The Revelation of Gabriel Adam

by S. L. Duncan

  His father exited the bank holding an envelope and got into the car. “I didn’t think you’d wake. How are you doing?”

  Visions from last night returned, the reality now inseparable from the nightmare. “Fine, I guess. What’s that?” Gabe climbed over the center console to get into the passenger seat.

  “Documents. Passports. As well as a few other things we needed from a safety-deposit box.” He opened the envelope wide and offered a glimpse inside.

  Gabe caught a flash of pink and blue from two thick stacks of British pounds. A small fortune by his standards. “Passports? What do we need all this for?”

  His father stopped sorting the items in the envelope and took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving his lap. “I know our situation has come as a shock to you. All your questions will be answered in due course, but in the meantime you need to understand that what we do is for the best. We are leaving for England to meet a friend.”

  “I don’t have friends in England. I don’t even know anyone there, and you said all your family has passed on.”

  “Regardless, you do have friends there,” he said.

  “Okay. Sure. That sounds perfectly reasonable.” Gabe said, “Richard was murdered last night, in case you forgot. Murdered. He has a family. They need to be contacted, his school—”

  “I have a grave suspicion that Richard wasn’t the intended victim,” his dad interrupted. “This wasn’t a random act of violence against the church. Premeditated, by what I gather, and done so, as you apparently witnessed, with an unquestionable lack of humanity.” He exhaled, as if the words required effort to say. “The symbolism. It was a sign. Our lives are in danger. Particularly yours. That is why we must leave.”

  Particularly mine? “What about the police?” Gabe asked.

  “They will investigate, but their efforts will be futile. The police can’t help us. Nor can they protect us from who did that to the cathedral and Richard.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s going on? Look at me, for God’s sake.” Gabe watched his father, and for a moment he didn’t recognize him. Gone was the stoic man he’d known for so long, and with him, all his rational sensibilities Gabe would have expected during such a tragedy. Instead, he seemed nervous, even frightened.

  He kept his gaze on the dash and started the car. “You’ll find out soon enough, Gabriel.”

  Gabe didn’t understand, but pressing his father for more information seemed futile.

  They pulled away from the curb, presumably heading toward the airport.

  England. Strangely, it was New York that now felt foreign. Somebody wanted him dead, and on top of that, he was losing grip on reality with delusions about the end of the world. Delusions that looked as though they were coming true. Admittedly, leaving felt right. A fear had been growing inside him like a cancer since yesterday, and he wanted to get as far away from it as possible. Anywhere would be safer than here.

  Gabe had enjoyed being comfortably insignificant all his life, and now his life was important to somebody for the wrong reasons. The look in his father’s eyes offered no reassurance. If anything, it told him that this nightmare was going to get worse.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  From the large bay windows of the penthouse, Septis watched a trickle of smoke at the far end of the park rise into the afternoon sky. He stood shirtless and held the same knife he had driven into the boy at the cathedral. The dried remnants of the kill dulled the blade’s gleam, and as snow fell outside, he traced swirling, elaborate patterns, making shallow cuts in his chest with the sharpened edge. In the distance, the still-smoldering ruins of his work instilled in him a sense of accomplishment. But these feelings were nothing compared with the electric anticipation of what was to come.

  Black trails caught the wind and moved across the tops of the far-off neighboring buildings. Septis couldn’t help his dissatisfaction from the ease of it all. He had hoped for some sport in his effort; however, the boy proved no harder to dispatch than a fledgling from its nest.

  At the street below, people mindlessly moved through their daily lives. An infestation soon to be removed, he thought. Now that Fortitudo Dei is no more.

  A muffled cry caused him to turn from the window. His prisoner lay on her own hardwood floor, probably antique and imported from a European château. The greed of this species, he thought and laughed once again at her earlier offer of money to spare her life.

  She had been stripped to her black underwear and placed in the center of a circle carved in the floor. Her body showed all the signs of a gluttonous life filled with every luxury one could afford, weak and sedentary, though evidenced by several scars, a surgeon’s technique had hidden much and given her back several years.

  Such pride. How the humans cherish their capital vices.

  Flames on six candles surrounding the floor carving flickered as she struggled against the ropes binding her arms and legs together behind her back. Her mouth was open, biting on a thick cord between her teeth.

  Septis smiled again and shook his head, as if scolding a child for an innocent mistake. “But you protest in vain, my dear.”

  Tears streamed down her face, her eyes locked on the bloody weapon in her captor’s hand.

  “Can you not see? What you are to receive is a gift. An honor.” Septis kneeled beside her and stroked away a tear. “This crude flesh,” he said, pulling at the skin on her face, “is but a shell meant for a greater cause. I can renew it. Make it younger, firm, something to envy, desired by all. And you will be worthy. You should be pleased that I have judged you so.”

  The woman jerked her head away, her skin pulling from Septis’s fingers.

  His eyes narrowed in offense and then he stood. “So be it. Perhaps I should kill you here and find another. Someone more suitable. Yes, I can see now that I have made an error in my judgment.” He looked at the blade and then at her with a renewed menace, his gaze as sharp as the knife.

  She shook her head, pleading and crying through a muffled scream.

