by Alan Baxter
‘You, man. Guardian angel?’
‘If you like.’
‘No, I don’t fucking like. I’m a nasty motherfucker, I’d be the first to admit that. What the hell is some angel going to be doing, saving me?’
Isiah thought for a moment. ‘How else do you explain me getting into Hell, then getting out again with you?’
Samuel shook his head, rubbing at his temples. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Maybe it would be easier to look at me as a guardian demon. Lucifer’s version of a guardian angel.’
Samuel looked up at him, eyes narrow. ‘Bit of a reversal, isn’t it?’
‘Not really. It’s all very much the same. You understand so little of what you’re involved in. You’re like a child playing with matches. You’ve already been burned once. Trust me and you might not get burned again.’
‘If you were on Lucifer’s side it wouldn’t have been such a fight getting me out.’
‘No, it wouldn’t. In all honesty, Samuel, I don’t give a shit who you think I am. I could never explain it to you. Besides, it’s irrelevant really. I’m here to help you finish what you started, period.’
Samuel looked at Isiah hard for a long moment. Then, ‘All right. Let’s assume I just accept that you’re some strange bloke that’s here to help me. Why should I finish what I started? If I go to South America, Death awaits me.’
‘Okay, let’s straighten some of that out then. Point one, it’s not South America. Where exactly were you told to go?’
Samuel shrugged. ‘Somewhere in Guatemala. That’s South America isn’t it?’
‘No. That’s Central America, right next to Mexico. The skull you have to get has been found in Mayan ruins, yeah?’
Samuel shrugged again. ‘All right then, so Central America, not South. What’s your point?’
‘Just that your information was wrong, therefore your divination was off. You didn’t really even know what you were asking. There’ll be death out there, sure. But not yours.’
‘So you’re telling me that if I go out there, I won’t die?’
‘That’s right,’ Isiah lied. It was obviously beyond Samuel to realise that he had already died once and this was borrowed time. It would be hard preventing Samuel’s next death long enough to get the job done, but he didn’t need to know that.
Samuel sat still for a long moment. He had made a deal with the Devil already, he was no stranger to occult phenomena. He was prepared to accept a lot more than the average person, but his mind would be stretching at the seams with this. He looked up at an effigy of Christ with sad eyes, bleeding brow, cruel nails in his hands and feet. ‘So if I go and get this skull, I’ll be safe?’
Isiah nodded. ‘The original plan is as valid as it ever was.’ Not a lie.
Samuel shook his head. ‘Satan himself laughed at me in Hell. He said I was a sucker to fall for such a stupid plan. He said the skull doesn’t have that kind of power.’
‘What did you expect,’ Isiah replied, thinking fast. ‘Satan’s primary drive is screwing up people’s minds. He’ll tell you one thing one minute, then reverse it the next. You’ll never know when he’s telling the truth or lying. He thrives on confusion and pain and suffering.’
Samuel rubbed at his temples again. ‘I still don’t believe half of what you’ve told me,’ he said eventually. ‘But it doesn’t really look like I have much choice.’
‘I guess not.’ Isiah inwardly smiled. It didn’t matter what he believed now, as long as he got back on track. ‘It’s your belief that got you into this shit in the first place, so now you’ll just have to trust me.’
‘What do you mean, my belief got me into this shit?’
Isiah stood up, gathering the burger wrappers and the bottle of water. ‘I’ll try to explain it one day, Samuel. Right now there’s too much to do.’
Samuel got shakily to his feet, catching Isiah’s shoulder to steady himself. ‘Like what?’
‘Had you booked a flight?’
‘No, but there’s one that leaves soon after midnight Thursday. I was going to get that one. I just hadn’t got around to booking it.’
Isiah was pleased that his guess had been right. ‘Well, that’s the flight we’ll take then. Stick as close as possible to your original plans.’
‘What day is it today?’
‘Wednesday, early.’
‘So why don’t we get an earlier flight? The sooner we get there, the safer I’ll be, right?’
