The Lazarus Mysteries- Omnibus Collection

by Ken Fry

  Brodie, in his sleep, reached out to it, but it moved away from his grasp. In a moment, it was gone.

  He spluttered into wakefulness. His head was full of a strange buzzing murmuring sound, like that of a hive of bees. While loud at first, it began to decrease back to normality.

  He sat up and checked his watch. He’d been asleep for five minutes only. He recalled what he had just seen and hoped for a sudden epiphany, some sudden revelation of mystical knowledge that would tell him it was not Martha.

  Come what may, he knew he had to speak with her. She hadn’t deserved the fierceness of his angst. The idea of her taking over his role loomed up like a nemesis, a terrible dream. He felt an inner isolation as he listened to the silence around him. It didn’t help, perhaps, that she had the biblical name of Martha.

  §

  This was the first time Martha had experienced distress and humiliation since she had arrived in Spain. As mature and confident as she was, she still had not encountered the full gambit of human emotions, life’s trials and tribulations. In many ways, she remained a raw recruit to its ways. The sight of her newly discovered father turning his back on her and walking away had been deeply upsetting.

  Amidst all this, she remembered her meeting with the Condesa and how all had developed from that point. The painting and its implications worried her. Martha knew that whatever happened, she must never forget who she was before all this started. She could easily lose herself to the mystery. It was real ... as real as the ground she could feel beneath her feet. Nothing, however, was clear. Who was she now? What would she become? What was her role in all of this? Will she live in the presence of some mystical painting that somehow had the ability to heal people? She had no answer. She wanted to speak to both Brodie and Bower.

  Martha stood and turned around to look at her work, now standing serenely in the coolness of the shady bougainvillea draped overhead.

  Brodie approached her, looking reproachful. “I’m so sorry.” He held his arms open and for a moment, she hesitated. But her humanity compelled her and with a stifled sob, she embraced him. They stood together, flesh and blood, taking comfort to assuage their mutual sadness.

  “Dad, whatever is going to happen, never ever push me away again. I need a dad right now. Please!”

  “Martha, I promise you. Please forgive me. I shall forever be here for you. I promise.”

  “What’s going to happen? Are those thugs coming back?”

  “You can bet good money on it.”

  “Custer’s Last Stand. eh?”

  “I hope not. We are well prepared with some nasty surprises lined up.” He was about to tell her about the dream but thought better of it. “I’m wondering what’s going on in there.” He pointed back to the house.

  Maria was busy with her new book, and the Abbot was worried about his continued visions of The White Horse of Uffington. He couldn’t seem to stop drawing it and what’s more, he was keeping it a secret from everyone.

  As for George, he was happy watching TV, even though it’s in Spanish and he didn’t understand a word of it.

  Ned was busy typing on his laptop. He was writing a book out of the whole thing and reckoned it will knock Dan Brown off his perch once published.

  “Do you know how long Bower, I mean John, is going to be?”

  “Should be back anytime soon. I’m going to have another look at my painting to see if there are any clues in it,” Martha said.

  “Good idea. Let’s look.”

  She turned and carefully removed the small white sheet.

  Martha shrieked.

  The painting had vanished! All that remained was her original blank canvas.

  Brodie turned pale as he saw his worst fears demonstrated before his eyes.

  CHAPTER 44

  Shepard inhaled deeply on his cigarette and was pleased that his rib pains had subsided. He poured another hefty slug of Bourbon. Bruno and Alexis were with him but he didn’t offer them one. They were getting paid enough to buy their own.

  “Well, boys, how are we going to handle this? I need to know that they are all there and that we can grab the painting back. What do you suggest?” He looked at both of them in anticipation.

  Bruno twisted a large, gold ring around his finger. “We need a hostage, one of the women. That’s their weak spot. Once you have them, they will give you anything you ask for. Believe me, I’ve done this a few times in the past. It works every time.”

  It certainly does. Worked for me the last time.

  “Okay, but I just don’t want the painting. I want those bastard’s balls on a plate. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “Crystal clear, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Reverend Shepard, please, now that you know a lot more about me. What’s the best time to go there?”

  “When? It has to be when it starts to get dark. People are always confused at that time especially if they are not expecting trouble. But we will give them big trouble. A big surprise eh, Mr. Reverend?”

  Shepard allowed himself a mordant smirk as he flicked a fingernail of ash into a jade ashtray. This was beginning to sound promising. These guys are the types I would not care to meet down a dark alleyway.

  “I don’t know where the painting is, but they wouldn’t have come back without it. It has to be there somewhere, and you must find it.”

  “We’ll search the whole house for it. If it’s there, we’ll find it.”

  “Once it’s back in my hands, the whole world will know what it’s capable of. Believe me!” Shepard paused and stroked his chin, staring out into nowhere land, before gulping back another swig of the golden liquid.

  “Do you guys reckon we can get hold of one of the women?”

  “If we can get close enough somehow, get in and out real quick, then the answer is yes. But we shouldn’t try anything if the men are around. I think it would be a mistake to underestimate them. Just look at what they did to you.”

