Chapter Thirty-Eight

The chamber was filled with the strong scent of childbirth, soiled rags, and blood. The task complete, Sister Agnes laid the infant baby boy in a black cloak and bundled it around him. She was surprised to discover that the child did not scream and cry as most infants she had seen. She held him close and looked down into his eyes.

“My Queen,” Sister Catherine looked into Tracy’s face, she was still lying on the queen’s bed bearing no clothes. “I need to converse with Mrs. Tracy. May I talk to her?” she inquired and received a sigh.

“If you must,” replied a woman’s voice that did not belong to Tracy.

“Mrs. Andrews, your child is safe and healthy. What name do you wish to call him?” Sister Catherine asked as she placed a hand gently on Tracy’s sweaty bare shoulder.

Tracy turned her wet head and looked at Sister Catherine. “What is this place?”

“The Order of Saint Vincent,” she answered and Tracy nodded.

“I’ll call him Vincent Connor,” Tracy said and then closed her eyes.

Sister Catherine stood up and turned to face Sister Agnes. “Take the child under your supervision for now – just until the war is over. He seems to have taken a liking to you,” she said with a grin. “For now, the ladies need their rest.”

* * *

Frederick opened his eyes and quickly closed them as he winced from the pain. He reached back and felt the sticky clotted blood which had thickened his white hair. “Dear God,” he muttered and then opened his eyes once again and then focused them on Rick who was standing above him.

He shook his head and sat up with Rick’s help. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Especially in a place like this.” Frederick grinned as he looked around the room he had been knocked unconscious in.

Rick nodded in return. “It seems to have become a very small world, hasn’t it Doctor Whitaker?” He saw that Frederick had winced by the formalities. “Why are you here? Been following me?”

Frederick stood up and wiped dust off his pant legs. “Heavens, no. I had no idea you were here. I’ve come here to get to the bottom of the Dreamkillers and Orion and I figured this would be as good a place as any as it was his fathers’ kingdom,” he explained, which seemed to have sparked new interest in Rick.

“So,” he began and placed his hands into his jacket pockets. “King Darvon is Orion’s father. Orion killed his mother and left her impaled out on the front lawn – boy, I bet that must’ve brought the property value down; look, my neighbor has an impaled queen for a lawn ornament.” Whitaker grinned and then Rick continued. “And rumor has it that Orion killed Darvon. But what happened after that?” Rick had been pacing about the room while Frederick watched him.

“He was supposed to have been training his army of Dreamkillers at that time and writing his bible – if it is his,” Frederick explained and Rick stopped suddenly and turned to face him.

“What do you mean?”

Frederick took a deep breath and exhaled. “My theory?” he asked and Rick nodded. “Another Dreamkiller. One before Orion who taught his knowledge to the young child Orion. Possibly the first Dream Crusader.”

Rick almost laughed. “You really know how to thicken the plot don’t you? So who do you think the first Dream Crusader was?” he asked and Frederick shrugged his shoulders.

“Who knows? Satan? I don’t even pretend to say I have a clue. I only say that I believe that Orion did not write the book because he claims that it is his key to unlock Eden – the Forbidden Realms,” he replied and they stared at one another for a while before Rick nodded.

“Do you believe we need to find out who the first Dream Crusader was?”

Frederick rubbed the back of his head and smiled. “I do not think it would help our battle with Orion; although if the knowledge opens itself to us, do not ignore it,” he replied and walked over to the video equipment and studied them with little interest. “Catch anything on these?” he inquired as he glanced back at Rick who shook his head and Frederick smiled. “I shouldn’t think you would.”

In the next thirty minutes Rick had discussed with Frederick his plans for a possible communication with Darvon with the assistance of Stan Stevens. Frederick conceded it to be a good plan but cautioned Rick all the same.

“I must warn you that, although it may seem easy to contact Darvon, there may be forces on the other side that do not want you to communicate with him; namely Orion,” he explained behind concern which was clearly seen through his eyes and Rick gave forth a reassuring smile.

“Hey, don’t worry – I’ve got you and Stan on my side of the ring. What’s the worst that can happen? I die trying to make contact? Then so be it; I’m tired of always being in the shadows of Orion,” he replied and crouched down beside his tripod. “Did I ever tell you of the time Tracy and I killed ourselves to get to Orion?” Frederick shook his head and knelt in front of Rick. “I tried – hell knows I tried – to stop her from killing herself. But you know what she told me? She told me that she was tired of the war and that if she died, then she’d at least get some sleep.” They grinned at one another and Frederick nodded in understanding.

