CHAPTER 31

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As the plane touched down on the runway, Father O'Connor looked anxious.

'Why so uneasy, Father?' Razmik asked.

The priest furrowed his brow further and said 'I hope Homer behaves.'

'You think he will cause trouble?' Adria asked.

'No, I don't. But with Homer, you can never really be sure. I told him how important it was to stay still and sit quietly in that damned box. I told him not worry about any amount of shaking or rumbling but, like I said, you just never know with Homer.'

Razmik did his usual shrug and said, 'Eh, even if he does break out, it only becomes a problem if the authorities happen to be here and, you will have to trust me on this, that is very unlikely.'

'You're sure?' the priest asked.

Razmik held up his hands and said, 'No. I did not say that. I said it is very unlikely. We use this airport for moving lots of... Um... Merchandise, and we have never had a problem here. Well, other than the problem of paying for eyes to look the other way when we land.' Razmik did not meet the priest's eyes while he spoke.

'You're very free in talking about your business, Razmik,' said the priest.

'I am not free at all. I have not said one word about what my merchandise may be,' the criminal overlord stared back at the catholic priest with a brazen smirk that was only skin deep. Below the smirk was a strange and burning shame that Razmik had not felt in a very long time. He had long ago reconciled himself with his way of life. But this had the vague feeling of a confessional.

'No,' agreed O'Connor, 'only that it requires bribery to get into the country. Tell me, when was your last confession Razmik?'

Razmik was speechless for a moment, his eyes frozen in a strange kind of dawning horror. Then O'Connor's face broke into a devilish smile, 'I'm joking. Don't worry so much about me, Razmik. I am not your typical priest. I don't consider myself much of a priest at all, to be honest. I'm not here to judge. I have my own agenda to carry out. If that means carrying on with some questionable characters, then I am sure my soul can bear another couple of black marks.'

Razmik smiled, feeling embarrassed in a boyish way that he could not explain. Maybe not embarrassed exactly, maybe he still felt judged, or shamed.

Razmik shrugged in an unusually emotive way, bringing his shoulders up to his ears, shaking off the tension he felt. He said, 'Don't worry, Father, you are in good company. I won't always bother you with the details of the business I carry out, but would you like to know what we have been moving through this airport?'

It was O'Connor's turn to look uncomfortable, 'I am not sure that I do...'

Razmik's face broke into a broad smile, 'Peppa Pig dolls.'

O'Connor said, 'What's a Peppa Pig?'

'An annoying little kid's show, but worth a fortune.'

'So, you have been importing unlicensed children's toys?'

Razmik's smile widened, 'Yes! But exporting. You wouldn't believe the money that's to be made.'

'Toys? The Armenian criminal mastermind is dealing in children's toys?'

'From this airport, yes,' said Razmik. And crystal meth for the burgeoning market in Eastern Europe. Best, he thought, not to mention the meth. Not when part of the truth is so much nicer than the entirety.

The plane came to a halt and Razmik got up from his seat, 'Now, maybe we can continue this another time? I believe we have a gigantic ape-monster to unpack.'

Ardia smiled at the priest and got up to follow Razmik to the door where the pilot spoke to them both in hushed tones. O'Connor sighed and got up, grabbed his luggage, which consisted of a large hard travel case and a duffel bag, and joined them.

The pilot stopped talking as O'Connor approached and looked searchingly at Razmik. Razmik waved him on, 'It's okay, he's okay.'

The pilot looked uneasy but continued speaking, 'There is some local assistance for you.'

'Our people?' asked Razmik.

'More or less,' said the pilot. 'They're local operators but more or less all of their business comes from you.'

'What are their names?' Razmik asked.

'The Kokourek Brothers. David and Marek.'

Razmik frowned, 'Why does that name sound familiar?'

The pilot bobbed his head from side to side a little, as though he was trying to make up his own mind, 'Well, you probably heard of them from a few years ago. They knocked off the crew that we had been dealing with here so they could work with you. They are small-time in the area, the Russian gang is still the big player in Prague. The Kokoureks might have tried to come visit you once, as well. Nothing bad, they're just kind of fans is all.'

Ardia snapped her fingers, 'That's right. I broke one of their collar bones because I thought they were assassins.'

