The Phantom of the Catacombs

by J. B. Michaels

  Maeve joined alongside. Two hunters who could easily be the prey in the lion’s den walked slowly, deliberately, and with conviction.

  Bud with the crossbow held high kept scanning the sides of the corridor. He regretted every glance. Some bodies were better preserved than others. Then randomly there would just be a section dedicated to skulls that were placed in a peculiar position with the back of the skulls touching each other as if one skull watched the left and the other the right. This particular placement seemed most repetitive with each step.

  The torches that dotted the walls waved; some crackled.

  “Bud, watch your step.” Maeve pointed to the stone floor. A raised circular symbol of two male faces facing opposite directions could possibly cause a nasty fall.

  “Thank you.” Bud stepped over the large medallion and continued on.

  No sounds emanated from the corridor. More torches, skulls, and skeletons lay ahead. Bud kept scanning the catacomb walls, completely captivated by the diversity of death. The various shapes, sizes, and types of bones distracted him. Bud spied a skull that resembled the phantom’s mask on the left side of the corridor just a few paces ahead. It lay on its side. It was surrounded by skulls, yet its glaring whiteness separated it from the rest of the old gray skulls.

  Bud stopped, loosed a hand off his crossbow, and pointed. “Maeve, that look familiar to you?”

  “Bud, where? Come on. I can’t let this chick get away from me again.” Maeve walked ahead.

  “Maeve!” Bud gasped then quickly covered his mouth.

  She stopped right next to the phantom-like skull and turned to him. “Bud. Shush. Let’s go. You are just spooked because of this place.”

  They both stared at each for a few uneasy seconds before Maeve gestured with her head to keep moving.

  Then she turned back around.

  Skulls shot out from the catacomb wall. Smoke filled the corridor.

  “Oh, shit,” Maeve said.

  “Maeve! Ma—”

  The smoke billowed once more. The light from the closest torches cast an orange, hazy glow. Bud still couldn’t see much of anything.

  “No!” Bud wanted to shoot at the phantom but not at the risk of hitting Maeve. He couldn’t see a damn thing.

  Bud charged the cloud of smoke. His heart—both broken from the thought of losing Maeve once again and the unhealthy rapidity of its beat—caused him to lose his breath. He needed to calm himself, or the phantom would get the better of him.

  The eerie silence and emptiness of the catacombs formed a deeply unsettling terror within Bud.

  Maeve disappeared.

  Chapter Forty

  Bud examined the floor. Skulls were strewn about. The side of the catacomb wall where the phantom had nabbed Maeve looked structurally sound. There were no signs of a secret passageway. Bud even reached into the wall opening that the phantom must have sprung from. His hand felt stone.

  Bud pushed the rest of the skulls out of the wall and onto the floor, hoping to trigger some hidden switch. Nothing.

  “There has to be a false door, or some other secret means of travel within this horrible place. Think, you blithering idiot. Think.”

  Bud rubbed his eyes as the smoke still lingered.

  “The smoke.” Bud ran a few paces away from the area of abduction.

  The phantom’s smoke had dissipated but to where? These ancient catacombs certainly were not built airtight, or otherwise, the smoke would just hang in the air. The black smoke rose into the ceiling. Bud had been so focused on the dead around him he hadn’t seen the rectangular opening. The phantom somehow ascended up and into the ceiling to another level of the catacombs.

  The torches below were absent above. Darkness loomed above.

  Bud secured Cranky to his back. He would use the side walls to climb and secure a hold in the opening. Just before he commenced his climb, he thought better of his current plan with his visible state.

  He gripped the cross around his neck. He focused hard and prayed. He allowed himself to feel his past pain. His complicated, quite loveless relationship with his parents. The grief of losing his grandfather. He tapped into his grace power. He observed the brown leather of his jacket sleeve fade away. Bud turned invisible.

  The torches would prove useful but only on the ground of the higher level. Carrying the torch would be dumb. Bud quickly moved Cranky to the front of his body. Cranky could not be seen with the naked eye either.

