In Tongues of the Dead (21 page)

Benicio had fallen asleep.

He couldn't have slept more than a few hours since this whole mess had begun. It was starting to wear him down.

He slept and he dreamed.

Images swept around, swirling as though caught up in a tornado. Men from ancient times, men with unkempt beards. He saw shimmering angels, heard women screaming, saw the hand of God reaching out.

The scene shifted.

He saw a crowd of men standing before a stone temple carved into the side of a hill. One man confronted the crowd, his face a mask of anger. He was wrapped in a rough sheet and wore sandals on his blackened feet. It was a scene from ancient times. It was a scene from men's earliest days in their newfound relationship with God.

Benicio could hear no words, but the man's outrage was evident. The crowd cowered in shame. They were being scolded.

Down the road a group of women were huddled. Their piercing eyes shone through shawls that covered their heads and most of their faces. Many of them had babies swaddled in their arms. The women were crying — pleading — for something. Benicio could not hear their words.

And then everyone stopped. Everyone. Even the outraged man at the head of the temple.

Benicio shifted his gaze and found the source of the disruption. Someone new was coming. A man was walking across the pathway to the temple. Only it wasn't a man — not a normal man.

He was clean-shaven with short hair. His robe was a pristine white without a hint of stain or dirt. He too wore sandals but his feet were not dirty. The man strode evenly, confidently to the group.

But there was something else.

The man's skin glowed. It was something you might miss at a glance but as you watched it was striking. The man's slight yellow-orange tint seemed to have a life of its own. It virtually pulsed as the man continued to walk.

And the man was tall — at least a foot and a half taller than the largest man in the assembly before the temple. As he neared them the size difference became more obvious and the crowd began shuffling to clear a pathway.

Benicio glanced at the outraged man. He no longer seemed overcome with anger but was quickly sinking into fear. He had slowly moved closer to the temple doorway.

The new man continued forward. Then something else happened. There must have been a loud noise or something because everyone, including the new man, jumped as though startled. And before anyone could regain their composure an object came hurtling down from above and slammed into the ground at the feet of the new man.

The crowd suddenly drew back, climbing over one another to put distance between themselves and the fallen object.

The new man crouched down and put a hand on it.

The thing lying in the dirt was bright but virtually transparent. Benicio was sure he could see right through it to the rocks beneath.

The glowing man put two hands against it and rolled the
thing over. It flopped awkwardly and spread out. Legs uncurled and extended from beneath it while a large wing flapped against the dirt, causing a swirl of dust.

An angel.

Benicio was looking at an angel spread out in the dirt.

An angel that had just been discarded from heaven like garbage.

The glowing man bent over and kissed it lightly on the head.

Then it grew dark. Clouds rolled through so quickly that it was as if the lights had been turned out. Benicio squinted. The angel and the man continued to provide some slight amount of illumination from the glow of their skin.

Black clouds rolled through the daytime sky, crashing against one another and diving down towards the ground as though they were alive.

Then a voice. Only this time Benicio could hear it.

Abomination no more
.

Pandemonium. Everyone began running — the men in the crowd, the angry man at the front of the temple, and the group of women with their children clutched in their arms.

Everyone ran except for the glowing man and the angel.

The glowing man stood, dropped his arms to his sides, and lifted his face to the black sky.

As Benicio watched, the air around the man took life. It swirled around him, darting up and down his body. The man looked to be in severe agony, as though his life were being sucked away. He arched his back in spasm and jerked as the air continued to move.

But a face darted into Benicio's line of sight. Without warning he was suddenly staring into the eyes of one of the women, a baby still clutched to her chest. She whispered to Benicio, “The children are the key to the secrets. They belong to everyone.”

Benicio wanted to answer her but couldn't. He wanted to ask what was going on.

She spoke again. “Go now. Find Dr. Tunnel. Maury and Jeremy are not the real enemies. Seventy generations has come to an end. Beware the fathers.”

He blinked and opened his eyes.
Seventy generations!
He'd heard that phrase before. But where? He suddenly became aware that someone was watching him. Matthew stood next to the bed, his face only inches from the priest's. Benicio let out a little yelp.

“What are you doing?” he barked before he could stop himself. He couldn't yet tell if he was awake or asleep, but the furnishings of the room were starting to look familiar. He was in the hotel room.

Matthew didn't react, didn't say anything.

Benicio's eyes searched the room. He felt an enormous sense of urgency. He looked out the window. It was morning. He'd slept through the night.

“Put your shoes on,” he said to Matthew, then got up and went to the door. He looked through the peephole, then opened the door slowly and glanced up and down the hall. No one.