  “No?” Again, Septis stooped to her side. He ran his fingers over the exposed flesh of her shoulder and through her hair. “You wish to offer your body to me?”

  She hesitated, her breathing fast and in short gasps. Her crying calmed and became a sad moan. She nodded.

  “That is pleasing to me, my dear.” Septis smiled and thrust the bloodstained blade into her chest.

  The woman’s eyes widened, and with a guttural cough that spilled blood from her mouth, she silenced. Her head dropped lifeless to her chest.

  “My master will be most thankful.” He cut the binds to spread her arms and then moved her feet together, the corpse now a cruciform in the middle of the ceremonial circle. With a gentle pull, the knife slipped from the woman. Blood pooled under her body.

  Once he was satisfied with her position, Septis kneeled at the feet of the body to meditate just outside the ring. He closed his eyes and began the ritual.

  The candles dimmed as he chanted, his arms lifting, outstretched over the body. A darkness fell over the room. Shadows grew bold, reaching into the light. They crawled to Septis, hissing, drawn to his power. They flowed over his body to his arms and swirled like smoke out into the air above the woman, becoming a feminine shape before falling to her body. The shadows moved like liquid, pouring into the gaping wound in the chest.

  Flames on the candles flickered out, and the ritual was done. Septis opened his eyes. Quickly, he pushed back and got to one knee and outstretched his arms, palms open. He bowed his head. “My master’s queen.”

  The woman’s body lay still.

  A moment passed. Septis seemed to waver in his curtsey. “My queen,” he said, this time louder. “I am your humble servant.”

  Again, he waited. After another moment, he lifted his head. The woman showed not a sign of life. Septis looked at the stained knife on the floor beside her. The blood of the Fortitudo Dei was to have been the key to granting the pathway to the one who would open the Hellgate. />
  He moved to the body. The woman’s eyes were as lifeless as they were right after he dispatched her of life. Her mouth hung agape. Septis reached to touch her.

  Like a geyser, black shadow, smoke, and blood exploded in a gushing pillar from her chest, crashing into the ceiling above. In its fury, Septis heard a woman’s shrill voice, angry and bitter, her scream only a momentary presence before being torn from existence, back to wherever it had come.

  Septis retreated, crawling to the bay window until the writhing body of the dead woman calmed, her body broken and torn open, lifeless once more, the shadow and smoke dissipating into the light and air.

  A terrifying feeling he had not felt in an age burned to life in his thoughts as the pieces came together. I’ve made a mistake, he thought. Septis turned and looked once more to the stream of smoke rising above the city in the distance. I’ve made a terrible mistake.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The gentle whine of the 777’s engines worked like a sedative on Gabe’s exhaustion, but he resisted sleep. Though he doubted the doctor’s diagnosis, he figured the best way to avoid another epileptic “episode” was to keep his mind occupied enough so that his out-of-control subconscious couldn’t take over.

  Stay awake. That was the plan.

  The comfort of the business class seat wasn’t helping. Neither was the dim lighting of the cabin. With the exception of a few late-night readers, most of the other passengers were sleeping, including his father beside him. Gabe put on the complimentary headphones. He searched the menu on the video screen for a program that might allow his brain to tune into something mindless and stupid.

  After several world news stations and one shopping channel, he gave up. None of them held his attention enough to keep the sounds and images of the inferno from infiltrating every thought. He couldn’t decide which was worse—enduring memories from the burning cathedral or the visions of the end of the world.

  In an effort to stay awake, he concentrated on the things he missed from back home—Coren, the city, bird-watching, soccer . . .

  He recalled playing right wing for his old high school during their final game of the season before he and his father moved to New York. One of his strikers took a hard tackle twenty-five yards from the opponent’s goal, and with the blow of the ref’s whistle, Gabe had the perfect free kick for his dead-ball skills. The striker positioned himself just outside the far post of the goal, ready to make an attacking run.

  Gabe could still feel the rays of sunshine warming the back of his number seven jersey. A two-man wall set up in front of him to prevent any direct shot. He lined up on the left side of the ball, favoring his right leg, and squared the shot. Raising his hand, the play set in motion.

  One of their midfielders cut across the opponent’s keeper to block his view.

  With a precision kick, the inside of his foot punched through the ball, lifting it into the air. It soared over and around the jumping wall, bending from right to left. As it spun, it dipped into the path of his striker’s run, just in time to meet his outstretched leg.

  The ball rippled the back of the net.

  He smiled, ear to ear, while streamers flew onto the field and the crowd chanted his name.

  The smile faded. So did the field and the players.

  Damn it, he thought. I’m dreaming.

  Gabe opened his eyes. He was still in his seat, but the seat was no longer on the plane. It sat in the center of a circular pattern of light. Above, a familiar fixture dangled, bathing him in its heat.

  It was the same as before. Surrounding the lit area was the black floor that reached into the endless nothing.

  With a clanging mechanical sound, another light hanging from the void above came to life, and, as he expected, a mirror appeared. This time he didn’t hesitate. He jumped from the seat and ran toward the second light as the one behind him faded.

