by Mark Carver
God have mercy…
The woman knelt down again, placing her hand under his chin and raising his face to look at hers.
“The angel said one more thing.”
Father DeMarco could barely focus his eyes. The woman’s face was a shimmering blur of shapes.
“What…what did she say?”
The woman smiled.
“She said that you would come to us.”
“Me?”
“Mm-hmm. Father Stefano Dimitri DeMarco.”
His breath froze in his throat.
She saw the fear in his eyes. Her smile disappeared.
“She said something else about you.”
Father DeMarco clenched his teeth and stared directly into her eyes. He hoped she couldn’t hear his heart pounding.
“What else did she say?”
She looked at him for a moment, then she glanced up at the men holding his arms fast.
Immediately, they jerked him up and bent him backwards. He cried out and he saw the church tower piercing the sky above him. His spine cracked and his nerves screamed with pain.
The woman’s face came into view, with the dark tower rising behind her. She raised her arm. In her fist, she clenched a gray cloth that emitted a sharp odor.
Her voice was low and measured.
“She told us to bring you to Rome.”
She bent down and put her mouth close to the priest’s ear.
“I think she has big plans for you.”
She slapped the cloth over his mouth. Father DeMarco’s eyes bulged and every muscle in his body became as tense as steel. The vapors seeped into his lungs, and the world dissolved into blackness.
CHAPTER 10
Christine felt something. She couldn’t tell where or what it was. It was as if the sensation covered her like a blanket.
It was dark, but she didn’t know if her eyes were open or closed. She tried to move but her body made no response. Every muscle seemed as limp as a dead fish.
What is going on?
She forced herself to concentrate, to focus the sensation into something she could understand.
Very slowly, like water evaporating, the fog of confusion dissipated and she began to regain feeling in her limbs. The vague sensation seemed to crystallize, and she recognized it as pain. But it wasn’t unpleasant. At least not yet.
The pain seemed to spread over her whole body, but then it started to pull away and migrate to the right side of her body, as if being pulled by a magnet. It crept up her torso, then to her shoulder, then to the muscle tissue just above her bicep…
She gasped awake and bolted upright, snarling in pain.
“Christine! Don’t move, lie back down!”
It was Patric’s voice. The haze in her head was still quite thick but she knew what she had heard.
She didn’t want to sit back down. She wanted to see where she was. Summoning her remaining strength, she pried open her eyelids. They felt like heavy coffin lids that wanted to repel the light at all costs, but she finally succeeded, and was promptly blinded by searing white light.
“Where am I?” she wheezed, surprised at how dry her throat was.
She felt Patric’s hand press gently but firmly against her uninjured shoulder.
“Please, Christine. You need to lie down. You’ll rip out the IV line.”
Christine looked down at her hand, and the blurs swimming before her eyes slowly came into focus.
Patric was right. There was a frighteningly large IV needle piercing the skin on the top of her right hand. She tried to raise her hand to get a better look.
Pain shot like lightning from her shoulder and raced through every nerve in her body. She gasped as if she had fallen into a pool of icy water.
She heard another voice that she didn’t recognize.
“Mademoiselle, be still. Lie down on the bed.”
She looked up and saw a face, a woman’s face, perhaps middle-aged but seemingly much older. The woman wore a mask which concealed most of her face, but her eyes were kind.
Christine could feel her heart racing. She was beginning to get a handle on her disorientation and panic, and she figured the best thing to do right now was to obey. Feeling behind her with her hand, she determined that the bed was reasonably soft with a pillow. She slowly eased herself back down, letting seeds of calmness take root.
Things began to become clearer, in her mind as well as in her vision. She became aware of the scent of ammonia, the sound of clattering metal, but most keenly, the scorching pain in her shoulder.
I’m in a hospital…
She suddenly felt frightened. Where was Patric?
“I’m here,” she heard him say. Did she call out to him?
She felt his hand close over hers.
“Don’t move,” he said softly. “Try and relax. You’re safe.”
Christine licked her dry lips and looked up at him. “Where are we?”
Patric’s eyes were kind but she saw a flicker of anger in them. “You were shot. It was pretty bad, and I didn’t know what to do. We got out of there but we had nowhere to go. Then you passed out.”
He took a deep breath.
“I thought that was the end. Someone was going to find us. But then…I don’t know how or why, but there was a boat. Just a little one, barely big enough for the two of us. So I pushed out into the river and hoped we could find help somewhere.”
Christine’s eyes grew wide.
“Papa…!”
She started to sit up again, but the woman’s face appeared above her and an unseen hand kept her glued to the bed.
“Be still, child. I’m not finished dressing the wound.”
Tears seeped from her eyes and fell upon the white sheets. Everything came rushing back into her mind. The smoke, the gunfire, the screams…
Her father dragging himself across the ground, smearing his blood on the concrete floor…
She forgot about the pain in her shoulder and the massive needle in her hand. She just knew that she needed to puke.
