CHAPTER 15. ALWAYS SUFFERING
“Well this guy is obviously a big dumb friggin’ moron,” Gil said. He had another bloody nose. Without anything left to stuff it with, however, he was merely plugging it with the pad of his thumb, his head tilted back.
“No argument, Boss. But how bad is this?”
Gil sighed. “Well, I gotta admit, I would feel pretty stupid if I died at the hands of this jamoke.”
“Speak for yourself, Abercrombie,” Jane said. “Some of us are actually good at our jobs.”
The three of us were lined up firing squad style against one of the temple’s walls with the four Gallas staring us down. Dawkins was on his hands and knees in the middle of the floor, drawing all kinds of scrambled runes on the granite.
“How exactly did he summon those things?” I asked.
“With the book,” Gil said. “With that Ddraig Goch, a monkey could summon the Galla. Hell, a monkey could probably summon all seven.” He scoffed, “I mean, it’s basically just reading an incantation. The friggin’ book does the rest.”
“Was that what you were–”
“Gesturing with my eyes? Well yeah, duh. Can’t you pick up on the signals? When I go like this,” he waggled his eyes, “you’re supposed to know I mean ‘go that way, grab the magic textbook, and watch out for the crazy wizard guy.’ Try to remember that for next time, eh?”
“Yeah, you got it, Boss. So what’s our next move again?”
Gil sighed. “I’m workin’ on that.”
Dawkins straightened up with a groan and pocketed the chalk, wiping his dusty hands across his black robe. “That looks pretty good,” he said. He walked back to the altar and lifted a heavy, leather-bound book. He flipped a few pages before stopping. “Ah, here we go.” His eyes moved from the floor to the page and back again, surveying his work. “Not bad at all,” he said finally.
“So I have to ask,” Gil said. “Where did you get it?”
Dawkins raised his head and smiled. “I’m sorry, where did I get what?”
“Your lovely sense of humor.”
“What?”
“The book,” Gil said. “Where did you get the book?”
Dawkins smiled once again. “It should have been mine all along, you know. I was supposed to have inherited it, just like my mother and father were supposed to have inherited it.”
“All right, so who were your father and mother?” Gil asked.
“My father’s name was Robert Dawkins.” Dawkins smiled. “And my mother’s was Eliza Hess, but don’t expect to recognize any names. You won’t. It’s more complicated than my mother and father.” He flipped a few more pages and turned his back on us.
“How so?” Gil asked.
Dawkins fetched a handful of other relics off the altar and returned with them resting on the open grimoire in his hands. “Because of what should have happened, not because of what did happen. This all should have been mine. Callowleigh, this temple, the library, the books. Do you know how long it took me to get in position to even enter these grounds? My grounds? Years. Years upon years.” He shook his head and knelt, resting the grimoire on the granite beside him and setting out a smattering of bones across the chalk runes.
“What do you mean?” Gil asked. “Tell me why this should have been yours.”
“Was your grandfather’s name Abraham? Abraham Hess?” Jane interrupted, breaking her silence.
Dawkins froze, a bone dangling from his fingertips. “What did you say?” he asked.
This time with more confidence. “Your grandfather, his name was Abraham Hess, wasn’t it?”
Dawkins rose unsteadily, joints cracking. “How did you know that?”
“Yeah, how did you know that?” Gil asked.
“Abercrombie, I told you before: I do my research.”
“What do you know of my grandfather?” Dawkins asked angrily. “How do you know that name?”
Jane smiled. “I already said, I did my research before coming here. I know the name Hess because I read pages upon pages about Callowleigh and the town of Peach Bottom before I stepped inside the county. Of course I’ve heard the name Abraham Hess.”
Dawkins took a few steps towards her. “What do you know of him?”
Gil stage-whispered from the side of his mouth. “Uh, yeah. A teeny bit of intel, please...”
“The Callow family was the most well-established, well to-do family in Peach Bottom, Pennsylvania for years and years. Until a fire killed them. The second most well to-do family were the Hesses.”
“That’s correct,” Dawkins said slowly. “Please continue.”
“I found unofficial minutes from the inquiry put together looking into the fire. From what I read, prior to the fire it was expected by many that Abraham Hess would marry the young Sophia Callow. Because of that, a few members of the committee named Hess as a suspect following the Callows’ untimely deaths. Eventually, he was exonerated because of a lack of hard evidence, although I could find no reason to list him as a suspect at all. Essentially, the marriage would have linked the two most wealthy families in the region. It would have helped Hess greatly.”
