by Vince Milam
Chapter 23
The police rushed toward the dead killer and the living students, some who now breathed their last breath. No one approached Cole while he took it all in. Cardiff police bumped Nadine aside at the entrance to the schoolroom-turned-abattoir as she absorbed the carnage, the groans, and the sickly-sweet smell. She retched and held back vomit. Francois took the opportunity to leave the room.
Nadine recovered enough to walk over to Jenni and hug her. Jenni hugged back and they stood alone in the moment.
Cole left the room, weaving through the throng of cops and emergency personnel, and saw the priest hesitate at a hallway intersection. He jogged to catch him.
“I don’t know if he’s here,” said Cole as he pulled alongside Francois.
“I do not feel him,” said Francois. “I fear he has fled. But let us look together.”
They worked the halls and glanced inside the rooms, some littered with slaughtered students. They went to the basement, out a cellar door, and emerged to the waning overcast Cardiff day.
Francois stood and smelled the air, opening and closing his hands into fists. Tears of frustration and anger streamed down his face.
“The fault is mine,” he said, turning to Cole. “I must learn; I must anticipate. This thing can be defeated. It is a coward, a liar, a deceiver. I do not fear it.”
Cole had nothing to add that could help his friend. The man had shown bravery beyond measure, and Cole gained comfort standing next to him—a comfort from being with someone who would cover your back in the most extreme circumstances.
“Nadine,” said Cole. “Let’s get her.”
“Oui, of course,” said Francois. “Allow me to wait here. A warrior of God should not be seen weeping. S’il vous plait.”
He squeezed Francois’s shoulder and turned back into the building. Gavin Morris met him at the entrance to the room where the killer lay. Police continued to swarm the entire space.
“I want some answers, boyo,” said Morris, jabbing his finger into Cole’s chest. Gore still covered Cole’s entire back, some of it dripping onto the floor. “And you’re going to give them to me.”
He looked past Morris at Nadine and Jenni still huddled, speaking softly to each other. Clearly Jenni had gone through hell during the encounter with the madman. Cole moved to join them.
“We’ll come by later tonight. Your headquarters,” said Cole, brushing past Morris. His black Comanche eyes conveyed the unmistakable message of “now is not the time.” Morris let him pass.
As Cole approached the two, Nadine saw him and shook her head, leaving Cole to stand an awkward two paces away. When Jenni recognized him standing there, she pulled away from Nadine and gave him a look of “why?”
“Let’s get out of here,” said Cole, taking both of them by the arm. “Come on. Outside.”
The three walked out the back door. Francois stood like a round rock, nose in the wind, fists clenching and unclenching. Hearing their footfalls, he turned and approached with concern.
“Mademoiselle Thomas, what bravery, what resolve,” he said to Jenni. “A lion. Undaunted.” He took one of her hands. With the other he started to reach for Nadine’s hand, but she brushed by the gesture and embraced him, towering over him by several inches and burying her face in his hair.
“Francois, Francois,” she said, eyes closed.
“It was me. I failed,” said Jenni, biting her lip and looking to the distance. “I had him. I slipped. Then he had me. My daughter. All I could think of with the knife at my throat was my daughter.” She fought back a sob, and straightened up, releasing Francois’s hand.
“Sheriff,” she said, turning to Cole. “You saved me. You. Undaunted, indeed.”
“I slipped, too,” said Cole. “Fell on my butt. Did what I had to do at the moment.”
Nadine released Francois and walked over to him, taking his face with both hands. “You took that monster on, Cole. I saw it. I stood at the doorway when you kicked him.”
They hugged, slowly rotating. “What happened to Moloch? This … this horror. It was him, wasn’t it?” she asked, pulling away.
“Oui,” came the voice behind her. “Do not doubt it.”
Emergency vehicles continued to pour into the front and back parking areas. Officers took Jenni and put her into an ambulance. Her niece, Anwen, joined her to provide support. No one paid the three Americans much mind, although an officer wrapped a blanket around both Nadine and Cole, helping cover the blood. They drifted back to their car.
