Forging Truth (The Truth Saga)

by Raymond Masters

  “No, Aesc, I’m afraid we really do need to be going. My friend, Meow’s father was a good man. I made her a promise I would help her stop the man behind his death.”

  “Be careful, my brother. You are the only kin I have, and I would not see you brought low by any would-be malefactors.”

  “Nor I, sir, I assure you. I tell you, it has truly been a blessing to have this reunion go so well. I hate to see it end, but I’m afraid I must. All good things and all that, eh?”

  “Quite,” agreed Aesculapus.

  “Meow, are ye red-eyed, then?”

  Mao looked puzzled till I explained: “Ready.”

  “Oh. Guess so.” Looking at me, she added, “I just wish you were able to go with us.”

  “I’m sure you could use my skills as a first-rate translator, right?”

  “Or perhaps your skills as a guardian angel?” She punched me in my left arm.

  “Ouch!” I cried. I rolled up my sleeve and investigated the red mark she had left behind. “You know, you’ve really got to,” I began as I turned to scold her. I have absolutely no idea how I was about to finish. I lost all coherency when she placed her small mouth to mine. It was not an overly long kiss, but it was clearly not the sort shared between friends during their goodbyes. Her lips were warm and moist. After the initial shock, I thankfully found them receptive when I tentatively returned the pressure.

  Breaking away, she locked eyes with me, “Godspeed. And when you do regain yourself, I pray you will not forget to come and share with me. With us, that is.” She began to blush, and I found I couldn’t look at her. I felt like I was about to explode. The kiss had been so unexpected and so right. Now, I had to stay behind with Methuselah. Well, that’s just not right at all.

  I turned to see what Caduceus’ reaction would be. I was certain he would have some snide comment ready, but he only looked on with a broad grin on his face. He came over to where I stood, shaking his head. “You have grown on me, so you have. The old place won’t be nearly the same wit’out you.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “without me around to make more holes in the roof.”

  “By the by, I’m thinking of taking down the ol’ plywood patches so Meow can enjoy a nice view of the sunset. Whadda ya think, hmm?”

  “She’s going to stay in my bed?” I was indignant.

  “Your bed, is it? And here I was thinking it was the guest bedroom.”

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted, laughing, “but until I came along, it was just the laundry room. I’m the only guest that’s ever filled the ‘bed,’ and I plan on coming back to use it again.”

  “Perhaps you hope she’ll still be in it, yes? ‘Somebody’s been sleeping in my bed, and she’s still here.’”

  “Shut up, C!”

  “You couldn’t help yourself, brother,” Aesculapus chuckled.

  Minutes later, we finished our farewells, and Caduceus and Mao headed toward the gate. Aesculapus tried once more. “I really do think you would benefit from staying till the morning. Are you quite certain you wish to make your long trek in the dark?”

  Caduceus issued a long sigh. “For what I hope is the final time: Yes, I am certain, brother. I thank you again for your concern, but I assure you the journey home will only last a fraction of the time the trip here did.” He shot us a wink and placed a hand on Mao’s back. “C’mon, girl, let’s go home.”

  “I’m red-eyed,” she said, “Let’s do it.” They issued their final waves and continued down the drive and through the gate. I watched anxiously until they were out of sight; then, just to be safe, I watched a little longer.

  Aesculapus spoke, sensing my mood. “Cheer up, buttercup, you’re destined to cross paths again.”

  “No. Probably not.” I was thinking about what Caduceus had said on his way here about parking his secret doorway for too long in one area. “I have a feeling he’ll be moving on.”

  “You say true? Forget not that he’s still got to help the girl to avenge her loss.”

  I had to hope he was right. Surely, he would keep his location for at least a little longer. Wanting to change the subject, and quickly, I asked, “So, do we begin my mental training or debugging or whatever, now?”

  “Mighty impatient, aren’t we?”

  I shrugged slightly, uncertain if the question was a rhetorical one or not.

