Celtics Rising: Birth of an Oracle

by Leo Charles Taylor

Camulas snorted and began to laugh.

  "You tell yourself that, fang boy," Camulas said, derisively. "But the Arch-Demons did exist at one time, and rumor has it that the survivors are held captive by the new Rome. If this battle goes the way as the last, I can guarantee that they’ll be released."

  "Rome wouldn't be that careless," Drake said warily.

  "Oh," Arinai replied casually. "And tell me, Drake, just how does an enemy with nothing to lose decide to act? Do you think they would care about releasing Raphael, or even Uriel?"

  Now it was Drake's turn to remain silent, and as he contemplated her words his eyes turned dark, and Arinai took the opportunity to probe his mind. She couldn't perform this feat well, not like her original mentor could, but she would try. The task proved more difficult with Drake than with Badir. She knew it would be because her training allowed her a good gauge of who she could probe and who not, but she tried nonetheless.

  Drake shook his head suddenly and his eyes widened. He appeared in pain, and Arinai felt his resistance. She was learning nothing as the demon’s defenses came into effect. He breathed heavily and put his hand to his nose. When he pulled it away and found blood, his eyes raged.

  "Get out of my head, Witch!" he commanded.

  Drake moved quickly. Arinai backed away as far as she could, but in a heartbeat the vampire had stopped. He was halfway across the table, frozen as if in tableau with eyes bulging and a humming blade to his throat. Arinai found it hard to believe the speed of her friend, but Camulas had been prepared and had protected her, as he always did.

  "Sit down," Camulas ordered.

  The commotion of the table had attracted unwanted attention, and while Camulas could hide his weaponry from mortals when he wanted, this particular scene was sure to appear suspect. Arinai acted quickly and began to cloud everyone's minds. Music began to enter the bar, and as if in a dream, several patrons began to calm, then chat, and then move to the dance floor.

  In front of her, Drake's nostrils flared, but that was all that moved. Camulas casually tapped his knife blade on the man's chin and gave his order one more time.

  "Sit down," he ordered.

  Drake moved slowly, backing away calmly and taking his seat.

  "I apologize," Arinai said honestly. "It was not my intention to cause you pain."

  "Just your intention to invade his mind, huh bitch?" Badir spat.

  Arinai cast a wary eye at Badir. The demon appeared angry but knew the score all too well. They were in a very public place, and Camulas and she were much stronger than either of them, a fact that the vampires were well aware of. The only unknown in this whole scenario was the mysterious woman whom Arinai could still sense somewhere nearby.

  "Are you our enemy?" Drake asked after calming.

  "Not unless you make us," Arinai replied.

  Drake appeared to contemplate the answer before nodding his head.

  "Is war coming?" he asked, solemnly. "Can we expect the same as last time?"

  Arinai looked to Camulas, who deferred to her with a quick nod of his head.

  "If we go to war with Rome," she said, "then all of mankind will be involved. Let's hope it doesn’t come to that."

  "That's not an answer," Drake replied.

  "It's all I have," she said honestly. "I just don't know."

  Drake took another minute to consider her. He studied her for deception. She could even sense him feeling for her. He was weak, at least compared to her, and while he was powerful where mortals were concerned, he would learn little from her.

  "Very well," he said, then stood and headed to the door.

  Badir stayed behind a moment and gauged the couple at the table. At first, Arinai thought he wanted to get his own feelings for them, but as the man stood there, smirking with conceit, she realized he was just being brazen—a lone Dearg-Due in the presence of the Ancients. It was like putting your head in the lion's mouth, and she had to chuckle to herself at the stupidity of it.

  Chapter 2

  "You ready for dinner?"

  James looked up from his tablet to the slender man standing in the open doorway. A woman rushed past in the hallway, hell bent on getting somewhere fast.

  Probably late for filing a document, James thought.

  "I just need a few minutes, Jonah. I have some charts to finish," James said to his friend.

