CHAPTER 60
As Brewster and the others came into the store, Anna and Nicholas were gathered near the front window, their stony faces etched with apprehension. It was apparent they had seen Brewster shove the body into the lake moments before.
“What were you doing?” Anna asked, eyeing Brewster guardedly. She was accustomed to the old man hanging around the Crossing, was used to his peculiar ways, but she’d never see him as focused as now.
“You killed that guy,” Nicholas spoke in a wary tone.
“Got one of them,” Brewster said bluntly. “And we got more to do. You got rope around here? We’ll need it to tie something heavy to the bodies.” He walked down one aisle and back up another.
“That was one of those? A Nephilim?” Anna asked, ignoring his question. This was happening way too fast. She’d seen Rory kill a man, had lost her father, and now this – all in less than twenty-four hours. Confusion swirled through her.
Brewster nodded. He moved over to the front window and peered out. “We need rope,” he said again.
“There’s some over here.” Anna retrieved some packages of rope from a shelf near the door and handed it to Brewster. “Rory, what did you find out?” she asked. She stepped aside to let Rory and Clinton sit down. Rory sat in the chair that her father usually sat in, the one nearest to the front door where he could keep an eye on people while he visited with her. The memory filled her with sorrow.
Myrtle had leaned back against the counter and was staring at Brewster, her brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked him.
Brewster turned and squinted at her. He was already opening the package of rope. “You want me to leave?”
“No, of course not.” Myrtle busied herself with sorting some papers, her face pink with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean that at all. I just figured since we hadn’t see you around lately, that maybe, you know – ”
“You thought they got me,” he dared her to rebut him.
“Yes.”
He narrowed his intense gaze on her. “Nope. I’ve been busy, though. I got a couple of them already.”
“You drowned more than the one?” Clinton asked in surprise.
Brewster nodded as he pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and cut a section of rope. “Yep. Got one early this morning. But he wasn’t one of the necessary ones.”
“What does that mean?” Anna said.
“They have certain roles to perform, in order to make the ceremony work,” Myrtle answered. “It’s in the journal.”
“The necessary ones,” Brewster emphasized.
“How do you know that?” Anna was studying the old man closely.
He puckered his lips and stopped cutting rope. “I know things. And my granddaddy did, too. He told me a few things about the Nephilim.”
“But your granddaddy said spirits or something chased him,” Anna said.
“What do you think these are?” Brewster snorted. “Granddaddy knew about the Nephilim because the miner told him.”
“He did?”
“Yep. Barton came to my granddaddy one day and told him about how the town was being taken over. But my granddaddy thought that Barton was crazy, and my granddaddy ran him off. Then more people started disappearing, and one day those demon things chased my granddaddy – ”
“It wasn’t at night?” Anna asked, still bewildered over the stories she’d heard through the years.
“No, it was daytime,” he said defiantly. “People got the story wrong. Those things chased my granddaddy and he holed up in his cabin until nightfall. Then he left town and didn’t come back. Later he heard that no one was left at all.”
“Why didn’t they chase him?” Nicholas asked.
“They lay low at night, seems they are most effective in the heat of the day.”
“So let’s find them tonight and get them then,” Clinton suggested.
Brewster shook his head. “They’re still extremely dangerous, and would likely destroy you before you ever saw them. And it’d be harder for us out there searching in the dark. Only thing the night means is that they’re not actively hunting us.”
Anna went ashen. “Did the journal say that Barton fought them only during the day?” she asked Myrtle.
“Nothing I read says he tried to take them on during the night,” she answered.
“But he fought the Nephilim until he committed suicide,” Rory said.
Brewster turned to him. “Barton killed himself in the mine, right?” He scrutinized Rory carefully.
Rory returned the look with his own appraisal, as if he was still surprised by Brewster’s cunning. “Yeah, he did. He had a broken leg, maybe some other injuries. And he shot himself in the temple. I saw the bullet hole. But why is that important?”
“He was wounded, huh,” Brewster mused.
“Yes.”
“And you’re here.” He looked Rory up and down, still studying him. They all waited for Brewster to speak, as if waiting for a word from God. “Barton didn’t want the Nephilim to get him, or his blood.” He scratched his stubbly chin. “But I suspect they did anyway.” He looked directly at Rory when he said this.
“What do you mean by that?” Anna asked Brewster. He threw a bony hand at Rory, indicating that he should answer.
“It seems that over a hundred years ago, when the Nephilim left,” Rory said, “the blood of their hosts was spilled into the ground. When the blood is spilled, a new host person, specifically a role player, can be recreated at a later time – ”
“How can the blood do that?”
Rory shrugged. “I don’t know. But somehow the essence of the person is left behind, to be regenerated again. Then the Nephilim can come, inhabit the host, and perform the releasing ceremony.” He then explained the ceremony to her. “See how it fits in with the picture?”
“What picture?” Brewster asked.
He related what he and Anna had discovered about the townspeople in the old newspaper articles.
“Whoa,” Nicholas said, stretching the word out. “So it’s like we’re called here or something?”
