Chapter 11

It was Monday and the sky was grey- threatening rain to ruin the day already labeled with the word, ‘blues’. Big Grey Sky was not in a good mood and thus Hot Orange Sun did not want to come out to play.

It was morning.

It looked like dusk had settled.

The wind howled like depraved werewolves into his ears and thus Isaiah hugged himself tighter. The trench-coat was too weak against the assault of the nasty force that sent chills to the bones. Climbing up the grayish black tiled stairs to the entrance, he felt a presence next to him.

His brother was perfectly at ease with the agitated weather. In fact, Isaiah thought Elijah relished such a day, if he ever liked anything. In just a normal working suit, Elijah was walking comfortably- as naturally as he would have done in his own home. Isaiah, a person who needed the warmth of the sun as much as he needed oxygen, was staggering slowly and he expected Elijah to just breeze pass him.

But Elijah did not. Elijah slowed his strides to match his own hesitant pace.

“You should walk faster if you’re cold. Gets you in the building earlier.” Elijah mumbled. His stony face was staring ahead, his hands down to his side- swaying slightly with each step he took.

Isaiah needed the sun no more. Elijah’s concerns of sorts had thawed him. He relaxed his hands and smiled quietly. He could not describe the feeling to himself, only that it was a good one, one that he was longing for.

The closeness of brothers.

Three more steps to go. One, two three. Ah! The door! We’re in!

It was indeed warmer inside Tech though the layout gave it an overall disinterested appearance. The agents who passed them as they walked down the platform to the elevators were all in a hurry but Isaiah smiled at everyone and verbally greeted the faces that were familiar. With that one sentence that Elijah said to him, his bad mood from yesterday’s failed investigation- heightened by that of Mr. Lousy Morning Weather- all but ebbed away. He still could not speak to Elijah though. He knew he would sound too happy.

Elijah was still walking next to him.

The two brothers entered their cluttered, empty office- almost side by side because Elijah was only somewhat in front. Isaiah wanted to talk to Elijah about yesterday’s investigations. He and Lynn had not much luck. Alvin’s parents were not at home and his sister, a tall, strapping woman about a couple of years older than Isaiah, refused to talk to them- still grieved by Alvin’s death. She chased them out with a broom screaming that his death was not a suicide. Isaiah tried to explain that they were not there to vindicate Alvin of anything but the gate was slammed shut into their faces and two large Alsatians were unleashed- eyes fierce and drooling saliva, snarling at them hungrily.

They ran for their lives. It was extremely embarrassing.

The moment Isaiah reached his desk; he spotted a beautifully wrapped present. Suddenly, out popped Grey Man, Lynn and a few other agents who knew him pretty well, with a birthday cake stuck with candles, marking his age as twenty-five. As they sang the delightful birthday song, Isaiah kept his head down; rubbing his forehead to and fro with his palm- a little self-conscious while they surrounded him gradually.

He had forgotten.

“…Happy Birthday to you!!!!!”

Isaiah glanced at Elijah who had his brows slightly arched at the unexpected commotion and wondered if Elijah’s kind words stemmed from the fact that it was Isaiah’s birthday. But seeing his brother’s marble expression which was only a small fraction of stunned, he felt that Elijah had forgotten.

Or maybe he had not. He has just forgotten that people do celebrate birthdays.

“Wow…I’m…guys…” Isaiah stammered as Lynn hugged him tightly, shaking him from side to side in exhilaration before extricating herself and kissing him fully on the lips.

“Just blow the candles stupid!” She suggested affectionately. Isaiah could not help grinning at the cake in Grey’s hands. Closing his eyes, he silently prayed a request. His emerald eyes flew opened and he blew out the candles.

There was one stoic flame that refused to be put out.

“What’s up Isaiah, too many candles or cat ate your breakfast?” Ignatius, a sturdy linebacker built kind of guy, slapped Isaiah hard on the back, almost knocking the wind out of him. He did stagger at little forward and the rest of the agents present, minus Elijah, guffawed at his display of physical strength.

Isaiah rolled his eyes and threw Iggy the most cantankerous look before blowing out the last candle.

Elijah had gone back to his seat and switched on the computer, choosing to be oblivious and uninvolved in the mini-celebration. Isaiah was baffled. After all, Elijah had been the nicest he ever was to him in the morning and had chosen to walk alongside him- even though it was in silence.

Nevertheless, everyone ignored the block of stone and went about clapping Isaiah on the back, dividing up the cake and smearing Isaiah’s face with fresh cream. It was seldom anyone could find secret agents acting like juvenile delinquents but in the tiny, stuffy office that blustery Monday morning- laughter held supreme. Even Elijah’s frost could not freeze the room that was graced by Joy.

As the others were trading dirty jokes- with Lynn giving them scowling looks at intervals but still joining in nonetheless, Isaiah- who never found such degrading humor humorous- took an unblemished slice of cheesecake to Elijah and offered it to him. Elijah looked up briefly before shaking his head.

“C’mon, it’s my birthday. You’re thin enough…a little sugar won’t make you fat…” Isaiah coaxed smilingly but somehow, Elijah’s usual indifference brought him discomfiture. Elijah stopped typing into the PC and gazed into Isaiah’s eyes.

Isaiah could just feel a verbal assault coming.

“Babies came into the world crying. I don’t think birthdays are happy.”

Elijah’s voice was sharp but soft; his expression still a blank. However, he was obviously loud enough to be overheard. Isaiah shuffled his feet awkwardly, pained by the statement that was in a harsh contrast with the walk up the stairs. A dead silence descended and Lynn stepped over to Isaiah who was still holding on to the plate of cake.

His hands were trembling so badly.

“Let’s leave the party pooper alone. You did not come in the world crying. Crying can also be an expression of happiness.” She slipped her arm through the hand that was not occupied with anything after shooting Elijah with a resentful look and led Isaiah away. The rejected slice weighed a ton in Isaiah’s hand and he just felt like flinging it against the wall in damning frustration.

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH

His friends welcomed him back into the circle of reborn jokes and chuckles, though they were quieter now, affected by the wintry air that had finally succeeded in blowing chill into their merriment. Isaiah jest along with them but his heart was wrenching. Whatever had caused Elijah to be almost friendly to him one moment must have been short-lived. Slowly, the joviality trickled down and the agents left one after another until the only sounds that could be heard were faint conversations between Grey, Lynn and Isaiah who were discussing about the case which had not made much promising progress and the tapping sounds of the keyboard from Elijah’s desk.

The slice of cake offered to Elijah was left untouched, like a piece of cursed charm. After Grey Man told Isaiah and Lynn to ‘crack the case fast,’ and went back to his office, Lynn picked it up and threw it casually into the dustbin.

Elijah did not even lift an eyebrow at her symbolic act.

He observed the boy from a distance and caught himself. Dan Oswick should be about twenty-years old, hardly a boy. Elijah was not much older himself, not even twenty-three yet, so he could not call Dan a boy.

After some discussion, they had decided to ditch their FBI personas. A trip down to the “Make- Over” department in ‘Tech’: Network, reborn him as a brown-haired young man. Brown-hair was common. The wig was most natural and flattering.

So were brown eyes, made possible with contact lens. All the changes together with his eye-brows plucked into a different shape- manly still but different- transformed his mien into that of a handsome stranger who resembled him greatly but who was not him. The beautician had advised him to smile more.

He simply blinked in response.

The offer of a lift from Isaiah was not accepted. Elijah drove his rented Mustang to Eaeshore himself, overtaking his brother’s Lexus along the way.

Now dressed in a long-sleeved plain white sweatshirt that melted into his alabaster skin and a pair of jeans, he blended in well with the college population. His spectacles with a rectangular plastic frame rendered him as a ‘bookish’ kid. It was alright. Books were his best friends in college.

He smiled as he strolled into the Internet Café located in the Central Forum of the rundown campus. When he was not Elijah, he could smile. Elijah Raily could not smile but Edison Davies could. Edison Davies could be friendly.

There were only two female students in the functional Internet Café of Eaeshore that Monday afternoon. Yellow curvy chairs and white long tables were arranged in an octagonal shape. There were about sixteen up-to-date terminals, two on each table.

Behind the counter that was facing the entrance was a scrawny kid of about twenty- long, unkempt light brown hair had fallen over his face, covering his eyes like soft, shredded curtains. He was wiping the counter top which had a transparent bottom; displaying all sorts of strange coolers that Elijah had no inkling of and was not the least bit interested at how they would taste. The lighting was the usual orange and white mix- the design and layout in the café was most uninspired

“Hey… you Dan?” He leaned against the counter and drummed his fingers on the table top. His eyes darted about like he was trying to see if there was another guy around who could be Dan. Of course the boy was Dan. Lynn had hacked into the college’s system with relative ease and brought out students’ profiles. Dan Oswick. Majoring in History. Twenty-years of age. First year student. His photo was shown as well. Frightened, haunted eyes. Light brown eyes that were looking at ghosts the moment the photo was taken.

The kid looked up with blurry eyes and had to stare at him for a while before offering the weakest hint of a smile and gestured around vaguely.

“It’s... half-price ...for students and staff, full-price for the... general public.” He brokenly reiterated like a practiced refrain on a scratched CD- his manner of speech a little slower and jerkier than average. Sleepy brown eyes refused to focus on Elijah. Elijah knew his question had not registered.

“Are you Dan?” He asked again.

The dazed eyes fluttered before the diffident reply, “Yes…I am… I’m Dan.”

“Good. I was told I can find you here.” Elijah curled his lips, as if he was bothered by something. “It’s weird…but…I hmm… I’m a friend of Leonard’s from New York City, Edison Davies…call me Eddie… and ahmm…”

Dan Oswick’s eyes hooded over immediately and Elijah saw tears glistened in them. Best friends. Death could not sever that bond, could it? Mortality, it was so pathetic. But the spiritual bonds made during one’s brief stay could cause so much damage.

No matter how perverted those bonds could be.

“Daddy! Please…wake up! No! NO!!! DADDY!!!”

Elijah, or rather, Eddy, hung his head, deeply affected. “We were pen pals but lost touch for a while. And then I heard the news but had something else urgent to attend to… and… well. In his letters, he mentioned about you. I was hoping someone could show me where…”

Where the Grave is. Where the bodies are buried, no longer animated.

“Please…wake up. Daddy… please…oh…God…don’t…. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no………….”

“Where I can honor his memory.”

