard, this...this discovery cannot leave this room, I
would like to...’ then he turned to the others, ’...make that all clear to
everybody. If the press get hold of the fact that we found heads inside the
fucking fridge in a fucking apartment building in our almostneighborhood, nearly three months after the murders, we’re screwed...not
to mention who found them, and under what circumstances...’
Lombard felt the people’s looks.
So many things remained unexplained regarding this discovery, he was
aware of that.First of all was what exactly made detective Lombard enter
that specific building, and then the apartment where the heads were
found? Who let him know...what was he told...was he even told
anything at all?’
Lombard was still shocked, but not the way his colleagues thought. He
saw the looks on some faces that said You’re not so tough now, but he
didn’t care. He stared in front of him, trying to connect the dots that
couldn’t be connected...
Then he heard the voice of Steve Morton echoing in the distance.
’Patrick, either you have some supernatural powers you’ve been hiding
until now, or you got a call and went to that place before you called
us...or was it something third? That is what I would like to know.’
He left the question hang in the air which became thicker and heavier
than before. Outside, the lines on the horizon were trembling from
the hammering heat.
When he opened his mouth, Patrick realized they were so dry that if any
sound came out of them it would immediately create a spark that would
light a fuse and make all of their asses fly to the sky, or in this case – the
ceiling.
’I....’ he started to hiss, then cleared his throat. ’...received an
anonymous call saying there’s something inside that building I should
see. So I went there, thirty minutes later.’
After several seconds of mumbling, the office became dead silent again.
’Finally, something that makes sense...was it male or female?’
’Male.’
’Did he say anything else?’
’No, he immediately hung up.’
Steve Morton was evidently pissed off.
’Patrick, I don’t know how you guys deal with these things back home,
not that we’re not thankful for your presence here of course, but we tend
to work more...as a team’ he said, emphasizing the word team.
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’...which is why it’s hard for me to understand why you failed to contact
your fellow officers.’
Lombard was busy creating a plan, as solid as a bubble ball.
’I didn’t call anyone because frankly, I thought it was a
hoax, and besides, who , in his right mind would think that entering a
damp aparment would lead to heads rolling out of the fridge, Steve?
’I’m serious, Detective Lombard.’
’So am I, Chief Inspector Morton.’ At least one thing he said today
wasn’t a complete lie.
Morton was silent for a while before he suddenly clapped his hands.
’OK, people, we, hm, found the heads, apparently.... so,
I will say again - not a word to anyone, and tell that doorman to keep his
mouth shut, right ?
Also, don’t mention anything yet to the victims’ parents, we’ll let them
know when it’s time to let them know’, he said and left the room without
telling when would that time come exactly.
Lombard was suddenly alone in the room.
He sensed there was a wall of mistrust if not open animosity between
him and his colleagues. Lombard knew why that happened.
Every detective in this room had secretly hoped that he would be the one
find the missing heads. And then he came, mister big city smart-ass, to
steal the spotlights from them, in their own backyard? It was more than
enough for them to leave him out of their drinking trips after work. But,
that was the very least of Lombard’s worries at that moment , what
worried him most was this: how was he going to explain why he turned
out to be in that apartment in the first place? His story was an obvious
bullshit, and he knew Morton knew it to. The old receptionist’s statement
will only add more crap to the already existing confusion.
Lombard could buy some time by saying he was trying to avoid any
unnecessary questions and complications by telling the receptionst that
’his girlfriend lives in the building’. But then he put himself in Morton’s
position. If he were him, he’d know exactly what to do - the first thing
he’d do would be to call the phone company and ask for a list of all calls
made to Lombard’s private number, which would unmistakably prove he
was lying. The main question, then, was: why’d he lie?! What were his
motives? Was he trying to protect somebody? If so, who? Is there really
a girlfriend in that building?
He was on his way out when he heard the voice of Morton’s secretary.
’Mister Lombard, the boss wants to see you immediately.’
’Here we go’ Lombard thought, and wasn’t at all surprised when he saw
folded sheets of paper on Steve Morton’s table. Had he at that moment
bet a million dollars that it was his private phone listing laying there,
Patrick Lombard would be instant millionaire.
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CHAPTER 52
A strong, naked body was leaning over the dying fire while remaining
flames cast their shadow on the hut walls. The man's wide, ruthless face
was staring without blinking, no particular emotion could be seen on his
face as he sat on the ground, still as a statue. From far away came the
occasional callings of a lonesome night bird or lost sheep.
In one fast and agile move the man stood up, as if he was lifted by some
invisible power. He went outside and saw all his warriors scattered on the
ground. None of them moved, but the man knew they were awake and
ready to instantly obey his every command. Ejtana had long ago learned
the power of fear, and has been using it to his advantage ever since.
Even in his early youth he wished to be feared rather than loved, and his
wish had come true. During his early visits to the bushman tribes, he
would tell the sorcerers the only thing he was interested in was power.
But, the bushmen saw nothing more in him than just another
manifestation of life, governed by the will of gods like so many before
him. Still, Ejtana was anxious to learn the wisdom of the bushmen, and
was trying to get it by any means necessary. He knew there was no
chance of forcing them to reveal their secrets to him, to take something
from them without giving anything back to them. With these people it
was impossible, even for him.
The most valuable posessions one could have in these lands were the
cattle and women. Ejtana couldn't provide them with the second, but gave
his best to gather as many cattle as possible for the bushmen. He knew
how they loved to eat meat, so he began to steal cows and leave them at
previously determined secret location for the bushmen to collect.
Sometimes lions and hyenas would get to the cattle before the bushmen
did, but most times the deal would come through. As for the cattle, the
ultimate result would be the same, except they would suffer much less if
the big cats got to them first. The bushmen didn't care much about raising
cattle, but they knew a lot about keeping their bellies full. Also, they
knew how to keep the unfortunate animals alive for weeks, during which
they would tear the meat off their bodies one bit at a time, covering the
wounds with herbs which prevented infection. That way there was plenty
of fresh meat for them to eat for longer period of time, instead to struggle
with some rotten, stinking remains which scent would soon attract
predators to their huts. The oldest members of the tribe would contribute
by cutting off the vocal cords of the animals to prevent them from
producing moans of pain.
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The man who provided the much loved meat for them was in return
given what he had asked for.
And so Ejtana started gathering the knowledge that has been kept
hidden for centuries. The bushmen felt this young man was destined to
fight for something in the future. Wheter that something was good or not,
they didn't care.
The sons of Kalahari had different views on life than the rest of the
world. They believed good and evil were merely different manifestations
of nature, and just as they didn't judge the lion for killing an antilope, they
didn't judge Ejtana who was, in their opinion, chosen to serve the forces
of darkness.
And really, as time went by, Ejtana became much fonder of the
darkness. His days under the hot African sun became shorter and nights
longer. During that time many cows and bulls were brought to various
buhmen tribes, sometimes hundreds of miles apart. Then Ejtana started to
pray to Jagarthani. He asked him for power, force and strength. In return,
he promised him everything.
During those years he became a rich man with a large heard of cattle.
Many of those animals were brought to him in mysterious ways, it was
said that his men were killing the previous owners and bringing the
animals to him from far away. No one ever came to complain or claim
property over any of the animals.
When Ejtana was thirty years old, he experienced a change that had
definitely proven to him he wasn't meant to be an ordinary human being.
As he was walking through the woods one night, he felt some strange
tingling on his skin, then he felt a strange force dragging his arms and
legs, and his lungs started to fill with the air he wasn't inhaling. Soon, a
cloud of green fog was rising around him, and he was seeing everything
more sharply and vividly. First, Ejtana let out a scream unlike any he’d
ever let out before…then nausea came and he collapsed to the ground. He
wasn't sure how long had he been lying unconscious. When he tried to get
up again, he saw something that amazed him. His skin was covered in
small, bright green scales, and his arms now seemed like a couple of thick
logs pointing to the ground. His hands had also grown to monstrous
proportions, along with long, black nails on his fingers.
But he wasn't afraid of his horrible transformation, like any other
human being would be. He stood up and noticed the two pillars that were
now his legs, and his chest were as big as the gorilla's. He put his hands
on his head and felt two short, thick horns. For a moment he just stood
there, and then he screamed so loud it was heard for miles...this time, the
scream had let his body willingly, and echoed back to excited him.
On that night, Ejtana realized Jagarthani had answered his prayers.
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He woke up in his hut the next morning looking like his ordinary self,
but knew he had fulfilled his goal, and nobody would ever be able to
resist him anymore. Nobody! For a long time he was the only witness of
his monstrous transformation, since he had the power to control the
timing of the transformation, or, more precisely, he was given that power
by the same force that had turned him into a monster.
He still seemed made of flesh and blood, he was still breathing,
walking, sleeping and eating like everybody else. The only thing different
were his meals, in time reduced almost entirely to large portions of raw
meat. An old woman from the tribe told her friends that she had seen
Ejtana knock a bull out with his giant arms, then tear his throat with his
long, spiked teeth and drink the blood of the dying animal. A few days
later, that same woman was found mutilated near the creek the village
women went to for fresh water. Everybody was blaming the leopard that
has been terorizing the villagers for some time now, but the marks on the
poor woman's body clearly showed it was the deed of a much bigger
animal.
The only person who was certain that something terribly wrong had
happened to Ejtana was his sister Kirsa, long before the night when she
herself saw his monstrous transformation.
She watched his influence grow, and noticed how the respect of the
tribesmen soon turned into pure fear, just like Eitana had always wanted.
She often heard him say to his warriors that his idol was Shaka Zulu,
whose spirit was now living inside him.
'But Shaka was wrong,' he would say to them, ' for he was too weak and
tolerant. I will not make the same mistake. While he was talking, Ejtana’s
warriors would stare at his mighty figure, like wolves waiting for the
order to kill. Years went by. Then came that horrible night when Kirsa
witnessed her brother's transformation into a monster. No legend or folk
tale could even come close to describing the way he looked that night.
Kirsa had never even heard that anything like that could exist. She had
heard that Jagarthani comes in numerous forms, all of which were in
animal shapes. No matter how fierce they were, they always had the
shape of common beasts that had roamed those lands for eons. What
Kirsa saw that night wasn't like any beast known to man – a monstrous
head with a mouth full of sharp teeth, blood red eyes, skin covered with
shiny green scales, huge torso and strong, thick limbs.
She realized that Ejtana somehow knew she’d seen his transformation
and when his warriors turn into a pack of wild dogs. A couple of days
after that, he knocked her out and ruined her teeth, after which she had to
leave the village, abandoning all hope of get the back to her normal life,
ever again. All this happened many years ago. Still, Ejtana showed no
visible signs of aging, on the contrary- he became more fierce, more grim
196
and more distant, but didn't change physically, wasn't getting older. Soon
after Kirsa departed, one of his warriors had informed him of her new
whereabouts.
'She won't last long alone in the jungle, she’ll be eaten by wild animals,
or killed by the draining spirit’, he said to them. But, none of it turned out
to be true. Every once in a while he would receive rumours of a large
woman who lives alone in the woods, not scared of any beasts or evil
spirits. First he heard it from his warriors, and then, as they all died, by
other, younger warriors, most of whom weren't even born when he had
marked his sister and sent her away. Surprised, Ejtana realized that Kirsa
also wasn't getting older. Even though he didn't understand how that
could happen, he didn't spend much time thinking about it, since he didn't
care about Kirsa just as he didn’t care for other people, he despised them
all.
Love, respect or compassion were totally unknown to Ejtana, he was
moved by anger, hate, and a desire to kill. He was ruled by something that
had come to this vast African wilderness long before humans. This
something was as old as humanity itself. Sometimes it was referred to as
the devil, sometimes sheitan, sometimes Belzebub, sometimes Lucipher...
Ejtana's people used to call it Jagarthani. For generations, the stories of
Jagarthani killing cattle, people, babies, or raping young girls, were told.
His name brought fear, and in many villages it was strictly forbidden to
say his name out loud, especially when the sun came down.
What Ejtana didn’t know was that he was in fact the chosen one, like
so many others from the beginning of time. He never heard of those who,
as they were waiting to be burned on the stakes, claimed that the devil
had ruled their minds and ordered them to murder, slaughter and bring
destruction to others,. He wasn’t aware of their agonizing deaths, of their
screams that were forever lost in the fire. Never did Ejtana hear of
Sebastian Miller, Haike Brunneger, or the one that resembled him the
most - Sigmund Delke.
Then one night, during his usual stroll with his man, he met one of the
old men who used to teach him the secrets of muti when he was young.
Ejtana sensed that this old, wrinkled bushman had something to say to
him. The little man hesitated for a while, as if he was waiting for a sign to
begin, then suddenly started talking in his click language.
‘You are powerful, Ejtana, perhaps the most powerful warrior that has
ever lived in our lands’ , the old man began, and his talk pleased Ejtana.
‘…but you should know that the day will come when your strength and
power will fade.’ Ejtana stared at the old man, astonished, while he
continued his speech:
‘Your ruling will go on for many years, but you also have enemies…a
pale man will come from the other side…then the blood from the north
197
will be mixed with the blood from the south…’ the bushman paused to
take another breath, ’…and a child will be born four generations later that
will be powerful, more powerful than you, if you let him grow up. But if
you kill him while he is still a child, your power will not be interrupted
for a long time…’
Ejtana stood and listened, unable to talk back. He knew the bushman
had seen through him, he knew that he know what he had become, what
he could transform himself into, what horrible strength he possessed…if
he did, then why was he talking about this still unborn child? Who would
dare to stand in his way? A child from the fourth generation? What child?
He looked at the old man and asked:
‘Was that all you wanted to say, man from the desert?’
The bushman nodded. Suddenly Ejtana grabbed him and tied him up.
Then he called his men and ordered them to bring a large copper cauldron
filled with water. He lit a fire underneath and waited for it to boil…All
the while the bushman didn’t beg or try to escape, he just stared at the
ground before his tiny, dusty feet…when the water boiled, Ejtana took a
clay pot and grabbed the water from the cauldron. Slowly, almost
ceremonially, he approached the tied-up victim.
‘You will now go to your master, supposed you have one, and tell him
Ejtana is not scared of anyone, and he never will be ’ , then he slowly
started to pour the boiling water over the unfortunate man’s head. He
would passed the empty pot to one of his men who immediately gave it
back, filled again. By the end of the second pot, the first bones started to
show through the poor man’s skin. Amazingly, through all this torture,
the man didn’t make a sound. When he eventually gave up, some thirty
minutes later, most of the flesh on his arms and legs was separating from
the skeleton. Ejtana glanced at the amorphous mass that used to be a
human being and laughed.
‘Ha…ha…ha…this little ant told me a dumb story, so he had to die.
Leave his body to the hyenas, let them have their share…’ The warriors
joined him in his laughter. None of them noticed a small figure that had
seen everything, hidden in the thick bush nearby. Silently, the figure
moved back the leaves and went back into the jungle. Ejtana the Damned
failed to see two things that day: The first thing was that the poor
bushman was telling the truth, and the second - that he had now become
the enemy of the Kalahari people. He shouldn’t have ignored neither of
these facts, but he did. Many years would pass until he remembered this
night again, until the morning of the attack on Sipo’s village. Now, many
years later, Ejtana was lost in thought. This was one of the rare occasions
when he felt angry with himself.
He didn’t understand how he could allow that bitch Inkozi to get
together with that pale-faced foreigner, and then have a daughter named
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Ghaani, and then she had that bastard child named Tlamini. He was
trembling from anger as his fists were opening.
Thumb – Inkozi, index finger – Ghaani, then he stopped, and after that
he raised his middle finger – Tlamini. All three fingers were pointed to
the sky, like thorns.
When the blood from the north gets mixed with the blood from the
south…fourth generation…this child will be more powerful than you…
He made a single inhuman growl. He didn’t know the child’s name, but
he finally understood the old bushman’s warning that got him tortured
and killed in return. Now, many years later the morning attack came,
followed by the escape of the child that was obviously protected by the
forces the old man was talking about, then the time when he thought the
boy must’ve been devoured by wild animals. And finaly, his arrival, his
late arrival which was followed by furious anger which didn’t go away
even after his raging pack had eaten the last bits of Kirsa’s flesh.
The mysterious child was nowhere to be seen, but he had to find him as
soon as possible, now that he finally realized that the ancient prophecy
was coming true.
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CHAPTER 53
Patrick Lombard's home phone listing was lying on Steve Morton’s
shiny desk while the two men stared at each other intensely.
Proof...corpus delicti...the only difference between this particular piece of
paper and a bag of coke was purely
technical in nature, crossed
Lombard’s mind. He could deny the bag and claim it was planted by
someone who held a grudge against him, or by some envious partner who
was trying to discredit him and so on...But in this situation, such actions
would amount to nothing, since it would be very difficult to prove that the
phone company planned a conspiracy against Patrick Lombard, the
detective who flew halfway across the country to help the police solve
some murders.
Lombard stared angrily at the paper on Morton's desk. Morton, on the
other hand, was aware that they both knew this piece of paper represented
strong evidence against one of them. So he talked first:
'Well, Pat, I seem to be missing something here, and I would appreciate
it very much if you would help me understand what on earth is going on
here.'
'I'll do my best, Steve.'
'That's my man. Shall I begin?' he asked in mocking fashion.
Lombard wasn't answering.
'Well...here's the thing: if I understood you earlier, you said somebody
called you and said there's something in the apartment that might be
valuable to us, us being Columbia P.D. And please, feel free to correct me
anytime you want, if I am wrong.'
Lombard felt his stomach rise.
'You understood well, Steve.'
Morton spread his lips into a fake smile.
'Shit, Pat...you see, I would really like you to look at this sheet and tell
me which numbers are known to you, and which aren't. Do you know
what I mean? If we manage to locate the call, maybe we can locate the
caller. So, please take a good look and tell me if there's any number you
haven't seen before.'
Lombard turned to the paper on Morton's desk and frowned, as if he
was focusing strongly. Five minutes later, as Steve Morton was starting to
lose his artificial courtesy and was anxiously thumping his foot, he finally
looked up.
'Nothing out of the ordinary here.'
Morton’s face turned red.
200
'You know what, better take it home and take another look, and if you
see something you might have missed now, call me immediately.'
'Of course. Is that all?'
'That depends on the nature of your answer.'
Lombard was at the door when he heard Morton's voice.
'Pat, who's that woman who is supposed to be living in the apartment in
which the...skulls were found?'
Lombard knew this would come up.
'You're talking about the stuff I said to the brave receptionist?'
'Exactly.'
'There's no woman, Steve, I just wanted to get in without raising a big
fuss, or having to flash my I.D. at him.'
'But you did it anyway, unless I'm very much mistaken?'
'But I did it anyway.'
'Pretty convincing performance, though, you even came up with a name
for a woman that doesn't exist.'
Inside Lombard's stomach, rocks were tumbling. He asked the one
question he should have avoided.
'What name?'
'Helen, Helen Brown. You're sure this Helen Brown doesn't exist?'
No matter how hard he tried, Lombard couldn't focus.
'Still here, Pat?'
'Sorry?'
'You seem a bit lost...I said are you sure this Helen Brown doesn't
exist?'
'Yes, Steven, I'm sure...I'm positive' and without waiting for any
additional questions he left Steve Morton's office. As he walked through
the room filled with fellow policemen, he felt their eyes on his back,
scanning him.
......................................................................................................................
..
In a short time he was driving toward the other address that was related
to Helen Brown. He passed the crossroad near the apartment where he
found out what he found out. Four police cars were still parked outside,
two of them with the rotating lights on, but the sirens were silent.
'Perhaps they don't want to wake up the dead' a morbid thought crossed
his mind.
He had no idea what was waiting for him at he end of this road. He
slowed down, well below the speed limit for this neighborhood, as if he
was trying to buy himself some time before... the unknown happens.
The museum Helen allegedly worked was in a nice, two-storey
building. It looked European more than American, altough Lombard
failed to notice this since right then the architectural differences between
201
the Old World and the New World were pretty low on his priority list. He
entered the hall, surprised by the cool air inside. The woman at the
reception looked like a museum exhibit that had miraculously come to
life.
I gotta get used to the fact that most things here are different than back
home.
'May I help you?' asked the tall grey-haired woman.
Lombard put on one of his most cheerful faces.
'Hello, I would like to see Professor Conrad, please.'
'And you are?'
'I'm...my name is Lombard, Patrick Lombard, and I would like to talk to
the professor, if it's possible, I promise it won't take long.'
'Do you have an appointment?'
'No, I don't, but the matter at hand is urgent, really urgent.'
The woman wasn't impressed.
Unfortunately, I'm afraid you'd have to come back some other time,
because the professor will only see those who have an appointment.'
Lombard stopped hoping he would be able to avoid the unavoidable.
His badge, however, had the same effect it always did. It was all there:
confusion, astonishment, tension, and last, but surely not least,promissing
gossip talk that would fulfill most of the upcoming evening for
her...Lombard had seen it all many times before.
'Wait, please...' she said and reached for a phone that looked so ancient
Lombard couldn't resist turning around to check if any of the displays in
the museum were perhaps missing an artifact, but they were all intact.
The woman was mumbling something turned away from Lombard. He
could only understood the words police... badge … urgent… finally, she
was finished. She turned around rather quickly for a woman her age, with
an expression she obviously mistook for a smile.
'Second floor, sir, second door on the left.'
'Thank you.'
Lombard chose to walk the stairs to Professor Conrad's office. He did it
not because he was worried about his health, but because it gave him
more time to think about the questions he was going to ask the professor.
Too soon, for he found himself knocking on the door that said
'anthropology – Philip Conrad PhD', as clueless as he was downstairs.
The door was opened by Professor Conrad, who looked like – professor
Conrad. Short white hair, short white beard, heavy-rimmed glasses hiding
the bigger part of his face.
'Dr Conrad?'
'Yes, and you are?'
'Lombard, Patrick Lombard', the detective said, thankful that at least the
professor wasn't asking to see his I.D.
202
'What can I do for you, Mister Lombard?'
Lombard took a deep breath.
'You see, it's sort of a...delicate matter...'
'Don't worry, this is a very delicate place' the professor answered, and
Lombard realized he was starting to like this guy.
'I'm looking for someone, professor, a woman, more precisely.'
'And how may I help you with that, Mister Lombard?'
'Does the name Helen Brown mean anything to you, professor?'
Lombard didn't need to wait for the answer, Philip Conrad's serious,
focused expression had told him enough already.
'Helen Brown? I'm afraid I’ve never had the honor, although you never
know...I may have filed it somewhere deep inside my mind, along with
the face, you know how it goes sometimes?
Lombard stood there as serious as lung cancer, then gave one intense
look to the elderly professor.
'The person with that name, or at least the person who claimed her
name was Helen Brown had told me she worked in your department, and
that she was preparing a doctorate... related to research of the Kongaree
Swamp and its first settlers, I think.'
'As interesting as that sounds, I'm afraid you've been fooled, my dear
man… no member of my team had recently worked on that subject,
although it is a very good idea, I must admit. The last one of my
colleagues who was interested in that topic was a fellow named Charles
who, unfortunately, died many years ago.' When the professor realized
how grim Patrick Lombard's face had become, he started to show signs of
real concern.
'Mister Lombard...is there anything wrong?'
Lombard didn't know what to say to him.
'Professor, the person who I'm with...who I used to know' he realized
how inappropriate this term suddenly had become, '...claimed she worked
with you, or for you.'
'We all work for science, Mister Lombard, I hope that statement doesn't
strike you as too presumptious?'
Lombard didn't comment, he had reached the dead end.
He got up from the chair, all of a sudden feeling fifty pounds heavier.
'Thank you for your time, professor, you've been most helpful, I
wouldn't want to take up any more of your day.'
'I doubt I was helpful at all. All I can say is that I wish for you to solve
this, if you would let me say this one observation , a mystery of great
personal significance, which has obviously been pressuring you.'
'You've put it way too mildly, professor, ' Lombard answered on his
way to the door.
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'Mister Lombard, in these seventy plus years I've spent on this Earth,
I've learnd one thing. If you would allow me, I would like to tell you what
that is.'
'Please.'
For a moment, something like fatherly sorrow crossed the old man face.
'Things are not what they seem sometimes, even after we've made all the
conclusion using the information gathered with all our senses. Perhaps it
would be better to work your way from the invisible this time, and leave
the obvious for later analysis. I hope you're not offended by this
observation.'
'Not at all, professor, thank you so much again.'
Then Lombard went outside, but even the hot midday sun couldn't
break the ice that had gotten hold on his heart.
Work your way from the invisible this time, and leave the obvious for
later analysis...
..The invisible...
The first signs of something remotely resembling a plan started to
appear in Lombard's mind.
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CHAPTER 54
Siegfried Miller was standing on the wall of his fort, watching the
group of horsemen on the other side, there were about thirty of them.
Heavy armour covered their bodies, and in their arms they had heavy
swords and shields. They gazed at him in complete silence, tucked in
their saddles on the backs of their well-fed horses. They looked like a
typical bunch of hoodlums scavenging those rich Bavarian areas from
time to time. Over the years, Miller had fought with them three times, and
all three times he and his men had defeated the enemy, with little
casualties. He wasn’t afraid of them, but he also wasn’t looking forward
to their possible collision either. The possibility of a fight simply allways
existed, and Miller chose to accept it simply as part of life..
This time, however, he felt a bit different. There was something out of
the ordinary, something disturbing about this group. It wasn’t just their
wish to raid his fort. In their eyes, Miller saw pure hate. It was sort of
concentrated, packed and...calculated. Miller felt how the chills go down
his spine like ants.
Then his eyes spotted one particular horsmen. Tall and big, he was
obviously the leader. He rode a coal-black horse covered with strong,
patched canvas that protected the body from spears and arrows. Together
they were a gruesome image. ’The devil’s duet’ Miller thought, feeling a
bit surprised at his own wit at this moment. Then, the leader of the bunch
decided to break the silence, interrupted until then only by occasional
neighing.
’Siegfried Miller?’
His voice was deep and harsh, the voice of a man not used to negotiate
or compromise.
’Who wants to know?’ Siegfried replied, clenching his sword
unwillingly. The leader didn’t answer immediately. In the upcoming
silence, Miller felt the strange, unknown vibrations were getting stronger.
He couldn’t look away from the bandit’s face. He was seeing it for the
first time today, but at the same time he felt like he had known him from
somewhere before.
’I believe you could guess, Miller, but it makes no difference whether
you know my name or not...what matters is that you’ll soon become just a
corpse in the dirt...and nothing more than that.’
Miller could not be scared easily. He wasn’t scared now, but he still felt
his heart was beating a bit faster then he wanted. The stranger’s voice
sounded extremely confident- he didn’t doubt what he was saying for a
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moment, and that was why Siegfried Miller was feeling so
uncomfortable.
’The skies will be the last thing you will see, stranger’ he answered
from the wall. A nervous stir, transferred to his men from the horsemen
outside, began behind his back. These were no ordinary robbers. This was
something else, something he couldn’t understand. He was surprised
when he saw that they had a just a few musket’s by them. ‘How they
think they can do anything to us without them?!’ he thought while trying
to understand this odd situation. On the other hand, Miller and his man
had significant amount of musket’s in his possession and used them but
that moment in more than few occasions, but from some strange reason
unknown to him, he felt that he should fight this man only by his sword,
it was like some voice told him that he should kill this stranger on this
way, or be killed trying to do that. It was like the man on the other side
of the wall read his thoughts, and said:
‘For you, I don’t need musket, because my sword will be enough for you,
its taste in your heart will be the last thing you will experienced before
you die’. These words send the chills trough Miller’s spine, while His
man were becoming increasingly unease while the time goes by.
Their unease came from the fact that even their commander wasn’t sure
what was going on . Siegfried was the ultimate authority and this was the
first time they felt he was uncertain. They were all looking around,
confused, waiting to see what would happen next. They didn’t have to
wait too long. Their leader swung from the walls and rushed toward the
massive wooden door which led to the outside world.
Moments later, dozens of warriors came following their leader, who
didn’t even turn around to see if they came. That is how much he trusted
them, and they never let him down. When they reached the door,
Siegfried Miller spoke to them:
’My faithful soldiers...the day has come when we have to defend what
is ours again. This time, we are up against some very strange people.
They don’t seem to want our cattle, or our gold, or our women. I don’t
know what is it they want, but you have all heard what their leader said.’
Then he stopped for a brief moment before he said: ‘There is one more
thing that I have to tell you… I will fight this man with my sword ,, for
my sword will be enough for him. Use no muskets before I tell you so,
and I mean it’. If Miller’s man were shocked by his words, they hid it, no
muscle mowed on their serious faces. A bit later, the door was opened,
and two groups of soldiers were standing some fifty yards away from
each other. Siegfried rode slowly, a couple of meters ahead of the rest, as
a leader should. His challenger slowly stepped forwards himself. This
time Siegfried had a good look at him. The man who wanted him dead
was big, at least as big as he was. His chest were massive, his hands were
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thick, undoubted capable of handling the giant sword that was hanging on
the side, almost dragging on the ground.
Both the horse and the rider were completely covered in black, and they
seemed to reflect the darkness all around them. Indeed, Siegfried Miller
had never seen such a pair. Some weak inner voice was telling him he
would be better off facing three common warriors than the one that was
riding towards him. Suddenly, both riders changed the pace to trot, then
to gallop!
Thrum...thrum...thrum...the earth was shaking from the thumping of the
horses’ and then Siegfried Miller finally came close enough to take a
good look at the stranger’s face. A big, broken nose divided his face into
two equally despicable, sides. His whole face was covered in many scars,
which also added to his disgusting physique. But, the most dinstinct
feature was the stranger’s eyes. Siegfried Miller had never seen eyes like
that before. They were like two black lakes boiling with hatred. Again,
Miller was wondering who this man was. Then, in an instant, he
remembered his grandfather’s stories about the family curse, about the
village of the damned, Sebastian Miller and Sigmund Delke. These
thoughts were flashing through his brain now, but he had no time to think
more about it, because the next second his sword had hit the sword
of...one of Delke’s descendants.
’I know who you are’, he said when their faces came within the reach
of the sword, during the struggle.
’You remembered, Miller? Good, that way you will know the name of
your assassin before you’re sent to the other side. My name is Karl
Delke...does my last name sound familiar to you? Just so you know, none
of your men will be spared, and no woman will leave this world before
she’s filled with my people’s semen. You will be annihilated, you worm!’
These last words with spoken with so much hatred that Miller was
stunned. The battle had begun. Swords were hitting all around, at one
point the tip of Delke’s sword had cut through Miller’s vest, making a
deep wound on his upper arm. The next strike got him on the
thigh...Siegfried realized his enemy was superior to him, and that he
might lose the battle for the first time in his life. But, that neither scared
him, nor slowed him down. The power of his strikes wasn’t diminished
by the wounds on his body, on the contrary, he seemed to be gaining
additional strength from the wounds. As minutes passed, Miller was
realized his hands were getting stronger and his swings faster. The
strength seemed to enter his body from out of nowhere. He didn’t have
much time to feel glad about this gift, so he just accepted it as a valuable
present. His mind was making moves and then decided - he turned the
sword at Delke as if he was getting ready for a frontal attack, but the last
moment its blade cut through the neck of Delke’s horse. It made a strong
207
neigh and jump , spraying the blood from the massive wound over
Siegfried Miller in one thick stream. For the first time, the confidence on
the stranger’s face gave way to something else. He was totally surprised
by this, obviously he hadn’t seen it this coming.
’But how...you...damn you!’
’The only one who is damned here is you, if I remember the old legend
well’ Siegfried Miller said, standing high as a mountain above Delke’s
head. Delke’s dying horse collapsed to the side, for his master had made
his first and last mistake in this duel. As the horse was collapsing, he
failed to get his foot out of the stirrup on time, and they were both slowly
falling to the ground, while Miller watched . They moved like a giant
wave, like a mountain, as one...then he got out of the saddle and
approached Karl Delke, who was struggling beneath thousand of pounds
of dying flesh. Delke was extremely strong, Miller was surprised to see
the animal corpse tremble in his desperate attempts to move it aside. But
he didn’t succeeding. Miller was now very near, pointing the tip of his
sword at the ugly face from which the saliva mixed with animal
blood.was dripping into the ground.
You...you...you...’, the descendant of Sigmund Delke was hissing
through clenched teeth.
All of a sudden, a calm feeling came over Siegfried Miller, who was
unaware that everybody else had stopped fighting and was looking in his
direction.
’What did you say your name was, bastard?’ Miller asked the man lying
beneath the horse. This only made the hatred in Delke’s eyes grow
stronger, and again the corpse trembled from his attempt to move it. An
’Agrrrr...rrr’ animal roar came out of his throat. ’You...you will not
escape, not even if you get to the edge of the world...remember that!’ the
trapped the man said, having no illusions about what was going to
happen.
Be gone now, you bastard’, Miller repeated his insult and in one strong
motion stabbed his sword deep into the stranger’s throat. But the death
rattle seemed to have given the man a immense strength. Miller
astoundedly watched as Karl Delke managed to free his arm from
underneath his horse and grab the blade. In response, the descendant of
Sebastian Miller clutched the sword and pushed even harder. For one
long moment, their were looking at each other eyes. Two bottomless
black pits were staring at Miller, staring directly into his soul and
Siegfried felt the chills again. Then, finally, the grip on the blade had
weakened, and the black eyes had finally shut down. Almost
immediately, Delke’s soldiers start to disperse ,while muskets of Miller’s
man finally came to life. His army was made of mercenaries, suspicious
characters who were loyal only to money, or whatever they could pillage.
