by Wilson, Eric
“That about describes it,” she said. “From the moment I took the pregnancy test, he’s been putting me through the wringer. Sure, it’s painful. But it’s more of an emotional thing, a psychological drain. Does that sound totally whacked?”
“Makes perfect sense to me.”
“Oh? You’ve been pregnant before?”
“Funny.” He rested his hand on her arm. “I know that you, Gina, in your heart of hearts, care deeply about the world around you. What we’ve been talking about, this is your chance to carry on that concern through your child. And that’s what’s got these Akeldama Collectors all fired up. Through their immortal—no, they don’t even deserve that word—through their undead eyes, they’re able to see the Lettered. They know you must be carrying a special child, and that’s what they’re waiting on, to know if the kid’s the real deal.”
“So I pop him out, and there they are? Ready to snatch him away?”
“Probably not that simple. The Letter appears at adulthood. For boys, that’s age thirteen. Until then they won’t know for sure that your son’s one of the Nistarim, but they’ll assume that’s the case based on your Letter. My guess is they’ll wait to be sure you have a male, then make a move.”
“Basically, we’re doomed. Is that what you’re saying?”
“I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“How would you put it? Thanks, Cal. Way to drop a bomb on my picture of domestic bliss. What am I supposed to do? Hire armed guards? Move to Timbuktu?”
“Want my advice? Stay put.”
“What if I run away? Try to sneak off somewhere?”
“They’ll follow. Predator and prey.”
“No, thank you. I had enough running early on in life.”
“More than you even remember, Gina.”
“What?”
“Just ride this thing out,” he said, “to the due date. I’ll be hidden, but I’ll be watching. You have to trust me on that part, no matter what.”
“Like I trusted you to come find me?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Gina imagined laying her head against his chest, but that would open doors inside that were best left closed. She thought of Jed. She gave a nonchalant shrug.
“Thing is,” he said, “I’ve faced these creatures before, even put down a Collector or two in my day. That’s my job now.” A somber tone in his voice, one of grim determination. “My vow to you is that I’ll be here, keeping an eye on you, guarding your going in and going out—at home, the hospital, wherever. I’ll make sure your baby’s safe and sound.”
“Right. Like you did on High Street?”
“Don’t forget I gave you that drink.”
“What drink?”
He fished a necklace of braided twine from around his neck, tapped the vial that hung from it. “Moisture on your tongue, remember? Reviving drops.”
“But I . . .” Gina shook her head. “If I’m immortal, I wouldn’t have died anyway, according to your wonderful theories. And for that matter, why worry about my baby? I mean, they can’t kill him. Isn’t that what you’ve been saying?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Uh, news flash. Yeah, it is. In English, immortal means you cannot die.”
“There are limitations. It’s not a free pass, some Get out of jail free card. If the Nistarim are put to death, they must be revived within three days or their pilgrimage on Earth is over. It’s a window the Nazarene opened by His own defeat of death.”
“Well, the whole thing seems overrated, if you ask me. I mean, I take a bullet, I keel over, and then I get three days for some miracle to happen or I’m still toast.”
“That’s three days more than the average person.”
“Whoop-dee-doo.”
“And you come back good as new.”
“Well, there’s the real sales hook. Sign me up.”
Cal’s eyes met hers. “Gina, most people are appointed to live once, but your role is slightly different. You’re a direct descendant of the original thirty-six.”
“What do you mean, ‘original’?”
“The first ones. Before any had collapsed beneath the burden. Before any others had risen to take their place. In Jewish numerology—this whole school of study called gemetria—eighteen is the number of life. So thirty-six is—”
“Let me guess: double life.”
“Exactly. So, if you’re tracking here, we have the doubly dead. More specifically, this new breed of parasites: Jerusalem’s Undead. The good news is that there’s the other set of Jerusalem’s Undead: the doubly alive. They are the Nistarim, raised up to bear the weight and to strengthen Those Who Resist.”
“Hold on. Time-out. So the original Nistarim are the ones who were Lettered in Ezekiel?”
“You got it. They lived thousands of years ago and eventually died natural deaths, after serving their purpose during the time of the prophets.”
“But now they’re back? I’m confused.”
“They came back, yes. When Yeshua was crucified, there was an earth-quake—it’s all written there in the Gospel of Matthew, chapter 27—and three days later He was resurrected. Bam. Then, like it was some sorta proof of His victory over death, the saints from Ezekiel, they got up out of their graves and went wandering into Jerusalem too. They were seen by a buncha people.”
“You know how insane this all sounds?”
“Wait, and here’s the clincher. There were—”
“Thirty-six of them.”
“Pretty smart.”
“I think you mean pretty and smart.”
“Sure, that too.”
“Cal, I’m going to need time to process this.”
“Gets one step wilder,” he said.
Gina caught her breath. She was already walking through a mental hall of mirrors—reflections and shadows behind her, ahead of her, in multiples all around. She felt disoriented, strangely invigorated. She feared for her child.