Dan began to listlessly wipe the counter again. Elijah noticed a drop of tear fell onto the table but was immediately debased by the dirty dishcloth- its molecules now all over the too shiny surface.

Elijah waited.

“I’m…not… not off now…” It was yet another timorous reply in semi-reluctance. The death was barely two weeks ago. It was still devastatingly crippling for those left behind. The veracity of never ever seeing a person who had been extremely dear was too thorny a morsel to swallow.

Elijah indicated to the empty seats in the corner of the café- empty seats meant for dining only.

“Alright. But can we talk about him? I don’t know… but… well… it’s just… I feel like… I don’t know. It’s too sudden. The news about the murder…”

“Do you want to talk about your father? Talking about him will help. It’s ok… if he did bad things to you… it’s ok to talk about it…”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Dan nodded slightly. Another drop of liquid crystal fell, its remains joining that of its deceased kin. He raised his head up finally and gestured more specifically to a lone table at a back corner of the café. Exiting from the counter, he shakily walked towards it, with Elijah following behind, slowing down his normal respective rhythm. In his mind, mental notes about Dan Oswick were already jotted.

He took a seat opposite Dan. Sensing the fellow’s awkwardness, his character tried to ease the tension with a warm smile that hurt his cheeks. Dan, who had his head downcast the entire time, looked up vaguely. He saw the smile and relaxed a little- his own lips pulled up in a flitting, shy one of his own.

Then Dan bit down on his lips again and fiddled around with his fingers. While he was slow in speech and reaction, Elijah noticed that he was restless and jittery, like someone in anticipation of something bad.

“I’ve never met him for real. We were supposed to meet this Christmas. Just to, I don’t know; bring a face to the written words though we did exchange photographs but it didn’t feel the same. Never expected…” Elijah, a.k.a. Eddie shook his head dejectedly and pulled his lips into a tight line. “Never…”

“It’s…ok. We…we learn to de...al with…loss. Leonard…went to a go...od place.” Dan stuttered. His speech much heavier and thicker now that he was allowing the touch of pain to affect him, pain that Elijah was pretending to feel as well. Loss.

The pain of Loss.

Maybe he did not need to pretend. Maybe by being Eddie, he was allowing himself to recall how it felt like to suffer loss. Tragic Loss. The memory of the nature of the Loss was long filtered out. It had slipped through his mental sieve into a forgotten dustbin.

Maybe I’ve gone mad. Eddie. Elijah. Another me. So many… can’t take on another anymore.

“Yes. And such a strong man of faith…” Elijah ventured a guess from what he had observed in Leonard’s room. “I’m always amazed by his knowledge of the different religions around. He’s the only JW that I know.”

“He…he’s very…nice. I don’t…have friends…people…make fun of me…but…he…talked to me in class…and we…got along well…. I’m…not stupid…just…a little slow...he listened patiently…always a gentle man. He did…did… try to conve… convert me but I… I already got my faith… and… protects me. Lenny always protects his… his slow… fr…friend.” Dan did not seem to be listening to Elijah anymore. He was speaking about Leonard out of need to talking to someone about the dead. The dead who was once so dear to him. His voice was a channel that was articulating his remembrance- his precious memories.

In that few seconds, Dan had placed trust into a complete stranger, a non-existent stranger called Eddie. Elijah thought that to be amusingly poignant since Eddie did not exist and thus, Dan was talking to nothing more than a specter from Elijah’s strangely vivid imagination.

“He wrote a lot about you too. You must be very important to him…”

“And he comes here…comes here so… so often. I give… give him free hours…so… so he can type his… his essays and stuff. He’s… he’s doesn’t… doesn’t exploit me. I… I help him out of free will. He’s not… not like Ben. Ben exploits me. Ben… Ben knew I give Lenny free hours and… and threaten to tell my boss. I’ve got to give him free internet hours as well… and free drinks out of my own pocket. But I need the job…. Lenny doesn’t know… if Lenny knows…”

Elijah cringed. Yes. Elijah. Not Eddie. Dan had spoken to his heart. The sorrow was evident. The bullying just because he was different. Because he was seen as weak. Alone.

Exploitation.

Elijah swallowed a bitter lump before letting Eddie takeover.

“Ben? Who’s Ben?”

“Lenny’s project member… last… semester for Intellectual…Intellectual Thoughts and Wars…. Lenny’s smart. He’s doing Honors this year. Ben doesn’t like Lenny and Ben hates me. But they come by here often to discuss their project because it’s quiet… and convenient here. Lenny, Ben, Shelly and their mentor… Al…Alvin. Their project was… good. They all got into Honors. Lenny was the smartest. He was heading for First Class.” Dan sounded proud of his late best friend. “First Class.”

Proud. Like a little boy. Proud of his elder brother’s achievements. Tinged with that little envy that marred the perfect, idolizing picture.

There was a pause as the two young men contemplated about different matters.

“I wish … wish…it was last semester again. Everything was simpler… then.”

But Elijah was not concern about the pride. Elijah heard familiar names. Shelly and Alvin. The name of the girl who had spotted Isaiah and Lynn, and the name of the thesis writer who was dead- respectively.

“Alvin Skyner?”

“Yes…how…how…you know…?” Dan’s head tilted to one side in almost innocent bafflement.

“Len wrote about him. He had a brilliant thesis. Len wrote about Shelly too.”

“Lenny likes Shelly… a lot. She … she’s a witch…” Dan’s words were not soft and remorseful now. In fact, it was with bitter resentment, as sharp and cutting as his slow speech could allow.

“Witch?” Elijah narrowed his eyes.

Dan shook his head. “I… I can’t talk anymore… I hope… hope the cops find out who killed Lenny. Find out and stop the man… I shouldn’t be slacking…”

“Wait. What do you mean by…” Elijah pressed on. Witches. Sacrifices?

Or something else?

Like…

Jealousy?

“I’ve got to go… the… the boss’s… here…” Dan stood up slowly and Elijah looked over at the counter. Sure enough, a shriveled man with milky blue eyes was there, glaring at Dan. Elijah stood up as well. He could always catch Dan another day.

Passing by the counter, he paused and bought a cooler from the owner of the café. Dan had returned back to his humdrum-dumdum activity of cleaning up the place. Now, he was wiping the glass panels. Before Elijah left, he stopped Elijah with a very soft touch as Elijah walked passed him.

“The… the grave. It’s behind the Church on Small Road…”

Elijah made another mental note.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for your loss.”

The unfocused young man continued chewing his lower lip. A lower lip with many bite marks already branded onto it.

“It’s ok… Like I said…we learn to deal… deal with it after a while. You… you take care too…”

Then like the ghost he was, Eddie floated away after a brief nod.

Elijah passed the cooler to an unsuspecting student who strolled past him down the hallway. The student accepted it in bafflement- staring after the fast disappearing silhouette of a human form moving indifferently away like a gust of wind.

Chapter 12

"We shall not capitulate … no, never," Hitler exclaimed. "we may be destroyed, but if we are, we shall drag a world with us…a world in flames." He hummed a characteristic motif from the Götterdämmerung-( Rauschning, 5. Statement recorded by Rausching in 1932, before Hitler came into power.)

Isaiah knocked twice on the door leading to the professor’s office, after having found his way there to the Department of History easily with a pretty detailed map of Eaeshore College.

On the whole, Eaeshore College seemed to be on the verge of crumbling down anytime. It had only ten blocks and an ill-maintained Sports’ Stadium. The walls might have once been clinically white but after years of neglect, they had adopted a sick, grey pallor.

Owing to the town which was resolved to remain where it was, Eaeshore College was not given much room to grow. There were only the Arts and Social Sciences faculty, the Science Faulty and the Business Faculty in Eaeshore College. For other degree programs, the locals would have to set their sights further, though not by much since the nearby Bayport boasted a rather reputable University with extremely comprehensive academic programs.

Why do my thoughts keep wandering towards Bayport? Because the seeds were sown there?

Seeds of abuse, watered with tears.

And here stand I and Elijah. The saplings that have emerged.

Mutated saplings.

Alvin Skyner had thanked his professor at the acknowledgement section of his Thesis. From that section, Isaiah thought Alvin was perhaps the careless sort of person. His acknowledgement section had only been slightly more than four lines. Isaiah remembered his own thesis fondly. His accreditations had covered a whole page and then some.

He would never want to through all that arduous research ever again. The hours he spent like a hermit locked in his dorm room seated in front of the computer, eyes teary and fingers numbed were still lucid memories in his mind. Recalling, he could almost feel the dull ache at his fingertips from banging excessively on the keyboard. In his most humble opinion, writing an honors thesis was like an experience that should only be endured through once. The process was extremely wearisome but the result was bittersweet- especially when the completed work was in his hand, bounded with his name proudly emblazoned on the cover, ready to be handed up to the professor.

A copy of his Thesis was still somewhere in the library of NYU.

His jet-black hair was now shadowed over by a dark-brown wig made up of wavy, stringy strands. Blue contacts were fitted into his eyes and he was rather uncomfortable wearing his new ‘face’. Unlike Elijah, he had not gotten his brows plucked. There was no need to. People recognized him by his melancholic green eyes and the harsh color of his hair which was a stark contrast to the baby-soft quality of it- effortlessly noticeable when he did not gel his hair up.

With only two changes, he was already mostly unrecognizable in his black Quicksilver T-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans

Lynn did not join the two brothers. She was back in Tech, busy hacking into the server of the message board- performing her usual clandestine operations in the anonymous world of the Internet.

In actuality, the Internet was not so anonymous. It gave that illusion, but in reality, it one of the best way to intrude into a person’s privacy. Via it, anyone could sift out other people’s deepest, darkest desires, just by monitoring the sites that they paid regular visits to, infecting their computer with insidious viruses and Trojans. Control their machines, turning computers into slaves for a cloaked Master hiding behind firewalls.

Information could be bought and sold easily. Details about anyone and anything at all could be obtained, if one knew how.

The Network might like to think they were experts in such operations but the constant wars with independent hackers with IQs surpassing Einstein’s were very soon tearing down that wall of arrogance and confidence.

Isaiah was in another of his melancholic moods, thanks to his brother. The excuse that Elijah had a horrible childhood sounded increasingly grating to his ears. Isaiah could not remember any incident from his own that could make him ecstatically happy but he did try.

Stop your damn whining. You know very well the level of torment you psychopathic father can heap on a person.

And you left him there! You knew and you left him there!!! Oh dare you blame him for turning out the way he did?

