The Blood of Seven

by Claire L. Fishback

  “I won’t keep you then,” Ann said. She put the list of names on the table. “I found this in my dad’s locker. Why is your name on this list? Are any of these other names familiar?”

  Louise picked it up and examined it. “I’ve never seen these names before, well, except my own.” She smiled. “Your father stopped by a couple months ago—”

  “Last time I was here you said it had been a few months, and you thought you saw him at the station or the diner.”

  Louise stared at Ann. “Oh, I must have forgotten.” She pointed at her temple. “I’m old and senile.” The kettle whistled. Louise started to stand.

  “I’ll get it,” Ann said.

  “Thank you, dear. Tea bags are in the cupboard over the sink.”

  “What did my dad want to talk to you about?” Ann quietly peeked in each cupboard, unsure of what she might be looking for.

  “The Nag Hammadi Library and other secret texts. He knew I studied them,” Louise said. “I was interviewed in the paper for being the oldest resident of Harmony. I mentioned I’d studied comparative mythology.” Her voice held a smile. Her chair creaked. Ann closed the cupboard she was looking in. Louise had turned around. “Over the sink dear. Like I said.”

  Ann retrieved the tea bags and glanced in the sink. Two metal bowls sat inside along with an empty can of dog food.

  “Where’s your dog?” Ann knew full well Louise didn’t own a dog. She had a million cats though.

  Louise looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Dog?”

  Ann pointed to the bowls.

  “Oh, those . . . To poison the rats. They can’t stay away from that stuff.”

  “Your cats don’t mess with it?”

  She shook her head, staring straight ahead. “They aren’t allowed in the basement.”

  “You seem nervous,” Ann said. She put a teabag in a cup and poured hot water over it.

  “You caught me at a bad time is all.” Louise brushed a strand of hair off her forehead again and looked over her shoulder, smiling. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.” It sounded like a dismissal. Ann placed Louise’s cup on the table in front of her and moved around to the opposite side.

  “Is there something else?” Louise’s eyes darted over Ann’s right shoulder. Ann turned and followed her gaze to the bolted door.

  “What’s behind that door?” Ann asked.

  “The basement.”

  “What’s in the basement, besides rats?”

  Louise shrugged. “The usual things one places in one’s basement.” Her eyes darted to the door again. “Christmas decorations, old clothes to donate . . .” Her hand shook when she lifted her cup. She set it back down, splashing some tea onto the saucer.

  “Mind if I take a look?” Ann asked. She stepped toward the door. Louise glided out of her chair and moved around the table, and somehow reached the door before Ann. She stopped and cocked her head, hand on the knob.

  “Do you have a warrant, Detective?” Her face turned smug.

  “Should I have a reason to get one?”

  Louise retrieved the list from the table and held it out to Ann. “Of course not.” She smiled.

  Ann reached for the paper. Louise let it go before Ann grasped it. It drifted to the floor. Ann bent to pick it up, and Louise sucked in a breath.

  “The Sa,” she whispered.

  Ann tugged her shirt and stood up. Their eyes met.

  “How did you come to have the mark on your chest?” Louise asked.

  “It’s just a tattoo,” Ann said, buttoning her shirt up to her neck despite the heat in the house. “I should be going—unless there’s anything else you forgot to mention?”

  “Yes, sit. Please.” She returned to her seat, and Ann followed suit. “You must keep that mark hidden.”

  “Why, exactly?” Ann asked.

  “Say what you will, but that mark was not created with needle and ink.” Louise nodded toward Ann’s chest. “If the wrong people find out you have it, you could be killed.”

  “Explain, please,” Ann said.

  This’ll be rich. End of the world again? Or some other bullshit?

  “There are two secret organizations at war,” Louise began in her mystical voice.

  Ann interrupted her. “The Messengers of the Light and the Protectorate.” Ann waved a dismissive hand, then leaned forward. “Did you know the Protectorate is actually an adoption agency?”

  Are you fucking with the Loon, or what?

