The Son, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book Two (15 page)

2:34

“How long has she been lying there?”

“Since I called you.”

Judith’s voice rose in indignation. “You’re telling me that this woman has been lying on the floor for more than twenty-four hours. Are you out of your mind, Maria?”

Maria hung her head, partially in embarrassment and partially because it was past midnight and she was bone-weary. The events of the past day – Sally’s unfortunate “accident” on the cellar stairs and Miz O’s uncontrollable outburst of dementia - had left her reeling. She wanted only to return home and put everything out of her mind. “Every time I tried to pick her up, she screamed bloody murder and said to leave her be,” she explained weakly. “I was afraid the neighbors would hear.”

“So you left her alone. To do what? Crawl under the bed. Like a dying animal? What good would that do any of us?”

Judith looked down at Olga, ten years younger than herself incredible as it now seemed. What had happened to the tall, proud Germanic woman with the golden braids piled high on her head? She had been so devoted to the cause in the early days, her loyalty unquestionable. She was virtually unrecognizable now, a shriveled, pathetic version of herself. Her hair had gone white. Her rosy skin had turned grey; her glazed eyes were oblivious to visitors.

“I thought I was doing what was correct,” Maria muttered apologetically. “She has refused to eat or drink anything. She says her purpose in life is over and just leave her alone. But mostly when she talks, she makes no sense at all.”

Judith immediately thought back to the day the mental illness – because that’s what it was, an illness! – first manifested itself. A vibrant Olga had come to her and Eric to say that she had just had a vision. She was breathless with excitement and the pupils of her eyes were dilated with the wonder of her revelation. All their work to bring Christ back to the world, she announced in a voice rippling with conviction, was wrong! Teresa of Avila had appeared to her and condemned their mission. The child was the work of the devil, not God. And from that moment on she was determined to find the child who, to her mind, would only inflict more discord and pain on the world.

Judith considered her an ineffectual nuisance, because if they couldn’t locate the child, then this disturbed woman certainly couldn’t. So it had been for years until Claudia came into the picture. Because it was Claudia who was doing the woman’s work now. And for that Claudia urgently needed to be found. But what if she were not alone? What if others now believed as Olga and Claudia did? It was certainly possible. In twenty years time, anything could have happened? The prospect filled Judith with dread each time it crossed her mind, and even though Olga was now sprawled helplessly at her feet, she felt the same shiver of apprehension. “The devil always finds a way,” she mumbled.

She knelt down beside the Olga and brushed a few strands of grey hair out of her face. That was when Maria first noticed that Judith – always impeccably groomed – was wearing white, cotton gloves, the kind she had seen in pictures of Jackie Kennedy from the 1960s. She knew that in this case they were not a fashion accessory. Judith did not intend her presence to be traced to this house.

“Olga,” Judith whispered.

Olga blinked a couple of times in response and turned her head slightly toward Judith. Her face softened and the corners of her mouth twitched in what once would have been a smile. There were tears in her eyes.

“It’s me, Olga. It’s Judith.”

“You’ve come so far.” The parched lips could barely articulate the words.

“Yes, I have. Just to see you. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Just to see me?” Olga seemed to be examining Judith’s face for traces of sincerity. “Look how old you’ve become!”

“Yes, We’ve all grown older, Olga. Now how about getting you back in bed. It can’t be too comfortable on the floor.”

Olga closed her eyes. “Embrace the cross that your beloved bore on his shoulders and accept that it is also your own to carry. She who is capable of the most intense suffering and who suffers most intensely for Him, her liberation will be all the more perfect.”

Judith sighed impatiently. “St. Teresa, yes, I know. A great woman. Now let me help you back in bed.”

“She said that the spirit of evil always takes the most interest in those that God has shown a special love. Is that why you’ve come to see me?”

“Olga, I’m your friend. I always have been. That’s why I am here.”

“Friends always take the biggest bite out of you!” Olga’s chuckle dissolved into a dry cough. Her breathing was shallow, as if she were taking in little gulps of water and anything more substantial would choke her. Maria moved closer, wanting to be useful but not daring to interfere.

“You’re not well, Olga,” Judith said, unable to keep a certain urgency out of her voice. “Where is Claudia? You need her now.”

“Lift the veil that darkens the crystal of your soul, Judith.” She was spouting St. Teresa again.

“Olga, tell me, where is Claudia?”

“I no longer have to speak with men, now I speak only with the angels.”

“Where is she?” Judith yelled, sensing communication was no longer possible. Olga was willing to die, yearned to die. Her breathing was broken into little spurts of air, coming in and going out like the panting of an over-taxed runner.

“Olga, we began this adventure together. Remember?” Judith pleaded. “Let’s end it together. In peace and reconciliation.” She desperately caressed the back of the woman’s hand, knowing that time was short.

“It has already ended. Did you know the silkworm builds the house where it will die? Yes, it does. It spins its own cocoon ever so industriously. Then, once the cocoon is finished, it dies.” A blissful smile washed across Olga’s face. “But from that cocoon emerges the butterfly. The beautiful, silken butterfly. I have built the cocoon and Claudia, the butterfly, my sweet butterfly, has flown away. Now the silkworm must perish.”

A great convulsion seized Olga’s body, arching it off the floor, so for a second it looked as if the woman was actually trying to sit up. She uttered a strangulated gasp and fell back to the floor with a thud. Judith put her ear to Olga’s mouth.

“She’s stopped breathing. She’s dead,” she said flatly.

Maria instinctively pulled back, as if fearing contagion. Judith looked down and realized she was still holding Olga’s hand. Dumbfounded, she let it slip through her fingers and fall to the floor. Olga was gone. Their checkered history together was over. Judith’s grieving was perfunctory, a conditioned response to death, empty of feeling. What really mattered, what filled her with feelings of impotence, was that her only direct link to Claudia had been severed.

