by A. L. Mengel
And then the shaking stopped just as quickly as it had started.
Lying on his back for a moment, Antoine thought that maybe this was all a dream. He turned his head and looked over his shoulder, and saw what looked like no more than a mountain behind him. There was no cave opening; no hieroglyphics. It just looked like a brown, sandy mountain in the middle of the desert.
Darius shook his head, showering sand on the ground. He rose to his feet unscathed despite his fall against the stone. Antoine also stood, dusted himself off, and grabbed the bag. He looked inside, and checked the cup. There it was. The Cup of Christ, he thought. It wasn’t a dream.
He really did have it. And Claret must be upset.
“We will see,” Antoine said, as he and Darius walked from the cave, leaving what would become the archeological find of the century buried under rock and silt.
There it was behind them, as the two immortals glided away into the night, the entrance to Egyptian mystery and mythology swallowed by the earth, hidden from day and sun and light, preserving the mystery that wouldn’t be discovered by mortals for over another century.
*~*~*
PART THREE
THE COMING OF THE GREEN MIST
Not before long, the mist will come.
The mist will come and do its task.
It will clean you up. Scrub you down.
Rid you of your misdeeds.
The monsters will come and swallow you up.
All before dawn…
CHAPTER THIRTY
There was one day that a terrible dark green mist overtook the city of Miami.
It did not just happen in the alternate dimension that Paula had lost herself in; it came to normal everyday society as well. The city began to slump farther and farther down into a cesspool of evil – yet on the forefront, it appeared as if the city were hot and thriving.
Antoine was definitely in his prime.
He was not only the focus of the intricate and detailed investigation of The Astral – which brought him not only some interesting companionship but also some substantial income, but he also managed to rise to the top of culture, becoming known as a spiritual healer on television and also being regarded as a prophet. From the shows that he conducted on stage he was able to raise millions. And with that money he not only financed his opulent lifestyle but also stockpiled large amounts of cash – mainly underground underneath the bowels of Sacrafice.
He did not venture to banks.
Beyond the dance floor, just behind the stage – where the walls were painted black and covered by heavy, hanging black drapes that reached down towards the floor from a soaring ceiling – there was a door. It was a door painted black and flush with the wall, that was unmarked and untouched, and there was a small padlock securing the handle.
None of the club staff that had been hurriedly preparing for the upcoming grand opening even knew of the doors existence; most of the time the drapes were closed and covered it. And even if they had known the door was there, no one held the key.
Except Antoine.
And Antoine was rarely seen at Sacrafice; he wasn’t even known as the owner and operator of the nightclub. It did not matter. He didn’t care for that, he had bigger and better things to plan.
It was the same evening before that Antoine had stared and stopped, as he stood in front of the impatient traffic that was congesting Washington Avenue, and listened to the horns honking and engines purring in the heat and exhaust.
It was just after Claret had closed the door, as Antoine stood, waiting and wondering.
It had to have been her. He knew those eyes. It did not matter what body she possessed; it did not matter what form she took.
The eyes told him.
And as he stood cherishing the cool wind in his face, feeling the refreshing air that was a relief to the stifling heat, he dug his hand into his right pocket, and fished around until he felt the smooth silver.
The key.
And when he was climbing the grey stone steps to the cathedral, and as he opened the large, imposing wooden door which grated against the concrete, he drew the key from his pocket as it gleamed in the fading sunlight.
He entered and stepped into blackness.
The door closed behind him with a deep thud, and he felt the air push against his back. As the darkness enveloped him, he scanned his surroundings.
The foyer of the club had purple velvet carpets and real, flaming torches on the wall. But Antoine did not care about that. He did not even notice that the torches flamed as he walked passed them or that the door locked itself; he did not notice the crash and bang of the security bar reverberating against the deafening silence.
He was heading to the door behind the heavy curtains.
He crossed the dance floor and climbed the stairs to the stage. He drew the curtains back with a pull cord, which exposed the back wall. He again withdrew the key from his pocket.
The click of the lock releasing pierced the silence and the door slowly creaked open.
Antoine could make out the stairs, but they quickly led to total darkness.
There was a small light bulb hanging from the ceiling just inside the door, with a string pull cord. Antoine pulled the string on the side, and the chain snapped, but the light turned on. There was a dim glow against the blackness.
The walls were earthen and brown, and the light revealed a landing just below the threshold of the door, which winded down to stairs that led downwards to total darkness. Antoine stepped down onto the landing and quietly closed the door behind him.
The light seemed to fade, from a musty yellow to pale brown.
But Antoine did not pay it any mind. All he wanted to do was get below. He wanted to get down to the depository.
He slowly eased himself down the stairs. He kept his back against the wall, and felt his way down each step. He was merely a shadowy figure in the increasing darkness.
But he was not alone.
Many times before, Antoine had ventured down these very same stairs with the very same objective. Many times before he had closed the door and turned off the light and walked down the stairs without any problem, without any event.