‘It’s just the way it is, Samuel. We’ll hide out until tomorrow night, then get the flight you originally planned to take.’
Samuel made a dismissive sound. ‘You’re the boss.’
Isiah nodded, smiling. ‘Remember that and we’ll get by just fine.’
Samuel paused. ‘What do I call you anyway? You got a name?’
‘Isiah.’
‘Isiah? That’s a bit archaic isn’t it?’
Isiah shrugged. ‘Don’t blame me, I didn’t choose it.’
Samuel trudged along a few paces, following Isiah to the heavy wooden doors. ‘Is that like the prophet in the bible?’ he asked.
‘One less “a”,’ Isiah replied.
They walked out of the peace and security of the church. The cemetery was bathed in the pinky glow of false dawn, the air cold, crisp. A small, nondescript car was parked at the kerb. Isiah climbed in behind the wheel, Samuel slumping heavily into the passenger seat beside him.
Samuel looked around himself, checking out the simple car. ‘Not much, is it.’
Isiah wondered if his second death might occur sooner rather than later, despite the Balance’s wishes. ‘It’s a cheap rental that’ll do us fine.’
Samuel shrugged. ‘Sure. So where do we go now?’
‘Somewhere safe. We have to keep moving.’
He started the engine, pulled away from the kerb. ‘Where is this archaeological site exactly?’
Samuel looked over at him, eyebrows raised. ‘That’s a pretty good point, man. I have no idea.’
Isiah was stunned. ‘What?’
‘I had it all written down. I had a map of the local area, a map of the site, instructions about how to get there. It’s a fair way north, deep in the jungle apparently. But that was all in my jacket pocket, in an envelope.’
Isiah’s knuckles whitened, the steering wheel unfairly suffering his frustration. ‘So we need to find your jacket then, do we?’
Samuel nodded. ‘I guess so.’
‘That means that all of a sudden our time is limited. Plus we have to take more risks, chasing around after your stuff, assuming it’s still anywhere to be found. Tell me exactly what happened when Satan found you?’
Samuel took a deep breath. ‘I was at the Voodoo-Man’s house. He gave me a drink, like I said. When I drank it I began to feel a bit swimmy, like I was drunk or stoned, but different. Then I began to really trip out, you know, breathing walls, rippling carpet, that kind of shit. I could hear the Voodoo-Man chanting something, repetitive like a mantra. It sounded funny, and I started to giggle. You know, man, tripping.
‘This went on for a while, then suddenly the floor opened up right in front of me and all these little black demon fuckers came pouring out. I thought I was really tripping hard, man, I was laughing like a schoolgirl. Then these little guys pounced on me, started tearing at my skin, my hair, my eyes. They were screaming and laughing like maniacs, and everywhere they touched me it burned...’ He stopped, breathing hard.
Isiah glanced over at him, not feeling sorry for him at all. ‘Maybe that young girl whose heart you stole felt that way too.’
Samuel barked a humourless laugh. ‘If my head was straighter I could have ripped out that Voodoo-Man’s heart there and then, sent Old Nick howling back home again. But I was out of it. Son of a bitch tricked me.’
‘You’re an evil bastard, Samuel,’ Isiah said, staring hard at the road. ‘Do you care at all about anybody?’
‘Nope. Not a fucking soul. Me, myself and I, man, that’s all
I give a shit about.’
Isiah decided to change the subject. ‘Did you have your jacket on when they got you?’
Samuel thought for a moment. ‘No, actually, I didn’t. It was hanging on the back of a chair in the kitchen. I left it there when we went through into the other room. Must have still been there when I was long gone.’
‘So it’s possible that this Voodoo-Man still has your jacket, therefore all your instructions that were in it?’
Samuel nodded. ‘I guess so. So I suppose we’ll have to go there and get it back, right?’
‘Yes, we will. Where is it?’
Samuel told Isiah the address, then, ‘Trouble is, he’s not exactly going to recognise me. And he won’t know you either. Still, maybe he’ll invite us in just because I’m a brother now.’ Samuel’s laugh was grating.
