Twisted Linen (10 page)

The cult’s plan worked. Once the Knights
Templar was disbanded, its members were heavily persecuted – even
burned at the stake. They were no long able to protect the Shroud,
and it was again lost to history for several centuries. But a lost
Shroud was better than a defended Shroud. Once the Shroud was
dislodged from the protection of the Knights Templar, there was
hope of obtaining it for cultic purposes.

Genovi steps over to the cottage door and
looks back toward Simon, “Let’s take a walk…we need to talk.”

“Walk where?” Simon demands.

“Somewhere confidential,” Genovi quietly
responds as he exits the cottage.

* * *

25

The Unholy Ovum

Simon and Genovi walk down the long driveway,
headed away from the cottage, under a moonlit night. The remote
location is surrounded by vacant hillsides, deep woods, and ominous
sounds that seem to come out only at night.

“They did it, Simon. They already cloned
their Jesus using the Shroud of Turin.”

“How?” Simon asks with incredulous surprise.
“You said you have it hidden.”

“It was done many years ago, before I hid it,
about the time when Grace was born.”

Simon is partially relieved to hear that a
clone has already been born. This means his worst fear is off the
table: Grace won’t be forced to carry and birth such a beast. But
suspicion now niggles in the back of Simon’s mind – why is Genovi
just now revealing this information? What is he hiding?

At that moment a Barn Owl hoots in the
distance and Genovi continues, “Grace’s birth came with
complications that required an emergency surgery. I had doctors
within the priesthood treat her, but I found out later they also
used her.”

Simon comes to an abrupt stop.

“Used her?” he asks in desperation.

Genovi doesn’t stop walking but rather turns
off the driveway, heading down a narrow path into the woods. Simon
hurries to catch up, hovering over his shoulder, terrified at what
Genovi may say next.

Genovi continues to tell the story, almost
like he is flashing back in time, recalling the emotions as if the
events occurred yesterday.

“I was deceived by a brother of the Church
and a good friend, or so I thought. Actually, we were all
deceived!” Genovi says these last words in his defense. “It wasn't
until many years later that we found out this ‘priest’ was an
active member of the occult.”

“The Golden Dawn,” Simon interjects.

Genovi offers a short head nod in
confirmation just as the Barn Owl hoots again, this time unveiling
itself high above in a dead tree. Its large white-hooded face is
illuminated by the moonlight as it gazes directly at Genovi. The
owl’s fixed eyes glare with a glint of secret knowledge while it
swivels its head to better collect the sounds of the night, like
it’s eavesdropping on Genovi.

“Just say it, Genovi…what did they do to
Grace?”

“They used her as the egg donor,” Genovi
utters with a quiver in his voice.

Simon is aghast, then disgusted, then
furious.

Genovi continues to explain, “When she
underwent surgery, they extracted some of my baby girl’s eggs.”

“Where the hell were you?” Simon berates with
fury.

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know until after.
That is when I hid the Shroud and hid Grace with an adopted family
in London.”

The path Genovi and Simon are following now
opens into an old cemetery with a grove of trees scattered
throughout. Tombs surround the observable area, illuminated only by
the full moon over head. It's a very old cemetery and not well
maintained. Genovi is headed directly toward a particular tomb in
the far corner.

“Don't tell me this clone-beast is Baculo? Is
he the ‘thing’ they made?”

“No. It’s not Baculo,” Genovi corrects as he
comes to a stop. “It's Cohen,” he declares with grave
sincerity.

Simon silently glares at Genovi, then turns
away in dismay.

“David…Cohen,” Simon murmurs to himself
before turning back toward Genovi. “You mean Grace is Cohen’s
biological mother?”

Genovi comes to a stop in front of the tomb
he was targeting. Oddly, there is only a first name and year
stamped on the tombstone. It reads: “Sarah – 1984”.

Genovi clasps his hands together over his
chest and closes his eyes, as if to pray. Simon is oblivious to
Genovi’s actions; he’s completely overwhelmed by the shocking
revelation concerning Grace and the Golden Dawn.

With Genovi’s head bowed in prayer, Simon
unmindfully jabbers in his ear.

“David Cohen is a clone made from Jesus’s
DNA?”

