The Quest for Immortality: From The Tales of Tartarus

by A. L. Mengel

  “I most recently saw her standing across the crowded street of Washington. Through the yellow cabs and Mercedes-Benz and Ferrari’s that sat waiting in the street as they always did. I saw her across the street leaning against a palm tree as if she belonged there, smoking a cigarette. Despite the summer heat, she wore a long black coat. She always wore it. The same long black coat that she always wore every time that I saw her. It was if the heat didn’t affect her.

  “And she was looking right at me. She was watching me watch her. She is Claret. She has been appearing lately, making her presence known. Waiting. Observing. Too often she would be ignored. Many times in the past.

  “But not this time.

  “I was ready and waiting for her. She turned and started to walk away, threw her half-smoked cigarette to the ground, and I watched it fall to the sidewalk from across the street and looked at the bright orange tip burn and smoke as if I were standing above it.

  “ ‘I see you,’ she said, smiling as she did from across the street, hailing a cab as if nothing were wrong, slipping on a pair of large and stylish dark sunglasses. ‘I know you want me,’ she continued, looking directly across the street at me, looking at me looking at her, the palm tree next to me offering no cover. ‘I know you want to know more about me than I am willing to say right now,’ she said, getting in the cab. ‘But I will tell you this: give me it back.’ ”

  Antoine felt a chill ride up his spine and he closed his eyes.

  “I cannot talk about this any longer.” He shook his head and sighed.

  Sheldon leaned forward in his chair, looking over at Antoine. He reached for a tissue and handed it out to him.

  Antoine opened his eyes and looked at the tissue, and then over at Sheldon, and gave a slight smile, and took the tissue.

  Antoine dabbed at his cheek. “We’re not all that different, you and I. I’m just going to live a lot longer.”

  “And be damned?”

  “Well, Sheldon, I am a demon. Unfortunately, that is part of the process. But we came from the same place. We all started the same way. Demons aren’t born. They are made.”

  *~*~*

  Antoine continued. “The cab drove away. I knew what she wanted. I am not stupid. I watched the yellow cab pull away, and see her turn around and look at me through the rear window, just for a moment, and for that moment she held her gaze just long enough to make sure that I saw her looking, and then she turned around just as the cab kept getting smaller and smaller and drove away.”

  “ ‘I know that’s what you want,’ I had said to her. ‘And me…only I know where the cup is.’

  “I closed my eyes, and no longer saw the busy street on South Beach.

  “I saw myself standing over my grave. I saw myself opening up my casket, unclasping the lock and raising the wooden lid as it creaked as I did so.

  “Time to go back to the land of the dead.

  “And then I replayed the events in my mind, I remembered when I was burned; I remembered when I was lying on the coals and the pungent smokiness of the embers; and the flames that swallowed me alive and burned me into ashes…when my lover and adversary took my remains and tucked me away, his thoughts not for himself and his mortal status – but for me and when I would walk the earth again.

  “Or when I would tell him where the Cup was located.

  “I remember the casket; the cool satin lining as I was spread on the white sheets. I remember looking above as I lay in the coffin, looking up at Darius. He was so loving and so reverent as he smiled looking down at me, so careful as he made sure that I was resting properly.

  “And then, I went back to my casket. I went back to the rest that I was ordered to take, and went back to wait until it was time to walk again.

  “ ‘Darius, sweet Darius,’ I had said, but I feel that he didn’t hear me. I said that to him every time after he had transformed me, and I lay in my coffin, watching him retire, as my eyes grew heavier. I so wish he had remembered me. But he was always there for the thrill of the kill. For the sport in it. As his closing the lid above me led to blackness and silence once again, I always prepared myself for slumber, when my words to Darius rang in my mind. ‘You know I can’t tell you where the cup is. I know that you cannot raise me until you have found it. I am so sorry for all that you suffer while I am gone. But you know you must endure it.’ ”

  “And the coffin lid closed as I prepared for my lengthy slumber.

  “ ‘Find Claret, my dear Darius, and you will find the cup. I promise you that, my friend.’”

  *~*~*

  After Doug had spoken with the eldest and the youngest, he was ushered through long hallway by a very tall man with wings. It was a narrow, stone hallway. There were many doors, all closed, and the man stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. “Here, you will want to speak with him. You will find the answers you seek here.”

  And then the man left, walking down the hallway from whence he came with not another spoken word.

  Douglas watched the man leave; he watched him travel down the hallway without steps, as if the man were gliding, or floating.

  But then the door behind him opened.

  And Douglas turned around to see the same man who had been sitting next to him in the banquet room earlier, but he was now alone. He got a closer look at the man this time around.

  The man definitely appeared to be quite old.

  A long, white beard traveled down the front of the man’s chest. “I am Ramiel. I do apologize for not introducing myself to you earier, but I thought now, one on one, we could discuss things more openly. And please, do come in.” He gestured his hand and stood back from the doorway.