  Jonah shook his head and laughed, "I'm telling you, man, you really should be at the U-dub. The hours are better."

  "But not the pay," James replied, "or the view."

  James turned and looked out to the Puget Sound from his office window. The water was mostly calm, but he could still see some whitecaps forming in areas. "Besides, I'm a consultant, so my hours are my own to keep."

  "What the hell are you working on, anyway?"

  "Just re-evaluating the basic assumption of this company's R&D department," James replied as he shut down his computer and began to put it away. "They've spent twenty million dollars and gotten nowhere. It's not surprising. Their underlying premises are incorrect."

  "How so?"

  James chuckled.

  "That's classified," he replied, "but it isn't surprising. A lot of companies get off on the wrong foot. I just wish I didn't have to put in such long hours to prove it."

  Jonah smiled.

  "Like I said, you should be at the U, and one of these days you’ll realize that I'm always right. Once you do that, life will be so much easier."

  James rolled his eyes slightly, but Jonah didn't notice; he simply continued to joke with his friend, badgering him about paperwork. Eventually, James finished gathering his items and the two left the office.

  "How are things at the U? Any new information?" James asked.

  "Do you mean about the clinical trial I snuck you into? No, there's nothing new."

  James took exception to Jonah's cavalier attitude.

  "Do you mind keeping your voice down? I don’t need this broadcast across the building."

  "Oh, whatever, Consultant Connor." Jonah said, mockingly using his friend's title. "Eventually you’ll realize that people just don't care, and even if they did most people wouldn't understand what we’re talking about. They're just too dumb."

  "How the hell did you make it through medical school with that attitude?"

  "Like I said, I'm always right, and I don't deal with patients, anyway. I'm in administration and don’t have to be so serious. Besides, you worry too much. You’re already on the gene therapy trial, and once you’re on the trial the doctors and nurses just don't care. You simply need to show up at the University, sign in, get your treatment, and leave. This is a double blind study anyway, so the doctors don’t know that you’re getting the actual treatment. Only a few of us do."

  James didn't share his friend’s optimism or his careless disregard for procedures. They had been out of college for ten years, and Jonah hadn’t matured in all that time—James, however, hadn’t been so immobile. He didn't believe Jonah would blatantly or purposely cause a disruption in either of their careers, but he also didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut. He just hoped that if something should slip, it would be too little too late. James' only other hope was that any careless words spoken by his idiotic friend would fall on deaf ears.

  The men made their way up First Hill and found a pub that was just beginning happy hour. They ordered food and beer—a pale ale for Jonah and a porter for James—and then chatted for a few minutes about trivial issues. James eventually brought the conversation back to the point that was his reason for inviting Jonah to dinner.

  "Have there been any unusual side effects to the treatment?"

  "None that I know of. Certainly no deaths, if that’s what you mean," Jonah said with a snide laugh.

  "It’s not a laughing matter, Jonah. People died."

  "Oh come on!" Jonah said with a devil-may-care attitude. "I understand your concern, but gene therapy has come a long way in the last ten years, and those deaths weren’t directly linked to the therapy,
anyway. Honestly, I can’t believe it took so long for the FDA to allow us to proceed again."

  "Of course they weren't linked to the therapy. They were linked to the delivery system: a retrovirus that was delivered in a dose a hundred times what was needed."

  "Well, we’ve come a long way since then, and even those patients knew the risks. It’s not as if they weren't told the dangers when they signed up for the trials."

  "I believe the lawsuit that was filed would be evidence to the contrary," James replied.

  Jonah waved off the comment.

  "Old news," he said. "Look, I don't mean to be insensitive, but people die, and no matter how much we warn them or how hard we try, we can’t stop that. You could have a patient admitted to your hospital and without warning, they could die of a bad morphine reaction from a treatment that you ordered. That doesn’t mean that you don’t order the morphine drip."