You, Isaiah Raily, are responsible.

You were his wings. And you left. You simply just left.

Isaiah silently reproached himself. Guilt and remorse was becoming a common feeling of late. Every little wrong that he had done re-emerged from the deep recesses of his memory to haunt him, echoes of the past floated by.

Hollow echoes resonated- echoes of Lijah’s cries.

He wondered if Elijah heard those echoes too.

Elijah could never guess the damage done by his words and indifference on Isaiah. But what could Isaiah do? Elijah’s soul was his own. Isaiah could try but in the end, it was up to Elijah to decide if he would allow himself be Lijah again.

Isaiah let out a scornful laughter at himself. There he was, a Network Special Agent working undercover. He had to concentrate on his case and maybe wait for some sense or visions.

And all he could think of was his brother’s ill-treatment towards him the morning, blowing lukewarm and then frost again. He felt like he was a terrible agent. Without his gifts, he was nothing more than a layman on the streets, probably still stuck in the NYPD as a normal investigator.

A terrible agent who was distracted by personal problems while investigating.

Perhaps he had always known that he could not cut it, no matter what Gray thought of him. Gray thought highly of him- most of the pride came from Gray’s self-perceived aspect of him of which Isaiah was afraid one day Gray would find that he had in his hands the wrong analysis of Isaiah Raily. Even Lynn who might be able to read him like a book, failed to read between the lines most of the time.

Even Isaiah missed those underlying facets of himself. Perhaps it would take a person a lifetime to tear away the different, kaleidoscopic layers to reach the naked soul within.

He had been letting his thoughts run idle for a long time. The professor had not answered the knock. Looking at the professor’s schedule which Lynn had dug out for them, and the plague on the door, he was pretty sure the professor was in. The light in the room was switched on. A faint alternating shadow could be seen from the gap between the underside of the door and the floor- the ceiling fan must be switched on as well.

He was about to knock again when the door opened causing him to almost hit the professor’s shiny forehead.

The professor was not much older than himself.

“I’m sorry for the delay. What can I do for you?” A tenor voice greeted him good-naturedly, accompanied by flashing eyes.

Isaiah cleared his throat. Time to act. Thespians who could not make it in Hollywood might want to try their luck at being secret agents. The trick was to be able to be very ‘ordinary’- not to stand up like a sore thumb, not to even leave an impression while gathering much information in the process.

Gray Man with his blandness and ability to dissolve into the concrete walls of the city while looking like a normal bloke in the suburbs was a master at undercover operations.

And I have much much more to learn.

“Ahm Professor Carter, I’m Dennis Hutchinson. I’m a third year student, majoring in History and I’m actually thinking of doing my thesis which will be about the linkage between major faith and political ideas throughout the years- the grey area between. I had read one of your honors student work about the Cult of Hitler and I thought it to be a fantastic piece of research- rather like what I’m trying to expound further upon…”

I hope Lynn had gotten the student profile up. If he decides to check, I’ll be doom if she hasn’t got it into the campus server yet.

After a brief pause following Isaiah’s long request which trailed off like the trickle of water from an already closed tap into tiny, rapid droplets, the professor grinned like a Cheshire cat. His light hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and wits. Decked fully in back, he was perhaps trying to add the allure of mystery to his persona. He was handsome, with that devilish flair that was instantaneously recognizable and a well-kept goatee. Though standing a head shorter than Isaiah, he seemed to be able to command more presence had the two of them been real actors on an empty stage.

“Oh yes, come on in.” Professor Carter gestured at his cluttered office and motioned for Isaiah to follow him. Isaiah sauntered in, trying to look relax and comfortable.

Like he belonged to Eaeshore College.

Carter’s table was piled up with papers and invitations to various functions, a common privilege of professors. He seemed helpful and genial and Isaiah was a little relieved. He had to deal with scrooges during his college years and they were the stingiest with grades and assistance. Isaiah gave the room a once over casually, a habit of his. The agents were all trained to be aware of their surroundings.

There was nothing much to speak of except that the Professor was probably someone who kept everything he had ever collected. Thank You cards and letters lined the walls- pasted in a haphazard manner at any blank, unused spot, creating the most interesting and original wallpaper. Photos of him and the students that he had taught were tacked onto a memo board behind. A grid map of Eaeshore was semi-hidden behind the letters and cards. A wide shelf was placed against one side of the room with volumes in neat stacks upon the compartments. There were too many but Isaiah thought he saw Orwell’s Animal Farm and Marx’s Communist Manifesto somewhere.

He took his seat opposite the professor. In his hands was a printed copy of Skyner’s Thesis from the Internet.

“You know, Alvin’s thesis is actually about dubious faith and politics intertwine together to create catastrophe. Maybe you can enlighten me on your own ideas? I’ll be glad to help in anyway I can.” Carter wasted no time with formalities. He was sincere and open, leaning lazily against the back of his armchair with a mellowed down version of the grin, fiddling around with his fountain pen.

Oh. Gee. What can I say? I’m not philosophy student. Never was. Think Isaiah, think…

“It’s precisely because of the connection he drew that prompts me to want to take it a step further. I’m hoping to kind of, you know, come up with something on that. What he had exposed was pretty scary. Before the Enlightenment, we had faith and politics working hand-in-hand. Then Secularization of the political arena came about, keeping faith separate. However, it seems as though nowadays, political issues are once again infused with religion. While Alvin decides to look at it from the angle of Nazism as a pseudo-religion, I’m trying to draw the clash of secularization of politics with some of the world’s most prominent faiths. A sensitive topic which I will decline to comment on any further until I can piece out what I really want to say.” Isaiah felt the words rolling out of his tongue without restraint. He had no idea what he was talking about, alright, some idea. But he was no philosophy, history or political science student. He had no way to tell if his spontaneous analysis of political crises were correct.

Carter nodded, seemingly impressed. “I bet your thesis will centre heavily on the Palestinian and Israelites’ question then.”

“Like I said, I’m here to see if anyone could help me before I carry on. I don’t want to offend anybody with my thesis.”

Carter chuckled. “You remind me so much Alvin. He had this fantastic idea and he came into my office and we thrashed it out. At the end of it, I told him to go ahead with it and he made a joking comment about ‘hoping not to be targeted by any Nazi-Sympathizers’. The poor boy was diabetic but he never let his illness hamper him. Had always been a little neurotic. You do know he had passed away right?”

Isaiah raised his brows in feigned startle. His speech took on a slight shaky quality. “Is it? I’m sorry to hear that… I… whoa… I have been like a hermit during my time here. The only students deaths I know are the recent ones reported on the news.”

“Brilliant student, unfortunate end to his brief life.” Carter took in a deep breath and expelled it out in a regretful sigh. “I was there with the family at the funeral. It was very sad. He was going to pursue Masters but it seems I’ll never be able to read anymore of his works. His provocative thesis was highly commendable… highlights to us the dangers of the philosophy of hate.” Carter closed his eyes. After a moment’s pause, he looked at Isaiah again.

“What do you think of Alvin’s thesis then? Do you think such a Cult could exist?”

Isaiah was taken aback a little by the question Carter posed. He had not thought of it, just took it for granted that if something so warped existed, then it existed. The rationale behind it was a little elusive to him. “I… I don’t know.”

“That people are willing to just follow a fanatic and his minions into creating hell on Earth. I have no idea too but my answer will be that it’s actually entirely possible. However, the idea of worshipping Hitler is a little… funny to me. Nazism may be a pseudo religion but the man they view as god is dead.”

Isaiah nodded sagely. “Yes. I thought so too.”

Whatever you say. I haven’t read the damn thesis yet. Elijah should be here but somehow, I don’t know why he’d rather meet Dan instead.

And I know I should be here too, listening to all these. Another sense. But why? Am I to hear something important?

“The lengths people will resort to. Espousing hatred, thinking it purifies. Little holocausts are occurring all over the world. Rwanda, Cambodia, in almost every continent. Mass exodus being forced upon a minority by the majority. It’s extremely sad and worrying. Makes me wonder if Armageddon is coming. Well, I’m digressing…” Carter gave him an apologetic look before pointing at him with fingers shaped into a gun- the index finger which was the barrel was directed at Isaiah’s heart.

“I think your idea is pretty good. Your history background will help you definitely understand some of the underlying factors to the major conflicts occurring nowadays. But in my opinion, religion is always used as a scapegoat. Human beings always want more. Some people will just twist the teachings of their faiths to justify their greed, perverted hatred and yearning for power. Back sheep I’ll name them. Black sheep.” Carter curled his lips- his expression was one of restrained disgust.

Isaiah nodded again. Little holocausts. His experience in Auschwitz brought the horror to a new intensity. It was the systematic killings that rendered the whole tragedy to be so terrifying. Gruel planning was done to herd millions of people to the slaughter house designed to exterminate huge quantities of human lives at each turn.

The little holocausts that are occurring might well evolve into something as terrible and demonic if the world chose to be blind. A dark power can well be unleashed all over again.

But he did not voice it out. He was actually mentally exhausted already. His head felt so heavy, he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep. A migraine visited him at the side of his temple. He had no idea why.

“I’ll really love to see how your thesis turns out. Coincidentally, I do have a student who wanted to explore the same area as well but with a more political angle. Leonard Sanders. The first kid who died. You and he could have such intelligent discussions…” Carter eyes hooded over before he continued, his voice a little hoarse.

“Terrible thing to happen. Another student’s funeral to attend. I get so close to my students sometimes. And Leonard has the making of a very successful academic. He’s a self-taught theologian. What a waste.” Carter’s voice slipped a few notches down and his mien was clouded by immense regret. “What a waste.”

Isaiah bowed his head slightly. “I’m sorry…”

“Leonard and two other kids actually helped Alvin out in his thesis. They were doing their Final Year Project on Parsifal and I thought the two parties could learn much from each other. They did. Alvin’s thesis’ brilliant so was their project but Alvin did not credit them. Alvin’s accreditations were sorely lacking and I did comment a little too harshly about that. But that’s Alvin. He actually garnered many ideas from all those conventions that he attended, I think they went to New Orleans before to attend a convention held by one of UNO’s political science club. I don’t know how much he gained from that but you can try that avenue. Thrash out your ideas with other students interested in the same genre. You may obtain much more insights than talking with old, stuffy professors…”

Leonard Sanders. Helping out Alvin. Sandy Miller, Alvin’s girlfriend.

Why does it all lead back to Alvin?

