The Nephilim Tree (Part 1)

by C. A. Smith

  “Hello hun. Did you have a good day?”

  He just raised his eyebrows and laughed, “Fantastic! Can’t wait to get back there tomorrow.”

  Sue recognized the friendly sarcasm, “That good eh. Wine?”

  “Now you’re talking.” She handed him a glass of red Merlot. They’re not really wine connoisseurs, but they know what they like.

  Mike gave Sue a big hug as though welcoming the real life back. His wine swayed about in the glass within his crossed hands behind her back. Sue gave him a quick kiss and broke off.

  “Is that all your grafting husband gets?”

  “The potatoes are going to boil over. Come in the kitchen with me.”

  Sue gets in earlier than Mike and likes to cook. The steam from the cooking met them as they walked into the kitchen. Sue turned down the gas under the saucepan of potatoes.

  “Anything interesting happened?”

  “Nothing really. Saw Ted in the morning and had a chat with Dave at lunch. He’s been going on about his daughter’s school pushing with the homework.”

  “Well it’s important. Everything is so much more competitive these days.”

  “Yea I know, but she’s only about nine years old. He was saying how it’s causing them a load of pressure at nights. It normally ends with their daughter crying and them two getting stressed out. It can’t be easy after a day’s work having to sit down and force a knackered child to do homework.

  Sue tipped the pies out from their foil trays onto the plates, “Yea, I suppose. Do you want a lot of beans?”

  “Yea, cheers hun. I think if we aren’t careful we’ll all work until we drop and end up encouraging our children to do the same thing. Work hard at school to get good grades so they can work until they drop too.”

  “Yes, but if they do well then they can take it easier when they’re older.”

  “How many people do you know who are taking it easier after doing well. They just earn more, take on more stress and increase their lifestyles. Then they just carry on as everyone else does but with bigger bills.”

  “Well that’s their own fault then. It’s what’s important to them isn’t it. If they increase their lifestyle then they’ll just carry on in the same way. Bigger bills on bigger things, they should bank the extra money and stay living on the standard income. Then they won’t get used to it and after a while they could just go part time.”

  “Yea, I suppose, or just take more time out for holidays. That’s all you need really isn’t it. A basic life with loads of experiences. There’s a massive world out there and we hardly get to see any of it. What a waste.”

  After dinner, Sue loaded the dishwasher while Mike served his demoted role of passing the items to her. As soon as the final dish left his hands he disappeared off to the living room.

  “Did you get that DVD?” Mike called back.

  “Yes it was the last one.”

  ”Excellent, I’ll go and stick the tele on.”

  The sofa let out a muffled thump as he dropped onto its soft cushions.

  “Do you want another wine or a beer?” Sue called from the kitchen.

  A smile built on Mikes face. “I’ll go for a beer please hun.”

  The TV was on awaiting the DVD Sue had purchased on her way home. Mike picked up the remote control and had a quick flick through the channels while Sue finished off in the kitchen. He decided to settle for the news. The newsreader was currently reporting on the build up to next year’s presidential elections in America.

  “Lanif Sing of Eastern origin moved to the USA with his parents when he was six years old back in 1966 and has grown into what some are calling a massive political power in his own right. He is rapidly proving to be the people’s choice. The son of the East, as his countrymen call him, who has been raised in the West certainly seems to hold the winning formula and is proving to be a man trusted by both sides. The voters seem to be hoping that maybe this man will finally be able to bring peace between East and West nations…”

  Mike made a mild snigger while looking, “Huh, I won’t hold my breath.”

  “There you go.” Sue passed a green cold bottle of beer with beads of condensation running down its sides. Mike took it whilst eyeing the DVD case she was holding in her other hand.

  The news report had since moved onto local events and was showing the area’s MP being interviewed. The camera caught a glimpse of his gold Rolex protruding from the cuff of his tailored suit as he expressed his deep concern over the recent child abductions.

