Asira Awakens

by Chevelle Allen

  Ben sighed deeply. You deserve better than this, my friend. He slowly removed the oxygen supply being pumped into Peter’s intubating tube then placed his hand on Peter’s chest. He leaned closer. Letting his inner breath be absorbed into the tube, he waited until Peter’s eyelids fluttered.

  “Peter,” he whispered.

  Peter’s eyes opened as he turned toward Ben’s voice. A tear escaped his frightened eyes, but he couldn’t speak because of the tube. Instead, he peered into Ben’s deep blue eyes. Ben could hear the pleas of Peter’s now conscious mind.

  “Ben, please help me!”

  “Who did this?” he asked.

  “Dajume!”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Can you describe the person?”

  “Old black man. White hair with milky eyes.”

  “Did he say anything to you before doing this?”

  “He said, ‘Dajume won’t let you harm Asira.’ Ben, please help me!”

  “I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do. What you need is not within my powers.”

  “I don’t want to die!”

  Ben rarely cared when a mortal died. It was a natural process returning every element used in their creation back to the universe. But humans were curious beings capable of such love, devotion, and… wickedness. Even in death, life was precious to them in spite of the inevitable. “You’ll be one with the universe shortly. You’ll be freed from this broken, mortal coil. Now rest.”

  Peter’s once sad eyes beamed at the prospect and sentiment. Ben smiled as he withdrew the breath he’d given before reattaching the oxygen supply. Soon Peter was unconscious with no brain activity again.

  “Goodbye, my friend.”

  Emotions engulfed Ben. The sadness of losing Peter was soon overcome by anger at knowing the Dajume took his life. Somehow, they knew Peter was searching for Asira. Was it simply because he’d gone to the Johnson home when the Collection was being moved? Ben couldn’t be sure. But the primary question was, did they also know Peter worked for him. Did they know he was truly Bensaí? The Dajume are still here! I will destroy them all! he thought. Whoever you are, old man, you WILL be the last.

  Taking a few more minutes to compose himself, Ben took one last look at Peter. Walking out to the nurses’ station, he completed the remaining paperwork releasing Peter’s body for organ donation and science. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to do. He had other matters requiring his immediate attention. He had to get to Detroit.

  During the drive back to the airport, Ben made the necessary calls to associates in London. He had no idea how long he’d be gone, but he was prepared to stay as long as necessary. More important, he had to find a place to serve as a base of operations. Being a member of the Reform Club, he had reciprocal privileges at many private clubs around the world. Each had highly skilled staff and access to power players while providing comfortable accommodations. Above all, the clubs ensured a level of privacy not found in most hotels. His search led him to the Detroit Athletic Club. Well situated in the heart of the city, he was able to book a suite. The club’s manager was more than eager to have it set up to his specifications and ready when he arrived. With his needs accommodated, he reviewed the portfolio Peter prepared once more.

  He was intrigued and curious how Camille Dubois Johnson smuggled the papers out of France during the Great War. Somehow, she’d managed to keep them undetected in her attic. When she died, her eldest son inherited the house. Having no children, he passed them along with the house and its contents to his nephew, Larry Johnson. The hapless man thought the only valuable things in the Collection were the rare leather bound Catholic prayer books. Offering them through public auction, they quickly drew the attention of collectors the world over because of the Dubois connection, not simply the age and quality of the books. Still, few knew its real treasure.

  Ben then began searching for information about St. Mary University. The more he read, he understood why it was deemed worthy of the Dubois Collection. Among the University’s laudable assets was a museum and archive containing artifacts and papers related to various Oblate Orders of the Catholic Church and their missionary activities around the world. Ben realized he’d have access to far more than just the Dubois Collection. The potential secrets in that archive could certainly lead to the end of the Dajume, Asira, and ultimately The Supreme. But he’d have to be deliberate and careful. His patience was required above all else.