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None of them had much respect for their dead leader. Many didn’t even
make it to the safety of the forest, taken down by muskets, arrows and
swords.
’Let them get away...they won’t be coming back’, Siegfied shouted,
then he collapsed to the ground.
He spent the next two days fighting for his life, since it turned out that
he lost a lot of blood during the battle with Delke. On the third day he
opened his eyes again, and on the fourth he was taking his first slow
steps. A month later he was fully recovered and he went on living for
another thirty five odd years. Like his ancestors, he told his son about the
family curse that had been haunting them through generations, about the
people with eyes as black as the bottomless pit of hell and the oath they
had sworn to the devil many years ago.
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CHAPTER 55
As he sat in his room drinking his third whisky, Lombard knew nothing
would ever be the same, that his life will never get back to what it was
before he came to Columbia, the city he was so generously loaned to.
All his life Patrick Lombard had felt lonely. Now he was alone.
Depression and anxiety had settled inside his soul and he felt like a
hundred-year-old man stumbling from the weight of losses and defeats
during his long life.
Reality during the last couple of months had ceased to exist. Lombard
didn’t bother to contemplate much about life and its universal values, he
was simply too busy as a cop for that. But still, he had managed to read
more books on philosophy than any other officer of the law he knew.
Also, in his life, he had seen far too many things that made him doubt the
common noble values people usually awarded themselves with.
In time, he started to believe it was more within human nature to be
evil, corrupt and destructuve, than to express itself through art, painting,
sculpting, writing and other 'faking'...’ Wasn't acting the ultimate proof
of the human ability to lie? ‘, he often asked himself. So much had
happened in the last few months that Lombard started to believe he
indeed wasn't wrong.
Love? Infatuation? Happiness? To whom, when, how and why, he
wondered as he stirred the whisky, even though the ice had melted long
ago.
'Now what?' he asked the silent walls.
'Now what?'
He wanted for the phone to ring, even if it was a wrong number.
Lombard needed to hear another human voice, but all he could hear was
the buzzing of the home appliances. He thought about calling Tony, but
he had no idea what to say to him. Every time his thoughts would wander
toward Helen, he forced himself to think about something else, but in
vain. Never, ever, were his feelings so ambivalent for anyone, as they
were for that girl. Hate, anger, pain, lust, contempt, fear...all those
feelings for one person who had walked out of his life even more
spectacularly than she had walked in.
This melange of feelings was unbearable, but the major fact that drove
him mad above all was that he didn't know what to think. All his life his
brain had been gathering and processing facts, damaged or professionally
deformed by years of detective work. Still, it was his job - It paid the
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rent, put food on the table, clothed him, took him on holidays...it made
him be.
But now, after all these years, he saw nothing, he knew nothing. First he
was amazed by that fact, then astounded.
'How...what...?' he repeated helplessly, crushing his hands, staring as
the non-existing stains on the carpet which danced before his tired, dreary
eyes. To make things worse, sleep still escaped him, making his body and
brain even more tired and dysfunctional.
Go to sleep, Pat...get some sleep, Lomby...You seem to be very fond of
the nightlife, Lombard...Pat, take me next time, I'll think of some excuse
for my wife...don't be so selfish, Pat...
It seemed the entire precinct was discussing his personal
condition...fuck !
He always kept to himself, to his privacy...all that was going down the
drain now...and all because of one woman he’d known only for a couple
of months? He remembered '9 ½ weeks', but didn't laugh. Then he asked
himself: were they ever really together? What motives did Helen have to
be with him? Why she was with him, why was she sleeping with him?
Are you rich, Pat?
You mean, in spirit?
I mean, in dollars.
I'm not, Tony, you know that.
One word was rummaging through his head all the time, reffering to the
entire meaningless situation. It was: Help. He needed help, although deep
inside he doubted anyone was able to untie this bizzare knot of blood and
insanity. For the first time in his life, Patrick Lombard felt he was pushed
back against the wall! ‘Like a rat’, he whispered to himself in despair.
A lying, fucking rat! He was angry because he let Morton catch him in
a lie, he was angry because his colleagues were now looking suspiciously
at him, and above all - he was angry at himself. All that embarrassment,
pain and humiliation because of some female character represented as
Helen Brown? Then he remembered the painful and sobering
conversation he had with Professor Conrad.
'If you're Helen Brown, I'm Helena Rubinstein', he said through the
teeth, still staring at the dancing stains.
Then he whispered again:
'Who are you?'
He stood up so suddenly it made his head spin, but still he managed to
get to the computer in two leaps. One minute later he logged on and
began typing his letter, twenty seconds after that he stopped, and got up
from the chair. It took him another five seconds to grab the phone and
start dialling. He was aware that his heart was now beating like crazy, and
he knew why. Once his call gets through, the secret world made of him
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and Helen Brown will come to an end. He personally see to it. He wasn't
feeling anything specific now, he was dog tired and just wanted it all to
end, no matter what the consequenses might be. Just as long as this was
over.
He listened the ringing on the other line...once, twice...three times...four
times...then his tired brain gave up counting, and started flashing images
instead...he and Helen, her naked breast, hair falling down her shoulders,
their bodies close...her nails on his back, tearing his skin again and
again...
'Hello...'
Then the image of his hands around her neck...
'Hello?'
Her eyes closed, almost too peaceful...
'Hello?'
He snapped out of the unknown condition.
'Hello...it’s Patrick...Patrick Lombard, Sonny, is that you?'
'Pat? I was about to quit this game of echoes and hang up. How are
you, you sound, hm... excited?'
'Sonny...you said I could call you if...'
'Sure I did, what can I do for you?' the ever-practical, no-bullshit-Sonny
Everett interrupted him.
Patrick Lombard started talking. Sonny wasn't interrupting, apart from
occasional ‘uhh’...’shit’...’wow’ and other sounds typical for an
astounded listener. Finally, many minutes later, Lombard said: 'That's
more-less it, Sonny.'
Everett was silent for a while, and then cleared his throat.
'Hm...you don't have her address, you don't believe Helen Brown is her
real name, you don't have even a close idea about where the subject (he
emphasized this particular word) is...if I understood you, you don't know
practically anything?'
Much to his surprise, Lombard, who seemed devastated momrnt ago,
was now laughing when he responded to his friend’s question:
'That's right, Sonny, old mate...I...hahaha...actually don't know
anything, anything at fuckin’ all! '
In return, Everett’s voice was serious like a massive heart attack:
'Pat...are you all right, buddy? '
'Me...ha...ha...ha..? I don't know...I mean, I'm sorry, Sonny, this whole
thing is so unbelievable I think I'm about to lose my mind.'
'If you haven't lost it already', Everett added, concerned. Slowly, the
laughing on the other end faded. Lombard’s friend had one more
question.
'Pat...do you at least have a picture of the subject?'
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Lombard wanted to say no, but then he twitched and leaped from the
chair. His reactions were more suited to someone whose shirt should be
buttoned tightly on it’s back.
'Yes! I made one once, while she was asleep, I mean during one of
those rare times I was awake, and she was not' he went on mumbling, of
which Everett understood little or nothing at all, 'Yes, I have her picture!'
'Fax it to me, I'll let you know when...if I find something.'
'You're my last hope, Sonny.'
Everett waited to respond again, but when he did, he said exactly what
Lombard thought he would:
'I'm not so sure why, but you sure sound desperate.’
'Thank you, Sonny.'
'Forget it...and another thing, Pat?'
'Yes?'
'Go to sleep, you sound like you've been awake for quite a while' Sonny
Everett said, and then he hung up.
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CHAPTER 56
Johnny Darkwood sat alone at home and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t
need to look at the fridge again, there was nothing inside. The battle
between him and the refrigerator box had been going on for a while,
regardless how much he wanted the things between them to work out.
Along with that unfortunate confrontation, the hole in his stomach also
seemed to be growing daily. Right now it was the size of a baseball
stadium, and with every new hour it was expanding another row of seats.
He had already used up many hunger suppression techniques including
drinking glasses of hot water which seemed to do the trick for a while,
but his guts eventually figured out the scam , their consistent
growling reminded him of his miserable situation.
’Shit’ he moaned and droped his head back on the filthy couch.
Cigarettes were also a thing from the past, not ’cause he had decided to
quit, but because he couldn’t afford them any more. Johnny didn’t know
what to do, but he knew exactly what he wasn’t going to do. He wasn’t
going to call his parents and tell them he hasn’t eaten for three days , he’d
rather starve than to listen his father ‘s ’I told you so’ bullshit again,
which was as certain as death.
Death. Darkwood didn’t think about death a lot, and when he did, he
approached the topic as casual, as anyone his age would. Meaning,
anyone could get hit by a car at 3 a.m., overdose with amphetamines,
cocaine, heroin, metamphetamine, cerosine, vaseline, and all other –
’ines’. Also, you could be unfortunate enough to get leukemia, a stroke, a
heart attack, or maybe a combination of the above, you could get stabbed
for screwing someone over, or simply for screwing someone ? In other
words, anyone anywhere could die for numerous, more or less dumb
reasons.
But to die of an empty fridge at a tender age, that would be a bit too
much. As far as Johny was concerned, that jerk didn’t even deserve a
proper burial...those types should be tossed straight to the dumping place
and forgotten.
A knock on the door snapped him out of thinking . When he opened
them, his blood pressure suddenly rose so high it felt like an adrenaline
shot straight to the heart.
The girl was simply beautiful. Her bright eyes were gazing directly at
him, and streaked golden hair framed her lovely face. Even though the
woman in front of him was a typical blonde, Darkwood couldn’t, for the
life of him, remember any blonde jokes.
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’Mister Darkwood?’ her voice was a suprisingly deep for her bright
eyes and hair. For a minute Johnny thought that it would suit some dark
haired girl better, but that thought quickly vaporized .
’Yes...that’s me, and you are?’ he said unaware that he’s been pulling
fingers through his hear as well as filling his chest with unnecessary
large amount of air. Even if the woman saw all that, she wasn’t
responding in any way.
’May I come in, Mister Darkwood?’
Johnny couldn’t remember the last time someone called him ’mister’ ,
especially someone like this attractive girl standing at his door, waiting
for him to make up his mind.
Him? To make up his mind?
’Of course, of course...please, come in, sure’ he said, and remembered
he had nothing to offer to this fairy, except maybe a glass of hot or cold
water, and a look at his thin figure. Still, he doubted this beatuy was
thirsty, let alone thirsty for carnal knowledge of him.
’Mister Darkwood, I have heard you’re an expert on the Kangaree
Swamp, is that right?’
Johnny has spent way too much time on and around the streets to get
confused, like some amateur on his place probably would be .
’Me? Sure, I know it inside out, or upside down..that was a joke, of
course.’
’All right. You see, I’m currently involved in a project regarding the
historical facts about that particular area, and for a while now I’ve been
looking for someone to guide me through it...for a fee, of course’.
Darkwood didn’t remember his recent thinking about hunger, empty
fridge or who deserves what after kicking the bucket, anymore.
’Look no further, miss, you’ve found the right man. When are you
supposed to hm...go there?’
’As soon as possible.’
’As in...?’
’Now.’
Darkwood was slightly surprised.
’You’re in a real hurry, aren’t you?’
’If you can’t do it, I understand, I guess I’ll find somebody who could
help me, eventually. I realize I had dropped in here unannounced, and if
you have other business to attend to...’
’No’ Darkwood interrupted, realizing a moment too late that he
couldn’t hide the panic in his voice. This golden goose was about to
hatch, and who would need her egg more than he would? No one.
’Nothing that urgent I couldn’t leave it for later, no worries.’
The girl seemed surprised by his eagerness to leave.
’You...you can leave right away?’
215
’If you want, we can leave later, like...in an hour, or two?’
Regardless of the comical situation they were in , no one was laughing.
’No...of course, I’d like to leave right away very much.’
’No problem, then’ said Johnny Darkwood.
The blonde glanced at him once more, then smiled for the first time.
Had he been just a little less hungry, Johnny would’ve been impressed by
her straight white teeth and blue eyes. But, being in this condition, he
could only think how some people who ask some other people for favors
tend to offer money in advance. He was wondering whether he should
push his luck with this one. Finally his empty stomach prevailed,
growling suddenly like it was being run by Ford’s diesel ship engine that
desperately needed repairing.
’Damn pills...they always make my stomach growl’ he explained,
feeling ashamed.
’I see , still, some food might do you good and help you digest
those...pills.’
’Food? I’m not sure...’ then he stopped . Hell, all he could focus on
right now was how to fill the seats of the empty stadium where his
stomach should be.
’OK...maybe you’re right, let’s go and grab something to eat, you can
take it off my fee, if you don’t mind ?’
’Sure I don’t.’
Some time later, Johnny Darkwood was up against a one and a
half pound steak, and seemed to be winning. He was so hungry he didn’t
notice that his blonde companion didn’t even tasted her food. She just sat
across the table from him and watched him. Halfway through the steak,
Darkwood finally thought of something.
’You didn’t tell me where have you heard about me ? I mean, it’s not
like I do organised tours to the swamp, as a matter of fact I know some
people who do that, but I’m the best there is, no doubt.’
That question caught the girl by surprise, she needed a few seconds to
focus.
’I...you see, I’ve got a friend who knows you, and he told me you’re the
best for what I need.’
Darkwood didn’t have many acquantances, let alone true friends, who
could have known this gorgeous woman, and even fewer of those who
would
recommend
Darkwood
for
anything,
except
maybe for avoiding him in the large circle. Then his brain cells finally
started to work, pushed by all the food.
’Does it happen to be Patrick Lombard?’
The girl smiled, her eyes suddenly wide open.
’ I hope you don’t mind, Mister Darkwood?’
216
’Me? No...actually, I’m grateful he made me conect with such a
beautiful employer, I’m gonna call him and tell him that.’
Her pretty face got serious so fast that Darkwood thought he maybe
failed to notice that some of the other guests farted or burped.
’Leave that for later, we have no time for phone calls now’ she said,
raising her hand, for the waiter to aproach . He saw her raised hand and
was flying towards them.
’Check, please.’
Minutes later they were out on the street, heading towards a shiny jeep
parked far in the back yard, an almost brand new Range Rover. Johnny
whistled silently.
’Wow, this is nice...I bet it cost a fortune?’
’It belongs to the organization I work for, they’re quite wealthy’, the
girl answered carelessly. Soon they were headed for the swamp, driving
just over the speed limit which Darkwood noticed, but kept his mouth
shut. Time went by, and he started to wonder what’s he’d got to do with
this project.
’I didn’t ask you where precisely you wanted to go, the swamp is a big
place, you know.’
’I know’ the girl answered, eyes firmly on the road ahead. ’I’d like to
see the west side first.’
’No problem, I know the way’, he replied.
He suddenly remembered the fragments of conversation with Patrick
Lombard, as well as the initial reason why they even met each other. He
remembered reading about the murders in the papers, calling the police
and being kindly given (which was highly unusual ) Lombard’s home
phone number, and later sitting with him, talking till morning with brandy
and coffee, his hands dirty from fixing the washing machine.
West side...where the bodies were found...but not the heads...
Darkwood was slightly surprised by the girl’s location of choice, but
that thought escaped him as quickly as it appeared.
They almost reached their destination when he asked her:
’You told me you work for an organization...what’s it called, perhaps
I’ve heard of them.’
The girl’s lips spread into a vague smile but her eyes didn’t follow the
process.
’I don’t think so, it’s foreign, from Europe, actually.’
’Europe ? I had no idea Europeans were interested in the Kongaree
Swamp.’
’They don’t, my organization is an exception.’
’In what way, if you don’t mind my asking?’
’We deal with settling scores from the past, Mister Darkwood, very
ancient past.’
217
’I would still like to hear the name of your organization, allways being
curious , you know .’
’Oh... that doesn’t matter, really, Mister Darkwood, I’m sure you’ve
never heard of them.’
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CHAPTER 57
Nobody knew how old was the creature that sat on the throne in
enormous, dark cave was. Some doubted it even existed, while many
more whispered one of its many names, crossing them selfs with palms or
fingers. It all began eons ago, at the dawn of humanity.
For thousands of years cave men were fighting the forces of nature
which ruthlessly struck upon them from birth to death. When they first
started burying their dead and practising rituals above the shallow graves
no one will ever know for sure , just like which one of those cave men
came up first with the idea of the afterlife. There wasn’t much happiness
in their short, harsh lives, so this new hope was the most satisfying thing
that could happen to them. If someone’s entire family was annihilated by
famine, disease, wild beasts or natural disasters, the hope that one will get
to be with his loved ones again in the afterlife gave them reason to get
up in freezing mornings to go hunting, start new fires, and to have new
babies in those long forgotten, ancient nights.
Also, it is not known when those first cave people began to define
and separate the terms of good and evil, but time went by and they
started moving from caves into houses made of mud and rocks.
By then, inheritance of their ancestors and their collective memory was
already very old. Still, the art of writing hadn’t been invented yet, so the
spoken tradition was the only source of knowledge for the new
generations, told to them by the elders, who themselves once heard it
from their elders, the string seemed to go on forever.
Even when good and evil were finally defined, their meaning was
different from one culture to the next, what was good for one culture,
wasn’t necessarily good for the other.
However, some rules were the same for everyone. Probably, the most
important one was - Thou shall not kill. In those ancient, primitive
communities real power was in the numbers, so every new child was
eagerly welcomed by everyone, just as the death of a young warrior was a
tragic loss for the entire community, and could mean doom for the
entire tribe.
In those days, mass meant more chance for survival, many smaller
tribes vanished from the face of the Earth leaving little or no evidence of
their existance behind.
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During that same period, new kinds of people started to apear. Unlike
most others, they didn’t consider murder to be a sin.
If a warrior could kill a wild animal and eat it, why couldn’t he kill one
of his own if he wanted to get something he liked that didn’t belong to
him, they thought . Jewelry, weapons, women, there was no difference.
In order to become stronger and more dangerous than their enemies, they
started to pray to the dark forces they feared and but didn’t understand
while talismans, amulets and and all sorts of curses entered mankind
never to leave.
Centuries were passed by and people were multiplying, creating great,
powerful nations, and those nations creating great kingdoms and empires.
Then, among other religions came christianity. The Son of God was
born and 33 years later he died, accepting everyone’s sins when he was
crucified.
Back at very begining ….
The creature that was sitting deep down in the dark, scorching
underworld celebrated that day, his roaring laughter echoed from the cave
walls while shadows were running behind pillars of sulphur rising from
the hot, yellow pools.
This place was called Hell.
The creature had many names, and each one of them caused fear in the
hearts of the people. Born out of chaos, he represented the dark side:
when there was laughter, he brought sadness, when there was health, he
brought diseases and death.
In peaceful times he brought wars, when there was love, he created
hate. The creature who was born out of chaos wanted to bring all
existance down to his dark realm forever.
But most of all he hated humans, for they believed that He, the one
who the creature hated so much, ’had created them in his own image’.
He was very busy during the Inquisition, more then ever before. The
heart he didn’t have was filled with joy he never knew as he watched
people torture their own kind in the most brutal imaginable ways,
accusing each other of worshiping – him ! Those who lost their lives
because of these accusations died in such terrible ways that even he had
respect for the of the executioners horrific imagination. He also saw how
they created hierarchies and that was especially funny to him.
He especially liked the part when the so-called Inquisitors denied all
confessions the accused were making prior to the tortures, as they
desperately tried to avoid if not death itself, then at least the horrible
pains they were bound to suffer... he enjoyed hearing painful groans that
rose all the way to the sky, the same sky he allegedly fell down from once
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before. He adored the smell of burning flesh, he gladly wore necklaces
made of human guts and teeth.
Some called him the King of Lies and with a good reason, for he
understood a very long time ago how corruptible mankind was.
He seduced the first man out of pure curiousity, when he stopped that
cave bear from ripping his head off. He remembered that moment clearly.
He put a thought inside the savage’s head, a thought too complicated to
be understood immediately. This smelly, obnoxious two-legged savage
couldn’t speak, for back then all his kind was capable of pronouncing was
a series of growls and grunts, but still he understood the offer he gave to
him: If you survive and if this beast walks away, here’s what you will do.
The savage was mumbling, shaking his head, then he started pounding his
hairy chest in approval, as the jaw of the beast was three feet away from
his ugly face.
After he returned to the cave in one piece, he waited for everyone to fall
asleep. Then he killed them all with a wooden bat, one by one...thus
fulfilling his part of the deal. These were his dear, ancient memories.
After that, he went on to seduce many humans, since he knew how
strongly they craved corruption, lust and greed, and saw many miserable
human beings bow to him, even though they had never seen a glimpse of
him. Time was passing while empires and kingdoms rose and fell, but
those who followed him didn’t vanish from the face of the earth. They
were just hidden from the world, still maintaining their rituals, murdering,
pillaging.
Then he started to take human forms and showing himself to a few
chosen ones. One of his forms had horns and a tail, another time he
appeared looking like a young girl, then like a smooth, middle-aged
gentleman with a cane in his hand - there were as many forms as there
were nations on Earth that believed he existed, and he found it most
amusing. During the eons a long time, he copulated with thousands of
mortal men and women and killed many innocent people through other
people just to satisfy his heartless soul.
Haike Bruneger was just one of his many victims. He deliberately chose
a form most women would find repulsive, but woman held firmly to him,
passionately surrendering as he injected his cursed semen into her womb.
That was neither the first, nor the last time he made a woman pregnant,
and all of his children grew up to become murderers, lunatics and
monsters of all sorts, just like he wanted them to be.
As far as humans were concerned, he was almost almighty. But, when
people from this miserable dirty village discovered that Haike was his
mistress, he was who knows where doing who knows what.
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He arrived too late, his seed was already lying in the mud, stomped to
death, while his woman was severely beaten, then tied to the pole and
disappeared in flames.
Still, he decided to speak through her as the first flames started licking
her body, and cursed everybody and everyone who was there to see the
burning. When he was done, he simply left her body.
As his invisible form was walking away, he heard the yells of his
forsaken lover who at the end came back to her human senses, and
realised in absolute horror that she was turning into a human torch.
His anger, caused by this miserable bunch who dared to kill his servant
and his seed, was terrible. It didn’t take him long to find a man who
would avenge him. Sigmund Delke was exactly what he needed, with
darkness in his heart and soul. He appeared before him as Delke was
burying his wife, but Delke was unaware that he was loking at the
creature who had previously ordered him to kill her with his bare hands.
The murderer nodded and shook his head in absolute fear and worship. A
bit later, he marked Delke with the fake stigmata, similar to those on the
body of the only creature he had feared..
Sigmund Delke was dead long before he came after the lost seed again.
He saw a man sail across the sea, sensed his smell and realised that he
was a descendant of the family his followers had failed to annihilate . But,
he always knew what to do...
With his allseeing eyes, he scanned the vast spaces until he saw what he
needed. He saw a young black man with a evil heart desperate for power,
the one who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. He also saw
tiny, half naked men who were teaching him the laws of survival in the
jungle. He witnessed how lust for power in the young man’s heart grew
with every new secret the son of Kalahari revealed to him.
However, the creature wasn’t almighty and had no impact on many
things that would happen in the future. The one whose name he wouldn’t
say usually had the last word, and that made the creature hate him even
more, for he wanted to posess the same powers, but they were not given
to him.
When he looked at the future and saw how the blonde man lay over the
black beauty, his black heart stopped, for he saw something that made
him grab the stone handles of the throne with his hideous, long claws.
He saw that the-one-he-was-bound-to-kneel-before decided to give life to
a child, a descendent fom the same line he was trying to destroy all along.
This child would grow up to become an ordinary man, but also much
more than that.
The creature realized that this child will have to die immediately,
becuse if he grow up, his revenge upon the seed of Sebastian Miller might
never be complete. The enemy of all mankind stared at the images from
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the future and roared, while the rocks were falling from the thunder of
his voice and condemned souls were hiding in the countless pits of his
dark empire.
Yet, the young man he needed was born and he watched as he sat
naked, surrounded by tiny black people, listening and remembering. The
boy’s name was Ejtana, and his soul was so black ,as if he himself was
his father.
He decided he would show himself through Ejtana, just like he did
before with that poor woman who got burned on stake, Haike Bruneger
many ears previously.
He chose that this young black man to be his weapon of choice for this
batlle, the warrior who would represent his interests, which in this case
meant settling scores from long time ago once and for all.
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CHAPTER 58
Lombard was walking the streets of Columbia like a ghost. He was
dragging his feet mechanically, vaguely aware of the traffic around and
other people passing by, like trees seen from the moving car. All sounds
were distorted and deformed, like they were coming from another
dimension. He hasn’t slept for days; he could barely force himself to rest
only for a couple of hours each night, and that state was more
unconciousness like rather than sleep. Pain and numbness in his muscles
was increasing with every new day. His strength was vanishing, his body
was getting weaker , slowly but surely.
When Tony McCarthy met him on the street, Lombard knew it was
not just a coincidence.
’Pat, do you have a minute, I’d like to... talk to you.’
At first, Lombard’s eyes were fixed somewhere high above McCarthy’s
head, but eventually he lower his head and looked him in the eyes.
’Ok, wanna go to my place?’
’Sure, anywhere.’
They continued walking together, divided by a wall of heavy, persistant
silence. McCarthy wasn’t glad they were going back to Lombard’s place
after last time when Lombard was out shopping, and all that happened
right after that.
Actually, McCarthy felt guilty for everything that followed watching that
fuckin’ surveilance tape. From that day, he saw how his friend and
colleague started to sink deeper and deeper into something that he could
not figure out. Just when they started to hang out together, shooting pool,
drinking beer, just when Lombard found himself a girl who made him fly
around like a butterfly, that day came, when he saw what was supposed to
be a good joke tear his friend’s life apart.
...I’ve been seeing her these last few days...she always seemed to be
waiting for someone...
...she told me it was her first time in this part of town...
Shit!
Then something else happened. Lombard’s been hitting the bottle
much more than he thought was ok, and he certainly wasn’t a stranger to
the booze himself, far from it.
Slowly, pieces of the puzzle that was called nervously-deranged-man
were falling into place before McCarthy’s eyes and he hate that. After
they came to the apartment, they sat across the table from each other,
still in uncomfortable silence.
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Lombard was dead quiet, and Tony realized he was supposed to start the
conversation. Suddenly, McCarthy wasn’t sure what his statement,
question, or advice should be.
’Pat, I see that this tendency of yours...doesn’t seem to stop..’
’What tendency, Tony?’
’ Of you being tired, absent and’, he pointed at the bottle on an
otherwise empty desk, ’this, fuck, I mean, is there anyway I can help,
although I did ask you before, and you told me everything was OK?’
He stopped for air: ’But it’s not OK, Pat, you’re only half awake, man,
there’s a lot of talk around the precinct...’
’What kind of talk, Tony?’
McCarthy felt like he was being interrogated.
’...talk about you being detached, exhausted, how you were blown away
by what you saw inside that apartment...then there’s that girl.’
Lombard’s sleepy eyes opened wide to that remark.
’Girl...what girl?’
Shit, like goddamn Made-In-Haiti-Zombie.
’The one I saw on the tape...the one who told you she’d never been in
this part of town before, the one that lied to you, Pat.’
Lombard’s answer was surprisingly calm and reasonable.
’ Tony, I don’t know who she is, I mean, I honestly don’t know’
McCarthy was silent, praying that Lombard would continue. However,
his next question only deepened his doubts about the fragility of
Lombard’s mental state.
’Do you believe in the supernatural, Tony?’
’Depends what you mean by that ?’
’You know...stuff like...images from the past you see in your dreams,
but somehow you know they’re real, dead people who aren’t actually
dead, men with bloody red eyes staring at you like they know you...that’s
what I mean.’
’Pat, I’ve seen too much creepy stuff in real life to be wasting time with
phantoms.’
’They are not phantoms, Tony’
’Who’s they, Pat?’
’They...the people I see in my sleep, like from aside, but they can’t see
me, except for the one with bloody red eyes, he...saw me.’
McCarthy looked at Patrick Lombard while he absently gazed at the
invisible dot on the ceiling.
’How can I help you, Pat...if I had any idea that this fucking tape
would screw you so much, I’d rather eat it then...’
’None of that matters anymore, because, you see, everything is related
to something else, somehow... that I can’t understand. Not yet.’
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’Me neither, Pat, I don’t understand anything, but unlike you, I manage
to sleep at night and lead a normal life, more or less.’
Lombard was laughing through his nose, lips firmly shut, for a moment
McCarthy thought he was crying. But then the laughter stopped and
Lombard was staring at him, it seemed he was moving between
consciousness and unconsciousness all the time.
’Something is about to happen,Tony, and is about to happen soon, only
I don’t know what that something is.’
The temperature in the room seemed to decline, and McCarthy had a
creepy feeling they were not the only ones sitting in the room anymore.
If Lombard was feeling the same, he did a great job hiding it. McCarthy
was running out of oxygen, and was desperate to get out. He rose from
the sofa and look at Lombard, who sat in his chair, indifferent.
’ Pat, I think...’
’...that I should take some time off, am I right?’, all of a sudden
Lombard was cheerful.
’Well, since you’re so clairvoyant yes , I do think you should take
some time off, or you’re gonna crash, and you’re gonna crash soon.’
’Soon all this will be over, one way or another. Thanks for dropping by,
Tony.’
McCarthy said goodbye and left the apartment. Only after he was out
on the street and he realize how much he actually needed open space and
a breathe of fresh air.
He also realized he would be secretly following his partner from that
moment on.
......................................................................................................................
......
The call Lombard was waiting for finally came, he picked it up after the
second ring. Sonny Everett was on the other end.
’Pat, my friend, what’s new ? Just do me a favor and skip that old
bullshit about Jersey, Orleans or Mexico...OK?’
Lombard forced himself to smile after what seemed like a year’s time.
’Heee y, Sonny boy...please tell me you got something for me, don’t
disappoint your old friend ?’
’You didn’t actually think I called you just to hear your not-so-sweet
voice?’
’No, so tell me, what do you got for me?’
’Well, at first I couldn’t find anything, although I still may not have
much, but one of my guys found out something that might be interesting
to you.’
’I’m listening, Sonny.’
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’Ever heard of the Crocodile Valley, Pat?’
’Not until now.’
’Me neither...you see, that’s the name of some small town in
Pennsylvania, middle of nowhere actually.’
’Ok, and?’
’And, my bright assistant, I mean one of them, has spent days toying
with the photograph you gave me and half an hour ago he comes into my
office with something.’
’With what exactly ?’
’There’s been a suicide up there recently, Patrick. Not too much fuss
about it, but still it didn’t go unnoticed. The victim was young and pretty,
her picture was in the local paper.’
Patrick felt his heart pound heavily.
’Pat’, Everett went on, ’I don’t know what this is about, but this girl
you’re searching for looks exactly like the one on the photograph.’
Lombard was unable to speak. Sonny Everett was silent for a while,
then he checked if his friend was still there.
’Pat, you still there?’
’I’m here, Sonny, please go on.’
’Well, not much more to say really, I mean, she must’ve had a double,
or most likely a twin sister in Pennsylvania. I even went to see a friend of
mine who works in forensics, he studied the photographs and told me
such similarities could only be found on identical twins...either that, or
it’s the same person, which is, of course, impossible.’
’Of course’ Lombard’s voice was echoed back to Sonny Everet.
CHAPTER 59
The jeep that had left the interstate ten minutes ago was passing the last
remaining meters to its final destination.
The swamp.
It has been there long before first people started settling along its shores
and began canooing through the darkness and sounds of its shady, damp
banks didn’t have much in common with the outside world, and that was
why Johnny Darkwwod fell in love with this place as a kid. But now his
feelings were very different from the last time he were here. He was still
assuming this beautiful, young woman needed his help, but the anxiety he
felt ever since they left Columbia hadn’t diminished. He was thinking
about the woman’s explanation of how she’d found him. When he heard
she got his address from detective Lombard, he took it for granted, but
now he wasn’t so sure. He was wondering if this strange woman really
get his address from Lombard, and if not, from whom, and also – why
227
him ? Darkwood knew at least ten people who knew the swamp well
enough and, unlike him, had their own web sites in order to ease the
communication with the potential clients. The more he thought about it,
the less he knew what was going on.
’We’ll be there soon, right?’ he heard the woman question as she
drove the jeep in a way that showed him she’d been here before.
Darkwood wasn’t the best student in his class, but he was far from stupid.
To compensate for lack of official education, like so many others , over
the years he’s been developing his perception. Some called it beeng
street-wise, some called it sixth sense, some referred to it as a gut
feeling...whatever it was, it was signalling the Darkwood that his
companion was hiding something from him. Then again, the girl never
claimed she’d never been here before. You may need a guide even if
you’ve been to the swamp by yourself before, he thought.
’Yes, matter of fact we’re here.’
The girl turned the engine off, and the silence that came was so intense
that Darkwood was forced to clear his throat before saying anything.
’So...where would you like to go, Miss...’
’We’ll go left, westward, I hope you know that part?’ her voice was
clear, although Darkwood registered a hint of foreign accent.