  “Thanks hun. Look at this. It was on the radio today. Bloody people should be strung up when they’re caught. Whatever makes someone do this sort of crap?”

  “They’ll be caught soon I’m sure.”

  “I bloody well hope so. Can you imagine how those children feel or people like Dave with kids must feel. Where does this crap all end eh?”

  Sue recognized the onset of another deep conversation and changed the subject by holding up the empty DVD case after putting the disc into the player. She knows how Mike gets annoyed about the state of the world, but also craves mental escape normally via a good movie.

  “Let’s have a look,” Mike took the bait and reached out taking the DVD cover. He mused over it for a few seconds, “This looks like the one Dave was telling me about the other day. He reckons it was good.”

  Sue walked over to draw the curtains and dampen the noise of the heavy rain hammering on the window and then settled down next to Mike on the sofa.

  “Right, all ready.”

  Chapter 17

  The heavy rain poured onto the last of the dwindling congregation as they left the church. Father Phillips wished the last few stragglers a nice evening and closed the heavy door. That was the last mass of the day and allowed him the opportunity to make himself a well-deserved ‘wind down’ cup of tea. He stood in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil and listened to the heavy rain beating against the window. He looked over and watched the light catch the edge of the raindrops as they smashed into the vertical streams running down the outside of the glass. Even the noise of the boiling kettle couldn’t stifle the sound of the rain tonight.

  Armed with two Ginger nuts in his left hand and a steaming cup of tea in his right he carefully made his way across the nave to the curtained arch and then down into the storeroom where he seemed to spend much of his free time lately. He placed his mug on the old desk. It was well past the need for a coaster.

  He decided to take a different approach to his investigation this evening and see if the old church records could shed any light on the matter. The first half hour didn’t prove very fruitful. He sat down on one of the boxes he’d taken down from a shelf and finished the last of his now cold coffee.

  “Right, what’s in this one.” he said to himself with a new found vigour. He knelt by the box he was just sitting on and opened the lid. It was full of discoloured folders. The first one contained records from around the date of interest but wasn’t what he was looking for. The next one contained a ledger. He leafed through the pages.

  “Ah, here we are.” The word “ISRAEL” was marked in the margin of page 77. It detailed locations, dates and expenses but nothing of any real depth. He turned the page to reveal the ragged edge where pages 78 and 79 had been torn out without any form of finesse. Page 80 onwards revealed nothing of any further interest. He thought about what Mrs. Roberts had told him. The Bishop had already been here. After another hour of searching he decided to call it a night and head off to the rectory.

  The rain was still heavy as he locked up the back entrance to the church and made his way across the small private courtyard to the rectory. The sound of it slapping on the abundance of soaked leaves lying on the ground of the dimly lit courtyard differed from the pattering sound that it made as it hit the concrete. Within a few steps he had reached the rectory and stood inside the backdoor wiping his feet on the mat in the kitchen.
>
  He looked over at the clock, eleven minutes past eleven. It was getting late, but before going to bed he decided to make use of the church computer. Maybe a quick surf on the internet for any past newspapers may help him in his quest for more clues. As he scanned the web pages, he shook his head, marvelling at how much information was readily available at the click of a button and how it had all happened in such a relatively short time. Within one site he found a heading:

  “Unfortunate Death of Well Loved Priest.”

  It seemed to confirm what Mrs. Roberts had told him, but nothing more than he already knew. His eyes were now feeling heavier than ever and if he didn’t take heed of the warning and go to bed soon he would probably be waking up with a very acute case of keyboard face in the morning. Before shutting down the computer he ensured he removed any search history to do with Father Peterson. Until he was sure whom he could trust he wasn’t going to take any chances.

  The climb to the bedroom felt more like a hike up a very steep hill. It was one of those nights where he wished he could just appear in bed and it wasn’t long after hitting the mattress and pulling the covers over himself that he drifted off to sleep.

