Harbinger Island

by Dorian Dawes

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Helena drove them all to the Wakefield Historical Society, north of the Black Goat Woods at the edge of town. It was the first time they'd all been together since the disaster at the Hendraick Farm those short weeks ago. Kara told terrible puns, cackling at her friends' distressed groans. Helena divulged more magical secrets, such as the names of her butterfly familiars, Locke and Thneed. For Justin, it was like being left out in the cold for a long time, only to stumble in front of a fireplace. His affection for them grew, as did the nagging sensation that he'd formed a dependency upon their company.

  Justin had never visited the Wakefield Historical Society before. It was partially a small library of records and documents, but also a museum of sorts with various historical artefacts and relics of the island's past put on display in daily-cleaned glass cases. A smiling, dark-skinned young man wearing a bright blue turban and a matching puffy vest sat behind the desk typing away at a computer. He recognized Kara and Helena immediately and dove from behind the desk to hug them.

  "Gosh, how are things?" he exclaimed almost immediately. He began talking in a very fast excited tone of voice. "Are you here to talk to me about the magic stuff? I don't think I can practice while at work. We've got a new shipment of artifacts in and Gloria wants this stuff cataloged post-haste."

  Helena held up her hands. "Whoa, slow down. We were hoping you could tell us more about that stuff you mentioned yesterday. Azoth?"

  Dayabir nodded. "Right. I only know about azoth as it relates to medieval beliefs regarding alchemy, but I suppose you're wondering more about how it relates to the occult."

  "Right on." Kara punched him in the shoulder. "Oh by the way, Dayabir this is Justin."

  Dayabir turned to look at Justin and his eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "Cripes! You're beautiful. I mean, oh gosh, I said that out loud, didn't I. Oh … um. I am a walking pile of garbage. Oh dear. Um, I'm Dayabir. Hi."

  Justin laughed. "It's okay. Thank you, by the way?"

  Dayabir wanted to crawl inside his turban and hide. He turned his blushing face away scrunching his shoulders as he pointed to Gloria's office. "I'll just … go let Gloria know you need help with something. If it's important, she won't mind."

  As Dayabir walked off, Justin leaned into Kara's ear and whispered, "Is he always this adorable?"

  "It's something that happens as he gets increasingly flustered," Kara said. "His adorable levels only continue to rise from there."

  Dayabir returned a short moment later followed by an old white-haired woman with leathery skin. She had a rose-colored shawl wrapped tightly about herself and was grumbling in Spanish as the young Sikh led her out of the office. She brushed him away and smoothed the wrinkles out of her black dress.

  Her voice was crisp and gruff, summoning as much politeness as she was able. "Helena, Kara. Good to see you again. Justin, I'm presuming? Bartleby mentioned you frequently. How can I help you?"

  "Do you think you could tell me about what azoth is?" Justin asked. "And can it be tainted?"

  "Tainted?" Gloria recoiled, placing her fingers against her throat. "That's an odd word to use."

  "Someone said that my azoth had been tainted," Justin said.

  Gloria's brow furrowed. She stared at him hard for a minute before muttering, "I can't speak for your azoth, but your aura is filthy - and who did that to your eye? It's like some deep dark dreaming."

  "That's not the first time I've been told I was filthy," Justin said, trying to make a joke. He chuckled awkwardly, only to be greeted by concerned silence. Kara and Helena were staring at him with worried looks.

  Gloria was equally unamused. "As Dayabir can tell you, the azoth was considered the life-force of all things by medieval alchemists. It's an antiquated term, now only used by ancient cults steeped in tradition or foul spirits who don't know any better. Some might even call it the soul, but really that's a bunch of horse-shit.

  "Many cults sprung up in the early 1600s, seeking to prove the existence of the azoth by kidnapping and extracting it from their victims. Those are the types of people who kidnap and torture their own children in order to prove a point." She nodded in Kara's direction.

