Haunted Blood

by Elik Katzav

  “You see,” Father Gaynes’ voice is fused with another, deeper and lower voice, “I didn’t really come here for this tunnel, but rather for the shell.”

  The light grows stronger and I find myself falling onto the ground.

  - What the heck are you on about?

  I manager to utter this question though my teeth are rattling with such fear as I have never felt before.

  His voice comes loud and clear.

  “Taking hold of the faithful is our easiest way of entering this world and stirring up emotions that are already there, dormant. This is our way of shifting them in the direction we wish them to take and leading to the chaos which feeds our existence.”

  He stretches his left arm towards me.

  “Did you really think you could kill me with the very weapon we gave you mortals? Now, rise up and try again.”

  I listen to his speech and count my blessings for still being alive.

  Father Gaynes is mad, I think to myself. He’s out of his mind. When all this is over, they really have to lock him up in a padded room. Clearly, no sane person could possibly talk like that.

  I lift my head up and watch Father Gaynes’ body getting covered in a cloud of black energy, which shines as though wrapped by velvet. White and purple lightning beams wrap the cloud as they pour out of the stone into it, and from there into his seemingly nebulous body, which appears to be right at the epicenter of the storm.

  Despite my paralyzing fear, I feel my gun rising as my hands, which are still clutching it, aim at Father Gaynes, who is now in my sights.

  “Now’s your chance! Use your weapon and free me from the burden of this earthly body. Free me!” His voice commands me.

  My eyes fill with tears. My finger is trembling over the trigger.

  This makes no sense, I’m trembling all over. No, it’s impossible, a voice runs through my mind. I can see practically nothing. My tears cannot stop running as my eyes fill with fear.

  The only thing that keeps me going right now is adrenaline.

  Here’s my chance. I have to shoot, but this is precisely what he wants; I can’t fall for his game.

  I am trembling all over, deafened by the sound of my own heart beating as if it was about to jump out of my body.

  “Shoot!” he calls out to me again.

  My hand is trembling over the trigger.

  Shoot him! There’s no chance he’ll survive a direct hit to the chest, the voice surges within me.

  Don’t fall for it, everything you’re experiencing now goes against everything you know; he’s asking you to shoot him. This must be a trap.

  “Shoot!”

  My finger pulls the trigger. The first shot hits Father Gaynes’ body. The second and third shots are easier.

  The room goes silent. All of the sudden, I hear an electric buzz followed by the sound of the light bulbs bursting one after the other. Electric flares begin to fly in every direction. Only the lights in the hall are still flickering against the darkness inside the cave.

  What have I done?

  I shouldn’t be here. I can’t see a thing.

  I hear the sound of a human body hitting the floor.

  It’s coming from the pool.

  My fear knows no end.

  This ain’t over.

  What have I done?

  The smell of sulfur fills the air.

  It’s the smell of a decaying corpse.

  What have I done?

  My eyes are beginning to get used to the dark.

  A pair of yellow lamps light up where Father Gaynes just stood.

  A purple-black figure shakes off the remains of Father Gaynes’ body and stands in front of me, still holding the crystal in its nebulous hands.

  This is the face of fear.

  No one should see the face of fear.

  No one should be exposed to this.

  I can’t cope with it, with this terror, with this smell of… of death.

  “You have set me free from the burden of this earthly body, and thanks to the energy of this shell I shall once again be able to assume my real body,” the voice whispers and wraps me around as it comes from within me.

  What the heck is this? It makes no sense. Whatever this is, it isn’t Father Gaynes anymore. Whatever this is, I am the only one around. I have to stop it from killing me, I shake off any hesitation I may have been harboring still. I pull the trigger once more. Click-click. The magazine’s empty.

  My hands are trembling as I try to put a new one in. It drops from my hand.

  I’m not to blame.

  I was sure I was doing the right thing.

  What have I done?

  One last magazine. Deep breath. I manage to arm my gun and watch the figure in front of me. I’m trembling all over uncontrollably.

  What are you afraid of, actually? A voice reverberates through my mind, and I reply, shouting deep in my mind: of that which I do not comprehend.

  This fear is unnatural, something primal, whose origin within me I don’t even realize.

  My trembling hand is aiming the gun at the head of this figure. Right at the last moment, I move my hand to the right.

  “No!” the voice says, as the three shots I fire hit the crystal and smash it.

  “No!” it shouts and lifts its hand, which was holding the stone.

  It now looks like the entire purple energy is pouring out, leaving the stone.

  “You shall pay for your disobedience!”

  The figure gestures with its hand, and out flies my gun from my own hand into its. It’s looking at my weapon and then aims at me as it attempts to get closer to me. Its figure resembles that of a man, but it consists of a thick, black and purple cloud, which is oozing to the floor. It’s losing its shape with each passing moment.

  Then, those yellow eyes shimmer, sending chills down my back and causing me to tremble again.

  This isn’t possible. It must be some sort of dream, a very bad dream.