  “Okay, okay, knock it off, will you?” Shepard found that observation almost as painful as the physical damage he had suffered. “When do we do it?”

  Alexis stood and moved to the window looking out on the panoramic views. “We need another good look at the place and locate all entrances, gates, windows and any weak points that will give us an advantage. You okay with that, Mr. Reverend?”

  “Oh yes, I’m perfectly fine with that. It sound like a good plan. We’ll set out tomorrow sometime. I’ll let you know.”

  §

  It took Bower at least a half hour to recover from the shock that what he had worked on so feverishly had simply vanished. Someone must have stolen it when I wasn’t looking! In his heart, he knew that was not true. He had been there, awake, one hundred percent of the time. He remembered Brodie mentioning that all the paintings vanished at some point, but he had barely finished it and the paint was still wet! Anyway, why should it vanish? I don’t get it.

  He searched the whole area but there was nothing to see. In a state of complete bewilderment and frustration, he reloaded all his equipment and accessories back into the car and headed back to Guadamur and the Condesa’s home.

  As if on autopilot, he threaded his way through traffic until he reached the turn-off point. He gunned the car down the track as fast as he dared. He could barely wait to get there and tell them what had happened.

  When he arrived, he saw that there was a difference in the way the place looked. To start with, there was a whole load of razor wire sitting with menace along the entrance gates. That wasn’t there before. He gave the horn a prolonged blast, followed by two more in quick succession. Shortly after, George appeared with a toothy grin, looking lunkish and carrying his gun as he opened up the gate.

  “Hi, boss. Had a good day? You better mind where you go. There are trip wires everywhere.”

  “Expecting visitors?”

  “You could say that. We’ll take the ribbons off the wires later in the night.”

  “Where are the others?

  �
��In the sitting room. They’ve been waiting for you. I think something has happened.”

  “You can say that again, George!”

  Bower walked in and was greeted by an array of sombre faces. He had no idea why. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re at a wake.”

  Maria spoke. “You could say that. Look, sit down. This will take some explaining.”

  He sat down, aware that what he had to say might also cause a stir.

  “Martha,” Maria said, “tell him.”

  “John, like you this morning, as you know, I was compelled to paint. I worked on a canvas for several hours, five altogether. When it was finished, it followed in dad’s footsteps. It was The Raising of Lazarus.” She paused. “I wasn’t aware that I had painted it. I moved it into the shade and covered it with a cloth. Dad came to look at it but when we took off the covering, you are not going to believe this, there was nothing there! It had vanished. All that was left was a blank canvas without a dot of paint on it. It was as if I had never painted anything. I did, and dad saw it earlier and even got upset about it. Didn’t you, Dad?”

  “Yes, I did, and you know why. I don’t want my daughter to live the kind of life I had led because of that painting. There’s something I haven’t told any of you before.” He looked around and all eyes were riveted on him. Slowly and with care, not to omit any details, he narrated the sequence he saw in the dream, and the procession of all the paintings before they vanished from his vision. Of Lazarus since the first by Annas Zevi, and those that followed on in the bloodline of his legacy. That included the last known work by himself, Broderick Ladro. He had counted fourteen, including his own. A new picture began to form but before it was recognizable, it too vanished. “Why Martha’s work vanished in front of us like that, I can offer no explanation.”

  Nobody spoke.

  Abbot Louis looked awestruck. “This is God’s work,” he spoke out loud.

  “Then he must be building quite a collection.” Bower smiled judiciously before plunging in to tell his story. “That could be correct because he’s got mine as well.”

  “What?”

  “Like Martha I had a huge urge to paint something and I wanted to be away from people. I didn’t go to a bank, that was just an excuse to get me out of here and away from you all. No disrespect meant.”

  Bower went on and explained what had happened – how he missed the partial eclipse of the sun, painted for hours, his attack of pain and then the total and unbelievable occurrence that his work had vanished and was nowhere to be found.

  “It vanished just like mine?” Martha looked astonished,

  “It looks that way.”

  “I don’t understand any of this. Two paintings of the raising of Lazarus vanishing when the paint is not even dry? Why?” Martha exclaimed. She stood up and started to pace.

  “God moves in mysterious ways,” thing the Abbot could come up with.

  Brodie cut through it all. “As Maria and I have always said, the painting has ways of looking after itself, and bearing that in mind, we can only leave it at that. What will be will most definitely be. Right now, we are here to protect Maria and her home, and now, we no longer have a painting to defend. If they come for us, they won’t believe the painting had vanished and of course they’ll think we’ve hidden it somewhere. It could rile Shepard up even more. George, I want you to show John what we have done to defend this place and you, John, take note of everything and where we have put things, like hidden knives. Also, between us, we have numerous farm implements that would make excellent weapons. These are now scattered around the property. You will see what they are; pitchforks, spades, axes, forks, crowbars, hammers, chisels, screwdrivers, and metal spikes. There are also buckets of water that can be used to deal with any fires, just in case. Joy of joys, we also discovered in the cupboard a couple of flares. They should brighten up the occasion. If they fail, we have the spotlights. Are you happy with that? By the way,” he added as an afterthought, “I’ve rigged up a large steel drum with an iron pole. It’s our alarm call should they decide to attack. This is what it sounds like.” He stood back and swung the iron bar. BOOOOM! A thunderous sound reverberated around the entire area.