‘Don’t worry, Samuel. We’ll get what we need one way or another.’
Samuel laughed again. ‘Yeah right! You gonna do more of that Bruce Lee shit you took those demons down with?’
Isiah shook his head. ‘No, Samuel. We’ll try asking nicely first.’
8
Katherine Bailey woke with a start at the echoing electronic beep of the aeroplane’s tannoy. The metallic voice of the Captain floated into the cabin. ‘Ladies and gentleman, we will soon be touching down in Guatemala City...’ Katherine stopped listening as he related temperatures, local time and his heartfelt thanks to her for travelling with his airline.
As she rubbed at her eyes, dry from so little sleep, she couldn’t help shaking her head at the speed of events. This story coming up had forced her to rush into all sorts of things and here she was, landing in Guatemala already. She had arrived at the airport without much time to spare. Peter had been there, leaning casually against the Information desk in the eerily quiet Check In area. He was yawning expansively as she crept up beside him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He had laughed, losing his yawn, and gathered her in a strong embrace. They had kissed and cuddled as she made her way through the check in queue, one of only a few people populating the airport at such an unsociable hour.
In the little while they had had before she had to go through to her departure they had talked quietly, Katherine repeatedly apologising for running off at such short notice. She was genuinely chagrined to be leaving Peter and he had been so kind, so understanding. She had promised him that she would take the time off when she got back and that they would relax together somewhere beautiful. It seemed to have happened so suddenly, this increase in their intimacy, but now she was looking forward to seeing Peter again with an unprecedented sense of longing. She really did have something more than her work to get back to after these assignments and she was going to make the most of it. She owed it to herself and to Peter to make sure their relationship didn’t falter. It was not until that meeting at the airport, when Peter had restated his need to know that she was there for him, that she realised how much she needed him too.
Leaning back in the cramped airline seat she stretched, catching a sheaf of papers before it slipped off her lap. The papers were printouts from the Internet, a few pages here and there from sites she had managed to get to from home before she had had to leave. They all related to the crystal skull phenomena. Little snippets of information regarding archaeological sites, the Mitchell-Hedges skull, found decades ago, purported to have been manufactured so many hundreds of years before, the Amethyst Skull, skulls until recently housed in the British Museum, museums in Paris, Mexico City, private collections. There were all kinds of theories claiming to explain where these skulls had come from, including the mandatory UFO/alien intervention website, always there with an ‘I told you so’ attitude, explaining everything.
There were apparently a half dozen or so recognised crystal skulls in existence, though most people that had anything to do with the phenomena seemed to think that many more existed, maybe twelve or thirteen, now scattered around the world. The main contention, it seemed, was in explaining how they were made. Recent studies by such notable and trustworthy institutions as Hewlett-Packard had confirmed that there were no signs on the skulls indicating that they were fashioned with metal tools, yet they were all carved from single blocks of solid crystal, bar the amethyst skull, carved in two halves. It was estimated that using an abrasive solution and rubbing them by hand to create them with a process of deliberate erosion would have taken in excess of one hundred and fifty years of constant labour. Most people dismissed this possibility, which made Katherine smile. Why not? The honoured task of creating a highly valuable religious icon, passed down through generation after generation of families, each working diligently to one day complete such a mammoth task seemed more likely to her than alien special delivery or gifts from Mesoamerican gods. But she was a realist, self confessed. Some might say a cynic.
An elderly man in the seat beside her coughed politely. He was immaculately dressed in a tailored tweed suit, silk shirt, cravat, brogues. When Katherine looked up he smiled from behind a perfectly trimmed beard, white as snow like his thinning hair. ‘I do apologise, my dear,’ he said, clipped British accent. ‘I really don’t want to appear rude, but I couldn’t help noticing those papers while you slept. You’re interested in the crystal skull mystery?’
She smiled back at him. ‘I’m interested in all things to do with the indigenous races of the Americas.’ She slipped the printouts into her travel bag.
The old man nodded knowingly. ‘Ah, I see. What brings you to Guatemala? Hoping to find a crystal skull of your own?’
