In Tongues of the Dead (20 page)

Benicio moved back. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, holding his hands out. “I'm sorry.
Scusi. Scusi
.”

The boy kicked and flailed his arms, all the while keeping up his high-pitched scream.

Benicio looked around nervously. He didn't want anyone coming over to see what was going on.

“What do you want?” Benicio asked. “What can I do?”

The boy stopped and stared straight ahead.

“I want to help you. We need to get out of here and find a safe place.”

No response. Benicio thought about something he hadn't brought up with the boy in a while. “If we're going to figure out that Voynich book together, then we need to get going. I really want to learn about it. I want to know about the language of the forsaken.”

The boy turned and looked at him. His expression sent a chill down the priest's spine. To Benicio, Matthew's eyes seemed vacant, lifeless.

The young priest spoke again. “Yes, the language of the angels. Only you can help me with that.”

The boy stared. It was difficult to tell if he was looking at Benicio or straight through him.

“Is there something you want to say? Is there something you can tell me about the language of the angels?”

“I am …” Matthew's voice was deep and hollow.

“Yes? You are what?”

“I am …”

Benicio moved forward slightly.

“I am Nephilite. I am forsaken.”

“What? Why do you say that?” Benicio wondered if Matthew was repeating what'd he heard Maury and Jeremy say at the restaurant. The boy couldn't know what he was saying — he wasn't Nephilim. Benicio put his face in his hands. It was getting harder and harder to think. After a moment he looked up. Matthew was standing in front of him. “Guess you're ready to go.”

Matthew didn't say anything.

Benicio shrugged. “Well, for a Nephilim you sure can be quiet sometimes.” He started walking.

Matthew fell into step behind him.

Jake balled up the last fast-food wrapper and dropped it in the garbage. On the way home from the hospital he and Emily had stopped at McDonald's. Emily usually only got to eat fast food as a treat, on special occasions. Today Jake was too tired to cope with anything more complicated.

It had been hard to leave Abby and Wyatt at the hospital. He felt he should be spending every second with his son, but Abby was right when she said it made more sense for him to take Em home and let her keep her routine. Their daughter had school tomorrow, and Jake had to see a few patients before he could cancel the rest of his week.

Once home, Emily went off to her room and Jake wandered into the kitchen to tidy. He contemplated pouring a rye and Coke but didn't. He decided he'd have a celebratory drink when Wyatt came home. That'd be a much better reason.

Emily had been quiet on the way home from the hospital. He asked her if she had any questions or wanted to talk about anything but she'd said no. She'd always been a smart but quiet kid.

He left the kitchen and headed down the hall. There was faint music coming from her room, and he found her crouched over Wyatt's video game, watching the screen intently and pushing buttons. He thought it was odd because she rarely played it.

“What're you doing?” he asked her.

“Playin' a video game.”

“Yeah,” Jake said, “but why? You never play that.”

She kept pressing buttons. A bouncy little tune emanated from the small, gray-plastic rectangle. “Wyatt never lets me play when he's around.”

“Oh,” Jake said in a comical voice, as if she had just solved a great riddle.

“Dad!” She sounded exasperated. “I just wanted to, okay?”

“I'm not saying there's anything wrong with you playing. I think it's kind of nice.”

She glanced at him but kept playing. “Why?”

“Well, I know it's weird not having Wyatt here, so playing that game probably makes you feel closer to him.”

She didn't respond.

Jake figured his analysis was a little heavy for a seven year old. He sat next to her, trying to see the screen. “What game are you playing?”

“Mario versus Donkey Kong,” she said. “It's Wyatt's favorite.”

“What do you have to do?” To Jake the screen was incomprehensible. There were little men, ladders, fireballs, and multiple floors in a building. He had no idea what was happening.

“See that present?” Emily asked, her eyes on the screen and her fingers dancing on the buttons. A little Mario character suddenly backflipped through the air and snatched a tiny square. “I need to get it and then find the key and open the door.”

Jake nodded. “And then what? You fight Donkey Kong?”

“No,” Emily said, shaking her head as though that would be ridiculous, “then I have to find the Mario toy in the bubble.”

“The bubble?”

“Once I get all the Mario toys, I lead them through a room and put them in the toy box.”

“Okay,” Jake said slowly.

“And
then
I fight Donkey Kong,” she announced as though that idea finally made sense.

Jake watched the Mario character jump over gaps, lift up massive gold keys, and run past moving black bombs. He could-n't tell how Emily was doing.

There was a sad little noise, and the Mario character crumbled to the ground, then disappeared. “I'm not as good as Wyatt,” Emily announced. “He can double jump somehow and get past
stuff. I don't know how he does it.”

“Yep, he's pretty good at it, isn't he?”

“Yep.”

“Maybe after school tomorrow we should take the game to the hospital.”

She nodded but Jake could sense some reluctance. It was probably hard for Emily to think about her little brother being at the hospital. For kids it was easier to just pretend someone is at a friend's house or down in the basement. Being reminded that Wyatt was at the iwk waiting for surgery must have been difficult.