With a gurgle, she lurched to her left. Fortunately, Patric saw the nauseated expression in her face and he snatched an aluminum wastebasket up to catch the vomit gushing from her mouth.
Christine sobbed as she emptied her stomach into the trash can, then she wiped her mouth and collapsed on the bed. Patric handed her a paper tissue and she cleaned her face, squeezing her eyes shut as her body quivered with sobs.
Patric stroked her sweaty forehead. “I’m sorry, Christine.”
After a few minutes, her grief began to ebb, and she lay still. Her eyes were closed, and Patric started to wonder if she was asleep. But when the doctor finished the final suture and clipped the thread, her eyes snapped open.
“Patric,” she said in a soft voice.
“Yes?”
Her eyes stared into the lamp hovering above the bed.
“Thank you.”
Patric nodded. He wished she would look at him, but her eyes did not move.
“You’re welcome,” he answered quietly.
The doctor slipped the mask from her face and peeled off her surgical gloves with a snap.
“Okay, you are finished, young lady.”
Christine sat up, grimacing as she accidentally moved her right arm a little.
The doctor noticed her expression.
“It will be quite painful for a few days. The wound was very deep, and you lost a lot of blood.”
She looked at Patric.
“If you had gotten here an hour or two later, it would have been very bad.”
Christine also turned towards Patric.
“Where are we? How did we get here?”
She looked back at the doctor, and her eyes narrowed with suspicion. The doctor smiled politely, then left the room and closed the door.
Patric cleared his throat and shifted his feet.
“I put you in the boat and I started paddling down river. I didn’t know where I was going; I just wanted to get away from that place. I was worried
that someone would follow us, but no one did.
“You were shivering terribly. Your face was completely white, and your arm was covered in blood. I knew that you were bleeding to death, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“So what happened?” Christine asked.
Patric swallowed roughly.
I prayed…
“I, uh, I kept searching the shore, looking for any lights, but we were in the middle of a forest, and there was no one around. But then I smelled smoke. I slowed the boat down and started looking in the trees, and I saw a light. I didn’t know what it was or if it was safe, but I had no choice. I put the boat on the bank and got you out. You felt as cold as ice and you were delirious. You were mumbling in Farsi again.”
Christine smiled shyly.
Patric smiled too for a moment, then continued his story. “It was so dark, and we almost fell down a couple of times, but we finally made it to the light source. It was just a cabin in the woods. I knocked very loudly and an old man came to the door. I told him that you had been shot and he didn’t ask any questions. He just got his coat and helped me put you in his truck, and he drove us here to the doctor’s office. He told us that the doctor was a friend of his and that she would fix you up in a heartbeat, and he was right.”
Christine didn’t realize that her mouth was hanging open in disbelief. She stared at Patric with wide, shimmering eyes.
Suddenly, she blushed and glanced down.
“So,” she said, a bit too loudly, “the old man didn’t ask you how I got shot?”
Patric shook his head and shrugged. “No. In fact, he didn’t seem too surprised to see us.”
“You mean…he knew we were coming?”
“Of course not. That would be ridiculous. How could he know that we would come to his little cabin in the middle of a huge forest in the dead of night?”
Christine frowned at his tone. “I don’t know. I’m just trying to follow what you are saying. I was unconscious, remember?”
“Listen, I don’t know what’s going on in these people’s heads. I’m just glad that you’re okay.”
His eyes dropped to the floor and he studied his shoes for a moment.
“I was really worried about you.”
Christine’s frown softened. There was genuine emotion in his voice.
She reached out and took his hand. Her eyes met his.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
A moment passed. But it felt much longer.
The door creaked painfully and the doctor stepped into the room. Her surgical mask dangled beneath her chin.
“How are you feeling?” she asked Christine.
“Better,” was the reply.
The doctor nodded. “It will still hurt a lot, but I have some pills to help with that.”
Christine shook her head. “Thank you, but no. No pills.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow. “The pain will be incredible.”
“No pills,” Christine repeated, her voice firm with conviction. She turned to Patric.
“My mother was an addict,” she said, as if confessing her own crime, “and I don’t want to be near anything like that again.”
Patric glanced at the doctor, then nodded his agreement. “Okay, if you want. But the doctor is right. You have a serious wound and it’s going to take a long time to heal.”
Christine squeezed his hand. “I can handle it.”
She gave him a sad sort of smile, and Patric knew that her mind was made up. He looked back at the doctor.
“Thank you very much for helping us,” he said, “but I’m afraid that we don't have any money to pay you.”
The doctor waved her hand with mild irritation. “Please, there is no charge. I am happy to help Claude’s daughter any way that I can.”
Christine gasped, and Patric moved instinctively closer to her. Both of them peered at the doctor with anxious eyes.
“How do you know my father?” Christine demanded. She tightened her body in preparation for a quick escape.
The doctor smiled wistfully. “You have no idea how much you remind me of him right now. You truly are his daughter.”
Christine scowled. “I know I am, but how do you?”
