Secret Worlds (176 page)

“The weapons she had been using on me were resistant to those kinds of attacks. They pretty much bounced right off of her. You have to understand that there’s sort of a hierarchy of demons. Mulciber is among the most powerful. Belial is the so-called favorite of their little ‘family,’ but she’s the brains of the outfit.”

“What can you tell me about…Belial?” His name left my mouth like a whisper. Part of me still felt hesitant about saying his name, as if he’d hear it and appear. I may have been a brave fool at times, but I did not want to see him ever again.

The archangel paused, thinking. “Not much. You read Paradise Lost, right?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s pretty accurate on that account.”

I shivered a little, rubbing my arms. “‘Belial, in act more graceful and humane; a fairer person lost not Heav’n; he seemed for dignity compos’d and high exploit: but all was false and hollow; though his Tongue dropt Manna, and could make worse appear the better reason, to perplex and dash maturest counsels. Book II.’”

His eyes softened their gaze on me. All at once, I felt my shield crumbling because of my lack of concentration. Calming waves of emotion flowed out of Michael into me. For once, I didn’t mind. I honestly needed it.

He opened his mouth to say something sympathetic, but I interrupted. “What can I use to attack?”

Michael shook his head. “Your power is too raw for that right now. It could be dangerous.”

“To whom? You’re an archangel,” I pointed out.

“No, that’s not why. Attacks take more energy out of you than defense or healing. If you use too much, you’ll end up drained. I’d rather not carry your unconscious body out of the park,” he added, arching an eyebrow.

I fought the urge to frown. “Alright, good point. Let’s keep going with the defense, then. But the mind bullets had better happen eventually or I’m calling shenanigans.”

“One more comment about ‘mind bullets’ and I’m taking away all your Tenacious D CDs.”

“You’re no fun.”

“We’re here.”

Michael’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized that my mind had drifted off to memories of the past during our silent car ride back to the hotel. After we collected Marianne, we’d be heading to the orphanage for a meeting with Jameson. That would at least be a step in the right direction to solving the mystery of where all these ghosts had come from.

Speaking of which, the timid ghost was waiting for us outside of the lobby when we rolled up. She glided straight through the back door of the car without hesitation. Some ghosts picked up on the odd phasing thing quickly while others, often children, took some work.

I withdrew the directions I’d gotten out of my back pocket and read them aloud as Michael weaved his way back onto the main road, though Marianne’s hovering above the seat behind me was awfully distracting.

Around twenty minutes later, we arrived at the orphanage—a large, four-story brownstone building settled on its own few acres of land outside of the city. There had been light rain earlier, so the ground was slick and the children weren’t out in the playground out front. We drove into the parking lot around the left side of the building and got out. The plan was simple—we’d be interviewing Jameson pretending to be novelists while Marianne completed her final wish. It sounded a little creepy, but then again my job involved helping ghosts, so that was a given.

Thankfully, even with the disturbing deception, everything went smoothly and we helped her cross over. Still, I couldn’t help feeling bad for Jameson, because he would never know how she felt about him.

“You okay?” Michael asked after we were both back in the car, strapping in for the ride back into town.

“Yeah, I just…” I took a deep breath. “It’s a shame he didn’t get to find out she was in love with him. It sounds like she carried it with her for a long time. I wish she had been able to tell him before she died.”

He nodded, starting the engine. “Unprofessed feelings tend to eat at the soul. It’s not healthy.”

“Yeah. People really should just say how they feel.”

Our eyes met. Silence spilled between us for a paralyzing few seconds before I cleared my throat and grabbed the directions from inside the glove compartment.

“Right. Let’s get the hell out of here,” I muttered, mentally chiding myself for letting such a stupid thing out of my mouth. Just as I retrieved the directions, the picture frame of my mother tumbled to the floorboard. As I scooped it up, my fingertips brushed against something bulky and rectangular in the back of the frame. What the hell?

I put the papers down and flipped the frame around, running my hands over the back until I found a thin seam at the bottom, so thin that I could only squeeze two fingers inside. When I pulled, a small leather-bound notebook no larger than the palm of my hand slid out.

“What is it?” Michael asked as I flipped it open. Inside, there was curly cursive writing on small sheets of tablet paper in Castilian Spanish, my mother’s native language so it was only natural she would write in Spanish.

“I think it’s a diary.”

Michael leaned across the seat to see. “Your mother’s? What’s the date?”

I read the date at the top, though it took me a moment. She had taught me Spanish and English as a child, but I rarely spoke it so I was a bit rusty. “If this is right, then it’s after they took her to the psychiatric hospital.”

I turned more pages, finding that entry after entry, starting from the day they brought her in to the day the file said she died. A thrill went through me. This is what I had been searching for all this time. Answers.

August 5th, 1993

I am no fool.

I know why I have been brought here. They can pretend all they want that they want to help me, to heal me, to save me from myself, but I can see right through their lies. I was only able to procure these bits of paper from them because they hope I will willingly divulge my innermost thoughts to them. Each night, I take one sheet and hide it for safekeeping. Thus far, they have not caught on. I am not sure if I will be able to keep my writings safe from them forever, but I have learned that there is always hope even in the darkness.

I don’t know where to start. I am writing merely to keep myself sane. I don’t expect to be able to see my precious Jordan again, but should you ever find this, my daughter, know that I love you more than anything in the world. I had hoped to explain these things to you when you were older, but I fear I will be gone before you grow up and so I will divulge them here.