“So who are the other two? Maybe I can borrow their project and peruse. It sounds interesting.”

“Oh yes! They managed to sift out the various influences that Wagner had on Hitler and how his plays, thickly enshrouded with racism, actually molded and reinforced much of Hitler’s warped ideas. Shelia Thompson and Benedict Olson. We call Shelia, Shelly. They are crazy kids but a challenge to be with. But like quite a few of our students, they have been disappearing from classes. Everyone’s a little afraid to be associated with our department. The second girl’s from Political Science as well. Alvin’s girlfriend to be exact, Sandy Miller. They got together after his brief dance with Shelly. I enjoy being around them so much. They’re more like my siblings than my students. Brings me back to ten years ago when I was in college still. With this nightmare, I wonder if there isn’t a curse that’s hanging over our heads. Is the History department facing the same crisis?”

Shelly? Brief dance? Is it the same Shelly?

Yes. It is.

“Oh. The whole campus pretty freaked out…” Isaiah tried for a generic answer, his appearance divulged none of his recognition at any names.

He had sensed the fear Carter was talking about but it was a guided intuition rather than those that he was granted with. The hallways were quieter. Students walked around with a sort of gloom.

It was obvious what the killings had done to the campus. And the town. The town was also too quiet.

“Yes. I have kids who told me they don’t want to attend classes anymore until the killer’s caught. It’s a shame…”Carter’s voice withered away. He let out a sigh.

“Well, I’ll just pray nothing happens anymore. That the killer’s caught. Come back to me when you have any more questions alright? I may not be eligible to be your supervisor but I’m already interested in how you’ll piece that thesis out. You have two Semesters to do it, just like the honors students in our department right?”

“Yes. But it’s not a very long time.”

“Neither is it short. Get cracking now and pour all heart into it. You’ll be surprise at how rewarding it can be.” Carter stood up; signaling that Isaiah, a.k.a. Daniel had ran out of time.

Isaiah nodded and gave the professor a friendly smile. “Thanks Prof. I was a little afraid you’ll not entertain me, since I’m not of this major.”

“It’s alright. I’m paid to help out. And I believe that teaching is a sacred job. That you have found Alvin’s thesis to be inspiring enough for you to come knocking at my door is a sign of sorts. There may be something I can impart to you or maybe something I can learn from you. There’s always a lesson to be learn somewhere.” Carter led Isaiah to the door after Isaiah stood up as well.

“Be seeing you in my lecture? I think it’ll help. Personalities, Wars and Philosophies. It’s on every Monday, 1-3 in LT 14. You can always sit in when you have the time.”

Isaiah tried to look as sincere as he could. “I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule. Thanks.”

“Oh, and find a good supervisor. I will love to be helping you out with this idea but you’re of a different discipline. Funny how the subjects in Social Sciences always inter-related. But feel free to knock on my door anytime.” Carter opened the door and Isaiah smiled briefly.

“Thanks again for your time.”

“No problem.”

Shelly. Alvin. Sandy. Leonard. They’re all linked together but why? How? What’s going on between the kids?

Benedict Olson. Another guy to check out.

Shelly. Something’s not right with Shelly. She behaved as if she’s not close to Alvin but…

Thoughts ran in Isaiah’s head. After he had left Carter’s office, he stole over to the hostel block where Shelly and Sandy shared again. Knocking on Shelly’s door several time and allowing his highly accurate intuition to guide him, he concluded that Shelly was not in and picked her door’s lock.

Stepping in, his mouth gaped opened. The room was bare. There were no signs of struggle. Feeling his heartbeat quickened, he pulled the sliding door of the wardrobe to expose the contents within.

All that was left were empty clothes hangers.

The desk was devoid of anything. Not even a pencil.

The room was absolutely picked clean.

In a corner of the room, a wastepaper basket sat forsaken. Something stuck out from underneath.

He retrieved it. It was one half of a wrinkled photograph. He recognized the person inside as Alvin Skyner from the profiles that Lynn had absconded from the campus server. Skyner’s hand was around somebody who was cut away from the picture.

Am I being played? What happened to Shelly?

How is she involved?

He willed for a sense, a vision. Anything.

But none came. He had no answer.

I’m really a lousy agent without my gifts to throw me some insights.

His mobile rang then and vibrated in his jeans pocket. Taking it out in a hurry, he answered huskily. “Raily here.”

“It’s me, Detective Stern. There’s been another homicide.”

Isaiah sobered. It was too soon. Not even a week. Were they really running out of time?

“What?!”

“A priest this time and a girl. I think you and your partner better come over.”

Time. Isaiah saw a mirage of a clock ticking in his mind. A fuzzy image.

Time.

Chapter 13

The sky was still grey. Isaiah mused that the day was dedicated to Gray man. Idle thoughts cluttered his mind to distract him from his anxiety on his way to the abandoned cabin in the woods behind the small, lonely Catholic Church of Eaeshore. Holy Angels was its name.

Isaiah almost missed it as the dirt path into the forest was hard to spot but once he did, it was a long, winding drive right up to the cabin. A carwash would be due as well as mud splattered on the side of his car.

The bumpy ride was making him nauseous. So, he fumbled for a cigarette to smoke.

When he arrived at the wooden cabin- clearly neglected as the logs making up the walls were already rotting- he saw Elijah’s rented Mustang already there.

Isaiah thought that it could make a fantastic hangout place or a romantic, scenic getaway for honeymooners. He could imagine the cabin in its immaculate state- hidden behind thick trees, overlooking a gentle stream. When winter fulfill its promise after autumn, it would even be more beautiful as the snow would gather on the rooftop and on the branches of the stoic trees. The stream would be frozen over; the trees would still create those shades of yellow and gold with their crowning glories left over from autumn.

It could be a perfect setting for a private winter wonderland.

Under the vast, gray canopy- with winter a couple more months in the future and the magical beauty of autumn shying away from Eaeshore as gloom marred the entire picture- the cabin was forlorn; depressed. Its perimeter was defined by the red and white, long plastic cordon. Two police cars were parked next to the Mustang a distance away from his Lexus. The surroundings were crawling with cops.

The stream flowed with tears because Death was forced to visit its lonesome neighbor.

“Isaiah!” Stern slipped himself under the cordon and Isaiah instinctively touched his hair. He was a little afraid that he had not taken away his initial disguise. He only heaved a sigh of relief when he realized that he had.

“Hi. So, what happened?” Isaiah asked as he dropped the cigarette stub onto the soil and crushed it under his right foot. Stern stood with his arms akimbo beside Isaiah.

“Priest’s dead and from the looks of it, he’s probably already in heaven for approximately three days. The girl’s body is less decomposed. We have gathered that she was probably killed last night. We have checked with Father Terrence of Holy Angels. He’s behind the cabin. Your brother’s with him and the two kids who discovered the bodies while hiking in this part of the woods. I hope Elijah don’t stress them up too much. The father’s an old man, the boys are barely thirteen and your brother’s not exactly the most sympathetic person in the world…”

Girl. Last night. Shelly’s gone…

“How did the girl look like?” Isaiah started approaching the cabin that had become a coffin with broad, anxious strides. Stern followed behind, his footsteps hurried as well to keep pace with his.

“Brown hair, petite. Lost in her clothes.”

Shelly…

Isaiah had not known Shelly very well but he had sensed her grief and she held the key to many of the mysteries. She was connected to both Alvin and she had kept the link hidden from them, deliberately.

He was already mourning her loss. The tightening of his chest, the closing up of his esophagus, the difficulty in swallowing.

And the consciousness of his own breathing.

Professionalism kept him from retching the moment he stepped into the cabin; the stench of decomposition fouled the air; fouled his system.

Unlike the rest of the bodies that had been carefully placed in random places after they were killed, these killings took place in the cabin. The two bodies were covered up, one on the far left of the cabin, the other on the far right.

He was ripped violently away from where he was and thrown into the misty border between the clarity of the present, and the fogginess of the past.

Isaiah’s eyes glazed over, seeing the two realms; belonging in none.

The killer, hiding behind his black ski-mask, let the young priest staggered blindly towards the door with painful steps. A trail of blood followed the wake of the priest’s footsteps; blood that dripped fat droplets of mortality from the waist to the grimy wooden floor, where the serrated knife had stabbed.

Isaiah saw the trail of dried blood on the floor. Only to his eyes, it was fresh- the coppery smell and the bright redness was that of fresh blood.

The priest did not make it to the door. The killer was not a bear of a man but the priest was drugged with pain and sluggish from the lost of mortal blood. The killer gripped him hard by the neck and slammed his face down on the table top. His nose was broken. He was bleeding. His face scrounged up in so much agony and he must have tasted his own blood that streamed down from the gash on his forehead and his destroyed nose.

The heavy, wooden table had a splotch of blood on its top. Besides the blood, there would be traces of other bodily fluids or remnants- maybe some mucous, maybe some bone bits. Isaiah watched as the small pool of blood trickled down the leg of the table. He was nauseated.

Still, he followed the footsteps of the killer and the footsteps of the dead.

The killer smiled, or what seemed like a smile from the movements of the clothed face. The priest crumbled down to the floor but still alive, though barely. The killer gripped the hands of the shadow cloaked in white and dragged him across the room to the back where he wanted him.

The killer’s shadow was black as a night without stars or the rented light of the moon.

Isaiah was now tracking the short distance on the floor, where the trail of blood was broader. Unlike the first trail, made up of splotches, the second trail was painted on with a broad, human brush.

The broad brush that was the priest’s body.

“Accept the real messiah and I’ll spare your miserable life.” The pitch of the voice was thick and heavy, alternating between an innocent tone of a child and the low guttural growl of many demons; alternating like the watcher’s sight- sporadic moments of murkiness and sharp lucidity.

The priest’s head shook. He mouthed something. The killer howled and stormed on the priest’s stomach. The priest was immobilized by his grievous injuries. The killer stretched the priest’s hands out before he angrily stabbed the palms, thrusting through soft flesh and hard bones.

“You want your messiah? Die like your messiah! Don’t try to save me! I was trying to save you! Damn you! Damn you! You’ve ruined it! You’ve doomed yourself!”

The stabbing evolved into motions of ripping and tearing with the serrated blade.

“DIE!!!” He slashed the priest’s throat. Blood, there was so much of it, gushed out rapidly.

Blood. Sacrifice.

Isaiah unveiled the body. There was even more dried blood around the area where the head and neck was. Even with the decomposition, he could tell that the priest was young. He saw the mauled palm. Back to where he was, the reek of the dead invaded him again. He stopped breathing.