But today had been different.
Today, there was someone else down here with him - that he could sense. He felt the presence of another, but he couldn’t quite put a handle on who it could be.
Then he heard a splash of water below, like someone had stepped in a puddle.
He stopped for a moment, and held his breath. He was vulnerable; he was not prepared for battle. He replayed the day’s events through his mind, and wondered who was making the distant noise; he wondered what footsteps were down there.
Could it be?
It could not be Claret. She did not know he was watching her…could she have?
There was no one else except Darius that knew of the existence of these underground catacombs, and Darius would not be here.
What mattered were the splashing sounds that came from the darkness below; the scraping against the walls, the sounds that were making Antoine feel like he was a scared mortal again. It sounded like someone was walking around down there.
But he continued down the stairs, more cautiously this time as he was unsure who was down there. And then he thought of a name.
Asmodai.
It was Asmodai that has pursued him since he dug up Darius in Lyon. It was Asmodai that pledged in the Cave of Crystals that he would continue to pursue Antoine; that the prophecy had not been fulfilled; that payment must be rendered.
There was no way.
There was no way that Asmodai was down here. He always made a grand entrance, with storms and fires and earthquakes.
Didn’t he?
Continuing down the stairs, he reached the puddles of water himself, slightly startling himself when he splashed in the water, feeling the wetness permeate his boots.
The two things that Antoine feared, the only two things in all of earth and all of time, kept invadin
g his mind. No one else, no other spirit, only the two that he was running from, only the two that he feared were all he could think of now.
And Claret would not make an entrance like Asmodai. Hers would be much more discreet.
He felt his way along the wall. Cool moss carpeted the walls for most of the way. He remembered that specifically. Antoine carefully tiptoed through the murky waters. Each splash reverberated against the quiet. Shortly he would be coming to the cremation chamber. There he would be able to store his cash and leave.
Looking ahead, he thought he saw a figure in the darkness that looked like a translucent floating head, floating several feet above the floor.
He stopped.
He knew that what was created in here was a force to control the mind. The walls would move. Things would appear that may or may not actually be there.
Doors would mysteriously appear and move. But it was all something that he created. It was an entity that he always believed that he had control over.
Unless something else was inside controlling it for him.
He peered forward and tried to see of what or who the apparition was; he knew that he must remain in his mortal form, he could not transform. He could not risk the act of aggression.
He must remain as is.
He did not want to risk angering whatever was there. And he had a feeling he knew who was there.
The apparition was too blurry to decipher what it was; it remained a glowing blurb cutting through the darkness and floating in the passage perhaps ten or twenty feet in front of him. It pulsated and glowed, but did not move closer to him. And it was blocking the door to the Chamber where he needed to go.
Antoine did not even bother to duck behind a rock or a wall; it was too late now. He was right in the sight path of whatever this glowing blurb was.
It grew in size tremendously, like a giant cloud of gas. It expanded, bouncing against the walls and moving closer and closer to him.
He thought that he should run, but then decided against it.
This was his creation. This was his house and his realm. He mentally willed it to cease.
But it continued to pulsate and grow.
Soon, it would be engulfing him as well. He again considered turning and running, but doing that would be relinquishing his power and control.
But it was too late.
All of a sudden, he felt a cold like no other. It chilled him to the bone; it was a frozen, death cold…like the chill of a coffin in the dead of winter.
The apparition began to engulf him, the brightness surrounded him and blinded him. He felt as though he were being catapulted into some sort of portal, into another dimension.
He felt a suction of gravity, as he was pulled deeper into the white deep dark, he relented to the brightness and the forces that surrounded him.
It was useless to resist.
As he was dragged further and further in, he felt a wetness – a soft and spongy substance coating his arms and hands and legs.
He closed his eyes, and his heart beat faster. His mind was racing. He opened his eyes, trying desperately to get his bearings. The brightness calmed, his eyes adjusting, and he saw that he appeared to be in some sort of a giant, translucent egg.
And the egg was filling with a clear, thick fluid very rapidly.
He tapped the ceiling of the egg. It wobbled. And though he desperately tried, he could not punch through it. He tried again and again, as the mysterious freezing cold fluid crept closer and closer, first covering his knees and then reaching his thighs; he continued scratching, tearing and punching at the walls; he could now see outside of the translucent material and saw the passage before him – the puddles of water below now boiling, as steam billowed around the outside of the egg.
The fluid reached his chest and finally his neck and Antoine shivered. It was a deep cold like no other. It reached his chin and caused him to submerge; his movement was greatly restricted as the viscosity of the liquid was that of a sludge or slime.
Antoine closed his eyes and relented. There was no use of fighting anymore. Nothing could save him now; he could not transform, he could not win.
His powers were useless. He flopped down, settling in the liquid, now completely submerged.