’Sure, I’ve been both left and right from where we’re standing many
times.’
’Great.’
They walked quietly for a while. Darkwood was ahead, the woman was
following. He could feel her eyes on him as he listened to the steady
swoosh-swash noise her boots were making as they walked through the
grassy shores. Minutes later, Darkwood asked:
’What is your name, if you don’t mind my asking?’
She didn’t answer him immediately. Just when he thought she hadn’t
hear him, she said:
’They call me Helen...Helen Brown, in this part of the world. Why do
you want to know?’
The question after the question baffled Darkwood.
’Well, I don’t, I mean, when people do business together they usually
know each other’s names, right?’
’Usually, but there’s nothing usual about our business, Mister
Darkwood.’
Darkwood was unwillingly looking around, hoping to spot some nature
lovers. There was no one around.
’Patrick Lombard...you’ve known him for a long time?’
A shadow flew over the woman’s face, but not too fast for Darkwood to
notice.
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’Well...yes and no, but long enough to get your address from him,
Johnny.’
Something didn’t add up, something was wrong with this picture, out of
place like a broken bone. Fragments of conversations between him and
Lombard were coming back without chronological or logical order. Still,
none of those fragments confirmed that Lombard knew where he lived.
He knew where Lombard lived, he’s been to his apartment twice, not the
other way round. He would certainly remember the embarassment he
would feel while apologizing to the detective for the mess in his small
flat, or for the lack of beer, or anything else, in his fridge. No, the
detective had no idea where he lived. Sweat was pouring down his back
again. He realized that Lombard had the means to obtain his address, but
he was also certain that Lombard would never do such a thing. But what
disturbed him the most was the sense he had about this girl, he felt she
was somehow connected to Lombard. She was young and pretty, and
Lombard never struck him as a type of man who loves other men. Still,
all that didn’t change the fact that she lied to him when she told him how
she got his address. He was suddenly terribly sorry for not calling
Lombard. While there was still time, he thought.
What’s going on here?
Darkwood had to admit he’d probably be better off staying hungry in
his crummy little apartment than roaming around the west side of the
swamp with this beautiful, but – he was more sure of it with every second
that passed – dangerous woman. He couldn’t take it anymore.
’Ms Brown, exactly what do you want from me, I mean...I’m not rich,
as you saw, or very handsome, and there are plenty of guides you could
book far more easily, why me?’
The response was quick this time.
’Because I need some answers, regarding the things you’ve witnessed.’
’Me...witnessed? Witnessed what, Ms Brown?’
’Fires, Johnny.’
’Fires?’ Johnny squealed. His guts were bouncing up and down as he
stared as the girl who stood calmly, her hands relaxed beside the body.
Something told him he wouldn’t get very far, if he chose to run now.
’Yes...tell me about the fires you saw, and all other things...and I’ll tell
you another story, an ancient story, like you’ve never heard before.’
Johnny Darkwood had the feeling that the lunch he had an hour ago
was the most expensive meal he’d ever had in his life.
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CHAPTER 60
Patrick Lombard was staring at the phone, even though the conversation
has ended several minutes ago, the information Sonny Everett gave him
hit him like a hammer. The real world was escaping him and instead
came some new reality which turned Lombard into an entirely different
person. He become someone that made heads turn, the one people talked
about secretly, but everybody avoided.
He’s never felt so lonely in his entire life. Lombard felt that the pit he’d
fallen fell into was built only for him, while everybody else had their
safe, ordinary lives. He became the antipode of his previous self, who was
always focused and systematic, whatever the challenges might be. Still,
there was no room for sorrow, fear or self-pity inside him, all he craved
came down to one thing: to get to the end of all of this by any possible
way or mean.
Lombard had never married and had never had children. Like any other
single man, he was responsible only to himself, or when it came to work
– to his superior officer and his other colleagues, all other constellations
didn’t bother him, or they were on the bottom of his list of priorities.
Now, the line that separated possible from impossible had vanished.
What at the beginning had looked like just another case of double
homicide turned into something else, something eery and inexplicable,
and Lombard found himself right in the middle of it.
. Pictures that were flashing before his tired eyes were meant to bring
happiness and serenity into his heart. He and the blonde in a restaurant
together, his face almost entirely covered in band-aids, the cuts on his
face opening again from all the laughter, the pain he felt but managed to
ignore...images...two of them lying naked in his bed, her fingernails
stabbing into his back as they sailed toward the climax... the two of them
at the zoo, taking a walk, then lying in bed again...the bloody chunks of
steak she fed him with, her hair falling on her shoulders, falling over
him...then, as if someone had cut the tape with a knife, images were
replaced with terror... a dark room full of a bad odour…the fridge door
silently wide open and inside...heads and eyes that cannot see anything,
but still see everything.
Finally, the question of all questions, the question the rest of his sane
life was depending on was - Who is Helen Brown?
He jumped to his feet and sat in front of his computer , soon his
fingers were frantically dashing over the keyboard , he didn't feel tired
230
anymore. One hour passed, then another...by the end of the third hour,
Lombard managed to gather everything that had ever been published
regarding the Pennsylvania murder Everett had mentioned in his phone
call.. Seeing a familiar face on the screen came as no surprise.
Printing the pages made him feel more relaxed, by the time the printer
was done, he was feeling almost good.
The information from the paper didn't seem to reveal much. That was
why he’d been lent to South Carolina police department on the first
place, to help them with the double murder/decapitation case.
Sane or insane, Patrick Lombard was an excellent detective.
Against his will, he’d entered the world of very vivid dreams, the world
of headless corpses, the world of a woman ready to make love to him, but
unwilling to share anything else...the world of unknown, distant
cemeteries. Still, his previous reality wasn't coming back, all he could see
now was the amazing similarity between the dead girl in Pennsylvania
and the woman who said her name was Helen Brown.
As soon as he was done reading, Lombard picked the phone up and
dialled a Pennsylvanian number. After a while he heard the phone ring,
and then a silent, slightly insecure 'H..hello?'
……………………………………………………………………………
………..
Johhny Darkwood stared at the woman, amazed.
Fires?...why would she want to hear about the fires, and more
importantly, how does she know he'd seen them? The answer was
obvious. Patrick Lombard. He didn't have the faintest idea why would
detective Lombard would tell this pretty, but obviously deranged woman
the details of their conversation.
'Listen,Ms Brown, I don't know what Mr Lombard told you, or why, but
if fires were the only reason we came here, we really shouldn't have...'
'That's not the only reason we're here, Johnny, and besides, Lombard
didn't tell me anything about your conversations or the fires or anything
else.'
Darkwood was listening to the woman's cold voice, and the only thing
he knew for sure was she wasn't lying. Suddenly , he started feeling cold,
even though it was a hot day. The woman went on.
'When I met Lombard, I mentioned to him that I was working on a PhD
about the swamp. He didn't care much about science, but one time he told
me about this young man who knew the swamp like the back of his hand.
I asked him to introduce me to the young man, and he promised he
would. But, he wasn't the one who introduced me to you.'
Darkwood had a lot of difficulties asking his next question.
231
'Who... was the one who, as you say, introduced you to me, I don't
remember we ever being introduced to each other?'
The woman's laughter was hoarse and deep. Johnny had never seen her
smoke, knew she wasn't the type, but the sound of her laughter was
typical for someone who was a heavy smoker. In an instant he
remembered all those movies about the posessed persons. Wasn't this the
way they laughed? Still, those were movies, and this is reality ?
He wasn't trying to hide his emotions anymore. The strongest of which
was utter, absolute fear.
'Johnny, Johnny...you see, Patrick Lombard used to sleep at night, like
most people, or at least he was trying to. I, on the other hand...don't need
sleep, so I spent my time awake, so to say. I had to find something to do
with my time while he was rolling over the bed, bathing in sweat. Since
he’d mentioned you before, I sat in front of the computer and then –
voila! Neat as he is, Lombard created a folder and named it, guess what?
'Johnny Darkwood . Not too original, but then again, why would he
bother consealing the name of a freelancing journalist who, from what I
heard, knew his way around the home appliances. That's how I found out
about the fires you've witnessed, the people gathering around and singing,
and...and everything else.'
Helen Brown suddenly got up from the log. She did it so quickly she
made Darkwood lose his breath.
'I also read about the murders you've witnessed, Johnny. Lombard
described everything to the detail, it was all there: the screams, the yells,
hands being torn off, sneakers lying around...' then she stopped, thinking
how to continue.
'You see, this place you've grown so accustomed to has been destined
for another, very important event. And all because of something you,
Johnny, couldn't even imagine, something that started many, many years
ago.'
Darkwood listened carefully, astounded to realize he was believing this
woman.
'And now, Johnny, tell me about the fires and everything else I read
about in the file. And then, as I said, I'll tell you all those things you
couldn't even imagine. You'll also be given a choice.'
'What kind of choice, Ms Brown?' Johnny Darkwood heard his own
voice from a distance.
'Which side you'll choose. It's always been like that, right? Always only
two sides...and nothing more.'
In the next thirty minutes, Darkwood told her everything he knew about
the swamp, including all he saw on the night of the murders.This time,
however, he didn't expecting to get paid for his story. The only thing he
wanted was to get back into town, to leave this place he used to love so
232
much. But at the same time, something else was telling him this strange
woman had different plans for him.
When he finished his story, he asked:
'Who are you, Ms Brown?'
The girl answered slowly, trying to choose the right words.
'That question...cannot be answered simply, Johnny. I am many things
and nothing, at the same time. But I'll try to give you an answer. You see,
it all started long ago, in a faraway land where some pathetic humans
dared defy someone they shouldn't have defied.'
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CHAPTER 61
’ Hallo ?’
When he heard the quiet, doubtful voice, Lombard realized he had no
idea how to start the conversation.
At the same time, he was desperately looking for answers that he had
no choice, but to carry on.
’Hi, hello, my name is Patrick Lombard, I am a Seattle Police
Department detective,and you are..?’
The woman, that much he knew from the sound of the voice needed a
couple of seconds to answer.
’My name is Melissa Brown, may I know what this is about?’ Her voice
was now flat, it sounded like she wasn’t fond of any kind of talking .
Lombard was feverishly doing what he should’ve been doing before he
picked up the phone, he was trying to figure out what to say to the person
who identified herself as Melissa Brown.
’First of all, I apologize for calling like this, I suppose I could’ve
handled it a bit less directly, but...’
’It’s all right, mister...?’
’Lombard, Patrick Lombard’ he introduced himself again.
’Mister Lombard, what did you want to talk to me about?’
’Mrs Brown, I’ve been indirectly related to the case of your...unless I’m
very much mistaken – daughter, Helen.’
It was a shot in the dark, but hadn’t he been doing the same from the
very beginning of this chaos, wandering the dead end streets, taking
wrong turns in this place called Nonsense, USA?
This time he got it right.
’I see, what exactly would you like to know?’
’I would like to hear more about your daughter, please.’
’More than what?’
’Than what was in the...police report.’
The woman went silent, but just when Lombard thought he definitely
blew it, her voice interrupted the stattic crackling.
’Well...what can I say? Helen had always been a good girl. She was
never in any, and I mean any trouble, at least that I knew about, as I said,
she was a good and pretty young girl.’
Lombard knew that his questions would open some old wounds, but on
the other hand, his own life wasn’t worth living anymore. The girl he was
enquiring about, whose photo reminded him so shockingly much of his
runaway girlfriend, was unmistakably dead, out of reach for anyone. Or
anything.
234
’Did you happen to notice something unusual before...she died, some
sudden change of behavior, anxiety, fear-anything at all, Mrs Brown?’
’Yes...if you saw the report, I’m sure you read it all to the detail...may I
ask you a question?’
Lombard’s heart dropped.
’By all means’
’Why are you really interested in Helen?’
’Mrs Brown, I...I was telling you the truth. I am a police detective and I
am very, very interested in your late daugher’s case. I can’t tell you
anything else because of an ongoing investigation, but I can assure you I
meant no harm...’
’No harm? My daugher is dead, Mister Lombard, and that is why I
believe you mean no harm. Harm is for the living, right?’
’I agree, Mrs Brown.’
Lombard was relieved when the woman continued her talk.
’ She was, as I said, a really good girl...but then she started to change.’
’Change ?’
’Yes, change. My formerly cheerful daughter became very silent and
withdrawn. She was spending more and more time in her room, and she
used to love open spaces and blue skies so much.
Melissa Brown was now clearly sailing through memories.
’She used to go out on camping trips every weekend, but as time went
by she couldn’t be bothered to go down the street to the supermarket.
Like I said, that didn’t happen over night, it was going on for for some
time.’
Melissa Brown stopped for a moment, and Lombard used that to
imagine a middleaged woman crushed from grief while she was talking
about the most painful thing that happened to her in her life.
He pictured weary eyes, shineless hair , but couldn’t imagine the face.
Many kilometers away from the person he was talking to, Lombard sat in
his chair and waited for the woman to continue.
’About that time she and Kevin split up , he was the boy she was
supposed to marry. They were together for five years and Kevin adored
her. Then she left him without any explanation, she just told him not to
come around here anymore. I see him from time to time, outside the local
pub , he became a drunk, a shadow of the man he used to be.’
’I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Brown.’
’Me too , they were such a nice couple. In any case, she never felt sorry
for the break-up, she acted like she’d never even known him. I could see
she was changing, becoming someone or something else, I could see that
she was suffering, but there was nothing I could do to stop it , do you
believe me, detective ?’
’Completely, Mrs Brown.’
235
If Lombard’s answer came to her as a surprise, Mrs Brown didn’t show
it.
’Then, one night, I remember it because that was the first time I felt
really scared, she came to our room. I didn’t hear her come in, but when I
opened my eyes there she was, standing above the bed my husband and I
slept in...did you have a chance to see ’The Exorcist’?’
’Once, a long time ago’, Lombard said.
’Then you remember the scene when that little what’s-her-name-Regan,
I think, came downstairs while her parents were throwing a party...her
look, and the things she said ? God, I don’t know why, but that scene just
flashed before my eyes as I stared at Helen, while she just stood there, her
eyes fixed at me. That night I finally understood, Mr Lombard.’
’Understood what, Mrs Brown?’ Lombard’s throat felt like a desert, he
barely managed to ask the question.
’That somethin terrible was about to happen , and it did.’
Lombard waited for the woman to continue, unaware that he squeezed
his other hand into a fist.
’She said to me - mother, I can’t take it anymore...they’re coming and
there’s no place to run, no place to hide...they...they’re walking through
the walls, through the windows, through everything...I got nowhere to
hide, mom. Two days later she killed herself.’
’Mrs Brown...I’m terribly sorry, I apologize for making you go through
all that pain once more...’
’I don’t need to be reminded of my daughter, Mr Lombard... you think I
don’t think about her every single day, you think time will ever heal those
wounds, as people say ? You think I won’t live with that pain for the rest
of my days?’
Lombard felt his eyes sting. Long-repressed pain suddenly rushed out
of him.
’Mrs Brown..I’m really sorry...you see, I...’ He didn’t know what to say
next, or how to say to her that he’d been dating someone remarkably
similar to her late child, or how that might affect Melissa Brown. This
entire conversation was rapidly becoming meaninglessm unnecessary,
Mixing his pain with the pain of a stranger didn’t make him feel any
better.
All he could hang on to was the fact that his runaway girlfriend was at
the same time a possible double murderer, that and her remarkable
physical resemblance to some unfortunate dead girl from a small town in
Pennsylvania. And that was all.
’Mrs Brown, I really apologize for disturbing you, please forgive me, I
hope your daughter found her peace in the afterlife, and that you can at
least feel some...serenity as you sit next to her grave.’
236
’Mr Lombard?’ her voice wasn’t numb or void of any emotions
anymore. You...don’t know?’
’Don’t know what, Mrs Brown?’ Lombard forced himself to ask.
’My Helen..when Kevin and I came to her grave three days after the
funeral, it was unearthed, and the coffin was – empty.’
Grave unearthed, the coffin was – empty?!
That kind of resemblance could only be found with the identical twins,
and that is, of course, impossible, Pat.
Of course, Sonny.
’Who...who’d done it, Mrs Brown?’
’Who? A local homeless person by the name of Robert Malone, my he
be damned. He didn’t even run, when they brought him to the station and
asked him why he did it, he started talking some nonsense about the evil
forces, about how he was forced to do it, may he burn in hell. I
understand that Helen was going mentally ill and that she couldn’t see a
way out’ Melissa Brown was crying now, ’ and I know I’m the one to
blame for seeing it all and not doing anything to stop her, for letting it all
happen like that, but.. I can’t understand how a human being can dig out a
fresh grave and just leave it like that...no, I can’t, I don’t want to
understand.’
Lombard had no choice but to ask.
’This Robert Malone character...what happened to him?’
’He was taken by the same evil forces he talked about, Mr Lombard.
The scumbag hanged himself , he couldn’t bear the thought of going on
trial, he knew that Karl, my husband, would skin him alive.’
Lombard came to the last, final question.
’And the body...was Helen’s body been buried back, Mrs Brown?’
’What...you..don’t know that, either?’ the woman asked in disbelief
again.
’Her body was never found, Mr Lombard, there were footsteps leading
to the cemetery gates, but after that there was nothing. We knew some of
the locals didn’t like us because of my husband’s family history, but I
never even imagined someone would go that far...bastards!’
’Family history ? What family history, Mrs Brown?’
’Mr Lombard, I believe we spent more than enough time talking,
especially since we don’t even know each other, and especially regarding
the topic of our conversation. Nothing I say or do will bring my Helen
back, right? So I think it woud be best to..’
’ Just finish this sentence...please, Mrs Brown.’
’What sentence?’
’You said some people didn’t like you because of your husband’s
family...what did you mean by that?’
237
’My husband, Karl...came here from Germany, Mister Lombard. Soon
after he came he changed his name to Brown and started living a peaceful
life, working hard and honestly, still, many people didn’t like him , they
said he was a Nazi who fled to the States, they said his hands were dirty.
One day some government officials came, took his fingerprints,
interrogated him, and after a while they confirmed what my husband was
saying all along, that he was innocent... his brother, Alexander, was in the
war, but Karl wasn’t, he was never drafted because of his heart problems.
Later on, when they started sending fifteen-year-olds to be butchered,
they seemed to have forgotten about him.’
’Before you hang up, Mrs Brown, just one last question, I promise.’
’Go ahead’ it was a tired voice, a flat, indifferent voice of someone who
didn’t care anymore.
Lombard couldn’t explain why was this last question so important, it
was as if someone else had asked the question through him, his body
being merely an instrument.
’Your husband, what was his name before he came to America?’
’I really don’t see how it matters, Mr Lombard, but since you detectives
always seem to ask the most unusual questions, I will tell you – Miller,
before he changed his name to Brown, his name was Miller. And now I
would like to end this conversation...because I’ve got nothing more to
say to you’, then she hung up.
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CHAPTER 62
...Defying someone they should never have defied...
Helen Brown pronounced those words very slowly, as her blue eyes
stared into the distance.
'Johnny... are you a believer?' she asked, detachedly.
'Me? Yeah, I think so...why do you ask?'
The woman frowned as if she was pondering the question.
'Because, like they say, it's good to believe. It's good to believe in ten
commandments, in loving thy neighbor and..everything else.'
'I suppose you're right, Ms Brown, I'm not much of an authority when it
comes to religion, I'm much better at roaming around swamps and forests,
for instance.'
'I don't doubt that, but do you believe in everything your church friends
believe?'
'Darkwood didn't like this generalization, he felt he was being
deliberately recognized as a part of something he didn't really belong to,
although he couldn't exactly tell what it was he truly believed in .
'I'm not sure I follow you.'
'I'm talking about the afterlife, do you believe in that, Johnny?'. The
coldness of her voice reached the young man's heart.
'I... don't know, I think I do. On the other hand, how can something
dead come back to life after it has rotted , what's there to come alive?
Anyway, I have never seen anyone resurrect so far.' Then he cleared his
throat and repeated the question.
'I asked you who you are, and instead I got all these odd questions from
you.'
Helen Brown answered that remark with yet another question.
'Are you afraid of the dark, Johnny?'
Darkwood didn't answer, but Helen Brown continued anyway, as if she
wasn't even expecting him to answer.
'You see, Johnny, many people are afraid of the dark without even
knowing why, all those stories about dark forces are wrong, let me tell
you that . I see where you're coming from Johnny, you’ve spent your
entire life listening to what the elders were telling you, you never had a
chance. But now, if you want, you can see everything as it is for the first
time.'
'What things?' Darkwood barely whispered.
Helen Brown was staring into his face, like she was looking for a sign
of something there.
239
Darkwood's wide open eyes were lost somewhere between the woman's
face and a surrounding treetop whose branches were disappearing in the
calm, flat surface of the swamp.
'What did you and Patrick Lombard talk about, Johnny?'
'Mrs Brown, I already told you everything. Who I am, what I am, what I
do to make a living. I swear there's nothing more to say, you must have
mistaken me for somebody else' he went on, his voice trembling. All
masks were now off, and his employer didn’t pretend to be interested in
the swamp anymore.
Helen Brown's face was smiling again, and Darkwood felt that claws of
fear grabbed his already frightened heart. Suddenly, he realized why he
felt so shitless scared.
She's not actually smiling! That thing on her face isn't a smile, that's a
face pretending to smile, and that's it, like someone put a piece of wood
into a corpse's mouth, forcing them to curve into a shape resembling a
smile. Darkwood was standing few feet away from her, but he wanted to
be a couple of hundred miles away, at least.
'Johnny, I'm sure you've heard a lot of stories about the devil, haven't
you?'
This strange question confirmed Johnny's fear that this situation was
unlike anything he had ever experienced.
'Yes.'
'Good. So, what do you think?'
'About what?'
'About whether he exists or not.'
'I...I don't know. Honestly, I've never really thought about it much.'
'Think about it now, Johnny.'
'Yes...I think he's real...I believe he exists and does all the things he
does. Happy now?'
'Happy ? Me?' She asked the question indignantly, as if she didn't
realize how bizarre it was.
'I'm neither happy nor unhappy, Johnny, I don't have such trivial
emotions anymore.'
Darkwood in panic realized this human being was unlike anyone
ordinary, unlike anyone he knew, walked by on the street, or even heard
of..
'Ms Brown, please...I don't know anything, look at me, I'm completely
worthless. Please, let me get back to my old life, that's all I want. Please.'
Helen Brown laughed breifly. After she had complimented the joke she
said slowly, steadily and perfectly clear.
'It's too late for that, Johnny.'
Then she stopped and waited for Johnny Darkwood's wailing to cease.
240
CHAPTER 63
The rain came down suddenly , strong and dense, like it had been
ordered by Tony McCarthy himself. He inhaled damp air and stared at the
dark, massive clouds , the absence of sunlight felt good to his eyes.
McCarthy sat on the the edge of the bed and stared blankly. He was
oblivious to the expression on his face , which suggested he was
strongly disagreeing with something. The reason for his strange behavior
was Patrick Lombard.
It was not the first time he was recalled the day the two of them met.
The face of his boss, Steve Morton, suddenly popped out, clear as a
hologram.
'Everybody listen up...and I mean everybody, Tony, (oh, how he hated
it when his boss pointed him out as the most distracted person in the
room), a colleague from Seattle is coming here. His name is Patrick
Lombard, and he has a reputation for solving various strange cases...he's
going to help us solve this case. I know it's not music to your ears, and I
assure you I feel the same, but since this guy has exactly the kind of
experience we need, I feel I have made the right decision. The pressure on
us is growing with every new day, and if he can help us, it would make
everybody feel much better.'
'Goddamn civilians' , Ron Travis, a black detective close to retirement
muttered silently, and most of his colleagues agreed. Morton included...
'Ronnie, I know exactly how you feel about this, I feel the same way,
believe me...but I didn't ask you all to come here and cry over how unjust
the civilian sector is, especially since it's Friday afternoon, I'm well aware
you'd much rather be somewhere drinking and hoping to get laid...with
someone else rather than your wife, I mean '
This time a short laughter broke.
'The reason I called you is to tell you that this Lombard character is
supposed to be here on Monday. Anyway, I'll be his supervisor. I expect
you all to behave and be ready to cooperate. When this case is over, he'll
return home. Try not to make him feel too unaccustomed to the local way
of life, and understand that he doesn't know too much about our customs,
at least what’s left of them . So, don't rub it in more than twice a day,
that's all I'm asking, understood?'
'OK, Boss' everybody replied. The meeting was over and everyone went
back to doing the thing they'd much rather be doing according to Steve
Morton.
It seemed to McCarthy that this meeting had taken place years ago.
241
Patrick Lombard did arrive on Monday, and he was welcomed by a
collective stare. On Tuesday there were already fewer stares, and by
Friday no one even thought about lecturing Lombard on local customs,
natural beauties or historical events of importance. Lombard simply
didn’t provoke anyone to act rude or unkind. He never gave them the
‘big-city-boy-coming-to-this-shithole-town-to-help-but-hating-everyminute-of-it’ attitude, contrary to everyone’s expectations. No, Lombard
was something else. Short, polite greetings soon turned to sincere smiles.
But nevertheless, the Columbia Police Department was still struggling
with this unsolved Kongaree Swamp double murder involving two
decapitated corpses.
Weeks later, they finally managed to find the heads.
‘And who found them – Patrick Lombard!’ Tony McCarthy grunted.
Truth be told, he and Lombard became good friends in a short while.
They functioned well as a team and they didn’t burden each other with
unnecessary bullshit. But then, Lombard started to change. Tony had
witnessed all phases of that change. First he met the casual, laid-back,
self-complacent Lombard who made work bearable, if not even pleasant.
That went on for weeks…then one day Lombard came to the precinct
with his face covered in plasters. McCarthy was almost concerned about
his partner, and then the next day came. The minute he saw his partner’s
face that morning, McCarthy knew that something nice happened to him,
all the evidence was there: absent smiling, staring through the window…
McCarthy heard the good news that afternoon, and was glad for Lombard.
He was glad his partner had managed to find a girl friend for himself.
Not exactly and not yet, but his predictions came true. Soon, Lombard
looked like he was getting laid too much for his own good, if there even
was such a thing, acording to Mc Carthy.
And then came the day when he personally plugged the surveillance
camera into Lombard’s TV. From that moment on, nothing was ever the
same.
Slowly, but surely, Lombard deteriorated. His refusal to say anything
about his new companion was strange, but not so unusual. Still, there
seemed to be too much secrecy in all this. Images before Tony’s eyes
started to run faster.
Image of him, sitting at Lombard’s apartment, waiting for the
technicians to arrive…him, plugging the camera in…the face on the
screen, so familiar, but he can’t remembered when or where he saw
it…then
he
remembers…Lombard
comes
in,
carrying
groceries…McCarthy says something to Lombard, he smiles, then
McCarthy presses the play button and Lombard’s world comes tumbling
down.
242
‘Shit…motherfucking stinking shit!’ Finally, weeks after it was all
over, McCarthy managed to say how he really felt about the situation. He
got up, poured himself a decent glass of bourbon and drank it like it was
mineral water.
Then he poured himself another one and sat in front of the computer
which lay on top of his messy desk, with papers piled all around.
He stopped for a second…
‘What am I doing?’ Thinking it over and trying to provoke any signs of
conscience didn’t last long, since he was already too deep in this .
‘Shit, Pat…something’s the matter with you, and I’d really like to know
what it is.’
He started typing, his square jaw being constantly illuminated by the
blue light from the screen. If it wasn’t for occasional blinking and raising
the bottle, he’d appear like a runaway exhibit from Madame Tussaud’s
museum. Thanks to the democratic transparency that was the law in his
country, he was soon looking at a somewhat younger and more cheerful,
but definitely the face of his colleague, Patrick Lombard.
‘Hi, Lomby, my friend ’ , he said, powered by three shots of bourbon.
Information came pouring out.
‘Yeah…yeah…blah blah blah…’ McCarthy was mumbling as his eyes
were flying from left to right, like he had some medical condition.
He kept on reading. Finally, all he got from rubbing his butt sore on
Lombard’s uncomfortable chair came down to a couple of items of
information.
He found out where and when he graduated from elementary school,
then high school, then the police academy. There was also a list of his
hobbies, opinions, names of his previous supervisors and all other more
or less standard bullshit. All in all, Patrick had built quite a name for
himself, even a blind man could see it from this report. But, there was
something else. After reading the reports that followed solving some of
his cases, he couldn’t help thinking they were deliberately stripped bare,
providing only the necessary information.
Eventually, it all came down to a phone number at the bottom of the
screen.
‘Fuck it, I’m already up to my neck in shit’. He grabbed the phone and
typed in the area code, followed by a phone number. Calling Seattle,
Washington, USA. He was already drunk enough to disregard all possible
negative consequences of his snooping. He didn’t even know if the
number had been changed.
‘Hello’ a voice was heard after the third ring.
‘Hello, my name is Tony McCarthy and I’m a detective in Central
Police Precinct in Columbia District, South Carolina, did I get Seattle
Police Department?’
243
‘In flesh and blood, sir.’
Tony smiled. He heard the soft humming and buzzing, which might
mean whoever was on the other line was screening the call this very
minute.
‘I’m actually working with a colleague of yours, Patrick Lombard…’
‘Pat Lombard, our golden boy, hope he’s not in any trouble?’
‘No…no, nothing like that’ he was a bit ashamed for saying that, while
he was preparing to spill some more lies: ‘I…we, here at the precinct,
would like to know more about him, you see, we’ve been preparing a
kind of an almanac, I’m sure you got something like that going as well, it
would include everybody who had worked in our institution for the
last…I don’t know, 50 years. Our boss liked your Patrick so much he
wanted to get him in the book, even though he’s only on a loan, so to
speak.’
‘I see..Patrick, that old dog, don’t let him charm you so easily, he’s got
quite a reputation for doing that here.’
Tony remembered Lombard’s tired face, deprived of sleep and twisted
from worrying, so opposite to the face which had arrived to North
Carolina.
‘No, he won’t, I promise you. See, this publication requires some
personal information on your Lomby, that’s how we call him here, and
since our boss specifically requested to keep it all very hush-hush, there’s
no way to get this information on official way without him suspecting
something ’
‘No…sharp as a blade, he is’, the voice answered.
‘That’s right, so I would like to ask you to send me some data on my
private fax number, because if Lombard sees his private things coming
out of that old piece of junk down at the precinct, God knows what he
might think, not to mention spoiled surprise.’
For a while the man didn’t talk, but what he said then came as a mild
surprise to McCarthy.
‘OK, Tony, I’m not sending anything to 23-54-889, if I understood you
well?’ He’s checking the data right now, who knows what he’s found so
far, McCarthy thought and couldn’t help feeling respect for his invisible
friend.
‘You’ve been checking all that while we’ve been talking?’
‘Want me to tell you where you live, or what you look like?’
‘You guys in Seattle are a nightmare for bad guys, right?’
‘You bet your ass, Tony.’
‘No need…my fax number is 23-69-907. When can I expect the
information?’
‘How soon do you need it?’
‘I’m afraid as soon as possible,.’
244
‘Don’t be afraid, I’ll tell my people to get on it today.’
‘Thank you very much, mister…’
‘Just call me Albert.’
‘That sounds like a name of…’
‘I hear that all the time…so, the more the better…sure you need all that
crap?’
‘No, but the more the better, there’s got to be something there I could
use.’
‘I see…say Hi to Lombard for me, will you?’
‘You know I can’t do that, Albert.’
‘Of course, how stupid of me. OK, Tony, say hello to South Carolina
for me, especially to the girls, will you ?’
‘Who says ’hello ?’, What should I tell them?’
‘Santa Claus, who else?’
245
CHAPTER 64
Lombard sat on the edge of the bed, oblivious to the sound of the
buzzing phone, while beads of perspiration were forming on his
forehead, as a strong headache came down on him with a vengeance to
complete the list of unpleasant things that had become his new reality. He
pressed his temples so hard he thought he was going to pierce them
through.
That didn’t help. It felt like a large hammer was striking an equally
large anvil somewhere deep inside his head. Thuuum...thuumm...thuum...
every new heartbeat came with excrutiating pain.
His brain was strugling to cope with the details of conversation that
had just ended, hoping to make at least some things clearer. But instead,
it only made it worse, and caused him to feel afraid. There was no other
way , he had to admit to himself - it was fear of the unnatural, regardless
of how his practical police mind agreed with Sonny Everett when he said
that all this similarities were simply coincidence and nothing more than
that.
Patrick Lombard, once with his feet very much on the ground and
reasonable, wasn’t sure of anything anymore, he sat on the bed with his
shirt half-tucked in and a beard of a couple of days, and was looking
less and less like his old self. But the thing that scared him the most was
that he couldn’t understand what was going on - never, absloutely never
had a woman such a devastating impact on his psyche like Helen Brown.
In his lifetime he had had more women than he could remember, some of
them he loved, some of them he didn’t , but this madness made of
passion, complete surrendering and lies was new for him.
By that he didn’t mean lying, secrecy, false excuses, twisting and
turning...he meant human heads in the fridge, professor Conrad’s serious
face as he tries to remember who Helen Brown might be, but failed,
Helen, always awake, always focused, always there....
Then clouds of love and lust dispersed, revealing grey, grim sky where
strange, puzzling questions started to rise . However, his brain felt too
exhausted to analyze all this information.