He muttered a silent prayer.

“What happened there?” Stern laid a hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. Isaiah jumped before he had to gasp for more air and immediately regretted breathing.

“Nothing. Just… just trying to make sense of what was left behind.” Isaiah muttered. He took out his handkerchief and covered his nose.

“Was there any note left behind?” Isaiah’s voice was muffled from behind his mask.

Stern shook his head. “Nope. I’m not even sure if it was done by the same killer. I mean, I don’t know. The priest’s kind of young. Maybe he could not bear the vow of celibacy and got himself a girlfriend…”

Isaiah raised a hand to halt Stern’s theory. Of course it was the same killer. He had seen the murder in action. He had saw, even through the blurry visions, what the priest had mouthed.

“I forgive you. God have mercy.”

The young man was a true priest, not one who ran to the seminaries to escape the problems that he could not solve.

“It is the same killer.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Isaiah turned and gave Stern a penetrating gaze. His voice was sepulchral as he spoke. “I know it.”

Stern arched his brows. Isaiah knew then Stern must have thought that he was a loony-bin of a FBI. He could not blame Stern. Sometimes, he felt like he was going crazy, frustrated as well because he could not explain his convictions.

And he was not even FBI.

He left Stern staring after him. With a sinking dread, he almost had to lug his feet to the second body across the room. No visions, no sense, no nothing for this one.

The face was revealed with trembling hands that were gloved. It was white. It used to be pretty. A splash of freckles ran across the cheeks. Limp brown hair must have been glossy with feisty life.

There was a thin, red swell on her neck and dried blood where the wire had managed cut through. She had been strangled.

“Rest in peace, Shelly.”

He covered the face again and decided to meet up with his brother outside, leaving the police investigators to brush and scrap for evidence all over the cabin. Not knowing why, he stepped over the priest’s body, and a shockwave jolted through him. His vision was clouded white.

The room swirled. A mauled hand emerged from the white sleeve of a white robe- with white bones exposed where the gashes were deep- and pointed out something on the left of him. He blinked, not knowing if it was real or imagined.

The blinding whiteness exploded like a ball of lightning and dispersed. Colors entered his sight once more.

He was back again where he was. His eyes glanced to his left. There was a wood-grained dresser. On top of the dresser was an alarm clock that must have been left behind when the owner of the cabin abandoned it to the mercy of the elements. The plastic covering of the face was yellowed with age. A deep scratch was carved across it.

What is this supposed to mean? Riddles. More riddles.

The clock’s broken. Maybe, I’m running out of time.

Chapter 14

The two brothers were back in the café a couple of hours later. They had loitered behind to comb the place together with the police investigators, in hope of finding something that the killer might have left behind.

He left nothing behind for Isaiah, except the vision of him murdering and mauling in anger. They were all looking for the note, since Isaiah was convinced that the killer was one and the same. They found none, not even a minute piece of paper. Isaiah did not place much hope on the fingerprints, the blood samples and various other scrapings that they had retrieved. The killer was a very cautious man. Serial killers were likely to be very acquainted with police procedures such that they knew what the pitfalls to avoid were.

Elijah had asserted that Father Terrence might be the next target, along with the other two pastors, a Baptist and a Lutheran. Stern promised to keep an eye on the three religious figures in town but not before engaging in an argument in which he experienced for himself Elijah’s commands which were unwavering and stalwart in face of any opposition.

“We are short-handed.”

“If you want to protect the innocents, just do what I’ve said. The killer obviously was not happy with his work of art.”

“So, what do you think?” Isaiah stirred his coffee with as much enthusiasm as he would have counting sheep. Isaiah had already narrated his conversation with Carter to Elijah who took down notes. Elijah then reiterated a near perfect piece of verbal transcript from his “tête-à-tête” with Dan who, to Isaiah, sounded like he could use an IV drip of happinessi soon.

Elijah blinked; his eyes unfocused. Isaiah was getting used to his brother’s spells of silence which he now knew was spent on thinking. He had never met anyone who ransacked his mind as much as Elijah. In a way, he was intrigued. In a way, he was proud of his brother’s keen intelligence.

“The case is definitely surrounded around Leonard, Shelly, Ben and Alvin and the fact that the former three did a project on Parsifal with Alvin giving them guidance could be more than a coincidence. Maybe their area of interest got them into trouble and they might have got acquainted with the killer by chance. Maybe one of them is the killer. Right now, I don’t want to make any conclusions yet. But don’t you think today’s crime scene is pretty interesting?” Elijah enquired, raising a brow slightly, gazing at Isaiah as if he was challenging his elder brother.

Isaiah was not fazed. He knew what Elijah was implying at.

“That the obvious signs of struggle came from the murder of the priest, not from that of Shelly. Shelly had no wounds on her, only an indication on her neck that she was garroted by a thin wire of sorts. The fibers that we managed to obtain from the wood splinters on the door will most likely be from her loose t-shirt. Shocked by the horror presented to her, she would most probably be momentary paralyzed. The killer took the chance to loop the unknown wire around her neck and strangled her. She must have struggled but was no match for the killer as she would be gasping for air at the same time. She fell just next to the door, her t-shirt caught onto the splinters while she…” He breathed in deeply. Stick figures he conjured in his mind, directing them through the motions that he had just described.

“Dropped dead?” Elijah eyes slit in the most disrespectful manner, his lips curled a little at the sides. Isaiah seethed inside but said nothing. In his mind, he imagined an answer. He imagined himself chastising Elijah but that was all. A figment of his imagination.

Damn you, Elijah. Death is a permanent change. She was once alive, warm and probably brought joy to those around her. How dare you trivialize the loss of her.

“I haven’t finished.” Isaiah gazed intently at his brother. Icicles hung precariously from the edges of his words. If Elijah was affected, it did not show. Elijah simply dismissed Isaiah’s change of treatment towards him with his usual indifference; maybe even some glee.

Was he being rude just to see how far he can push me before I snap at him?

No. That’s too childish. He’s not like that.

“Anyway, I was just thinking that she might have struggled but I don’t think we’ll get anything from her fingernails’ clippings. The killer was wearing a pair of black leather gloves. I think he should be aware of how we work as he can ill-afford to make any mistakes.”

Elijah brows arched a little before he knitted them. Relaxing his mien after a split second, he nodded. “So the most logical conclusion will be that she knew this killer well. The lack of struggle in her as well as the first two victims points to that,” he paused and cast his eyes onto his cup of bitter coffee in front of him.

“So you think it’s one of the kids?”

“I didn’t say that. I want to be certain first.”

“Afraid to embarrass yourself? And how will you go about doing that? Shoot ice daggers at them until they either confess or freeze to death?” Isaiah could not contain his annoyance with Elijah over the previous, undeserving remark. It surfaced up finally and demanded an outlet which Isaiah was strangely happy to give.

Isaiah was pissed off at the killer as well.

Elijah only gazed curiously at Isaiah to which Isaiah grunted in frustration.

“It’s always going to be this way, isn’t it? We sit here and wait until the killer to do enough killings for us to see a pattern, to bridge the gap so we can finally hop over to his side, stop him from sacrificing more innocents.”

His blond sibling gave him a twisted smile that seemed more like a sneer. “We’ll check up on the students involved, of which only one is left, Ben. Then we’ll talk about the gap you so desperately want to hop over.”

“Don’t you?” Isaiah drawled dispassionately.

“Yes. But not for your reasons, brother. I’m not that noble.” Elijah declared, still retaining his throne as the king of apathy.

Not wanting their discussion to degenerate into a spiteful conversation, laced with acid that would ultimately only corrode only one soul- his own- Isaiah diluted his own anger and frustration with swallowed saliva and focused back on the case. Elijah had almost raised his voice at Stern when the veteran officer was adamant that Eaeshore’s police department lacked the resources to guard the three religious figures. It was almost like Elijah had seen a pattern which eluded Isaiah.

“Why are you so concern over the old priest and the pastors? If you’ve deduced something, it will not hurt to share.”

“Thesis. Skyner’s thesis. His list of victims coincides with the order of the killings. Maybe it was pure coincidence but perhaps, Skyner met someone who had an insight into the nature of these killings which had a precedent in New Orleans. Maybe he even met the previous, dead killer or even this new one. He simply reiterated the same order into his thesis and the killer’s list did not change as well. I’ll admit I’m grasping at straws. The killer may not even want to kill a priest anymore for the time being.”

Isaiah nodded. It was a long shot, but still, a shot nonetheless. Silent with contemplation, the vision of the hand wove with his stream of thoughts, such that it dominated his attention; unsettled his guts.

“Why are you so sure that the killer wore black gloves? And you addressed the killer as a he. Your certainty is most… interesting.” Elijah’s vacuous stare gave way to intrigue mingled with sneering amusement.

Isaiah’s black eyes narrowed in annoyance as he scrambled for an answer to the sudden question and decided that honesty was the best policy. “The Network scouted me not for my IQ; I can assure you of that. I’m…psychic.” He wanted to state it like a matter-of-fact but ended up sounded ridiculously silly to even his own ears, sounding like those nutcases on the streets proclaiming that Armageddon was near.

Or maybe they aren’t nutcases. Who can ascertain?

Isaiah thought Elijah would give that most condescending smirk as a finale to his silent derogation of him but Elijah did not. He blinked twice instead- the derision melted away from his mien, unveiling, yet again, the inscrutable; chiseled face.

Maybe he’s confused inside. Maybe he thinks I’m crazy.

“You believe in things beyond… beyond this.” Elijah meant it as a statement, not a question. Isaiah pressed his lips together. He did not what he believe in anymore with the exception of his faith. He wondered about the goodness that human beings were supposed to have yet the world had transformed into twisty stretches of dark alleyways with demons ready to pounce on anyone who dared explored.

Demons that were once human beings as well.

Maybe I’m just feeling morbid. But I know we’re supposed to have this something intrinsically good in us. Good.

“I don’t know but maybe there’s really evil in this world. I thought I’ve read something about Hitler- one of his friends, I can’t remember who, narrated about how he witnessed this transformation of Hitler during a conversation of theirs, how he seemed to be in some form of… rapture… as he spoke about his ambitions…”

“The friend of Hitler was August Kubizek. A more realistic explanation for that encounter will be that something in Hitler just snapped. I don’t believe in… what they call it? The supernatural? Paranormal?” Elijah’s drone sawed through Isaiah’s words bluntly. Isaiah took in a deep breath. Maybe Elijah was right. Maybe those visions he had were all hallucinations and they were just lucky to be accurate all the time.