Genovi is unresponsive and motionless. Simon
continues to question him. “You sure about that?”

A moment later Genovi’s eyes open like he’s
become motivated by a memory from the past. He turns toward Simon,
who is standing there with a dazed and confused look on his face,
patiently waiting for Genovi’s response.

Simon confronts Genovi with a burning
question. “What are you doing, Genovi? What is really going
on?”

Genovi responds as if he is beyond contempt.
“We must go and retrieve the Shroud. It is the only leverage we
have to save Grace.”

“No! I’m not doing anything else you say,”
Simon shouts as he grabs the sleeve of Genovi’s robe.

“You used us!” Simon shouts again with a
sense of betrayal in his voice. “You used Grace as bait.”

“It wasn't supposed to go this way,” Genovi
argues in his defense.

Simon scoffs and turns away.

Genovi’s face hardens as if he is ready to
throw caution to the wind.

“You don’t have a choice,” Genovi states
coldly. “We only have a day now; we must fly back to Rome.”

* * *

26

Our Blood

The scientist worked feverishly all night,
locked in the lab against his will while Baculo holds his wife,
Heran, as collateral. Next to Cohen’s blood vial is an untouched
glass of lemonade – now cloudy and lukewarm. Earlier, Baculo
offered the drink as refreshment, a twisted gesture to lift the
scientist’s spirit. It didn’t work and Baculo didn’t expect it
to.

Now the scientist manipulates Cohen’s DNA
with state of the art molecular scissors. The “scissors” are
restriction enzymes that cut DNA into pieces so the scientist can
modify Cohen’s DNA sequence. He needs two more blood specimens to
complete the genetic recombination: Grace’s and Jesus’. He plans to
make this recombinant DNA by cutting DNA from their blood, and then
recombine it into Cohen’s DNA. Baculo will not tell him the reason
for wanting this specific hybrid DNA sequence, but previous
experience indicates it’s for some type of therapeutic purpose.
Under the circumstances, the details are irrelevant to the
scientist. All that matters is Baculo promised to free him and his
wife once the serum is complete, and he made it clear that their
life literally depends on his success.

A momentary chill breaks the scientist’s
concentration, as if a draft of cold air just blew through the
room. He pulls his face away from the electron microscope, trying
to discern the eerie feeling. Standing behind the scientist is the
dark and austere figure of Julian Baculo, aka “Magick.”

“How is it coming, Doctor?” Baculo asks,
breaking his silent observation.

“You scared me!” blurts out the edgy
scientist, almost knocking over the old glass of lemonade.

Baculo glares in disdain at his startled
response. The gleam of Baculo’s eyes no longer exhibits his
torturous side, but rather a piercing sense of determination.
Baculo left the “bloody side” of himself in Heran’s cell. Now he
appears washed and well-manicured in a clean white robe, ready to
serve the cult’s agenda.

With a scowl the scientist repositions his
chair in front of the desk, and then aligns his thick eyeglasses
over the microscope.

“How is my wife doing?” he mumbles with a
hint of desperation while looking into the microscope. “Is she
comfortable?”

“I am personally looking after her,” Baculo
says with a strange twist to his words.

The scientist snaps his head back and glares
at Baculo. That’s the second time Baculo used those exact words,
and the manner in which Baculo utters the words terrifies the
scientist.

“I need to see her,” the scientist stammers,
his eyes now bulging behind the coke-bottle glasses.

“You'll finish your job or you’ll never see
her again,” Baculo says in deadly earnest.

The scientist is speechless, his eyes now
spastically swimming behind the thick glasses. A slow drowning
would be less tormenting than this.

“So, how is it coming?” Baculo asks again in
an even more demanding manner.

“The first specimen's blood is almost ready,”
the scientist responds coldly. “I'll need the second soon,” he
concludes as he puts his face back down over the microscope.

“Yes, of course,” Baculo says softly,
underneath an eerie smile. “I’ll get the mother’s blood now.”

“Oh, and I want something else to eat,” the
scientist sheepishly requests.

Baculo coldly pats him on the back in a
derogatory manner. “Drink your lemonade. You don’t need anything to
eat.”