  “Believe what you must, dear,” Louise said. “But don’t be deceived by outward appearances. There are many secrets hidden within.”

  “I really should get going.” Ann got up. “If you remember anything else about my dad. Please give me a call.”

  Something clanged in the wall behind Ann. She jumped and peered at the door where the music came from. Did the clang come from there?

  “Damn rats,” Louise said with a flip of her hand. “They get inside the walls and make such a racket.”

  Ann stayed still and silent, holding Louise’s gaze. The radio on Ann’s belt crackled and squelched. Both she and Louise startled.

  “Sheriff Riley to Deputy Logan. Do you read me?”

  “Deputy Logan?” Louise raised her eyebrow.

  Ann ignored her and depressed the talk button. “I read. This better be important. Over.”

  “It is. The results on the crispy stuff came back from the lab. You’re not gonna believe what...”

  That was quick.

  “Hold on.” Ann went outside onto the front porch. She looked over her shoulder. Louise was there. Ann turned the volume down. “And?”

  “They said the results are inconclusive. The report has all these calculations and percentages and stuff, but the lab tech wrote some notes. She said it closely resembles—” Silence. “Do you copy?”

  “No, say it again. Keep the button pressed down.”

  “Sorry. My hands are big and this button is tiny. The lab tech said it closely resembles human umbilical cord.”

  Chapter 32

  “Tiffany?” Even though Teresa’s voice came out small, it still echoed in the cave. “Come out, my sweet baby.”

  “Hi, Mommy.”

  “Oh, my baby.” Teresa knelt, and Tiffany ran into her arms.

  “Why are you here?” Tiffany asked.

  “I needed to see you. I just needed you.”

  “You are hurt,” Tiffany said. “I can feel your pain. What happened?”

  “Daddy and I had an argument is all. Nothing to worry about.” Mother never would have dragged a child into her messes, and Teresa wouldn’t either. She stroked Tiffany’s hair. It felt like water running through her fingers.

  “You shouldn’t come here during the day. Yaldabaoth rests and mustn’t be disturbed.” She looked over her shoulder at the pool of water. So calm and still.

  “Does he sleep in the pool?” Teresa stepped to the edge. Tiffany’s hand touched hers.

  “No, but be careful. The water is deep and cold, and if you fall in you’ll never come back out.”

  Chills passed through her. Teresa peered into the depths but only saw flickering flames and her own reflection.

  “When he regains his strength, he will use this pool to bring us together.”

  Teresa peered at her daughter.

  “How? You said if I fall in I’ll never come back out.”

  Tiffany shrugged. “It’s like magic, I guess.”

  “Okay—and what do you mean when he regains his strength? You told me he is more powerful than God.” She touched her cross.

  “He was badly injured. But the zoe helps him heal.” Tiffany tugged Teresa away from the pool. “Right now, though, you should go. He needs peace.”

  Teresa looked toward the dark passageway. “Where does that go?” She knew, of course, because she’d traveled as far as she could go.

  “Don’t question things, Mommy. Just believe in them, like you always do.”

  Teresa gazed at her daughter one last t
ime. She swept her hand down her baby’s cheek.

  “Five more, Mommy.”

  “Yes. Five more.” Teresa stepped out of the cave and onto the front porch of the abandoned house. She looked back, but the house’s interior already replaced the cave.

  So, Yaldabaoth wasn’t as powerful as she thought. What if he wasn’t powerful at all? Teresa fiddled with the chain around her neck. Did she have the strength, the will, to take five more souls without knowing for certain? What if her next victim was someone she knew well?

  I don’t know anyone very well anymore.

  She walked back to the road toward town.

  Seven years had taken its toll on her fragile personal relationships. But she didn’t need those friendships. They weren’t real anyway. How could she ever be real friends with people whose families had known each other for generations? She didn’t belong among them.

  When Teresa reached the town center, Ann Logan climbed out of an old SUV of some sort parked in front of the sheriff’s department, her long hair loose about her shoulders. Teresa smoothed her hand over her hair, pulled into a low chignon, and sniffed. Only wild things wore their hair untethered. Her mother called them whores.