Considering for a moment his fate, Antoine wondered how the spiritual intrusion of this magnitude could be allowed in a place that he thought he had total control over.
Something, or someone, has broken through the barrier.
Now held captive, Antoine did not dare to think what lie ahead. All he knew and all he trusted was now in question. Somewhere his plan went wrong, somehow. Wondering whether it could be the powers of Claret or Asmodai – both with scores to settle – he relented and wished Roberto was with him. He called on Darius to no avail.
What Antoine knew was that he was delving into dangerous territory from the moment he dug up Darius; he knew that revenge would be sought the moment he took the cup out of Tutankhamen’s hands; but what he didn’t know was that the one who betrayed him was the one he would least expect to.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
A silver plate covered with a giant slab of beef was set down in front of Jean Carlo with a bang. He stared at it for a moment, not expecting to be eating a giant meal down here.
“Eat! You will need your strength!” An old, chubby grey haired woman smiled at him as she piled potatoes and brightly colored vegetables on the plate. The woman turned and went about her way, but turned around and looked back one last time. “Eat!”
Jean Carlo raised his eyes towards Anthony.
“Go ahead and eat,” he said, cutting into a piece of meat himself. “We are welcome here.”
Jean Carlo started to slowly pick at his food, and as he swallowed his first few bites, he began to feel somewhat better. Anthony continued speaking while they were eating.
“There is a lot going on right now. A lot of evil things. The man you saw in the cemetery is named Darius. He is inherently evil. You saw yourself what he could do. And when you woke up inside your casket, you saw what he did to you. I know what happened to you, Jean Carlo. I know that right now you are somewhat confused, but things will clear up for you. As Darius had been chosen for the destiny that lies before him, you have been chosen as well, but I have intervened and called you here for a different mission.”
“What sort of mission is that?” Jean Carlo noticed he was feeling amazingly better. He perked up considerably, and was looking and feeling much less like the corpse he had been just moments earlier.
“You are looking much better,” Anthony said. “These foods and the wine that you drink are healing you. This is not the world that you have known. You will never know that world again, I’m afraid.”
Jean Carlo set down his fork and his wine. Turning towards Anthony, he pressed for an answer. “What has happened to me, Anthony?”
“You have died,” Anthony explained. “But when you woke up, and found yourself in your casket, and when you got out of it and hid from Darius, you have begun to transform.”
“Into what?”
“Darius chose you because he had wanted another child. He has one who has risen to power, his name is Antoine. I will tell you more about Antoine later – he is at the center of this.”
“And since he chose me, I have risen from the dead?” Jean Carlo’s face twisted in question. “Where am I now?” His eyes scanned the room. It was boisterous and noisy, full of people, buzzing with activity, like a giant restaurant in an underground cave, with dim lighting, surrounded by walls of stone.
The acoustic veil of myriad conversations taking place at the same time permeated the room.
“You see all these people?” Anthony asked. “Each one of them has passed into this new dimension. You have passed through to this dimension as well. Others have passed into other dimensions – mainly brought forth by demons and immortals. This place here is a place of warmth and safety. You will want to stay here for the time being. If you go back outside, the
world may look the same to you, but it won’t be. No one noticed you as you came down here, did they?”
Jean Carlo shook his head.
“Of course they wouldn’t. You are in the astral plane. The problem is, here…this dimension changes drastically when the sun goes down. It is not safe to go outside at night when you are here. The darkness is real, and it will get you. You don’t know what you will find, and when you do find something, you may wish that you hadn’t found it.”
A short, paunchy grey haired man in the center of the table then stood and tapped his fork on his glass, drawing the attention of all who were seated at the grand table in the center of the room. Conversations gradually ceased, and attention was drawn to the speaker. Jean Carlo slowly turned his head to the center table as well.
“Good evening,” the man said. “I hope those of who are new and just arrived know the ground rules. No venturing out and up the stairs. You are here for a reason, a good reason, and we expect you to stay. Secondly, no transformations here. They waste your energy and are forbidden. There is no room for extended auras in these catacombs. You may seriously injure those around you. And also, for those of you that are new, I will reiterate the purpose of holding you here.”
“That is the director of the Astral,” Anthony whispered to Jean Carlo. “He formed this society after years of research and investigation of prominent immortals. He is finding out their true purpose.”
Once Anthony finished explaining who the man was, Jean Carlo returned his attention to the speaker: “– up above will waste your powers and cause you to engage in battles you otherwise should not be engaging in. Here, you are to rest, save your energy, and we will call upon you when needed. Soon, soon, we will.”
The paunchy man stopped talking as the conversations gradually started once again. He looked over towards where Anthony and Jean Carlo were sitting, and made eye contact with Anthony. Jean Carlo looked first at Anthony and then glanced over at the paunchy man. The paunchy man then looked Jean Carlo in the eyes and smiled slightly. Jean Carlo saw the paunchy man back from where he was standing, and disappear behind the animated diners.