  “Sound loud enough for you?”

  They all nodded.

  Brodie couldn’t tell them, but he felt afraid. He was kicking himself for allowing Martha to be part of it. Hardly the behaviour of a responsible parent.

  He let them discuss and arrange themselves into a watch committee based on two-hour stretches throughout the twenty-four hours.

  Something else was bothering him.

  In his present condition, he had considered all the circumstances. He wondered why it was necessary to have a miraculous painting at all. What purpose did it serve? Shepard, in one way, had got it right in his intention to show it to the world, although the plan was deeply flawed by his lust for wealth and power. He thought the painting would pave the way for that.

  Brodie finished the beer and surveyed the hills as he had when he first arrived here. They hadn’t changed.

  A crashing sensation powered through his head, causing him to buckle over. “Not again!” he shouted out as he clutched his head.

  Deus Vult! Beauséant! Knights, flags, horses screaming, blood, noise, and steel clashing.

  Bower who was sitting inside felt it too. He attempted to stand, but fell to the floor and clutched at the veins of his bulging temple

  Beauséant! Ad maioram! Dei gloriam!

  The clamour of battle. The clash of steel and the moans of dying and mutilated men.

  Bower’s cry caused consternation in the room and Maria rushed out to find Brodie and saw him similarly collapsed on the floor and looking deathly pale.

  The Condesa took in the familiar scene. The clock had at last turned full circle. But it was strange that Bower was going through the same thing.

  She cradled his head and spoke softly to him. “C’mon, Brodie, you’re fine. You’ve been here before and there’s no need to be afraid. You’re going to be fine.”

  Martha came rushing through. “Maria…” She stopped. “Dad! Is he okay? What’s happened? Maria…” Her look was imploring.

  Maria remained calm. “Don’t worry, Martha, we’ve seen this before. He’ll be fine. Trust me. How’s Mr. Bower?”

  “He collapsed and looks like dad and was shouting out in Latin.”

  “Remarkable.”

  Martha knelt alongside Brodie who had opened his eyes and seemed to be recovering. “Dad, can you hear me?”

  He didn’t reply but began to cough.

  She turned to Maria. “Why is this happening to them both at the same time?”

  “That’s a long story. They’re going to be okay. Brodie will understand what’s happened, but Bower, I think not. Your dad’s going to have to explain it to him. I have to warn you, it’s a battle cry. It looks like things are going to get tough. We are all going to have to work together.”

  Brodie sat up. “I heard what you were saying. Where’s Bower?”

  “Like you, he’s recovering. Shall I bring him in?”

  “When he’s ready, and Martha, you stay here and listen. Do not speak.”

  It was ten minutes before Bower, still with an air of confusion about him, confronted Brodie. “So, okay, what was all that about?”

  “Let’s say it’s an alarm bell.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means things are developing fast and we are being warned that danger approaches. By that, I mean Shepard and his crew.”

  Brodie went on to explain how he himself had experienced the self-same visions when he had first visited this place seventeen years ago. He explained the history of the building and its link with medieval times and how those links led him to the artist Cortez and the Condesa’s search for a cure.

  “It seems I was a conduit for the painting that had vanished, and I had been chosen for the next version. Before you say anything, don’t … just listen. There is, at this
moment in this world, no magical mystery painting. Let me just say, it’s in another dimension. I’ve seen them all, every one of them, lined up and intact. Again, don’t ask. The fact that your painting and Martha’s took about the same time to complete and then both dissolved to God knows where, both at the same time, has a significant meaning. From what I have known and seen today, a page has been turned and a new chapter has begun. Strange events are about to descend on us and you will have to trust a voice inside you.”

  Brodie didn’t know how he was so certain that Bower would experience such things. But with his painting vanishing, and his experience thirty minutes ago with the medieval world, he was prepared to put money on it. He hoped, but dared not mention, that the finger of fate would point at Bower and not in the direction of Martha. He didn’t mean that unkindly, but reacted as only a parent could.

  “You talk in riddles,” Bower said.

  “We shall see.”

  It was then that the Abbot and Garcia appeared.

  Abbot Louis looked more relaxed this week than he had been over the past months. “I am witnessing some very odd events since I’ve been here. This place is full of religious suggestion, I sense it in the air. If I didn’t know better, I could swear on the bones of Saint Peter that I heard a voice whispering in my ear back there, when John was … ummm … shall we say, having a problem.”

  No more, please. Brodie bent his head and covered his eyes.

  “It seems,” said Bower, “it’s turning into a common event around here. What did it say Father?”

  “I’m not entirely sure, but it sounded like, ‘fight fire with fire.’

  “You sure it wasn’t ‘flight hire, hire flight?’ Because that’s what I wish I could do right now.”

  “Quite certain, sorry to say.”