  “No, boy, I understand your drive. I do. But first, I’m afraid I have something of the utmost importance to attend.”

  I frowned, curious as to what he meant by “utmost importance.” Since he didn’t elaborate, I asked, “And that is?”

  “Why, Caduceus left me some glazed sausage balls. They are my all-time favorite snacks, dontcha know. I plan on putting them away before I do anything. He said they were made from mum’s own recipe. You’ll have to try them, so you will.”

  “Yeah, um … if you mean the wads of meat and chocolate, whatever the heck that is … well, no offense, but I’m going to have to decline.” I felt my stomach start to rumble and flop around at the mere mention of the food. If you can even call that food.

  “Besides,” Aesculapus continued, “I can snack on them while I give you the nickel-and-dime tour of the place.”

  “A tour would be pretty cool, I guess. This place appears to have a lot of history to it. In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve got to tell you, though, I’m a good fifteen cents shy of the nickel-and-dime entrance fee.”

  “I’ll just take it out of your hide, how about that?”

  “Yeah, place it on my tab,” I joked, following behind him as he went back into the unique home.

  7

  “You’ve no doubt noticed, this isn’t your ordinary house,” said Aesculapus, shoving another glazed sausage ball in his mouth. We had begun our tour in the living room, dead center of the two wings. I followed him through a doorway and down a corridor leading into the castle-esque wing of the structure. Without waiting for my reply, he continued, “There is a method behind the architecture. You see, in its early days, this place served as an asylum for the mentally ill.” He hiccupped a brittle laugh. “Terribly sorry. It’s just that the term asylum implies a place where at least a passing attempt is made at fixing those poor, sick individuals cursed to forever suffer their demons behind its gray walls. This was more of a lock-n-key storage complex. A place where friends and family could drop their conflicted loved ones, effectively escaping their baggage and burden. Just lock ‘em up and forward the occasional board payment. Sickening, yes?” Again, he didn’t wait for a response. I was starting to get the impression he was more talking for the sake of conversation. He had said he hadn’t had that many guests.

  “Decades ago, a small group of monks decided enough was enough, and pooled their resources to purchase the asylum. They built the church addition and imposed God into the equation, and into the lives of those poor souls, in an attempt to finally redeem them. They put up a sign, proclaiming The Valley of Lost Souls Rehabilitation Center was open for business. I guess the irony of rehabilitating lost souls was lost on them. They were under the impression ‘just a little talk with Jesus makes it right.’ If only that were all it took.

  “The inmates continued their degenerative spiral into damnation, and as time passed, the monks were adversely effected, as well. The asylum’s population was an amalgam of psychopaths and mentally deranged patients, responsible for a myriad of crimes against humanity and themselves. There were those who liked to mutilate and torture on a whim, while others got off on inflicting pain and suffering through horrible, horrible mind games. It was the latter that posed the most troublesome, as it were. They were able to invade the monks’ heads, little by little, till one day, a certain one of their brethren was found dangling, just over there.” Aesculapus paused, currently pointing out one of the narrow arched windows midway up the corridor.

  “Thursday afternoons, the monks would gather all of the inmates upon the cobblestone courtyard for an evening devotional. They usually responded well to the outdoor
sermons. Usually being the key word. Unfortunately, to what they did not respond well, was the sight of a hanged man. He had used his monk’s robe, tying off from yonder parapet, so his naked body was on display for the whole of the assembled to behold. From what I understand, the victim was a well-rounded, God-fearing man. He had not mentioned his intentions to a single soul. The only communication on the came from a blood-written note, one word: repent. He had scrawled it over a hundred times, across a page ripped from The Revelation of St. John, prior to pinning it through his genitals and flying it proudly over the courtyard below. A banner of sin.”

  I must have blanched; I know I sure felt like I had gone white as a ghost. “That’s, that’s …” What words could possibly articulate the depravity of the scene he had just painted?