At the same time, there were too many of them and they were too
intense to ignore.
Why did Helen’s diet consist almost exclusively of raw, bloody meat he
wondered? Why would she run into the bathroom every time she would
eat something other than that, and stay there for a long time? Patrick liked
women and felt physically attracted to them. He remembered the first
246
time when he plunged his face between her legs. He sensed – nothing,
there was no scent that accompanied intimate female body parts , Helen
Brown didn’t have any apart from that vague, sweet scent that...didn’t feel
human at all, Lombard quickly concluded.
Why was she awake all the time, or almost all the time? Why did he
feel she was always hiding something from him? Keeping their
relationship a secret, lots of sex, lots of nights at the movies...Lombard
now felt like he was being watched, closely followed, analyzed and
scanned, involuntary thought crossed his mind.
’Scanned’ , he repeated mechanically.
There wasn’t a doubt that Morton had already sent some of his people
to look after him, and that they’ve probably watching him now. He
slowly got up and came to the window, with the lights still off. He was
right. Across the street he saw a car. Suddenly, two cigarette embers
glowed one after another, not revealing the faces of the men inside.
’You should quit smoking, boys, it’s bad for your health, just like all
that beer you’re shoving down your guts every day’, he murmured,
hidden behind the curtain.
Yes, he was being watched, and he couldn’t blame Steve Morton for
making that decision, if he were him he would’ve done the same. These
heads everybody was looking for for so long, suddenly fuckin’appeared
in an alleged apartment that belonged to his alleged girlfriend? And who
happens to find them ? He - of all the detectives in the precinct. He tried
to remember how many detectives had been convicted of murder so far
and managed to recall a few. But this...this was the act of a madman or a
beast. Or a monster .
Killing a person is one thing, but to rip his head off, to bite through the
vertebrae and leave the headless corpses in a car covered in their own
fecies was something utterly different.
And to top it all he was now a suspect, perhaps even the only suspect.
’Dear God, what have I done to deserve being sent to this place, where
all this had happened to me ?’ he asked God during one of the few
conversations he ever had with him.
Suddenly, he understood what he should do. Yes, he had to act, and he
had to act fast !
’I should better move below the radar, at least until something gets
cleared out’ he was talking to himself, suddenly sure of his next move.
He came back to the window only to see the same thing again. A sedan
was parked across the street, dark and gloomy like a coffin on wheels.
’You just sit there, fellow officers, you are bound to get bored
sometime.’
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Lombard went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee without
sugar, and was pleased to find that there was some vodka left in the
bottle.
Now he had all he needed and the waiting began...Lombard knew he
would win this round, and that’s exactly what happened. When he came
to the window sometime later, the sedan was gone.
’I told you you’ll get bored, guys...but what I didn’t tell you is that
you’re following the wrong guy. And you’re actually getting paid to do
this? Shame on you’
He exhaled loudly, like a rhino. Then he came to one of the closets,
grabbed a suitcase and started packing.
’This is totally First Blood¸ starring Patrick Lombard as John Rambo’,
he thought. Soon the bag was half-full, and he closed the metal zipper.
It was 1:30 a.m.
Then he put on his jacket, checked his Beretta and went outside where
the warm, quiet night was waiting for him.
’It’s always quiet before the storm’, he thought, and a grin came over
his tired face.
......................................................................................................................
When Lombard failed to show up for work the next morning and
Morton assembled his men, they all knew what the reason for that was.
Steve Morton looked very serious as he gazed at his detectives.
’OK, listen up, no need to keep this a secret anymore, you already know
what happened. Our colleague, Patrick Lombard disappeared from his
apartment, and also from his work, as you can see. In light of the previous
events which all seemed to somehow involve him, I don’t think I need to
explain the reasons for wanting to see him in this very precinct a.s.a.p.
But for now keep it all low, check out all the places where he could be
hiding, and if you see him, try and bring him in peacefully...I don’t know
what this is all about, but I sincerely hope mister Lombard will be kind
enough to explain it all to us... ’finally’, he added.
Morton’s face loomed up again.
’If...if he attacks you, and I’m talking about use of fire weapons, react
as in any other case ’
The assembly was over and the hunt for Patrick Lombard had just
begun.
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CHAPTER 65
July 1943, The Battle of Kursk, The Eastern Front
In this early July morning, nothing could indicate that the upcoming
battle would become such a landmark of the Eastern front, and the
beginning of the end for the German undisputed superiority in the
Second World War.
Hitler, seeking vengeance after his terriblle defeat in Stalingrad,
looked for a way to strike back. Many decades would pass until humanity
finally understood that its very destiny was for years in the hands of a
deranged drug addict. This, certainly the most famous methamphetamine
addict of all time had a vision which, as a result, had a horrific cost for
close to fifty million people all around the world.
Erich Von Manstein was a German field marshall and commander of
the Army Group South. It was he who invented the operation Blitzkrieg,
the same one that took Western Europe by storm. This noble German
lieutenant didn’t have a doubt in his mind that his supreme commander
was going crazy. Pragmatic and consistent, he raised his eyes toward the
clouds that overlooked the sky on that particular July morning, preventing
the sun from shining on the ground that would soon become the arena for
an historical battle.
Von Manstein managed to stop the Russian counter-offensives by
giving them a wider area, after which he managed to recapture Kharkov
in the spring of the same year. Together with Hausser , the SS panzer
division commander, he planned the offensive from both north and south
side, as well as the elimination of every Russian soldier caught in betwen.
Alongside them stood general Walter Model, as he had been on every
front line from Kiev to Moscow...
On the other hand, Russian general Georgy Zhukov had already made
his name in history by defeating the German Army during his counteroffensive on Stalingrad, thus showing to the rest of the world that the
Germans could be defeated.
It must be said that the Russians did have additional help – the British
had managed to crack the German coded messages to HQ, and kept
sending them to the Russians, enabling them to prepare their defense and
collect strong reserves when and where they were needed.
Von Manstein both praised and hated his charismatic and already
famous opponent. At that time, though, he didn’t know that Zhukov had
already sent 1.300.000 men and 2.000 pieces of exquisite artillery, plus he
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was accompanied by his supreme military staff: there was Rokossovskycommander of the Don Front, general Pavel Rotmistrov of Soviet 7th
Tank Corps, as well as Ivan Konev, who would later be promoted
Marshall of the Soviet Union for his achievements in Ukraine.
It was July 5th 1943, and the largest series of armored clashes in history
was ready to begin.
In that same place, at that same time, something else was about to
happen, something that had nothing to do with two colliding armies .
Alexander Miller was gazing over the wide open space, noticing only
how small, black dots moved on the other side. Actually, these dots were
55-ton German Tiger tanks, followed on each side by smaller, but faster
and more agile Panthers. Miller was an infantry lieutenant, by then quite
experienced in combat. Next to him stood Heinrich Blaham, also a
German Army lieutenant, and his good friend. They understood each
other without saying a word.
’They’re too far away, Alexander’ Heinrich finally broke the silence,
talking about their tanks in the distance.
’Yes...they are far away, and these devils may take advantage of it,
dammit.’
Both of them hated the Bolsheviks and considered them inferior,
militarily and civilizationally. Indeed, when it came to manners and
professionalism, the Germans were by far surpassing the opposite side.
But nevertheless, they were invading their land, and after the hell that was
Stalingrad, nothing was the same again. The Germans were still proud,
still brave, but they had now lost the most important aspect - the aura of
invincibility. After that battle, they were reduced to mortal, vulnerable
human beings made of flesh and blood, just like everybody else.
When fighting began, it wasn’t long before all hell broke loose. The
stench of the fuel from the exhaust pipes of metal monsters mixed with
the dust and the screams that came from all around.
He was a proud infantry soldier, but for the first time in his life,
Alexander Miller wished he was inside these ’steel coffins’, as he called
the tanks.
One the other hand, the Russian T34 tanks were much faster than the
Tigers, and since there was too many of them, the Tigers’ high calliber
cannons couldn’t do much damage, at least not as much as their
constructors had hoped for, above all ’Fast’ Heinz Guderian, the leading
proponent of tanks and mechanization in the Wehrmacht.
Against his Tigers stood the T34, which Guderian reffered to as a rubbish
bin’, with a total weight of 26 tons, much lighter artillery and a rather
modest debut back in 1941.
The noise was becoming unbearable. In addition to the ground noise,
Russian Ilyshin aircraft started attacking the Luftwaffe formations.
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Screams and shouts, along with the yells of wounded soldiers, helped to
create a hell on earth only the human race was capable of creating.
Alexander Miller was a brave and honest man. When he was drafted, he
simply accepted his fate and didn’t complain or protest much.
When he spotted the first Russian troopers run towards his position,
Alexander Miller’s mud- smudged face spread into a savage smile.
’That’s it, just you come over here, damn you all!’
’Do you see them, Miller?’ Heinrich Blaham asked as he lay next to
him, watching how the black mass made of steel and flesh dragged
toward them like some live ominous entity, but Miller didn’t answer him.
He also didn’t notice that a pair of obsidian eyes was staring at him,
some twenty yards away.
Soon the dark mass transformed into many Russian soldiers that were
advancing and, at the same time, shooting at them.
’How many Russians will be killed by their own bullets?’ Miller’s
analytical mind was estimating as he looked at the progress of their
enemy.
Then he noticed one Russian soldeir lean forward and then collapse to
the ground, face first. The shot almost certainly came from behind, fired
by one of his comrades.
’That’s it, that’s bloody it, go on killing each other, you demons’,
Miller said, his eyes fixed on the advancing mass. The next moment he
heard a strong scream, about five yards to his left. A young man, almost a
boy, sat up, holding his chest. Alexander watched everything in slow
motion. Red fluid was pouring through his clenched fingers. Then the
boy’s head exploded, or at least that’s how it looked to him. Upright and
motionless, he was an easy target for a Russian sniper.
Miller was astounded to realize he actually envied the boy. It was a
quick and rather painless death, unlike many others he had witnessed,
with people dying for hours or even days on end, from stomach wounds,
with their guts torn to pieces, limbs cut off...he’d heard too many dying
men praying for death to come and take them not to understand that this
young man’s departure was quick and merciful at the end.
Finally, two armies, two worlds, collided. Everybody was attacking
everybody, with the same basic desires: to kill as many enemies as
possible, and to stay alive. Alexander Miller was no exception to the rule.
He was swinging around with his bayonette, screaming and shooting at
the approaching Bolsheviks. The air was damp with sweat, blood and
fear. Gods of mercy that were watching the battle from above chose not
to interfere. The mighty Mars was ruling now, and everybody stayed out
of his way. Miller lost track of time, of who he was, of what he was doing
here...he became just an ordinary contestant in this nightmare.
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He was so high on adrenaline that in the first moment he didn’t feel it
when something stabbed him in the back, then the pain made it’s way
through.
He turned around, and saw a man, too dark-skinned to be German he
tought, walk toward him with a grin on his messy face.
The rifle in his hands was still smoking... in a split second Miller
realized it was this man who had shot him. Then another thought rushed
through his mind. The man who shot him had done it on purpose !
Seconds seemed to last like hours...
Alexander was not a superstitious man, nor was he a strong believer.
The things he believed in were work, order, discipline and himself, and
that was enough. He didn’t believe in prophecies, curses or evil spirits.
Like his grandfather had, for example. Once, whe he was a young man,
his grandfather had taken him to the local inn. Alexander’s heart was
bursting with pride, for that invitation meant he was no longer considered
a boy, that he had become a man.
The Millers soon loosened up, aided by strong drinks. Then he saw a
sudden change to grandfather’s behavior. His face became gloomy, it
seemed like he wanted to tell him something, but for some reason he
hesitated to do it.
’Grandpa...what’s the matter?’ he asked, but the look on his
grandparent’s face made him immediately regret his question. Then his
beloved grandpa told him a fantastic story, a story that left him
breathless... all the while there was no sign of drowsiness in grandpa’s
eyes, he didn’t look one bit tipsy, let alone drunk. No, he was an old
patriarch telling a story that was much more suitable for medieval times,
when people believed in werewolves and vampires.
He told him everything: about the burned witch, the infant stomped to
death, the cursed village, the cursed seed of Sigmund Delke and finally
about their role in all that.
’You must watch out, Alex, they might come after you, for you are a
part of the oath their ancestor made with the devil. If they do come, they
will come suddenly, when you least expect it, and they will come to kill
you.’
Now, many years later, he remembered those words as he stared at the
strange, armed man in front of him.
Suddenly, Miller believed in every word his grandgather had said all
those years ago.
’These people have coal-black eyes, their heart is darker than the
darkest night...beware, Alex, these are not ordinary people.’
The pain in Alexander back made him kneel, he looked like a knight
kneeling before his lord, but nothing could be further from the truth.
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The dark-skinned man was approaching the wounded target, his eyes
beaming as he came closer. Miller knew he was hurt badly, at least badly
enough to prevent this man from the next attack.. Then, suddenly, he
became calm and unnaturaly serene regarding the chaos and explosions
that surrounded them, even the pain was gone.
Their eyes met, and like many times in the past Aryan sky- blue met
Stygian coal-black, while death was raging around them.
The barrel of the rifle slowly rose toward Alexander Miller’s face. The
man behind the rifle said, grinning:
’Looks like we finally meet, you dog... in the middle of this battle with
this bolshevik bastards, it will be me, Bodo Delke, who is going to put
an end to your outcast semen.. Have you got anything to say before I spill
the entire chamber into your head, Alexander?’ The man seemed
oblivious to the slaughter around them. Miller responded:
’Go to hell, where you belong, you scum!’
Then the barrel came to his eyes and a shot was fired, but strangely
disconnected from overwhelming screams from thousands of men and
engines around them.
First of all, Miller was confused because he could still see, and everybody
knew that the dead can’t see. Then he realized what had happened. A
perfectly round hole appeared in the middle of his enemy’s forehead. But
even though the bullet, for it must have been a bullet, had certainly passed
through his brain, Delke was still standing above him...blinking.
Beware, Alex, these are not ordinary people.
Then Delke fell down, and stayed down. He was dead, just like any
other ordinary man would be on his place. That was the last thought that
went through Alexander Miller’s mind before he lost consciousness.
He woke up days later in a mobile hospital, and found that his old
friend, Heinrich Blaham, had brought him to this place nearly two miles
away from the battlefield.
’Heinrich...nurse, where is Heinrich?’
The woman looked down at the ground , and Miller’s throat clenched.
’Where is...Heinrich?’
’Lieutenant Miller, lieutenant Blaham died from the injuries sustained
in combat. He was shot in the chest and never had a chance.’
On July 10th, the Allied forces attacked Sicily. In order to strengthen
his defence, Adolf Hitler decided to withdraw two SS Panzer Corps from
the Russian front. Along with them came a handful of lucky casualties.
One of them was Alexander Miller.
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CHAPTER 66
Like all others under Steve Morton’s command, Tony McCarthy was at
the meeting himself. When the meeting was done, he ,like all others,went
out, in search of Patrick Lombard, a.s.a.p.
Dead or alive, McCarthy thought as he put his sunglasses on and left
the building.
’Hey, Tony, wanna go with us, the motherfucka must be somewhere
near, right?’
The voice belonged to George Vorteski, a big bearded guy McCarthy
had played pool with about a hundred times, and beaten him almost every
time. Next to him stood little Scott,a red-haired detective with a babyface
and a heart of stone. Tony carelessly shook his head.
’No, you two go ahead, I’m starving...or maybe you’re scared shitless
now, and you need good old Tony to take care of you two girls ?’
’Ha...ha...ha...always had a sense of humor, even when you’re full of
shit, Tonny boy’, the young Scott replied. ’See you later, after you’ve
filled your intestines’, he grinned.
’You better watch out, or I’ll come over and fill your intestines, only
from the wrong end...or is it the right end for you, I don’t know?’
Scott blushed, but Vorteski reacted quickly.
’Come on, both of you ,we’ve got work to do...save your private
business for later.’
The big guy and his ginger partner soon disappeared in the scorching
heat. McCarthy was alone again. He certainly wasn’t going to roam the
streets of Columbia, hoping to find Lombard in some crappy dump of a
bar, or on a park bench. First of all, he doubted Lombard would be
spending time in any public place, unlike the dim Vorteski and the dumb
Scott Cershaw, and second of all, he wanted to – no, he had to – do this
next thing alone, no witnesses.
He came to Lombard’s building, relieved to see there were no cop cars
to be seen. He spent the next couple of minutes watching, until he was
sure Lombard’s apartment wasn’t under surveilance. While he walked
toward the enterance, Tony remembered how Lombard asked him to
guard the flat along with that bitch of a camera. Now, he was standing in
front of the building, with the same glass eye on him, the one which he
had turned on so carelessly, after all it all went down some strange,
deranged path. McCarthy pressed the button of a randomly chosen
apartment .
’Hello...who is it?’ an elderly person said.
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’How do you do, ma’am, I’m with the waterworks’ he pulled out his
police I.D. and smiled at the lense that suddenly remined him of that,
what was it called, oh yeah, Hal, from Kubrick’s Odyssey.
Fortunately, this Hal was no match for this situation. He didn’t see it
was a scam,a buzz was heard and McCarthy found himself inside the
building he thought he’d never set foot in again. He leaped up the stairs
and soon got to Lombard’s apartment. Then he took out a set of key-like
items made of steel. Some of them were longer, some shorter, others were
jagged, there were even some so round they looked like miniature rolling
pins. He quickly looked around, there was nobody in sight. He chose a
pointed piece, similar to a nail, and jammed it in the lock. He slowly
turned it to the left, then add another piece of equipment to the right.
About ten seconds later there was a click, and McCarthy was inside the
apartment . Again.
He was welcomed by stale air and silence. Tony felt like he was at a
crime scene, although the only criminal thing inside was a sink filled with
too many unwashed dishes. On the kitchen counter he saw two empty
bottles. According to the labels, one used to store vodka, the other
bourbon.
’Oh...Pat, for God’s sake...’
Tony McCarthy had seen a lot in his career. But he had never seen any
colleague of his go through such changes so quickly and drastically.
He used the next ten minutes to scope the interior as closely as he
could. He couldn’t find anything even remotely suspicious, let alone
accusing . Nothing that would specifically tell them it was Lombard
behind these atrocities. And wait a minute, didn’t his boss insist that they
send Lombard here, after those murders happened? How could he have
possibly been involved in any of this when he was thousands of miles
away at the time? And, above all: WHY would Patrick Lombard do
something like that? Motive – none. McCarthy knew the forensics would
soon be here, and knew the procedure by heart. He also knew his own
fingerprints were most likely to be scraped from somewhere. The other
day he was walking around the apartment, touching this and that, moving
things around, examining...it would be useless to frantically start wiping
the place clean now. No, he was in Lombard’s apartment that Saturday,
he had good reasons to be there, and sure as hell he wasn’t going to lie
anybody about it.
He tried to put himself in Steve Morton’s position. What did Morton
have on Lombard? Nothing. Maybe skipping work, and Lombard’s false
story about that anonymous caller. Maybe not in that exact order, but that
was it. Not showing up for work and telling one lie wasn’t nearly enough
to send out a chase like the one Steve Morton just did.
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’Try and bring him in calmly...if he tries to resist you, I mean uses his
weapon, act like in any other similar sutuation’
’Fuck !’
McCarthy was convinced his partner wasn’t guilty of anything at all. His
own experience and intuition told him that, along with lack of evidence.
Those three things were more than enough to keep McCarthy way out of
this manhunt, although officially, that was exactly what now he was now
part of – roaming the city streets, looking for his partner, accused of been
somehow part of a double homicide. He looked at Lombard’s computer
for a moment , then pressed the start button.
When he saw the password being requested, he sighed. Minutes turned
into half an hour, then the whole hour. Just when he was about to give up,
McCarthy suddenly thought of something.
’Fuck it, I got nothing to lose.’ He typed Helen – nothing happened.
Then he tried Helen B- and to his amazement the machine opened up for
him.
He start from Disk A, then B, then C. He clicked on the My Documents
and started scavenging through Lombard’s personal files. An hour passed,
then another...Tony was beginning to feel tired. Then he went through the
pictures. There were all kinds, on some Lombard was alone, on others he
was with some unknown men and women. But the one picture that got
Tony’s attention was different than the rest.
He barely recognized Lombard. The photo was obviously taken a long
time ago and a young, very young Lombard was standing next to a
shorter, older man. There was no physical resemblance between the two
of them. The hypnotized McCarthy enlarged the photo and looked closer
into Lombard’s face – he was still just a boy. He looked like he couldn’t
wait for the ancient, non-digital camera to take this picture, so he could be
on his way. Then McCarthy looked at the old man. Even though he was
smiling, he seemed very anxious as he put his hand over Lombard’s
skinny shoulders.
’Anyway, he’s wearing a nice expensive suit’ the stylish man in
McCarthy came out. Clothes may go out of fashion, but style and class
last forever, according to Tony. There was something else about this
picture that intrigued him, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand
what it was. His eyes fell down to the green lamp on the printer. Soon he
was holding a decent copy of the photograph, which he folded and placed
inside the inner jacket pocket. More pictures followed...it was evident
Lombard was a more sentimental spirit than McCarthy. Then he came
across a picture that caught his eye not so much because of what was on
it, but because of what was written on it. There was Patrick, standing next
to a huge man, much taller than Lombard, who, with his 5foot11 inches
was no dwarf himself . They were on a beach somewhere, holding a big
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fish together. Blue skies and the open sea were stretching behind them. At
the bottom of the picture it said: Patrick and Sonny, real men.
Lombard was sincerely smiling on this one, a complete opposite of that
other, older picture with that old man.
Sonny and Patrick, Sonny...Sonny...where’d he heard that name before?
And then he remembered. Inside Lombard’s not-so-protected computer
there was a list of important contacts, and among them there was that
name. McCarthy opened that folder again and soon found it. It said:
Sonny, then a phone number, and nothing else. McCarthy wrote it down
and then spent another hour watching, or rather spying on Lombard’s
personal documents, making notes now and then. when he finally looked
at his watch, he realized he had spent more than three hours inside
Lombard’s apartment. He went out, locked the door the same way he had
unlocked it earlier, and soon got lost in the city crowd.
He went to the pub, lost all three games of pool he played, went out on
the street and suddenly felt a stronge urge for mating. He immediately
dialled a number and waited for an answer. He didn’t wait long.
’Hello?’ a sweet, soft, definitely a woman’s voice voice said.
’Hello’ it’s me, Tony. How is my sweet , gorgeous darling this night ?’
’Tony?!’ the voice was thrilled from excitement and happiness. ’Baby,
where are you?’
’Practically in front of your building, love.’
’Well, what are you waiting for, why don’t you come up?’
’I’m not actually in front of it, but I’ll be there in ten minutes...if you
want?’
’ I’ll be waiting.’
’Naked?’
’I’m already naked, Tony.’
McCarthy felt his pants becoming smaller.
’Sssss...’, he hissed quietly, imagining .
’Tony...you ok?’
’ Of course I am, honey, fill the tub, I’m coming.’
Fifteen minutes later, Tony’s face was plunged between a pair of big,
nice, soaped tits. The girl had no face, no name...she only had a body, a
pair of tits and a vagina...and that was all Tony needed right now.
While he was finally coming half an hour later, he realized he had to call
a man by the name of Sonny Everett as soon as possible.
’Yes, that’s right’ he shouted.
’Yes...that’s right...baby, you...you’re so good...’ the girl let out a string
or interrupted cries.
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CHAPTER 67
The hunt for Patrick Lombard was hidden from the eyes of the public,
and that was the reason why Lombard had checked into the Traveler
Inn in the outskirts of Columbia without arousing any suspicion.
The simple, gloomy hotel room became his home, his harbour. He spread
out on the squeeking bed, staring at the ceiling, doing nothing, thinking
nothing.
He fell into a short, dreamlees sleep only to wake up a few hours later,
confused and disoriented.
By then the alcohol had mostly vaporised from his system, but it also
took away the last remaining atoms of adrenaline, the fuel he’d been
riding on for God knows how long. Just the idea of having another drink
made him sick, so he ran to the sink and tried to get the toxins out of his
guts, but all he managed to do was to eject a combination of slime and
some bitter, yellow liquid.
When the futile contractions finally ceased, he stumbled back to bed
and crashed again .
Lombard had plunged into quicksand, and had no idea how to get out
while all the problems he’d been facing during the last couple of months
came tumbling down on him.
The center of it all was, without a doubt – Helen Brown. Or more
precisely, the person representing herself Helen Brown. Once again, ice
cubes were rolling down his spine. Helen, alive and luscious, Helen,
buried in some shithole in Pensylvania...a body without a scent, except
maybe that sweet scent of...
’No!! It’s impossible! It’s fucking impossible, so stop torturing
yourself!’ he yelled and plunged his head into his arms.
’It’s i-m-p-o-s-s-i-b-l-e! The dead don’t eat, they don’t speak, don’t
fuck!’
He looked like a madman more than ever: rough beard, stains all over
the shirt, glassy, feverish stare...
He thought that therapy might be a good idea. Then he laughed.
’Go see a shrink now? Just when it’s becoming sooo interesting? No
way. I’d rather wait and see how this all ends, and then...well, I got plenty
to tell to the man anyway.’
Then he realized he was starving and went out of the room.
......................................................................................................................
Tony McCarthy barely managed to get it through the day. He couldn’t
wait for his shift to be over, so he could go straight home.
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All these looks and questions were simply irritating, since they were
all about Patrick Lombard, or rather about him and Patrick Lombard. The
charming and cool Patrick Lombard could’ve easily made friends with
anyone, but it was only natural that he became closest to the casual
McCarthy, a womanizer who enjoyed shooting pool and drinking beer.
They were an interesting couple, everybody envied their ability to have a
good time, with no wives to nag them when they get home and put their
feet up on the table...or left the toilet seat up. But that time was over and
Lombard became persona non grata overnight, while McCarthy was
considered a sort of a spokesperson for him, as far as the rest of the
precinct was concerned. All that really bothered him, the stares, the
interrupted sentences everytime he would walk into the room...the more
time passed, the more he realized he could easily lose it and punch one of
the detectives right in the face.
Finally, the shift was over.
’Fuck you all’ McCarthy growled as he was leaving, not caring if
anyone heard him.
Tony didn’t know where Patrick was, but he knew he was in real
danger. He heard Steve Morton give his men permission to open fire if
necessary, thus making Lombard a clay pigeon for their shooting practice.
He could easily see that moron Vorteski, or that little asshole Scotty
assuming the position behind the car, shouting at Lombard to get his
hands up after they’ve all emptied their chambers.
’Lombard, where the hell are you...everyone’s after you, you’re a
bigger celebrity than Michael fuckin’ Jackson, do you realize that? Come
on, be a good boy and show yourself, Pat...do you hear me?’ McCarthy
was chanting in the privacy of his apartment. Then he added in a low
voice:
’Actually, don’t show yourself, stay in whatever hole you’ve crawled
into, until this is settled’. Then he dialled Sonny Everett’s number and
got through immediately. His deep voice matched the photograph
McCarthy had seen on Lombard’s computer.
After a few opening lines, no-nonsense Everett asked him why he was
calling,.
’Mister...McCarthy .’
’Just Tony, please.’
’OK, Tony...’, ’I’m guessing two things right now, you wanna hear
what they are?’
’Yes, please.’
’First, you’re calling because Patrick is in some kind of trouble, right?’
’Yes, that’s right.’
’And second, he doesn’t know you’re talking to me now, right?’
McCarthy was astounded:
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’You’re right again ’
The short silence was interrupted by Everett’s deep voice.
’OK, Tony, let’s see...I must admit I didn’t like the Patrick’s state of
mind in when I saw him last time either...and I also didn’t like the thing
we
talked
about’
McCarthy was silent .
’I don’t know how much you know about all that, but he was trying to
get in touch with a woman called...’
’Helen Brown.’
’Yes, exactly’ Everett agreed, ’and he asked me to help him locate this
person.’
’So, did you find anything, any clues?’
’Clues? No, nothing. The only thing I did find had nothing to do with
the case, unless you believe in vampires and all that bullshit, Tony.’
’No...of course I don’t, but I’d like to hear about it and make fun of him
later.’
When he said the next words, there was nothing funny in Everett’s
voice.
’Unfortunately, there’s not much fun in all this...actually, it’s fucking
scary.’
’I’m listening’ McCarthy said coldly.
A couple of minutes later, when Everett was done with talking, he felt
exhausted.
’You’re saying the woman on the photograph he gave you looked
exactly the same as the dead girl?’
’That’s what I’m saying, yeah.’
’Shit.’
’You can say that again.’
In the next few minutes McCarthy told Sonny how he shocked
Lombard with that surveilance video when they were in his apartment. It
all seemed trivial, compared to Everett’s story, but in some eery,
inexplicable way, the stories made sense together.
’Shit...’ it was Sonny Everett’s turn again. ’Fucking shit. How is Patrick
now?’
McCarthy had no reason to lie to Sonny.
’I don’t now...he’s gone missing, Sonny.’
’Shit.’
’Yeah. I saw the photo of the two of you, holding some nasty fish,
grinning, it looked like you were good friends, am I right?’
’Pat and I? You bet, this kid can be a hard-ass sometimes, but he has a
heart of gold, once you get to know him.’
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’I know him enough to agree with what you’re saying. But it’s also that
much harder to me to understand this,whatever is happening to him,what
was he like as a child, tell me.’
’I don’t know, I met him when he was a youngster, just like me.’
’A youngster? What does that mean, how old were you?’
’Well, let me count...hm...about seventeen , eighteen.’
’Did he ever tell you about his childhood, anything worth remembering,
Sonny?’
’Not really, except his parents died when he was a little boy. He was
raised by some cousins, probably, but come to think about it, I don’t
know a single thing about him prior to the day we met.’
’That’s weird.’
’Up until now it wasn’t, but come to thik about it...yes, it’s weird.’
’So, nothing at all?’
’No...wait, yes, he did tell me once that he used to have some sort of a
benefactor, or something.’
’That’s not against the law.’
’No, not at all...but I’m afraid that’s all, more or less. You know, we
hadn’t had much time to discuss family trees, with all those girls and their
round asses, plus all that booze.. I really don’t know what I would do if
Patrick came to me in the middle of an orgy and showed me a picture of
his late grandma.’
McCarthy cleared his throat.
’Sonny, I don’t know you, but I want to thank you,you’re a hell of a
guy.’
’Thank me? No, Tony, thank you for caring about fuckin’ Lombard,
after all he is my friend, right?’
’That’s right, I’ll let you know if...when I find out where he is.’
’Please do, Tony.’
The conversation was over.
CHAPTER 68
Johnny Darkwood finally started weeping and everything was again
silent, apart from his slobbery, heavy breathing. He was youngish, but at
that moment he looked at least five years younger. All that had no effect
on the woman who was sitting on the tree stump nearby, gazing at him
intensively. Minutes passed, and Darkwood didn't dare look up. He
jumped when he heard her woice.
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'Johnny...so you'd rather not tell me about the people around the fires?
That's all right. Maybe you really don't know who they were, and anyway
that doesn't matter so much. I guess they are, or were, a group of
insignificant mortals convinced they would get in touch with the other
side.'
Darkwood didn't understand anything and just sat there, waiting.
He didn't have to wait too long.
'You see, fate, your fate wanted you to be a part of what had started
long, a very long time ago. The story you're about to hear is a rather
simplified version of the real events, but I'll try to keep it as genuine as
possible.'
Darkwood silently nodded.
'Once upon a time, in a counry far away from here, lived a girl whose
name would not mean anything to you, so I won't say it. And she wasn't
like the rest of the girls in her village. She was proud and beautiful, more
beautiful than the others and many suitors wanted her hand. She turned
them all down, except one.'
Helen Brown stopped, and Darkwood felt he should get her a glass of
water somehow, so she could clear her throat, even if it's only water from
the swamp.
That's exactly what she deserves!
'Do you have any idea why she'd turned them all down?'
Darkwood needed a second to realize she was now asking him a
question.
'I don't know, maybe...maybe she was already, like, pledged to another?'
Helen Brown suddenly burst into laughter, showing her shiny, white
teeth.. ’
’ No, this wasn't laughter, this was...an imitation ’ , he realized.
'Well done, Johnny, how smart of you. You saw right through it, is that
the correct expression? She was pledged to another and she didn't want to
betray her future husband, just like any other good and honest girl.'
She wasn't laughing anymore.
'But, you see, that didn't stop the men from her village from trying, they
all hoped they could make her change her mind and choose them
instead...how little did they know, Johnny.'
Our Father...thou art in Heaven...Hallowed be thy name...
'It went on for years, until their admiration turned to hate, because they
thought that she was too vane, and that she acted like she was better
than all the rest...which she was.'
After a short break, Helen continued.
'I said I'll keep it simple, so...one day, one evening, she was sitting at
home with her newborn son, only a few days old. The baby was sucking
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the milk from her full breast, the whole image was a celebration of life,
their good fortune and the boy's father.'
...and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass
against us...
'Then, in that wonderful moment of happiness, she saw torches in the
distance and she knew...that they were coming to get her, she knew that
the end was near.'