The pilot nodded with pursed lips, 'Yeah. That's right. They can be very enthusiastic. I don't think there's any bad feelings about that, though. Or at least you shouldn't have anything to worry about. They might be a little excitable but, Razmik, they are all over you. They wanna impress.'

'Okay,' said Razmik, 'we'll see. We're going to need a little bit of local assistance while we're here. They'll probably have to do.'

The pilot opened the door and O'Connor watched as two men pushed the ladder up to the plane. The two men were very similarly dressed to one another. They both wore leather jackets and blue jeans. They had very short cut blonde hair. One was big and strong looking, the other was short and wiry.

Razmik sighed and stepped onto the ladder with Ardia and O'Connor following close behind.

'Razmik!' the smaller of the two men called jovially, as though Raz was an old and familiar friend. His accent was very heavy.

'Hello,' said Razmik.

'And Ardia, is good to see you,' the bigger man said. His English was heavily accented as well, and a little uncertain. 'It has been long time since...', he trailed off while rapping his collarbone with his knuckles, smiling shyly.

'I see you more or less speak English,' said Razmik. 'That is good.'

Both faces lit up with delight and they practically fell over each other to respond to the complement. The smaller man nodded his head vigorously and said, 'We know this something that please you. Is good for the business.'

'Yes,' said Razmik. 'Is good. Forgive me, but one of you is Marek and one is David, but I don't know which is which.'

'Is okay, is okay,' said the smaller man eagerly, 'I am David and this is Marek. We very...um...uh...exceeted to help you with business in Prague.'

'Excited,' Razmik corrected the man.

Mistaking his meaning, the big man slapped the smaller man on the back, 'He is ex-cite-ed as well. Is good day for Kokoureks.'

His brother smiled and nodded eagerly.

'Yes, well, you know Ardia. This man is Father O'Connor, a friend of ours. If you wouldn't mind, we really need to get moving. Time is a factor.'

O'Connor tapped Razmik on the shoulder and whispered, 'And what do we do about Homer? Can we really show him to these two?'

Razmik chuckled softly, 'And why not Father? If they keep all the secrets about my merchandise and can be trusted to move it around, then why shouldn't they know about Homer? It will make things terribly complicated if we have to cart him around in that gigantic crate.'

O'Connor looked uncertain but bobbed his head in acquiescence, 'I think Homer might be a much bigger and more difficult secret than a box of children's toys. But you know this world much better than I do.'

Turning to the Kokoureks, Razmik said, 'We have some cargo to unload from the rear of the plane.'

The Kokoureks looked excited at the prospect, David saying, 'We did not know there would be merch-an-dice.'

Razmik just smiled and dismounted the stairs.

Marek approached the crate with a crowbar but O'Connor stopped him and said, 'Ah, it might not be best that a strange face be the first one peering into the crate. Eh, Razmik?'

Razmik agreed but looked as if a great joke had just been spoiled for him, 'Yes, Father, you are right of course. Also, Marek and David, I presume you are carrying guns.'

'Yes,' said David, moving his jacket to reveal a handgun in a shoulder holster.

'Yes, well, don't shoot,' said Razmik.

The two men look confused.

O'Connor approached the crate and rapped softly on the side and said, 'Homer?'

Homer responded from inside the massive box and his deep voice made the Kokoureks look at each other uneasily, 'Yes, Father.'

'Are you alright?'

'Yes,' Homer's deep voice replied but he didn't sound completely certain.

'I am going to let you out.'

'I can let myself out.'

'Go ahead,' O'Connor said, stepping back.

The crate groaned gently for a heartbeat and then the heavy wooden lid popped free and flew into the air. It flew through the air and shattered into pieces on the tarmac twenty yards away. As soon as the lid came off the crate, the hulking form of Homer emerged. He rose slowly from the concealment of the wooden walls, arching his back stiffly. He showed no tension but his eyes never left the Kokourek brothers.

'Who are they?' he asked. Without the crate to muffle him, his voice resumed its earthy growl.

The two criminals were staring open-mouthed at the creature that had just appeared to them. Big Marek unconsciously reached under his jacket for a weapon but the smaller David stopped him with a touch.

'What is it?' asked David.

Homer snorted, 'Really Father? More people? And I am an "it" now?'