  “Indeed,” Aesculapus agreed, sensing my conflict. He countered by asking, “Perhaps you would care to go back for more tea? Maybe try to catch up with Caduceus and the girl?”

  Shocked from the sudden derailment of thought, I declined.

  He shrugged indifferently and continued, “The suicide prompted them to take matters into their own hands. God works in mysterious ways, and apparently, he was working a little too mysterious for the monks. Desperate, they made a pact with a devil, brought in outside help, a healer and scientist, to perform tests and experiments on those people unfortunate enough to find themselves locked behind these cold, uncaring slabs.”

  “That devil was you,” I wondered.

  Instead of answering, he turned away and said, “That outsider presented a fresh and unconventional form of treatment. He held long counseling sessions, brought in fantastic and horrific apparatuses to hook the patients to. He incorporated all kinds of items in his studies – bobbles and charms, trinkets and glams, electroshock, leaches, hypnotism, even dabbling in the fine art of lobotomy. He attacked the malignancies of the mind with ferocious attention. What he certainly did not do, however, was sit around and pray for a cure. The time for prayer was at an end. It was time for actions.

  “There were a number of inmates who were eventually ‘healed,’ if such is possible. Rehabilitated, sure, but healed? Whatever you might call it, they were dubbed “well,” and released back into the general population. And it was all thanks to the outsider’s unorthodox approach. Though the outcome was favorable, many of the brothers felt the ends did not justify the means. They were convinced by turning their backs on God, in favor of this man and his black magic, they had done the unthinkable. They pulled together a makeshift council to decide what to do about the devil they had invited in. The vote was appalling and unanimous.

  “The elders decreed, in order to make up for their perceived blasphemy, the man was to be cast out of the monastery, immediately, never to return. In regard to those that had been deemed cured, it was declared they would be rounded up like cattle and, once again, be locked behind the asylum’s walls. It stood to reason – their reason – if the interloper was evil, and his actions performed of evil, then so, too, must those he had counseled be tainted. They must not be allowed to spread their blight to the world. They must be spiritually purged.

  “They were good to their word, and asked the man to leave. He did so, without reservation, for he knew their minds; he had dealt with their type before. Once the interloper was banished, and the previously released inmates readmitted, the monks said their prayers and prostrated themselves for atonement. All was well, all was well, and all manner of thing, was well.

  “Until the revolt. The riot. The bloodshed. Then, it was truly time for prayer. Unfortunately, by then, it was much, much too late.”

  8

  “Well, that’s just a lovely, lovely story, Aesculapus, sir. You do know how to entertain your guests.”

  He gave me a withering look that shut me up for the moment. We walked in silence while he regained the thread of his thoughts. Finally, we came to the end of the hallway. To either side stood six nondescript metal doors. Each door was equipped with a cutout at eyelevel, presumably to allow for viewing and for delivery of three square meals per day. The nameplates still proclaimed the cells previous occupants, but most were illegible, weathered by the passage of time.

  Each of the cells stood open. Oh, good, they have vacancies, I thought. At the end of the corridor, directly ahead stood a thirteenth door. Unlike the others, this one was not only closed, but also locked. It was made of an entirely different material than the others and held no cutout. “What’s in there,” I asked. I was a little hesitant for the answer, considering the history of the place thus far.

  “Believe me boy, you do not want to know what lies beyond that door.”

  “Why not,” I asked. Despite his tone – or possibly, because of his tone – my curiosity had been peaked.

  “It is not for the weak of spirit, I assure you. Behind this door lies the site where both inmates and monks alike made their final stand. The epicenter for unholy carnage on a scale that will never be completely cleansed from this earth. It is said the very gates of hell opened up and insinuated demons upon each and every person there. In the end, not a soul was left alive: thirty-six dead, brutally massacred behind that very door.” He paused for effect.

  I took the opportunity to ask, “Everyone. Dead?”

  “Twenty-four monks to twelve inmates, all dead.”