Darkwood seemed to be tuned in, he was imaginning a beautiful girl
with a bundle in her hands, one large breast uncovered, held by tiny
hands...pink skin on the baby's face...
Shadows fell over the swamp, and giant treetops were lost in the
upcoming darkness. Darkwood was now absolutely focused on this
ancient story.
'...and then they surrounded her, men and women alike, and they stared
at her with their eyes full of hatred...she stared back at them calmly, she
wasn't moving at all, Johnny...her heart didn't sank before the bloodthirsty crowd, I'm telling you, she just stood and watched them like they
were a pack of ugly dogs, which they were.'
Her voice suddenly became lower, and her speech slower...
'Dogs or not, there was too many of them for her to fight back. They
killed the child right there, before her eyes, they stomped him to death,
turning him into a faceless, bloody mash. That's what they did. She just
stood there watching, never said a word, and then she came with them
like a queen, her hair was shining like gold amidst all the torches,
pitchforks and hoes...and nobody dared touch her, Johnny, not even now
when there were so many of them, and she was all alone...'
She looked up at him, saw he was listening carefully, and continued.
'They kept her locked in a basement, since the village didn't even have
proper cells, and they tortured her...first they beat her, then dragged her
with ropes until all the ligaments in her arms and legs were torn. And all
the while she didn't make a single sound, Johnny, do you believe me?'
'I believe you,' Johnny whispered.
'After that, they shaved every hair from her bruised body and took her
to the main square. It was a sunny day, Johnny, and everybody came
wearing ther best gowns and suits. They waited patiently for the carriage
to appear, and it did eventually, carrying a cage on the top. Inside the
cage was the girl, shaved and covered in cuts and bruises, like an animal.
That's what they did to her, Johnny, on that beautiful, sunny day.'
Somewhere deep inside Johnny's mind a voice was yelling What's that
got to do with me? but nobody could hear it, not when this story was so
interesting, scary, but so devilishly interesting.
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'Then they tied her to the stake...her hands were tied behind the pole,
her hair was shaved off and her dress was shredded, but she was still
beautiful, so out of reach for all of them...do you believe me, Johnny?'
The boy's throat was too clenched to respond.
'Then they lit the fire. The flames didn't catch her at once, you see...at
first, everything was covered in thick smoke, with only a few flames
bursting here and there...but soon the wood caught fire. Then the flames
suddenly rushed upwards, licking her legs, stroking them like luscious,
passionate lovers.'
Her voice faded out, only to return more powerul.
'And then the girl cursed them all...cursed them for what they did to her
and to her child, saying her princ will have his vengeance, and all
responsible for her terrible fate will be annihilated, vanquished by plague,
sickness and sorrow...she hung on for a while and then she died in terrible
pain, Johnny'
...deliver me from Evil...
Darkness fell on the still water surface. To any accidental bystander the
two of them looked like an ordinary couple, a boy and a girl talking about
something important, hence the serious faces.
On the opposite side of the swamp where it was even darker the
growth silently parted to let the massive, dark figure slide into the water
which closed above him.
'Yes, that's what happened. Soon the cursed started dying, along with
everything they posessed. The population decreased by half, than that half
decreased by half...'
What do I have to do with all this, I didn't burn any blonde woman, I
never carried any torches...
But no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't turn this hazy
thought into a question. He heard something somewhere...in school they
taught them about women being burned back in the middle ages, after
they were accused of...accused of... However, he couldn't remember
anything else. Some idea was creating in his mind, but too much
adrenaline mixed with fear seemed to numb his already limited academic
knowledge. But still he realized, he was able to realize...a part of him was
struggling with the truth, clinging to the shallow, everyday facts like
today was the 21st century, not the 16th, food is baked inside microwave
ovens instead of caves, people go into space, the President of the United
States is well into his second term which makes his father happy and his
mother not so happy...
You idiot, can't you see, can't you realize?
Helen Brown spoke to him again.
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'We all have certain fates from the day we're born until the day we die. I
asked you if you believed in the afterlife, and you said no, if I remember
it correctly?'
Johnny could smell the sweet scent, too strong to ignore...he’d roamed
around the wilderness enough to know the smell of decomposing flesh.
But he couldn't dare to determine where it was coming from.
Behind him, a dark, massive creature was silently approaching. Pale
light from the moon was now reflecting upon something that wasn't there
before. Green scales were moving just below the water surface, it seemed
like a some huge reptile was out hunting.
Helen Brown stood up, which made Darkwood leap again.
His whole body was shaking, he was suddenly feeling very cold...he
tried to say something, but seemed too frightened to make a sound.
'You know who the girl's husband and the boy's father was, do you,
Johnny?'
Tears ran down Darkwood's face again. He slowly nodded. The girl
stared at him like she was hypnotized. Then she slowly looked up, toward
the swamp.
'Well...then it's time for you to meet him, the one next to the father
whose child was killed, whose wife was burned.'
'But it wasn't my fault! I got nothing to do with it! I...I...' then he
dropped to his knees and uncontrollably started sobbing.
'Johnny' Helen Brown's voice was now flat, deprived of both sympathy
and hatred. 'These waters have secrets, as you already saw. Now it's time
for you to go over to the secret side. Turn around, Johnny, and take a
look.'
Thummm...thummm...
The ground behind Johnny's feet trembled lightly, which made him cry
louder and shake his head.
...Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever, amen...
He couldn't stand it anymore. Slowly, he started turning his head, as his
frightened eyes threatened to pop out of the sockets...against his will,
moaning, he looked at the massive feet, huge thighs, giant phalus, then up
toward the enormous chest, and eventually found himself staring at two
burning red eyes and two thick, curved horns above them.
...now and forever...
'Mother of God' he moaned. The creature's scream was different from
anything he had ever heard...no living thing was capable of making such
sounds. The next moment the giant arm with long, black claws closed
around his neck, too fast for the paralized boy to react.
His face turned red and he instinctively gripped the monster's hand, but
it lasted only for a second. The next moment his eyes popped out of the
scull, one by one. Then came the cracking, and in one infinitely effortless
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motion the head of Johnny Darkwood was severed from the torso, then
thrown on the ground.
The creature let the head fall to the ground, and then he tossed the body
aside and turned toward the girl. She looked directly at him, not
frightened at all. She quickly undressed and now stood completely naked
as the creature came closer. When the monster's hand touched her breast,
she shivered and let out a tiny scream. Then the hand slipped between her
legs. The girl's eyes were now shut, she was murmuring something...then
the giant pushed her to the ground, where she stayed. His penis, the size
of a grown man's underarm was now aimed at the dark skies that covered
this unreal scene. The moon cast its light on the wide back covered in
scales as it lay down toward the woman spreaded legs. She threw arms
around the creature's shoulders, then closed her eyes .
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CHAPTER 69
Steve Morton’s office was unusually quiet for that time of day, the
noise from the street was gone and Morton just sat still like a statue, face
leaning on his large forearms. In his long and profilic career as a
policeman, Morton had a reputation of being a ruthless and hard-core
professional, and his current position as a commanding officer was a
natural result of years of sacrifice and investment into the service. He was
hard on the others, but even harder on himself.
In any case, he paid a high price for his professional success, painful
memories of a failed marriage and grown-up children he seldom saw
were buried deep inside his soul.Today’s Morton could hardly remember
ever having a life outside the Columbia Police Department.
And now, after all those years of going by the book and avoiding
stepping on the wrong toes, he was facing a serious dilemma: should he
call Seattle and tell them that the hunt for their man (the one he
personally requested three and a half months ago) had just begun, or, to
work on his own and think about Lombard after he finds him. Morton felt
Lombard was somehow involved in this case, that somewhere-somehowsomething had happened that made him act strangely. Extreme mood
swings, aloofness, absence of mind, and above all that tired face of his,
the face of utter exhaustion.
Exhaustion from what?
Morton had seen plenty of psychopaths in his life, people who were
sheer politeness and eloquence at one moment, and pure monsters the
next. Lombard’s case was different, but all the main symptoms were
there. Also, there was his obvious lying about the non-existant phonecall
that supposedly told him where to find the heads . Something was
definitely going on with Lombard, but Morton couldn’t figure out what.
’I’m gonna find you, Lombard, wherever you are, and then we’ll have a
proper talk, like fellow cops and men’, he mumbled to himself, staring at
the opposite wall covered with photos of fugitives, various notifications,
orders, decisions and plans... For a moment he imagined that a large mug
photo of Lombard was on that wall. A few hours ago, one of his men
discovered that Lombard was on several occasions meeting with a certain
Johnny Darkwood subject, a freelance journalist without a police record,
in other words a nobody. His father was a local engine driver, a typical
blue collar, just like Morton used to be. This Johnny was one of the few
people they could contact, apart from the tennants in Lombard’s old
building who were so old themselves that Morton wasn’t sure if it was an
a apartment building or a nursing home, people whose opinions on
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Lombard were unmistakably determined: he was either a polite but quiet
gentleman or an arrogant and unpredictable person. Also, some of the
tennants minded his unwillingness to help, like for instance, when the
security camera was broken...Morton got all these details and still came
up with – nothing.
’Patrick Lombard’, contemplated Morton, ’is he just another lonesome
detective who has had his pinnacle and is now rapidly deteriorating,
showing the other side of himself’?
However, something bothered the Columbia Police Department
Commander-In-Chief even more. It was the fact that one of his best
detectives had become a very close friend to this controversial, and now
officially unavailable Patrick Lombard. That detective was Tony
McCarthy, a brave and tough man whom Morton trusted indefinitely.
Deep down, Morton blamed McCarthy for making friends with the new
colleague, and he needed to make a great effort to remember he was the
one who asked for Lombard’s transfer from Seattle, not McCarthy, not
anybody else.
Shit!
More than that, he knew that McCarthy was still in touch with
Lombard, keeping him up to date with the actions of the police. That
thought made his blood rush to his temples, causing a momentary
headache. He knew there was no point in following McCarthy, since he
was the best surveilance man in the entire precinct, perhaps even in the
entire state...the headache was getting stronger.
No, he needed to find Lombard some other way. It was only a matter of
time before the press found out what was going on inside his fort of law
and order. One of his men might accidentaly -or intentionally- blurt out...
’That’s right’, Morton thought grimly, ’the time has come when one
can’t even have faith in the fellow officers of the law’.
’Fucking, fucking, fucking Patrick fucking Lombard!’
A loud knock interrupted this academic lithany.
’Now what?’ the commander yelled, ready to explode at any time.
The door opened the next moment, and one of the rookies whose name
Morton couldn’t remember even if a gun has been pressed to his head
walked into the office and stood some ten feet away from Morton’s desk.
Both of the man’s ears were pierced, disgusted Morton noticed, even
though there were no rings or anything hanging from them, and his hair
looked like it had just caught fire. Nothing could stop Morton’s rage from
flooding over now.
The guy seemed to realize how incredibly guilty he seemed and just
stared at the floor, unable to face his chief.
’Can’t you see I’m busy?’ Morton suddenly asked.
’Boss I...’
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’Yes, you what?’
’I came to tell you...yes.’
What the fuck is wrong with our HR? Jesus!
’Tell me what?’ Steve Morton insisted the new guy finished this on his
own.
’I came to tell you that there has been another murder...’
’No...really? Murder? And where was that, if I may ask, maybe in the
ballet school dressing room? Let me guess what happened: someone took
a brush and slammed it hard into...’
’They found a body by the swamp, sir.’
Morton needed a moment to lose his dumb expression.
’What did you say?’
’They found another headless corpse, sir, but this time they found the
head too...near the body.’
Morton felt his heart pound against his ribs.
’...yes, all right, so, do we have an I.D on the victim ?’
’Yes, sir. The victim was a young male caucasian, the personal
documents we found on the body said his name was Johnny Darkwood,
sir.’
At first Steve Morton didn’t make the connection, but then it all came
rushing home to him. Lights in the thinking centre of his brain were now
turning on, while the ones in the rage centre were turning off. Then he
remembered.
’Johnny Darkwood?...Jesus!’
’Sir?’ the new guy seemed to find the courage to make eye contact,
since he wasn’t the centre of his commanding officer’s attention anymore.
But Morton just stared through him.
’...OK...so, he is getting rid of witnesses, though I still can’t see why, or
what’s the connection between the two of them, but I’ll find out. All is
coming together...finally!’
Then he realized the messenger was still there, in his office. He also
realized this message was crucial evidence, one that would help him nail
that arrogant star detective to any cross he chose! Things were finally
working out for him. Morton pictured himself holding press conferences,
he even knew which suit he would wear. Soon, very soon...
Suddenly, he felt overwhelmed by an extreme sense of sympathy for the
petrified rookie who still stood in the centre of his office.
’Listen, hm...what’s your name again?’
’Donald Barbik, sir.’
’That’s right, listen, Donny, I’m sorry about all that..noise, I meant no
harm, actually, I’ve noticed you around, you’ll make a big shot detective
one day, I can see that...and of course I was kidding about the ballet
school and all... we all lose it every once in a while, you should know
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that, being an officer of the law and all. Anyway, go get another burger
and coke, make it a large, you deserve it’
’I...thank you, sir, but I really don’t...’
’C’mon , I was young once, I know you could eat an elephant, just go,
Derek, and thank you for...being so professional’ then he practically
threw him out of the office and slammed the door.
For a moment he look at his reflection in the office mirror.
’Well, Patrick...maybe I really have no idea who killed those two kids
before you came to town, but I sure as hell know who did Johnny
Darkwood in . And pretty soon everyone else will know, you sick son of
a bitch, but let’s do it properly.’
Then he picked up the phone.
’Yes, hello, it’s me...put me through to the FBI, yeah, that’s right, the FB-I!’
He finished the conversation and leaned back, pleased for the first time
in a long time. Maybe he could take his new girlfriend to dinner tonight?
It’s been a while since he had pork ribs in sauce. And beer! A gallon of
beer, at least.
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CHAPTER 70
The third mornig in the hotel room was merely a grey haze to
Lombard’s eyes. He opened them, then closed them again. He knew he
wasn’t asleep anymore, but he wanted to postpone facing the new day and
all it had in store for him.
His mysterious absence from work
followed by his complete
inaccessibility, made him look more suspicious by the minute, he’d been
in this field too long not to understand that simple fact.
But still, he felt strangely indifferent, and acted like all of this was
happening to some other Patrick Lombard, and that the other Patrick
Lombard would consequently pay the bill, when the time comes.
Time.
Patrick Lombard didn’t know the exact definition of that word
anymore. What happened yesterday, what’s happening today, what will
happen tomorrow?
Now all these questions had a semantic difference more than a logical
one.
Ever since Helen Brown (the alleged Helen Brown, he corrected
himself) came into his life, everything had turned upside down. What
began as a gloomy police case had turned into a nightmare, sucked him
in and threw him down at the bottom, into the warm and sticky embrace
of insanity. He couldn’t picture her as a female anymore, no matter how
well he remembered all their hugs and kisses. Also, he couldn’t explain
why, but the part of him thought of her as - it.
She was it. He’d made love to it, went out to dinner with it...and then it
left his apartment while he was in the toilet , never to return...
’Dear God’ he moaned.
The nightmares were still there, still haunting. Last night he dreamed
something...so unrecognizable he just couldn’t get the message, couldn’t
see the connection.
But at the same time , somehow it all added up - in some strange and
bizzare way, all the faces from his dream seemed familiar. Unfriendly and
scary , but still familiar.
Coal black eyes, spiked teeth shining in the moonlight, blood flowing
down naked, mutilated skin, the bluest eyes he’d ever seen staring at him
softly at first... then they suddenly transformed into two burning flames,
devouring him angrily, while every night he resisted less and less.
He had turned into a silent observer, a still target for all those monstrous
images, messages or symbols, and he was losing strength, he was getting
tired, out of focus. Frankly, he was surprised he even got this far, but then
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again, what else could he do? Kill himself? The thought of suicide
snapped him out of the limbo he was in.
He started exploring his Beretta. Why not? Could it make things any
worse? The cold metal on his palm was calm and reassuring. He was
again a man with a choice, something he hadn’t been for a long time.
He walked to the mirror, stood in front of it and stared deep into his
own face. He was examining it inch by inch, like he was trying to find
something that wasn’t there yesterday. And the face that stared back was
the same one that has always been there. No coal black eyes, no green
scales, no horns, no black scabs...nothing, his usual self was staring back
at him, tired, telling nothing, explaining nothing. Nada.
The Sun eventually creeped out through the clouds, announcing another
warm day. For a moment Lombard wanted to get out and run a couple of
miles, but then he remembered his current situation and laughed. Run?
It’s better to stay low a bit longer, until it all clears up, then he can come
out with some explanation. His tired mind embraced this concept, thought
it was acceptable, great even. He splashed his face with cold water and
started humming. After all, what?
He quits Seattle Police Department ? So what ? He didn’t have a wife
or children to bother him about losing his job and send him to clean
toilets at the bus station. No, Pat Lombard could afford to choose. He was
in any case tired of corpses, murders of all sorts, pain, misery, sadness
and sorrow.
It was about time he changed his line of work, he’s been torturing
himself enough. More than enough. Why couldn’t he become a farmer,
for instance? An interior decorator? Body tatoo artist? All those
possibilities just stood there waiting for him. It seems that heavy, stained
curtains were finally rising from his eyes. And all that because of this
case? This is what I’ve been waiting for, he said to himself and nearly
choked with excitement.
These headless bodies, this mysterious girl who had disappeared even
more mysteriously, frequent nightmares which made him to lose track of
time and common sence...now, finally, his body had decided to defend
itself, and out came the final, holy truth . Yes, he’ll quit this job and get
something else, something that he could see himself doing, something
that could make him successful and respected.
New hope was shining stronger than the Sun, which seemed totally
indifferent to this quiet morning in the lazy American southeast.
One hour later, Lombard felt he needed to leave the room, which
suddenly became too small to hold him. He had to get out, had to get a
breathe of fresh air. There were so many things to consider now , so many
bridges to build before the old ones were burned for ever.
272
He wasn’t the first detective to give in to the pressure of the job, and
sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. His entire police career had been nothing
short of excelent, there was no dirty laundry hidden anywhere, no signs
of corruption or using his position for any personal benefits. Nada.
And that’s why the public (if they ever get involved) should be on his
side, because he was always on the side of the public himself .
He was always there to protect not just upstanding and successful
members of society , but also all those miserable creatures which he
treated like human beings, but who almost stopped being human because
of the overwhelming misery, ground by the wheels of capitalism in this
’promised land’, for all those who failed because they weren’t in the
right place at the right time, all those who didn’t know the ’right people’,
all those, all...
He vaguely saw the image of a young black boy sitting in his kitchen,
his large eyes staring at him full of fear and respect...he passes the plate to
the boy, and he accepts it eagerly...stares at him the whole time...little
black boy...grew up to be a man.
Tired from the walk through the corridors of time he went down the
carpeted stairs which buffered the sounds of his footsteps.
’Like a ghost’ he thought. He walked past the recpetion, where a
strange rasta person was sitting. Lombard was unable to determine
whether it was male or female, because the hair had covered up all of the
face. Reggae was coming out of the speakers while Lombard’s mood
was drastically getting better and better.
’...Nooo woman no cry...’ he was singing as he passed the newsstand
packed with papers, cigarettes, condoms and all other necessities for the
modern man. He thought it might be a good idea to see what was going
on with the world while he was been going through this catharsic
experience of his.
Then one headline stabbed into his brain like a dagger and made
Lombard’s knees got weak:
Another Swamp Murder. Another Headless Corpse! He frantically
looked for some other paper to deny this meaningless, moronic heading.
He took another one, but the headlines were equally brutal:
Swamp claims another life. Good God:
Head found a few feet from the body. Same killer, or somebody else?
Young man identified...he grabbed the magazine with both hands,
holding it as far away from the face as possible, like he was afraid that
the terror from inside might be transferred onto him.
It said:
New Swamp murder. A local member of the comunity notified the
police that yesterday morning, when he was walking near the swamp
shores, he came upon a decapitated male torso, while the head was lying
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on the ground a few feet away. The victim was identified as Johnny
Darkwood, a Columbia resident, currently unemployed. No signs of
struggle could be found anywhere near the body, apart from the unusual
tracks on the ground, the city pathologist Colin Devor stated after
examining the crime scene.
Patrick Lombard was suddenly running out of air and couldn’t breathe.
Johnny...Darkwood! Good God!
He immediately realized there would be no smooth career change, no
plants to water, no bellybuttons to pierce...no, it wasn’t meant to be.
Lombard couldn’t tell what would happen, but he knew his Odyssey
wasn’t over yet. He somehow reached the phone booth and dialled a
number mechanically. It rang once, twice, three times...then he heard a
sleepy male voice mumble ’Hello?’
’Tony, it’s me’ Patrick Lombard said.
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CHAPTER 71
Sonny Everett was a worried man. He couldn't tell whether he sounded
worried to Tony McCarthy, but he sincerely hoped he didn’t . On the
other hand, his guts were telling him McCarthy was really on Patrick's
side and that was all he wanted to know.
Slowly and unintentionally, he plunged into distant memories.
Pictures in his mind didn't form an exact timeline at first, but soon it all
fell into place for there was so much that bonded him and Lombard : all
those places they went to visit together, all those parties, drinking,
smoking, getting laid…
He tried to compare those images with the half-deranged, absent man
he saw a few weeks ago. Yes, something was definitely wrong. And his
friend called to ask him the most unusual thing. Everett was wondering
how could he not have noticed something was really wrong? But then
again, he had no telepathic powers to lead his brain down this goddamn
path that was now opening wide before his inner eye.
He asked himself not for the first time - 'What ties Lombard's runaway
girl with the Pennsylvanian obituary?'
The answer was, 'It's a coincidence that they look so much alike,
nothing more.'
This sentence remained hovering in the air for a little while before it
dispersed. But Everett's dilemma didn't disperse, in fact it grew bigger
and bigger and eventually transformed into silent resignation. For fuck's
sake, this is the 21st century, he believes in science, forensic evidence and
black holes, pays his fucking bills and goes to the gym twice a week,
although he should go more often and was aware of it. How does all that
fit into this horror story, and even more so , how come that Lombard
became a part of it ?
How was it possible that Lombard all of a sudden becomes a fugitive,
with his fellow cops chasing him all over the city of Columbia ? He tried
to contact him several times, but his friend remained unreachable.
That was what annoyed him the most, the fact that he couldn't get
Lombard to tell him his side of the story. Also, he doubted that Patrick
would call him any time soon.
'What's going on out there?'
He went back to the file his assistant put together, regarding the dead
girl from Pennsylvania whose body was dug out of the grave, never to be
found again.
Everett needed a whisky. But still, he didn't get up from the table,
instead he read the report again.
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And once again he
was looking at the file in disbelief, or
disapproval...his massive head was turning left and right as his face
become purple. Without looking he reached into his drawer, took
something and placed it down on his desk. It was a copy of the photo
Lombard had sent earlier. Slowly, he placed it next to the photograph of
the dead Pennsylvanian girl. The conclusion was inevitable - it was the
same person.
Too many coincidences were now screaming at him. A small scar just
above her right eye, a barely visible pit on her left cheek, as well as on
her right ear lobe...Everett finally gave up the notion that it was all just a
coincidence. What he was looking at were, simply, two photographs of
the same person. It would all be much clearer, though, if the body was
ever found.
But, that wasn't the case.
Everett had read a lot in his life. Occasionally he'd run into some
popular mystery novel, but it always represented that other side,
something that wasn't true, something that was part of some other far
away and unreachable world. Now it was different, it seemed like
something had happened to make the two worlds , the real one and the
metaphysical one – collide.
The two of his men he trusted the most were soon standing in front of
his large wooden desk.
Everett was always close to his employees, but this time he didn't even
look up when they came in. The two of them, Terence Platt and Rodney
Ross were just finishing a discussion as they were walking into the boss's
office,( Ross chewing gum, as always) but they immediately stopped
talking when they saw their boss just sitting there, staring at nothing.
Ross even swallowed his gum, which was something he rarely did. The
tension in the room was so thick it could be dusted off at the corners, like
cobweb.
'Terry, Ross...I want you to go through all this once again, and I mean
all this. First of all, check if the body of the dead girl has been found in
the meantime, find out everything about that man who dug it out, find out
how he died in prison, contact his prison doctor...do all you can.' Then he
added, 'this case is very important to me, don't talk to anybody else about
it, and be fast, as fast as possible.'
He gripped the edges of the desk until his fingers became pale.
'There is one other thing. Patrick Lombard is a friend of mine, I believe
you've seen him before', he didn't wait for them to confirm.
'I want you to find out everything you can about him, a.s.a.p. ,we got no
time to lose, so work fast and quietly. Understood?'
'Sure, boss.'
The two men left Everett's office in utter silence.
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……………………………………………………………………………
Steve Morton and the man across the table sat silently in Morton’s
office. The fact that he was a stranger made the silence even more
unpleasant. For that ocation Morton had brought in the best pair of chairs
he could find in the precinct , hoping they would blend in, but it was
obvious they were only there to accommodate this particular visitor.
Morton was chief of police in Columbia, but across the table from him sat
a man from another world. Basically, they were on the same side- the side
of law and order, but in reality, it was somehow different.
The man’s name was Dwayne Bronski and he was a special agent with
the FBI. The aura of this department had always had a special meaning to
the ordinary police, and their fame seemed to grow as they advanced
southwards, for this was South Carolina, not many states to go further
southwards that that.
The knock on the door surprised Morton, even though he'd been
expecting it.
'Come in.'
Two cops from the precinct came in and stood in the centre of the room
like soldiers, just like he'd told them to do. Their clothes were spotlessly
clean, but he already knew that, as he’d personaly ordered them to wear
them for this occasion, but what he didn't know was that Dwayne Bronski
had seen this pitiful exhibition numerous times before and simply went
on with the show.
'Yes?'
'Chief...we covered the entire county, units are still on the field. So far
no trace of the suspect.'
Steve Morton didn't answer immediately, instead he pretended to
ponder something.
Bronski was tired, he couldn't wait for this miserable performance to be
over.
'Right, keep on searching and report to me every thirty minutes,
understand?'
'Yes, Sir.'
The show was over, and the two of them were alone again. After a
while, Bronski asked , not trying to hide boredom in his voice :
'So, no sign of the suspect yet?'
'No, not yet.'
The FBI man started scoping through the file Morton had presented to
him.
'Hm...like I said, I don't believe there's enough evidence to prove that
Lombard is responsible for the latest murder. The fact that he's gone
doesn't mean anything.'
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Morton was silent.
'Anyway, we'll send somebody to the crime scene and hopefully make
some progress...as far as I can tell, there's not much more we can do right
now .'
'Yeah, you're right.'
Morton wanted a show, and for that show he needed the FBI agents. All
those nice suits, ties, style, in one word - publicity. Lombard came here
from another state anyway, and he was common good. Or evil. A voice
inside his head was warning him that maybe he called FBI a bit too soon.
'I'm telling you, I've been watching him for weeks as he became more
distant, more disoriented...when he personaly found the heads, I thought
there's something wrong with that picture. Him, of all people, to find
them? I asked him how he happened to find them, and he told me
someone called him on the phone, but when I gave the phone listing to
Lombard and asked him to identify the received calls, he couldn't do it.
After that I found out his girlfiend was living in that same apartment.'
Bronski seemed to be interested now, and for the first time looked up at
Morton with something else besides boredom in his eyes.
Morton was finally enjoying the situation.
'When he disappeared, I had no choice but to order my men to go and
try to bring him in quietly' he lied to FBI man through his teeth.
'But, when another dead body was found, and when it turned out to be
the man who'd been repairing his washing machine several weeks ago, I
knew I had to call you.'
Bronski was now completely focused, which was something he didn't
think would happen to him with this rather unpleasant man.
A few minutes later he was on the phone to HQ, asking for everything
they had on Patrick Lombard, just like Sonny Everett had done couple of
hours ago.
It seems that Patrick Lombard was getting more popular and more
absent by the minute, and this combination is known to causing a harsh
reaction, like oxygen and hydrogen, like fire and ice.
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CHAPTER 72
At first, McCarthy was speechless. Lombard’s call caught him off guard,
no matter how much he’d been expecting it. It was too late to think about
whether his line was being tapped or not. There was no point in hanging
up now, not for him , especially not for Lombard.
’Pat...where are you, man? Actually, don’t tell me, I don’t wanna
know.’
The voice on the other end was the voice of a stranger, raucous and
distant, like a person whose call had just woke them up.
’Tony...it all turned to shit, man...somehow it all got out of control.’
’What are you talking about, control? Pat, what’s going on?’
Another tedious pause followed .
’ Tony, I swear to God that’s exactly what I’d like to know. All I know,
which isn’t a lot, by the way, is that something is happening with me and
around me, something I can’t control or affect.’
McCarthy remembered the headless corpses and the photos of the heads
later with white layers of ice over their eyes.
’Pat, everybody’s looking for you, everywhere. I don’t know what to
tell you, part of me wants to tell you to turn yourself in, but another part
of me thinks it’s better if you changed sex and went to some remote
female monastery on Sicily. Frankly, if I were you, I’d go with that
second option.’
’No good, robes aren’t quite my thing, trust me.’
’Pat, you saw today’s papers?’
It was a statement, rather than a question.
’No, but I glanced at the headlines, Tony.’
’So?’
’So what?’
’Who do you think did it?’
’Not me, Tony.’
’I know it wasn’t you, but the question is who was it?’ his own words
now sounded untrue and shallow to him.
’I don’t know Tony. I’m not much of a believer, but I swear to God I
have no idea what’s going on. But there is one thing I do know.’
McCarthy was all ears.
’What is it, Pat?’
’Helen...she’s connected to all this, that’s all I know. How, I can’t say.
She’s not who she says she is, Tony, she’s...something else. Something
from...the other side.’
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’What other side Patrick?’
’The side of time, space and reality, Tony. She’s not...she...’ ,
Lombard’s voice faded, and all that was coming through to Tony now
was his heavy, nervous breathing. McCarthy was trying to understand,
but the more he thought about it, the less he knew. It was obvious
Lombard needed professional help.
’Pat?’
’Yeah?’
’Are you...I mean, are you taking any medication, some downers or
something, you know?’
’No, Tony, I was wasted these last few days, but I didn’t take any
uppers, downers, coolers or barbiturates.’
’ Pat, this is in deed some crazy shit, and with your recent behavior
you don’t seem to be making things any fuckin’ easier . I think you
should know that Morton contacted the FBI.’
Lombard wasn’t surprised nor excited, one more problem didn’t make
any difference.
’FBI?’
’Yeah, a guy named Dwayne Bronski came to the precinct. They say
he’s smart and sleezy. And Morton made quite a performance with clean
cuits, decent looking chairs and the sharp look ’ Then he said:
’Pat, what are you going to do?’
Lombard pondered this question like it was some difficult brain teaser.
’Hm...I don’t know, I think I’ll remain low profile for a while,
hopefully
they’ll find out who killed Johnny by then ’
’He wasn’t just killed, Pat, his head was fuckin’ ripped of from his
shoulders’.
’Seems to be a popular killing method round here.’
For a second, McCarthy thought about telling Lombard that he’d
spoken to his friend Everett, but then gave up.
Tony, you dumbass, if you’re investigating someone, you don’t tell him
about it!
’Listen Pat, if there’s anything I can do to help let me know, I know you
didn’t do it, but I also know the whole fuckin’ precinct is chasing you, all
those charming boys and girls you’ve been working with these last couple
of months. Silly, isn’t it?’
’Silly, but understandable, after all, I got the lead part in all this, right?’
’Pat, if you’re innocent, why are you running away?’ McCarthy asked
him quietly.
’Because...because...I don’t know, Tony, I don’t know what’s going on,
but I know I don’t like it one bit.’
’Neither does the precinct and its entire staff, myself included.’
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The sound that was heard had something to do with lifting the bottle
from the table and swallowing something soon after. McCarthy was sure
Lombard wasn’t drinking Coke, but he stopped himself from making any
comments. They were already waist-deep in this shit, one more bottle
didn’t make any difference. Suddenly , they had nothing more to say to
each other.
Lombard was the first to point that out.
’Tony, I just wanted to say that I got nothing to do with what
happened, and I wanted you to know that.’
’ I know that Pat, of course I do, all I’m saying is that this whole
situation is crazy, and that you seem to be right in the middle of it.’
’Tony, I am in the middle of it.’
These words came as a shock to his partner .
’What do you mean, Pat?’
’I honestly don’t know’
McCarthy needed a while to think about his next move. Sonny Everett.
Tony said he’d call him if he found out Lombard’s whereabouts. He
didn’t know where Lombard was, but he’d just talked to him, and that
must mean something, he thought.
Everett’s operatives Terence Platt and Rodney Ross stood still,
occasionally transfering the weight of their bodies from one foot to the
other. Again, Everett wasn’t looking at them, it looked like his eyes were
accidentally stuck on something, and the two of them were waiting for his
moment to pass. He suddenly snapped out of his trance .
’So...what did you find, supposed you managed to find anything at all?’
Terence spoke first.
’Well, boss, this Patrick Lombard is quite an uncharted territory, I’d
say...’ and then he went on before his boss could make any comment,
’...we searched the registries, publications, yearbooks. It looks like he just
fell down on Earth.’
Everett nodded, which was enough for Platt to continue.