O'Connor shrugged, 'Razmik seems to think it will be easier this way.'

'Oh, well, considering our long relationship we have every reason to trust his judgment. It's not as though he's the sort of man who meets a terrorist turned catholic priest and some strange "it" from the jungle and decides they would make pleasant traveling companions.'

Ardia bristled at this but Razmik sniggered and said, 'I think I will like you, Homer. Come along now and let's get moving.'

Homer reached out a hand and crushed the wooden section that stood between him and the others. It looked like a child tearing a sheet of paper. Less than that, even. It looked like he had just moved his hand through the air with nothing to slow its movement.

David asked again, 'What is it?'

Homer turned his menacing little eyes to David and held up two gigantic fingers. David only looked perplexed by this gesture until O'Connor leaned in and said, 'That's two.'

David turned his look of confusion to the priest. O'Connor said, 'That's two times you have called him "it". I don't think he will give you a third.'

David nodded slowly, dumbly, and looked back at the beast, 'What is he? What are you?'

The menace melted from Homer's face a little as he said, 'That is something that I hope this adventure may help answer.'

CHAPTER 32

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The hospital room was cold and sterile looking. The fluorescent light on the ceiling hummed as it spewed harsh white light across the space. The old man in the bed could have been dead if not for the heart monitor hesitantly arguing the contrary. The man was so old and so wasted that there was no perceptible rise and fall of his chest. He lay there, not asleep, but not really awake, eyes half open and unfocused. Waiting.

The door to the room opened and the big Russian bodyguard stepped in. He told the old man, in Russian, 'You have a guest.'

The old man might have nodded in response. Equally, it may have been a faint tremor. The guard took it as acknowledgment and stepped aside to let the guest in.

The Golem was truly terrifying in the honesty painted by the bright white light. The skin was like the inside of a volcanic crater. Deep valleys ran between hard black plates. His skin looked as though it was composed of hundreds of lumps of coal, buried in his flesh. His eyes were recessed deep in his face. They too were completely black. His alien form was discordently contained in an elegant business suit.

The Golem shielded his face from the light when he stepped in. He shoved the guard and gestured urgently at the light. The Russian quickly turned off the wall switch and crossed the room in the faint light from the corridor to flick on a gentle night light.

The Golem removed his hand from his face and looked at the man, still squinting in residual pain.

'Sorry', the Russian said in English.

The Golem said nothing in return. He scowled and gestured with his head that the other man should leave. The Golem did not blink the entire time. Even when the light had burned into his brain he hadn't shut his eyes. He had no discernible eyelids.

When the man had left, the Golem turned his attention to the old man on the bed. As inert as he appeared, the old man suddenly seemed a little less like a corpse now that the Golem had appeared. As withered as he was, there was now a hint of awareness to the distant little face.

'I am sorry it has been so long, General,' the Golem said.

The old man emitted a scratching rasp. His Adam's apple leaped wildly around his emaciated throat as he made the noise. There were words buried in there somewhere.

The Golem just looked at the man, no emotion on his crusted face. He pulled up a chair and sat down, 'The business is doing very well. I have a new supplier for methamphetamines lined up. It's good product, high quality and inexpensive.'

The monstrous creature just sat for a while after saying this. Though his face betrayed no emotion, his hands were unsettled and wrestled with each other where they lay between his knees.

The Golem hunched forward, leaning a little closer to the old man.

'General, I need your advice.'

The old man made another wheezing noise, a sound reminiscent of a choking rooster.

The Golem nodded and said, 'I have been contacted by Troy. He is offering a fairly staggering sum to do a job for him.'

The old man made an excited, almost frantic gurgling noise.

'I know, I know. But there's no need to go near the old bastard. He wants me to find someone for him, and there's a faint sense of destiny about it. A few days ago, my boys encountered a yid who was poking around, asking strange questions about the infamous Golem. They scooped the kike up. As it turns out, he works for Razmik Arrajnord, you know, the Armenian slimeball who's obsessed with American culture? Yes, well, the Jew thought his connections to the all powerful Razmik would keep him safe while he went looking for me. We drilled him pretty fiercely before he told us how to reach Razmik so we could see what he was worth. Turns out the kachi piece of shit was in Manaus, in Brazil. And that's where it gets very interesting.'