‘No, I think that would be rather unlikely, don’t you? I’m on a business trip.’
‘Oh. What’s your business?’
She couldn’t help wondering if the old man was simply lonely and making conversation or if he had ulterior motives. It was the usual newshound paranoia. She berated herself for thinking such a thing about such a sweet old man, but could not quite shake off the concern. ‘I’m a reporter,’ she said, deciding that at least a little truth wouldn’t do any harm. ‘I work for a magazine. Katherine Bailey,’ she added, extending her hand.
The old man shook her hand, his grip firm. ‘Thomas Drake. What magazine do you work for?’
‘It’s a North American publication, One World Magazine.’ She couldn’t help feeling as though she knew this man, but couldn’t place where from.
Drake’s eyebrows raised slightly. ‘I’ve seen it,’ he said, sounding very pleased to have recognised it. ‘Not a bad rag, actually.’
Katherine smiled. ‘Thanks.’
Drake looked off into the distance, thinking for a second, then, ‘Yes, yes, that’s it. I read an article in that magazine once regarding the impact of mining on some Native Americans in Alaska.’
Katherine chuckled. ‘That was one of mine.’
Drake smiled broadly. ‘Really? Damn fine piece of writing if I recall.’
‘Thank you very much. I’m going now to cover a story regarding a new site that has been discovered, built by the Native Americans of this region.’
‘Mayan?’
‘Supposedly. I’ll know when I get there.’
Drake looked away, lost in thought again. Without looking back, he said, ‘Remarkable people, the Maya. All the Central American races, really. The Spanish have a lot to answer for, destroying such ancient civilisations. They were a fiercely spiritual people, crushed by the Spanish and their Inquisition, all in the name of God.’
Katherine nodded. ‘Yes. They had any number of their own gods and deities, but it didn’t help them in the end.’
Drake looked at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘You think maybe they should have spent less time praying and more time fighting?’ His mouth twitched in a teasing smile.
‘Maybe,’ Katherine replied. ‘At least they should have had more trust in their own abilities to help themselves, instead of relying on imaginary spirits and ancient prophecy.’
Drake winced, theatre style. ‘Oh, Miss Bailey. I take it you aren’t a religious person.’
‘Don’t you believe in God?’
‘Nope.’
Drake looked around worriedly. ‘I hope lightning bolts don’t start striking the plane!’ he said, smiling.
Katherine laughed. ‘Unlikely. Unless we happen to fly through an electrical storm.’
‘What about Allah?’
Katherine laughed again, she liked this old man. ‘No. Nor the Buddha, nor Odin, or any other you could name! There might have once been powerful figures who gave rise to legends and myth that became religion, but gods don’t really exist.’
‘As far as you’re concerned.’
Katherine inclined her head in acquiescence. ‘As far as I’m concerned.’ She spread her hands, indicating the plane and the people all around them and, by extension, the world without. ‘This is all there is.’
Drake looked around at the material world she indicated. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. So many people believe in so many different things, they can’t all be right. Therefore, how can any of them be right? If it helps them to cope then fair enough, but if anything was really real we’d know about it.’
Drake looked surprised by her leaps of logic. ‘What about faith?’
‘Faith? Faith is just another word for hope, and hope is just ignoring what’s real and pretending there’s something else, something better. It’s easy to say ‘I have faith’ and take no responsibility for your life. People should spend more time protecting the world around them, preserving nature and the rich diversity of the earth’s cultures, instead of destroying everything, hoping for a better time in the afterlife.’
‘But doesn’t preserving cultures mean preserving religions too?’ Drake asked, still smiling.
‘Of course, but wanting to preserve them doesn’t mean that I have to believe them. The Native Americans, for example, are a highly spiritual people, but they also believe in taking the earth seriously, protecting their environment. Their religion is something that is earth bound as well as spiritual. I’m talking about the people that don’t care about the earth, yet believe they will be happy in Heaven in the end so it doesn’t matter what happens to the world around them. Narrow minded, blinkered people.’
