by Joanne Pence
“Where is your place in Idaho?” Michael asked. The phone number given to him by the two men who pursued him in Italy—the two killed as they left the Florence police station—had an Idaho area code. He couldn’t help but suspect the two had been talking to Stuart and Hank.
Stuart explained the location. Michael knew the area, its remoteness, and harsh terrain—a place with no cell towers or phone lines.
“We want to bring the pearl there among the REEs,” Stuart continued. “If you give it to us, you’ll end all this, Doctor Rempart. Hank and I know that our five comrades died because of the demons. They’re furious that we’ve all lived past the second Year of the Rat, and they’re making up for lost time, killing us in ways that cause the most pain and anguish—mental as well as physical. And now your lives are in danger. We know how to neutralize them so they won’t do harm to anyone.”
“Stu’s right,” Hank said. “With the pearl, we can stop them.”
The demon that attacked him asked Michael to give her the pearl, and now these two, with their dark auras, did the same. His jaw tightened. “Father Berosus visited me the night of his death and told me what needed to be done. He held off death to tell me. I won’t walk away from his request.”
“When your name came up,” Hank said, “I did some research on you. The time you vanished in Idaho was never explained, but I suspect something supernatural happened. Stu and I heard a lot about those disappearances, since we live in the area. I suspect that’s why Father Berosus went to you—because you believe in demons.”
“Do I?”
“You know that where the spiritual exists, there are both good and bad spirits, and the bad ones must be controlled,” Hank insisted. “Why else does the Catholic Church need more exorcists now than at any other time in the so-called ‘modern’ era? The fewer people believe in evil, the more the devil gets away with it. People like Doctor Holt excuse evil as ‘maladjusted behavior.’ It’s the ultimate maladjusted behavior in my opinion. People used to believe in evil, they knew Satan, or Lucifer, was real. But now, when faced with the evil, we rationalize it away. That means the devil always wins.”
“Or, humanity wins,” Kira said, her voice tinged with anger, “because we don’t make up excuses for what’s wrong with the world and society by blaming it on the devil. We find out what’s wrong in the here-and-now and do something about it. What do you expect us to do? Pray? Someone is out there killing the men in this photo, and I’m not about to cry ‘the devil made them do it’ and then go and hide! I’m going to find him—the very human ‘him’—and put him behind bars for the rest of his earthly life. As for what happens when that life is over, I don’t give a shit.”
“That’s the usual attitude.” Hank sneered at her. “It’s the reason I gave up and simply dropped out. You, Kira Holt, have confirmed that I’m right about everything I believe is wrong with modern society.”
“Glad to be of service.” Kira scowled right back at him. “Society has its faults, but there’s nothing supernatural about murder. I know what I’m seeing is quite unbelievable, but I’m still convinced that once this is over, we will have found a rational answer. Something not demonic.” She looked at Jianjun. “I’m sorry.”
“I used to be that way,” Hank said. “And then seven of us survived a week in the desert. Our survival had to do with those foxes—they took us in, succored us, and then possessed us. Possession is real. And it has nothing to do with your religious faith or lack thereof. We were all average guys in everything, and when we returned to the US, our deployment over, all of us became unbelievably successful. Not just simply successful, but the best in fields the fakir told us about. Seeing, my dear Ms. Holt, is believing.”
By late night, the storm had grown worse. Polk went out to keep the first watch while the others blew out the candles and lay down. Sleeping bags and air mattresses had been brought in from the cars, so everyone was relatively comfortable. The Uyghurs used the pillows, carpets, and extra blankets.
The wind grew loud, at times sounding like screams. Michael felt everyone’s restlessness. A sense that something horrible was about to happen, that something supernatural and ugly crept ever nearer, filled him.
Eventually, despite the noise of the storm and a constant, nagging worry, he heard the steady breathing of sleepers, and he slept as well.
He abruptly awoke the next morning and sat up. Kira was putting on her shoes. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Girl bladder.”