Judith stood up, all business again.

“Is there anything incriminating in this house?

“Nothing. As I’ve told you time and again, I’ve searched every corner of this place for months and I’ve never found anything that ties her to us.”

“Except for eleven diaries and several envelopes of damaging pictures that you seem to have known nothing about. Imagine that!” Judith observed sarcastically.

“The trunk was the one thing I was never able to open. I could never find the key. She was so suspicious of anyone in her bedroom.”

Judith reached down and yanked a long chain from around Olga’s neck, instantly producing a sharp red line in the woman’s flesh, as if to show the hangman where his rope should go. “And this?” Judith asked. At the end of the chain dangled a key. “Sometimes it is hardest to see what is right before our very eyes.”

Maria was stunned; Olga always kept her nightgown buttoned modestly to the chin. She had caught glimpses of the chain, but assumed it was part of a crucifix or a holy medal to that saint she was always quoting.

“And where are those diaries now?”

“In the trunk of my car,” Maria answered.

“Give me the keys.”

Maria handled them over meekly. “What are we going to do now?”

“You can start by putting that foul body on the bed,” Judith ordered and left the room.

It was a surprisingly difficult task. In life, Miz O weighed no more than a bag of feathers, but death had turned those feathers to lead. Maria thought she would break her back with the effort. Alternately tugging and pushing, she succeeded in maneuvering the bruised body on top of the bed. She closed the old lady’s eyes and spread a blanket over her. The effort left her so spent, emotionally and physically, that she broke out in uncontrollable sobs. The mission, as it had always been referred to, had been overtaken by a stark reality: she was in a house with two dead bodies and had no idea what to do next. She tried reassuring herself that Judith would know how to deal with the situation, but not even that prospect could calm the storm of emotions churning inside her.

In the garage, Judith opened the trunk of Maria’s car and removed a duffle bag. Inside were the diaries and the photos. She opened the diary numbered one and flipped through it at random. Seeing Jolene’s name released a flood of memories. Jolene, whose vision of Our Lady had given birth to the mission; Jolene, who had put out the call and assembled an organization of true believers; Jolene who had waited on Hannah hand and foot all through the delicate pregnancy. And finally Jolene, who, along with her husband Marshall, had given her life for the cause in an icy lake in New Hampshire twenty years ago. She was, Judith thought, a true visionary.

Her sadness quickly mutated into anger at the thought of all the mistakes that had been made along the way. Not to mention the mess – there was no other word to describe it – in the very house where she stood. No, she corrected herself. Not mistakes.
Tests!
Jolene had always been very clear on that point. Her visions had promised a struggle, long and hard, a struggle they could lose if they were not all vigilant. Didn’t Jesus Himself wrestle with demons in the desert for three years? There would always be a battle, as long as the world remained what it was. “Evil will try to bore its way in.” She remembered Jolene saying that Our Lady had told her that. Those very words! And she had been right! Evil had existed since the beginning of creation and would flourish until the end of time.

She and Eric had dedicated their lives to combating that evil. And they would continue to do so, so that finally He could walk the earth again in all his glory. The righteous would be saved and the rest would perish in flame and disease. He would reign over a golden heaven on earth. The Bible promised as much and she believed it. They all believed it. But belief was not enough. God counted upon man to do his part in bringing about this heaven on earth. And she would do hers until she had not an ounce of strength left in her body.

Judith went back through the kitchen, passing the open door to the cellar. Sally still lay at the foot of the stairs. Judith slammed the door shut in fury. Maria was still sobbing when she entered the bedroom. The sight of Olga on the bed, the flood of memories, the presence of a second corpse in the cellar – it was all too much to bear. Most of all, Maria’s sniveling incompetence. The woman had behaved stupidly from the start. Judith’s mind snapped.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she pulled the scarf from around her neck and slipped it around Maria’s. Then she tightened it with such force that Maria’s gagging lasted less than a minute, before her lifeless body slumped to the floor. All the while, Judith repeated over and over, “All the weak shall perish, all the weak shall perish.” Her mantra.

She was operating on pure instinct now.

She remembered seeing a pantry on her way through the kitchen. She raced downstairs, opened the door and examined the sundry products on the shelves. Pushing aside the cans of soup and the extra rolls of toilet paper, she finally came upon what she was looking for: cleaning goods. There was an unopened bottle of turpentine and even better, a container of rug cleaner. The label read: Highly Flammable. Both, she thought with relief, would do just fine.

She began with the carpet cleaner, outlining Maria’s body with the liquid. Then she doused Olga’s bed and the blanket that covered her. There was still enough cleaner left to pour an unbroken trail leading from the bedroom halfway down the stairs to the first floor. There, she opened the turpentine and continued the trail to the foot of the stairs, before remembering the body in the cellar. There was scarcely any liquid left. She cursed her profligacy, opened the cellar door and threw the nearly empty container into the stairwell. It landed near Sally’s body, sending splashes of the remaining turpentine in all directions.

The wooden house was old and the cellar, junk-filled. The fire, she convinced herself, would spread quickly and lethally. She was just priming the pump, as it were. At the foot of the bedroom stairs, she struck a match and waited until the turpentine had caught fire. Inexorably, the flame climbed the stairs toward the bedroom with its two dead bodies.

As soon as she saw the glow of flames coming from the bedroom, she ran toward the garage. There was little time left to get out of the house. As a parting gesture, she turned on the gas jets on the kitchen stove, which hissed quietly as she pulled Maria’s car out of the garage and into the darkness. She kept the headlights off until she was halfway down the street, then switched on the low beams. It was almost 2 a.m. and the working class neighborhood was quiet. Lights were out in all but one house, and there, the shades were tightly dawn.