He closed the door. “Let's get ready,” he said. “We have to go meet someone. He's really nice. I'm sure you'll like him.”

Jake absentmindedly watched the school bus pull away. Normally he would see Emily on the bus and then rush back to his station wagon so he could stay in front of the bus. He hated driving behind it and having to wait at every stop it made. Today he couldn't concentrate. The bus was turning the corner at the end of the street before he even started to the car.

He got in behind the wheel, his thoughts all over the map. He was worried about Wyatt. He was surprised and confused by Benicio's call on Saturday. On the one hand it would be good to see Benicio, but he just didn't have the strength to take on more problems. Not right now.

He knew his first patient was at eight-thirty. If he could just get through the morning and wrap up some business then he could be at the hospital all afternoon. He dropped into the driver's seat and put the car in gear.

Mrs. Tanya Meeling. Quiet, older lady. Nice. Normal. Religious. A little plump and very grandmotherly, which was appropriate given her seven grandchildren.

She perched glumly on the couch. Tears streaked her face and drew some dark mascara down her cheeks. She was one of those older women who carefully did her makeup every morning, but it only gave her wrinkled face a strange, artificial quality. Jake sat patiently. Sometimes he let the silence sit in the room for a full ten minutes, waiting for Mrs. Meeling to compose herself.

They were on minute six.

She took a deep breath. “He's such a bastard. Why does he need to do that? Doesn't he know what he's done to me?”

“I won't make excuses for his behavior. He has an illness, but that isn't an excuse,” Jake replied.

Her tears surged again. “But my life is over. It's over. He's wrecked everything.”

Jake opened his mouth to answer but before he could speak there was a loud bang from the waiting room. Then there were voices, then urgent whispering. He frowned.

“Just one second,” he said to Mrs. Meeling, and held up a finger. He moved to the door and opened it a crack. He saw magazines on the floor and a man picking them up. He saw that everything had been knocked off the bookshelf. Then he saw a small boy.

Jake cleared his throat, and the man stood. It was Benicio Valori.

“Hey,” Jake said warmly. “Ben.”

“Jake!” Benicio moved toward him, hand out. “I'm really sorry to just show up here. I need to talk to you.”

They shook hands. “I'm in a session right now.”

“We don't mean to bother you. We'll wait.”

Jake frowned, looked at the boy, then Benicio. “Okay. Twenty minutes.” He returned to the office, closed the door.

“Sorry about that, Mrs. Meeling. Where were we?”

The rest of Mrs. Meeling's session slid past quickly. Jake forced himself to pay attention, but it was difficult.

When they finally reached their time Jake stood. “Things seem really out of control now, but you'll get through this, Mrs. Meeling. You have your children and your grandchildren to think of. They need you. You need to do what's right for yourself.”

She struggled to stand, wiggling herself to the edge of the couch. “I know,” she grunted, “but it's just been so long. I don't know what I'd do without him.”

“I'll see you again next week,” Jake said. “Don't worry about it until then. We'll work it out together.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Tunnel. I don't know what I would have done without you. You're the only person I can talk to — the only person who could possibly understand what I'm going through.”

He nodded, then opened the inner office door, and she stepped out. As most patients do, she reflexively looked away from the other faces in the waiting room. There seemed to be an unwritten rule not to make eye contact with other patients in a psychologist's waiting room. It would break the illusion that your visit was anonymous. She hurried to the hallway and was gone.

Jake looked at the boy and then to Benicio. “What's going on? And who is this little fella?”

Benicio shook his head. “I don't even know how to begin, buddy.”

Matthew sat in the waiting room on a futon couch, apparently unaware of anything around him. Jake was in his leather chair; Benicio was on the client couch. They were watching Matthew.

“So, who is he?” Jake asked.

Benicio hesitated. “His name is Matthew. He's autistic. I'm trying to help him.”

“Help him what?”

“It's complicated,” Benicio said. “I don't even know where to begin.”

“On the phone you said you were in trouble with the church.”

“I think I am. They want the boy.”

“But you work for the church, don't you? Last I heard, you were a priest.”

Benicio smiled. “I still am.” Pause. “I think.” He sighed, then told Jake everything. For twenty minutes both men forgot about the boy in the waiting room. When the priest stopped, there was a long silence.

“So why does the Vatican think Matthew can read the book?” Jake asked, scratching his head. He was watching Matthew again. He was pretty sure the boy hadn't moved.

“I think it might have something to do with speaking in tongues. The church has been waiting for years, decades, for the right person to come along, someone who could read the book. Maybe this child is the right person. That's what I'm supposed to be investigating.”