“Those original Nistarim,” he pressed on, “have been walking the earth now for the past two millennia. They were commissioned by Yeshua Himself to protect and comfort Those Who Resist.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good to know.”
“Better believe it.”
“And Those Who Resist are . . . those who stand against the Collectors?”
“They find their life in the Nazarene Blood.”
“Everyone out for blood. Your words.”
“The life is in the blood, so it’s all a matter of which life you want to lead. By drinking from the Nazarene, you identify yourself with His life, His memories, His suffering. All of that. You can see why it’d be total anathema to the Collectors.”
“Uh, excuse me, but when did we cross back into Nikki territory? She’s drummed into me enough fanatical talk for a lifetime.”
“She’s missed the whole point. Have you ever seen her drink?”
“Nazarene Blood? Sorry, but that’s just nasty.”
Cal pulled a knee up close to his chest, let his gaze drift off over the river. “Gina, I know how strange all this has gotta sound.” He cleared his throat. “Please don’t blow me off, just because Nikki’s mixed in her own brand of mysticism with good ol’ brass-tacks truth.”
“Mysticism? Oh, you mean like cutting a helpless child?” The old neck scar surged with a phantom pain.
“She thought she was protecting you.”
“Boy, was I ever lucky.”
“Still bitter, and I don’t blame you. But you don’t have to live with those scars, not forever. Yeshua, when He came outta that tomb, He left His blood to cover all the evil that your mother thought she had to cut away.”
“Thank you, O wise one. Just not sure I buy into all that.”
“You could never buy into it, Gina. It’s a gift that was given, and all you have to do is accept it—just like the gift I gave you back in Cuvin.”
“These?” She touched one of her earrings. “Would you believe I had to dig them out of the garbage? Nik
ki had thrown them away.”
“Life gets messy sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“All part of the deal.”
“Did you know those earrings contain drops of Nazarene Blood?”
“What?”
“If you choose to believe, that’s all it takes. One drop.”
“Of blood?”
“A chance at being cleansed. A complete transfusion. Only the pure stuff, absorbed into every vein, every corpuscle.”
“You know what? Gross. Disgusting.” Gina lifted herself to her feet, holding her stomach in her right hand. “And I thought I’d escaped from this sort of thinking. Not to be rude or anything, but you’ve now wasted half of my stinkin’ day with this crazy talk. I’m married. I’m having a baby. I’ve moved on, thank you very much. Now, go away.”
Cal brushed comforting fingers across her dangling left hand, and—
“No.” Gina withdrew from his touch. “Don’t even start. Whatever little game you’re playing, count me out.”
“The last person who said that to me, his name was Benyamin.”
“What do I care, Cal?”
“He died two hours ago.”
“While we were talking at the picnic table? And how would you know that?”
“I felt it.”
“Oh. Right. Of course.” Gina rolled her eyes. “Get away, you freak.”
Cal sighed. “We’re done, then?”
“You think?”
“I do have some things to take care of,” he said, standing. “Someone to watch over.”
“Good. Go. Good-bye.”
“Don’t worry about your baby. I’ll keep him safe.”
“Right. Sure, you will. If that’s what this was all about, you could’ve skipped story time and protected him from behind the scenes. There was no need to drag me down into all this.”
“Gina, I love you. Always have.”
“Bye.”
“It’s not all that it seems.”
“Doesn’t seem like much at all.” She leaned toward him, shoved aside his cap and his black-dyed hair, and studied his forehead. She rubbed the slate of tanned skin, found nothing there. No lines. No symbol.
Just as she’d figured.
She waddled back to the car, called over the door. “Cal, I’m going to let you find your own ride, okay? You just watch out for those pesky Collectors.”
“My never-ending task.”
Gina sought solace at her chessboard that evening, playing through the Immortal Game, analyzing moves, weighing risks and gambits and sacri-fices. It was all so complex.
“Rough day in the caverns?” Jed asked.
“Mm-hmm.”
“Coke.” He handed her a glass. “Caffeine-free, for the little guy.”
“Thanks, Jed. You’re going to be a good dad.”
“I hope so.”
She continued staring at the board.
“Gina?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you know I called you at work today?”
“Mmm.”
“They said you’d left early, not feeling good. Left with some dude.”
The implication of Jed’s words penetrated her chess calculations, and she swiveled in her seat. She realized now why he’d been so standoffish since her return home. “He was an old friend,” she said. “Nothing to worry about.”
“You sure?”
Cal’s warnings buzzed in Gina’s head. If there was any truth to his words, they had a lot to worry about. How could she possibly unload all that on her husband, though? She herself barely knew what to make of it all. He would think she’d gone over the edge.
“It had nothing to do with you,” she said. “I swear it.”
“And we’re okay?”
“You and me? Yeah, sweetheart, we’re good.”
“I’m trying not to jump to conclusions here, Gina. Don’t get me wrong. I just hope that whatever was going on, you got it worked out.”
She nodded. “That makes two of us.”
“Three of us,” he said softly. And turned on the TV.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
Early September—Chattanooga
Another day down. Three and a half weeks remaining till the due date.