  She was about to head home when movement in the trees caught her attention. Louise stood in the shadows, her eyes focused on the distance. Her gaze shifted, and she met Teresa’s eyes. Louise took a step back, startled, but then came forward.

  “What are you doing skulking around?” Teresa asked.

  “Come with me, quickly.” Louise motioned to her. “I know your secrets.”

  What little warmth Teresa held drained from her body. She rubbed her arms through her jacket sleeves. Louise disappeared into the trees. Teresa followed and soon arrived at the old woman’s dilapidated house.

  Louise stood on the porch with the door open. For being old, she moved fast. Teresa went up the stairs and inside where the heat chased the chill from her skin. Potpourri did a poor job of covering up the smell of cats. A fat black and white one waddled toward her.

  “Sit at the table. I’ll pour some tea.”

  Teresa shed her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair before sitting. The cat rubbed against her leg.

  “What do you think you know this time?” Teresa asked.

  Louise scurried into the kitchen and shooed a cat off the counter. “You are on an important mission,” she said. “But you are taking great risks in carrying out your objectives.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Teresa tried to hide her surprise by looking at the chipped Formica tabletop. Louise set a cup in front of her. Steam rose from the amber liquid in smoky tendrils. She took a sip. Cinnamon and spice. Her belly warmed.

  Louise only continued to smile. She sat at the other side of the table. Her knobby fingers wrapped around her tea cup like a claw.

  “Your mission began seven years ago when your child passed.”

  Teresa shook her head. “My name was cleared. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “No, please, Doctor, please.” Louise’s voice took on a softer tone. “Listen. This is important.”

  Teresa tugged at her cross.

  “Seven years ago, your miracle child passed.” Louise spoke as if she were a carnival fortune teller. Teresa crossed her arms. “In her passing, a gate to Hell opened, for the miracle child had died at the hands of jealousy and ignorance.”

  “It was an accident!”

  Louise held up her hand. “Now is not the time for blame or digging up the past. I am only listing the facts from the beginning. Your daughter passed. A gate to Hell opened. Facts.”

  “A gate to Hell opening is a fact?” Teresa’s hand found the cross again, though the movement seemed out of habit now, rather than comfort.

  Louise shrugged. “Pretend for the sake of this story it is.”

  I should leave. She’s obviously crazy. She knows nothing about my secrets.

  But, Teresa leaned forward instead, compelled to hear how Tiffany’s death coincided with whatever Louise was about to say. And, she had to admit, the human interaction felt . . . nice.

  “This Hell is a special Hell called Tartaros. It contains only one being. A once powerful creator.”

  Teresa leaned back and crossed her arms again. Ludicrous. “God is the only creator,” Teresa mumbled.

  “Please, let me finish,” Louise said, an edge to her voice. “His mother stole his power and banished him to Tartaros. He resides there now, weakened.”

  Teresa’s mouth fell open. The story rang of what Tiffany had told her about—

  “Yaldabaoth,” Teresa whispered.

  Louise’s serene smile spread into a wicked grin.

  “Yes, indeed.”

  “How do you know about him?”

  “His is an ancient story, Doctor Hart. The Gnostic faith is followed by many.” Louise leaned forward. “Man is imperfect because he was created by an imperfect being.”

  Teresa gulped a mouthful of tea and coughed. “This is blasphemy.” And yet, she believed it. Tiffany was proof. Yaldabaoth was proof.

  Louise shrugged. “One person’s belief is another person’s sacrilege.”

  “Assuming this is so-called fact, what are these secrets you think you know about me?” Teresa asked.

  “You have been helping Yaldabaoth.”

  “I’m helping Tiffany.” The words flew from Teresa’s mouth.

  “Your daughter is dead, Teresa.” Louise hit the table with the side of her fist. “Nothing can bring her back. You don’t know what you’re doing, what you’re getting involved in.”