Baculo exits the lab to the clanging sound of
a locking door. It’s a demoralizing sound, indicative of hopeless
circumstances. With Baculo gone, the haunted scientist lifts his
face from the microscope once more, his bleak expression quickly
transforms into a scowl of dread.

Baculo paces down the long hallway lined with
cell doors, then stops at a specific door, pulls his hood over his
head, and swipes his access card. The door opens to reveal Grace.
She is gagged and hanging by chains in the back of the room, her
arms and legs spread wide just like the scientist’s wife. The
position is eerily similar to a crucifix, but it’s a twisted
crucifix. Like everything the Golden Dawn stands for, it’s a
distorted version of reality.

Baculo enters the room and Grace begins to
strain against the chains. The sight fosters a sense of excitement
within Baculo and his eyes glimmer with lust. Baculo latches the
door closed, creating an ominous and echoing sound. Grace
feverishly yanks against the chains and then whimpers behind her
gag. Baculo hesitates before approaching Grace, and with leering
eyes, he devours every part of her. Finally he says, “Gracie…our
virgin girl from long ago.”

Baculo approaches Grace and opines, “But
mature now, and such a beautiful woman.”

Baculo lightly runs his finger along Grace’s
exposed collarbone, up her neck, and then into her hair. With a
sudden jerk, he grabs a fistful of hair and tilts Grace’s head back
so he can glare into her eyes.

“But you are no longer a virgin. Are
you?”

Baculo moves his face close to Grace's,
almost close enough to kiss her. Grace quivers in terror as she
strains to look away.

“Well, let's find out,” Baculo says as he
releases her hair.

Grace squirms in spastic panic; the chains
rattle as she pulls against them. Baculo takes control of her right
arm and forces her sleeve upward. Grace struggles against him but
she is unable to resist his advances.

“Blood reveals all,” Baculo hints softly as
he quickly tourniquets her arm. He then positions a needle above
her straightened arm, searching for a vein.

“Now hold still, Grace. I wouldn’t want to
hurt you.”

Grace’s eyes fill with tears as Baculo
punctures a vein with the needle. She yells behind her gag and
frantically shakes her head from side to side as her blood begins
to slowly flow through the needle and into a syringe. Baculo gapes
in ecstasy, watching the blood fill the syringe.

“You see, blood is the life force. It always
has been…from the very beginning. And now we can manipulate its
power to do unimaginable things.”

Grace chews her lip and fights to hold back
tears. With the syringe full of blood, Baculo pulls the needle from
her arm and holds the blood up to the light, tipping the syringe
side-to-side.

“I’m almost done now,” Baculo taunts as he
walks over to a small metal chair and places the syringe and needle
down.

Baculo turns to confront Grace with a
lecherous stare.

“The last time you were used, you were
young…too young,” he utters with a menacing tone.

Baculo walks closer, face-to-face with Grace.
He forces himself on her with a disgusting kiss; Grace resists as
best she can, flailing in every direction. The terrible sound of
chains rattling indicates her panic and struggle. Baculo
relentlessly tries to obtain the kiss he so badly desires, but his
untidy attempt just leaves saliva spread over Grace’s face.

In frustration Baculo retreats while Grace
continues to squirm under a stifled panic. He simply leers at her,
taking sick pleasure in the sight. As his excitement builds, a
twisted smile grows across his face.

“I must slow down,” Baculo says inwardly.
“I’ve got an entire evening planned.”

Baculo heads for the door, retrieving the
needle and syringe on his way, and then stops and turns back toward
Grace. Grace whimpers, hoping his torment is over.

“I have something for you to wear…to dinner
tonight. I'll be expecting you upstairs, in the dining room.”

With that Baculo unlocks the pulley mechanism
holding the chains and slams the cell door shut behind him.

Grace lies in a heap on the cold floor, free
to remove her shackles, and there, hanging neatly on a wall hook,
is a long red dress. Grace pushes herself up onto her hands and
knees and begins scrutinizing the dress from afar. It’s Spanish in
style, like a flamenco dance dress. Her face loses color as the
mere sight of it makes her stomach nauseous, nauseous at the
thought of wearing it, nauseous at the thought of what happens
next.