  “Good show, Cranks.” Bud grabbed two torches from the walls and threw them onto the next level.

  Bud climbed through the opening. Gone were the endless rows and cubbies full of the dead. Smoothed stone made up the walls. Marble. A temple most likely.

  The invisible man’s steps must be carefully considered as to not give his opponent any sensory clue where he might be. Bud moved forward in the direction he and Maeve had traveled before the impediment set by the phantom. He focused on walking, trying to make little or no sound.

  The torches he’d thrown into the chamber from below couldn’t cast much light the farther he moved away. The darkness beat back the light once more.

  Bud heard the sound of something being moved along the ground in intervals.

  Another drag. Stop. Then another. Stop. Another.

  Bud followed with his ears, the only tools he could sensibly rely upon in the absence of light.

  Still, his eyes did provide some clue. He swore he saw the white mask floating in the darkness ahead.

  The phantom continued to drag something. Could it be Maeve?

  Bud followed, knowing full well he could be springing another clever trap set by the phantom.

  Suddenly, a vertical ring of flame burst forth from the darkness and formed a grand entrance into a larger circular chamber. The flames traveled the ground of the chamber and illuminated a statue of a man with two faces, one young and one old. The god stood tall in the center of the chamber. The phantom dragged Maeve to the base of the statue. She lay unconscious at the feet of the two-faced marble sculpture.

  The phantom stood up from Maeve. Bud could see she had ditched her hat and had short light brown hair. The mask still covered most of her face. She looked in Bud’s direction and then held the stare as if sensing Bud’s invisible presence. Bud drew closer to the flaming ring entrance.

  Bud wished he could make a circus joke, but that would blow his cover. Instead, he observed the phantom for her next move. She pulled from her cloak a grapple. She shot it up into the ceiling near the interior dome’s oculus. The rope from the grapple dangled next to the statue.

  Her means of escape.

  The masked menace then moved Maeve’s arms out away from her sides then crossed her legs. Her body formed the shape of a crucifix.

  Bud shook his head. She was clever, calculated, and knew that Bud would understand the message. The exact opposite imagery as presented in the painting The Triumph of the Christian Religion. Instead of a broken marble statue on the floor, a Christian formed a cross with the triumphant pagan god standing over her.

  Bud remembered the pagan statue was beheaded. Just how far would the phantom take her artful desecration of a classic work? He walked through the ring of fire. He aimed and took a deep breath.

  The phantom brandished a knife and knelt down over Maeve’s head. She lifted the blade high with both hands.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The holy bolt grazed the phantom’s mask. She fell backwards and covered her face.

  Bud ran over to Maeve’s unconscious body on the floor and the writhing phantom. He couldn’t keep focus on maintaining invisibility. He appeared before the phantom who scooted away from him on the marble floor. Shocked. Stunned. Still, Bud had to believe she would recover quickly.

  “Don’t move.” Bud aimed the crossbow from his superior standing position.

  “You just don’t understand. We want the same things. Self-righteous Catholic idiot.” Her Italian accent was thick. The phantom sat up and held her face in her hands.r />
  “I don’t believe I want my friend to be decapitated, you masquerading murdering pagan. Put your hands up.” Bud kept Cranky aimed and moved closer to the enemy.

  The phantom put her hands up. The white mask fell from her grip. The flames in the temple showed her face. One side was marked by inked lines and a red mark from the bolt’s velocity. Tattoos denoted age where she would naturally wrinkle in the future. The other side was pristine, young, notably innocent. Soft features marked by blue eyes.

  Bud used the strap from his quiver and tied her hands behind her back.

  “You are the bringer of death. You already have blood on your hands. You prevent the mission from success,” she barked at Bud.

  “I trust you have some form of modern communication device that hasn’t been fried by your EMP. Where is it?” Bud wanted to call for help. His band and phone still showed no signs of life.

  “I would get it for you, but you tied my hands. How is your head?” She smiled.

  Bud took a deep breath. He tried to contain the anger he felt toward the phantom. She had bested the Order multiple times and nearly killed him and now Maeve.

