Is it because he has the complete text? What is mine missing, then? Or is it something else?
“Doesn’t matter.” He took a sip of his water. “Just have to put the bastard out of commission, get that book from him before he can undo all my work…but how? How will I do that?”
Knock, knock.
“Sir?” Francis peeked his head into the room.
“What is it, Francis?”
“Sir…I…I really wanted to talk to you about giving her a break. Her vitals are starting to become a little erratic and her brain wave function is spiking; we’re needing to use more sedatives to keep her under, which is having a negative effect on her heart rate and blood pressure.”
Gregory nodded, rocking back and forth in his chair. He looked up at Francis. “You’re right.”
“I…I am?”
“Yes; she’s not helping me much in this case anyway. Go ahead, take her off the protocols for a few hours or so, see if her signs normalize, then put her back on the previous list. I need to handle this trouble the old-fashioned way.” He stood, picked up his cell phone. “Let me know if anything starts to look bad or changes, all right?”
“Sure, Mr. Caitlin, thanks!” Francis seemed giddy as he ran to give the angel some relief.
Gregory chuckled, then dialed a number, put his ear to the phone. He looked at the map spread out on his desk, where he had marked the hotel the demonling had traced Samuel to.
“Yes, officer? I need to report a crime…”
~~~
Sam woke, stretched out the kinks from the terrible Motel 6 bed, and headed to the bathroom. He rubbed the sore spots on his arms and legs from the stupid stunt he had pulled a couple of days ago, trying to get off the roof of Dr. Stone’s building; yesterday had been bad enough that all he had done was soak and read the material from the flash drive.
“At least the other window was open,” he thought to himself as he put his clothes on, grimacing as the cloth brushed against the bruises and cuts. Sam flipped his laptop open, brought up the paper again.
Dr. Stone’s research was interesting, to say the least. She had not only delved into the apocryphal Christian and Jewish testaments, she had interviewed dozens of people who had claimed they had encounters with angelic beings, transcribing each word they had said to her and trying to discern some common link amongst the experiences.
On Sam’s first read-through, he was disappointed; there were no angelic True Names written in the paper, although there was a whole section on the conjectured existence of archangels, who they might be, their responsibilities, et cetera, much of which Sam had heard about or read in college classes and at his mother’s house. Gabriel’s duties were in line with the qualities Mikey had assigned her; Gabriel was supposed to herald the end of the world with her horn, the Trump of Doom.
But no names, other than the standard English ones. So, Sam started a second read-through. Then a third.
Nothing.
At least, nothing until he hit the bibliography. One of the sources listed in Dr. Stone’s paper was another professor of angelology, now retired – Kurtis Birch, Oregon residence – and the information she cited came from his book, published in 2007, The Language of God and the Angels Revealed!, as well as a personal interview. He flipped to the relevant section of the paper. Here it was: a whole section describing how the conventional names for things were inadequate, and how angels would be able to speak the language of God Himself, the language of the creation of the universe.
Was it possible? Could he have actually been right? Actually figured out the True Name of the angels, or, at least, of one in particular? Sam changed over to his Safari browser, hit the Barnes and Noble website. Was the book available?
Not in print, but digital copies could be purchased. Sam logged in to his account, confirmed payment information. I’ll just read it on my Nook application.
His hand went to his pocket to grab his phone.
It wasn’t there, of course, and Sam groaned; he had given it to Sky-King, the genie, as incentive for his service. Crap. He shrugged, laughing at himself; there was nothing for it, was there?
Just need to download the app on my laptop, then. He started the download, then rubbed his stomach as it growled in distress. Guess I should pick up a snack real quick, too.
He grabbed his keys, wallet, put the Seals into a bag. Reached for the doorknob.
At first, Sam didn’t know exactly what had happened; it felt like a boxer had just punched him in the nose and laid him out flat on his back, but as his vision stopped blurring, he saw that the door had been bashed in and there were several SWAT officers leveling assault rifles at him.