The year you were born, my powers came to fruition. I developed the ability to see the dead spirits walking the earth. The archangel Gabriel came to me and explained the order of things. There are twelve bloodlines in this world that possess the ability of Seers—the bridges between humans and Heaven. This power passes down through the generations of the original Twelve Disciples: Simon-Peter, Andrew, James the Son of Zebedee, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Thomas, Matthew, James the Son of Alphaeus, Thaddeus, Simon, and Judas. Not every son or daughter of these disciples has the gift—only a select few receive them. It is usually those with souls that are pure and untouched by the ways of man. We are charged with the task of helping the spirits who are left behind to reach the afterlife. We are few, but we are faithful.

It is for this reason that the people in this institution have imprisoned me. My sister, Carmensita, bore witness to my ministrations helping spirits cross over and called the authorities to take you away. She did not receive the gift and so she did not know, or care, that I was helping the ghosts. However, this is not the only reason I have been brought here.

Long ago, Gabriel warned me that someday the demons might become aware of my existence. They are as cunning as they are cruel. This is why I left Spain to come to the United States. I decided to stay mobile—to live in a city for a certain amount of years and then move in order to keep my presence under the radar, as they say in America. I do not know which particular demon or entity has overseen my capture, but I will do my best to find out and escape this place. I will keep this journal safe and record what I have found periodically, should it prove useful for my escape.

August 8th, 1993

It has been three days since my imprisonment. I have learned little, but I have at least learned something.

The head doctor is called Dr. Vulcan. I did not deduce that she was one of them until she smiled at me and I could see the cruelty, the evil, the hatred in her eyes. Whenever I am in her presence, I feel trapped. She has not revealed to me the reason for my capture, but I suspect she wants me to play some part in a plot against humanity as well as Heaven.

During my daily sessions, they send in people to counsel me. This usually consists of asking me questions about my past in order to understand how I conjure up the so-called ‘hallucinations.’ They are just humoring me. I smile and give them nothing. It is probably not the wisest idea. I know that they will start to get nasty soon. I can feel it in my bones. But I will endure. I am an Amador and I am not afraid.

August 10th, 1993

The monsters have dropped their human masks and shown me their true faces. I will not detail the things they do to me because I will not give them the satisfaction of knowing they hurt me. I am stronger than that. I will endure.

Gabriel has finally contacted me through my dreams. We discussed an escape plan based on the small amount of information I have been able to gather. At this time, he cannot extract me because of the demons’ numbers in this place. If he went for a direct assault, the demons would most certainly kill me rather than let me fall into the hands of the angels. He has learned this from experience. Instead, he said he will find another method, one that has less risk involved.

He also told me that he does not know why they chose now to abduct me, but that he will find out and he will find a way to free me. His kindness is what got me through their torture today. I do not blame him for being unable to help as of yet. The angels are charged with the safekeeping of both Heaven and Earth. They cannot put themselves out in the open because it is against the rules their Father made. But I have faith in Gabriel, in God, and in myself.

I will endure.

August 12th, 1993

The demons brought in a specialist today as their previous attempts to extract information have been fruitless. His name is Andrew. I do not think they know the truth, but I do. When he walked into my room this morning and looked at me with those dark blue eyes, I felt something.

Hope.

I cannot explain why, but I know this man is not here to hurt me. He did not ask me about my past or about my ‘hallucinations.’ He asked who I am. When I talked, he listened. He didn’t write anything down. He didn’t patronize me. He didn’t look down his nose at me like the Americans do when they hear my accent. He is calm. He is steady. He is different.

Though I do not trust him fully, I have decided to cooperate somewhat. It may be one of their tricks, but if there is one thing I do trust, it is my own instincts. My powers only take me so far. I can only depend on myself in here and that will not happen if I have doubts.

Let us hope that I am right.

August 14th, 1993

The demons feel more confident with my cooperation and so they allow me more ‘privileges’ than before. I am not constantly restrained in my room. They allow me the luxury of a few books. It is almost an acceptable existence except for one thing. They will not let me see my daughter. I fear for her more than I fear for myself because I know the hatred my sister has for me and how she will project it onto Jordan. Jordan is a strong girl. I have to tell myself that every second I am here and not with her. I have endured unspeakable things in this place, but I worry she will endure worse. She does not deserve it. She never will.

Gabriel contacted me again and revealed that Andrew is on their side. They received word that the demons wanted someone to gain my trust to fool me into cooperating with them. He has been sent to monitor my stay here and unravel the secrets the demons are keeping. I do not know how successful he has been in this endeavor. I do know, though, that when he smiles, I feel safe. It is a strange feeling. Our time has been so short and yet I find myself relieved when he shows up for our sessions. It is foolish, but it is one of the only things that keeps me going.

August 15th, 1993

Andrew and I seem to have reached some sort of comfortable level now that I know he is not one of the demons’ ploys. I have not met many charming men in my life, but he is one of the few. He often answers my questions with questions—a trait of both intelligent and infuriating men. When he’s feeling generous, he tells me a little bit about his life.

Currently, he does not know about any other Seers in the states. Based on what I’ve heard, he is one of the most skilled Seers there has ever been. He has been helping ghosts cross over for nearly three decades, and he has had some vicious encounters with demons as well. He does not like to talk about the scars—especially not the one above his eye—and so I do not prod him about them, but I know he probably got them from protecting someone. However, beneath the charm, I sense there is more. He has no family and no ties to anyone because of his valuable abilities. He openly admits that coming to this hospital puts us both at risk, but he never backs down from a challenge. He is the one who told me that Dr. Vulcan, the head psychiatrist, is actually the demon Mulciber in disguise. The only reason he has been allowed access to the hospital is because he has mastered his powers to the point where he can pass himself off as a normal person.

When I asked him if he regrets his gift, he merely shrugged and said that it was a life, nothing more, nothing less. I told him that wasn’t much. He smiled at me and said ‘It’s enough.’