The Blood of Seven

by Claire L. Fishback

  “Do you remember Pistis Sophia’s daughter’s name?”

  Maggie twisted the crayon in her hand, then cocked her head up at Ann.

  “Sophia’s daughter’s name was Zoe,” Ann said.

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “Oh yeah . . . She made all the good in the world.”

  Maggie’s insight surprised Ann. It was true, though. Zoe had created all that was good in the world when she countered Yaldabaoth’s creation of Death, who then created all the bad in the world; therefore, Sophia was indirectly responsible for all the good and all the bad, having been the mother of both Yaldabaoth and Zoe.

  Human Pandora’s Box.

  Sophia let it all out into the world.

  “Maybe if we find out what zoe means, it’ll help us figure out the rest.” Ann got up.

  “Where are you going?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m going to ask your dad if I can use his computer.” She turned to go find Derrick, but he was already there, laptop in hand. Ann wondered how much of their conversation he’d overheard. Derrick handed her the computer but didn’t let go.

  “I don’t even want to know what you two are up to,” he said. “Well, yeah, I do. I can’t say I’m not slightly jealous of what seems like a deep, philosophical conversation with my daughter.” He smiled. “So . . . what are you talking about?”

  Ann glanced over her shoulder at Maggie who scribbled absently on a piece of paper. “Has she told you about her dreams?”

  Derrick nodded. “They wake her up. They seem to be getting worse. Before they were about the lion man stealing her light. Now, she just cries and won’t tell me what they’re about. I’m beginning to wonder if I should take her to a therapist; maybe her nightmares are manifestations of abuse. Who knows what kind of life she had before she came to us.”

  “I’m sure that’s not the reason,” Ann said. Derrick gave her a quizzical look. She ignored it. “Thanks for letting me talk to her and for letting me use your computer.”

  Derrick released the laptop. Ann sat down and opened the lid and typed “zoe” into the search engine. About a million and one results returned

  A Mexican band, an actress, and the meaning of zoe, which led to a baby names website. Ann shrugged. Why not? She clicked on the baby names link.

  She read the page. “It says here Zoe means ‘life.’”

  Maggie leaned closer and rested her head against Ann’s arm. A chill shuddered through Ann’s body.

  He’s using their zoe.

  He’s using their life? She thought back to the story Louise told her. If Zoe created all the good in the world, was Yaldabaoth using goodness? Her deduction got her nowhere. The helplessness started to return.

  “What are you thinking?” Maggie asked.

  “I’m just trying to figure out what it means for Yaldabaoth to use someone’s life.”

  Maggie set her chin on her forearms. “He’s trying to get strong.” She shuffled through her papers and showed Ann what resembled a cave with a black circle inside. The crayon had been lain on so thick the paper wasn’t visible through it.

  “What’s that?” Ann pointed to the black circle.

  “The abyss.” Maggie looked at her again. “Another thing I don’t know. What’s an abyss?”

  “A bottomless hole or something.”

  “It’s scary.” She lifted the picture. “In my dream I fell into it.” Her eyes shifted to Ann’s. “You know how sometimes when you dream you trip and it wakes you up?”

  Ann laughed. “Yes. I have those all the time.”

  Maggie didn’t laugh. Her face remained serious. “If you don’t land, you don’t wake up.”

  She pushed the picture back under another one of a dog—or some other four-legged animal.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Pinky. Brent’s dog. I saw her in my mind,” she said. “I’ve never met Pinky, and I don’t know who Brent is.”

  “Dinner time,” Derrick called from the kitchen. “Ann, you’re welcome to join us.”

  Ann thought about what Derrick had said. Teresa thought they were having an affair. She closed the laptop and stood. “No, that’s okay.”

  “Please, Ann? Please stay.” Maggie gripped Ann’s hand.

  The child’s expression made her change her mind. Maggie was terrified. Who wouldn’t be, with the nightmares she’d been having? With the load she had to bear? Ann didn’t think Maggie knew the full extent of what it meant to be the human manifestation of Sophia.