The one lone light bulb was on, and the low table was laden with a tea pot and cups, plus a soup tureen and bowls.
“Did you see who brought in the food and tea?” Michael asked.
She shook her head. The others began waking now as well.
“Where the hell did that food come from?” Hank demanded, eying all of them suspiciously.
“It also happened when I was here alone,” Michael said. “A monk brought me food, but he never spoke.”
“How the hell did he get past Taft?” Hank roared. Taft had the last shift and was still outside.
“I’ll ask him,” Kira said and went to the door. Once she opened it, she could hardly pull it closed against the strong wind of the storm.
The whistle of the wind was so loud they scarcely heard Kira’s scream. Jianjun and Michael glanced at each other, then ran outside. They were held back momentarily by the raging storm, but pushed forward.
Kira grabbed onto Jianjun. “The bodyguard …” She pointed towards the side of the building.
Taft lay in a fetal position, his skin charred and blackened as if he had died in a fire, while his eyes and mouth were open wide in a silent scream. The others had followed Michael and Jianjun, and now gaped in shock and horror. Even the Uyghurs were there. Dilnar huddled near Michael until her brother pulled her away.
“How can he look like that?” Kira cried, close to hysteria. “There was no fire. Not here, not anywhere near us!”
“How can this have happened, and we didn’t hear anything?” Stuart asked.
Hank, Michael and Polk carried Taft’s body to the porch and looked him over while Carter clutched the rifle, his eyes constantly moving as he searched for danger.
“No stab wounds, gunshot, no obvious head trauma,” Hank said. He sniffed the semi-automatic rifle. “He never fired his weapon.”
“Why was he on the side of the building?” Polk asked. “When I kept watch, I sat near the door. With him off to one side, in this storm, anyone could have snuck into the building from the opposite side and he wouldn’t have seen them.”
“Someone like whoever brought us food,” Stuart said. “What if that person is both feeding us and killing us?”
“He looks like he was screaming,” Kira said softly. She was shaking, and Jianjun put a supportive arm around her. “That was the way my father looked.”
“Maybe from the pain of the fire,” Hank murmured.
“What fire?” Jianjun remarked. “There wasn’t one.”
“Spontaneous combustion?” Stuart asked. But no one answered.
“We are interlopers here, trespassers, and we are not welcome,” Hank said. “We need to keep going. Let’s move on. Don’t touch the food.”
A crow shrieked, its shrill voice startling them. Eventually everyone went back into the church except Carter, who insisted he would keep watch at the door as well as over his fallen comrade’s body.
“I think we should leave this place and continue along the Silk Road,” Hank said. “If this is the Nestorian monastery Father Berosus told Michael to find, I’m just not seeing it. I wouldn’t leave the pearl here. Anyone could steal it, like Polo did, and we’d be in danger all over again.”
“I agree,” Stuart said.
Kira held up her hand in a gesture of ‘stop.’ “Before we go rushing off, why would the monk tell Michael to come here if this isn’t the right place?”
“For one thing,” Renata said, “there are no Nestorian monks in Kyrgyzstan, so whoever talked to Michael was an impo
ster. And lying.”
“Exactly,” Hank said. “This place is worthless.”
Michael’s uneasiness grew as he listened to all of them. Sirom had been right to send him here, so why did these others insist on leaving? “The rain is coming down harder than ever. I wonder if anyone can leave here for any reason.”
“You just want to keep us here. Let’s load the SUV and go,” Stuart said. “I’ll get Carter to help us.” He opened the door and stepped onto the porch, then came back inside. “Where is Carter?”
Michael felt everyone’s anxiety and despair at those words. He hurried outside, the others following. The courtyard was empty. The rain came down in sheets now, pooling on the hard clay soil. It covered the toes of his boots.
“He’s got to be out here somewhere,” Hank shouted.
Polk headed towards the gate. But before he reached it, it slammed shut. Michael helped him pull it open, but it stuck fast. “I’m going over it,” Polk said.