  “A phone. Where is it? Or would you like another well-placed bolt in your ass? The soft tissue would exacerbate the pain you would feel.”

  “I must say, I like this new brand of monk. Much more effective than the tree-hugging slobs they usually have protecting Earth.” She started laughing. Loudly.

  “So, you now confirm you know the Order as I suspected given your ridiculously campy staging and protestation of The Triumph of the Christian Religion. Phone. Now.”

  “Ooh, and you are clever too. A thinking man. I am even more impressed. The phone is behind the statue.”

  Maeve stood up and rubbed her head. “Bud…I got her. Grab the phone.” The monk stared down the phantom. A look Bud had yet to see from Maeve. A look of fury.

  “Good to see you up and about, Maeve. Feel free to exact any punishment you see fit.” Bud smiled at Maeve’s revived state and excitedly ran to the back of the statue.

  Behind the statue was a makeshift living space, a small bed perfectly made, a small font that smelled of incense. The black bag was on the floor next to the bed. He dumped its contents on top of the bed.

  The flip-phone lay open. Bud grabbed it and examined the small screen. It somehow held a weak signal. The bars did climb up a level though under the oculus.

  Bud walked back to the phantom and Maeve. “Maeve, the number to the Order. I’d rather not call emergency services.”

  “Just give me the phone, Bud. I will call the cardinal.” Maeve held her hand out.

  “You’d better call,” the phantom warned. “We are going to need all the help we can get.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Cardinal Riggio paced the Compendium floor. “She bears the mark of Janus. Her face, the mask… It all makes sense. The gate opened in the Arch of Janus right over her lair and a hidden temple dedicated to the relatively lower level god in the Pantheon.”

  “Forgive me for not keeping up on my study of Roman mythology, but who is this Janus fellow.” Bud fiddled with his wristband and sat in a chair for much-needed rest.

  “The god of beginnings and endings. Of the start and end to war. He oversees departures and entrances. He looks to the past and to the future at the same time. The reason for the two faces.”

  “She seemed to know much about the Order. Any idea how or why? And she expressed we both wanted the same thing. Whatever that meant.”

  “That is disturbing. She isn’t supposed to know. How do you know about us?”

  The phantom sat shackled to a table in the reading area of the Compendium. “We are wasting time. The marked ones have multiplied since you caught me.”

  Maeve looked at the cardinal with her hands up. “She is not going to answer any questions. Just babbling on about marked ones.”

  “Marked ones…marked ones.” Cardinal Riggio tapped his chin.

  Timothy the librarian monk ran down the corridor to a bookcase. The thump of books hitting the floor echoed through the subterranean chamber. He ran back to the reading area with a book opened to a specific page.

  “Well, what do you have, dear fellow? Does he speak?” Bud asked.

  “He speaks, but is quiet and shy. Monks don’t socialize much. I will take it, Timothy.” Riggio grabbed the book and then examined the page.

  “What does it say?” Maeve asked.

  “Marked ones, spiritual coercion or temptation to carry out evil acts usually in service of some idol or dark entity.” The cardinal lifted his head with a solemn look.

  “She could just be a loon in service of Janus, right? Why such a serious look? We’ve caught her, correct?” Bud asked.

  “Yes, certainly human sacrifice to the gods is nothing we haven’t dealt with before,” Maeve chimed in.

  “No, Janus isn’t a god that required blood sacrifice or ritual killing. Janus was more a guardian than warrior. Timothy, check S.I.S. for me, will you?” The cardinal walked to the desktop.

  Timothy pounded the keys and accessed S.I.S. The map of Rome and especially the Piazza del Colosseo was covered in red with strong indicators of supernatural activity.

  “That is stronger than normal. Did Vincenzo report in last night, Timothy? Check the logs.” The leader of the Order of St. Michael put a hand on Timothy’s shoulder.

  Timothy’s fingers raced across the keyboard. He shook his head.

  “Oh dear. We must go to the Piazza now. Find out what happened to Vincenzo.”

