Hanging up, Jake looked back into the windows of the house. He could see David with his head in his hands, shoulders heaving in one of the upstairs rooms. It must be the little girl’s room. Jake turned away. This wasn’t the time to be sentimental. Collateral damage was inevitable, even in a purely religious war.
May 19
Private airstrip, Surrey, England.
May 19, 5.34am
Faye woke as the early morning light filtered through a tiny window and seeped under the doorframe. She raised her head tentatively and explosive pain made her head swim. She breathed in and out slowly through her nose as the nausea passed, her mouth still covered by a rolled cloth tied behind her head. Her first lucid thought was for Gemma, her baby. Where was she? Was she OK? Then she saw the tiny bundle curled up near the foot of the chair she was bound to. Gemma wasn’t even tied up. They must have known she wouldn’t leave her mother once she revived from the drugs. The little girl’s face looked pale and creased but she was breathing normally and didn’t seem to be injured. Faye desperately wanted to take her in her arms, hold her close, but she couldn’t move.
She took a mental inventory of her own body, checking for injury and pain. Her legs were tied to the chair, her arms behind her back, but the drugs were wearing off and it seemed she was bruised but more or less uninjured. She thought back to the night before. She had been listening to a talk show and didn’t hear them come in. A feeling of being watched had made her turn suddenly, but then she had been grabbed and pushed to the floor, a needle jabbed in her neck. She had only managed to briefly scream before she lost consciousness. Her thoughts flashed to David and she prayed that he was OK, that they hadn’t hurt him. They had said nothing about what they wanted before they attacked. What could she possibly have that they would kidnap for? She began to pray silently. God would protect them through whatever trials they would face, but they needed to escape from here somehow.
Faye craned her neck to look around the small room. It was a large storage closet with high ceilings and a tiny window near the roof. The walls were metal, like a warehouse. Shelves stretched above them containing all sorts of tools. Maybe they could be used as weapons? If only she could get to them. Gemma whimpered and her eyes fluttered open. She looked around groggily, then faded back into sleep. Faye was grateful that she was sleeping, unaware of her surroundings. Perhaps this would just be a bad dream for her, one that would be over soon because it had to be a mistake.
Outside she could hear the roar of planes taking off, so they must be at an airport. Faye realized that could mean they were being taken out of the country. This galvanized her resolve and she began pulling at the ties holding her hands and feet, wriggling in an attempt to get them loose. Raw skin began to bleed at her wrists. Tears pricked her eyes. Her frustration rose as she realized she was tied too tightly.
The door slammed open.
“Awake, are you?” a man said from the doorway, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, the smell making her realize she was hungry and thirsty. He was stocky and unshaven, his eyes baggy from a night without sleep. Faye could see past him into a hangar where a number of small planes were parked. There were two other men standing there, looking with interest in her direction. They made no attempt to hide their identities. She looked away, refusing to acknowledge them. He stepped over to her, chuckling.
“I don’t think you’ll be ignoring me for too long.”
He was stroking her cheek now, his voice low. Putting his coffee down, he held her face towards him with one hand, and slowly ran a finger down her neck and onto her breast, watching her tears as he cupped it, then squeezed hard, making her wince.
“I think you’ll be a good girl for me, otherwise your daughter might be next.”
He let her go, laughing. He swung his leg right back as if to kick the little bundle of Gemma at her feet. Faye used all her effort to lunge forward in the chair towards her child, to protect her from this monster but she only managed to topple sideways onto the floor, smacking her head. The man laughed again and she heard the amusement of the other men outside the door, a camaraderie of humiliation.
He bent down to pull her up but his attention was distracted by his mobile phone ringing. He left her on the floor, answering it as he pulled the door almost shut behind him. She could still hear his words through the crack.
“Yeah, they’re OK, the plane is due to take off in two hours. We’ll be with you tomorrow, boss. No problems this end.”
Faye realized then that there was no mistake; somehow they were the target of a kidnapping. She still didn’t know why, but her thoughts went to Morgan, the sister who kept so much hidden of her past. David would only know to call the police and leave it to them, but she knew Morgan would act. She was incapable of staying still, of leaving it to other people. Faye thought of her as a caged animal that Oxford was trying to groom into something they recognized as a domestic academic. But Morgan was indefinable and couldn’t be put into any box. Faye knew she would do anything for Gemma; the little girl represented hope that their family could start again, build another life around the future instead of the past.
Faye tried to shift, her body arching into painful spasms by the position she had fallen in. Gemma stirred and looked at her, still on the edge of consciousness. Faye smiled with her eyes and made soft loving noises to calm her. The little girl crawled closer and cuddled into Faye. Knowing they were both alive for now was enough, so Faye prayed into the beginning of a new day. For the strength to protect her daughter, and for the sister who would come for them.
***
Not long afterwards, one of the men came back, and although Faye struggled, he drugged them again. Their limp bodies were wrapped and loaded onto a cargo plane, hidden behind boxes of sports shoes and equipment. The plane took off over London heading for America, land of opportunity.
Tucson, Arizona, USA.
May 19, 9.17am
Joseph Everett walked into St Bartholomew’s private psychiatric hospital where his twin brother, Michael, had lived for the past fifteen years. He came to the hospital at least every two days when he was not away on business, and sometimes twice a day if Michael was in a bad way. The hospital was a pleasant sterile façade laid over a maelstrom of human misery. Jolly wall paintings belied the mental pain behind every door. The warden at the front desk acknowledged him but said nothing as he passed. Staff here knew of his frequent visits. Joseph left his keys and other sharp objects at the security gate and proceeded through the main corridors to the day room, pushing open the double doors. He was grimly content as he considered the plan he had put in place and how soon victory would come now that he had leverage.