“Yes, it would have,” Dawkins bemoaned. “The inquiry almost ruined grandfather, but they had no evidence. There was no evidence left. It was his fault, that terrible servant boy’s, that is. That filthy garden boy who ruined everything. He ruined my grandfather’s life, ruined my father’s life, ruined my life. Without that damned boy, Callowleigh would be home. Grandfather would have married Sophia, and all would be as it should. Callowleigh never would have been the awful leper museum it became after the war. The library never would have been forgotten; the books would not have been locked away. Even they would have been mine. But that boy, that little... little shit had to ruin it all.”
“Little shitboy...?” Gil said.
“Deacons Fehr,” I guessed.
“Don’t speak his name,” Dawkins said, turning to me with fire in his eyes. “Don’t you dare say his name in front of me.”
“How did he...?” Gil began.
“That Callow girl fell in love with him,” Dawkins hissed. “It was a scandal, even then, but those horrible parents wouldn’t send the boy away. He was filthy, son of a drunkard, unfit to marry a pig. If they’d only sent him away, away from Sophia, how life would have been different.”
I watched him in amazement. It was hard to even fathom the chip still on this guy’s shoulder from, what? 90 years ago?
“Who started the fire?” Jane asked.
“It was... It was not supposed to destroy everything,” Dawkins sat back, picking his fingernails nervously. “It wasn’t even supposed to kill everyone. It was supposed to burn outside the library, driving the family away from it. Driving them outside. The Callows knew what books they possessed, and they hoarded them. They didn’t want anyone else to get them. Once the wedding had been called off, grandfather needed a way to get the books. The fire was not supposed to kill them. It was a distraction, only a distraction. It was supposed to clear the house so the books could be taken.”
“Then what happened?” I asked.
“It was a dry season,” Dawkins said softly. “Grandfather did not know, he did not understand. The wind came and set the grasses on fire. The grasses burned and the fire spread. It grew. When it was over, they were all dead. The house was locked down and the books sealed inside. The family’s legacy was to live on in the library, and all their books were donated to the state and used as a backbone for the sanatorium’s library, the Callow Library.”
“So much for your grand inheritance,” Gil said.
“It was supposed to be mine,” Dawkins mewed. “All mine. It would have changed my life. I could have been a great man; no, I would have been a great man. And I would be home right now.” He sighed, returning to his knees, returning to spreading the bones across the runes.
“And what happened to Fehr?” I asked.
Dawkins smirked. “Got a measly degree and lobbied for a job here at the hospital. He took o
ver for the Callows, watching over their precious books. He watched them right up until he died, destitute and alone.” Dawkins enjoyed the last words, stretching them out with relish.
Dawkins stood, content with the layout of bones and runes that covered much of the temple floor. “Are you ready?” he asked. “Since returning, I have been trying to open a portal to the dark beyond. When it opens, this house will be filled with the incredible power it deserves. The power from below. My Galla servants are just the beginning. Callowleigh, my home, will be great and powerful again, and all shall know my name. Know it and fear it.”
Gil sighed. “Okay, so sometimes the caretaker is the ageless, demon summoning sorcerer with infinite black magic power.”
Dawkins smiled at him and gestured to the white Galla. “The woman,” he said. “Bring her to the edge. She will be our bait. We will use her blood.” Jane opened her mouth but did not speak as the pale-skinned Galla carried her to the edge of the runes and dropped her like a life-sized chess piece.
Dawkins smiled and focused on the text in his hands. With a deep breath, he began reading. The words meant nothing, but the instant he began speaking, the runes began to move. So did the granite floor, coming to life as if the very surface was boiling.
Ripples spread across the floor, radiating out from the center rune like waves on a pond. The smile on Dawkins face grew. At the center, a pinhole of red light came to life, shooting a bright, powerful beam straight up to the shadowy ceiling. Like a whirlpool, the center of the floor began to sink, slowly broadening with each passing moment. Jane edged back, but her Galla sentinel pushed her to the edge once more. Dawkins kept reading.
“Okay,” Gil said. “So this is where we need to throw the Hail Mary pass.” He looked at me. “You wanna bum rush the Galla, and I go for the old dude, or vice versa?”
“There’s gotta be a better plan that that, Boss.”
“Well, okay, maybe you’re right. How ‘bout we both try and bum rush the old dude. All we gotta do is get the book.”
“Wait,” I said. “Look.”
Beyond the edge of the rippling granite, something was rising. Pale and translucent, it grew from the granite like a puff of smoke. Slowly, it began to take shape.
“It’s... it’s Fehr,” I whispered.
Gil’s mouth hung open. “That can’t... he can’t.” He shook his head. “He’s not powerful enough.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“He can’t do anything. What’s he here to do? Watch?!”