“That’s a good way of putting it.” Myrtle mused. “I’ve always felt drawn to this place, almost like it was beckoning me here.”
The skin on Anna’s arms prickled. “Dad said the same thing. He said this place was part of his past, and he would always be a part of it.”
“And you felt drawn here, right?” Brewster stared at Rory, who nodded.
“But I’m not related to Barton.” Rory paused. “At least, not that I know of.”
“You must be,” Brewster said.
Nicholas’ jaw dropped open. “My father felt drawn here, too,” he said. “That’s why we came out here every summer, because he said he felt like this place was calling him. I always thought he was just saying weird stuff, you know, how the mountains are so great you just have to come back.” He stared at Rory. “But why would my father be drawn here, instead of someone else?”
“Because he’s a necessary one,” Brewster answered before Rory could say anything. “Your daddy,” he said as he gestured at Anna, “and others, too. The blood was spilled for the necessary ones.”
“Wait. You mentioned necessary ones and roles earlier. What about them?” Anna asked.
“They got to have certain hosts performing specific ceremonial tasks,” he replied. “In order to get their enlightenment.”
“And my dad had a role,” she said flatly.
“He was a preacher, right?” It was not a question.
“Yes.” She wiped at tears, aware of Brewster watching her. “He drowned in the lake,” she said to him.
“I know,” he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “He did the right thing, not letting them get his blood. Keeps them from getting another necessary one in the future.” The truth of that was a buoying force to Anna. Her father was thinking of her, of them, right down to his last act.
“That’s what Gino D’Angelo called Jimmy,�
�� Clinton interjected, looking at Anna. He turned to Nicholas. “Right? You heard your father call Jimmy ‘the preacher’.”
“Uh huh,” Nicholas answered.
Brewster nodded and continued. “They need a gatherer. That’s the first one to come.”
“Ed,” Rory said. “He was the first one to go missing.” Brewster beamed that Rory had figured this out. “But the person from the picture in the newspaper, Ed’s counterpart, was a miner.”
“Another drunk,” Nicholas said, half mockingly, motioning with one hand like he was putting a bottle to his lips.
Myrtle hid a faint smile behind her hands. “That’s not quite the whole story,” she said, recovering herself. “Ed was once a missionary.”
“He was?” Rory was clearly shocked.
“Yes,” Anna said, nodding with Myrtle. Everyone looked surprised. “He worked in the jungles of Brazil for many years, but then his wife and child died of some kind of fever. He never recovered and turned away from his faith. He’s lived up here for so long, no one really cares anymore about what his past was.”
“Wow,” Rory said.
“What?” Anna asked.
“In the articles I read about Taylor Crossing, the miner who looked like Ed was once a missionary.”
Brewster was nodding his head the entire time he spoke. “A gatherer of men,” he said when Rory had finished. A wary silence ensued. Eyes darted from one to another as if assessing what role each might be fulfilling.
“What other roles do they need?” Nicholas finally asked.
Myrtle came over and took the journal from Rory. “They need the four elements to begin to harness their power. The journal then says that one has to prepare the host bodies, the dead, he called them.” She lost her voice, finally looking up at them with dawning realization. “One of the hikers who disappeared was a mortician, wasn’t he?”
“What else?” Brewster prodded.
She consulted the journal again. “One has the message or the words, which a deliverer imparts. One prepares the host bodies, or the dead, for their ascension. One who knows the law, is in charge of it, meaning this host verifies that all is correct with the ceremony. And one records it all for the future.”
“Who are the rest of us?” Anna barely managed to speak.
“You got the preacher,” Brewster pointed with his knife at her. “The one with the law.” The hand waved at Clinton.
“But why Clinton and not the deputy,” Rory asked. “They’re both lawmen.”
“Clinton’s a sheriff,” Brewster said. “He’s the one in charge, not the deputy. Plus, Clinton’s blood was spilled before.”
“And Rory records the chronicle,” Anna said.
“Who delivers the message?” Clinton asked.
“Lillian,” Rory said, the pieces falling into place. “She delivered the mail.”
“This is too weird,” Anna mused as she twirled a strand of her hair. No one argued with that sentiment.
“And the four elements, earth, air, fire, and water, remember?” Brewster studied them all.
“Douggie,” Myrtle said. “He was an artist on the side, sculpted in iron and clay.”
“Earth,” Anna said.
“In the picture, a guy that looked like Samuel was a bartender. He served liquids,” Rory said. “You know, water.” The others nodded. “So Samuel…” his voice faded away.
“Earth and water,” Brewster nodded. “Fire – ”
“Mick.” Nicholas’ whispered voice made them all turn in surprise. “His dad was a fireman.”
“So they didn’t get him, but they got the son. The same blood,” Brewster said.
“My father was a pilot,” Nicholas said. Old Man Brewster continued his knowing nod. “Earth, water, fire, and air,” he said. “The four elements.”
“We’re all here.” Anna’s voice shook.
“All gathered,” Brewster continued. “Ready for them.”
“What about the others, like the one you killed today? And Joan and Pamela?” Myrtle asked.