Joseph experienced the hospital as a toxic soup of fear, confusion and jangled noise hidden beneath the drugs and behavior modification necessary to maintain a superficial calm. But it was the best hospital in Arizona, so he had no choice but to keep Michael here. The staff were babysitters to disturbed individuals who dwelt on the edges of what is called sanity, though Joseph personally doubted that anyone was really sane all the time. He knew that people moved along a continuum of normality in many dimensions. Some days we could all be committed, he thought, with a glance at himself reflected in a bay window.
Joseph found Michael in the same seat he was always placed in. Every day he woke and the nurses took him to a window seat in the day room. He would sit all day, legs hugged to his chest, staring out at the world. He never looked at his brother, never seemed to hear any words spoken to him, yet he was placid and would take his meds, lie down when told and sleep. He was just empty, a shell of a person. Joseph touched him sometimes, smoothing the hair from his brother’s forehead, but there was never any response. They were twins of a sickly opposite. Both were lean, but Joseph’s muscles were well defined, he walked tall and strong. Michael was wasted and weak with cheekbones that stuck out through his pale skin and lips tinged with blue. Joseph spoke with vigor and moved with grace but his brother was silent and gaunt, folded into his space and staring into another world.
“How is he today?” Joseph spoke to the nurse on duty in the day room. They went through this ritual every time, and her reply never changed. But today she started at his approach.
“I need to get the doctor to speak to you, sir.”
She went out of the room and returned with Dr Campbell. He looked serious and held a thick folder. He indicated a private room where they could talk. Joseph felt sweat prickle under his arms. The men remained standing.
“Mr Everett, we need to discuss how to best manage the next steps for Michael.”
“Why? What’s changed?”
“Nothing’s changed. That’s the point. He’s been wasting away for months now, and he’s getting too thin and sick for the main facility here. We have to move him to the intensive care ward, and soon he’ll need intravenous feeding.”
Joseph shook his head emphatically.
“No. He’s fine here. He’s going to get better, I know it.”
Dr Campbell opened the file and pointed at the latest test results.
“It’s all here. You have to face facts. We can make his body comfortable and keep him alive, but he is reaching a threshold. He will become catatonic soon.”
Joseph’s eyes were wide, his nostrils flaring in anger.
“How dare you. I’ve given the hospital millions in gifts. There must be more you can do for him.”
The Doctor shook his head.
“I’m sorry. On my orders, he’ll be transferred next week to the special ward and then there’s a process to transfer him to the hospice when it becomes appropriate. The end is coming, Joseph. You have been the best and most devoted of brothers, but you can’t do anything else now but help him die with dignity.”
The doctor stretched out his hand to say goodbye. It wasn’t acknowledged so the Doctor left the room. Joseph looked down at the patterns on the carpet, the inoffensive grey and pink swirls designed to mute the sounds of suffering this room witnessed every day. He pushed his fist against his temple as if to crush the negative thoughts. There was still one chance, but he couldn’t tell the doctor that. Pentecost was not far away and with the power of the stones, he could still save his brother from this wasting death. Varanasi had demonstrated that miracles could flow from the power of the stones, now he just had to understand how to harness them. Joseph stood and pulled his Armani suit jacket straighter around him. Setting his shoulders square and his face to a mask, he went back to the main ward to see his brother.
Joseph pulled up a chair next to Michael and began to talk to him in a regular ritual he had performed for years. Sometimes he reminisced about their childhood, but generally he talked about what was on his mind, another day in the life of a rich businessman, politician and pillar of the community in Tucson, Arizona. There were the usual immigration issues, the attempts to jump-start the housing market and protestors outside his office concerned about water in the desert region. He had posed as an academic, a researcher, to get close to Morgan Sierra, but academia was far from his real life.
Michael had become a diary of sorts, a soul into which he poured his own heart so that when he left, he felt lighter, emptier. It didn’t matter that the words seemed to wash over his brother, who never spoke or even moved. Joseph was devoted to his brother; anyone at the facility would say he was the most caring and regular visitor to the ward. Michael did not want for anything, but then he didn’t require much. He was fed the best food and had access to top of the line medications and psychiatrists, but it seemed that nothing could be done to make him better. Today Joseph leaned in close so the nurses couldn’t overhear him and spoke quietly.
“I’m going to take you on a trip soon Michael. I’ve found a way to help you, I just need a little more time. But don’t worry, it won’t be long now.”
He gently stroked his brother’s thin hair and looked out into the garden where each twin saw worlds that no one else was aware of.
Joseph never stayed long at the hospital and was soon on the road again in his SUV, heading back to his home office. Working from his house in The Foothills outside Tucson allowed him the privacy he needed for his businesses and other projects. He had people who managed his offices in town and he had cleared his schedule for the next few weeks in order to focus on Pentecost. He felt some anxiety as there were too many variables right now and the situation was not entirely under his control. He was worried about the Thanatos group who were also pursuing the stones. Their evident determination, superior resources and firepower meant he had to bring ARKANE and the academic Morgan Sierra into the mix. He had been loath to do it but the frankly unexpected miracles of Varanasi meant he could no longer keep the quest secret from those who watched such events. He didn’t know much about Thanatos except that they would go after the stones whatever the cost. He expected them to follow Morgan’s trail first, but they would be after him eventually. He grinned then, his perfect orthodontic teeth flashing in the sun. He would release the power of the stones at Pentecost when the comet was closest to earth and he didn’t care if they took them after that, as long as Michael was healed first.