“Shower, change, then back to the police station,” said Cole.
“Is that necessary?” asked Francois. “They will focus on earthly matters. We must focus on other things.”
“And I’ll find where the sonofabitch went,” said Nadine.
They drove in silence to the hotel, then entered the private sanctuary of their rooms and prepared for whatever lay ahead. Cole had never imagined such a sight of blood, death, and despair—Satan’s slaughterhouse.
***
A sparse crowd occupied the airport at Cardiff when Moloch checked in for his flight. He addressed the staff member of Syrian Air and confirmed the direct flight to Damascus. He strode down the boarding tunnel, remaining inconspicuous for one of such peculiar appearance. The doors to the Airbus closed, and he sat back as the plane left UK airspace.
It had been years—decades—since anyone had pursued him. Science had taken over this world’s approach to life. It made things so much easier now. And yet, there was resolve in the sheriff and fearlessness in the priest. The woman appeared tenacious and showed signs of finding the path. But they were scum, a mere diversion. It was time to return to his current base of operations, a place ancient and filled with the screams of scum centuries past and days current.
Chapter 24
Nadine showered, put on fresh clothes, and did not rest until she’d found him. It took her less than an hour. She uploaded Moloch’s photo, added a descriptive, and sent it to an old friend. She knocked on Cole’s door and pushed through when he opened it.
“Syria,” she said. “We missed him. He lands in Damascus early tomorrow.”
Cole closed the door behind her and she let him digest this information. Everything now existed in a much more complex environment. All the slaughter, chaos, and now the prospect of Syria had begun to get too large to grapple with. Her apartment was a long way away, and she began to yearn for the slower rhythms of her previous life. The whole affair—the whole quest—stood at a crossroads. The scenes and images from today were forever etched in her memory and made her skin crawl, made her question the worth of humankind. If that was what was in store down the road, she thought it perhaps best to chuck the whole thing. But that meant chucking this growing relationship with Cole, and while Francois took some time to warm up to, she would sorely miss him as well. She struggled to find the right way, the appropriate direction.
Cole evidently had similar feelings. “I just don’t know, Nadine,” he said, walking over to the small table where a bottle of scotch stood, delivered by room service on a tray with two glasses. “Syria. This thing is big. Maybe too big for me—for us.”
Nadine sat at the table, stripped the plastic off a hotel glass, and poured a drink. So many thoughts were pinballing through her belief system; the horror of the school—the gore and blood, the dead bodies, the senseless evil—would affect the rest of her life. I need an anchor point, she thought. Her entire being, approach to life, and understanding of the world were in flux. While hard, definitive data of the physical realm always provided comfort, where the heck was the comfort in classifying Moloch in a new reality checkbox which included demons, evil spirits, and their interface with the human race? Cole appeared to have fewer burdens with that part of the puzzle, and she envied his conviction. She didn’t share his consternation over whatever part he’d played in the lack of early coordination with the Cardiff police, which he exhibited with “should have” and “could have” comments. She swallowed the drink
and poured another one.
“I’m so sorry,” said Cole. “Sorry you had to see all that today. The worst of the human condition. Ugly, nasty stuff. You okay?”
“Not really,” she said. “Not really okay at all.”
Cole opened the window and traffic noise drifted in, along with a light rain. The cool salt air felt so good on her skin.
“We never did buy you a jacket,” she said, making an attempt to converse about something real, something moored to her world.
They both stared out the window, lost in thought. “We could end it here,” said Cole. “We tried. Go back to our normal lives.”
“Mine is never going back to normal,” she said. “At least not what’s been normal until today. All the savagery. Mindless savagery. How do you cope with it? I mean, you’ve witnessed this before. What do you tell yourself? What do you key in on?”
“The little things,” said Cole, turning to her. “I focus on the little things, the small miracles, the good things. The beauty of a wildflower, the laughter of a young child, a purple-hazed sunset. All the little wonders. I don’t find answers among these, Nadine. I just find solace. Some measure of peace.”