  "I agree with you in general principal, just not with your attitude,” James replied sternly. “However, you still haven’t answered my question. Have there been any unusual side effects?"

  Jonah leaned in, shook his head, and spoke clearly, "No, there haven’t, so don't worry about it. I'm sure you’re safe."

  James looked at his friend coldly.

  "There are always side effects, Jonah," he said sternly. "So, are you sitting there and telling me there's been no nausea, no arrhythmia, no psychotic breaks, nothing?"

  "Not that I know of,” Jonah replied as he casually looked about the bar. “Besides, just look at you. Are you having any of those symptoms?"

  James was a bit cautious with his reaction to the question, but lied easily enough.

  "No, not at all,” he said with a shake of his head.

  Jonah was too absorbed with himself to notice the bad lie; he usually was.

  "Well, there you go. I'm right, again,” Jonah said.

  They finished their beer, chatting about nothing, and ordered two more. The food soon arrived, and Jonah suddenly brightened with an idea that he thought was genius.

  "Hey you should think about buying stock in this company. If the trial does well, and it looks like it will, then the stock will skyrocket. Their patent on this delivery system is solid."

  "I have enough money," James replied. He didn't like the structure of the patent holding company anyway. "And I'm more worried about my life at the moment. You may remember that I actually need this therapy."

  "Of course, but if you survive long enough you’ll need money to continue to pay for that apartment of yours. That thing has got to cost a fortune."

  "Thanks, buddy. You’re all heart,” James said with another eye role that went unnoticed by his friend.

  "Don't mention it," Jonah replied with a friendly smile. "Now, I have to take a leak." Without waiting for any reply, Jonah abruptly stood and left quickly.

  James sat at the table, glad that his friend was gone. He liked Jonah well enough, but the man could be difficult to stomach at times. He was constantly quick with an opinion and always self-assured that his opinion was correct. Shaking his head again at the thought, James rooted through his jacket and looked for a bottle he had hidden within it. He pulled it out and checked its label.

  Ziprasodone was an anti-psychotic, but James had yet to take it. The prescription had been easy enough to forge after swiping a prescription pad from a careless doctor during one of his hospital consultations, but once the drug was in his possession, he found it difficult to actually ingest.

  He debated taking a dose now; his mind was beginning to fog, and the voices were returning—it was like being amidst a small crowd at a party. He knew the voices were there, and they were getting harder to drown out. Every once in a while, he would catch a phrase or odd word, much like hearing someone mention your name from across the room. It would cause him to mentally whip his thoughts around, but by the time he could focus his mind again the conversation had moved on, making him wonder if he had actually heard anything at all.

  James examined the label of the bottle and listened to the voices. They were soft and annoying, but at least the odd visions weren’t with him tonight. He was glad for that. Shaking his head, he put the bottle away but knew that it would eventually have to be opened. The delusions were not abating, and every few days they got worse. Tonight's decision, however, was made by common sense rather than his belief that he wasn’t having a psychotic break—he wasn’t about to take this drug so soon after ingesting alcohol.

  Jonah soon returned and continued to harass his friend. James took the jesting in stride and gave as good as he got. As they bantered, James mentally shook his head at Jonah's behavior. He could forgive Jonah for his insensitivity; the man simply didn't know how to handle a friend that might soon be dead. Or maybe he did and was just an ass. The more James thought about it, the more he agreed with the ass assessment.

  Dinner concluded, and James picked up the check as usual. Jonah offered to pay, but it was a half-hearted attempt filled with jokes about mooching off of his much more successful friend. James just shook his head and took it in stride; he considered it money well spent. Either Jonah was correct and no one else from the trial had symptoms, or the man was hiding the facts. However, Jonah was too terrible of a liar for James to believe the latter.