  I suddenly see the creature sprouts wings. It grows three pairs of huge wings that unfold to six purple-black wings made of smoke.

  “Now,” it says, “your time to die has come.”

  It pulls the trigger.

  The sound of the shots fills the cave. I feel the bullets hitting me as though in slow-motion. Six bullets. It continues to pull the trigger even after the magazine runs out.

  The world is beginning to blur all around me. The figure continues to ooze as it seems to be tearing off bits of itself, pieces of solid, purple-black smoke. It lifts the pieces and throws them on the floor and at the walls.

  None of this makes sense.

  None of this is even possible.

  My vision is getting blurry. My head feels like it’s floating in the air.

  My hands are wet. Why are my hands wet?

  And sticky. They’re sticky too.

  I’m looking at my hands. They are red.

  I’m covered in blood. Who’s blood? Mine, probably. I just got shot.

  The muffled sound of megaphones in the distance. Then, in a split second, a huge explosion of bright white light, like a camera flash, an over-intensive flash, followed by a feeling of emptiness where the figure just stood. Everything goes dark. Dark and still.

  I smile as my body slides backwards to the ground, which is steeped in my own blood. At least this dark is nothing to be afraid of.

  Chapter 6

  Lights, I’m on the move. I’m hearing voices over me. I don’t understand what they’re talking about. I see nothing, only light. I cannot move. Why isn’t my body responding? That’s it, I am dead. This is the path to life after death, the tunnel of light everyone’s talking about. I am being led to the world to come. I wonder if my folks are here. The real ones. Perhaps I’ll see them here.

  A loud whistling i
n my ears. More and more light. I’m swimming in a pool of light, swimming without moving. Then again..

  Who’s whistling here?

  A punch to my chest. I jump.

  Hey, I am feeling my chest.

  Another whistle. Another blow to my chest. I begin to cough. I wanna raise my hand to my mouth and cover it, as it’s rude to cough without covering one’s mouth. But my hand still doesn’t do as I want.

  Someone is putting something over my mouth. Smells funny. Cold. It’s a bit like the smell of the first time it rains after a dry spell. Smells like sand.

  Someone is opening my eye. More light. Yeah, that’s really all I need right now. But hey, so many colors.

  I begin to see stuff. Is that it? Is my journey over? Am I on the other side of the tunnel?

  Hey, what’s Na’ama doin’ here? She’s not even supposed to be here. Maybe she went through the tunnel too. Perhaps she too died in the shootout down there. Well, at least I won’t be bored all by myself. But what will Aharon do, now that he is alone? Get along until he succeeds in putting another team together? Who would be willing to serve under him, with two police officers under his command dying while on duty? Hey, he’s here too! Did he die in the skirmish too? Wow, my entire unit is gone just like that in one evening. Well, at least we’re together. And who are all these people around us? The welcoming committee? Why am I still going? Why isn’t the light white anymore? Hey, here’s Na’ama again. What’s she sayin’? I can’t hear a thing. Hey, where is she going? Why is she crying?

  I wake up in a hospital bed. The flowers around me are dried up and the number of visitors has dwindled. Turns out it has been a week since I was injured.

  When you get shot in the course of duty, you have quite a number of visitors, including people you forgot you knew.

  The nightstand next to me is home to my future, nestled in the brown case file.

  I look at the file and at the empty bin by the bed. It’s empty because all the nurses are doing their duty faithfully. Seems like barely a moment ago, it was full of torn, crumpled pieces of paper. This report, the case file that will determine my future, has been something I’ve been filling in, then erasing; writing and writing, maybe three, four, five drafts. I’ve lost count already. What is there for me to write in there? The truth? What truly happened?

  Aharon heard the whole story from me. The entire thing. As he listened, he nodded and said the sedatives probably haven’t worn off yet, so he would come back the following day when they do. He came over the following day and heard the same story all over again, realized those weren’t the drugs talking, and left.

  He came back the day after with this here file containing a typed out case report, but this was what he wanted in the books, not the truth, not my truth. He explained to me that this was the truth the Police could live with, without the ‘incomprehensible event you’ve told me about’. He went on to say that were I to mention everything I had told him, ‘It will not look good on your personal file and could leave you at an awkward place with the committee that is supposed to have you reinstated after your injury.’

  His report was great. It put me in a positive light. It might even get me a promotion: I took the initiative, acted independently, saved the day and prevented a terrorist attack in the heart of Israel. That’s a great feat.

  Thing is, it isn’t the truth.

  I know what I saw. I experienced it. I can still smell the singed cloud around Father Gaynes. I can still see those yellow eyes whenever I close mine. I know what the truth is, and what Aharon wrote down is not the truth.

  So I try, honestly. I write it up, well, try to, but in the end, I always come back to the same line that echoes in my mind: You are filing a partial, untrue report. They will establish their conclusions based on a partial, incorrect case file. Anything that begins with this lie will be predicated on a lie rather than on actual events.

  A knock on the door. In comes Aharon.

