CHAPTER THIRTY
CLIVE WOKE TO the sound of fluttering wings, trickling water, and howling. It felt like he had just been dropped onto the set of the ancient movie The Hound of the Baskervilles. Heavy fog rolled across the landscape, a large silver moon glowed in the black sky, and moss-covered trees sagged under the weight of the greenery. Arrow was beside him on the gravel road asleep or unconscious.
Being the doctor that he was, he checked all of Arrow’s vital signs and determined he was healthy, just in a deep sleep. He shook his shoulder and managed to get him stirring. As Arrow adjusted to his surroundings, Clive stood and walked around the immediate area. There were no familiar landmarks or street signs signifying where they were. There was simply fog and more fog.
“Where are we, Doc?”
“I don’t know.”
“That maniac said something about a void, right?”
“Yeah.” The recollection of his wife sitting unseeing in that recliner came back to him and he was angry. “That sicko did something to Mayre. She’s not herself.”
“It didn’t look good.” Arrow said somberly as he stood. “She looked like some of the addicts I sold Thought Conductor codes to.”
“She’s not a vegetable.” Clive fiercely.
Arrow kept his comments to himself for the first time in his life and gazed around the area in silence instead.
“Let’s explore that way.” Arrow said, pointing at the horizon where the shadow of a building loomed.
“Why?”
“It’s better than standing around. Besides, I don’t want whatever is howling to catch up to us.”
Clive reluctantly agreed and they began to walk towards the structure. The trees stayed thick and ominous overhead and occasionally a crow would flutter from one tree to another and caw loudly. After walking for 10 minutes, the sound of the creek trickling had increased in volume and Clive decided to step off the path to take a look at where the water was in the hopes that they could get a drink. To Clive’s horror, a human skull sat in the midst of flowing crimson liquid, not water.
Clive imagined this must have been what it was like in Egypt when the Nile had been turned to blood. Seeing it before him was much more horrific than he remembered the story being in Sunday School. The quiet revulsion he felt was interrupted by the vaguest feeling that he could hear quiet screams echoing around him. When he went back to the path where Arrow waited for him, the screaming stopped.
“The water is blood.” Clive said.
“That’s sick.” Arrow said, not even questioning the pronouncement.
“You’re not bothered?”
“Not much bothers me. I’m more focused on getting out of here.”
It took them a good part of an hour until they finally began seeing the detail on the shadowy structure they had been walking toward. Before them was a grand stone bridge with shadowy figures of crouching angels at intervals on the stone walls. The bridge seemed to lead to what looked like a castle.
The two men looked at one another and then back at the bridge with determination. They continued forward and Clive felt the eyes of the angels boring into his soul. When they had reached the other side there was a huge set of wooden double doors falling off their hinges and a courtyard to the left of the castle with all kinds of headstones.
“I’m going to look over here.” Clive said, pointing to the cemetery.
“So, the creek made of blood is scary but a creepy cemetery isn’t?” Arrow scoffed.
Clive ignored this and walked over to the first headstone in the place. It was very tall and chiseled into an intricate cross. Clive signed The Father, The Son, and The Holy Ghost. He might be somewhere unknown, but his faith was still important.
As he wove in and out of the tombstones, he felt an unusual sort of peace. A grave at the very back of the cemetery had a statue of a sleeping child encased in glass on top of a stone platform. Below this case read the Bible verse, “A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and loud lamentation, Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be comforted because they are no more.” As he read further down on the stone, he realized that this child had died at four years old. His heart went out to the family. At the beginning of his career as a doctor, he had witnessed the tragic deaths of several children. Some were the victims of cancer, while others tragically lost their lives due to an accident. The loss of a child had a way of emptying the parents where their eyes remained open, but they no longer saw anything.
Clive said a silent prayer for the family of this child and hoped that, wherever they were, they were finding joy amidst the sorrow.
“Want to go inside now?” Arrow asked coming up behind him.
Clive nodded and followed Arrow through the castle gates. The inside wasn’t much more interesting. Overgrown weeds covered every dirt surface and crumbling stone littered the rest of the space. Angels missing arms or halves of their faces stood around the areas as if protecting invisible people. The remains of a tower and a staircase stood in the very middle of the courtyard. At the base of this staircase, seemingly out of place, was a statue of an angel in prayer. Upon closer inspection, Clive saw that the angel’s wings had cracked and fallen off. Intertwined in the stone fingers were the beads of a rosary.
“This place is creepy.” Arrow said gruffly.
Clive nodded in agreement but continued to stare at the angel, perplexed. Arrow was walking away so Clive followed his friend. Under all the crumbled stone, dust, and dirt there was a glimmer of polished stone floors. They rounded the corner of the wall butting up against the staircase and found piles of books slipping and sliding over each other. Some of the books were relics of this place, but a few of the ones on top were beautiful leather-bound volumes without a speck of dust on them.
Clive picked up one of these new books and saw that embossed in gold on the front were the words “Holy Bible”. Flipping through was enough to tell him that this was not the full Scriptures.
“This must be a Protestant bible.” Clive said.
“I see.” Arrow muttered, obviously not paying attention.
“How many books are in the Jewish Bible?”
“17, I think.” Arrow shrugged. “I’m not a practicing Jew, but my dad wasn’t either.”
“I think you told me about him before.” Clive said. “He sounded like a piece of work.”
“That’s the understatement of the year.” Arrow snorted. He then stepped around Clive and picked up a dusty book from the floor. “This is also a Bible.” Arrow’s thumb ran across the gold-embossed title.
“I wonder why these are here.”
“Maybe somebody wanted to forget religion.” Arrow laughed, but Clive didn’t join in.
“I’ll never understand the things people choose to forget.” Clive muttered. “Religion is the foundation of a good society, but I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. You’re a pagan alcoholic.” The bitterness seeped in without warning.