  “Then … no one was left to say anything about the gates of hell and demons and all that, so that doesn’t make sense. That would’ve had to be added to the folklore. It’s still twisted, though.”

  “Never mind,” Aesculapus said. “You will not go there.”

  “Whatever you say. It’s your home. Uh, what’s directly across on the other side of the courtyard?”

  “The opposite corridor housed the bunks for the monks.”

  “Huh, Aesc, you’re a regular poet,” I said with a smirk.

  Aesculapus tossed his hands up in forfeit, “Why, oh why, did my brother feel the need to burden me with such a petulant smartass?”

  “Sorry, I guess humor is kind of my armor. I seem to don it whenever I’m faced with insanity such as, I don’t know, a satanic massacre of a couple dozen holy men in the place where I plan on staying for a while.”

  Aesculapus hung his head, relenting. “I am sorry. I should not have been so quick to judge. We all have our defenses, and as defenses go, humor is not the worst of them. Forgive this old-timer.”

  “Don’t mention it. You’re an okay guy, old-timer; I think that’s why Caduceus left me in your hands. So, how did you end up living here?”

  “Well, as you can imagine, the church stepped in and shut the place down.”

  “Closing the barn doors after the horses have escaped,” I interrupted.

  “Indeed. They intentionally lapsed on their payments, and the banks ended up with an un-sellable property. It so happens, I was in the market for a place to stay, at the time. You see, I, too, had had a falling-out with a group of my brethren at a monastery of my own.”

  “Yeah, Caduceus told me about them.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Told you about the cult, did he? Anyway, I was able to strike up a deal that would allow me to live here as caretaker, while they decided what to do with it. We were a perfect fit. After a while the banks seemed to forget about the place. Finally, I received in the mail a request for $300. They said that was all it would take for them to be rid of it, cut their losses, and move on. So, I paid it, and here I am.” He smiled as if all tales of happily-ever-after naturally included a section in which the blood of three-dozen people is spilled.

  “So you paid $300 for the place?”

  “Plus annual taxes and insurance.”

  “I think you seriously got gypped, man.” After a beat, I asked, “What about the church side?”

  9

  The church wing was pretty much just that. It housed a congregation hall, with about twenty pews, a pulpit, and a choir loft. Three crosses adorned the front, directly behind the pulpit. The centermost cross stood floor-to-ceiling,
with two smaller crosses to either side. Rainbow patterns of light filtered in from the numerous stained-glass windows, each depicting various biblical scenes. We stopped in front of a window that depicted the dove and the olive branch from the story of Noah. “This is amazing. It’s so hard to believe something like this is just around the corner from the horrors of that asylum,” I shuddered.

  “It’s symbolic, really. Is it not a perfect metaphor for the lives men lead?” I figured it was rhetorical, and figured correctly, as Aesculapus continued, “Man’s intrinsic nature: half holy and half unholy: equal parts sinner and saint.”

  “Part Cain. Part Abel.” I volunteered.

  He was quiet, brooding on what I had said. Finally, he agreed. “Yes, indeed. Part Cain and part Abel. Very true.”

  I spotted a narrow door to the back of the choir loft. It was closed, and I was instantly worried, as the last closed door we had encountered had, apparently, held the hunting fields of hell. “What’s back there? Please, tell me it’s just the baptistery or something equally non-satanic.”

  “No, I believe what few baptisms they were able to perform, were done off campus. That door, young sir, is the door to the tree of knowledge. That door is the door to my little book collection.”

  My ears perked at that. “That’s your library? Caduceus told me about the various magics and spells and stuff you guys learned from his dad’s books.”

  “Our da’s books. And, yes, they were a source of great fun an adventure for us. Like, this one summer, Caduceus concocted a plan that enabled us to eat our fill of candy and then some.”

  “Wait a minute, ‘Caduceus concocted a plan?’ The way he told me, it was your idea. They were all your ideas.”

  “Not surprising. It seems to me that my brother tends to remember a lot of things in an altered light when it comes to me and our shared past.”