“Don’t move!” Sam nodded, keeping his hands clearly visible. Another officer stepped forward and wrapped handcuffs around Sam’s wrists.
“Samuel Buckland, you are under arrest for the theft of confidential records and intellectual property,” said the first officer. “You have the right to remain silent…”
CHAPTER TEN
Sam sighed to himself, stretching out in his cell, staring at the ceiling. There was no choice but to confess, of course; they had the evidence, the testimony from Gregory Caitlin, from Ferdinand Gonzalez, Sam’s old boss. They had confiscated the flash drive, the computer, the book.
And his trial date had yet to be set. Naturally.
Sam sat up on his bed, rubbing his face. What now? He had prayed, asking God for a miracle, to free him, but no such luck; apparently, the descendants of Solomon were supposed to help themselves first and foremost.
But what could he do?
Days had gone by; Sam knew that he was lucky if the book was actually still in the evidence lockup at all. With Caitlin’s influence, he could easily have ‘convinced’ someone to pull it out of there, deliver it to him. Sam had a good memory, to be sure, but not a photographic one; he couldn’t remember the exact wording of the Seals, the exact structure of the diagrams. It was as much as he could remember to draw a few warding symbols on the window with his split peas; he hoped he remembered them from the University building accurately enough.
Sam rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes. Who was he kidding? He had really started to get caught up in it; the distraction, the quest…
Maybe it was just because I didn’t want to think about my parents anymore. He sighed. Maybe doing this, trying this, was a way to make it up to them.
He didn’t know. All that mattered right now was that Gregory Caitlin had imprisoned an Archangel, and was using her connection to God for himself. And he had won. Sam had lost.
Lost? Really?
The words stirred in Sam’s consciousness, but he did not think them; at least, he did not believe he had. In fact, they sounded like…
“…Gramma Em? Is that you?”
Isaiah 43:2, Sammy: Daniel in the lion’s den. His friends in the furnace. God protected them because of their faith. Have faith.
Sam sighed again. “It’s hard, Gramma; it’s hard to have faith when you can’t do anything.”
Having faith is doing something, Sammy. It’s trusting in God.
Sam sat in the middle of his cell, pushing away his plate of food as he did so. “All right. Faith. Trust.” He sat in the lotus position, meditating.
“God will provide. God will provide.”
~~~
“Gregory, when are you coming home? What’s going on?”
It was the third time that his wife had called today. Gregory had been away from home for over a week now, and the worry showed in her voice. Gregory sighed, pulling his attention away from the silver-clad book before him.
“I told you, honey, I’m doing important work and I’ll be home as soon as I can. Just be patient; I promise that what I’m doing will change everything for us.”
Susan started to cry. “Gregory, I don’t want everything to change. I just want you, the man I married, the man I fell in love with. You’re scaring me, with your secret emails and phone calls.” There was a pa
use on her end of the line. “I went into your ‘special’ room, Greg.”
Gregory’s eyes had drifted back to the book; now they snapped away, and his head came up. “What? You did what?”
“I thought you were cheating on me. You were acting so distant, so strange, since a few weeks ago…so I went to see if there was something in those private emails.” She sobbed before continuing. “All that ‘special research’ department stuff…it sounded really scary, Greg. Who are these people? How do they come up with all those things?”
Gregory’s face had turned red; veins stood out on his neck and face. His pulse pounded in his ears, almost blocking out his wife’s voice. “I told you never to go in there, Susan. You promised you would never go in there.”
Susan started crying louder. “I know! But I was so worried! You need to come home; we need to talk this out, work it out. I miss you, I need you…I love you. Come home, please, Greg. Come home.”
Something in Susan’s voice touched a corner of Gregory’s mind, dulling the fury that clouded the rest of it. He loved this woman; he hated to see her suffering, to hear her upset, sad like this. And she was right, he had been acting differently.
And, after all, he had won, hadn’t he? Samuel Buckland was in jail, the book had been ‘lost’ from the evidence lockup, and the angel had begun responding as expected again.