’What we did find was mostly about his career, which seems to be
outstanding.’
’It is outstanding.’
’Really, all evidence leads to that. He solved more cases in the first
seven years of service than most detectives did in their lives. But as you
go back toward his early youth, the informations seems to vanish.’
’Still, we managed to find out that Lombard’s did some humanitarian
work when he wasn’t too busy catching bad guys.’
Everett looked up.
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’What do you mean by that?’ he asked, honestly surprised, trying to
remember the early days he spent with Lombard. There was nothing to
indicate this new found aspect of his friend’s personality.
’In the late 80s he supposedly helped a boy after his parents had died,
actually...’ then he took out a piece of paper with some unrecognizable
stamp on it, ’... the boy lived with him for almost two years, judging by
all this, Lombard fed and clothed him, and also helped him through the
schooling period. I guess this has nothing to do with the case, but since
you asked us to find anything we could...’, he left the sentence in mid air
.
Everett was stunned. He’d never heard anything about it from Lombard,
who was never a bragging type, but also had never had an aura of secrecy
around him.
’When exactly did this happen?’
Terence Platt told him the exact dates.
Sonny couldn’t understand anything. By then they were old friends,
they went out for drinks, chased girls and did all other things young man
do. What’s this ’good old Uncle Lombard’ stuff all of a sudden? Where
was this boy when he came to visit Lombard, rarely as happened? Under
the bed? In the flower pot? Hanging from the chandelier? No, that
couldn’t be, especially this chandelier part, he knew how much Patrick
hated chandeliers of any kind. But Everett didn’t think that any of this
was funny, and the professional urge for truth was taking over him. This
one was different, though, because the object of his research was also his
old friend, his good friend, Patrick Lombard. As hard as he tried to
remember anything that could explain these new facts, he just couldn’t
do it. But still, something told him his men came across something
important here. For a second he pondered about the nature of the
relationship between Lombard and that young boy, than shook his head.
Pat? Never. Never!
’So, what else did you find aboout Patrick?’
His operatives gave him the few remaining details , and the ones he
heard for the first time didn’t arouse any curiousity. When they were
finished, he grinned, trying to give the impression of a person who was
smiling, while his true feelings were totally opposite.
After he was left alone again, he focused on processing the information
he’d just received. That didn’t go so well. Then he remembered the girl,
the one who started all this. Helen Brown. Mysterious girl who looked
amazingly like the dead woman from Pennsylvania. The words of his
friend, the coroner came back to him:’Only identical twins can look so
alike.’
Sonny Everett never believed in ghosts and he wasn’t planning to start
to believe in them now. Still, as much as he wanted to explain the
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astonishing similarity, he couldn’t come up with any logical conclusion.
One thing occured to him, but it was so stupid he immediately felt
ashamed. The ring on his desk phone wasn’t set to the maximum volume,
but he jumped when it rang.
Tony McCarthy was calling.
’Sonny?’
’ Hi Tony’
McCarthy got straight to the point.
’Sonny, I told you I’d let you know as soon as I find Lombard.’
’Yes, that’s right’ Everett said at once. ’And?’
’Well, I didn’t exactly find him, actually I still have no idea where he
is, but I just spoke to him over the phone.’
’You don’t know where he is?’
’That’s right, actually...I asked him not to tell me. I hope you
understand that?’
Everett understood well, he would’ve done the same. Phones were
tapped everywehere, and Tony’s number could’ve easily gotten that
special status by now. No need to talk specifics over the phone.
’What did he tell you, how did he sound ?’
’He told me a bunch of things even a smarter man than myself wouldn’t
understand, also he sounded like he’s either been totally fucked up or
wasted for days in a raw. And I don’t blame him, if I had the entire
precinct on my ass, and had the girl I loved walk out on me without even
closing the door, I’d be the same.’
Then he told him about the new swamp murder. Everett wasn’t utterly
surprised after all that had happened.
’Steve Morton, our boss, thinks that Lombard’s somehow involved in
this last murder, if not directly responsible. He even contacted the FBI,
and they sent some guy by the name of Dwayne Bronski, and a few more
agents. It’s open season on Lombard now, Sonny.’
’Yeah, things don’t seem to work out for him to well’
Everett remembered what he was thinking about earlier, and even
though it seemed equally impossible, he asked.
’Tony, this may sound stupid, but do you know if anybody had dusted
Lombard’s apartment for prints?’
’Not as far as I know, why?’
’Well...I’d like to see if there are any prints other than Lombard’s.
Don’t ask me why, I’m ashamed enough already.’
’Why?’
’Because, fuck, because I’d like to see if...if any of the prints match the
late Helen Brown from Butthole, Pennsylvania.’
The silence that followed was extremely uncomfortable. And extremely
unusual. Everett waited to hear Tony’s voice, for hours, it seemed.
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’OK, Sonny, I’ll see what I can do, I mean I’m close to one of the
technicians, I guess I could ask her for a favor.’
’I don’t doubt you’ve earned it.’
Back in the stale motel room, Lombard was dreaming again. Part of his
conscious knew it was a dream, but still everything was so vivid, so
colorful, filled with sounds and smells. He was walking through a forest,
and there was the smell of mud in the air. A smell of swamp. Huge trees
were leaning above him, blocking the sunlight, but there was still enough
light for him to see where he was walking through. The plants were
spreading various shades of green before his eyes while he walked
towards nothing in particular. He felt like he was floating, like his feet
weren’t touching the ground. Then, far down the path, he saw how a
shadow was moving through the bush, and something told him to go
there. After a while, the shadow appeared again, this time closer. Just
before it vanished again, he seemed to have caught a glimpse of a human
figure. He went on toward the place where he first saw it , soon he
could hear the branches crack. Someone was inded moving, and he was
getting closer and closer to that someone, although he didn’t quite know
why. When the figure appeared again, he saw the blonde hair. He smiled
gently, his sleeping heart was unable to recall the pain and misery.
’Helen?’
For a moment he thought he should just yell ’Helen!’, but remained
silent, for he wasn’t sure it was really Helen there. He was right, though,
it was a woman. Suddenly he lost her. His heart was pounding, he was
looking around, but everywhere he turned there was nothing but giant
sequoia trees, and there was no sign of any girl. No sound of her, or any
human movement either. Somehow he knew he needed to find this
person. The head on the pillow was slowly turning from side to side,
following the motions from the dream, and his forehead was covered in
tiny beads of sweat. His jaw was moving as if he’s been chewing on a
piece of raw meat.
Back in his dream, Lombard was still looking around. Then he turned
and went back the same way he came. He didn’t notice that the birds had
stopped singing, nor that the green shades had given way to black.
’Pat?’ A voice was coming from behind.
He jumped like he’s been whipped. He turned around toward the voice,
knowing who would be there. He didn’t waste time thinking how could
she’d gotten so close without any sound while She just stood there, pretty
and relaxed, like a photograph, like a dear memory. Traces of a smile
were still visible on her lips.
’Helen?’
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The woman slowly nooded, like she was agreeing with what he said.
’How did you...what are you doing here, I...I’ve been looking for you
for days, ever since you walked out of my flat, remember?’ Patrick
Lombard asked what seemed like a perfectly reasonable question for the
state he was in. He felt lucky, because everything wasn’t lost after all,
Helen didn’t go anywhere, she didn’t leave him. True, they had a fight,
but which couple didn’t ? They will sort it out, his sleeping brain was
lying to him, everything will be like before. No, actually, it’s going to be
even better than before. Only...only...
’Pat, there’s something I need to tell you. Maybe I should’ve done it
earlier, but I feel now is as good a time as any.’
’Helen, I...you..let’s go home and talk about it, or to a restaurant, it’s
getting darker in here.’
’I love the dark, Pat.’
’I know’ Lombard said, not knowing how did he came up with that.
But now, as the words left his mouth, something seemed to have risen
inside of him, something that couldn’t be manipulated with sweet talk or
a pretty face. He went on talking .
’I know you love the dark, and I also know there’s something wrong
about you.’
’I know’ , he carried on, ’ that you’re not what you said you were,
you’re not at the University preparing a PhD on some native settlers of
this goddamn pond. I also know Tony wasn’t mistaken when he told me
he saw you stand across the street from the precinct for days ... I know all
that, but I would like to ask you just one thing: Why?’
Helen smiled sincerely for the first time, and Patrick hated her guts for
it.
’Oh, Patrick, there’s so much you don’t know, so much you don’t
understand. I just don’t know where to start’ she was speaking calmly,
while Lombard wasn’t feeling so excited anymore. Slowly, his dream was
turning into a nightmare.
His growing disappointment was corresponding to Helen Brown’s
excitement.
’You see, you’re well known and respected in your line of work. You
think you know everything, and think you can do everything, don’t you?
You think that nobody is a match to you?’ Her voice was becoming
colder, as well as the look in her eyes,which seemed to hold less and less
sympathy for Lombard.
’I can follow you whenever I want to and wherever I want to, without
you even knowing, just like now.’
Lombard was feeling sick. At the same time, he gratefully embraced the
hatred that grew inside his chest. The infatuation that had kept him from
thinking rationally all this time disappeared to be replaced with pain and
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vulnerability. Now, as his love was finally retreating, and his stare
became colder, his heart was beating faster, preparing for the battle. The
ultimate battle, since he’d lost all of the previous battles with this enemy.
Part of his brain was informing him about everything that had taken place
in between previous battles. Lunches, dinners, walks, talks, fucking.
Fucking.
Sometimes, even when their love was strongest, when his love wa
strongest, she somehow seemed detached, even during the most intimate
moments. Back then, his male ego and his infatuated heart wouldn’t let
him think about it more. he just thought that’s her thing, the way she
switches off in the moments of ecstasy and that’s it. But now he knew it
wasn’t like that. He was still dreaming , and in his dream , Helen was
still talking.
’It took me a while to find you, but you were eventually found. Your
routine was so boring, all that running three times a week, and those
pathetic visits to the pub with your fellow detectives. Still, I managed to
run into you in the most interesting manner. You remember what you
looked like when we bumped into each other? You looked like you’d
been in a fight with a pack of wild cats, and lost.’
She slowly turned and walked toward him, or so it seemed. His body
was tight like a string. With her came that familiar sweet scent he felt
when they were in bed. Now he felt it clearly. A few feet ahead of him,
Brown turned her head toward a low, ugly bush .
’Since we both know what happened later, I’m not gonna waste time
talking about it again. You were OK for a regular human being, I
suppose.’
’You were OK for a regular human being, I suppose!’
’But you made mistakes, Patrick, you made mistakes. Even if you
didn’t, it would make no difference to you. But at least you could’ve
protected some people from what happened to them.’
’Who, for example?’
’I’m glad you asked me that, Pat.’
In one fast move, too fast for a human eye, she lowered and plunged her
hands into the bush. She was now so close to Lombard that he could
touch her.
When she stood up, she held something oval shaped in her hands. As
Lombard was looking down, she reached out and handed him something
soft, smelly and hairy.
Patrick screamed. He was holding Johnny Darkwood’s half
decomposed head.
He was still screaming when he sat up in his bed, soaking wet from the
dream that had just ended.
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CHAPTER 73
Tony McCarthy didn’t waste wasting any time, as soon as he came to
work, he looked for Audrey. Audrey was a cheerful , dark skinned
woman. He told her more then once that her skin actually smel like cocoa
when she gets sweaty. She’d always laugh at that and tell him to ’get out
of here.’ Get out of here. There was something childlishly charming about
her, something that would make McCarthy stroke her hair, like she was
a litle girl. A few times, truth to be told, they were more than just
collegues from work. This morning, however, as he was approaching
her, his mind was at a very different place. Audrey noticed that, since the
smile had gone from her face the moment she saw him.
’Audrey, how are you, darling?’
’Hi, McCarthy, I’m fine, and you, you look a bit tense today ?’
’That’s because I came to see you.’
’Get out of here.’
’I will, but first I have to ask you something.’
’I realized that the minute I saw you in the hallway. Come on, speak up,
I ain’t got all day for you , you know.’
As McCarthy was whispering in her ear, her face was becoming more
and more serious. When he was done, she gave him a firm look which
clearly said how she felt about it.
’Tony, you, you... ass’ she said and looked at the ground, she really
was one of the most straight-up girls he’d ever met, McCarthy remind
himself. He still remembered how she’d asked him to turn of the lights
before she undressed and got into his bed, pulling the covers up to her
neck. He also remembered how he intentionally turned the lights on and
went toward the bed, grinning like an idiot, with his penis fully erect and
ready for action. Now, after all this time, he was finally starting to feel
ashamed.
I’m such an idiot.
’Tony, you know how our boss would feel about this , don’t you?’
Tony nodded, there was nothing he could say. Audrey prolongedly
exhaled before she said.
’When do you want to do it?’
’As soon as possible.’
To his surprise, Audrey turned straight toward the lab .
’Wait here, I’ll go get my stuff, I’ll be back in a minute. If I spent any
second more thinking about this suggestion of yours, I’d probably go and
report you to Morton myself. ’
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Ten minutes later their car pulled up some hundred yards away from
Lombard’s apartment. They sat silently for a while, and McCarthy’s eyes
fell down onto Audrey’s sculpted knees, the same knees that once spread
to let him in. Still, he didn’t dare touch her, because somthing was telling
him it might not go so well this time.
When they were assured that nobody was watching the apartment, they
got out of the car and headed toward the building while McCarthy was
struggling with an uncomfortable sense of a déjà vu.
’Why am I doing all this ?’ he mumbled to himself, suddenly feeling
agitated, but this feeling soon disappeared, and they came to the building
entrance. McCarthy remembered the camera, the same one that started it
all. This time he didn’t ring anyone. Instead he pulled out a set of key-like
objects and started working on the lock. Audrey made a clicking sound of
disagreement, but at the same time positioned herself between Tony and
any curious passers-by.
’Hurry up, Tony, if someone sees us, we’re screwed.’
No matter how calm and focused McCarthy was, he just had to stop and
look up, since he couldn’t believe these words were coming from her
mouth. Audrey caught his eye and winked at him.
’If she goes on like this, she’ll give me a hard one, goddamn it!’
McCarthy thought. He tried to picture this bizzare scene where he’s
caught with his dick aiming at the sky, trying to break into the building
where his colleague and now a prime murder suspect used to live. Just
as the headlines were running before his eyes, the door opened and
Audrey pushed him in. One minute later McCarthy broke another lock,
this time on the door of Lombard’s apartment, where they were
welcomed by stale air and silence. He sat down on the edge of
Lombard’s bed and let the girl do her work. About half an hour later they
got what they wanted, or rather what Sonny Everett wanted.
Later that night Tony McCarthy sent five scanned sets of fingerprints to
Seattle.
......................................................................................................................
..........
Morton and Bronski were leaning over a map of the wider city area. In
the upper right corner, the Congaree Swamp was stretched like some dead
blue worm. Bronski had contacted his superiors twice since this morning,
both times leaving the room while was on the phone. Steve Morton was
vane enough to take offence, but pretended not to care while he quietly
murmured ’And they call us, southern people, rude? What’s this? Maybe
the behavior of the noble? ’
At the same time, Dwayne Bronski couldn’t care less about the
feelings of this unknown, boring man. Still, they were on a mission
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together, and it was this Morton character who managed to get him
interested in a murder suspect by the name of Patrick Lombard.
’When are you expecting to hear from your field officers again?’ he
asked Morton.
’In about an hour, give or take ten minutes.’
’Make it half an hour.’ This sounded like an order, and it’s been ages
since anyone had given Morton an order.
’I’ll try my best.’
Bronski was exquisitely dressed, carrying a scent of parfume that
Morton found maybe a bit too feminine. From many points of vew they
were from two diferent worlds, and the chief of Columbia Police
Department was sincerely hoping that his guest would leave soon, never
to come back.
’I told you already , Morton, and I’m telling you again. My men had
searched his past through and through, and from what they say Lombard
is an esteemed professional, with nothing to indicate he’s capable of such
sadistic acts. Did you get the same impression, Morton?’
’Like I said, Mr Bronski, he seemed OK at first, but then he just turned
into a zombie. Sleepy, absent-minded, I can’t explain it, but he seemed to
be having some psychological issues.’
’Out of the blue?’
’I beg your pardon?’
’I said, out of the blue, so suddenly, without any previous indications?’
Morton blushed, but managed to stay calm. He slowly replied.
’Yeeaah, no previous indications whatsoever.’
Bronski nodded as if he just heard something very important.
’OK, what I would like us to do now, if you don’t mind of course, is to
get out on the field, you and me both. We can check the reports and
coordinate everything from the car. And Morton, take an unmarked
vehicle, in case we run into our guy somewhere, you never know.’
Soon they were patrolling the streets of Columbia, with Morton giving
out orders over the radio, basically saying the same thing over and over:
Keep searching.
Then came the call that made Morton sit up in his seat. It was George
Vorteski, a big guy with a moustache and a certified ass-kisser.
’Boss, we were just passing by the suspect’s former residence, so we
thought it might be a good idea to...’
’OK, got it, get to the point, Vorteski.’
’Yes, yes, right, as I said, we were passing by and we thought it might
be a good idea to go in and take a look...’ the dumb Vorteski was
persistant, ’...and we were welcomed by an old lady who said she saw, or
she thought she saw a couple leave the suspect’s premises.’
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’Did she seen them, or does she think she saw them?’ Morton yelled
into the microphone, forgeting that Bronski was in the car with him.
’Well...she said she saw this couple on the same floor the suspect’s
apartment was, so she thought they were the police. Did we send anybody
over there, boss?’
’ No we did not, what else did she say?’
’It was a mixed couple.’
’What do you mean by mixed, Vorteski, be more specific.’
’The woman, according to the old lady, was black, and the man was
white.’
’That’s it?’
’Well, yes, she didn’t say anything else.’
’OK, keep searching.’
Just as he was about to hang up, Vorteski spoke again: ’Boss, she did
say the man seemed familiar, like she saw him before, those were her
words.’
’Would she be able to recognize him if she saw him again?’
’I...forgot to ask, but I could go back and ask her if you want?’
Morton thought he heard Bronski chuckle.
’Go back and ask her’ , he said and turned the radio off before Vorteski
could confirm.
......................................................................................................................
..........
Sonny Everett silently looked at the man leaning in the chair across the
table from him. It was his old friend and occasional drinking buddy
George Smith, one of the hundreds of thousands George Smiths in the
United States of America. But, this George Smith was no ordinary
Geroge Smith. He was a briliant forensic expert and an experienced
analyst, Everett respected him very much for that.
He also respected the fact that he could drink a lot of beer, even though
he would frequently visit the bathroom after a few glasses - Smith was
almost seventy, which mean his prostate was as well.
In his lifetime, George Smith had seen more bad than good things,
simply by the nature of his job. Enlarged photographs of fingerprints
were laid out on the table in front of them. Some of the photos were
scanned, others were xerox copies. Both men were staring at them, like
they were a chess board with the decisive moves to come.
Sonny Everett broke the silence.
’If you say they’re identical, George, who am I to deny it?’
The man was still staring at the table, it seemed he didn’t even realize
he was being spoken to. Everett continued:
290
’But I can’t help asking, how could that be possible ? What is the
chance of an error?’
’One in thirty million, Sonny, but in this particular case less. Way less.’
’Why?’
’Because, you see these white lines here, here and in this upper left
corner over here, this barely visible one?’
’Yeah, I see it.’
’Well, it’s practically impossible, no, it’s completely impossible for two
different people to have absolutely identical laserations and scratches on
both hands. It’s just impossible.’
Everett had no reason to hold the truth from George Smith anymore,
that is, if what he was about to say could be considered truth at all.
’George, there’s something I didn’t tell you because I’m having a hard
time believing in the supernatural, and I wanted to hear your professional
opinion straight up, I hope you understand?’
Smith slowly nodded, and Everett continued.
’You see these prints on this white paper, they were sent to me this
morning from South Carolina, city of Columbia to be exact. They were
found inside an apartment, somebody who hadn’t been there for more
than a couple of weeks had left them there.’ Everett was now looking like
a man relluctant to tell the bad news to a close friend.
’These other prints, on your left, belong to a person from Pennsylvania,
from a small town called Crocodile Valley.’
George Smith smiled.
’OK, so you don’t think one person can be in two places at the same
time? Sonny, you would be surprised to hear how many times in my
career have I come across what seemed like identical fingerprints or
cigarette butts in different parts of the world, left at what looked like the
same time?’
’The person from Pennsylvania is dead and buried, George.’
Smith stared at him, then looked down at the photographs again.
’That’s impossible, there must be some mistake. Sonny, I bet my life, or
at least the little I have left, that all these prints belong to the same person.
Somebody is either seriously fucked up, or he’s just messing with you.’
Everett unintentionally raised his voice.
’That’s not all, George, there’s more. The person, the dead woman, had
disappeared from her grave. Someone took her corpse away never to be
found. The suspect was a certain Robert Malone, a drifter with a history
of mental issues. When they caught him, he immediately confessed,
saying that something had made him do it, and swore he just dug the body
out and left. He hanged himself in prison a couple of days after that. And
now you’re telling me the prints I got from Columbia early this morning
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are absolutely and definitely identical to the prints of the dead, buried and
then missing girl from Pennsylvania?’
’That’s exactly what I’m telling you, and I will repeat - It’s the same
person, definitely.’
Sonny Everett felt cold chills go through his spine, ending somewhere
inside his brain. Then he reached into one of the desk drawers and got out
a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He drank directly from the bottle, which was
something he rarely did.
But then, he’d never came across a case of a recently resurrected girl
who, from all people on the world used to go out with his old friend
Patrick Lombard. He thought about all those things she and Lombard
must’ve done, and then looked at the fingerprints again. He had to take
another large sip, after which he handed both the bottle and the glass to
George, who accepted it without a word. After a couple of shots each, the
forensic expert was gone and Sonny was alone again. Some time later,
his operatives came back with the information on the black boy. He was
a refugee from Ghana whom Lombard accidentaly saw on the streets of
Seattle one day, walking around filthy and disoriented. It turned out that
his parents were killed in a gang shootout in the suburbs, along with three
other people. Patrick took care of him for the next two years, and all that
time the boy was living with an elderly married couple. Lombard saw him
from time to time and paid his bills. The boy was now a freshman in
college, and in his spare time he was farming pigeons. And that was all. A
blank. A dead end. He was expecting the rest of the news from
Lombard’s past tomorrow, when his other contacts were supposed to call.
Sonny made an immediate decision for there was no more time to waste,
something was telling him Lombard was in danger. No, this was a lifethreatening situation, Everett remembered how fucked up Lombard
sounded the last time they spoke on the phone and what he had asked
him to do. Time was running out, he was now convinced , and that
something horrible was about to happen.
That same night Everett was on his way to Columbia, accompanied by
Terence – Terry – Platt and Rodney – Rod – Ross.
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CHAPTER 74
Lombard was taking a long shower. With both hands he pushed against
the wall above his head, it seemed like he was held at gunpoint by some
invisible attacker while the water was massaging his neck, shoulders and
head.
The look of Johnny Darkwood’s wet, greasy head and his shattered
vertebrae was still in front of his eyes.
Lombard had hit rock bottom. The thin line between reality and fiction
was fading, becoming nothing more than a question of semantics
formulations.
Everything was blending in some creepy, threatening and deranged entity,
something that made his desire to fight back grow weaker with every new
day and evaporate from his exhausted body.
Finally, he came out of the shower which failed to cheer him up. Still,
he managed to wash some of the horror off his skin and of his tortured
mind. He quickly dressed and examined the things he’d brought from the
apartment, now scattered all over the motel room floor. Instead of
packing up, he silently stepped out into the corridor. As he walked past
the reception, the Rasta head looked up at him, showing his actual face. It
was the face of a young and pleasant looking African-American in his
late twenties, with the lightest of smiles. But his smile was gone as he
was asked Lombard a question , and looked like he really wanted to hear
the true answer:
’Hey, man, you all right? You look very tired ya know, go get some
sunshine, like us Jamaicans do, nothing better than the Sun to lift spirits
up.’
Lombard vaguely heard him speak, but his words seemed to have done
the trick.
’Add a joint as a part of the package, and I might change my mind.’
The Rasta face now spread into a genuine smile.
’I knew you were a real brotha, only brothas think and talk like that.
Jah gave you his wisdom, I see.’
’You, too.’
’You bet, my brotha.’
’I’m sure.’
’Peace, my brotha, may Jah protect you.’
Lombard suddenly realized his throat had clenched and he turned
around as fast as he could, waved to the young man and went out into the
sunny day.
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It was almost eleven o’clock. He had no idea where to go or what to do,
plus , he didn’t have nearly enough money for the situation he was in,
that little he had with him would get him only through another day or
two. Then he realized he didn’t pay for the room and felt ashamed. Still
near the motel, he made an instant decision. A minute later he was again
at the reception desk, where Rasta was chilling with his headphones on.
Lombard knocked, and Rasta looked up from his High Times magazine.
’Back already, my brotha?’
Lombard tried to smile.
’Listen, Brotha, I left plenty of clothes and everything back in my
room...it’s all yours.’
They stared at each other, then Rasta slowly nodded.
’OK, my brotha, I hope you’ll beat your demons, may Jah help you.’
Lombard wanted to say that he wasn’t sure about that at all, but
stopped. Young man’s kind words sounded very much like a prophecy.
’Thank you, brotha.’
’No problem, brotha.’
They looked at each other again, then Rasta returned to the magazine
under the counter. Lombard went out, feeling a bit better. No matter how
tired or screwed up he was, he wasn’t forgetting the fact that his
colleagues were out there hunting him. He came to the nearest ATM and
cleared his bank account. The transaction would be noticed immediately,
and Morton would know where he was. There was no time to lose
anymore, he had to move if he wanted to see the end of this nightmare.
He would live to see the real killers get caught or he would be caught
himself.
Now I know how real fugitives feel, he thought as he recalled the movie
’Fugitive’, starring Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones. He remembered
good old Harrison running through the woods with his hands cuffed,
wearing a prison uniform, jumping into the foaming abyss from the top
of the river dam, then leaping from the train at the moment of an
explosion, and, of course, going through all that unharmed.
’I guess I’m not so bad after all. I’m not wearing a striped suit, my arms
and legs are free, I even have enough money to pay for lunch today. After
that, I’ll just have to wait’, he was thalking to himself.
He went to a nearby restaurant and ordered a large steak. It wasn’t
until the food was in front of him that he realized how hungry he was. He
ate the whole steak immediately, then ordered another one. He ate half
of it, drank his beer and loudly burped. After a long, long time he was
feeling human again. As he was getting the check, he noticed a patrol car
cruising by at some ten miles an hour. He waited until they were gone,
then left the restaurant.
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Not long after Lombard had left the motel, George Vorteski and little
Scott Gershaw found themselves standing in front of the reception desk,
watching how huge Rasta Dreadlock swayed to the sound from the
headphones. Vorteski slammed his hand against the desk surface so hard
he made the registry book and the adjoining pen jump in the air. Rasta,
also startled from the slam, stared at their uniforms with eyes wide open.
Before he could say anything, the larger cop said to him:
’Hey, you... do you work here, or what?’ George Vorteski asked loudly.
’Yes, I work here.’
’What’s your position here?’
Rasta looked at him like he was an idiot, which was more or less true,
as Vorteski’s own mother admitted to his sister long ago.
’I’m a receptionist, Mister Officer.’
Vorteski didn’t like that, just like he didn’t like yellow, brown, black,
green, purple or gray people...actually, the only color he respected was
white. He clenched his fists, turning them into dangerous leather balls
filled with bones.
’Don’t get smart on me, boy’ he growled, since he couldn’t think of
anything else to say.
’Did you see this man, by any chance?’ he was holding an enlarged
photograph from some ancient party, with a circle around Lombard’s
head. Rasta recognized Lombard immediately. He slowly examined the
photograph, twitched, frowned, tightened his lips. Just when Vorteski was
about to grab him by the hair and pull him out of his seat, the young man
said:
’No, Sir, I’ve never seen this man’, he said, shaking his head.
’Are you sure?’
’Aaa...bsolutely, Sir.’ Vorteski looked at his companion, who opened
his mouth for the first time since they came in:
’You better not lie to us, boy, because if you do, you will be
immediately deported from the territorry of the United States of America’
, he was talking as slowly and officially as he could. Rasta looked at him
like he was some interesting bug which also posessed the ability to speak.
’Deported? Where to? I was born in this country, where would you
want to deport me, man?’
’You’ll be deported either way!’
This was stupid even by Vorteski’s standards, but it was little Scotty who
was blushing and adding:
’OK, we’ll go now, but we’ll be back...if you see this man, notify the
precinct immediately, do you understand?’
’Yeah, man.’
Just as the officers of the law were leaving the motel, Rasta asked :
’What about Jamaica?’
295
’What about it?’
’Well, since you’re so determined to deport me, could you arrange I be
deported to Jamaica, man?’
After these words from the dreadlock receptionist, Scotty was
struggling to drag Vorteski out of the motel. He was the meaner, but he
was also the wiser of the two. Moments later they drove past the
restaurant Lombard had been sitting in just minutes ago. There was one
more thing for them to do – they had to go to Lombard’s old building,
show the same but now enlarged photograph to the old lady who lived
there, and ask her if she recognized the man she thought she saw in front
of Lombard’s apartment. Personally, Vorteski thought it was bullshit, but
the orders came directly from Steve Morton, and that was enough.
......................................................................................................................
Morton and Bronski reached their third hour in patrol, but they were no
closer to each other than they were in the beginning , physically nor
mentally. After a few halfhearted attempts they gave up the idea of
talking and continued staring at the road ahead of them. Neither of them
expected to see Lombard dressed like Mother Teresa, giving out candy
bars to the kids at some traffic light, but they hoped for something to end
this search as well as their unwilling colaboration.
After some time, the FBI agen said, more to himself then to man behind
the stearing wheel:
’I still have to admit there’s nothing about Lombard to prove your
theory of him being the main suspect in these killings.’
’You haven’t seen him change, Bronski. You’d think otherwise if you
had.’
’Did he ever seek psychological help?’
’No, why would he?’
’Because they would be able to spot signs of acute depression,
substance abuse or any other behavioral disorder.’
Morton felt like a school boy stuck in one of his least favorite classes.
’Listen, Bronski, all I know is this man had walked around the precinct
like a zombie, he also happened to be the one to find those heads in the
fridge, in his girlfriend’s fridge, nonetheless, and soon after that he ran
away, or to say it politely- he failed to show up at work.
And then, when yet another body was found decapitated like the ones
before, and when it turned out to be the head of the same young man who
happened to be fixing his washing machine a few weeks earlier, well, I
admit I may have become a bit suspicious. Not to mention how he lied to
us how some unknown male voice told him about the fucking heads in the
fucking fridge.’
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Bronski did nothing to stop this emotional avalanche. Morton might be
rude and abnoxious, but he’d learned a lot from all the years in service.
One of the things he learned the best was to repeat the facts that suited
him in the most theatrical manner. This one was too easy, and Bronski
realized he was wrong for speaking his mind at all.
They both sat silently for a while. Then the radio buzzed, and Morton
grabbed it immediately.
’Morton.’
’Sir, it’s me, Vorteski.’
’Go ahead, Vorteski, I’m listening.’
’We just came back from Lombard’s building, where we interviewed
that old lady I told you about ’
’Yeah, and?’
’Boss, she recognized Lombard right away, but she also recgonized
somebody else from the photograph.’
’Who, Vorteski, talk to me.’
’Boss, the old lady said she was almost hundred percent sure the man
from the photograph was in the building.’
’Who did she recognize ?’
’ She pointed at Tony, Tony McCarthy, boss.’
Morton felt the acid in his stomac suddenly rising up.
McCarthy, Lombard’s apartment, Lombard on the run, McCarthy in
Lombard’s apartment...what the fuck is going on here?!
’Listen, Vorteski, you have my permission to enter Lombard’s
apartment immediately, do you hear me, you don’t need any additional
authorization. Call me if you when you come inside, understand?’
’Yes, sir !’ Vorteski’s voice was hysterically excited. Both Bronski and
Morton were on the edge while they waited for Vorteski to call back,
which he did, few minutes later.
’Talk to me.’
’ Everything seems to be in its place, boss, nothing is stolen or broken,
as far as I can tell. I didn’t know we were dusting for prints inside ?’
Morton thought about that for a second.
’No, Vorteski, nobody took any fingerprints, what are you talking
about?’
For a while all that could be heard was the sound of static electricity
buzzing, then Vorteski spoke again.
’I don’t know, boss, but the entire place has been dusted, everywhere,
kitchen, bedroom, living room, bathroom...someone was definitely
looking for fingerprints in here.’
’Is that all?’
That is all, sir .’
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Morton turned the radio off and thought hard about what he’d just
heard. McCarthy was seen coming into Lombard’s apartment, but the
fingerprints ? Then he remembered. The old lady said the man was white,
and the woman was black. Woman. Black. There was only one black
female forensic expert in the precinct. Her name was Audrey Patterson.
’We’re going back to the precinct, I just found out something that
requires our presence there. I hope you don’t mind, Bronski?’
Bronski didn’t answer, it was Steven Morton who was stirring this ship
now, holding tightly with both hands.