The Golem stopped talking and took a long, slow look at the old man, trying to ascertain if he was really listening. The old man made an impatient sighing sound and the Golem nodded.

'It's funny. Troy contacted me looking for this creature in Brazil. He wanted me to go out there and catch the thing because nobody else seems to be able to. He said it had last been seen in Manaus.'

The Golem leaned back in the chair to wait for a response. When none came, he leaned forward again and said, 'You don't think there's a connection? Razmik got one of his right-hand guys out here hunting for one freak and he's off on the other side of the world where there just so happens to be another grade-A monster?'

The Golem waved his hands in frustration when the old man said nothing and drew a gold cigarette case from his pocket. He tapped one of the cigarettes on the case and put it in his mouth and flicked open a Zippo lighter. Then he looked at the old man and back to the lighter. The gravelly skin around his eyes crinkled slightly, he flicked the lighter shut and threw the unlit cigarette across the room.

'I'm just saying. That's all. The greasy bastard has to know something, and with what Troy is willing to pay me it might be worth giving the Jew back if I can just find out where this other thing is.'

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The old man made another one of his sickened racking noises. This one sounded more like language than any of the previous noises had.

'What?' asked the Golem, leaning very close. 'Try again.'

The old man coughed with an intense violence that looked like it might kill him. Then he tried again. The words this time were a weak hiss. 'Be...careful. Razmik...don't underestimate...'

'And do you think it is safe to deal with Troy?'

The old man reached a shaking hand out towards the Golem. His hand moved so slowly and unsteadily across the space between them that it seemed as though it would never get there, either because time would end first or because it would get lost on its way. Eventually, though, the wasted hand settled on the Golem's huge crusted knuckles.

'I trust...your judgement...too.'

The hand dropped away and the old man's head lolled to the side in exhaustion. Breathing shallowly, the old man waved a weak arm, the hand flopping loosely at the wrist.

'Enough. Thank you... visiting.'

The Golem cracked a smile and got up from his chair. He crossed the room, stooping on his way to pick up his discarded cigarette. He knocked at the door and the Russian opened it. The Golem stepped out the door, past the guard. When the door was closed again, the Golem placed a hand on the Russian’s shoulder. He looked into the man's eyes and said earnestly, sincerely, almost gently, 'You take care of that old man.'

CHAPTER 33

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The van rolled down the highway at an inauspicious speed. The Kokourek brothers sat up front with a wire mesh separating them from the rest of the travelers. Homer looked uncomfortable. Even the large van seemed to compress around his formidable bulk.

Razmik sat at the driver's end of the space, leaning up against the grill and talking with the Kokoureks through the grill to the driver's compartment. Homer had sidled up close to them as well and was listening rather than talking. As O'Connor watched his strange ward, he could not decipher if Homer was attempting to garner what he could from a conversation that revolved around the coming action or if he simply wanted to be close to these men he did not trust. As he looked at the expression on Homer's cryptic face, he came to the conclusion that it was probably a little bit of column A, and a little bit of column B. Homer was complex, for all the priest knew there might be bits of unknown columns C, D and E factoring into Homer's decision to sit near the other men. O'Connor was happy about his decision to do so because he wanted to have a moment to talk with Ardia.

The beautiful young woman was staring into some distant place that lay beyond the cold steel wall of the van.

'You look worried, child,' O'Connor said softly.

Ardia looked at him in the startled way of the suddenly aroused deep sleeper. It took her a heartbeat, it seemed, to decide where she was and who he was.

'Oh, I'm just thinking.'

O'Connor scooted a little closer to her, still well out of her personal space, but close enough to give their conversation a sense of privacy.

'Can I ask what you were thinking about? They didn't look like pleasant thoughts.'

Ardia met his gaze and O'Connor could see tears and deep emotion sitting just behind that strong exterior. She said, 'I'm worried about Abraham.'

'I understand that Abraham is quite the warrior from what Razmik has said.'

Ardia nodded, 'He is. He's one of the best I know. But he's in trouble now and it's my fault, really.'

O'Connor's eyebrows went up, 'How so?'