  Despite what he’d done to the Johnson’s, he refrained from blatant displays of his true form. It could be messy because humans were erratic when confronted with things they didn’t understand. To ensure there’d be no connections back to him, he had erased the Johnson’s memories before leaving them huddled on the floor. Admittedly, it would have been far easier to simply kill them, but drawing attention wasn’t what Ben wanted. From experience, he knew interactions between humans and his kind often resulted in death and destruction, and that would come soon enough.

  But one thing was clear, humans were far more complex than he imagined. Asira’s gift of sentience created beings full of conflicting emotions and motivations. Having taken on their form, he appreciated the insights Asira gained from moving among them. But for him, it was a tedious necessity regardless of the physical pleasures the form allowed. Being among them demonstrated why they needed a superior being to thwart their penchant for self-destruction. They needed order and purpose—something Bensaí would provide.

  Settling into his suite and getting a bite to eat at the club, Ben changed into casual clothes before venturing out on foot. The spring evening air was crisp as he walked the streets. Much had changed in downtown Detroit since he last visited. A block beyond the club, two major league sports stadiums and the Opera House represented the eclectic nature of the city. Once boarded up buildings were replaced with restaurants, shops, and other businesses dotting Woodward Avenue, the primary thoroughfare. The light rail was finally complete as passengers got off heading to the baseball game. But the most notable difference was the diverse mix of people walking the streets. Watching them, his plan came into crystal clarity.

  The next morning, the black sedan with the requested security detail arrived at the club to take him to St. Mary University. If there was one thing he understood about Americans, it was that overt displays of wealth and power could open far more doors than gentility. As the car pulled up to the main entry, several students stopped to see the important visitor gracing their campus. The suited guard got out, surveyed the area, then opened the door for Ben. Stepping out of the car, he looked up at the tower before entering the building with the guard close behind. More curious eyes greeted him as they made their way to the bank of elevators. Taking the lift to the third floor, they stepped out into the administration wing. Walking toward the reception desk, a middle-aged woman quickly stopped whatever she was doing and stood erect as if she were a soldier in the presence of an officer.

  “Good morning! May I help you?” She smiled.

  “Mr. Stewart is here to see Dr. Bertram,” the guard said.

  “Oh… um… I’m sorry, Mr. Stewart. I don’t have you on the schedule for today.”

  With eyes fixed on hers, Ben smiled warmly. Knowing his London accent would get him past this modest threshold, he said, “My business brings me to the country unexpectedly. I thought I’d squeeze in a visit. I’m sure he wants to see one of this University’s primary donors.”

  “Of course… just a minute.” She immediately placed a call. Another woman quickly walked toward him, hand outstretched.

  “Good morning, Mr. Stewart. I’m Penelope, Dr. Bertram’s assistant. He’s on a conference call right now, but it should end shortly. Please follow me.”

  Ben followed the final gatekeeper down the hallway to the executive suite. Invited to sit, he glanced toward the double doors ahead of him. He presumed it was Bertram’s office.

  “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Or perhaps tea?”
>
  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “Forgive me, but your name’s not familiar,“ she said politely but skeptically.

  “My recent gift was given anonymously… along with my family’s Collection.”

  By her reaction, he knew she was more than familiar with his intimation. He was betting a lack of sophistication would prevent a challenge to his lie.

  “Of course, please forgive me. I’m sure Dr. Bertram wants to personally thank you.” She went to her desk and looked at the phone. She turned back to him saying, “I believe he’s concluded his call. I’ll let him know you’re here. One moment, please.”

  As she disappeared through the doors, he grinned. This was far too easy.

  Within moments, she opened the door inviting him into the University’s President’s Office. To seal his display, Ben turned to the guard saying, “You can wait here. I should be fine.”

  “Of course, Mr. Stewart.”

  A tall man with speckled gray hair, gaunt face, and lanky body came from behind the large engraved desk to greet him.

  “Hello, Mr. Stewart! It is a pleasure to meet you and to be able to thank you in person.”