  He awoke with a start after what seemed like only ten minutes. A quick glance at the alarm clock gave him the bad news, quarter past three. Sitting up for a few minutes to clear the unwelcome thoughts from his head, he wondered what on earth had prompted this strange and disturbing dream. He remembered looking on whilst a partially decomposed body was being dug up from a shallow grave. Even worse, he wondered why he felt such a sense of anxiety as though it was him who had hid it there! He shook his head and exhaled a breath while taking another look over at the clock. Ten minutes had passed and was hopefully enough time to stop him falling back into this weird dream. It seemed to do the trick.

  Chapter 18

  Maria was finding it hard to stay awake and just gave the odd smile in the right places as Sarah and Emma talked. They had all drank a little more wine than normal and now the tiredness was setting in.

  Emma’s expression dropped a little as she toyed with the stem of her wine glass.

  “I really needed this tonight.”

  “It’s Greg isn’t it?” Sarah knew it was the anniversary of Emma’s brother’s death soon but she never mentioned it in case it upset her.

  Maria noticed a change in the tempo and looked on trying to determine what was happening.

  “I’m sorry Maria, just ignore me. I’m being silly.”

  “No, it’s not silly Emma,” said Sarah holding her hand. “It’s only been two years. I wished I’d met him. He sounded a great guy.”

  Emma wiped the welling tears from her eyes. “He was the best brother anyone could have had. We used to play together all of the time when we were young and he stuck up for me when I had problems at school. He was always there for me and now he’s gone. He always called me ‘Mess’ from when I was little. He was the tidy one and I was always so messy.” Tears ran down her face leaving two parallel wavy lines of mascara down her cheeks. Maria took hold of her other hand and smiled solemnly.

  “So very sorry Emma. You see him again some day.”

  Emma, still with Sarah’s hand on her arm wiped back her tears.

  “No, I’m afraid I’ll never see him again Maria. He’s gone forever.” With that she sobbed a little before Maria squeezed her hand and looked her in the eye.

  “You will see him again. God has him now Emma.”

  Emma was touched by Maria’s efforts but inwardly dismissed the naivety of her religious beliefs by just smiling in appreciation.

  “I’m sorry, to bring you all down. I tried not to say anything.”

  “Don’t be silly Emma. We’re best friends. I’d be upset if you held it from me.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be ok soon, just need some sleep. I think it’s time I went to bed.” She stood up and smiled snuffling back her tears and said goodnight.

  Maria looked back at her as she made her way to her bedroom.

  “She’ll be ok in the morning Maria. I’ll pop in on her before we go to bed. It’s just that she was very close to her brother and it wasn’t long ago she lost him. I’ll make us some hot chocolate and then get your bed made up.”

  Chapter 19

  Another evening slipped by and the grey dismal morning brought still more rain. The noise of hammering on Father Phillips’s bedroom window was soon accompanied by the sound of his alarm. He woke and let out a yawn before dragging his weary body out of the bed which he had spent even less hours in than the night before. These nights studying were starting to take their toll on his daily duties and the dreary light didn’t do anything to enliven him. He fumbled for his slippers, put on his dressing gown and made his way downstairs. A cup of strong coffee seemed to do the trick. He had to take confessions this morning and wanted to ensure he stayed awake for the duration. He cringed at the thought of snoring emanating from his side of the confession box instead of words of forgiveness.

  Even though his eyes were still weary from the marathon study session last night, he still managed enough time for a quick scan through the paper that had just dropped through the door with the morning’s post.

  ‘Euro In Crisis’, read the headline. ‘Are we heading toward world economic collapse?’ it continued.

  He skimmed through the other articles without finding anything that really grabbed him. After finishing the paper he folded it loosely in half and placed it on the table next to the small heap of unread mail, which he picked up and sifted through one by one.

  “Junk, junk, that can wait, Australia?”