Ardia said, 'He came here looking for information about the Golem because of some faint notion that he might be able to help me find my mother's killer. That he might be somehow connected. There was nothing factual in the notion. It was pure speculation. But he came here to try and help with my problem. Now he's in trouble and there is absolutely no reason to think we can get him out of this alive.'

'You're saying you don't think you can overcome your rival here?'

Ardia shook her head, 'No. I am extremely confident we can hammer the sh... I am very sure we can beat them. I am not very sure we can beat them and get to Abraham before they do something bad to him... if they haven't done something bad already, that is.'

O'Connor said, 'Razmik has mentioned nothing specifically about a ransom...'

Ardia ran her hands over her face and through her hair, 'There hasn't been anything specifically mentioned about a ransom. It is very possible they don't want money, they might want concessions. It might be as simple as insisting we trade solely with them in a particular market or as complicated as exchanging territory. I don't know these people. Razmik does, but he can be very tight lipped about things when he's thinking. And he's thinking hard right now.'

'He cares about Abraham then?'

'Oh yes. Raz doesn't have a lot of people he's close to. There's me, I guess, and my mother was definitely special to him. After that, there's Abraham and a handful of partners and old acquaintances that he mightn't see for years at a time. Abraham is very important to him. I think that's why he's so deep in thought. I don't think he wants to let himself make a bad business decision that's driven by emotion, but I don't think he can see the line at the moment.'

O'Connor hesitated a moment before deciding to say, 'And where do you see that line?'

Ardia looked at him, a little taken aback by the question. She said, 'There is no line. Abraham wasn't here on business, he was here helping us with a personal matter. And, that aside, he's our friend. He would give his life for Raz. I really, truly believe that. We have to give them whatever we have to, to get him back.'

O'Connor absorbed this and then gave a very small nod of approval.

Ardia turned to the priest again. She looked at him but it was more to his chest than his eyes. She hesitated and let out a faint sigh before saying 'You knew my mother?'

O'Connor nodded, 'Yes. I am very sad to hear of her passing.'

'How did you know her?' Ardia asked, her body uncharacteristically stiff with tension.

O'Connor studied her. She was rigid to the point of spasm, not moving in the slightest while she waited for his response. What was the cause of this sudden and inexplicable stress? He noticed that she was watching him very carefully and knew he had to answer quickly. He said, 'I met her many years ago when she was just a girl. When I was really just a stupid boy as well.'

Ardia eyes narrowed, 'When? How long ago?'

O'Connor raised his hand to his face and massaged his crinkled forehead as he thought. He said, 'When? It was before... let me see... It must have been the early 60s.'

Avril asked, 'How old were you? How old was she when you met?'

O'Connor said, 'Well, I can remember her. She was little. She was definitely no older than ten years. She might have been younger. I'm no good with guessing kids' ages. She was little, though, and all alone. As for me, that was so long ago. I was just a boy trying to be a man at the time which, if I was anything like every other boy who ever decided he was a man, means I must have been in my late teens. But I can't be certain sure about that.'

Avril relaxed then, 'How did you meet?'

O'Connor's eyes glazed in recollection, 'Well, I can tell you about that. I was driving down some poor excuse for a road. I can't say for sure if it was Georgia or Armenia, but it was definitely some place on the border because it had the look of both countries, without properly having the look of either of them. The weather was terrible, there was a storm brewing something fierce. And trust me, with cars in the 60s, especially the rickety old thing I was driving, there was no comfort being out in the wind and the rain that night. I was considering pulling in somewhere.'

'Wait,' said Ardia, 'you can't have this right. You, a teenage boy from Ireland driving around Georgia on your own? How? Why?’

O'Connor fixed his eyes on some particular point on the opposite wall of the interior of the van and said, his eyes never moving, 'I won't talk about what exactly I was doing there. It was a different time in my life. Let's just say I was there, that I had my means.'

Ardia nodded her acquiescence.

O'Connor mirrored the nod and went on, 'As I was saying, I was driving down this God-awful excuse for a road, leaning over the steering wheel as though that was going to help me see through the rain. Then my headlights flicked over something. Now, the lights weren't great and rain made them a lot worse, so I couldn't be sure what I saw. What I thought I had seen was a child, huddled at the side of the road, miles, and miles from the nearest village.'