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CHAPTER 75
Sonny was nervous from the moment he stepped into the plane, and he
had a good reason for that. His phone had to be turned off, even though
he wanted to make himself available at any moment if Martin Cage call
him.
Cage was one of his many associates and a supreme informant who in
the past had supplied him with information available only in the small
circles within enclosed and often mysterious government sectors. Cage
was in it solely for the money, but Everett never regretted money he gave
him. The assignment he had given him now was simple, its name was Patrick Lombard, all he could find about him, known and unknown facts.
It had been three days since their last conversation, and Everett was
becoming impatient. His standard operatives were more than enough for
any ordinary assignment, but these ’deep cuts’, as they called them,
needed a professional like Cage.
The plane landed and they went out into the scorching, shiny day, and
all three of them were blocking the sunlight with their hands as they were
warking towards the taxi station.
Sonny turned on his cell and stared at the screen.
’No missed calls, shit. Terry, Ross, let’s go freshen up somewhere,
before we check into some fucking hotel, what do you say?’
Terry and Ross instantly agreed, they knew what their boss meant by
’freshen up’.
Soon they were sitting in a bar arranged in southern fashion and drank
beer from large jugs. Just as they were finishing their second round,
Everett’s phone rang . A few seconds later he was pressing it against his
cheek with his paw-like hand, looking very serious.
’Hello?... Cage, I was just thinking about you, actually I never stopped
thinking about you since this morning... what do you have for me ?’
Then he focused on listening. Terry and Ross had no choice but to keep
drinking and try to figure out what was going on by the way Sonny’s
body reacted. Suddenly Everett stood up and started strolling up and
down, like the bar was his office. Terry and Ross had seen it many times
before and weren’t at all impressed, unlike the astounded guests at the bar
who followed the big man as he paced up and down, nodding and
occasionally saying ’yes’, ’sure’ or ’I see.’
He finished the conversation with a short ’Thanks, Martin, see you
when I get back to Seattle’. It seemed like the entire pub was waiting for
his next move. And as it turned out, his next move was to finish his beer
299
and order another round for the three of them. Finally he spoke to his
assistants:
’I ate a lot of shit with Pat, a lot. We were like brothers, really close, as
close as two straight men could get. Now all of a sudden, good old
Martin comes along with this crazy story, and the more I hear the less I
understand.’
’Why did you keep saying ’I see’ and ’sure’, boss?’ Rodney asked, but
regretted it as soon as he saw the look on Sonny’s face.
’Fuck off’ , he said and went on, while Rodney felt relieved for getting
away so easily.
’According to Cage, Lombard lost his parents long ago, which I knew
already, but we never really talked about it. What I didn’t know was that
he wasn’t raised by relatives, like you would assume. What he did from
the moment he finished high school to this day is more or less clear. The
time before is the problem.’
Sonny’s assistants looked at him, puzzled. ’What do you mean, boss?’
Terence Platt asked.
’Well, I’m not really sure, but it seems Lombard lost two pairs of
parents.’
An hour later, they were settled in their rooms in Columbia Holiday
Inn, ready to pick up where they left off. Everett had planned for them to
go and visit the precinct Lombard’s been working at until several days
ago, before he disappeared without a trace.
’I’d like to meet this Tony McCarthy’, Sonny repeated the name Terry
and Ross knew well by then .
......................................................................................................................
Lombard’s old friend from Seattle wasn’t the only one interested in
Tony McCarthy. McCarthy’s boss, Steven Morton, was even more
interested to see him as he rushed into the precinct, followed by Dwayne
Bronski. Morton spoke to everyone in the room, even though his mouth
were full of half-chewed meat from the burger he held in one hand.
’I want you to find Tony immediately, do you hear me?’ He yelled
while small pieces of meat and ketchup were catapulting from his mouth.
Just when he was about to say the same thing again, he heard a voice
behind him:
’No need to yell, Steven, I’m right here.’
Morton almost jumped when he turned around and saw Tony
McCarthy stand there, perfectly calm.
’What can I do for you?’ he asked sincerely.
’My office, now’ Morton said viciously, and then the two of them plus
Bronski disappeared behind closed doors. Morton dodn’t waste any time:
’McCarthy, what were you doing in Lombard’s apartment, or maybe I
should ask you why did you do what you did in there?’
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McCarthy was expecting this and didn’t look surprised when Morton
asked him that question.
’Well... I admit I acted on my own, boss, but it was only because I
wanted to contribute to the case, and since I couldn’t find you and ask
you for permission, I had to make a quick decision’, he was lying through
the teeth.
’Couldn’t find me? Well, that’s interesting, McCarthy, since you
could’ve reached me on the radio at any tim, and also, since when do the
detectives decide when and where to dust for prints by themselves? What
were you trying to accomplish with that?’
’I thought it would be good to take all the prints from the apartment,
and maybe some of them would help us locate the... suspect.’
’McCarthy, I’m aware Lombard and you used to go out and get wasted
together, everybody knows you were close friends....’
’That doesn’t mean I’d cover for him, Steven.’
’And where are those prints you found now?’
’In my desk drawer, waiting for you to get here.’
’Bring them to me’ Morton said, convinced that McCarthy was lying.
When McCarthy returned with an envelope packed with prints, Morton
was astounded, but that didn’t make much difference, since he’d already
made up his mind about what to do with McCarthy. He looked at the
envelope, then back at McCarthy. The presence of the FBI agent made
him enjoy this moment to the full extent.
’OK, I’ll run your prints through the database later, but now, I must
ask you to leave your badge and weapon on the table, for as of this
moment you are officially suspended.’ There was no reaction from
McCarthy while he slowly almost ceremonially, put badge and the gun
down on the desk. McCarthy knew that Morton could easily find out who
gathered the prints, so he’d made a back-up copy. One set of prints was in
his desk, like he said, but the other set was already on its way to Seattle.
Now came the hardest part.
’Steven, I just want you to know I told Audrey I had your orders’, he
emphasized ‘yours’, ’to go to Lombard’s apartment. She’s got nothing to
do with this, I’m the only one responsible.’
’Except she dusted the entire apartment for fingerprints ?’
’Thinking she was obeying your orders, like always.’ Morton was vane
enough to believe McCarthy, and it was this vanity of his that saved
Audrey from the same punishment McCarthy received.
’She’s OK, but you and I aren’t done yet, don’t forget that Mc Carthy.’
’May I go now?’
’ May? You Must !’
And so Tony left the office, leaving Bronski and Morton in silence once
again. Just as he was approaching the main entrance, he almost bumped
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into the three strangers. Two of them were approximately his age and
size, but the older third one who seemed to be in charge was the size of a
grizzly bear.
’Excuse me’ the big guy spoke to him directly, ’could you tell us where
we can find detective Tony McCarthy?’
Tony immediately recognized his voice.
’I’ll tell you if you promise me you’ll buy him a drink, I just saw him
and he looks very thirsty.’
Everett frowned.
’Tony?’
’That’s right, Sonny.’
They shook hands vigorously, while Terry and Ross motionlessly
stood and watched.
’Sorry I came unannounced like this, but I had to rush, it seems things
have got out of hand down here.’
’No problem at all Sonny, and you’re right. But why don’t we see to
that drink first?’
Everett and his assistants liked McCarthy more and more.
’Sure thing, Tony, but shouldn’t you tell someone you’re leaving, in
case they needed you?’
’No need, I just got my ass suspended, some ...’ then he looked at his
watch, ’... three and a half minutes ago.’
’Shit, man.’
’No, that’s exactly what I needed, but let’s get out of here, I know a
nice place nearby where we can talk.’
’I’m sure you do, Mister McCarthy.’
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CHAPTER 76
Everybody who didn’t have to be outside was seeking shelter from the
hammering midday heat. The absence of people made it even harder for
Lombard to move around unnoticed. Experienced as he was, he knew it
was only a matter of time before his fellow operatives would find him.
He put his hand on the cold barrel of the Beretta which was resting in his
inner pocket. He was inside a bus, heading towards the suburbs, looking
through the window. Trees and traffic signs were passing by at a steady
pace, making him sleepy. They came to a crossroads and stopped, waiting
for the change of lights. The bus had already reached the outskirts of
Columbia, leaving behind most of the buildings, houses, and other signs
of the city’s infrastructure. Suddenly, Lombard was petrified. On the
other side of the street he saw...her. So real, so full of life, wearing a light
summer dress that tangled around her firm, tanned calves. Her eyes
pierced a hole in his chest. It was her, Helen, there was no doubt about
that. Stunned as he was, Lombard didn’t even notice , that he rised his
hand toward her. She was watching him from across the street and
everything about her seemed to be the same as he remembered, except her
eyes. They were cold, they were... there was no other word for it - they
were dead.
When she smiled at him her sensual lips stretched, but stayed shut.
Then a few seconds before the traffic light turns green she suddenly
raised her hand, and pointed her finger somewhere behind the bus. Next
moment Helen Brown opened her mouth and, horrified, Lombard
watched how big white worms start to pour out of it. She seemed to be
completely unaware, her eyes had that same detached expression which
could be seen on mentally retarted persons. Or corpses. From sheer horror
of this scene Patrick covered his face with both hands, then he felt the bus
move. When he finally dared to look up, the other side of the street was
empty.
Then the thought hit him like a thunderstruck. Her
arm...raised...pointing in the direction of...then he realized. She was
pointing towards the place that had been waiting for him ever since he
came to this city. He yelled to the driver to stop the bus and quickly got
off, suddenly overwhelmed with some strange, new energy. The end was
near, that was all that mattered to him. Since there was no way of getting
his old life back, all he wanted now was to put an end to this, all of this.
’No matter how, just to get it over with’ , he said out loud, even though
there was nobody around to hear him.
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’Before I go there, I have to call McCarthy and tell him what I saw,
he’ll understand, just like he understood when he saw that fucking
tape...yeah, he’ll understand’. Words without meaning were going
through his head. He looked around, hoping to spot a payphone , then he
saw a fast food restaurant. He remembered that he still had his badge on
him and that it should do the trick. In deed, the anxious Asian immigrant
behind the counter was more then willing to lend him his phone, right
after he realized the man with the badge wasn’t with the Immigration
Depatment office.
......................................................................................................................
Tony McCarthy and his new friends were sitting in the same bar he and
Lombard often used to go to after work. The atmosphere inside wasn’t
grim or unpleasant, but it was far from carnival mood. Everybody knew
why they were here, and that the situation was serious and complicated,
to say the least. Lombard was on the run, nobody knew what he was
running away from, but everybody knew that Steve Morton, Commander
of the Columbia Precintct, gave this order to his men: ’If he tries to open
fire, follow the usual procedure.’
’Why would he think that Lombard would ever use that scratched
pistol of his to shoot at his colleagues on the first place ?’ Everett was
asking, but the three other men just shrugged. Tony was silent, thinking
about something he’d rather not share. He just nodded when Everett told
him about the opinion which old forencsics expert from Seattle had given
him. But deep inside, he was going over all of that again. He remembered
the day it all happened, the two of them walking along the swamp shore,
examining the ground. He remembered the words of their ME:
’...The way the victims were decapitated is highly unusual, since the
wounds on the bodies don’t correspond to any of the weapons usually
used in these cases. No knife, no matter how strong the blade was, no
machete, no sword... He suddenly realized he had memorized his entire
speech:
’...You see the skin, the vertebrae and the neck muscles...the way the
tissue had been separated doesn’t fit any animal that lives around here,
and there’s no report of any dangerous animal escaping from the zoo
recently...
The lines went on...
So it’s a crocolion?
Judging from the trails, yes.
’Fuck, that is worse even than a dead girl rising from the grave, dating
Lombard for a while and then disappearing?’ McCarthy thought.
’Sonny, I’m not sure how much you know about animals, but I would
like to tell you about the conversation between Lombard and our ME,
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Colin Devor, at the crime scene.’ He repeated the entire conversation,
after which everybody fell silent. Then suddenly McCarthy’s phone rang.
’Tony?’
’Pat...is that you?’
Everybody looked at McCarthy like he had just turned into a crocolion
himself.
’Tony, Tony... I saw her again just now, not five minutes ago.’
’Where are you now, Pat?’ McCarthy asked while Sonny was pointing
at himself, nodding. Terence Platt and Rodney Ross sat silently, waiting
to see what would happen.
’I’m not far, Tony, I just called to tell you I saw her... and that there
were worms coming out of her mouth, can you fucking believe that?
White, thick, fucking worms!’ McCarthy listened, suddenly feeling very
tired.
’Pat, I’m with...’ then he stopped and waited for Everett to nod again.
’I’m with your old friend Sonny Everett, he’s sitting here beside me and
wants to talk to you, OK?’
Lombard replied at once:
’Sonny ? Sonny Everett? Shit Mc Carthy, he’s my very good friend,
you know, let me talk to him ’
McCarthy handed his cell to Sonny, who cleared his throat before
saying:
’Pat, buddy, where the hell are you? You realize you made me fly all
the way down here just to wipe your ass? What’s going on, talk to me,
where are you?’
’Sonny, you big bear, what the fuck are you doing here? I thought you
were in Seattle, or maybe gone fishing or something.’
’I was on my way, had the rods ready and everything, and then I
thought I’d come by and pick you up, we could go together, what do you
say?’
’I say you’re full of shit like always, and that you are here because
Tony told you I went crazy, flipped out or something, am I right?’
’Close enough. Pat, listen, we’re at ... Trinidad Pub. Tony said you got
wasted in here a couple of times before, so please be a real pal and get
your ugly ass down here to call one round for old times’ sake.’
’Sonny, Sonny... you’re like a brother to me, you’ve always been. But
right now, something strange is happening, and I don’t feel comfortable
dragging you into this, it’s fucking scary, got nothing to do with the real
world. But I’ll fuckin’ fight this witch somehow, and then I’ll see you.’
’Pat, get over here right now and after that we’ll go to the Holiday Inn,
that’s where I’m staying, they got a bar there as well, you know’ the big
man from Seattle said.
Lombard was silent for a while, then he stated:
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’OK, I’m on my way, I just have to make one quick stop and then I’m
down there, OK?’
’Promise?’
’Promise’ he said and hung up.
They spent the next two hours waiting for Lombard in vain , then they
agreed to meet there again tomorrow morning. McCarthy was suspended
anyway, so he saw no reason why he shouldn’t be hanging out with these
nice folks from Seattle.
Later that afternoon, McCarthy suddenly jumped out of the bed like
someone had poured boiling water over him, interrupting his usual nap.
Maybe that’s where he went!
He called the hotel and reached Terence Platt.
Five and a half minutes later he was on his way to Holiday Inn. Terry
and Ross were waiting for him in the hall. McCarthy told them not to
wake Everett up. It was better if they went there by themselves because
he’d taken all this much more personally than the three of them, and
should not be alarmed for nothing if it turned that Lombard was not
where he tought he was at all.
He said to Everett’s man.
’Maybe I do know where Lombard went yesterday after he talked to us
over the phone , but I sure as hell don’t know why he didn’t show up later
on in the pub . In any case something’s going on, and we should go and
check it out. I got some things that we might need in the trunk of my
car, and on our way we’ll stop by the precinct and get something else.
That something was a special police Pump Action shotgun, along with
plenty of shells. The inventory officer had no idea McCarthy was
suspended, so he let him sign the form and take the weapon easily. Ross
and Terry weren’t surprised when they saw him put that stuff in his trunk.
Minute later, they were headed toward Kongaree swamp.
While McCarthy was driving, Terence Platt couldn’t help thinking it
was all a bit too much.
’If I may ask, Tony, what are we going to do out in the swamp with the
cannon which you obtain in the precinct ? Are we hunting for
crocodiles?’
’No, Terry, we need it because we’re hunting the dead.’
Nobody was laughing.
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CHAPTER 77
The taxi driver was more than satisfied. Never before had an officer of
the law paid him double for a couple of miles’ drive. Wait till my wife
hears about this, he thought as they were approaching the Kongaree
National Park. They drove past a bus full of visitors who were coming
back to town, then past another one. Everyone was leaving. All the while,
the man in the back seat didn’t say a word, except for the few short
answers when the driver tried to make some small talk. He soon realized
that this one was not in the mood to talk and eventually stopped trying .
Finally, as Lombard was getting out of the car, he said to the driver.
’Hey, man, can I ask you for a really, really small favor?’
’What is it, Mister?’
’If you happen to drive by Holiday In on your way back, could you
leave a message for somebody at the front desk?’
The driver didn’t think about it very long, after all, this kind policeman
or whatever he was had already paid him more than enough.
’No problem, it’s practically on my way, what’s the man’s name?’
Lombard told him and slipped another twenty in his hand.
’Hey, thanks a lot... listen, if you ever need a ride anywhere, here’s my
card. Goodbye and good luck.’Lombard waited until the car was out of
sight before he tossed the card in the trash.
The heat was finally retreating in this late southern afternoon, but down
by the swamp the humidity was still immense. Patrick walked for a while
before he left the marked track. He walked further for ten, fifteen
minutes, following some unconscious instinct that was telling him he was
going toward the place. The place where two decapitated bodies were
found, where Darkwood’s body was found along with his head a few feet
away in the bush. He wasn’t surprised when he realized he’d seen this
track before in his dream, in fact he’d been expecting it. The sound of
cracking branches under his feet felt familiar. After all, wasn’t he here
yesterday ? Not physically, though, but in his mind – yes, he was. He
reached into his pocket, touching the warm barrel of the pistol. Then he
spotted a shadow nearby and smiled.
’Just like yesterday, right Helen? Come on, let’d see if you can surprise
me again, honey?’ This last word made his mouth feel sour.
He went after the shadow, feeling more and more like he’d already been
there before. A few minutes later he noticed something that resembled her
blonde hair.
She’s about to appear now, just like in a dream.
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’Patrick?’ the voice came from behind, from the spot he passed few
moments ago.
He slowly turned around.
’Helen?’
She wasn’t beautiful like the first time he laid eyes on her. Now she
looked seriously ill - green in the face with black rings below the eyes.
They looked at each other silently. Lombard was the first to talk:
’Well, Helen, looks like we meet again, only this time in reality, I got
tired of looking at you with my eyes closed. Now that we’re finally here,
I just want to ask you one thing: Who are you?’
The creature he bumped into on the street in some other life didn’t
seem as gorgeous as it did back then, then it opened its mouth. Instead
of worms, inside was
two rows of dark grey teeth. But her voice
remained the same.
’Patrick, you made it to this place in the end ? I’m glad you understood
where I was pointing with my finger. So... I think it’s about time for you
to hear the truth.’
’That last word sounds so strange when you say it’, Lombard replied
like he was talking to an ordinary human being.
’You wanted to hear the story, and I will tell you. Just to let you know,
your buddy Johnny Darkwood heard just bits of it before all that
happened to him. Still want to hear about it?’
’Don’t mind me, Helen, or whatever your name is, just keep talking’ he
reached into his pocket again. The girl saw that and laughed .
’It won’t help you much, Patrick, I think you should know by now.’
Lombard didn’t say anything, while the entity before him continued .
’Anyway, here’s the story you wanted to hear. A long, long time ago, a
girl was born, beautiful and gentle, with bright blue eyes. She lived alone
since her parents had died when she was still very young. She somehow
went on with her hard, bitter life. One night she had an encounter with
someone she surrendered to with all her heart, someone she used to see
from time to time and had moments of passion with’ While Helen
Brown was talking, her cracked lips parted and exposed her dark, eerie
teeth.
’She was pretty, and that didn’t go unnoticed with the local boys who
wanted to marry her and have children with her.’ Dry, hoarse laughter
interrupted the story.
’Have children with her ? Those miserable beings wanted to have
children with her ? ’
Lombard didn’t understand anything, but in some strange way it seemed
like he knew this story well.
’Of course, she rejected them all, one by one, while the hatred
towards her grew stronger and stronger . People started saying things
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behind her back, started avoiding her, then she got pregnant. They waited,
those bastards, for the child to be born. One day she gave birth to a
beautiful baby boy. Yes Patrick, you know already - it was His son!
Then they came for her and the baby.’
All of a sudden , Lombard felt the sweet scent of decomposition in the
air.
’Yes, Patrick, they killed the baby, they stomped on it with their rough,
peasant feet, that’s what they did. And the next day they burned his
mother tied to the stake on the main square.’
Lombard was petrified. He couldn’t explain it, but this story felt so
familiar, he felt like he was a part of it, although he wasn’t. Still, he was
sure that something was connecting him to it.
While she was talking, Helen Brown was becoming more and more
like some swamp creature. Her face was getting greener, the smell of
rotten flesh around her became more intense. Miraculously, though, her
hair was still blonde, like the day he’d met her. Her voice was getting
deeper, she was now talking with some strange accent.
’I’m sure you want to hear where you come in, right, Patrick?’
Lombard didn’t answer.
’Well, you see, you are more than just a police detective from Seattle.
This may sound good to you, but trust me you don’t really want to be
praised like that. With your death a long, long struggle will be finished
once and for all. But there’s plenty more I need to tell you. From what I
saw, you’re an honest man, with a high sense of morality, am I right ?’
Lombard unintentionally nodded.
’If that’s the case, I’m sure you won’t like what I’m about to tell you.
People with high sense of morality don’t approve of incest, Patrick,
never. And you have done it a lot.’
Lombard was stunned and he couldn’t understand a word she was
saying, but it still sent chills down his spine.
’What are you talking about, you... you... what are you?’
Her lips spread again, showing her gruesome teeth.
’I see you still don’t understand, my beloved lover.’
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CHAPTER 78
While Tony, Sonny, Terry and Ross were finishing their first round,
Morton and Bronski were discussing their next move, feeling on the same
side after one of Morton’s men had been suspended. Everything they’ve
done so far was waiting for Patrick Lombard to be located, even though
the FBI man still couldn’t see how Lombard could be a probable target ,
still, seeing that this case had been taking some really unusual turns, he
kept his opinion to himself. In any case, he couln’t understand why
Patrick Lombard would be doing such a thing, and even more importantly
– how could he have physically done such a thing ?
Morton was
tapping against the desk, anxiously waiting for news. Suddenly he
stopped .
’You know what, Dwayne?’It was the first time he’d skipped the
formalities, ’I’m sure you’ve already heard of that good, old and above all
uncertified Legend?’
’Which one is it?’ Bronski asked raising a brow, not too thrilled by
Morton’s intimate approach.
’The one that says killers always go back to the scene of the crime ?’
’Sure I did, and I’d like to add ’untrue’ to your ’uncertified’.’
’Got a better plan right now?’
Bronski bit the inside of his cheek.
’No.’
’Well, then, it’s not so freekin’ hot outside anymore, why don’t we go
there and do a little sightseeing, this park is really one of a kind...in this
state, at least.’
Bronski shrugged, which was enough for Steven Morton.
’OK, first, we’ll make a few stops on our way down there, and you tell
your people not to make a mess, we’ll call them if we need them, anyway
we’ll be supported by Vorteski and Gershaw in the other car.’
He wanted to say that Vorteski was probably the dumbest police officer
he had ever seen, but managed to keep his mouth shut. Bronski himself
came to South Carolina with two FBI technician’s, but they were almost
invisible, much to Morton’s delight.
A bit later, two cars were driving slowly and steadily, some fifty yards
apart, like there was an invisible car between them. On their way they
made some stops. Vorteski, invigorated by his boss’s recognition, went
totally Sherlock Holmes and was flashing Lombard’s photograph in front
of the confused bystanders. From the safe distance of their car, Bronski
and Morton watched as the pedestrians helplessly shook their heads.
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Then they came to the liqour store, in front of which stood a group of
young black men obviously doing nothing, which was legal even in
George Vorteski’s book. He got out of the car, followed by Scott
Gershaw, who, compared to Vorteski looked like a mouse in a uniform.
’Hey, you...’, he contemptuously addressed the whole group.
’Look at this picture carefully and tell me if you have, and I repeat
have, seen this man ?’
One by one, everybody looked at the photograph, but their reaction
wasn’t different from the reaction of the people Vorteski had stopped
early on. But they were the ones expected to be more servile and
submissive, especially when they faced the police.
’No? Are you sure?’
By now they were joined by Morton and Bronski, who decided to
stretch their legs after the long time they’d spend inside the cabin. Young
men were additionally agitated by their arrival, because four policemen
were interested in them now, and two of them were wearing civilian
clothes. When Vorteski saw his boss and the Fed approaching, he went
on even more theatrically:
’No, you say no ? That’s strange, especially because you brothers
always seemed to know where every one of you is at any given moment
?’
One particularly tall young man was the first to talk.
’That may be true, man, but this brother look more like he’s one of
yours, since all of you, except for this gentleman’ he pointed at Bronski,
’are in this photograph...but none of us’, he paused again, looking
around, ’are there. So how is he our brother, then ?’
Vorteski felt (a) strong adrenaline rush.
’Don’t get smart with me, boy, you know what I mean. I exactly
was talking about the color of his skin, which is the same as yours, I
believe.’
’Last time I checked, being black wasn’t against the law’, the only girl
among them said, ’and anyway, he’s not a real brother, he looks a bit
bleached, doesn’t he, boys?’
All questioned nodded at once.
’No? He seems black to me, maybe his great-great-grandfather was
white, but that’s it.’
Eventually all four of them left, followed by the chuckle of the local
hobos.
Back in the car, Morton was shaking his head as he repeated Vorteski’s
words.
’Maybe his great-great-grandfather was white? Sometimes I’m really
ashamed of this Vorteski, you never know when he might go off.’
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Bronski couldn’t agree more, as he stared at the only black face on the
photograph.
The face of Patrick Lombard.
......................................................................................................................
’I see you still don’t understand, my beloved lover.’
Lombard stared at the creature, speechless , while the woman went on,
her blonde hair making a terrible contrast to the darkened, terrifying face.
’You see, Patrick, I’m about to finish my story now...as you listen, it
will all come back to you, and you will finally understand what was going
on. I already told you about the burned girl and the stomped infant. I also
told you how all the villagers were brutally punished for it - everyone
who hadn’t starved to death by then was burned inside the local church
soon after.’
Lombard had recovered his skill of speech and asked the creature : ’Let
me guess, they were all burned by the man with the eyes dark as the
darkest night?’
Something like a smile passed over Helen Brown’s face.
’I told you it would come back to you, didn’t I?’
Then she continued.
’But not everyone was burned, one couple survived. Their names don’t
mean anything to you, but I’ll tell you anyway: they were called
Sebastian and Bertha Miller. At the time the girl was burned, they were
roaming the north of Germany, looking for work in coal mines. The one
who was chosen by my master to destroy the entire village was a man
called Sigmund Delke, and after he’d set the church on fire, all that was
left for him to do was to find and kill that last remaining couple.’
Patrick Lombard listened intensely like he’d never listened anything in
his life before.
’But, he failed, and this man and woman managed to escape him until
the day Sigmund Delke died. But before he died he became a father
himself, and he passed his assignment to his son, just like he passed it on
to his child years later. But you see, The Millers also had children
themselves, and during the following centuries the seed of Sigmund
Delke kept chasing the seed of Sebastian Miller, but never managed
completely to destroy it. Oh, there were many killings, many throats were
slashed, many bellies were cut open, but both the Millers and the Delkes
lived on. ’
Lombard fell into a kind of a trance, while images of duels,
swordfights, stabbings and shootings were furiously flashing before his
eyes, as the rotting creature was going on with the story.
’Then the day came when the father of the murdered child saw that in
the future a child would be born, and that this child had to be killed
312
before it grew up, otherwise his revenge would not be complete, and he
hated to leave things undone, he’s been like that since... well, I don’t
know, it doesn’t matter.’
’I know since when , witch, but go on, I’m listening.’
Hearing the word witch made the woman’s face beam, she now looked
like a miraculously joyful corpse.
’Witch? Yes, sometimes they called us witches, they still do. But that
doesn’t matter now. Then He, the ruler of the Dark, saw a handsome
blonde man sailing across the seas. His name was Alfred Miller. He was,
of course, the descendant of the long dead Sebastian Miller, and he came
to a faraway country now called Namibia.’
When he heard that word Lombard was startled, much to the
decomposing woman’s satisfaction.
’I told you, it would slowly come back to you, Pat, you’ll remember
how it all began and you’ll see exactly how it will finally end , right now
and here.’
Lombard’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, but the creature still
heard him.
’You said something about incest, witch, what was that you were saying
?’
’Pat, Pat, relax, what’s the rush, I’m getting there, I promise, just be
patient’ , the creature who called itself Helen Brown said as the sun
started to fall behind the tree tops.
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CHAPTER 79
McCarthy, Terence and Ross were advancing through time and space.
The Sun was now barely visible above the highest treetops, but it was still
daytime, and much warmer than they would like it to be.
’I hope we’ll get there before the night falls, Tony, we got only this one
lamp’ Terence talked for the first time since they got into the car.
’ I can only imagine how pissed off Sonny will be when he wakes up
and sees we’re gone’ Rodney Ross added.
’We’re almost there, and Sonny will definitely feel better once he
realizes that he would be only swating like pig and wasting his time with
us, out in this wilderness’ , Tony replied, looking at the road ahead,
surrounded with fewer houses and more greenery as it went further into
the humid southern sunset.
’I hope so, and I also hope we’ll get back soon, the boss is really
anxious to see his old buddy Lombard. But now that we’re here, we might
as well check out the woods, maybe he’s really got a girlfriend up in
those trees somewhere.’
McCarthy gripped the wheel harder, he couldn’t share his thoughts
with his passengers, because he simply didn’t know how to put it to
them. But deep down he knew, he felt that Lombard was there and that
something was about to happen. After all, by then he was way too
involved in all of this to be snoozing in front of the TV now, when
there’s finally a chance to see Lombard.
He couldn’t explain why he took the shotgun out of the precinct
storage, because he knew how additionally pissed Morton would be once
he hears about this another unauthorised action. What would he say to
him ? He took the shotgun because the pigeons had invaded Kongaree so
much that the tourists were complaining about them crapping all over
their heads, and kind as he was he couldn’t refuse to help, but since he
was suspended the only thing he could do was to shoot a bunch of
pigeons in order to keep the tourists’ hats clean? Shit! The only good
thing was that he’d already taken the shotgun and and there was no
point returning it now, so while it’s on him, he might as well go down to
the swamp and see if his guts feelings about Lombard were right.
Lombard. Good Lombard, his friend Lombard, Lombard who
disappeared, Lombard who called the station from the wrecked flat after
he’d found the heads in the fridge, Lombard who was an enigma even for
his best friend, like he was born at the age of eighteen, nineteen ?
Lombard whose runaway girlfriend’s fingerprints matched the
fingerprints of the dead girl from Pennsylvania who disappeared from her
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grave? Suddenly he felt the urge to apologize to Everett’s people and turn
around, but he resisted and went on. Really, why did he bring the
shotgun ?
Soon they reached the sign that said ’Kongaree National Park’ and
turned down into the dusty, gravel pack road. The last remaining light of
the day was rapidly surrendering to the overcoming darkness.
The surreal scene by the swamp went on, as Helen Brown was saying:
’You see, Pat, you were followed from your early days, ever since the
first time you got away.’ She didn’t say how he got away, or where he got
away from. ’ So there was this man called Alfred Miller, who came to
Namibia from his native Germany, but what happened next even my
Master couldn’t stop. It was love, he fell in love with a local woman. We,
who belong to him, despise that feeling, for us it’s only another weakness
you ordinary humans have. Worshiping our Master, Patrick, is a far more
esteemed feeling than your stupid heartbeats which go faster whenever
your eyes meet, or some similar nonsense, whatever. Anyway, this
Alfred Miller, Sebastian’s descendant, fell in love with a beautiful black
woman named Inkozi, they say she was a gorgeous woman. One night,
while the thunderstorm was raging over the black sky, the two of them
met and become one body. Alfred’s semen was accepted inside Inkozi’s
body, and nine months later she gave birth to a baby girl. All that
happened not so long ago, especially if you consider when that other
blonde woman was burned.’
’The baby’s name was Ghaani. Strange name, unusual for your
language, isn’t it ? For mine too, but that doesn’t matter.’
Lombard thought about what language the creature was talking about
now, since her english was pretty solid, although somewhat hoarse and
rigid.
The story went on.
’After a while Alfred Miller left, never to return. Whether he was eaten
by a pack of hyeanas or murdered by my Master’s servants somewhere in
that wilderness, I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that
little Ghaani grew up, became a woman, and got herself pregnant after
she spent only one night with the only man in her life. She had a special
power – she could see the future, and rumors were going round that the
father of her child was none other than Simandu, the forest god, half man
– half lion. And just like her mother Inkozi, she also gave birth to a girl,
and she gave her another strange name – Tlamini.’
Inkozi, Ghaani, Tlamini... these names were sounded familiar to
Lombard as he was repeating them in his head. Inkozi... Ghaani...
Tlamini...
Tlamini.
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’History repeated, little Tlamini grew up to become a beauty herself ,
and a warrior from her village, Meketla, gladly paid Lobola to Mama
Ghaani. You know what Lobola is, don’t you? Trading your daughter for
a bunch of cows, funny, isn’t it? The Lobola for Tlamini was ten cows.’
’Lobola... Lombard had never heard that word before, but at the same
time it sounded awfully familiar.
’So, just like before, a child was born. This time it was a boy. Now, Pat,
we’re getting to the part of the story you’ll find most interesting. You,
yourself come from the most prosperous country in the world, so I’m
guessing you don’t care much about some dusty African wastelands, am I
right?’