With eight hours on foot every shift, and between four and five miles traveled through the Ruby Falls cave system, Gina was a regular workhorse. She figured at this rate she would be ready to run a marathon the week after her delivery.
Alone, leaning over the employee restroom sink, she tried to process again all that had been explained—and all that had not—seventeen days ago, on this very property. She hadn’t seen Cal since, but he had promised to be nearby.
First, there had been that confrontation down in the caverns. She had felt something rise within as she faced the snooping, slender brunette—a need to fight, to protect her young. She’d told herself at the time that it was an overzealous burst of hormones. It had to be, right? Because it would be schizoid to start going around thinking everyone was out to harm your baby.
Then came the revelations, from her conversation with Cal.
So there were killers after her child?
Maybe she was schizoid.
It was too much to assimilate, to catalog. Cal claimed he had reappeared for the sake of her baby, but it wasn’t every day you heard talk about the doubly dead, the doubly alive, vampire hordes, and secrets of the Hebrew alphabet. At least Jed had been patient with her. She hated keeping him in the dark, but she didn’t see any good that could come from revealing all that had been told her.
Gina scooped back her hair.
There it was, all the proof she would get: the letter Tav.
“You.” She pointed into the mirror. “Yeah, you. You’re one bad mama-jama.”
Then she chuckled at herself. Which caused her baby boy to shift inside, pushing a foot, or maybe an elbow, up beneath her ribs until she was sure a lung would puncture. This was what you endured for your child, all part of the process.
She said, “I sure hope you get here soon, kiddo.”
In response, pain barraged her belly and back, arrows streaking in from all sides and angles, piercing, tearing, pinning her entire being down to the bathroom floor in a quivering pool of thin, warm liquid.
Was this it? Had her water just broken?
The child inside of her was saying he’d had enough and that if he was going to feel the sorrows of the world, he might as well do so out in the open, where he could face them like a man.
Gina could respect that. Intense love welled up in her chest.
She dragged herself to her knees, fetched the keys from her pocket, and stumbled out into the parking lot. She would have the nurses call Jed from the clinic, but there wasn’t a moment to lose. Her baby had dropped into position, exerting pressure between her hips.
Ready or not, the little guy was on his way.
Buckhead
Erota pranced into the vaulted entryway and greeted her husband. “Ray-Ban. You’re home early for a Thursday evening.”
“Long week already.”
“Well, I had fun. I took a day trip to Chattanooga.”
“Again?”
“It’s so quaint, compared to Atlanta.”
“Just be careful with the Jag. The insurance is through the roof.”
“The roof ?” She glanced upward, feigning ignorance.
“Lots of money,” he said. He tossed his jacket over the knob on the banister, the expectation implicit that she would see to it for him. “Brutal day at work. I had a good-sized deal fall through—six figures—but the boys and l’ll get it cleared up in the morning.”
“You’re good at what you do, aren’t you?”
“Don’t let ’em know you care. That’s the secret.”
She gave an exaggerated blink of her eyes, brushed fingers down his chest. “Is that why you are so often gone? To make me think that you don’t care?”
“Is it working?”
“I don’t care ei
ther,” she said. “I think we’re both happier this way.”
“I’m going to check the news.”
“I’m going upstairs.” She pushed away from him. “For a shower.”
“Now?”
“A long, hot shower.” Pouty lips. “Not that you care, my husband. Now that you’ve got your Ukrainian bride to show off to your friends, you can carry on with your life with no one thinking you have other inclinations.”
“Hold on there. Is that what you think, Erota?”
“Convince me otherwise.”
She was in the middle of being convinced when the cordless phone rang. At day’s end, Ray-Ban abhorred all forms of communication, and he swiped the offensive appliance off the night stand. The phone rang again. Erota rolled to the side of the king-sized bed—a circular affair with mounds of pillows—and retrieved the receiver from plush white carpet.
“Leave it.” He swatted at her.
She checked caller ID. Her contact from Erlanger East Medical Clinic.
She felt her heart rate pick up and thought for a moment that her predatory side was about to manifest—the glowering eyes, the nails, the curve of long teeth. All of it, in anticipation of blood. The desire ran hot up her chest, into her throat, and—
She winced. There it was again, that stabbing pain in her temples. The tension between Collector and host grew more intense each day, as though sooner or later one of them would have to give.
“What’s wrong?” Ray-Ban asked.
“I’ve got a headache.”
“But,” he said in a husky voice, “I haven’t finished convincing you.”
“Later, alligator.”
“Wrong phrase, Erota. And no one says that anymore.”
“I don’t care. Remember?”
Phone in hand, she sashayed into the master bath and closed the door.
South of Atlanta, Georgia
He was a soldier. A demolitions expert, if you will.
Leaned over a wooden work bench in this College Park basement, he pressed his arms against the edge to keep his hands steady. No sudden movements. See? Just like that. Nothing to fear. The black gun powder was in the old plumbing pipe, and the nails were going into position now, each one a messenger of wrath.