  “Does anyone know where Sam is? Did he fish Bert from the bottom of the Tiber? He did come here to seek help, did he not?” Bud stood up, worried about his android.

  Cardinal Riggio shrugged his shoulders. “I am afraid I was asleep until your call, Maeve. He did message me and said he split off the group to better search for the phantom per your request, Bud. I assumed you would have just called him off his search as of now.”

  “He told me he had a sister.” Bud looked over at the phantom. Her blue eyes, soft features, just like Sam’s.

  “I have her phone. Let me check for his… Oh no, this is Sam’s number in her call log.” Maeve put her hand on her chest.

  The phantom cackled. “Cursum perficio. We will. We must. Cursum perficio!”

  “What the bloody hell does that mean?” Bud wanted to shake the deranged woman.

  “We finish our journey is what she said. Something someone would say when praying to Janus the god of endings, I suppose,” Cardinal Riggio said.

  “I assume ‘we’ is her and her brother,” Maeve said.

  “How else would she bloody know how to track the marked ones? Sam gave her access to my grandfather’s tech. She knew about the Order too. I never had Bert interface with S.I.S., and Sam was the only one who had access to it on our hunt. She isn’t a ghost. He led us into her trap with S.I.S. saying there was supernatural forces ahead. He is a cultist just like her. I didn’t like him from the start.”

  “Yes, Bud, we understand how ingenious and correct you are,” Cardinal Riggio said. “The reality is, my young man, is that we have a multitude of problems to solve. The opening ceremony of the World Games is today. A cultist killer is on the loose. And Vincenzo may be dead because the supernatural readings are through the roof where his tree is stationed near the Colosseum.”

  “The people of Rome are in danger. Help my brother. The Colosseum is the marked one’s target. Help him.” Sam’s sister’s eyelids twitched as she spoke.

  “See if you can capture these marked ones. We will never find who is corrupting their minds if they are killed.” Cardinal Riggio pointed to the exit.

  “No! You must eliminate! You don’t understand! Kill them, Bud. Kill them, Maeve!” the phantom yelled.

  “How do we get to the Colosseum?” Bud asked. “Certainly the roads will be jammed and security tight.”

  “Timothy, get them to the chopper. I will inform the Carabinieri to be on high alert.”
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  “Oh, thank God it is not another pneumatic tube or submarine!” Bud said.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Bud, Maeve, and Timothy made their way to the top of Castel Sant’Angelo. The statue of St. Michael stood high above the city to signify his protection over the citizens of Rome and the world. The back of the archangel was as detailed and carefully sculpted as the front. Bud found the patron saint of warriors symbolized a fitting ideal to live up to. Protect the innocent from those who do harm.

  The morning light showed that the helicopter was not large, nor was it grand. It was small, light grey, and rusty near the door hinges.

  “Wonderful. We will need to pray for a safe flight.” Bud entered the small chopper.

  Maeve followed.

  Timothy pointed to the headsets on the floor.

  “Why do you plan on speaking to us?” Bud asked.

  Timothy smiled. The monk gave Bud a smartphone with S.I.S. loaded onto the screen. He secured his headphones and started the engine. The rotors and blades circled into high gear. They lifted off the helipad. The Tiber lay right below them as they headed southeast. The morning rush filled the streets of Rome below. Bud observed the non-linear nature of the road system. The grid system of Chicago didn’t apply in the ancient capital. The streets curved, curled, expanded, and contracted. It didn’t take long for Bud to notice the Capitol Museums which led to the Forum and the famous temples dedicated to Romulus and the goddess Vesta, among others.

  One did not need S.I.S. to feel a spiritual and historical presence in this part of Rome.

  The Colosseum lay ahead.

  “Looks like Montalbano is packing up their equipment. The World Games must be holding rehearsals for the day’s event. You up to the task, Maeve?” Bud spoke into the mic of his headphones.

  “Yes. Little bump on the head, but I feel good. I hope Ivy is okay. We could use her, but she wouldn’t be able to help in the sunlight. I forgot to see her at HQ. How are you doing?” Maeve asked.