Jake wanted to distract her, keep her thinking positive thoughts. “I think tonight would be a good night to buy a movie on one of the movie channels. What do you think about that?”

She looked up, her face alight. “Really? But it's a school night.”

“I won't tell Mom if you don't.”

“I won't,” she promised.

“Get your pajamas on, I'll grab some pop and chips and bring them down, and I'll meet you in the family room.” Jake stood to leave.

Emily clicked the game off and snapped the screen shut, slid off the bed and bolted to the dresser. “Can I pick the movie?”

“You bet!” Jake said.

Benicio and Matthew stood at the corner of Lower Water and Sackville streets. It had taken them fifteen minutes to walk from the parking garage. The boy silently followed Benicio, stopping when he stopped, walking when he walked.

Benicio could see large block letters on the roof of an old, dark-brick building, white paint on black shingles: brewery market. Jake's office was in that building. He was tempted to take a trip down there right now and see if his friend was in. He knew it was unrealistic. Jake had a lot to deal with at home with his son being sick.

He looked at Matthew. Benicio wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. He wasn't sure he should have taken the boy. He wasn't sure he should have come to Canada, and he was very unsure about getting Jake involved.

But who else will help?And where else can I go
?

He sighed. “There's a hotel just up the street. Let's go get checked in.”

They walked up Sackville Street to the hotel, then pushed through the revolving door into a modern lobby. A young man in a white dress shirt with a tight green vest and matching trousers stood at the registration desk. His name tag said Jimmy.

“I'd like a room for the night,” Benicio said.

“Certainly, sir. How many in your party?”

“Just me and the boy.” He wondered how that sounded. Did they look suspicious? He was pretty sure they did.

The desk clerk didn't seem to notice. “Smoking or non?”

“Non.”

“We have a deluxe suite on the tenth floor.”

“Perfect,” Benicio said.

“Credit card?” the clerk asked and held out a hand.

Shoot
. All Benicio had was what the church had provided. He knew there was a credit card in the wallet, but if he used it the Vatican would know where he was within moments. “Hold on a second,” he said, and pulled the wallet out. Still lots of American cash.

“You know, I'd much rather pay cash.”

Jimmy frowned. “Unfortunately,” he said slowly, “we do require an imprint of a valid credit card.”

“We just need a place to sleep for tonight. We have an appointment tomorrow morning. My son is sick.”

Jimmy nodded. “I appreciate that, sir, but it is our policy to only provide rooms to individuals with a valid credit card.”

“But a man in your position
can
make an exception.” Benicio laid a hundred dollar bill on the counter. “That's why you're working the desk alone.”

Jimmy looked at the bill for a moment before he responded. “I'm really sorry, sir. Without a valid —”

Benicio set another hundred on the counter. “Now, how much did you say the room was? I'll pay cash right now.”

Jimmy's hand moved, and the two hundred disappeared. “One seventy-five plus tax.”

The suite was beautiful, with two queen beds and dark oak furniture. Matthew stood just inside the door.

“You pick your bed,” Benicio said as he dropped the key card on the bureau next to the tv cabinet. “Come on in, Matthew. It's okay. This is our room. We're going to sleep here and then get going in the morning.”

Matthew didn't respond.

“Are you hungry?”

No answer.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” Jake saw Matthew's
head move slightly. “The bathroom's right there. Do you need to go?”

Matthew turned and started towards it.

“Hold on,” Benicio said. “Let me take your jacket off.”

The boy stopped and held his arms out. Benicio slid the jacket from his shoulders, then Matthew went into the bathroom and shut the door.

Jake looked at the closed door. Every once in a while he felt as if he could communicate with Matthew. He shrugged and hung the jacket in the closet, then sat on one of the beds.

The toilet flushed, and Matthew appeared. Silently he sat on the end of the other bed.

Benicio smiled. It looked like they were playing a game, boy copying adult. But Matthew wasn't playing. Would he eventually lie down? Or drop in exhaustion, as he had in the car.

He didn't lie down.

And then Benicio remembered something the boy had said. “Matthew?”

No response.

“Matthew, can you tell me more about the Nephilim?”

No response.

“Who told you about the Nephilim?”

Nothing.

Benicio frowned. An ancient book written in a language no one understood until an autistic child came along, a child who claimed he was a member of a long-gone, probably mythical race of beings. Without the Vatican's obvious interest, Benicio would have dismissed the whole story as a psychotic fantasy. But there was no doubt that the Vatican, and more specifically Cardinal Espinosa, was interested. And his extreme measures meant he was scared.

“I really need to know what's in that book,” Benicio said loudly.

Matthew didn't even blink.

“Matthew, can you tell me what you read in that funny book?
You know, the one you saw back at the big library?”

Nothing.

“It's the book you said was written in the language of the forsaken. Can you remember that book? I need to know what the book is about.”

Nothing.

Benicio decided to forget about it for now. He was so tired. He hoped he could get some sleep.

A few hours, maybe less.

The Nephilim
, he thought.
Why would the boy say that
?