For the first time in a long time, a genuine smile was stretching across Gregory’s face. Susan’s voice rang on the other end of the line.
“Greg? Greg? Are you there? Did you hang up on me?”
“No, love, I’m still here. You’re right; we need to talk. I shouldn’t have hidden anything from you. When I get home, I’ll tell you everything, okay? I’m on my way right now.”
There was a muffled sniffle on the other end of the connection. “Okay, Greg. I’ll be waiting for you. I love you, you know.”
“I love you too, Suz. See you soon.”
Gregory grabbed his keys, wallet, phone…and the Seals under his arm. One thing to attend to before leaving. Still smiling, he headed out the door toward the main research chamber.
~~~
Sam opened his eyes after what felt like hours, hours in which he had focused on two words only: Trust. Faith. Trust. Faith. He didn’t open his eyes because he was tired of meditating, though; on the contrary, it was relaxing to focus on a single thought, and he had practiced meditation and trance before.
It was because he smelled honeysuckle.
As his eyes opened, they fell on a verdant field, grass waving under a cloudy blue sky, nature’s sounds and smells all around him. A bluebird sat on a fig tree nearby, and the breeze played on Sam’s face.
Is this…am I dreaming? Is this a trance? I’ve done that before, but it’s never been so real…
Sam stood, feeling the grass under his shoes give way, the moisture in the air and in the ground a sharp contrast to the prison cell he had just been in. All the aches from the uncomfortable prison bed were gone, and he wasn’t even hungry.
“Hello, Samuel.”
Sam nodded his head; he was starting to get used to random people appearing and talking to him. He turned to see who was speaking.
It was her.
Emaciated, bleeding from holes in her arms, her face bruised, hair untamed and tangled. Her eyes were wide, blue underneath the blood in them. Sam walked toward her, hand out, but stopped before reaching her, his eyes tearing.
“…Gabriel?” He closed his outstretched fingers into a fist. “Is…is it really you?”
The girl nodded, the smile on her face out of place amongst the widespread evidence of torture on her body. “It’s good to meet you, Samuel. I hope to see you in person soon.”
“How…how is this possible? I thought you were trapped.”
“Yes. Your enemy has a less than perfect understanding of the arts of Solomon, and the bindings on me are weak. Unfortunately, I am weaker; only your open state of mind allows me to speak to you, and how long that will last, even I cannot say.”
“Where are you? How can I help you?”
“By remembering that you are the Keeper of the Keys, Samuel. Remember that God has granted you these gifts; He has not forsaken you. Call on the Keys, Samuel. You will find that they still recognize you.”
“But if I don’t have the book, how…”
Sam was unable to finish speaking before Gabriel’s form began to waver. The smile on her face disappeared, to be replaced with a sullen sadness.
“What’s going on?” Sam reached for her shoulder, but his hands moved through her like mist. “Where are you going?”
“He has sealed the weakness in his bindings, using the knowledge he stole from you.” Her voice was weak, thin, far away. “I wish you well, Keeper, and hope that your newfound faith can carry you through this trial. God have mercy on you, Samuel Buckland.”
And then she was gone, evaporated into thin air, along with the entire meadow. Sam was sitting once again on a hard, tile floor, pains in his butt forcing him to stand. He rubbed the sore spot as he considered what had just happened. Caitlin had the book, that was certain now, and he had already figured out how to use it to make his own traps better. Fantastic.
Gabriel…God, she looked awful. What was that bastard doing to her? She looked like a concentration camp experiment victim. And obviously Caitlin knew what she was, knew that she was an angel…did he know she was Gabriel? No way to be sure.
“The Keys…” He clenched his fists in anger, despair; he stared at them at the writing which covered them…the writing which, looking closely, he recognized for the first time.
As the Book itself had responded to his needs, to his thoughts, so too did the writings on his hands, forming themselves into symbols, diagrams, sigils.