  He frowned while looking at a postcard in his right hand and wondered whom he knew currently on holiday in Australia. The message on the back was short and simple and one that brought an immediate smile to his face.

  “Dear Father Phillips,

  You were right, I didn’t need to deal with it on my own. If you ever visit Australia then please come and say hello. I’ll put the kettle on for you.

  Mark said to say thank you.

  God bless you

  Mrs. Jacobs.”

  He turned the postcard over again to take another look at the picture of a beautiful beach with white sand and crystal clear sea then stood up and placed it on top of his mantelpiece. After staring at it for a moment in thought he turned and started to get ready for the day ahead. Days like this made it all worth it he thought.

  He stepped outside and locked the back door then took a look up at the sky. The rain looked as though it was going to last all day. While he hurried back across the small leaf covered courtyard to the rear entrance of the church he realized how brief a time it was since he’d been walking in the opposite direction. Luckily he managed to locate the correct key with ease and was soon inside the dry church and welcomed by a familiar whirring sound that grew louder as he approached the nave. This was the sound of Mrs. Robert’s vacuum cleaner as she pushed it backwards and forwards over the strip of carpet in front of the altar. This was an operation she carried out on a regular basis even when it was already spotless. As he entered the nave, Father Phillips waved at Mrs. Roberts to say good morning. The vacuum cleaner decreased in pitch like a jet engine winding down.

  “Good morning Father.”

  “Good morning Mrs. Roberts.” How are you today?

  “I’d be better if the sun came out.”

  “Yes, you and me both.” He pointed over at the curtained arch. “I’ll be down in the storeroom if you need me.”

  Father Phillips continued past the altar, through the arch at the top of the winding stairs and down into the storeroom below. He noticed he’d left the door unlocked last night, but everything was how it should be. Before he managed to get settled in his chair he heard the faint sound of an excited Mrs. Roberts calling him.

  “Good gracious! Father, look at this! What’s the world coming to?”

  “Hold on Mrs. Robe
rts. I’ll be with you in a second.”

  As he surfaced from the storeroom stairs he saw her brandishing a duster over by one of the pews and made his way over to her.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Look at this Father!” She pointed to the object of her disgust. A small shape had been carved into the back of a pew six rows back from the altar on the left side of the aisle. “Is there no respect?”

  Father Phillips looked at what was an almost perfect equilateral triangle of about an inch in size scraped into the back of the top rail of the pew as though gouged from the pew behind. The mark had mainly only just penetrated the varnish leaving a slight but obvious mark in the wood underneath, but the top had gone deeper.

  “Do you really think it’s vandalism Mrs. Roberts? It’s not very deep. Maybe it was just made by someone’s ring as they knelt down?”

  Mrs. Roberts raised her eyebrows. “Pretty sharp ring if you ask me Father. Not sure how they would unintentionally make the shape of a triangle either.”

  Father Phillips deliberated for a couple of seconds, not wanting to believe anyone would purposely do this. Then reality kicked in and reinforced Mrs. Roberts’s theory.

  “Yes, I suppose it is. Still, it’s not too deep. Nothing a bit of sandpaper and a touch of varnish won’t cure.” He tapped his hand on the pew, “No time like the present.”

  Mrs. Roberts raised her eyebrows again and wondered what he was up to. After the hours he’d spent down in the storeroom he was quite familiar with what was down there and was sure he recalled seeing some decorating materials in a box in the far corner. While he disappeared in search of the items Mrs. Roberts concentrated on cleaning the other pews and occasionally shook her head in disgust while muttering something about sacrilege to herself.

  Eventually he returned brandishing a piece of 100 grade aluminium oxide paper, some wood stain and a brush. He started humming to himself while proceeding to repair the damage to the pew. Mrs. Roberts looked over and wondered if all men had some dormant builder genes that stirred whenever they held tools causing them to spontaneously commence humming or whistling. After about twenty minutes he called out to Mrs. Roberts to come and inspect his handy work.