  They separated after leaving the bar, and James began to make his way home; he had walked today, as the weather was decent. It had rained the night before, but tonight the streets were drying and the skies, while cloudy, held in any precipitation they contained. The air was crisp, and he enjoyed the walk down the long hill to his complex near the waterfront. He watched the stores closing, shutting gates and locking doors, and he was pleased as the streets became less crowded as the city emptied of its daily commuters. Almost like a ghost town, he thought.

  He was about halfway home when the visions started. He was used to it by now, not like in the beginning when he was unsure if something was actually happening to him. Those first few days were met with angst and even a trip to Northgate and a radiology lab that would perform an MRI directly for the patient. The scan had been clear. However, the concern James felt didn't abate with the negative MRI.

  He continued to walk, watching as the shadows danced before him. They were acting unusual tonight. Typically, they moved around him as if he were walking through a flock of ducks in a park. They remained in sight and were curious about him, but they always kept their distance.

  Tonight, however, they appeared more playful. Before, if he ever approached, the shadows would retreat, remaining aloof. He realized, of course, that this was an odd form of visual hallucination, but at least it ruled out cortical irritation as a cause—that would manifest differently. Being a professional problem solver, he had tried to diagnose himself, but continually found his hands tied as he attempted to determine the etiology of his condition; without full access to the gene therapy trial, he couldn’t get a full medical history. Furthermore, he couldn’t reveal his true position in the trial without compromising his career. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  He continued to walk and watch the shadows as they came ever closer and pranced about. They seemed very agitated tonight, and he wondered what could be processing in his mind to cause such a visual disturbance; perhaps too much dopamine, or a problem with his serotonin re-uptake.

  A shadow came in quickly and very close to his face. He batted it away out of instinct, as if he were batting at a mosquito. As he did so, his head exploded with light and images. For a moment, he felt sick and lightheaded, and he had to lean against a nearby building to catch his breath. Slowly, his sensations returned to normal and he looked about himself. The world had stopped spinning, and he found that he could continue to walk down the street if he moved slowly. He was unsure what had just happened, but he was now certainly more attentive.

  Glancing about, he took in his surroundings. The shadows were still there but had retreated to a safer distance. Where before they had surrounded him while maintaining an easy
distance, they now remained only in front of him. In unison, they moved farther down the street, heading toward the waterfront. Curious, James followed.

  The distance between him and the shadows remained constant. If he sped up, they sped up. If he slowed, they slowed. Soon, he was very near his apartment building, and James half expected them to lead him home—they didn't. They continued another few blocks and came to Pike Place Market. The market was now closed, but people were still milling about, chatting or visiting the few shops still open. The shadows ignored this activity and headed south down 1st Avenue. Unsure what to make of this and unsure what to make of his odd reaction of just a few moments before, James continued to follow.

  They led him down the street farther south. James followed for several minutes, all the time wondering about his sanity. Auditory hallucination, visual hallucination, lightheadedness and weakness. His analytical mind screamed at him some of the worst case scenarios while his emotional side hoped that he was being paranoid. Neither of those states of mind could explain why he was following his mental projections produced from false stimuli.

  Perhaps this is what a psychotic break is, he thought. The realization that you are going insane and the inability to stop it.

  As he approached the sports stadiums, the shadows seemed to swirl about the streets. Hundreds of them moved about like a flock of birds taking flight and rapidly changing direction. He watched for a moment as they danced hither and thither like paper caught up in the wind, and then suddenly they dispersed. He didn't know to where.

  Looking about, he could see no movement other than what any sane person would see. He turned around, looked at the surrounding buildings, then up and down the streets. The voices then started loudly. He now realized they had always been there, he had just ignored them in lieu of following the shadows. As he listened, he found himself drawn to a building across the street. He needed height, and he didn't know why.

  An open doorway led to a stairway, and he made his way up. People milled about, moving from floor to floor, and he passed more than one person that was leaving for the day. James had no idea what building this was, but it was obviously an office building of some sort that must be used for multiple tenants, because he appeared to go unnoticed.