  And yet, at times, the girl seemed so wise.

  “Okay, fine. Dinner, and then I have to go.”

  Maggie hugged her and bounced to the table. Ann waited for Derrick to sit. Then she sat as far from him as possible. An uneasy anxiety clawed at her belly. She sat up straight in her chair and cast glances toward the front door, fully expecting Teresa to burst in at any moment and catch her husband eating dinner with another woman. Her appetite was gone, but it had been so long since she’d eaten a nice home-cooked meal. She’d been surviving on frozen entrees since she got to town. Her stomach growled at the scent of spaghetti. She dug in and relished the flavor.

  After dinner, Derrick offered dessert, but Ann passed. Maggie didn’t. He served her some ice cream. Ann struggled to find a graceful way to leave, but something kept her from going. Her duty to protect perhaps? It was in her blood, after all. She absently rubbed the mark through her shirt.

  When Derrick took Maggie upstairs to bed, she had the perfect opportunity to leave, and yet she didn’t go.

  What is it you think you want here?

  Derrick came back and gave her a weary smile. “I’m worried about Teresa.” He sighed.

  “Does she do this often?” Ann asked.

  Derrick shook his head. “Never. She’s always home. I mean, lately she’s been venturing out a little more. That or she just doesn’t answer the phone when I call.” He slumped onto the corner cushion of the L-shaped sectional.

  “That’s not what I meant, though,” he said. “She’s been . . . just . . . I don’t want to burden you.”

  Ann didn’t say anything, but in the back of her mind she wondered if she would find Teresa’s like-human-umbilical-cord crispy substance in the near future.

  “I’d offer you a drink, but Teresa doesn’t let me keep the stuff,” he said.

  “That’s okay.” Ann leaned forward. “I should probably get going, anyway.”

  “Stay,” Derrick said. Ann let out a laugh.

  “Stay? What am I, a dog?” She got up.

  “Please, Ann. I’ve been so . . . lonely these past few years. I don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

  Dread flooded Ann’s body. She gazed at the front door—so far away at the end of the hall—then back at Derrick, dejected and weary.

  He held up his hands. “I don’t want anything more than some adult conversation.”

  Ann’s body relaxed. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay for a few more minutes, but if Teresa comes home . . .”

  “She’d be home by now if she was coming.”

  “Do you want to go search for her?” Ann thought about Ruthie and the sheriff. “Aren’t you worried she may have been kidnapped like Ruthie?”

  “Have you found anything?”

  A subtle change of subject. Ann shook her head. Maggie’s drawings lingered in the corner of her vision. The girl had stacked them back together and pushed them inside a folder, but the corners stuck out the side.

  “Does Maggie talk to you about her drawings?” Ann asked. She flipped the folder open. The abyss was on top.

  If you don’t land, you don’t wake up.

  Derrick moved closer, sitting right next to Ann. His leg brushed hers. She couldn’t deny the rush of heat that raced through her, or her heart rate picking up, but she wouldn’t allow herself to get wrapped up in those feelings.

  “She shows them to me, but she doesn’t explain them.” He flipped through the pages. “I didn’t think a parent was supposed to ask what a kid’s drawing is. I feel like I
’m supposed to be able to figure it out, like asking would hurt her feelings, you know?” He turned his head.

  Ann could see him looking at her out of the corner of her eye. He was too close. Far too close. She moved over half a cushion.

  “I’m not sure how to explain this to you, Derrick—”

  “I know, I know.” He moved a full cushion away from her. “I’m married—you’re not a home wrecker.”

  Ann snorted. “That’s not what I was going to say. I mean, yeah, I refuse to do anything . . . like that. But what I meant was, Maggie is . . . special.” She cleared her throat and reached for the drawings. “Her dreams—there’s some truth to them.”

  Yaldabaoth and Ruthie’s picture appeared in the stack Derrick flipped through.

  “This one, see? She said that’s Ruthie.”

  “She knows Ruthie from the diner,” Derrick said. “That’s not unusual.”