With a weary sigh that betrayed a level of anxiety, the doctor sat down in an aluminum chair.
“I’ve known you since you were a little girl. Claude used to bring you to the forest to hunt and just get away from the chaos of the city. Do you remember?”
Christine stared at the doctor for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“Every summer.”
The doctor nodded as well.
“That’s right. And you may also remember that these woods are full of poison ivy and other toxic plants. One summer, you fell into a patch and had a very bad reaction. Your father brought you into town to get you treated. I was your doctor.”
Patric watched Christine carefully. He saw the flicker of remembrance cross her face, but her eyes remained narrow.
“So how do you know my father so well?” she asked, her voice bearing an accusatory tone. “You only saw me that once.”
The doctor swallowed.
“Yes. Well, your father…he….”
Suddenly, the door burst open and dark figures swarmed into the room. There was a sharp crack and the doctor slumped in her chair, a bullet hole in her forehead.
Christine screamed and rushed into Patric’s arms. Patric was frozen as he watched the doctor die, then his survival instinct flared to life. He threw Christine behind him and raised his fists for combat.
He barely had time to blink as he saw a dark shape fly towards him and crash into the side of his face. The room exploded into a million pieces of light and he crumpled to the floor.
“Patric!” Christine screamed. Rough hands seized her and pulled her away.
Patric lay on the ground, gasping like a fish. The room spun and swirled around him, and he heard Christine’s screams echoing in his ears.
Someone lifted him off of the ground and threw him against the wall. The force knocked the wind from his lungs. His eyes bulged as he struggled to breathe.
Across the room, he saw Christine thrashing wildly in the grip of her attackers. Finally, they managed to subdue her. Someone dumped the doctor’s lifeless body on the floor and Christine was flung down into the bloody chair.
The attackers all wore black masks but Patric recognized their uniforms. They looked like those worn by the men who had raided Claude’s compound just hours before.
How did they find us?
His head was swimming and the right side of his face was hot with pain. He struggled to stay conscious as he watched one of the masked men hover over Christine. He raised his hand to strike her but was stopped by one of his comrades.
“Don’t,” the man ordered. “He won’t talk if she comes in already beaten up.”
Patric couldn’t trust his senses but his heart leaped inside his aching chest.
Was Claude still alive?
His lungs sucked in sharp breaths of air and he gritted his teeth as he struggled to stand up. One of the masked figures turned and looked at him.
“What about that one?”
Another masked man, probably the leader, glanced at Patric, then looked away.
“Kill him.”
The first man raised a very large gun and pointed it at Patric’s head. Patric couldn’t see the man’s face, but somehow he knew he was smiling.
“Wait!”
The leader suddenly rushed forward and hauled Patric to his feet. His shockingly blue eyes studied Patric’s face for a few seconds. Then he started laughing.
“Praise Satan…”
“What is it?” one of his team asked.
The commando poked Patric’s chest with his weapon. “Look at his face. Don’t you recognize him?”
Several masked faces crowded together and murderous eyes stared at him. Then, as if pulled back by an invisible leash, they jerked their heads back and gasped.
&nbs
p; “It’s him!”
“The Delusional’s brother!”
“What is he doing here?”
“What are we going to do with him?”
Patric tried to smother his fear but his eyes betrayed him. The leader seized him by the shoulder and pulled him into their midst. He was surrounded, feeling like a sheep in a circle of wolves.
“Let’s kill him now!” one said.
“No,” their leader snapped. He turned slowly towards Patric, hellfire flashing in his eyes. “We will take him to Rome. Something tells me that a public execution in St. Nero’s Square would be quite a morale boost for the Order.”
The others chuckled their agreement. Patric made no attempt to hide the fear that he was feeling. He considered telling them that he wasn’t a Christian, but he knew it was useless. They would probably kill him on the spot.
He glanced at Christine, who was cowering in the chair beneath a menacing gun barrel. He saw the terror in her eyes, but her face wasn’t as pale as before. She had heard what the attacker had said about her father.
“Let’s go!” the leader barked.
Christine and Patric were promptly hauled out of the room and propelled out of the building. Once outside, however, they were directed towards separate vehicles.
“No!” Patric snarled, trying to break free from his captor’s grip.
“Patric!” Christine cried.
“Get in!” one of the masked men growled, flinging Patric into the waiting black van.
“Christine!” he called out.
He locked eyes with her for just a moment before the van door slid shut.
****
Master Ko's head was bowed low and his lips trembled with whispered prayers. The fearsome pentagram that loomed over his head seemed to shimmer and ooze in the flickering candles. The gilded goat skull on the altar below stared at him with empty eye sockets.
There was turmoil in his heart. He knew that he was following the path laid out for him and for the Order, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. The Circle of Elders was like a group of schoolchildren – fearful and disorganized.
And that woman, that...that thing...well, she seemed to enjoy causing doubt and confusion more than calming it.
As he prayed, Master Ko felt something strange. Even though his eyes were closed, the darkness that he saw seemed to become darker.