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* * *

Something wasn’t quite right. As she thought about the long day she had had, Emily could not place what wasn’t right. It was just some feeling eating at her nerves which, at the late evening hour of ten-thirteen, was beginning to drive her insane.

She sat on the couch with her legs bent behind her on a pillow behind her back side. She stared absently into the television screen. The not-quite-right something was the only thing Emily could think about. The days’ cases she had heard was nothing compared to the nothingness of what she could not remember.

After some time, she felt tears running down her pink cheeks and suddenly an image of Rick came into her mind. She focused hard on her husband’s face and became frightened to see that he was screaming in agony.

“Blessed Jesus,” Emily whispered, still in her hypnotic state. “Why did I let him go? I could have saved his life.” And then she placed her face in her palms and began weeping uncontrollably.

* * *

Bolan watched as his master almost doubled over in laughter, which was an odd sight coming from such a demented figure as Orion, and forced a smile. Together they had been keeping tabs on Rick’s family as well as Tracy’s.

It was Rick’s wife that caused much of the delight. “This is not according to my visions, but it is still very entertaining nonetheless,” Orion exclaimed and Bolan tossed him a quizzical expression.

“If you will excuse me, my lord, but I’m not sure I follow you,” Bolan began and glanced back at the image of a weeping Emily suspended in a square in mid-air. “Why is this weeping woman entertaining to your plans?”

Orion walked up to the large image and studied it with fascination. “Because she is going to go in search of her husband.” Then he turned his ominous hood toward Bolan. “And I wonder what will happen to the Hopman’s once they are reunited? She cannot possibly save him – he’s already too far gone to be saved.”

With this new information, Bolan nodded and smiled at his master. He did not want to express the notion that he did not understand what was making his master’s wheels spin. He didn’t know what Orion knew. He would probably never know what his master knows.

* * *

The next morning Rick opened the large door once again to the appearance of Stan Stevens who arrived carrying several cups of coffee; Rick had phoned Stan last night and had explained the sudden arrival of Frederick Whitaker.

Once Stan and Frederick were introduced, Stan turned to face Rick with a sympathetic look in his eyes. “You’re still wanting to go through this?”

Rick grinned and nodded. “If I’m going to have a peaceful remainder of my life, then yes, I have to do this,” he replied.

With a sigh, “All right then. We’ll conduct the séance tonight. I’ve brought the candles and pig's blood and so forth which are needed for this kind of connection.” Stan turned and looked at Frederick. “Would you be so kind as to help me bring in the bloody things?” he asked with a look of urgency in his eyes.

Frederick nodded in understanding and opened the door for Stan. “We’ll be right back,” Stan called to Rick, who was about to assist with Frederick’s chore. “We can get this. You need to find where you want the communication to take place,” he said and quickly closed the door before Rick could protest.

After the thick door was closed, “Do I detect that we are not just getting the stuff for the séance?” asked Frederick as they made the short trek out to Stan’s Volkswagen. He noticed that the rain had left and the feeling of dreariness along with it too. Was this a positive sign of things to come?

“Yeah. I wanted to ask you about Hopman,” Stan began when they stopped at the car and he opened the trunk. “I want to know what’s driving him. If it's curiosity, then we’re all shagged. If it’s vengeance, well, we’re shagged as well,” he said and shook his head.

“What do you mean? His story is that of a protector. He may not know it, but he’s still protecting a young woman even without her being here.” Frederick sparked new interest in Stan and continued. “Some day, I’ll tell you the tale of the Dreamkillers, but for now, all you need to know is that his intent is nothing more than a protector.”

Stan stood motionless for a moment and sighed a moment later. “Well then,” he reached into the trunk and handed Frederick two boxes, stacked on one another. “These are the ceramic basins and bowls and the candles. I’ll carry the blood and ashes.”

At the mention of ashes, Frederick quickly glanced up from his box. “Ashes. Whose, may I ask?” He had a disturbed expression in his eyes.

Stan shrugged and grinned. “Who knows? I borrowed them from the funeral parlor.”

Frederick sighed and shook his head. “May God have mercy on your sick soul and let him watch over our endeavors as we try to right the wrong,” he smiled and looked over at Stan and then they continued back to the front door.

They found Rick sitting on the large throne chair in the center of the great hall. “What took you so long?” he called out when they entered the enormous room. He stood up off the chair and met his comrades a third of the way into the room. “I was beginning to think you both jumped ship and left me marooned here.”

Stan smiled and placed his boxes down on the nearest table. “I’d never do that – I expect a book deal out of this, my friend.”

As he placed the boxes down on the table, “I’ve been trying to write it myself but get too damned scared every time I begin it,” Rick said behind an uneasy smile and walked over to them and began to help unload the boxes.