  “Does she know Ruthie is missing?”

  Derrick shook his head. “I haven’t told her. It would break her heart. She loves Ruthie.”

  “She knows things she can’t possibly know.” Ann got up and grabbed her coat. “Keep an eye on her for me, okay?”

  “Of course.” He walked her to the door.

  Outside, the cold air felt good. She pulled on her jacket and walked home, letting her thoughts take over.

  Yaldabaoth was using their life. But what did it mean? How did he use life to get stronger?

  They’re gone, aren’t they?

  Ann shivered at the thought of Maggie’s words and zipped up her jacket.

  Chapter 40

  The door to her house was open a few inches. Ann listened at the crack. Someone was inside, sobbing in the dark.

  Ann picked up the fake rock with the house key in it and eased the door open enough to see a large shape sitting on the couch. She kicked the door and threw the fake rock as hard as she could. Direct hit.

  “Ow!” said a man’s voice, husky from crying.

  Ann flipped on the light. George Riley turned his red and blotchy face toward her.

  “What the hell, George?”

  “I’m sorry, Ann. I didn’t know who else to talk to.”

  “You have violated my privacy.” The words came out calm despite the anger. Adrenaline shook her body. She leveled her gaze on him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I broke up with Marcie.” His features contorted into an ugly cry face.

  “Probably not a bad thing,” Ann said.

  George looked at her, then burst into renewed tears accompanied by a high-pitched whining.

  Oops. Probably not the best thing to say.

  “I found a positive pregnancy test in her trash can.”

  Ann clenched her jaw. “You broke up with her because she’s pregnant?” What was wrong with the men in this town?

  He held up his hands. “No, no that wasn’t the reason.” He swallowed. “She kept pressuring me to . . .” The last part he mumbled.

  “Stop mumbling. You came here to talk to me, so talk to me.” She tried to keep the frustration out of her voice. Ann paced over to him, but she didn’t sit.

  He gave her a desperate look. “I wouldn’t have sex with her.” His red face turned three shades redder. He stood and paced. “She kept pressuring me. She did everything she could to entice me—”

  “Please, save the details.”

  “But I stuck to my guns. I know it’s old fashioned, but I want to save myself for the girl I marry.”

  “Why didn’t you ask her to marry you?”

  George’s shoulders slumped. “Because . . . her dad hates me.” He looked up at Ann. “I was trying to get him to like me better. But I guess maybe I got tired of tryin’ so hard?”

  Ann considered this for a moment. “So deep down maybe you knew she wasn’t the one.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, but Ann stopped him.

  “Just listen,” Ann said. “If you really thought she was the one, and you really loved her, you would have done anything and everything to prove yourself.”

  He got a distant look in his eyes. Ann could smell the gears grinding in his head. He focused his gaze on her.

  “I guess you’re right.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and nodded. “You’re right.”

  “So, no need to be heartbroken.” Ann resisted the urge to wipe her hands together.

  That’s that—now get out.

  George didn’t move.

  “Besides, if she didn’t respect your values, she’s not the right girl. It’s been a long day for both of us. Go home, get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” She motioned to the door with a sweep of her arm.

  “But the test.” His face contorted again. “It’s not my baby.”

  Ann put a hand on George’s shoulder.

  “She’s not worth it, George. She’s not worth it.” Poor George. She took back any ill thing she’d ever said about him, in her private thoughts or otherwise.

  The kid deserved so much more than he got.

  “I know . . .” The words came out in a moan. “But, why is my heart so torn open?”

  “That’s how heartbreak works.” She patted his shoulder. “You love the idea of having a girlfriend, of her companionship. Love becomes a habit. Something you grow used to and comfortable with.” She spoke from experience. “It blinds you.”

  George looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

  “She betrayed your trust and everything you’d built her up to be. Your girl wasn’t one hundred percent yours.” She went to the door and George followed.

  “You’ll find the right girl, George. One who devotes her entire life to loving you the way you deserve to be loved, and you won’t think twice about two-timing Marcie Berg.”