“I have visions.”

“You implied it.”

“I’ve seen the dead priest’s hand pointing to that broken clock in the cabin.”

“You’re stressed up.” Came the terse reply; brisk and final.

They were in silence; familiar unfriendly silence. Isaiah had no interpretation for Elijah’s last respond and was not in the mood to analyze it. Or maybe he knew the unspoken message, because his brother’s words cut. He took a drink of his coffee and swallowed it with much difficulty before involuntary making a face. He waved for the friendly waitress over.

“Yes! What can I do for you? Where’s your girlfriend?” She chimed, beaming at Isaiah. Isaiah smiled, a little tired and tried by her too happy voice.

“She’s busy.”

The waitress clucked her tongue and placed a hand on her hips. “My boyfriend too. College workload. But it gives me more time for myself anyway.”

“That’s nice.” Isaiah replied off-handedly; distracted by the incoherent murmurs inside his mind. Always, he would return to the vision of the mangled hand.

The waitress paused for a moment before shrugging with her shoulders. “Yah. Crappy place. Like I said before, I’m glad I’m not there. So, what do you want?”

Isaiah gestured to his cup. “I need a change of coffee, mine turned cold long ago. And another cup for my brother as well.” He requested politely of her and she beamed into his grimness before spinning around, her skirt flaring as she did so. She almost danced as she went to get their coffee.

Elijah was giving him yet another curious stare, the stare of a scientist faced with a very strange and new entity. He had very characteristically ignored the bouncy waitress the entire time. Suddenly, Isaiah was feeling inquisitive over the sort of woman Elijah went for.

Does he go for woman? Or man? Maybe he doesn’t go for any, maybe he’s asexual. The way he is, I wonder if love has ever touched his heart.

“After the way I’ve treated you, you still call me your brother.” It was yet another statement.

Isaiah allowed the implication to sink in before a weary look, accompanied by a half-hearted smile, exhibited through his features. “Believe me; I may not always be so kind.”

The cold mask cracked as Elijah chuckled softly. Isaiah could not see the teaser. He knitted his brows and gestured around vaguely. “What? I don’t get it.”

Elijah stopped abruptly and his torso stilled. “You don’t need to know. I do envy you sometimes.”

Yes. An insight finally. Please, let this be a moment of some soul-bearing. Let me find my brother somewhere inside the glacier.

Isaiah did not want to seem too pushy. He simply raised a brow in silent, gentle probing. Elijah caught the look and shook his head.

“You don’t need to know.” He repeated.

Isaiah sighed. He knew Elijah would honor his own words.

“And Isaiah… don’t try to read my mind.”

He was a little stunned by Elijah’s sudden request. It was a demand uncanny for someone who blatantly admitted that he did not believe in such gifts.

“I can’t. I don’t think my gifts work like that. I can’t read minds. Though I do hope that yours not empty inside.” Isaiah meant each word as his gaze bored down deep into Elijah’s, matching concern with the indifference that he saw. Elijah did seem too empty. He was definitely not devoid of thoughts. It was something else. He was devoid of something else which was very important.

Elijah lost this staring contest. He averted his eyes, almost uncomfortably, and gazed out of the window.

“Indifference is better than hate Elijah. I don’t want to kill you.” The voice was softer; cautionary even. Isaiah’s mouth gaped open.

“What?” His eyes narrowed with disbelief at what he had just heard.

Elijah faced him again; a mirthless half-smile crept onto his face. “Pardon my poor attempt at a joke.”

“No, it’s not. What do you mean, Elijah? Just tell me, freaking damn it!” Isaiah screamed quietly, gesticulating about widely. There was much frustration and mystery. Isaiah did not want Elijah to be a mystery forever but Elijah was stubborn. Like a diary, he kept himself shut- clasping the covers together with a lock. Unlike a diary, the lock was not simple.

Isaiah was afraid that Elijah had thrown away the key.

“Coffee!” The waitress sprung out from behind him, her jovial voice still did nothing to raise Isaiah’s spirits by even a millimeter. He simply smiled with difficulty as she swapped his cup with a new one and poured steaming hot coffee into it. Elijah had returned his sight to outside the window, probably hypnotized by the confetti released from the swaying branches of the trees, assaulting the window panes. The frail leaves became the media for the anger of the wind.

“None for me.” Elijah spoke, still gazing out of the window. The waitress stopped in mid-action and glanced at him with some annoyance before reverting her attention back onto the more amiable brother.

Him.

“Weather’s extremely rough outside. A storm’s coming.” She informed him, smilingly still.

He twisted his lips at the bad weather report. “Hmm. Well, thanks. Looks like we’ll be trap here for some time.”

“You can be trapped here anytime, handsome.” She flirted with him before walking away to serve other customers.

A storm was indeed brewing in the cauldron which was his world then. A cauldron bubbling with sadness and anguish. A cauldron that was now being stirred by his brother’s hands.

Kill me. He probably meant it. Maybe not literally. But I can sense his anger. It’s a latent anger.

I should say sorry.

But he did not. He did not know how to say it. What does someone say to those left behind in the depths of an abyss? Especially when the someone flew up, up and away from it, promising to return for him in letters after letters.

Again, silence embraced the two brothers even as the café became rowdier and more packed.

The doors swung open and close in intervals as pedestrians escaped into the café from the impending tempest. Familiar faces were spotted by a few people as some of them clapped one another on the back, wishing well; asking for updates. The café owner was happy because his cash register was chiming with the promise of wealth much more frequently.

The last person in was a little boy, being dragged in reluctantly by his mother with an aggravated expression on her face. The first few drops of rain plopped down onto Earth then.

And then the skies exploded in full fury.

The rain only stopped after close to three hours. Finally they could leave the restaurant and Isaiah walked in a different direction from Elijah the moment they reached the deserted car park to retrieve their cars. He was about to start driving off when he realized the blinking red light on his dashboard, informing him that the driver’s door was not shut properly.

Rolling his eyes, he swung the door opened. Nothing was going right for him.

He had spent three hours in tedious silence just opposite his brother.

I need to rush Howard. Soon. I don’t want Elijah to hate me. I don’t want it.

I don’t want his indifference as well. I want Lijah back into my life. I want to be Saiah to him again.

I want…

A sharp pain shot through his temple and his world was black. The thing he thought of last was a scream. A scream that might as well be silent because nobody heard.

Lijah. Sorry.

Elijah had memorized every single word on every single newspaper available for complimentary browsing in the café. He was not affected by the silence between him and Isaiah. The silence was good; welcomed. He could think of the case at hand. It had to be crack soon. Part of him wanted to win.

Another part did not wish to see more lives gone- a suppressed part of him.

And the silence gave him time to chide himself for falling in front of Isaiah; for revealing too much. But he had been a little amazed by Isaiah’s revelation. He was not envious of Isaiah’s gifts. They might be senseless hallucinations for all he knew.

He was envying something else Isaiah had. Each time he saw the cross brushing against Isaiah’s collarbone, he was envious.

Then he heard the crack of a gun, the volume muffled by a silencer. Immediately he whirled around to the direction of the sound and saw a figure, fully cloaked in black- the face hidden behind a black ski-mask- a distance away about to take aim at him.

With lightning quick reflexes, he ducked while drawing out his gun at the same time. From his slouched position, he fired a shot. The blast was deafening and he felt the force of the shot jolting him slightly backwards. He was a natural marksman. He never missed what he wanted to target at before.

Not even once.

The man clutched his forearm and dashed off in the covers of a slightly forested area behind the car park. Elijah instinctively wanted to give chase, cursing Eaeshore and its undeveloped, forested sporadic plots.

However, he stopped when something prompted him to look to his left. A gentle touch; an anxious touch.

His heart lurched. There Isaiah was, crumbled on the grimy ground of the car park next to his car with the door half-opened.

Blood matted down his hair; blood that flowed from the side of his skull.

Elijah rushed over.

Saiah.

Isaiah was still breathing. There was no sign of the bullet exiting. Elijah had not time to think of how it could have occurred. The fact that Isaiah was even breathing was a miracle. From the corner of his eyes, he saw some people who must had heard his gunshot from wherever they were when it happened running towards him.

Saiah. On the dirty ground.

He had no time for them.

Saiah!!!!!!

Carrying his brother up with atypical gentleness and a strength that belied his lean physique, he placed Isaiah placidly and carefully on the passenger seat of the Lexus. Getting into the car himself, he turned the key in the ignition, floored the accelerator and sped out of the car park. He followed the visual in his mind from his memorization of Eaeshore’s map- the shortest route to the hospital.

His brother’s blood was fast turning the champagne leather into a crimson work of abstract art with rivulets of dark, red mortality.

Chapter 15

“This way, Lynn.” Gray Man gently guided Lynn by her shoulders down the long, stretched hallway painted white, bordered with stale blue. The smell of disinfectant and antibiotics hung heavily in the air, like the miasma of medicinal Death. Her vision blurred by eyes streaming saline into two salty rivulets down her cheeks, everything she saw blended into one another into a confusing, tedious tapestry. The hallway, though straight, was winding and eternal.

Everything faded to gray.

Wherever Gray Man’s steady footfalls fell, she followed. Her mind could not think, or rather, it was thinking too much. The moment Gray Man rushed up to her cubicle as she was hacking into the computer servers of Eaeshore for IP addresses that might be useful, her composure shredded. She could not remember how she managed to arrive into Eaeshore Hospital. She could not remember what Gray Man had said to her. It was like she was not herself; not conscious of her surroundings. As tears mingled objects together, her mind became opaque to awareness. The only emotion that was decipherable was fear. She was so afraid that Isaiah would be dead. Isaiah could not die. He could not leave her in that way.

And thus fear fed her tear ducts, now overflowing with a silent flood.

Please God, bring him back to me. I’m the worst of sinners, in need of my saint. Bring him back to me, please…

“I have a dream, Lynn.”

“Dream? Not vision?”

“Lynn!!!”

“Ok… come. Tell me.”

“Don’t laugh, but I think I want to grow old with you on some sunny beach somewhere. Maybe we can even get ourselves stranded on some island covered with palm trees, weightless sand; soothed by lazy turquoise waves. You’ll be in my arms and even the sea breeze against our cheeks; we’re not cold because we have each other. We are holding each other and we’ll always be warm. The sunsets and sunrise become our eyes’ staple diet and we become each other’s daily inspiration. Hey… shh… don’t cry… it’s supposed to make you smile, not cry…”

“Silly… you can’t get me to commit with your pathetic attempts at imageries.”