Michael nodded. “Me, too.”
They climbed over the gate and shoved while Jianjun and Hank pulled. Finally, it opened.
“Damn storm,” Polk muttered. Michael watched others nod, even as they looked over their shoulders.
“I still don’t see Carter,” Polk shouted above the roar of the storm and the constant pelting of the rain. It fell with an almost human-like fury. Michael’s boots sank deep in the soil with each step he took. It seemed to want to hold him and not let go.
“I see him!” Hank yelled. “He’s in the SUV.”
They all followed, but then Hank slowed down. Right behind him, Michael saw that Carter wasn’t moving, and sat at an awkward angle.
Hank yanked the door open. Carter’s forehead lay against the steering wheel, his arms oddly twisted and bent. Wires used to start a car without a key hung loose under the dash. Everyone crowded near.
“What the hell!” Hank yelled over the sound of heavy rainfall.
“It looks like he was trying to run away,” Stuart shouted back. “Desperately trying.”
“As if he was being chased,” Jianjun added, “and tried to hotwire the car.”
“He wouldn’t do that!” Polk insisted.
“But he did!” Hank said. “Just didn’t get very far.”
No one moved as Hank’s words sunk in.
When Hank and Polk checked Carter for obvious signs of what had killed him, they discovered that all the bones in his hands and arms had been broken.
As Polk started to pull him from the SUV, he found that Carter’s legs and ankles flopped bizarrely. Those bones, too, had been snapped. “Man, this is all so fucked up.”
Stuart turned away and threw up.
Michael helped Hank and Polk carry Carter’s broken body back to the porch where they placed him beside Taft.
“Shouldn’t we bury them?” Kira asked softly.
“No,” Jianjun said. “It’s better for us if the Chinese government sees them with as little interference from us as possible. We don’t want them to think we did this.”
“Let’s get out of here, then.” She leaned against him. “I can’t take it.”
“Me, neither.” Jianjun glanced at Michael, Hank and Stuart.
“I agree,” Stuart said.
“Me, too,” Hank muttered.
Michael nodded, although he wondered if they actually could leave.
The Uyghur performers clapped their hands and smiled, also ready and eager to leave this strange place. Everyone picked up their belongings and went to the vehicles, Hank and Michael were in the drivers’ seats. The Uyghurs went with Hank since his SUV now had room to spare.
Michael’s van was the first to start, but he drove only a couple of inches when the front two tires hit a rut of some sort and dipped low. The tires spun, but couldn’t climb out of the rut. He got out of the vehicle to look for wood or rocks to put under the tires to help them grip the road. The water now reached over his ankles. He had never seen rain water rise that quickly.
Hank was having no better luck. He walked over to Michael. “The ground’s too wet and muddy. The more I try to get the SUV to move, the deeper into the mud I go.”
“Same here. Looks like we have no choice but to wait until the storm passes.”
He gave word to the others, and they reluctantly left the vehicles, slogging through the deep rainwater back to the monastery.
Hank took some tools out of his SUV, handed them to Stuart, and then grabbed a few more. “If I’m staying in that old church, I want to know what’s behind the locked door in the back of it. Someone—probably some group—has killed two well-trained former Army Rangers. I’m not taking any chances.”
The others agreed. Renata, Jianjun and Kira picked up more blankets, candles, and batteries, while Michael was glad to see that Hank’s SUV held a tarp. As the others headed for the church, Michael covered Carter and Taft’s bodies with the tarp. He then also went inside.
Hank and Polk had already pried open the door in the back of the church. It led to a small, completely empty room. As Michael suspected, a back door to the outside courtyard was on the far wall. It had been nailed shut, as was a tiny window beside it. They decided to leave them closed.
Michael felt a small, soft hand clasp his. It was Dilnar’s. “I’m scared,” she whispered, gazing up at him with dark, almond-shaped eyes.
Kira looked over the sacristy. “How can this be a monastery if there’s no place for anyone to live?”