My Master, whom I’ve been serving for... I’ll tell you exactly how long
later on, saw something that made him furious. Again, you must realize
that ordinary human beings are as worthless to him as ants are to you, and
that he considers them meaningless and can stomp them at any time
anywhere. But, something happened while he was over on the other side.
The forces that were against him from the beginning of time wanted this
particular child to have supernatural powers, and if that happened, his
revenge upon a small village in Germany might never be completed, and
as I said earlier, my Master hates to lose. He saw the boy which had the
strength in him , the strength that came when the blood from the North
had mixed with the blood from the South. I don’t know why he let it
happen, but like I said he’s very busy, there’s so many places in the world
he needs to get to in order to control his interests so I guess he just
didn’t care much about another black kid being born. But then he found
out that the boy had Miller’s blood in him, and if he grew up he would
become more powerful than most other mortal humans are. That was
why he chose his servant to kill this kid and finish with the Miller’s seed
once and for all. There are many other Millers in the world, of course, but
he was specifically interested in these ones !’
Lombard was mesmerized, every new sentence the creature spoke
brought back a new subconscious memory to him.
’And then he saw what he was looking for. He saw a young man with a
black heart, blacker than his skin. This boy fitted him in every way.
Since his early days he despised love, beauty, all those abstract things you
human beings call justice, honesty, morality and crap like that. The boy
grew up and started going regularly to the jungle , searching for the
ancient knowledge of the various bushmen tribes. In return, he provided
them with cattle which meat they cherished above most other things. His
name was, and it still is – Ejtana. It was him who was given the task to
kill the young boy and finally complete the vengeance.’
’Incest, you witch, incest!’
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’Oh, yes, incest. Here’s how that happened, Pat. He, the one who rules
the dark, knows how to get his revenge, while you , humans, on the
other side have some strange scruples, well, most of you. One of them
says that the members of the same family can’t copulate with each other.
Many of you though tried that in the past, but often their children were
stillborn, physically deformed, or insane, just like my Master loved. But,
like I said, mortals have learned not to copulate within the same family,
and those who did were either killed or died by natural extinction, like
some royal families with a long history of inbreeding. In his infinite
wisdom and sense of mockery my Master wanted this boy to experience
this side of life as well, before he was killed.’
Lombard felt the urge to throw up was rising in his stomach.
’And then we searched, and searched, and searched, the world is a large
place, you know, until we finally found what we were looking for! We
found a girl, young and pretty, and at the same time a descendant of the
long gone Sebastian Miller .’
Without previous warning, Lombard threw up the entire contents of his
stomach.
’Yes, yes, my dear Lombard... the girl’s name was Helen Brown and
she really lived in that small town in Pennsylvania, like that friend of
yours, Sonny Everett, had informed you. It wasn’t hard for us to enter her
dreams, and then her thoughts, then start to torture her every day and
every night until she couldn’t take it anymore.’
Part of Lombard’s brain still clung on to reality and recalled the
conversation with Mellisa Brown, a woman from that same small town in
Pennsylvania.
May I ask you just one more question, the last one, I promise?
Go ahead.
What was your husband’s last name before he came here from
Germany?
Miller, his name was Miller.
Miller!
A foreigner who came to Namibia – Alfred Miller. Miller! Inkozi,
Ghaani, Tlamini... Miller !
The creature nodded at him, showing what was supposed to look like
understanding, maybe even sympathy.
’Yeah, yeah... then we found that homeles Malone subject and got him
to dig out the grave.’
This much resemblance tells us they had to be identical twins...or...that
the girl on the photograph and the dead girl are... the same person.
He tried to throw up again, but his guts were empty.
’And she was pretty Patrick, wasn’t she, even though she was a
descendant of Sebastian Miller? And then I come in, so to speak’ , the
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creature, that was now barely visible in the surrounding darkness, went
on.
’I went into Helen, feeling quite comfortable from the begining. She
was, as I said – pretty, just like I used to be once, maybe a bit less, and it
wasn’t hard for me to shake her young body, after all, she didn’t spend
much time in the grave. Then I came to you, my lover, your distant
blood sister , to copulate with you. And we did, a lot, remember?’
Lombard moaned, since there was no strength in him to scream. Slowly,
he reached for his gun which seemed to weigh a ton right now. The
creature lurking from the darkness either didn’t see his move, or didn’t
care.
’Now you might understand a bit more who are you, what are you,
where are you from? Yes, the first time you escaped was that early
morning when Eitana was chasing you ,and then you were rescued and
taken care of by his own sister, Kirsa. You came close to dying then, but
she somehow managed to send you off just hours before Ejtana killed
her. You ran away, accompanied by that small bushman... then, you came
to Solomon Kemusa, a really impressive human being, at least by your
standards. He risked everything when he offered you that potion, and,
just like he hoped , you in deed survived, forgetting all that happened...
up until now.’
Patrick Lombard slowly started remembering everything: Huge
creatures with spiked teeth slaughtering his village, then the large woman
feeds him, takes care of him, loves him... and how he loves her to... then
the bushman leads him through the jungle, getting water from the hidden
holes in the ground... it all went before him so fast he couldn’t
concentrate on one single moment.
’Then, you temporarely died in that hospital, just to came back to life.
You didn’t remember anything, you couldn’t speak your native language
anymore, you still can’t. Then, things started to develope really fast
...first, there was that couple comes from America, the Lesters, I think.
Somehow you survived the spectacular car crash in which they were both
killed, but you survived, barely though, but you did. For the second time
in your life, you didn’t remembering anything, but that didn’t bother you
at all. And it was all thanks to that potion you took from Kemusa, which
didn’t kill you, make you stronger, huh? When was the last time you were
sick, Pat, can you even remember? Before you started having all these
nightmares, I mean.’
Lombard couldn’t remember, but he didn’t want to answer that creature
from the land of the dead.
’That’s right, Patrick, your mother’s name was Tlamini, she was the
daughter of Momma Ghaani and the granddaughter of the beautiful
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Inkozi who copulated with Alfred Miller, the descendant of the damned.
You are the fourth generation the prophecy tells about. You are!’
Aaaaaaaahhh... Lombard felt excrutiating pain in his temples.
’Your American parents named you Patrick, probably after that saint, to
guide you and protect you. Your last name after you came to America,
was, naturally, Lester. The same people who adopted you managed to
conceive a child after the adoption, they had a beautiful daughter named
Suzie. She also died in that terrible crash. So you did have a baby sister
after all, Patrick, even though she was, should we say, collateral damage.
I mean, she would have been killed in that car crash if she hadn’t been
born in the first place, right?
The same goes for those two unfortunate teenagers who had that honor,
so to speak, to met who they met by the swamp, just in order to bring
you here, all the way from Seattle. After all, we had to have a reason for
your boss up there to send you here, so, my master thought that it would
be nice if there was some real reason, like two headless teenage bodies
for instance?
But, let me go back to the time of your childhood again. Then the man
called Nicholas Levy stepped in, he was your next protégé. He was the
one helping you, paying for your education, and also the one who
changed your last name to Lombard. It was like he felt we were onto you,
so he tried his best to hide you. Being an Auschwitz survivor himself, he
was familiar with the pain and suffering. He took good care of you,
really.’
The creature was saying all this the way two colleagues discuss a dull
weekend on Monday morning.
New images appeared before Lombard’s eyes... late afternoon, a man
and a woman in front, two kids in the back. He sees the girl’s braids, sees
her pink dress. Then it becomes red. The sorrow came suddenly, along
with these unbelievable visions.
’Let’s get back to Helen Brown. My dear Patrick, you don’t mind me
calling you Patrick, it turned out you were fucking your own cousin!
That’s what you did, you naughty boy. Blasphemy is what honest human
beings are most afraid of. One of the worst is, like I said, copulating with
your own blood. And you did exactly that, Patrick, you were fucking me,
your dead, distant cousin.’ The words remained hanging in the musty
darkness of the Kongaree Swamp, refusing to disappear.
’Who... who are you?’ Lombard groaned, raising his gun at the creature
standing just a few feet away.
’Who am I? Pat, Pat, don’t you recognize me, you saw me the night
Sigmund Delke took me, you saw how much I enjoyed... you saw it all,
and now you pretend you didn’t. So, who am I? I’ll tell you who I am, or
better yet, who I was. Once upon a time my name was Haike Brunneger.’
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Helen Brown... Helen... Brown... Helen... Haike... Brown... Brunneger!
Then, finally, he realized.
’You were burned on the stake, your child was stomped to death, you
put the curse on them all...’
’Yes, it was his child that was stomped, the child of The Lord of the
Darkness, and it was him who cursed them all through me, as I burned on
the stake. Yes, I am Haike Brunneger, lover of the one you call The Devil.
And you, you are the realization of the ancient prophecy which would end
with your death. Your death, Sipo!’
SIPO! Lombard wached in a trans like state as the Beretta started
pouring out bullets, one, two, three... they hit the body of the long dead
Haike Brunneger, while the fouth bullet stabbed into her eye.
’How can you kill something that’s already dead, Sipo?’ she asked,
again spreading her blackened lips into a dreadful smile.
Behind them, two distant beams of light flashed, then disappeared.
Lombard fired the remaining three bullets, making the Beretta just a
piece of warm iron that lay in his hand. Considering the effects there
wasn’t much difference from when it was fully loaded. Small spires of
smoke were rising from the holes which the bullets made in the
creature’s body. Lombard heard the rough accent again:
’No, Sipo, I’m not the one who’s going to kill you, someone else will
do it, my job here is done. The one destined to do it long before you were
born will come soon.’
For a brief moment, Lombard saw her like she was the day they met;
young, blonde and beautiful, talking about her disertation over coffee, and
their lovemaking in his apartment after that. He turned his back to the
swamp because he didn’t dare to lose the sight of this hideous creature, so
he was unable to see clouds of green fog starting to rise out of nowhere
on the water’s surface, just near the shore.
Slowly, the green fog began to take shape, and a monstrous entity start
to appear. Detective Lombard, known as Sipo in another lifetime,
couldn’t see it as he anxiously watched Haike Brunneger collapse to the
ground, after which a strong stench of sulphor and rotting flesh spread all
over the place they were standing. Now, finally, her blonde hair was
turning gray and her body start to disappear. Patrick Lombard was
unable to look away, even if part of his brain was refusing to accept what
he was just witnessing. Then he heard a sound. Something slapped the
calm water surface, it was like a large fish had jumped out of the lake and
hit the surface with its tail.
Slap , it came again, and he turned around.
What his eyes saw next had by far surpassed all the horrors he had seen in
his life.
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A huge, monstrous, man-like creature covered in shiny green scales
stood on the shore, watching him with the eyes he knew so well. Its
blood red, hateful eyes, stared at him with superhuman intelligence while
above them stood two short, thick horns. The creature’s thighs were as
wide as a grown man’s torso, its hands only slightly thinner. A long tail
was dragging behind, making Sipo remember the place where the undead
live ! He remembered the tunnel of darkness, he remembered the
glimpses approaching, green fog and the distant echoes. He remembered
himself listening, petrified, staring into the darkness. He remembered the
thud... thud... thudd... coming nearer.
’Ejtana’ he said, unaware that he’d opened his mouth. Just like he was
unaware of the two beams which were casting its lights upon this surreal
image he himself was a part of, just like he was unaware of the slamming
of the car door, heard moments later .
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CHAPTER 80
After a short conversation at the beginning of their journey ,Tony,
Terence Platt and Rodney Ross were advancing through the darkness in
silence .
McCarthy had previously told them they were going to the place where
the two teenage’ bodies were found, because he had a hunch that’s where
Lombard was going. Even if Platt and Ross found that a bit strange, they
said nothing. By then , they had reached the swamp area, and were
curiously stared at the giant trees.
’Looks like Jurassic Park’ noticed Ross, who loved movie
comparisons.
’We’re almost there’ McCarthy finally said. Slowly the conversation
started to develop.
’It’s pitch black out here, Tony, even if Everett’s buddy is where you
think he is, how are we going to see him?’, the ever-practical Terry
asked.
’If he really is where I think he is, we’ll have no problem spotting him,
anyway we can always shout his name, he’s been hiding long enough
and Its high time he gave up this lunatic act and came back to the real
world. My boss is after him, and Lombard ,with his still unexplainable
disappearance doesn’t not make this whole situation any easier for him at
all. The smartest thing he can do now is to sit at the back of this fucking
car and fucking return to fucking civilisation’ McCarthy concluded
eloquently.
’And he should finally see Sonny, I can’t recall the last time he’d put
himself through so much trouble for someone.’
Beams were still cutting through the darkness, an owl silently flew
across the road.
Then Tony thought he saw a glimpse of green light, not far from where
they were.
’What’s that light over there?’
’What’s where?’
’There, on the left’.
The next moment all three of them saw a short glimpse of the green
light.
McCarthy turned the car, leaving tire marks on the soft ground. The
scent of decomposition became more intense. Inside the cabin everybody
was silent and suddenly tense. Then, in the distance, McCarthy saw
Patrick Lombard’s shirt and immediately start to accelerate .
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The road was curving so they didn’t have a clear view of the scene, but
they all felt that something was going on. By then Terence and Rodney
knew enough about this case to start being suspicious about entering the
world of the unnatural, which suited the environment they were in so
well.
Silently, without even slowing the car down, Tony McCarthy put one
hand under the seat, still stirring with the other. Without looking, he
passed the .45 Colt to Terence Platt, who was sitting beside him, and then
repeated the same maneouvre and passed a .38 S&W Special to Rodney
Ross in the back seat. For a moment, Everett’s people silently stared at
the guns. Then they calmly checked the chamber for bullets. Both were
fully loaded. Terry and Ross couldn’t tell if this was also part of
McCarthy’s plan, but they didn’t mind the guns in their hands. Without a
word they switched the guns, because Ross favored the Colt whereas
Terence Platt always had a .38 S&W on him back in Seattle. McCarthy
saw the quick exchange and immediately realized what was going on.
Even if he had doubts about their operative skills of Everett’s man, after
this effective exchange they disappeared.
.....................................................................................................................
In Morton’s car the situation was just as grim. Personally, he would never
be searching for a deranged, loaned detective, he would simply send some
of his people to do it. But now it was too late, and he couldn’t get over the
fact that it was him who suggested this stupid idea to agent Bronski. The
FBI man loosened his tie, which was a small improvement in the overall
situation, because their action required certain skills only Indiana Jones
himself possesed. Then the radio was heard. It was Eddie, the storage
keeper in Columbia Precinct.
’Boss, it’s me, Eddie, sorry if I’m interrupting anything important, I just
wanted to check if it was OK that I gave 50 shells of ammo to
McCarthy?’
’What? What shells, Eddie, what are you talking about?’
’The shells McCarthy took along with the shotgun, don’t worry, I wrote
it all down, I just wanted to check if 50 was really what he needed.’
’Eddie... McCarthy is fuckin’ suspended, what are you talking about?’
The voice on the radio was trembling.
’I... he told me that...’
Morton turned the radio off not waiting for the explanation, the anger
inside him was growing at the speed of light.
’Well, McCarthy, now you’ve gone too far. You better start looking for
another job, because your career as a detective is over.’
’This is a serious offence... ’ , Bronski commented, like he didn’t hear a
word Morton just said.
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’... with serious consequences, and I’ll do all I can to make sure he gets
what he deserves.’
Morton decided immediately.
’We’re coming back to the precinct, to see when that son of a bitch
returns. The swamp can wait until tomorrow, but my report on McCarthy
can’t.
......................................................................................................................
Aaaaarghh... Lombard, who used to be known as Sipo, heard a harsh,
heavy growl which contained a lot of other sounds within it. The
terrifying noise consisted of sounds no species known to him could
produce. Especially not that ominous, deep tone which sounded like the
creature’s throat was six feet wide.
Aaaaarghh... then Ejtana (that name he’d forgoten for a long time ,
because an old man in some other world had erased it from his memory)
came at him. His giant thighs were advancing through the shallow,
making his hideous body more visible. The water that drained off him
caught the light of the car beams nearby, which Lombard only then
noticed.
’What is that, for the love of God?’ he heard someone say, and that
someone was the terrified Terence Platt.
’ This...just can’t be’ , Rodney Ross added. Both men stared at the
incredible creature as the primal, primitive fear from the unnatural turned
their hearts to ice.
Buuuumm... buuuumm... two deafening shots echoed through the air,
coming from the barrel of McCarthy’s shotgun. Both hit the creature
directly in the chest, creating two holes as wide as a child’s fist. But as
the creature continued walking towards Lombard, they simply
disappeared. McCarthy wasn’t giving up and continued to fire round
after round into the diabolical creature. For a fraction of a second,
shocked Lombard saw his partner’s face without any trace of fear on it,
the only emotion he was showing was now absolute, total concentration
of what he was doing.
’Tony...!’
If he heard Lombard scream, McCarthy didn’t reply or even look in his
direction .
Baam...Baam...Baam... detonations from the guns in the hands of
Sonny Everett’s people were now adding to the overwhelming
cacophony. Every single bullet, every single shotgun shell hit the target.
But, the creature born as human, then during the course of his long life
deprived of any human characteristics, just swayed from side to side,
depending from the angle of the hit, and then slowly continued walking
towards Lombard.
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Aaaaarrrghhh... the terrifying growl spread through the night that was
meant to come for so long . On his way toward the man who were
shooting at him, the creature suddenly came upon a tree about ten feet
tall and wide as the grown man’s arm, which crossed its path. His huge
hand simply grabbed it , folding its long black nails around it, and almost
effortlessly pulled it off the soft ground. Then, in one move, the thing
snapped it in two and tossed it into the swamp. The sound of the snapping
tree seemed to have made Lombard fall out of his trance, and he started
backing off. His own bullets were already wasted on Haike Brunneger,
and McCarthy, Platt and Ross seemed to be doing the same with this
monster.
Click... click... click... Terry Platt ran out of his ammo first. In two
incredibly fast leaps, Ejtana The Damned came to him, and seconds later,
his huge claw was stabbed into the poor man’s belly. It went through the
tissue like a hot knife goes through butter. The look on Platt’s face,
however, suited much more a surprised man than to someone going
through this hellish ordeal. The monster started lifting him off the ground,
waving his arm like he was holding a flag, or a torch.
’Terry!’ Rodney Ross screamed, petrified, running out of bullets
himself as he watched what was happening with his friend. Terence Platt
was lifted higher and higher, like a prey dying on the top of the hunter’s
triumphantly raised spear... then the giant hand slammed the body to the
ground, breaking most of the bones in it. Terence Platt, a nice guy from
Seattle whose parents wanted him to become a doctor, whose sweet,
charming wife taught Spanish in a high school near their home, was now
lying in the middle of the swamp with his guts pulled out, dying in a
place he’d never even heard of in his calm, and until that night , ordinary
life. The creature finally pulled his giant arm out of the dead man’s body
with a sound similar to the sound of a boot being pulled out of mud.
Ploop.
Rodney Ross didn’t even try to run away when the creature turned
toward him. Everything he had just witnessed was simply too terrifying,
too overwhelming, too intense for him to fight any more .
Ejtana saw that the human in front of him stood petrified , and seemed
to have forgotten about his primary target, Patrick Lombard. When the
inhuman claw closed around Rodney Ross’s neck, the unfortunate man
just closed his eyes. The next couple of seconds seemed like forever to
Lombard, then the body below the monstrous claw simply fell to the
ground while the head stayed like an eerie ornament above the creature’s
fist. Then it was simply tossed aside.
All this time, as these incredible events unacceptible to the human eye
were taking place, McCarthy was shooting bullet after bullet at the
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monster. Lombard watched in terror as the holes on the creature’s body
appeared, then disappeared without a trace.
’Tony!’ Lombard said his friend’s name for the second time. This time,
McCarthy answered.
’Pat, go to the car, behind me, go to the car!’
Dear old Tony McCarthy.
’Tony, get away from there, you’re not hurting him... Tony, you’re not
hurting him ! He... I know him, he’s out of this world, run, Tony!’
Lombard was screaming, convinced in what he was saying about the
origin of the creature. He didn’t do what Tony had told him to, instead he
stood there watching McCarthy move closer to the monster.
’Tony...’
Their eyes met one last time. The next moment, Ejtana The Damned
was standing next to McCarthy. His slow, muffled growl made of
thousands of screams, shouts, meows and squeaks was now louder than
ever.
Aaaaaarrrggghhhhh... Lombard felt his chest vibrate like the shaman
drum.
’Tony...’
Lombard didn’t know, didn’t understand why Tony didn’t around and
run away. Why was he so impossibly calm and brave? For him ?
Impossible. Why, then?! He must’ve known, he must’ve realized by now
that he couldn’t kill this creature. He saw what happened to the two men
before him, he saw how the creature ground them!
Then, as the inevitable were approaching, Lombard suddenly realized.
One night, long ago, as they were drinking beer over a game of pool in
a pub light years away from all this horror, McCarthy told him in between
shots:
’You know, Pat, when I see that my time has come , I won’t run. I got
no wife, no kids, my parents are both dead, never had a sister or a
brother... I’m alone like a tree in a desert. I got nowhere to go’ he stopped
to take a sip of beer, ’and no one to go to, get it?’
Lombard’s eyes became blurry, as the hate and anger grew inside his
chest like never before.
He, his own dead parents... both of them. He, who stopped wondering
how come he couldn’t remember anything about his childhood at the age
of twelve? Why did Nicholas Levy tell him those things on his deathbed:
’You’re a good boy, Patrick, you always have been... your parents died,
your sister died, but you survived. You survived and that is why you have
to go on living. You can’t, you mustn’t hunt the shadows from the past,
because if you do, in the end they will be the ones hunting you.’
In the end they will be the ones hunting you!
Tony. Good Tony. Lonesome Tony. His friend Tony.
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Ejtana put his arms around McCarthy’s waist, like in some bizzare antic
struggle between a man and a demon. Lombard saw his friend’s fists go
up in the air, and then down, pounding all over the creature’s giant head,
accomplishing nothing. Tony McCarthy was fighting to the end, then the
end came. Patrick Lombard – Sipo could clearly hear his friend’s spine
snap. He saw the monster tear him to pieces right there, before his eyes.
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t look away. Once more he
managed to say, to whisper... ’Tony.’
The furious change inside him gave him the speed and the intensity he
needed so much.
Hate, anger, fury , blinding rage ... they all made the fear fly away from
his chest like some frightened bird. But it was hate, above all other things
that took his breath away, as he watched the monster which was tearing
the remains of his friend apart. All off a sudden , there was no fear left
inside Patrick Lombard, not a trace of it, anywhere. Ancient, eternal,
immortal anger had now taken over his entire body and he turned into a
beast himself, without even realizing it. He started looking for something,
anything, to attack the creature who was spreading death all over the
swamp, killing everyone he cared about over and over again.
I won’t run, Pat. I got nowhere to go, no one to go to, get it?
Finally he understood. He was just like Tony, Tony was him, he was
Tony. Lonely. Alone, all his life. Then his now blood-thirsty eyes
noticed a piece of wood Ejtana had tossed aside few moments ago. One
side of it was sharp like the spear. Spear. Spear? Like... those spears that
night... when it all began, when he saw him for the first time. With his
new found strength, he grabbed the tree and ran toward the Hell’s Finest.
Ejtana was just throwing away the last piece of McCarthy’s corpse when
he saw Lombard running at him, carrying a pointed log. The next
moment, something which was unthinkable just second ago - happened.
The spiked end of the tree stabbed right into the creature’s wide chest, the
same chest all those bullets and shotgun shells couldn’t harm. Lombard
was leaning against the wood, pushing it deeper and deeper inside, not
caring about the swaying of the enormous arms around his head, which
previously snapped the head off Rodney Ross’s body so easily.
Aaaaaaarrgggghhh... the ground was shaking from the scream of the
wounded beast. But, his giant arms didn’t go for Lombard, instead, they
grabbed the tree which was stabbed inside its chest.
After centuries of waiting, killing and running, The Prophecy was
coming true. Finally, the fourth generation of the Blood from the North
and the Blood from the South had attacked. Lombard gained new,
unknown strength. His arms were not his own anymore, his hands
weren’t the same ones he used to applaud with in the theatre, drive the
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car, or the ones which caressed the bodies of all those long forgotten
women.
Aaaargghhhhh... the horrifying scream repeated, but Lombard wasn’t
letting go. Ejtana raised him along with the gigantic spear still stabbed in
his chest. Lombard’s feet weren’t touching the ground anymore, but he
still hung on to the tree with all his strength. He could feel energy enter
his body. The spear was still sliding deeper into the monster’s chest.
’Die... damn you... just die, go back to your Master!’ Lombard was
screaming as the creature started shaking his head frantically, like it still
couldn’t believe what was going on.
Aaarrrrrrrrghhh...
’Die, you damned beast... just die.’
Aaarrrrghh...
Then the creature start to slow down, its growl wasn’t as strong any
more.
Arghh... it fell down on its knees. Lombard’s feet were touching the soft
swamp soil again. Seconds lasted like hours, like days...
’Die... just....die.’
Then, Ejtana’s body started to change. Small green scales were falling
off, horns seemed to be retreating below the skin, arms and legs were
trembling as they became smaller.
With its heart still filled with hate and anger Lombard stared at this
unreal transformation, , and he knew, this time he knew who was he about
to see. The creature’s screams became more and more human.
Arghh... arghh... arghh... then it made the last, slow, ordinary human
sigh... aaaahhh.
Before Lombard lay a very big, black man, his wide open eyes staring
at the moon. His mouth were filled with white, spiked teeth. The tree,
coming out of his human chest, now seemed enormously wide, while the
wound it made was big enough to kill a large elephant, let alone a human
being. Before his feet lay a dead human being, the same one he’d seen
years ago, when it slaughtered everyone he cared about for the first time.
Patrick Lombard was staring at the dead body as the adrenaline was
starting to wear off. There were only dead bodies around him, and
everything was quiet, like in a real graveyard. He stumbled. Days
without proper food or sleep, painful weeks of drinking and runnung... he
couldn’t take it anymore .Finally, he plundged into long awaited oblivion.
Patrick Lombard passed out before he could spot another pair of lights
clear its way toward the scene of the battle that had started over four
hundred years ago... he was still passed out while he was lying on the
back seat of a car, his head resting on two huge, but this time perfectly
normal, human, hands.
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CHAPTER 81
When members of Columbia police department came to the swamp,
some of even the most experienced among them couldn’t resist the urge
to throw up after they saw the crime scene. Like a canvas of some
deranged painter, arms and legs were scattered all over the place, then a
head, a few feet away a body it had once belonged to, and finally the
body of a man with a large hole in his belly. But what puzzled everybody
the most was the body of a completely naked black man with a tree
sticking out of his chest. The man was huge, but it was also obvious that
he was very old at the time of his death. By noon, most of the body had
decomposed in a manner none of the present policemen had heard of
during their years at the Academy.
Steven Morton banned all press from the site, putting a wide perimeter
around the area. Two guns were found on the scene: the first one was a
Beretta, service weapon belonging to Patrick Lombard, detective from
Seattle, Washington;the second one was the rifle McCarthy had managed
to take from the precinct, along with a few remaining shells. The body
which was mutilated almost beyond recognition belonged to him. The
other two victims were identified from the documents found on them as
Terence Platt and Rodney Ross. Also, the marks on the ground indicated
that another vehicle was present at the scene, but its tracks were lost soon
after it went out on the main road.
During the months that followed many detectives had worked on the
case, but no one could make a solid connection to the double homicide
that happened on the same site earlier that year. The case went on to make
history as one of the most bizzare unsolved murder cases in US police.
Later the same year, Steven Morton was forced to resign, then
completely leave the police service. Dwayne Bronski returned to the FBI
headquarters and faced weeks of interrogation, all of which was written
down to be filed as ’Confidential’. After that, Bronski resigned from all
public duties himself, but not before he’d signed written statement never
to comment on the details of the interrogations. The FBI decided to close
the case. Detective Patrick Lombard, who Morton dubbed most probably
the cause of this entire tragedy, was never found. Neither was his body.
Soon he passed into legend, along with the Lindberg’s baby.
Sonny Everett knew what to do when the taxi driver told him a story
about his curious customer. Moments later, the same taxi was heading
for the swamp once again , but this time instead of a quite black detective,
the customer was a large, frowing white man. He was clearly very upset
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about something, so the driver didn’t dare start the usual conversation
about politics, peace forces or the weather. He stopped at the same place
where the black detective previously told him to stop, the but man
behind had other plan.
’Go further, deeper into the woods’ it was all the big bear said. The
lights were cutting through the darkness, when the first shots were fired
from McCarthy’s rifle. Soon, it sounded like an entire army was firing
from all sorts of different calibers.
’Go there, go that way!’
The taxi driver objected.
’Sir, I’d rather stay alive, there seems to be an awful lot of shooting, I
don’t really want to come much closer.’ The customer was silent, but just
when the driver was about to go on complaining, a fat stack of dollar bills
fell into his lap.
’Just go there.’
Money seemed to be having a strange effect on him. He loved it, he
wanted it a lot. Six months of hard, sun baked driving was resting in his
lap, and he was still in one piece, so...the car went on forward, toward the
noise. The shots came one after another, followed by distant screams.
After that there was only one weapon, and Everett recognized the sound
of it immediately. ’Remmington Pump Action?!’ he thought, surprised.
What are they hunting out there? Elephants? Buffalos? Rhinos? All of
them?
By the time they’d reached the scene of the fight, it was all over. The
first thing he noticed from inside the car was the body of Terry Platt, then
the head of Rodney Ross, lying a few feet away from the rest of the
body. The big man wached in shock at the unreal scene as he was
getting out of the car. Next moment, his terrified eyes saw the scattered
remains of Tony McCarthy.
Then he saw him. Lombard was lying on his back, eyes closed, hands
resting on the ground. He gave no signs of life. Everett lifted him up on
his shoulders, while the astounded driver watched everything from behind
the wheel. Once he got Lombard inside the car, Everett tried to find the
pulse. And succeeded.
’He’s alive... you’re alive, Pat, you... son of a bitch.’
Halfway toward the city Lombard regained consciousness and looked
up at Everett like a child just waking up. Everett waited for Lombard to
figure out who he was. He didn’t have to wait long.
’Sonny...’ then he swaloved. ’Sonny... you won’t believe what just
happened.’
’I’ll believe you, Pat, I promise I will .’
Lombard closed his eyes again.
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Later that day, Everett rented a small bungalove on the edge of the city.
Lombard slept through the entire next day and woke up by the time
Sonny was finishing his second Budweiser, following a whole bottle of
whiskey. He started talking. He told them everything, absolutely
everything, and Everett listened, only occasionally interrupting him with
questions regarding the timeline of events. After the story came silence,
strong and thick .
’Pat? I thnk you should go there, see where it all began once more.’
’I know, Sonny.’
That was all.
Everett had excellent connections in almost every part of society. A
few days later he handed Lombard a passport the name Clint Morgan
from Detroit, Michigan, which he used to cross the Atlantic. Down at the
airport, his friend, the best friend he’d ever had, said:
’Pat?’
’What?’
’If you don’t come back, if you decide to stay there... it’s OK, man, it’s
totally OK.’ He gave him the strongest hug on the world , and turned to
walk away , then he stopped, and without turning he waved to Lombard
one last, final goodbye. Lombard wanted to scream his name, but
couldn’t make a sound, and he just watched as his friend’s massive
figure disappeared into the surrounding crowd .
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EPILOGUE
Oshakati, Northern Namibia, present time
The wheels of the Land Cruiser finally stopped near Oshakati, more
than eight hundred miles away from the Namibian capitol, Windhoek.
There were two persons inside the car. One was a woman, a tour guide
who’d spent most of her life guiding tourists around Atosha National
Park which they’d driven past some two and a half hours ago.
Next to her sat a black man who looked like he came from abroad. He
was looking down at the dictionary in his hands when the woman cleared
her throat:
’The border is about an hour away from here, but you said you’d want
to go to Okongo?’
Okongo was a small town, once a military base during the war for the
independance of Namibia, as the man found out during his flight over the
Atlantic.
’Yes, we’ll go to Okongo and then, if we can find it... Ehafu.’
’I already told you there are more places than one with that name, I
know at least three of them, it’s a common word in Owambo Land , and it
means Happiness.’
’I know what it means. Let’s just go that way, I think I’ll be able to
recognize what I’m looking for once we’re there. If you don’t mind, I’d
like to drive now.’
The woman looked at him like she was thinking if it is a good idea,
then shortly shrugged .
’As you wish , mister’.
Soon, they went further to the east, toward Okongo. One hour later they
were still advancing over the firm, dry land. On their left there was
Namibia, magnificient, never ending and almost uninhabited wilderness,
while on their right side, further to the north, was Angola. They noticed
dark, rainy clouds
He spread his arms, raising them at the sky. He started to laugh, as the
first tears ran down his face.
In the beginning he was standing still, then he started to turn around in
circles, his hands still aimed high.
The woman in the car confusedly stared at the salt and paper - haired
man as he turned around in circles, laughing and crying, then the sky
above them opened in all its fury .
Moments later his whole face became wet , so wet that one couldn’t
tell tears from the rain.
THE END
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