“I know. But, you’re melting… here… come here… you belong here…in my arms. One day, you’ll know. I already do.”

A door was held opened for her by Grey Man and she walked in to be greeted by another corridor. A shorter one which led her into the waiting lounge outside a major operating theatre. There Elijah was, seated on one of the yellowed plastic green chairs. Brownish yellow against sickly green. The gross pairing reminded her of the color of puke.

Elijah shone with a detached whiteness. His blond hair was white. His complexion was white. His long-sleeved white shirt was white. Only his pants were grey- a pair of cold steel slate.

Long-sleeved shirt. White with blotches of red. Isaiah’s blood on his brother’s crumpled shirt.

She ran over immediately, ignoring the pinching of her toes by the tough-leathered court shoes; unmindful of the restrictive hems of her short, black skirt.

“Elijah! What happened? How’s Isaiah? What? Why? WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP THE DAMN KILLER??!!”

Lynn bombarded Elijah with a slew of questions; her voice shrilling. Hysterical with the sudden release of pent-up anxiety, she exploded into a frenzy- shaking Elijah’s shoulders violently; threatening to shake the statuette head loose from the neck.

Dead. My Isaiah, my one true love. He may be dead.

Gunshot wound. She read about those before. Some do recover but most of the time- if they did survive in the first place- they usually ended up in an timeless slumber until they got tired of breathing.

Lynn did not want Isaiah to die. Lynn did not want Isaiah to sleep forever either, keeping her in poignant curiosity with the perpetual question as to what he was dreaming about while she watched him aged on the white pillow which would be drenched with her tears.

“You know, I think I have a way to get you to commit.”

“Isaiah…”

“I have a calling from God. I am supposed to marry you.”

“You know it’s not nice to put words in God’s mouth.”

“I know. It’s a joke. But hey! A man can try…”

Gray Man stood behind her as she faced the block of ice. Elijah was expressionless, not even looking up at her in response to her question. She did not expect much but she did not expect the blankness. Like the robot he was, he droned.

“I guess the killer had a clear shot but probably Isaiah opened his car door for some reason and the bullet hit the side of the metal door and was deflected. Instead of traveling straight through his head, the bullet is now lodged somewhere inside.”

“I don’t want to know why the damn bullet didn’t exit! I want to know how he is! Is he going to be ok? What did the doctor say…” She broke down then and stumbled backwards. Gray Man caught her and she turned and cried into his chest.

“Hmm. Li Lin, Wen? Lynn? Hi! I’m Isaiah Raily, from Special Unit. Seen you around. Hmm… I was just thinking, well, if.. if you eat…”

“I do eat. I’m a human being.”

“Oh, I meant that of course… I… well… ermm… eat dinner. I mean you do eat dinner. I… phew…”

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I’ll have dinner with you. I’ve seen you around too.”

“Has the surgeon said anything?” Gray inquired, his concern was masked behind a still voice but it was still detectable. Lynn heard his heartbeat through his shirt, skin and ribcage. It was almost as fast as erratic as hers.

“Yes. The entrance of the bullet was on the left occipital region. They took a CT scan of him which showed the skull fracture and a large underlying cerebral contusion. Isaiah was taken to the operating room for debridement of the wound and skull fracture, with repair of the dura mater.”ii

“What?” Gray Man sounded startled. Lynn knew why. It was not the shock that Elijah could repeat flawlessly all the obscure medical terms that the doctor might have relayed to him. If Elijah figured the whole procedure for himself, Lynn would not be shocked too.

It was the way he said it. He sounded more like a disinterested third party, so bored by the whole incident. Lynn’s right palm burned and trembled. Recalling the deep love Isaiah had for his abnormal brother- a love seldom spoke but sensed, a love that Isaiah had much trouble conveying because Elijah had no qualms rejecting in the harshest, apathetical manner- Lynn calmed her palm and tempered her anger.

“You’ve heard me.” Elijah replied in irritated staccatos before he stood up. Ignoring them, dismissing their grief and worries, he strode away from the lounge to the hallway. Lynn heard his movements, pulled out of Gray’s reassuring embrace, whirled on her heels and stared incredulously at the retreating back of Elijah.

“I love you.”

““Oh…Isaiah…I…well…hmm…that’s a big one…”

“Li-Lin. Lynn…whatever you want to call yourself. I love you. Really love you. And…I’m hoping we can have the talk soon…the one you promised me?”

“Hmm…Isaiah, this is too sudden. I need time. I promise…the talk…”

Don’t go Isaiah. I’ll have the talk with you.

Oh God, I love you Isaiah. I do. I love you so much…

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lynn called out after him. The surrounding around them disappeared as Artic took over. Cold, callous cold, wrapped its frosted arms of ice around the tendrils of her voice.

Elijah’s strides continued, his footsteps were soft, steady with calm.

Peeved, Lynn raced up to him, oblivious to the click-clacking of her court- shoes destroying the silence demanded by sickness of the hospital. Stretching out a hand, she halted him by pulling back his shoulder.

He stopped, but did not turn to face her.

“He needs us here.”

“I don’t like to waste time.” The quiet reply blasted in her ears and hacked the lock that secured the chain which she restricted her anger with.

Rage surged through her as her hot blood bubbled. Not even molten larvae could melt this hoarfrost.

“Waste time? Isaiah’s your brother damn it! Can’t you at least show some compassion!”

“There’s a serial murderer on the loose. I don’t want to waste time.” Elijah grabbed the hand on his shoulder and chill shot through it to her heart; creating rime in her as well.

Elijah’s flesh was as cold as his heart.

He turned around finally and gazed impassively into her eyes- his hand still holding on to hers which trembled under the chill. Very mechanically, he let it go.

“Go to him if you want.”

Lynn watched in muted silence at his silhouette which was diminishing down the hallway yet again. Hailstones hurled down and a barrage of ice sizzled out the scald in Lynn’s resentment-but not the intensity. Her anger reflected the whiteness of its target- white, cool and piercing.

She closed her eyes.

“I have only one word for you, Lijah Raily.”

He froze.

“Defrost.”

Elijah drove all the way back to New York in Isaiah’s Lexus. It was quiet all around him but he might as well be turning deaf. His mind was churning incoherent thoughts, assailing in every direction from the inside of him. His guts twisted. His heart was beating fast.

Memories which he repressed deliberately were collaborating now on Operation: Resurgent; carrying it out with a vengeance.

The air-conditioning in the car was not cold enough. The leather seat brought him no comfort. He drove fast, speeding down the highway aimlessly when a sudden urge took hold of him. He knew where Isaiah stayed. Isaiah kept a pocketbook in the glove compartment of his car and his address was written on it.

He smirked. They were brothers. But they had not even exchanged addresses.

And probably Isaiah would never guess that Elijah stayed only two blocks away from him.

Turning into the car park of Isaiah’s apartment building- a beautiful, posh building that reflected a deep sophistication in the night- Elijah swung the car swiftly into an empty lot and everything else after that was lost to him. He was in a trance, not exactly conscious of what he was doing.

And why he would desire to visit Isaiah’s apartment.

The security guard stopped him. He had forgotten his answer. But he was let through.

He unlocked the door to the apartment and switched on the lights. It was only when he was faced with the stark contrast to the emptiness of his own abode that he regained full control of his consciousness.

His brother, Isaiah, was leaving a double life as well. Deep, openly enigmatic and melancholy summed up Isaiah. Elijah knew. Elijah saw but he just did not comment. He knew a lot about Isaiah by just quietly observing. He saw the frustration whenever the arched brows furrowed slightly. He watched the lips move in silent prayer sometimes.

Scanning the cozy living room that was presented in front of his eyes, he noticed that Lynn’s pictures were exhibited in pretty frames and they lined the mantel together with crystal ornaments of a pair of love swans, a sparkling violin and a revolving piano.

The colors of the hall were too happy- peach, orange and bold red. Isaiah would be more suited to blue.

A cross was hung high up on the wall with a portrait of the Sacred Heart just under it.

A sparkling violin.

He closed the door behind him gently.

Entering Isaiah’s room, he dispelled the darkness with a flick of the switch.

Isaiah’s bedroom was blue. That was the private Isaiah. He wore it on his face but still, he did not want people to know. A bible was just placed next to bed on a night table- bookmarks stuck out of it in many places. Elijah noticed that while the overall theme were shades of indigo, a breathtaking, laminated photo of a beach- with the sun rising out of the sea like a ball of molten orange, waiting to herald in the dawn, canopied by a purple sky streaked with pink and tangerine- was standing upright behind the bible like a perpetual, graphic materialization of the prayer in Isaiah’s heart.

A prayer for happiness to be his finally probably. Isaiah had hope and love. Elijah had none.

And that was why Elijah felt envious; deeply envious. Happiness. Everyone touted that happiness was a choice. Whenever Elijah thought he could choose to be happy, someone or something would take it away.

The someone was probably him. His emotions were treacherous.

Happiness is transient, a sporadic thing.

Pain, it last. It endures; everlasting.

He spotted the 1925 "Johann Glass" Leipzig violin just next to the bed. So, Isaiah had not forgotten. Elijah had tried to. Elijah wanted to forget but he could not. He approached the violin and his hands squeezed its neck. It was exquisite. It would sound exquisite.

There was only one song in him. Winter. It was fitting. It was his favorite season, not by choice but by need. The need for everything to be covered with whiteness- not of purity but of emptiness. The need for the world to be so cold, so deadly cold so he would not feel too estranged from it. So he could at least belong to it for a while.

He played the violin; coaxed it with frozen passion.

“Don’t blame me sonny. Blame yourself. Blame your mother. She left you, a replica of her. She left you for me to hate.”

Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think. Don’t think.

Don’tthinkDon’tthinkDon’tthinkDon’tthinkDon’tthinkDon’tthink.

Play the violin. Don’t think.

Don’t feel. He’s dead, isn’t he? Dead. Deaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddeaddead.

He cajoled each note of the presto rhythm with stunning accuracy, though he had not touched the instrument for at least a couple of years. While most would be burning with pride at not forgetting, he wondered why he would recall; why the music would boil in his blood still. A slight furrow of brows; a twitch of his cheeks- remembering had never been so condemning.