Jianjun answered. “Quarters for monks probably were built out of wood and very plain. Any such building from Polo’s time wouldn’t have lasted more than a couple of centuries, if that.”
“No other monastery is in the area,” Michael said, “so this must be it. It also explains why we’re stuck here, and can’t leave.”
“No, that’s because of rain,” Kira began when a crash sounded.
Michael pushed Dilnar against the wall, away from the open sacristy door. “Stay here,” he said to her.
From the sacristy, he saw that someone had opened the front door to the church. Shots fired through the open door ricocheted through the main room.
Hank, Polk, and Michael darted out of the sacristy to the semi-automatic rifles Hank and the bodyguards had brought. Michael took the one Taft had used. The three of them fired a volley of rounds through the doorway.
When they stopped, all was again quiet.
They carefully approached the door, then swung it shut. When all remained quiet for about five minutes, those in the sacristy came back into the church’s main room.
“Who’s doing this?” Kira cried.
“Apparently, we aren’t the only ones who know about the pearl,” Hank said. “For all we know, it could well be soldiers or government mercenaries.”
Jianjun caught Michael’s eye and shook his head. “The government would have sent a larger force,” Jianjun said. “And our few shots wouldn’t have gotten them to run. It was the villagers. We scared them, and now they’ve come to kill us.”
“He’s right,” Michael said. “If they were soldiers, they’d be in here by now, and we’d be dead or under arrest.”
“I agree.” Renata picked up her backpack. “That’s why I’m going out there to talk to them, to explain.”
“You can’t,” Michael said. “They’re scared. They won’t listen.”
“You forget, I speak their language and I’ve studied their customs all my life. I’m safer with them than here with all of you! You’re crazy—each and every one of you. Demons? Philosopher’s stones? It’s all nonsense. The only rational answer is that one of you killed the two bodyguards. One of you is a murderer, and I’m not sticking around to find out which it is. I’ve had enough.”
“Renata, please.” Michael reached for her, but she pushed him away, and then hurried to the wall beside the main door. Dilnar ran to Michael’s side.
“You aren’t going to stop me,” Renata said with disgust. “Don’t even try.”
“At least take a weapon.�
�� Michael held out the rifle. “Have some means to protect yourself if they refuse to listen.”
“That will only make things worse.”
“Please, Renata.” Michael wracked his brain, trying to think of how to get through to her. “They aren’t rational. They’re afraid.”
“But not of me. They’ll listen.” She placed her hand on the doorknob and then quickly slipped outside.
Michael ran towards her, but Dilnar grabbed his arm and refused to let go. “Please, no. They’ll kill you.”
“She’s right,” Jianjun said. “Don’t go.”
Michael stepped out of the doorway, but the door remained open. He heard Renata shouting something in Uyghur. Her voice became fainter. A male voice shouted in reply, and then all was quiet.
“Shut the door, Michael,” Hank said. “She made it; they listened to her.”
Michael hoped Hank was right. Reluctantly, he shut the door, and then walked over to the low table, and sat by it. Despair at the thought of Renata weighed down his shoulders.
Out of the silence, he heard a single shot. He shut his eyes and bowed his head. After that he heard nothing except the steady pounding of rain.
Chapter 44
The group sat in the church around the small table, listening to the storm. No one spoke. Jianjun and Kira sat side-by-side, then Hank, Stuart, Michael, Dilnar, Az’har, and Paziliya. Polk stood by the window looking out, his rifle propped beside him against the wall.
Thoughts of Renata, her brilliance, her enthusiasm, sharing the room in Tashkent, seeing her so desirable and full of life pushed away everything else from Michael’s mind. He hoped he was wrong about the meaning of the gunshot, but he doubted it.
He considered the possibility of them leaving their cars and walking away on foot, back to the main road, and then walking or trying to hitch a ride to Khotan. If the villagers spotted them, however, they would try to kill them. Few things made men as irrational as fear of demons.