  "My personal belief is that all those experiments failed and that what was produced was nothing of the sort. What they referred to as azoth, the substance they produced, was fear itself. It took the form of a viscous black liquid and there are documents describing terrible night-terrors and waking visions from those who were exposed to the stuff.

  "Anyway, who told you this? Who told you your azoth was tainted?" Gloria demanded, pointing her cane sharply at him.

  "I don't know who …" Justin trailed off. His whole body was shaking. "I heard something about a group called the Paladins?"

  "Roland's men?" Gloria sniffed. "Of course they'd still be hanging on to the old terminology. I wouldn't put too much stock in anything they'd have to say. They mean well but their methods are as crude and antiquated as their language. That they've come to Harbinger Island is only proof of how low they've fallen. I hope they didn't hurt you."

  Justin shrugged his shoulders. "I couldn't say. I don't remember anything."

  "Probably for the best, then," Gloria said. "They say when you get old, the memory is the first thing to go. That's proved to be the opposite in my case. I'm forced to watch my body die all around me while my mind and memories remain as sharp and painful as the day they were made."

  "Do you think you know why they might have said that to me, though?" Justin asked. "I know they were interested in my eye."

  "It's your aura, most likely. Some believe the azoth shines brightest through the aura and yours is something else," Gloria said. "And your eye is definitely interesting. I'll consult some of my books later this evening; if I find anything, I'll let you know."

  Kara scratched her head. "So that's it? You don't have anything else to offer? Just, hey kid, your aura is messy, go clean it up?"

  "Of course not," Gloria said with a laugh. "I'd never tell someone to clean up their aura. There are many reasons why someone's aura will look the way it does. You should see mine, it's quite frightful lately. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do."

  She turned on her heels and marched back to her office. Each stared in uncomfortable silence. Justin's mouth hung open in a brow-furrowed expression of helpless defeat. Dayabir looked at them apologetically.

  "Gloria means well," he said. "I'm going to do some independent research. There's a guy I've been talking to who's got some insider information. He might be able to help."

  "Insider info?" Helena raised an eyebrow. "Can he be trusted?"

  Dayabir shook his head. "It's sketchy, yeah. But the intel seems to be good. He's helped me close out some of my own investigations this week. If he's got any underhanded motives, I haven't found them yet; for now, I've got to believe he's one of the good guys."

  Justin sighed. "All right. Thanks. And Dayabir, it was nice to meet you. I mean that. Let's hang out sometime."

  Dayabir smiled wide, teeth showing. "That would be rad!"

  * * *

  They grabbed some fast food and took their meals to the park. Helena voiced some concerns about eating at the typical shakes and burgers joint where they usually congregated. She wouldn't go into it, only hinted that she'd heard some things about its history that had ruined it for her forever.

  Helena looked over at Kara sending out yet another text on her phone. "Veronika again? I thought you two weren't talking."

  Kara slid her phone back into her pocket. "That's a one-sided issue. She's not talking to me, and I refuse to let her shut me out."

  Justin shrugged his shoulders. "She wants to be left alone; maybe you should respect that."

  Kara gave him a dirty look. "If this were a matter of her needing some alone time, or if it was her being a drama queen? Yeah, yeah I would. To be honest, I'd be willing to drop everything altogether until she stopped moping and was ready to talk. Thing is, she's o
n this like … crusade I guess, and she's hunting down some dangerous people my mom was involved with. I don't like her being by herself."

  "Speaking of which." Helena turned to Justin. "You. Stop getting involved with scary fucking people. Pharaoh, and then this guy, Warden?"

  "I get it!" Justin yelled. He'd raised his voice louder than he'd meant to and was quiet for a second before adding, "No more hanging out with people who have codenames that make them sound like supervillains. Got it. I was in a fucked-up way last night, guys. I needed help. He got me in a bad spot and you weren't there when I needed you."

  "Are you blaming me?" Helena said. She sounded hurt.

  "No …" Justin trailed off. "Not specifically."