‘Dearest Lijah,

I do miss you. I’m your big brother, how can I not miss you? I’m starting school soon. I can’t tell you how excited I am because I’m not. You’re not by my side. And that’s what dampened my spirits.

One day, I promise, mom and me will come and take you back. She promised me. It will come true. The tears will end.

Believe me.’

I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU SO MUCH!

Hate it when I can't hate you...

I can’t hate you.

The song reached its rousing crescendo. Elijah played it faster than presto- nimble fingers expelled his anger and anguish because he could not show it through the face that returned to its deathly still state- the eyes were closed normally, not even squeezed shut. The brows forced to relax; the cheeks were demanded to be numbed.

“Elijah. It would be such a shame don’t you think, if all your perfect grades were marred because of this incident of cheating. You’re so smart. Why do you need to resort to this?”

“I was framed.”

“You never learned don’t you? Yale will never accept a cheater. I’ll personally write to every college so your application will never go through. All you’ll be left with are those junior colleges and even those will take in considerations of your records, blemished by this. I wonder how many other tests have you cheated on?”

“None. I never cheat. I don’t need to. I was framed, are you too stupid to understand me?”

“What drive; what passion underneath those clothes. Oh, before we end this discussion, you’re scheduled to graduate this year, right?”

The violin, controlled by him, sang and wailed- becoming his soul’s voice when his own failed him. He knew, how could he not? No morals. He had no morals. His actions were coolly calculated; not morally based.

Condemned most probably, made to live out this torturous existence in preparation for hell.

Could I have done things differently? Could I? I don’t know… someone… tell me… please….

The music that it weaved into the tendrils of the air was horrifyingly beautiful.

“Don’t go…”

“Elijah, it’s a business deal in the first place. I have my family. My husband needs me, my son and daughter loves me. I can’t give my family up, not for you.”

“No. I need you. I love you. I want you. You can’t give me up.”

“But I have never placed hope in you. Like I said, my dear shampoo boy, it’s only a business deal. Now, it’s over. Take your due. And keep it a secret.”

Love? What’s that? An exchange of money for companionship and bodily pleasures. And I foolishly called it love.

A string broke but he kept it up. The horrifying beauty that hailed down stones and ice, wove, twisted and turned into grotesque passion. Banshees spirited from the violin; banshees screaming his lament.

“Indifference is better than hate, Isaiah. I don’t want to kill you.”

I’ll never kill you. Was it me? Did I set a curse on you?

SHUT THE HELL UP LIJAH! JUST SHUT UP! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!!!

“ARGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” He screamed, throwing down the violin stick when frustration finally brimmed over. With both his hands, he gripped the violin’s neck- strangulating it.

“SHUT UP! STOP WHINING!!!!” He shouted at no one in particular. The veins in his neck popped; his deep, blue eyes glared at the delicate workmanship. So beautiful. It was so beautiful.

How he hated this thing of loveliness that was the loudhailer for his mangled soul only just now. He hated what it spoke to him. He hated what it revealed.

And he realized that he hated himself utterly.

Dashing out into the living room, self-denunciation became his body’s fuel. He searched for more beauty to consume with his hatred; searched for more intricate, loved objects to bring them down with him.

Crystal ornaments, you’re all looking fine and pretty. DAMN YOU!

He swung the violin at them and they came crashing down onto the floor, breaking into several pieces, like the broken remnants of a ruined, beautiful dream.

DAMN YOU, LIJAH!

He smashed the violin onto the wall. He kept smashing and smashing until all that was left was its neck in his hands, splintered at the ends like the futilely salvaged frails of an empty dream; the unwanted importunate trails of a nightmare. Hurling it on the floor, he stormed on it with one angry foot.

DAMN YOU, ELIJAH!

Running into the kitchen, he re-emerged with a kitchen knife. This time, he would not mutilate himself. He felt such need to destroy the happy-looking furniture.

He would do Isaiah a favor.

Slashing and tearing, he went into a mad frenzy, seemingly possessed. Years of suppressed emotion were unleashed in that one moment. He had no idea of what he was doing, only that he must do it; that he wanted to do it. When he was done, when his energy was expelled, he crumbled onto the floor. Gripping the blade of the kitchen knife between his teeth- feeling immediately the metallic sensation shooting through the enamel and dentin- he began to roll up his sleeves, revealing the rising and falling of scars crawling all over his forearm.

But quickly rolled it down again when he heard the door opening.

I damn myself. Elijah or Lijah, I damn you both.

Saiah. See this? I did this.

Lynn stared at the tattered living room in horror. Isaiah had painstakingly put it all together, choosing colors he normally would shun as a reminder to himself that he wanted to paint his world, no matter how bleak he viewed it to be, with hope and brightness. Aurora. Dawn.

Isaiah wanted only one thing. Salvation. His name, salvation of God. That was all he wanted.

She burst into fresh tears when the remnants of madness faced her, blaring in deafening silence at her. Gray Man had told her to go back and changed into something more comfortable and he would see if he could transfer Isaiah to one of the better hospitals in Manhattan. She had not wanted to go home. She wanted to be with Isaiah but Gray was insistent. So she went back, quickly changed into a loose translucent blouse and a pair of straight-cut jeans.

Gray Man, only Isaiah’s work mentor, had shown him more compassion and concern than his wintry brother.

She thought she could perhaps bring some familiar trinkets to remind Isaiah- maybe the revolving piano which was her birthday present for him last year. It sang prettily in a tinkling voice when the screw was wound and then released. She detoured over to Isaiah’s place and unlocked his door with the spare which he kept in the one of the unlit bulbs of the antique lamps he bought to decorated the sides of the entrance.

“How is he, doctor?”

“We have hope in him. But I cannot promise you anything. And I should prepare you for the side effects when he wakes. Most likely, he may suffer visual impairments of some kind, owing to where he was hit. Maybe some memory loss. We pray he would not be afflicted with fits but still, it is highly possible since it is severe trauma to the head we are talking about.”

“When will he wake? Now? Tomorrow?”

“I can’t say.”

“Never?”

“We have hope that it may not come to that.”

May not.

Walking pass the ripped couch, she stood in the midst of the shattered violin, the crystal shards and gazed helplessly at the shredded curtains.

The debris of the forced destruction of Isaiah’s dreams and efforts.

“Who did this?” She asked the man who was sitting on the floor in a defeated position, slouching against a wall next to the kitchen’s entrance. His shirt was tucked out; his hair was ruffled. Dead. His eyes were dead. Not even frosted over with the familiar sheets of ice.

“Monster.” He answered inaudibly.

The culprit was apparent. The sharp kitchen knife with fibers of cloth stuck on its serrated blade lain down beside Elijah. Isaiah only kept only sharp kitchen knives. She suddenly missed his cooking. He was a good cook. He should quit the Network and be a chef.

“Why?” Perforating were the accusatory arrows she fired at him. Didn’t he understand? His elder brother who loved him so much was in a bed, in a hospital with tubes sticking out of him, with no assurance that he was going to wake up.

Don’t Elijah understand? Can’t he feel?

The elder brother of his that she loved. She finally knew but knowledge of her heart came at such a great price. A price she could not afford.

I want to go to Perhentian with you. We will go together and leave this horrible place.

“The monster hates the beauty. He chewed on it and spat it out.” Elijah muttered, staring at the knife. Lynn stormed over, knelt down and shook his shoulders angrily for the second time, trying to shake some sense into him.

“HIS! YOU DESTROYED HIS VIOLIN! HE KEEPS PLAYING AND TELLING ME HOW PATHETIC HE WOULD SOUND COMPARED TO YOU! HE KEEPS TELLING ME ABOUT YOU! NOTHING BUT YOU AND YOU CAME AND DESTROYED EVERYTHING THAT’S HIS!!!! HOW CAN YOU DO THAT AND STILL SIT HERE TELLING ME…” She stopped yelling at him and shaking him when she saw the deadness in the man. Suddenly, she pitied him. She caught what he was trying to tell her.

“Monster.”

“You’re not one. At least not in his eyes. The way he talks about you sometimes, you will be so proud. ‘A cherub with fine strands of white gold for his hair but starved of his wings.’” Her slender hands were still on his shoulders but they were no longer the channel for anger. They sought to become the conduit for comfort. Gentleness, compassion and charity spoke to her and through her, tried to speak to him; to penetrate the layers of forbidding nothingness.

It was time for understanding, not accusations.

“Come, we’ll clean this up. It’s not too bad… I know where he bought these things, we can replace most… go get a broom… and I’ll sweep... he won’t blame you…” She tried to smile but failed when Elijah gazed at her and yet, not her.

“We can’t replace what was taken. It may look the same, it may feel the same but it won’t be the same. The original one is gone… like the smoke dissipated by the wind, never able to form into a whole again. Its dance was over; its moment gone. Do you understand? It’ll kill him when he sees what I see everyday when I look inside of me. He can only be so strong and he’s not that strong. Lijah was not strong enough. What makes you think Saiah could be?” His voice caressed her achingly and she had no idea when he stopped talking about himself and about Isaiah. Or if he was talking about them at all or some figures he imagined. He just seemed to be on another realm.

The eyes of the vanquished spirit were closed and just as Lynn wanted to just touch the frozen cheeks, the eyes stared back at her. Lijah or Elijah- this entity was confused between the boy inside and the estranged man outside. Estranged from the world; estranged from his brother; estranged from the boy.

He slid himself up against the wall and walked away from her, approaching the door. Again she stared at his retreating back.

Not in anger but with empathy that meandered down her cheeks.

“It may not be the same. But it may be better. Thrown to the chancy weather, it is smoothed by the harsh grains of the trials of life. Ultimately undaunted, it may emerged with a brilliance that it can never achieved had it remained sheltered all its life.

Everyone makes mistakes. We can’t let our mistakes ruin our lives. We can turn it around and turn a failure into a triumph for us and for others. I don’t know much but I know this. Love can heal what hate had destroyed.

Elijah; Lijah, do you understand?”

The figure had paused. His head hung low.

“I’ll find the killer. I owe him that.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. That was not the answer she was waiting for.

“And they don’t understand. They never understood Love. It was taken away from the boy. The man never saw it; nor taste it.”

He walked out of the door, leaving her alone to the aftermath; the terrible manifestation of the frozen agony inside the glacier.

i Credited to Beth. Stole this expression of hers from an email. :) ii Information obtained from eMedicine, http://www.emedicine.com/med/topic2888.htm