  “I take it things arrived safely?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I know the check cleared.“ He chuckled being mildly charming.

  “Well, yes,” Bertram said. “Please have a seat.”

  “Dr. Bertram, I promise not to take up too much of your time. I’m unannounced, and I’m sure you’re busy.”

  “I’m at your disposal, Mr. Stewart. It’s not every day St. Mary gets a gift like that.”

  “Depending on how well things are cared for, it may facilitate another.”

  “That’s very generous of you. I have to say, I’m surprised you came. The conditions of the gift are… unusual… even for an anonymous one.”

  “Most of my gifts are anonymous, Dr. Bertram. I’m sure you can appreciate I have to be mindful of people whose intentions are not always the best. But this… this gift is far more personal.”

  “How so?”

  “It contains information about my family.”

  “I see. Well, we’re grateful you chose our fine University. The Stewarts are a well-known family in Britain.”

  Aren’t you clever! Ben thought. But he wouldn’t be outsmarted having prepared for this exchange. “It’s actually the Dubois family from Belgium, Dr. Bertram. My great-grandmother was a Dubois.”

  “I’m curious why you choose our small University?”

  “By donating them here, the papers can rightfully join one of the finest archival collections related to the Church’s Oblate Orders. That’s why I chose St. Mary.”

  Seemingly satisfied, Bertram simply said, “Again, thank you. Your generosity is deeply appreciated.”

  “My pleasure.” Rising from his chair, Ben said, “I appreciate your time. However, before I go, I wonder if I could make a request.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Stewart.”

  “I’ve never personally seen your facility. After considerable research, my staff recommended it as the rightful place for the papers. I’d like to visit the archives. Is that possible?”

  “Of course. I’ll get Penelope to escort you and introduce you to our wonderful staff.”

  “Thank you for your gracious accommodation.” Extending his hand to Bertram, Ben was beyond pleased. Gaining access to the archives would be far easier with the approval of the University’s President. And he had it.

  CHAPTER 6

  Deborah was working quietly at her desk when the office phone rang. She was surprised the call was coming from Megan’s office. Usually, she just came down the hall whenever she needed something.

  She picked up the call saying, “What do you need?”

  “Oh my God, Deborah! He’s here!”

  “Who’s here?”

  “The donor!”

  “What donor?”

  “The mystery donor! I just got a call from Penelope in Bertram’s office. They’ll be here any minute. He wants to see our facilities.”

  “Okay… so what’s the big deal? We’ll just do our regular dog and pony show, right? You want me to meet you in the Reading Room?”

  “Come to the foyer.”

  Getting up from her desk, Deborah stopped short looking at her feet. She usually wore flat shoes to move around the building, but for some reason, she always felt more professional in heels under the impending circumstance. Making sure her blouse was properly tucked and her skirt aligned, Deborah slipped on the plain black pumps she kept under her desk. Showtime, she thought. Hearing voices in the foyer, she stepped out of her office. As she approached, a man in black stood in the doorway while Megan and Penelope fawned over the tall man whose face she couldn’t see.

  “Mr. Stewart, I’d like to introduce you to our Chief Archivist, Deborah Brooks,” Megan said.

  When he turned around, Deborah understood why these women were so enthralled. He was strikingly handsome and oozed sensuality. His expensive suit was impeccably tailored fitting a body both firm and inviting. His steel blue eyes against the flushes of pink in his cheeks defied the flecks of gray in his strawberry blond hair. The fine lines on his face suggested wisdom and maturity, not age. And then he spoke…

  “Ms. Brooks,” was all he could say as he extended his hand to her.

  He was immediately taken aback. She was far more attractive than he expected an archivist to be. Her skin was flawless with only traces of makeup. Like the finest velvet, its smooth texture begged to be touched. The deep brown hue of her skin didn’t hide its luminescence, only amplifying it. Her almond shaped eyes were almost amber in color. And then she smiled. There was something radiant about it… and her. Ben couldn’t discern if it were merely the desires of the body or more. She exuded energy and presence unlike any he’d experienced before. The only thing certain was he couldn’t recall ever being so struck by a woman. He had to know more about her.

