by Greg Ballan
"I don't pretend to understand how you can do the things you do, Erik. But if there's a chance you can shed some light on what happened here…" Denton paused, looking directly into Erik's face.
"You're right. Just keep talking to me. Give me a sort of anchor line back with your voice in case I get pulled in too deep." Erik smirked. "Shanda is so much better at this than I am. But I wouldn't want her exposed to the shit that's infecting this place."
Erik walked over to the large cross and carried it back to the pew. He closed his eyes. Remembering the transient state he needed to acquire, he took a series of shallow cleansing breaths and focused all his will on his empathic power.
The light around him faded but he was still in the holy chamber. He looked over at the pew and Martin was gone. He heard the savage hiss and saw a man shrouded in black. The first wave of fear savaged his body.
"Oh God, get away. Get back!" the detective screamed, his eyes were wide with fright as he cried out in fear. Yet somehow he knew the voice wasn't his own.
The dark being fell upon the brother that had reached out to him. Fangs tore into its victim spraying warm blood upon the cold white marble floor. The slurping sound as it fed on the dying clergyman, nauseated him. "In the name of all that's holy get back!" Erik screamed again as the vision inside his head totally took control. Again the voice didn't seem to be his own, but he shared the fear. Wave upon wave of abject terror coursed through his body nearly paralyzing him into a catatonic state of shock.
"I'm here Erik!" Denton screamed at his friend. "Tell me what you see. What's happening damn it!" Martin shook his friend, but the detective's eyes were vacant and lost. The psychic link had swallowed the detective's conscious mind completely, absorbing it into the horror imprinted upon the object. "Erik! Can you hear me?"
The detective was near catatonic. Terror and remorse riddled his voice. "It killed him. It fed upon his blood like some thrice damned ghoul. It just killed another, Brother Tom, my dear friend Brother Tom is gone. It's … it's holding his beating heart up like a trophy, laughing hysterically as the blood sprays out from torn arteries. Tom's chest is spilling blood everywhere. Oh God no, he's still clinging to life, staring at his own still beating heart. Run Brother Peter, I'll keep it at bay! Tell the cardinals what's happened!" Erik wept uncontrollably as wave after wave of shear agony and torment flooded his body from the object. "Oh my friends how could this happen in this, the holiest of places? God why hast thou forsaken me and my brothers? What sins have we committed to deserve such torment?"
Erik leapt up from the pew and in one superhuman vault landed twenty feet away in the middle of the marble floor. He held the large pole cross like an axe waiting for his imaginary foe to strike. "It's coming for me. I won't go down without a fight!"
The detective's eyes turned into fiery blue embers and he leapt up holding the cross like a weapon. "Back to the stinking pits of Hell with you!" Erik slammed the cross down with superhuman force shattering the marble tile and snapping the heavy pole like a toothpick. He adopted a fighter's stance preparing to fight some unseen opponent.
The monk next to Erik in the vision fell. The dark being in the hood stood over him and began butchering the still-struggling body. The hybrid felt rage boil inside him. The sense of fear faded, replaced by a disgust and hate. The cloaked being looked toward the altar, not seeing the detective, oblivious to his rage. "You wanna fight!" Erik screamed at the dark murderer, "You got it! Fight me you bastard, I'm no helpless monk!"
The enraged detective swung his weapon with lethal precision, his eyes burning slits of rage as he prepared to fight the opponent inside his mind. The sentient staff crackled with aqua-blue energy and an aura of unbridled power surrounded the enraged hybrid.
◆◆◆
Martin heard a loud buzzing drone. Something flowed like liquid chrome from Erik's belt, forming a long slender cylinder that settled into his friend's outstretched hand. Denton felt his stomach churn. "Oh shit! Why did he bring his staff? He'll blast us all to kingdom come!"