  This office was like any other office, but it was an office of wealth and supremacy. The stone walls ceased at the threshold of the door; the walls in the office were lined with dark mahogany panels and paintings, white stone statues were in the corners on pedestals and there was a giant desk in the center of the room. In front of the desk was a small sitting area, and on the couch was a woman with white hair.

  “Please meet Delia Amette,” the man said, circling around to the chair behind the desk. “She is the leader of a group above that we call “The Inspiriti” and also a significant influence on this organization.”

  Douglas took a chair opposite Delia and nodded to her as she smiled. He looked over at Ramiel, who was stoking his beard. Douglas shook his head. “I am not sure what you mean by ‘Organization’.”

  Ramiel stopped stroking his beard and leaned forward, looking directly at Douglas. “We are a group called The Astral. We are pretty much an underground association. Not many know about us. A select few. Like The Inspiriti. Not many know of either one of us.”

  Delia agreed.

  Douglas looked over at Delia and then back at Ramiel. “I don’t understand where I fit into all of this.”

  Delia stood and walked around the coffee table in the center of the room. “As you know, your association with Sheldon Wilkes is what draws you into this, Douglas. You see, Sheldon was the Director of The Astral, and he was a significant loss to that organization.” Delia walked over to a small table at the side of the room and prepared three small china cups of hot tea.

  “And The Inspiriti has joined forces with us,” Ramiel added. “We have some greater powers – dark, sinister and evil – that have been taking hold for some time now. I’m afraid that it’s what led your friend Sheldon to a premature death.”

  “Sheldon wrote me a letter before he died.”

  Douglas sat back on the sofa as a clock ticked against the silence of the room. Delia’s spoon clanked against the china cup as she stirred her tea. She smiled.

  Delia looked at Douglas, and raised her eyebrows as she blew on the steaming cup of tea. “A letter?”

  “Yes,” Douglas said. “After I got the call in Boston to fly down here, I was presented with a letter, sealed in a manila envelope with my name written on it. It was given to me by the lawyer who read Sheldon’s will.
”

  Delia set her tea down on the table. “And what did this letter say?”

  “It said a lot about Sheldon’s involvement with the occult.”

  Delia looked downwards and Ramiel sat back in his chair and sipped his tea. Delia knew exactly about what Douglas was talking about. She knew of Sheldon, she knew of his work, and of The Astral. But what she didn’t know, was how closely involved Douglas had been with Sheldon. Delia finally spoke. “I read his book about Antoine. It was actually quite interesting.”

  The three sat in silence for a few minutes. The clock continued ticking, and Douglas started to look around the room, noticing ancient artifacts and antiques.

  “So tell me a little more about this letter,” Delia finally said. “What exactly did it say?”

  But then Douglas looked down into his cup of tea. He studied the bubbles that hugged the side of the glass after he stirred it. He pondered the light crisp beige color of the liquid inside the brilliant china cup, and then thought.

  And there he was.

  Staring at his cup of tea.

  And when he raised his head, he saw Sheldon.

  They both had hair back then. Each wore horn-rimmed glasses. They both were fit and trim. And they were sitting in the school dining hall.

  The cup that was holding his steaming tea was not fine china, it was white Styrofoam.

  “And you see, Doug, I have found many different inferences in this book to this guy Antoine.”

  Douglas looked up at Sheldon. “So what has he done?”

  Sheldon leaned backwards and threw his head back, laughing. “He is only one of the most respected immortals around!”

  “So why haven’t I heard about him?”

  Sheldon leaned down closer to the table, and Douglas leaned in closer as well. “He keeps a low profile,” Sheldon said in a low voice.

  And then Douglas was back in the small office with Delia and Ramiel.

  Douglas spoke after a few minutes of silence. “I was wondering why Sheldon had me flying into Germany.” He handed over a packet to Ramiel who immediately dumped the contents onto his desk. Besides the letter, there was a printed airline ticket. For some time, Ramiel read the letter as Delia and Douglas looked on. Ramiel picked up the ticket and examined it. “Fly into Frankfurt, like he said. She would find you in Paris.”

  “Why is that?”

  Delia stood and leaned on the desk, as she and Ramiel both faced Douglas. She examined the letter for a few minutes. “Because she has deep connections there. Because she has a presence there. And there, it would be very easy for her to find you.”

  *~*~*

  But it was Delia who knew about Paris.

  She knew about the nights that she and Darius would spend, many, many years ago, together at the cafes that lined St-Germain-des-Pres and walking along the river Seine.

  It was long before Antoine was transformed.

  But Darius during those early times was the same Darius he was in more modern times. Darius was running, he was active and scattered, tormented and always grieving something, and nothing else was really different.

  But Paris was where Tramos found Darius, as a young hustler working the streets outside the Burlesque bars.

  The year was 1899.

  Vaudeville had started in the Americas and Canada, and it was just making its way to Paris. But it quickly became an underground act, and Darius, who had been immortal for many years at that point, was finding a place for himself, for a brief time, in Paris.

  And Darius had sat with Delia, late one night, well after all of the Burlesque bars had closed, nursing a neat whiskey, looking droopy eyed, and puffing on a cigarette. “I have told you that he comes to me.” His words slurred.