  Sexy AND English? Jesus! “Mr. Stewart.” Shaking his hand, a powerful sensation coursed through her body causing her to flush. Feeling self-conscious, she quickly withdrew her hand from him.

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “I understand the Collection is in your capable hands.”

  “It’s my job to make sure it’s well protected according to your wishes,” she said hoping like hell she was keeping her cool. But there was something about him… something unnerving and exciting. Who is this man?

  “Mr. Stewart would like to see the archives, Deborah,” Megan said.

  “Of course. We’d be happy to take you on a tour.”

  “After you,” he said.

  As she walked ahead of him, he couldn’t help notice her lean but shapely figure. Her steps were purposeful but elegant with seemingly little effort. She spoke with intelligence and authority as she took him through the key areas of the archives. They were soon in the Reading Room and the Director—this Megan Duval woman—began prattling on about what, he couldn’t care less. He was focused on Deborah.

  “Mr. Stewart?”

  “I’m sorry, yes?”

  “I was asking what can you tell us about your Collection?” Megan said.

  “Not much, I’m afraid. Only rumors from the family.”

  “I don’t understand,” Deborah said.

  Turning toward her, he said, “The papers were smuggled out of Europe during World War I by a relative and brought to the States. She protected them until her death. When I became aware of them, there was a concern they’d end up in the wrong hands. That’s why they were donated to St. Mary.”

  “So you have no idea what’s in them?”

  “What I know is they contain Father Willem’s books and papers along with others belonging to the Dubois family. I’m equally curious to find out what’s in them. Perhaps we can discover its secrets together, Ms. Brooks.”

  The flush returned to her cheeks the more he looked at her. Maintaining her professionalism was becoming increasingly difficult.

&n
bsp; “I won’t be able to process anything until the freeze cycle is complete.”

  “There’s infestation?” Ben asked.

  It wasn’t often people knew about the freezing process in archival work. She was mildly impressed. “There’s no visible infestation, but it’s hard to say with smaller insects. It’s best to complete the cycle, then inspect everything before bringing it into the primary storage areas.”

  “May I see it?”

  “The freezer?”

  “Yes.”

  Deborah turned to Megan for approval. She nodded.

  “This way, Mr. Stewart. I think one of the parkas might fit you,” Megan offered.

  “I’ll be fine, Ms. Duval.”

  “Let me get my keycard. I’ll be right back,” Deborah said.

  Grateful to be away from him, it was unnerving to be so inextricably drawn to his magnetism. She was beginning to sweat and needed a moment to get herself together. What the hell! You’re acting like you’ve never been around a man before! she told herself. She couldn’t understand any of it. The effect he was having on her made her unsteady no matter how hard she tried to keep it together.

  With keys in hand, Deborah joined them near the passageway leading to the secured storage and freezer area. Swiping her card, she invited him inside. Toward the rear area of the room, the freezer’s steel door loomed large.

  “It looks like something from a restaurant,” he said.

  “Basically, it is, with the exception of the humidity controls and security system.” Deborah reached for a parka hanging near the entry. “Are you sure you don’t want a parka, Mr. Stewart?”

  “Please call me Ben.”

  “It’s twenty below zero Celsius in there,” Megan added.

  “I don’t intend to be in there long.” Catching Deborah’s eye again, “I’m feeling a little warm as it is.”

  There was no ignoring the flirtatious comment. Rather than respond, Deborah simply chose to divert her gaze from those hypnotic eyes.

  “This way,” Deborah said as they walked inside the freezer.

  His breath quickened at the reality of having the Collection in his sights. Containing his delight was difficult. He walked toward the steel table, but the closer he got, there was something repelling him. He quickly looked around the room trying to determine if there was anything visible to explain the phenomena. Rather than move any closer, he folded his arms across his chest and stood more erect.