Nadine understood. Not to the extent Cole did, but she understood the context, the feeling. “And the big picture?” she asked. “What about that.”
“Workin’ on it,” said Cole. He turned back to gaze through the window, swallowing the last of his drink.
They sat in silence. The smell of whisky mingled with the salty night air. A couple walked below their window, chatting.
“Do we end it?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said Cole. “Workin’ on that, too. Let’s get with Francois in the morning. We’ve got to go by the police station. Should have gone today, but I don’t think any of us needed that on top of everything else. Let’s have a sit-down with Francois. We’ll see.”
Nadine stood and moved to the door, Cole following. She hesitated, hand on the doorknob, and turned to Cole. “So brave. Almost reckless. I knew you’d be like that in a tight spot. I froze.”
“I slipped,” said Cole. “Don’t paint my taking on that lunatic as an act of bravery. And don’t beat yourself up. There wasn’t anything for you to do right then. Remember, Jenni Thomas and Francois had already arrived.”
Nadine felt closer to Cole than ever before. She took a small step toward him, hoping he’d fill the small physical separation.
He did. Taking her in his arms, they kissed. Not with lust, passion, or intensity, but with a soft tenderness they both needed. Then it was over and they pulled apart, both a little embarrassed.
“Good night, Nadine,” said Cole.
“Good night. I … I just feel adrift. Right now, you’re my rock to hold onto.”
At dawn the next morning Nadine checked her inbox and noted the reply from her old friend. He said it would take a while to find what she looked for.
***
The three met for breakfast. Francois poked and took sniffs of the laverbread while he discussed it with the waitress.
“And so. It consists of what?” he asked.
The waitress seemed good-natured, apparently used to questions from tourists. “It’s a seaweed puree mixed with oatmeal and then fried. Quite nice.”
He remained unimpressed and lifted a corner of the laverbread with his fingers to check the underside. The saving grace consisted of a small side order of fresh cockles, which he ate with relish. Cole and Nadine ate little, neither with an appetite, although Cole commented that he found the Welsh seaweed concoction tasty. This was just another burden of traveling with his sheriff friend, although a relatively minor one. One could not expect the man to possess a great deal of appreciation toward cuisine, as evidenced by Cole’s American tendency to pour salt and pepper and, disgustingly, ketchup on anything and everything placed before him.
“He’s in Syria, Francois,” said Nadine. “Damascus. I have a friend there who is trying to find the trail.”
This left their next steps up in the air, and Francois digested the news in silence.
“Nadine and I wondered if it’s over,” said Cole, addressing the elephant on the table. “It’s not just Syria, which is bad enough, but we have to ask ourselves to what avail. Can we do anything? I’ll admit my tank’s running on empty.”
Francois raised a hand while he chewed and said, “Let us wait for a short moment. A park is nearby. It is a beautiful day. We shall talk there. You are both recovered?”
Cole and Nadine murmured affirmations and Cole tried to pay the breakfast check, a gesture Francois adamantly refused. “The church. Allow me. And I could not in good conscience have you pay for the seaweed substance. Perhaps ketchup may have helped.”
The team walked in the park for a short while and paused to let Cole investigate the old roses. He explained the appeal of this variety known as ramblers, known for their toughness and fragrance. Francois politely feigned interest.
They settled at a park table. Cardiff’s morning commute had just begun, the traffic noise muted. Francois lit a smoke and gave another to Nadine.
“We should discuss our situation,” said Francois. “I shall begin. However, I shall first note how much the two of you have assisted me. Both of you. Of enormous help.”
“It’s been a team effort,” said Cole. “But where do we go from here? Syria is a whole different ball game.”
He again ignored the American tendency to address immediate actions without first exploring the periphery. “We must all learn,” he said. “I have learned from yesterday. I now grasp more of the nature of this particular enemy.” Francois better understood this creature’s modus operandi. He comprehended some of the challenges. He remained unsure of resolution, but was more determined than ever to find out.