Fehr stood at full height a few paces behind Dawkins. He took a few slow steps forward, his hands hanging down at his ghostly sides.
“Push him,” I said. “Take the book. Do something!”
“He can’t,” Gil said dejectedly. “He can’t do anything. He is only a ghost, he’s not powerful enough.”
“Let’s attack the Galla,” I said. “Make a rush, cause a distraction...”
Gil’s face was pale, his eyes locked on Fehr’s ghost. “No,” he whispered. “We can’t. I can’t.”
“What? A second ago–”
A belch of fire from the center of the widening gyre interrupted me. Jane gasped and pushed back against her demon babysitter. The portal opening in the floor was growing. Long curved bodies of snakes crawled up the sloping sides and slithered over Jane’s feet and across the granite. A flutter escaped the pit, and I saw a flurry of black bats rise into the rafters. Dawkins laughed madly but continued reading.
“Boss,” I said. “What’s wrong with you? What the hell’s going on?”
I turned away from Gil’s stricken face, following his gaze. Fehr was walking slowly away from Dawkins, his ghostly body moving as if weighed down by heavy shackles.
“What’s he doing?” I asked. “Not helping! He’s not helping. Come on, Boss, we need to do something!”
“All right,” he said, his eyes blinking as if he’d just awoken from a trance. “All right. On the count of three. Are you ready?”
I nodded.
“One,” we said together.
Fehr took a few more steps along the edge of the widening portal. Dawkins laughed again as a three-headed serpent crawled forth from the pit, three finger-like necks twisting around Jane’s ankles.
“Two.”
Fehr turned, zeroing in on something. I squinted. It was one of the bones that Dawkins had laboriously placed at the outskirts of the portal. It was a tiny small bird’s skull, although not just a skull anymore, it was glowing, vibrating with power as it stabilized the portal. Slowly, the distance between Fehr and the bone shortened. With a roar, a manticore leapt up from the depths of the pit, teeth bared.
“Three.”
Gil and I charged the nearest two Galla. I knocked mine backwards, but Gil quickly found himself tangled in a storm of wings and talons.
My Galla stumbled backwards and fell with me on top of it. I landed a few good elbows to the jaw before Dawkins’ screaming interrupted me.
I turned to see Fehr bending over the small skull, his ghostly form moving in terribly slow motion. I remembered Gil’s words, “He can’t, he’s not powerful enough” and prayed he was wrong. All he needed to do was shift the precisely placed skull to unsettle the rune and break the spell’s potency.
“Do it, Fehr!” I shouted. “Just move the damned thing!”
He extended one long ghostly finger towards the small bone lying on the floor and paused just inches from it. The old specter closed his eyes.
The moment seemed to last forever.
Then he reached out and inched the bone, overturning it and moving it just beyond the edges of the rune on which it lay.
A bright light exploded up from the floor, the portal beginning to waver as it lost its focus. Bolts of lightning belched outward, illuminating the temple in crazy colors as the creatures filling the room began to feel the magnetic pull back from where they came. Jane leapt backwards, kicking snakes from her legs as she fell into the arms of the waiting Galla at her back.
The manticore slid back into the portal first, claws grabbing desperately on the bare granite for some purchase before it slipped down into the portal with a shriek.
Dawkins continued reading, the nonsensical words exploding from his lips as he flipped pages, his eyes wide and watching as his creations were stolen from him.
Fehr collapsed onto the temple floor, his face an equal mix of jubilation and terrible exhaustion. His arms fell at his sides as his weary eyes closed.
I stumbled off the Galla and darted toward Dawkins, my feet careful not to cross the edge of the shrinking portal. Behind me, I heard shouting. I cast a glance over my shoulder in time to see two Gallas abandon Jane and Gil as they took to the air after me.
Snakes writhed in nests and were pulled across the floor in front of me. I leapt over tangled messes of them and ran through a swirling cloud of bats as they were sucked back down into to pit. All the while, Dawkins continued reading, his voice quickening as he watched his terrible future crumble around him. Each passing word grew increasingly desperate.
I ran through Fehr’s prone ghost before colliding with Dawkins and sending the old man to the floor. The book skittered out of his hands and slid across the tile to the altar dais. Dawkins turned on me, teeth open savagely, and lashed out at my face, his nails tearing my skin. I hit him once, twice, bloodying his nose and dropping him to the floor. Done with him, I moved on, running past him for the grimoire.