  Delia applied some bright red lipstick to accentuate her lips, and looked over at Darius. He was a sorry drunken mess, spilling himself over the table. Delia sat up, shoving the lipstick in her case, and smiled at Darius with her youth and beauty. She beamed a brilliant white smile. “And he comes to you and what else does he say?”

  Darius slurred his words. “He says he will make me live forever.”

  Darius stubbed his cigarette out, and tried to wave the smoke away.

  “Live…forever…right.” Delia fished a cigarette out of her purse and snapped a match from the table. “Darius, you really need to stop living about these fantasies.”

  Darius sat back against the chair, and almost tipped over. “What are you talking about!? He is true and real, Delia. Just like this glass of whiskey. It’s sitting here right on the table. Tramos is there. He is real. He is there every night.”

  “And has he ever come to you during the day?”

  Darius looked down at his drink and pursed his lips.

  And then Delia took a drag on her cigarette, and studied Darius for a moment. “What is it about Paris, Darius?”

  He opened his eyes, startled, and fell back into his chair.

  “Were you sleeping?” she asked.

  “No.” He rubbed his eyes, and picked up his glass. His arm swayed slightly.

  “Yes you were. And maybe you shouldn’t be drinking that anymore?”

  He set the glass down with a bang. Delia jumped. “Yes I should,” he said. “Because I need to tell you this. And you need to understand my predicament.”

  But Darius never told Delia his story until much later, after they had both transformed.

  That night, Darius simply passed out, Delia returned home, and the night simply concluded as another forgotten conversation laced with alcohol.

  But Delia remembered about Paris.

  She remembered that Tramos was real.

  She remembered that Tramos transformed Darius, and that he would easily find him – along with Claret – should Darius have flown into Charles De Galle.

  So Frankfurt made sense.

  And Frankfurt is where Douglas had to fly to. And when they concluded their meeting with Ramiel, Delia took care of Douglas. She took him with her, back to her apartment, away from the catacombs, and back to some sense of normalcy, so he could carry out the tasks required of him.

  *~*~*

  “Just fly to Germany,” Delia had said, setting her tea down with a slight clank, on the same coffee table in her condominium that she often sat in with Darius having different discussions. “It would be better that way. Paris would bring some additional problems with some others that we really need to stay away from.”

  “So, Frankfurt, then.” Douglas sat back in his chair, and looked around the room.

  “Do you speak any German?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s alright,” she said, rising from the sofa. “The language is not needed these days, however beautiful it may be. You just need to find your driver in the airport, stop over at Baumholder, and make your way across the border and down to Lyon.”

  “And what happens in Lyon? I find Antoine and dig him up?”

  She turned around to face him. Her pearls swung low beneath her neck, and she balanced herself on a cane with a diamond cap. “After a certain point. But you need to settle yourself in the chateau first.”

  “What about Darius? Won’t he sense my presence there?”

  She shuffled over to the dining room table and sat a high back chair. “I highly doubt it. He is human, Douglas. He no longer has the senses of an immortal. So I don’t think he would sense your presence over there.”

  “Staff?”

  “At the chateau? Minimal. Groundkeepers, which come on a periodic basis. The chateau itself is kept closed up for the majority of the year. Darius has not been there for at least six months from what I gather.”

  “From what you gather?”

  “Yes…we are in contact periodically.”

  “So how do you know that he doesn’t hop on a plane and head over there for a while? He could do it, right?”

  Delia sighed.

  “Yes, I suppose he could. But remember, I became immortal again. My senses have returned. I am so deepl
y connected with him, I would be able to sense if he left the city.”

  “Has he recently?”

  She looked over towards the kitchen. “Douglas, listen, I am here to help you. I am here to see that you do what you need to do in Sheldon’s letter.”

  Douglas stood. “I’m sorry Delia…”

  “It’s getting late.”

  Douglas nodded. “I understand. Can we meet again soon? I still have so many questions about this letter and these tasks.”

  “There are no questions. Carry the letter out in every exactness. Please do it. It is meant to be done. You are one of us now, and this evil must be stopped. You have been chosen. There is no going back.”

  And then Douglas found himself standing in the stone hallway as the door closed. The man with wings returned, and without saying a word, led him down the same stone hallways from whence he came.

  *~*~*

  It was a humid night in Miami, not far from the norm, but it seemed more oppressive and warm that evening. The limo was still parked on the side of Ponce de Leon, just as he had left it.

  But the bodies were gone.

  And so was Jim.

  The night was like any other, but the quietness permeated the air. The death and destruction were gone, there was no blood, there was no stench of rotting flesh, there was just quiet.

  Serenity.

  A cleansed earth.

  Douglas walked over to the waiting limo, and slid into the driver’s seat. Before visiting Delia, he did not understand Sheldon’s letter or the need behind it.

  But now, he believed he saw things more clearly. At least to a degree.

  Sheldon’s letter was very necessary, and Douglas needed to carry each task out.

  Antoine and Darius were both the personification of evil, and they both must be destroyed.

  *~*~*