  “Are you up? Is this a good time to talk?”

  I don’t think there will ever be a good time to talk about what had happened, I think to myself. But I offer a forced smile and reply.

  - Yeah, come on in, pull up a chair. Sorry I can’t get up to greet you.

  “How are you feeling?” He shakes my hands warmly.

  “Is there something you need? Can I get you anything?”

  Yes, sanity.

  - No, I’m fine. Thanks.

  He grabs the chair and sits near my bed as he lays his briefcase on the floor.

  “Are you done with the case file?” He nods at the file on the nightstand.

  - Yes. But you’re not going to like it’

  Aharon picks up the file and goes over its contents. Halfway through, I can already see him frown at what he’s reading.

  He finishes reading, closes the file and places it back by my bed.

  “Do you like being part of my unit?” He asks me all of a sudden. “Do you even like being on the force?”

  “Because,” he continues without letting me reply, “What you wrote in the case file,” he shakes his head, “No chance they will reinstate you if we file that pile of nonsense.”

  - I know what I saw.

  “It doesn’t matter what you saw. If you want to be a member of the club, part of the Force, you have to know where you need to be flexible at times—because the system is never flexible. It is up to us to be flexible.”

  - Do you recall how I ended up in the Counter Cult Squad? Do you remember my run-in with internal affairs? All I was supposed to do was be flexible and coordinate my version with the one the others on my team told them in order to avoid being investigated. Don’t you remember that I preferred to tell the whole truth, which in turn got me a year under investigation at the end of which they booted out of my own unit and very nearly kicked me out of the force altogether. That truth stuck me at home for practically two whole months. No, not because it’s my truth, it is simply the truth. I don’t lie. I just cannot embellish, cannot cut corners.

  - I know what I saw.

  Aharon nods and sighs. He bends over to his briefcase and pulls out this pile of paperwork, which he lays on my bed.

  - What’s this?

  “This,” he pauses for a moment, “is what happened at the tunnel.”

  I go over it, page after page of it, until I place them all back on my bed.

  - I know what happened down there. I know what I saw.

  “You lost a lot of blood. You were dead for a few minutes. You don’t know what you saw,” Aharon raises his voice. “You hallucinated this entire story of what you’ve seen. This,” he points at the paperwork, “This is what really happened. You got there and you defended yourself, got injured on duty and prevented a fanatic cult from blowing up Tunnel Road for thinking it somehow desecrated their church. No winged figures made of smoke, no yellow eyes shimmering in mid-air, no mention of someone so unreasonable he wants to blow the tunnels up just because of some crystal that was buried in that cave.”

  - Shell.

  I correct him quietly, my eyes fixed on the edge of the bed.

  - Shell. He said it was the shell, not the crystal, which gave him the energy. And the reason I know that is because he told me so.

  “Who told you?” Aharon is raising his voice even louder. “Don’t you realize you had already lost a lot of blood, and everything you’ve seen was a hallucination? Everything you’re describing, the figures of smoke, shells, ghosts and demons, it’s stuff straight out of your subconscious right before death? Don’t you see these are merely tricks the mind plays on you right before it shuts down? There are dozens of similar stories about people seeing things and encountering all sorts of things and speaking with things? That doesn’t make it real!”

  - Then perhaps they did see something, maybe they did discover something. You might be explaining all this away s
imply because it’s convenient for you do so.

  “It’s obvious to you that unless you pull your statement, they’ll have you declared unfit for duty and issue a final verdict more in line with this statement,” he nods towards the paperwork on my bed.

  “They will say you could have prevented that carnage down there, but eventually shot a ninety-year-old priest to death. The only thing you are blowing away here is your career on the force, surely you get that,” he takes my hand.

  “I took you in and made you part of my team despite everything you went through, despite what they said. I believed in you, gave you a home,” his voice softens. “Trust me, sign the new statement, and everything will turn out fine, you will walk out of here with a medal for putting yourself in harm’s way and for preventing that terrorist attack, and most important of all, we’ll have you back with us.”

  I nod and place my other hand on his.

  - You know that if I did that, I would hate myself for it and end up hating you for talking me into giving up my principles and hating every minute in a place that forces me to lie in order to get ahead.

  “You are throwing everything away, you know that,” he shakes my hand again.

  “You’re tossing aside all the work we’re doing. You have the talent and the passion we need to help those at the deep end, all those victims of cults, but you’re throwing it all away.”

  - Not everything. I am not throwing away the truth.

  Part Two

  August 2014

  Chapter 1

  I’m standing at the end of the street, watching the laundry, waiting for my clothes to be done. The cheapest way to wash your clothes when you’ve got no way to pay to have them washed, is to wait for someone to fill a machine up, turn it on and go about their business. Then, right before the machine reaches the spin cycle, all you have to do is add your own clothes to the mix.

  Oh, it’s important to do this with a woman’s pile, not a man’s. It happened on more than one occasion that the guys simply take all the clothes out of the machine and leave without checking them out.