  Before she could stop it from happening, he pulled her into a hug. Every muscle in her body tensed. She patted him on the back, and he pulled away.

  “Thanks, Ann.”

  She closed the door behind him and immediately switched gears from George’s heartbreak to the case. That’s what the job required. Leave the personal bullshit at the door and focus. She got a notebook and pen from the junk drawer and wrote down a list of facts. Ruthie and Sheriff McMichael’s disappearances. The crispy substance—like human umbilical cord.

  All the facts.

  Then she drew a line and wrote out a list of all the . . . well . . . other shit.

  The book pulsing in the night. The glowing veins. The mark. The story Louise told her about Yaldabaoth. The passages from the book and Sophia’s physical manifestation. Messengers of the Light. The Protectorate. Everything she had seen or heard or read but couldn’t explain or prove, even Maggie’s drawings.

  Yaldabaoth using Ruthie and the sheriff’s zoe. Their forms changing when he did.

  Brent’s dog Pinky. Why would Maggie have drawn a picture of Brent’s dog? Did Yaldabaoth steal Pinky’s zoe? She put a question mark next to that item. Perhaps a visit to Brent’s house was in order. She looked at the time.

  Tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow. Tonight was spent.

  Ann went to the bookshelf, then the now re-alphabetized DVD collection, but nothing grabbed her interest. The truth was, even without a passing psych evaluation and her inability to fire—look at—a gun, when she wasn’t thinking about the case, when she wasn’t working, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

  Maybe I’m healing.

  The thought gave her hope.

  Maybe it’s a breakthrough.

  Then the book, still sitting on the coffee table, flipped open. Ann jumped and grabbed the armchair prepared to, what? Throw it at someone?

  The pages turned faster and faster, then stopped at about the halfway point. Ann moved around the chair and sat in front of the book. Her eyes scanned the characters.

  Seven souls shall be collected. Seven souls shall resurrect His Greatness. Our One True God. A physical body shall become his vessel. He shall become whole. He shall walk the Material Realm amongst us. He shall destro
y that which destroyed him.

  Ann’s heartrate picked up. Raghib had said the book would show her the way.

  Blood of the Ancient. Blood of the Pure. Blood of the Tainted. Blood of the Loving Servant. Blood of the Bastard. Blood of the Blind Fool. Blood of the Devoted.

  In the aftermath of his destruction, we shall rise with him to the True Kingdom. We shall shed that which binds us to the material realm and transcend as Perfect Beings.

  We shall live on in Him.

  Seven bloods, seven souls. Ann grabbed her notebook from the table and wrote them down in the “other” section.

  Ancient, Pure, Tainted, Loving Servant, Bastard, Blind Fool, Devoted.

  The sheriff could likely be the ancient, given his old age, or the loving servant due to his serving and protecting Harmony. No, Ruthie was obviously the loving servant. What about Pinky, if she’d been taken? A dog could certainly be considered pure. Or devoted.

  She sat back and rubbed her palms over her face. Too many questions without answers. Too many unproven, unexplainable elements. The hopelessness began to seep in, but she refused it entry.

  I can figure this out. She told herself. Then she said it out loud to give it power over that voice telling her she would fail. The page turned. Shit. There was more.

  Seven blood. Seven soul. Seven Son and Daughter.

  An illustration had been inked onto the lower half of the page. Yaldabaoth stood, arms wide, just as Maggie had drawn him, in a pool of water. Seven naked people, drawn in such a way that they looked like ghosts, hovered around him, three on one side, four on the other. A dark line connected each of their chests to the water. The figures had both male and female characteristics.

  The page turned.

  Upon the rebirth, He shall be vengeful and unharnessed. In His natural state, He shall seek only to destroy. Unless controlled, His rage shall reign until none will stand to contest him.

  A sacrifice. A vessel. He shall live again.

  The passage ended there, and the next chapter, though in the same Coptic Egyptian she’d just been reading, didn’t decipher, as if the book only allowed her to read what it wanted.

  Chapter 41