A sense of dread overtook Martin. The tingle of fear raced through his spine, exploding in his skull. His friend began to change. His skin took on a silver quality and his powerful human physique grew, threatening to burst through his clothing. If the power of the silver warrior was unleashed here, the whole facility would collapse killing them all and entombing them forever beneath thousands of tons of rubble. The enraged hybrid would undoubtedly survive the cave-in and keep fighting and blasting away at his unseen foe, oblivious to anyone or anything in the real world. Desperation gave the old man courage. He had to reach his friend's mind, break the hold the vision had on him.
"Special Agent Knight!" Denton screamed at the top of his lungs. "Erik! Erik! It's over, what you're seeing is past. You're seeing something that's already occurred! There isn't a threat here! You fire that weapon you'll kill all of us!" Denton wasn't getting through. "Erik, you're in some kind of goddamned nightmare! Snap out of it lad!"
Erik leveled the staff at his unseen foe. Lightning danced around the weapon's tip and, even several feet away, Denton could feel the radiant heat and static buildup. The weapon's eerie luminescence illuminated the entire chamber. The staff was about to fire a blast of indescribable power. The discharge would blow a gaping hole through the walls, obliterate several support columns, and bury them all. Denton closed his eyes awaiting oblivion.
"I am the Warrior!" The detective's battle cry echoed off every surface and reverberated for several seconds followed by dead silence.
Martin counted to three and looked up. "We're still here." The air was filled with the smell of ozone and he heard the crackle of untamed electricity. His friend was on his knees, clinging to his staff, weeping. The staff purred an almost comforting harmonic.
Martin made his way over to his friend as their four escorts approached the fallen detective.
"Erik?" Martin whispered. "Erik, it's me, Martin. Are you okay?"
Erik didn't move. His head was bent over, his body shivering.
◆◆◆
Erik looked up at his friend, tear-stained eyes radiated agony and haunting pain. "Oh God, Martin, I'm so sorry. Your son … he bought time for one of them to escape with his life. I saw what happened up to the point your son was killed." Erik looked down, he knelt in a dried pool of blood, the blood of Brother William Denton.
The shaken detective pointed. "He used that pole cross like a sledge hammer and cracked its skull. But the thing survived the blow. It got back up and…" Erik stopped himself short; Martin didn't need to hear this. The battered detective stood, using his staff like a cane. The weapon instantly adapted itself, forming a silver walking stick. The detective ignored the gasps from the Vatican police and bishops. "I want to see the edge of that cross."
Erik bent over and studied the cross. It was embedded in the subflooring. With a burst of superhuman strength, he hefted the holy symbol from the protesting timbers. Half of the cross was covered with a black ichor.
"Blood… it's some kind of dried blood." Erik studied the substance. "But it looks like it's been burnt or scorched." He looked over at Martin and the others. The police were studying him with concern and something akin to fear and awe. Martin sat alone in a nearby pew, his head in his hands. The realization finally hit the detective. He had relived his friend's sons last moments and relayed them to the grieving father like some horrible nightmare. Erik didn't know what he had said while in his catatonic trance, but he suspected he'd given his old friend a gory peek at his son's final moments.
"Oh shit! This is turning into one big cluster fuck." Erik looked back at the large suspended image of Jesus and rolled his eyes. "Hey … a lot worse has been said and done here in the last week, so cut me some slack." He walked over and placed a hand on the counselor's shoulder. "I am so sorry Martin. I swear to you I had no idea it would play out like that."
Denton looked up through tear-stained eyes. "It's not your fault, Erik. I pushed you. I wanted to know, and n
ow I do. He died a horrible death by some godforsaken psychopathic ghoul with a fetish for gothic flare."
"Why don't you head back to the hotel and let me wrap this up? You've had a hell of a morning so far, Counselor." Erik shrugged. "Actually, we both have."
Denton looked up at his friend and stood up slowly. "I'll be fine, Erik. Just answer me one question, please."
"Anything."
"Was his death quick? Did he suffer?"
"No Martin, from the impressions I got, he didn't suffer."
The old man sighed. "Thank God for that."
Erik gently patted his friend's shoulder and picked up the lab case. It was a blatant lie. But Erik could live with it. If he could spare his friend more suffering, he'd lie, even in this place. "I'm going to pull a few samples off that metal cross and then we'll take a look at the overturned altar and see what our homicidal friend was up to here. It might tell us what secrets our friends in Vatican City are hiding in this basement."