From behind, a Galla hit me full force, knocking me to my knees. Dawkins rose unsteadily to his feet. I looked up to see him stumble past me, arm outstretched towards the book. I don’t know how many Gallas were on me, but they’d lost sight of Gil. He streaked past us with Jane close at his heels. Skidding to a stop at the altar, he caught up with Dawkins and jumped on him: geriatric melee part 2. Grabbing a handful of the old man’s hair, Gil spun him around and laid him out with a right hook across the jaw. I could hear the crack from where I lay under the pile of demons. Dawkins went down and di
dn't get up.
Even before Dawkins hit the floor, Jane had the book. She knelt, flipping pages feverishly as a Galla rose from off my back and descended upon her. Gil backpedaled, putting his body in front of hers and took the full force of the attack, the Galla throwing him back against the altar with a clattering of relics and candelabras.
I gasped for breath, struggling against the weight that was crushing me, throwing elbows and kicks as best I could. At a certain point, I could see no more, but I heard it when Jane began reading.
The effect was instantaneous. The Gallas on my back began to scream and dissolve, their bodies burning with a heatless fire. Slowly, their combined weights dissipated. Writhing and roaring, the beasts seemed to melt away, leaving only smoldering heaps of ashes and a few bones behind.
When I stood, nothing but smoking ash tumbled off my scorched clothing. The bull horns stood out prominently among the glowing embers lying on the temple floor. Jane was still reading, but it was only for posterity. Her face was pale and sweaty, but the portal was no more. The floor had returned to, well, being a floor. Chalky ruins and a few scattered relics were all that remained.
Finally, Gil rested a hand on her shoulder, and only then did she stop. She took a long deep breath, then another.
“I think it’s over,” Gil said. He was huffing and puffing, his nose bleeding freely from both nostrils. At his feet, Dawkins was still out cold and Gil was tearing pieces from the dark robe the older man wore. After a minute, he stuffed the cotton wads up his nose, stemming the bleeding. “Ah, that’s better,” he said.
I took an uneasy step over to where Fehr lay on the ground. His eyes were closed and his mouth cracked open. I knelt at his side.
“Fehr?” I said softly. “Mr. Fehr can you hear me?”
The ghost opened his eyes. Yes, I can hear you, he said in a perfectly audible voice that had not been spoken.
Gil took a few tentative steps towards us. “How did you do that?” he asked softly. “How did you move that relic? It should have been... You should not have been able to do so. It is impossible.”
Fehr smiled. I have been trapped as a ghost for so very long, good sir. I have spent these many years of my death preparing for such a moment as this. I could not stop the book last time when Robert Dawkins came for it, and all the patients were killed because of it. I didn’t know enough; I didn’t understand. But after that, I promised myself it would not happen again. I promised Sophia. Over the years, I studied; I prepared. I waited and I protected the books as I said I would. I promised, you see. Even when I died, I didn’t stop. After my death, my power was diminished, but I still vowed I would not stop. Not ever.
He sighed, a fine golden dust escaping from his lips. His ghostly form faded for a moment before returning.
“He is... disappearing,” Gil said.
“What?” I asked.
“Ghosts,” Gil whispered, “are only energy, and when the energy is used up, nothing remains. When nothing remains, they... they disappear.”
It is nearly my time, Fehr said. Finally. Will you take the books, sirs? Will you protect them? I saw you risk your lives to prevent the gate from opening. You stopped a great evil tonight. Please, tell me: will you take the books and protect them?
Gil nodded. “I think we can manage that, my friend. Rest your eyes. You are nearly free of this world. Do you know what comes next?”
I will be returned to Sophia in Paradise. As a hero, I pray. I fulfilled my vow. I fulfilled it.
“You did that, my friend,” Gil said softly.
With a last sigh, Fehr exhaled the last of himself into the air in a soft golden cloud, his ghostly body fading with it. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, he was gone.
Gil sat back on his haunches. “So he wasn’t the one behind it all,” he said, smiling sadly. “He spent these years as a ghost watching over the grimoires. I didn’t know the Callows were guardians, but it makes sense if Eleanor Robbes-Grillet inherited their property. She is, after all, a guardian herself.” He stood with a groan, his joints creaking.
“So Jane, I reckon Fehr’s ghost sent your Telex from Callowleigh, not Dawkins. He called you here. You were his last hope. He knew he couldn’t last much longer. It was blind luck that we came here tonight at all, big man.” Gil laughed sadly. “Had that damn cell phone worked, you woulda been on your own, little lady.” He smiled over his shoulder. “Jane?”
She wasn’t there. I stood and took a slow lap around the room’s darkened corners. When I returned, Gil was seated on the altar, shaking his head.
“She’s gone,” I said.
He nodded, resigned. “And she took the book.”