  "So you blame us at least a little." Kara gestured with a French fry. She didn't sound as hurt as Helena, but the atmosphere between them had changed noticeably.

  "Forget it." Justin turned his head away.

  Helena grabbed him by the shoulder. "No, I want to hear this. 'Cause I told you where the fuck we were last night, so I'm really curious as to how you think this is somehow our fault."

  Kara planted her face in her hand. "Come on, Helena. Drop it. Don't make this a thing."

  Helena glowered. She was already into that angry mode where she was over-enunciating every word that came out of her mouth. "I think Justin's already made it a thing."

  "I'm not making it into a thing but I certainly can if you like," Justin spat. He angrily slurped for a minute on his soda straw, treating them all to the obnoxious noise of someone stubbornly attempting to get the last bit of soda out of the melted ice-cubes at the bottom of the cup.

  "Nobody make anything into a thing please," Kara said. She sounded exhausted. "We all had a shit-tastic evening, okay? Justin, you've got this azoth shit hanging over your head. I've got to worry about how to explain to the police that my evil ghost mom had possessed my dad if they trace that trailer fire back to me and Helena. Our professor is still missing, and hey! Shit really fucking sucks right now."

  Justin looked at her. "Those were some words strung together, weren't they?"

  She snickered. "I think our lives might have gotten kinda weird this week."

  "Maybe just a little," Helena laughed, pinching her fingers together.

  He lay back, collapsing against the grass. Brief flickers of the ritual he'd been subjected to flashed across his memory. His eye began to sting and hurt. He remembered screaming, holding his face in agony. They'd taken his eye. They'd plucked out his eye and used it for something, then somehow returned it. His bottom lip quivered.

  "Justin?" Kara looked at him, worried. "Are you okay?"

  "No …" he shook his head. He was crying out of his normal eye. The other remained completely dry. "No, I'm not. Why the fuck did they want my eye? What did they do to me? What did he do to me? What did he do to me? What did -?"

  He started heaving. His back arched. Tears were pouring out of his eyes and leaving little black smears across his cheeks. Helena and Kara rushed to other side of him, trying to hold him.

  "Justin, it's okay. They're not here. He's not here. That old man isn't here to hurt you," Helena said, pressing her forehead to his, running her fingers through his hair.

  "Not him. Pharaoh. The one with golden eyes." Justin continued sobbing. "He's here. He's here and he's inside me and he'll never go."

  Justin could see him. He could open his eyes and, just beyond the comfort of his friends, Rhamal was there. He was naked from the waist up and smiling, clad in that elegant black skirt and ornamented with gold jewelry. His eyes were black behind the gold - black like a shark's eyes. His mouth was parted in a cruel grin. Justin screamed, pointing as he shook uncontrollably.

  They couldn't see him. They weren't there. They didn't have to feel him slithering around behind their eyes and underneath their skin. He found himself clutching the sides of his head, eyes wide in helpless terror. Something was crawling at the back of his throat, choking him.

  "Helena!" Kara screamed.

  Justin started vomiting, choking up more of that black viscous liquid. It was streaming out of his eye and slithering down his nose. He was leaking the stuff.

  "Keep him still," Helena shouted. "I'm going to try and stabilize him."

  She was thankful she always had one or two healing spells prepared at the beginning of every day since that encounter at the barn. She held him close while whispering the healing words under her breath. Kara wrapped her arms tightly around them, pressing her face into Justin's shoulder. Helena could feel the positive energy pouring from her into his body. His shaking and vomiting stopped after a few moments.

  He fell into their arms, his whole body quivering as he sobbed. "God … what's wrong with me?"

  It was a question they could not answer, so they held him in silence. Helena felt herself nearly collapsing against him. Kara looked at her with concern. The experience had been nearly as draining and emotionally exhausting for Helena as it had been for Justin.