  “Tiffany said, if I help him, we can be together again. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Teresa pushed away from the table and stood. “You don’t know him.” She ripped her jacket from the chair. The black and white cat took off.

  A laugh bubbled up from Louise’s belly and burst from her mouth.

  “I know far more than you know, you wretched thing. You murderer.” She stood, her hunched back straightening with a morbid crackling. Fully upright, Louise was as tall as Teresa.

  “If you continue to help him you will risk destroying what I have worked toward these past thirty-seven years.”

  “You can’t stop me from being with my baby.” Teresa backed toward the door.

  “I can tell the sheriff you’re responsible for Ruthie’s disappearance.”

  Teresa stopped and turned. “The sheriff?” She scoffed and went back to the table but didn’t sit. “Please. That is hardly a threat.”

  Your beloved Sheriff is gone.

  The thought tickled her.

  “Ann Logan is in charge now.” Louise crossed her arms. “How does that make you feel, the ex-lover of your husband running this town? They were high school sweethearts, you know. She broke his heart. I wouldn’t doubt she is his one-that-got-away.” She fluttered her hand through the air.

  “You shut your mouth,” Teresa said. “She’s a failure. She let that child die. Why don’t any of you Godforsaken people realize that?”

  Louise narrowed her eyes and tapped her cheek in thought.

  “My, my. You are more observant than I thought.” She lifted the saucer and cup and took a sip. “Is that truly how you feel?”

  Teresa nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  “How does it make you feel knowing she and your husband were in love all through high school? That they’ve known each other their whole lives?”

  Teresa clenched her jaw and her fists.

  “How do you feel knowing your husband was going to marry her? That she would have carried his children? How does it make you feel, dear Doctor, knowing they’ve had intercourse?”

  “Enough!” Teresa’s fingers dug into the back of the chair.

  A muted cackle rattled in Louise’s throat. “Interesting.” She seemed to ponder a moment longer. “You have a darkness inside you.” She leaned forward and patted the Formica. “I like it.” She stood and sidled past the kitchen table. “I have something t
o show you. Something to . . . I don’t know. I suppose we’ll figure that out after you see.”

  She opened a door with a heavy bolt, and music poured out. The door had a three-inch thick foam rubber pad attached to the inside. Louise stepped inside and turned the music off. A loud hissing issued from beyond the dark entry. Louise turned on a light and motioned for Teresa to follow.

  They clopped down a set of rickety wooden stairs. The static hissing became unbearably loud as they descended. Teresa fought the urge to cover her ears. It was maddening.

  “Why the white noise?” she shouted.

  “You’ll see.”

  The air chilled, and the scent of urine and excrement increased when they reached the bottom. The source of the noise was a television tuned to a non-channel. Black and white spots danced over the screen. Louise crept into the darkness and flipped a switch. Fluorescent lights clicked and buzzed to life.

  Teresa gasped. A filthy bearded man sat tied to a chair in the center of the room, a pair of goggles strapped to his face. His chest expanded and contracted at an alarming rate.

  “Who’s there?” he called above the static. “Someone’s there. I can smell you. Please! Please make it stop.” His voice came out strong at first and then sank into an agonized groan. “Stop—please.” He swung his head from side to side.

  Louise came back and stood next to Teresa. The sterile lights gave her face a ghastly pallor and deepened every crease in her skin.

  “Sensory deprivation. Heard of it?” Louise asked. “I just added the black-out goggles today. Punishment for having broken my furnace.” She indicated the silent equipment. “They further instill his sense of isolation.”

  Teresa didn’t like the way Louise’s eyes changed. Sure, she’d always known the old woman was crazy, but this was a new level of insanity. A prisoner? Torture?

  “Who is he?” The words choked out of Teresa’s constricted throat. She tugged on her cross. Why would Louise trust her with this information?

  “Bram Logan,” Louise said with a wicked smile. “Ann Logan’s dead father.”

  Chapter 33

  Ann went inside the station. Marcie sat on George’s lap, but she wasn’t paying attention to him or the book open on the desk.