“Let us begin by calling this creature what it is,” continued Francois. “Our Monsieur Moloch is a demon. We must all recognize that, understand that, and prepare for that. Comprenez vous?”
“What does ‘a demon’ mean, Francois?” asked Nadine. “I need to understand. What defines the attributes, the taxonomy, of a demon? I don’t doubt you, I’m just trying to comprehend.”
“Oui. This is normal,” he said, pausing to take a long drag of the Gauloises. “It is a minion of Satan.”
“Hmmm,” said Nadine. “Okay, let’s start instead with specific attributes. I’m not ready to internalize Satan, fallen angels, armies of darkness, and heavenly entities other than God.”
Francois used both hands to slap the park tabletop, startling both of them. He rose from the plank seat. “You must get ready! Yesterday’s events did not consist of a single madman! Those slaughtered young people represent Satan’s work! Etre prepare! Be ready!”
He sat back down. Swans congregated along the riverbank moved into the slow current away from his strident human voice.
“Moloch is a demon. Under the direction of Satan,” continued Francois. “This is what we deal with. Powerful, oui. But not without limits. He has taken an airplane. He cannot fly. He cannot personally inflict the atrocities we saw yesterday, although he caused them. Created them. With the help of someone who chose a path of evil. If we could arrange to see the past, with certainty we would view Moloch and this killer spending time together. N’est-ce pas?”
“I’ve become a helluva lot more matter-of-fact on the subject since last night. The evidence has piled up. So I believe you,” said Cole. “Although I’m not convinced high-speed lead wouldn’t work as well as an invocation. And Nadine, I understand the confusion. The skepticism. It has taken me awhile to get here, but I’m dang sure there now.”
They both looked at Nadine. A flock of teal whistled overhead, turned, splash-landed on the river near them, and called to each other with feeding chortles. Nadine watched the ducks and spoke, barely audible.
“My world has changed beyond either of yours. Gimme a break on this. You’ve had years—a lifetime—Francois. And you’ve had a week, Cole. I know that’s not a lot of ti
me, but you began with a Christian foundation. And you’ve dealt with it twice. You’ve seen things before yesterday I hadn’t. My timeline consists of twenty-four hours, and I have to tell you both it’s unfair. I’m beginning to understand and my head has begun to filter stuff, but this is too quick. I’m asking you both, as dear friends, to cut me some slack.” Her voice trailed off, her eyes pleading.
Given the twenty-four hours, the savagery, the other plane of consciousness to immediately accept, and their deep affection toward her, both men backed off.
Francois squeezed her hand. “Je comprends. I understand. Then allow us to talk of the more outward effects. The attributes, if you will.”
Francois spoke at length of what he knew—of what people since time immemorial knew. He spoke of the ancient manuscripts, the encounters and descriptives. The crumbling documents buried deep within the Vatican. He explained how Ancient Hebrew was a primitive language, which made interpretation difficult. They had not discovered vowels, their vocabulary was quite small, and punctuation was not part of their writing. It had become a dead language by the time of Christ. Yet these documents, as well as those of the Babylonians, Egyptians, and other ancient cultures, shared common threads regarding Satan and his acolytes.
Nadine probed, looking for associations and causation to paint a more complete picture. Cole asked at length about conflict, about how to address this enemy and how to defeat it.
“This creature deceives. He implants. He can perform tricks, but nothing more. He has but one purpose,” said Francois. “Inflicting evil as his master demands.”
They all absorbed this bedrock notion. “What was the Latin you spoke when you entered the room? I heard you using a loud voice, just before I ran and skidded on my butt,” asked Cole.
“The Rite of Exorcism,” said Francois. “The young man was possessed. I have seen it many times. In this particular form or purpose, perhaps not. But the look is the same. This demon planted himself, or a part of himself, or planted another demon, in that person. Believe this. It does not mean all evil is so implanted. We have sufficient free will to carry evil on our own. But with this case, oui. He was possessed.”