  * * *

  Dayabir was up late that evening, typing out a history essay due the next morning. His studies had suffered only slightly from his recent investigations into the supernatural conspiracies surrounding the island. Gloria worked him hard at the Historical Society, but her insistence on him not faltering in his education left him plenty of time to at least complete his assignments. The only thing holding him back was the depression and apathy. They were a constant fog plaguing his mind, making it difficult to function or concentrate on anything other than the crippling numbness.

  Sometimes people would remark to him, "You don't look or sound depressed." He had to wonder what it was they thought people with depression looked and sounded like. It wasn't at all like the movies, with some pretty person crying every night into their pillow, and in fact sometimes it looked the way he did now - a slobby person sitting in their t-shirt and underwear staring listlessly at their computer monitor while trying not to think about the gut they were starting to develop or the cookie crumbs stuck in their beard.

  A buzzing notification on his phone let him know he had email. It was his correspondent with a response to his questions about azoth. He was almost excited for anything to focus on other than this stupid essay.

  'Hey, wanted to get back to you as soon as I could. Was difficult to find anything related to azoth but I do have some stuff in regards to the black sludge you described to me. I've left some reports in the attachments, sketchy experiments the government performed in the sixties and seventies. They were recruiting test subjects from the following places: Arizona, Florida, and guess what? Harbinger Island. CDC was worried about a possible epidemic as people reported dizziness, nausea, voices in their head, bad dreams, and they were coughing up a black viscous liquid, like the one you described. Hope this helps. -W.'

  Dayabir began downloading the attachments immediately. He sent his friend a thank you email before he started printing out each document. The first several lines on the first page caused his eyes to widen. He stared at the printer, silently urging it to push the pages out faster. The feeling of wrong-doing was enough to send his anxiety into overdrive, but more than that, he didn't want to have these documents on his computer. He knew the FBI monitored this shit; would they be coming for him? Wasn't that what had happened to Bartleby?

  He made sure to dress quickly and deleted everything related to these reports from his computer. They could still trace it and find things if they wanted to, and he wondered if he could afford a new computer, so he'd be able to set this one on fire if things looked bad enough. Dayabir shook his head as if trying to brush out the paranoid thoughts. Every time he looked at these pages, the fear returned.

  "What did you send me?" he said, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

  * * *

  Justin hadn't gone to bed yet, either. He had his guitar unplugged and was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling. There was a melody draped over his brain like a spider web; he was simply having a difficult time picking i
t out. The entirety of the song was there, waiting for him to find it. He'd almost stumbled into the next note when there was a sharp knock on his door.

  "It's three o'clock in the morning!" Justin yelled.

  "Please, it's Dayabir. It's important!"

  Justin raised an eyebrow. He discarded his guitar by the bed and crossed the room to throw the door open. Dayabir was standing there clutching a manila folder close to his chest. His whole body was covered in sweat. Justin stepped back and allowed him to step inside.

  "Dude, are you all right?" Justin asked with a raised brow.

  "No!" Dayabir hissed. "No, I am not. Look at this!" Dayabir shoved the folder at Justin's chest and began pacing around the room.

  "What is it?" Justin sat on the edge of the bed and began flipping through the pages. Black and white photographs of antiquated testing equipment, men and women lying on hospital beds with black gunk spilling out from their mouths had been included in the reports, while certain names and dates had been crossed out with the word REDACTED printed over them. It was when he got to the events surrounding Harbinger Island and the child taken that the room felt colder around him. His breath caught in his throat as he read extremely specific details regarding streets in Oakridge he'd been down as a kid. Everything was so particular that if it was a hoax, it was a remarkably detailed and well put-together hoax.

  "From what I've gathered," Dayabir said, starting to talk in that hurried fast-tone of his he adopted whenever he got excited or scared, "there was some sort of sickness that people had gotten and its traces lead all the way here to the island. Isolated incidents here and there, enough that I've been able to verify from people talking about the symptoms via forums and blogs. I figured even the conspiracy theory nuts have to be right now and again, right?