Denton pointed to a particular blood trail that was partially intermixed with his son's blood. "Let's get blood samples from all these spots too. Those splatters look markedly different than the others. Hopefully the lab can give us an idea of what kind of blood dries nearly onyx black."
Erik nodded. "Can you take care of that while I head over to the altar? If we divide and conquer, we can get out of here that much sooner. We still need to question the survivor. I can only imagine the tale he's going to have for us."
Denton nodded in agreement. "Erik, one more question."
"Fire away, Counselor."
"I don't know exactly what you saw in your head, or what you were fighting, but you were in the process of changing into your warrior self. You were one heartbeat away from using that silver lighting stick and blasting this whole place to kingdom come."
Erik looked down at his staff and then back over at his friend. "I'm sorry, Martin. I could have killed all of you. Trying to read that object was a stupid call on my part. I wasn't prepared for such a powerful onslaught. The sensations were more intense than anything I've ever experienced." Erik looked over at the shattered pole and now-damaged holy icon that lay on the fractured marble floor tiles. "I made a bad call, Martin. I underestimated the impressions imprinted on that thing and let myself get sucked into that negative wormhole. It won't happen again." The detective rubbed his hand through his hair. "Maybe getting back in the saddle wasn't such a good idea."
"No, Erik, this mess is my fault. I pushed you. I should have chosen the more prudent course. I let my self-interest cloud my judgment. That won't happen again, either. I need you here, Special Agent Knight. Your talents and abilities are wasted behind a desk at that health club. We learned a great deal from this little episode." Martin looked up at his friend. "We both just need to get the rust off our asses. We've been benched for too long. We'll get back in our groove. I know we will, but what I want to know is this. Did you hear me yelling at you? I tried to get through to you, but I couldn't. You were about to unload a king-size can of whoop-ass but you stopped. What finally allowed you to regain control?"
Erik looked at his friend as he considered the question. "I honestly don't know, Martin. I was about to give that thing a million-volt kiss of death but something inside me knew it was a phantom. Before I could let loose, I finally realized it wasn't real. The next thing I knew, I was on the floor." The detective placed a friendly hand on Denton's shoulder, "Maybe I heard you after all. Let's not jinx our good fortune by over-analyzing it."
Martin nodded. "Agreed. Let's get back at it, Special Agent Knight. We still have a great deal of work to do."
Erik half smiled and nodded. Martin's back-to-business tone still had his friendly undertone. "Yes sir." Erik nodded and approached the altar. The Greek police officer nervously shadowed the detective as did one of the bishops. Both men kept a safe distance but watched the detective's movements with great intensity as he investigated the overturned granite top.
"What were you looking for over here that caused you to topple the entire table?" Erik asked aloud. He spotted three exposed wires and knelt down to examine the exposed copper. "Black is negative, red is power and green is ground if I remember correctly—and if the Vatican follows the same wiring standard as the United States." He spotted an exposed sheet metal screw that was bent and half jarred from its housing. "I'm guessing the ground wire went here." Erik grabbed the wire and guided it toward the screw and housing … the wire length indicated his assumption was correct. The detective reattached the wire and took a dime from his pocket to serve as a makeshift screwdriver, securing the ground wire back in its place. He focused his attention on the other two wires. "And you two were connected to something…" he looked at the overturned granite slab. "On that, I'll bet." He walked back over to the large slab of polished stone and discovered a shattered mechanism on the table's exposed underside. "Bingo!"
"What are you doing, Agent Knight?" A bishop approached nervously.
"I'm investigating the murders, Your Excellency. What do you think I'm doing? That table has an electronic mechanism. I'm guessing there was something more going on here than murder. I don't recall electronic devices being standard fare on altar tables."
Erik studied the ruined plastic and metal box. "It's some kind of button relay." The detective walked back to the altar, jumping up the four steps. "I wonder…." He held his hand over the red wire and could feel the pulse of electricity with his enhanced senses. "What will happen if I close the circuit?"