  As soon as he made it to the safety of the light, another fixture clanged to life and then another and another until there were hundreds, even thousands, of fixtures surrounding him as far as he could see, each illuminating a mirror of its own, and each turned to reflect his image.

  Gabe looked into the mirror by his side, careful this time not to touch it. Behind his fading reflection, he could see a scene unfolding, a window to another world, another time.

  The view through the glass offered a cliff-top panorama of a city spread out in the valley below. Its architecture was impressive, even by modern standards. Ancient domes and pillars, constructed in stonework, shimmered in the desert sun. Enormous walls enclosed the city and defended its perimeter.

  “Persepolis,” a woman’s disembodied voice whispered in the surrounding darkness. Her intrusion startled Gabe, but she did not incite the same fear as the serpentine hiss he’d heard before. Instead, Gabe felt comforted by the sound.

  He turned back to the mirror and watched as the scene changed. Fires bloomed around the city’s crumbling walls. An invading army fought to take siege. From below came the echo of war cries and the clashing of swords on shields.

  Two men dressed for battle appeared on the cliff, reminding Gabe of old gladiator movies, and looked out over the crumbling city as soldiers streamed from its gates, burdened with loot and plunder. The first man, a servant, addressed the second, whose gold armor matched blond locks that touched his shoulders. The servant spoke in a foreign language and gave something to his golden captain. His voice did not match the meek attire but dripped with authority, his words hollow and mystic. He stopped speaking and honored his superior by bowing. To Gabe’s surprise, the blond commander bowed even lower.

  From the conversation, he made out two words: Megas Alexandros. Alexander the Great, Gabe guessed.

  Alexander looked at the gift in his hand—a ring with a stone set in its shining metal. He enclosed it in his palm and held it high to the burning city and said, “Lapis, lapsus ex caelis.”

  In the darkness beyond the light, Gabe heard the woman’s voice again; this time the words were unclear and strained. They sounded panicked and urgent, pleading, before she faded, her last word calling his name.

  “Don’t leave,” Gabe said. “Please.”

  The voice, now only a whisper, gasped before the silence took her.

  Under his feet Gabe felt a vibration, a rumble deep in the earth, like the tremor of an earthquake. After a moment, it was joined by a hissing sound that drifted by in the dark area beyond his circle of light.

  A crashing sound in the distance startled him. It came from the outer rim of mirrors. The fixtures were exploding, their mirrors shattering in a collapsing ring all around, the ground shaking violently. One by one, rows burst into a cascading shower of sparks and crashing glass, and the darkness grew.

  Gabe watched all around as the ring shrank smaller and smaller until with a deafening explosion the closest fixtures were extinguished, leaving only his solitary light and the surrounding emptiness. The room became still, the ground calm beneath him.

  He dared not move.

  For a moment, not a sound could be heard. Above, the remaining light flickered and began to dim.

  “No, please,” Gabe begged, horrified at the idea of being caught in the dark. There was nowhere left to escape.

  Around the edge of fading light the hissing approached and moved around its perimeter like a predator waiting to seize prey.

  Gabe glanced at the fixture, its remaining life reduced to only a glowing filament inside its bell shape. Shadows grew, strengthening, as the light disappeared from under his feet. The world grew cold.

  “Fortitudo Dei,” the hissing voice said from the void, its clarity stealing all hope. “Fortitudo Dei,” it said again, this time from behind.

  There, a man wearing a black suit and overcoat stood, black hair fluttering in and out of his face. Gabe instantly recognized the bloodstained shirt.

  He grabbed Gabe by his throat and lifted him off the floor. “It shall all come to pass,” the man smirked, squeezing Gabe’s windpipe.<
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  He struggled to get free until a pure energy began to diffuse from his skin, like sweat made of light. The man in black seemed as bewildered by the glow as Gabe did. It radiated out, encompassing them both, a cloud of power that pulsed in the surrounding air, until finally it detonated like a starburst. The man roared in pain and released his grip, his arm and body disappearing in the blinding white.

  Gabe’s last thought was of his father.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Turbulence shook Gabe awake. He looked around the cabin of the plane, relieved to be safe in business class and not a hospital bed. The reading light above burned his eyes, more intense, he thought, than it had been before. It clicked off with the punch of a button. Muscles in his legs and arms burned, as if he’d just played the full ninety minutes of a soccer game.

  Beside him, his father slept soundly, oblivious.

  A passenger across the aisle opened an air conditioner valve above her seat. It made a hissing sound as air seeped out, just like that sinister noise from his nightmare.

  Gabe turned the reading light back on. He somehow felt better being in the light, though it did little to relieve his anxiety. In the back of his mind a migraine was working its way into his skull.

  Insanity hurts, he thought.

  He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with oxygen, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling in a sigh. In both visions, he had seen his own death.

  Everyone’s death.

  The inside of his shirt stuck to his body, drenched in a cold sweat. It felt gross. He threw off the complimentary blanket, furious, and stood up.

  A bathroom was a few rows ahead. Once inside, Gabe shut the folding door and slid the occupancy sign. The fluorescent light of the mirror reflected someone he didn’t recognize. Bloodshot eyes glared back, framed by heavy bags that accentuated hollow cheeks. His hair a greasy mess.