“There’s lot of spirits out there, not all of them are necessary ones,” Brewster answered. “The more hosts they have, the more of them that can be released.”
“What happens if some of the necessary ones are destroyed?” Clinton interjected.
Brewster sighed. “They can’t make it work without all of them. But who knows how many times the blood of the necessary ones has been passed down, here or elsewhere. They could be anywhere, and a gatherer just has to get them all together.” He peered out the window again, his brow furrowed. “I’ve been out in the woods, and they’re there, still preparing. That spirit in Ed is a strong one, desperate to be released.” He started cutting rope again.
“But if Jimmy – ” Myrtle couldn’t finish the sentence.
“There’s still his blood here.” Anna’s stomach churned when she realized Brewster meant her. “If they can’t use Jimmy, they’ll get her. Just like they did with that boy, Mick.” Brewster was oblivious to the possibility of offending or scaring the others.
“Barton mentioned in the journal that he wasn’t able to kill off the gatherer before he broke his leg,” Myrtle said.
“They can continue in future ages,” Brewster said. “As long as Nephilim are out there.”
“There’s more?” Nicholas asked.
“Not around here, but they’re out there.”
“We have to get Ed, then.” Rory gave a slight shrug of his shoulders in surrender. “The gatherer is the key.”
“But how?” Anna asked.
“Like I told Rory and Clinton before, we call them down here,” Brewster said. He motioned at them all. “We got necessary ones. They need you. We make noise out on Main Street, let those damn things know we haven’t left. They’ll have to come running.”
“And then what?” Myrtle gave voice to the question on everyone’s mind.
“We’ll draw them into town, to the old well,” Brewster said, mapping out a plan. “We’ll fill the trough with well water. The weak ones will go straight for the water in the trough and drink it because they think the pure water will release them. Only it won’t, so that’ll take care of at least some of them.”
“But how can we be sure?” Nicholas asked no one in particular.
Myrtle held up the journal. “We have to believe he’s right.”
Anna clutched at the knot in her stomach. “What about the others? The role players?”
“They’re gonna be harder,” Brewster said, his lips a hard line. He explained about taking down the hosts without spilling blood.
“While the lesser ones are at the old well, I’ll sneak up behind Ed and strangle him, with a garrote or noose…or something,” Rory said. “He should be paying attention to the others at the well, so I can go around the store. He won’t see me then.”
“He’ll be too strong for you,” Nicholas muttered.
Rory ran a hand over his face. “Look, isn’t there a hose on the side of the store?” he asked Anna.
“Sure, it’s on the west side.”
“I’ll go around the store, then, while he’s distracted, and I’ll spray him with water. If he’s like that one on the trail, the water should divert him, keep him occupied. Then I’ll try and get close enough to strangle him.”
“But he’ll look to where the water’s coming from. He’ll see you,” Clinton said.
“That’s a chance I’ll have to take,” Rory said. “At least he won’t be focused on you all.”
“But what about the others?” Anna asked again. “They won’t all go after the well water.”
“Maybe they won’t care if their leader is dead,” Rory replied.
“I’ll go with you,” Clinton said.
“No. You have to stay. Once I get Ed, you and Brewster can slip around and take care of the others.”
A clamor arose among them, as they voiced their objections. “That’s insane,” Myrtle said.
“It’s a suicide mission,” Anna breathed in
the same instance.
“Brewster can’t do it,” Clinton said hotly, dismissing the fact that the old man was standing right there.
“He’s got a couple of them already,” Rory turned on Clinton, his voice rising. “He knows more than the rest of us.”
“Then why doesn’t he try and strangle Ed?” Anna asked.
“Because he knows the most about these – ” Rory searched for the word, finally settling on “things,” spitting it out. He stared at her. “If I don’t make it, you need his knowledge.”
She bit her lower lip. “You’ll never make it. This won’t work.”
“Agreed,” Myrtle said. “Even if you get Ed, who’s to say the others won’t attack you?”
“You got any better ideas?” Rory snapped at them.
All eyes went to the floor. Then they began looking up, slowly, hesitantly, as if afraid of what they might see. Brewster was nodding at Rory.
“If all else fails, you may have to shoot the others.” Rory paused. “But at least I’ll have gotten the gatherer.”
“There isn’t another way?” Anna whispered.
Rory softened. “No.” He knew it was a suicide mission, but he didn’t know what else to try.
“He’ll make it,” Brewster seemed to hear his thoughts. The old man glanced out the window. “We’ll have to sink the bodies in the lake when we’re done.”
“We need something heavier than rocks, something that’s easy to tie the rope to,” Rory said.
“There’s a pile of cinder blocks behind the store,” Anna said.
“That’ll do.” Brewster resumed cutting rope. “Let’s get going.”
CHAPTER 61
It was time for the final preparation. The Nephilim gathered in the clearing in the woods. Ed tipped his head toward the sky and began to channel. His spirit called out to the ethereal, beckoning the blackness to come to this destined site. And soon something joined the heat in the woods, wrapping itself around the group of hosts like a ghost in the night.
Nephilim Genesis of Evil Page 28