Erik held the two wires by the insulation and touched the exposed ends together. A loud clang occurred inside the wall directly behind the altar. Large chains that supported the massive suspended crucifix began to rise, lifting the tilted fifteen-foot cross from its previous resting position. A stone panel slid open exposing a heavy metal safe. The door to the safe was open and swung freely.
"Well now!" Erik looked over at the bishop. The man's jaw fell open. The police officer looked at Erik, then back toward the bishop. "Senior Field Agent Denton!" Erik shouted in a formal manner. "I've got something here."
The detective turned toward the bishop. "I assume you knew this was here."
"No, Mr. Knight, I was not aware of any such thing. I assure you."
Erik studied the man. His eyes were direct and there was no increase in his pulse. He was telling the truth. Why weren't they told about this? Surely Bishop O'Malley knew something was hidden here. Erik shook his head. This was the piece of the puzzle they needed to investigate.
"What's this?" Denton pointed toward the exposed panel.
"Just another mystery on top of the one we're trying to unravel." Erik pointed toward the opening. "Let's take a look."
The six men approached the open safe. The latch on the door was warped and twisted. The locking bar had snapped under some terrific pressure. Erik felt some sort of residual power emanating from the metal box—a power directly opposing the dread he'd felt coming off the bloodied cross. He gasped as his body absorbed the radiant energy.
"Erik, what is it?"
"Whatever was hidden in there was a source of great power, Martin. Nothing like I picked up from the cross—this is completely different. It's benign, almost passive but far more powerful. Something very special was kept in here, Counselor. Our friends upstairs have some more explaining to do. We definitely aren't getting the whole picture."
The detective wrinkled his nose and sniffed the air like a blood hound, his eyes narrowed.
"What is it, Erik?"
"You don't smell it?"
Denton frowned. "I don't have your bloodhound senses."
"It's a smell I haven't experienced since my Special Forces days in Colombia. We got ambushed by several drug cartel 'Mercs' with flamethrowers. Before we could neutralize the threat, three of our men were barbecued alive. I'll never forget the smell of charred flesh! I just got a hint of that scent." Erik looked at his friend. "There's something more happening here. We have a cross with burnt blood, the smell of burn
t flesh, and now a hidden safe that appears to have been robbed. I'm getting a picture here and I do not like it one damn bit. Our holy rollers upstairs are playing us like chumps and I'd like to know why."
Denton nodded his head in frustration. "Okay, we'll grill our friends upstairs later. Right now let's check this out."
"This safe door was forced." The Greek officer noted. "But it would take some kind of mechanical or hydraulic apparatus to perform such a feat, or perhaps heavy explosives."
Erik shook his head. "I'd rule out explosives. There's no collateral blast force damage. Any kind of apparatus with enough power to pry this open would be too big for one man to bring down here, let alone remove single handedly. Plus, look at the handle—see how it's torqued and bent? Someone exerted an extreme amount of pressure to open this safe and I don't think any artificial mechanism was involved." Erik put on a fresh set of gloves as he continued to study the safe. "Look, here, Martin. There aren't any pry marks or any surface scratches on the metal."
Erik peered inside the ruined safe. "Holy shit!" He blushed. "Excuse me, Your Excellencies. This safe is lined with solid gold," Erik ran his gloved finger over a ridge on the safe's bottom. "There's at least an inch of gold lining the inside of this safe and on the door itself." The detective's brow wrinkled.
"What is it, Agent Knight?"
Erik looked at the Greek. "I'm sorry, sir. I never got your name." Erik cursed himself, he knew how important relations were with the police and he'd always made a point of being cordial to law enforcement.
The Greek laughed. "Totally forgivable, Agent Knight. Your hosts have kept you busy. I'm Nicholas Tekaropolis. Please call me 'Neko'."
The detective took off his right latex glove and extended his hand to the officer. "A pleasure to meet you, Neko." The two men exchanged a firm handshake. The detective looked toward the other police officer and extended his hand.