A summoning circle, created in perfect miniature detail, inscribed on his palm. Just like the one he had used to conjure the djinn. Sam bowed his head, murmuring.
“Thank you, Almighty God, for your deliverance and your faith in me.”
~~~
“Sir, she’s acting up again.”
Francis looked over the shoulder of the junior tech at the data. She was right; the subject’s brain wave patterns had started to normalize into much more “awake” waveforms, although there was no way she would regain consciousness with the sedatives she was being subjected to. Francis tapped at his chin for a moment, then brought up his browser on his tablet. In a few moments he had found what he was looking for; an article on brainwave patterns. It confirmed what his first impressions had told him: the subject had gone from her normal REM sleep beta waves, in which the researchers were able to “extract” the answers to preprogrammed queries they had inputted, to a slightly more regular, more “awake” version of those waves. The differences were subtle, but present, and so it was obvious that she had gone from a sleep state to a state of lucid dreaming, exerting control over her dreaming self.
This was the first time Francis had seen this happen since he had joined the project. He looked at the tech who had reported the anomaly, then back at the data.
What is she dreaming?
Francis glanced over at the phone; he knew he should call Mr. Caitlin, let him know something was going on…and yet, Francis hesitated. He was curious, yes, wondered what exactly could be going on in that little girl’s mind that was so special, so important, that it gave her the ability to predict stock market shifts, determine the necessary adaptations to jump technology forward by twenty years in computer software systems, and report on particular individuals.
Such as Samuel Buckland. Paging through his tablet, Francis looked over the notes he had reported to Caitlin when they had last spoken about Buckland. The inputted query was: What will Samuel Buckland do next to stymie my goals?
The answer: He will converse with Dr. Martha Stone, a woman you know well. She has the information he seeks, and can put him on the path to throwing you down.
Francis drew his hand over his mouth, considering. He knew tha
t Caitlin was up to something…untoward…down here; after all, how often do you dope up an eleven- or twelve- year old girl to extract visions of the future from her brain? And have them be right?
And then this Buckland. Was he trying to stop Caitlin from…well, whatever he was doing? Caitlin had sure seemed frustrated by his inability to figure out what Buckland was doing, what he was up to…and then, that worry had vanished just today, and Mr. Caitlin was all smiles, no wrinkles but laugh lines on his face and a great cheery greeting for all. He had spent most of his time holed up in his office, reading (at least, as far as Francis could tell through the windows).
For the first time, Francis wondered if he was on the right side. For the first time, Francis realized he was on a side.
“Anything new?” Francis started, and spun around.
“No, no, Mr. Caitlin.” Francis flushed. “Everything’s nominal. All readings are fine.” The assistant glanced up at Francis’ face, but did not speak.
“Good, good.” Caitlin adjusted the large, heavy-looking book under his arm and smiled. “Can I go in there for a moment? There are a few things I need to take care of.”
“Umm…of course, sir. Go right ahead.” Francis reached out and pressed the red door release button; the hydraulic locks disengaged and Caitlin walked down the ramp toward the room where the girl was imprisoned.
Why isn’t she at least on a bed? Caitlin approached her nigh-crucified form. Does she have to be hanging on the wall like that? Why…
What Francis saw next stopped his thoughts short. He could not believe his eyes.
Caitlin stepped behind the girl and pulled down the curtain from the window she had been stretched over. Sunlight flooded into the room. Francis saw the window now; it had been painted on in black, with strange sigils and circles and stars, like something he had seen in a movie once…or maybe it was a comic book.
Caitlin was referencing the book in his arms, glancing back at the diagram and making corrections to it, adding a symbol here, amending a line there.
“Sir?” Francis tore his eyes away from the strangeness before him to see what the young lady had noticed.
The girl’s brain waves had begun to slip back into true dreams, almost as soon as Caitlin had begun his work with the diagram. As the politician-to-be continued, Francis could track his activity with the decrease in awareness recorded on the readout.