O'Connor relinquished his visual stranglehold on the spot on the wall of the van and turned to look at Ardia. 'I wasn't supposed to stop. Don't ask me who had not-supposed me. But I wasn't. But then I had to. What else was I going to do? A child on the side of the road in those conditions was almost certain to die if I didn't intervene.'

Ardia didn't say a word. She hardly breathed.

'So I put on the breaks and went surfing along the water that coated the muddy track. Then I went reversing back and stopped alongside the huddled little mess. I thought it was just a rug when I saw it close up. I thought I had been mistaken. But when I opened the door of the car, I could see the shivering little face peering out from the folds of the rug and, I don't know why, but I told her to get in. She didn't oblige all that fast, either. She gave it a good hard thought. But then, quick as anything, she and her pile were sitting on the passenger seat, dripping all over everything.'

Ardia had an Inspector Columbo look on her face, turning her head and twisting her eyebrows in a kind of forced realization. She said, 'A rug? What did the rug look like?'

O'Connor smiled in surprise and then laughed softly, 'The rug? You're asking me about the rug, some fifty years after the fact? I don't know that there's much I can tell you. Maybe if you'd asked me forty years after I'd seen it I might have been able to help you.' He laughed.

Ardia scowled and O'Connor sighed. He said, 'Erra, it was fine. I can remember that because I couldn't figure out what she was doing with something so fine. But it was dirty and rolled all around her. It might have been red, there might have been a little white or black showing here and there.'

Ardia sucked in her breath sharply. He looked at her curiously, 'What's the significance?'

She shook her head and gestured for him to continue his story.

He shook his head in response and said, 'Why don't you tell me a bit of the story?'

'What do you mean?' she asked.

'Well... I think that night was probably as memorable for you mother as it was for me. I've gathered she had some rough times in the intervening years. I know this from writing to her. I've got the rough notion of it from you and Razmik.'

Ardia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She said, 'What are you getting at?'

O'Connor leaned forward and put a hand on Ardia's bag. He looked her in the eye. The gesture wasn't asking permission, it was inviting her to tell him to stop. She sat frozen, she made no such instruction.

With that, O'Connor reached into the bag and produced her mother's diary.

CHAPTER 34

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Ardia's breath stuck in her throat. For a moment she couldn't believe what he had done. She stared at the book in his hands.

He said, 'Back at the pub, it was Razmik who read from this. You wouldn't do it.'

'No,' she agreed.

'I can't see how it wouldn't be good for you to give it a go.'

'It's complicated,' she said.

'It's not really,' O'Connor said. 'You open the book, turn the pages, decipher the little squiggles.' He smiled, and she returned the smile.

He said, 'You're hurt. You're hurt that she sent it to me. You don't like that she shared it with me instead of with you. I get that, Ardia. I understand your emotions. Maybe a little bit of you is afraid she sent it to me because she didn't want you ever to read it. And you can't disrespect that, especially now that she's gone.'

Ardia stared at him, mouth hanging open. She nodded, 'How can you know that?' she said.

'I'm good at knowing what other people are thinking. It's a valuable skill for a priest. But, Ardia, I've got to tell you, you won't heal at all if you don't read this. Patil had her own problems. It could be just as easy for her to have regretted sending that to me the next morning. You can't know, can't guess, what her mental state was like when she sent it to me.'

She reached out tentatively, almost reverently, and wordlessly took the book from the priest. She could feel her mouth hanging stupidly open and closed it. She couldn't take her eyes from the book in her hands. It felt like an artifact. In many ways it was. Her mother's past had long been a mystery to her. In this book, a book that had been secreted, and guarded from her, by her mother for her entire life, may lie the answers to her mother's origin, Ardia's own parentage and, perhaps most important of all, some indication as to who was behind her mother's murder.

'I can't believe it,' she said, hating how stupid and breathless she sounded.

O'Connor smiled patiently, 'I have translated some segments but it has been a painfully slow process. I... I hope you don't mind the intrusion...'

Ardia shook her head, 'No. My mother wanted you to have this. I have to admit, though, I had second thoughts after sending it to you. I guess I had a difficult situation with my own mental state at the time.'

Ardia pried her gaze away from the book in her hand to look O'Connor in the face. He could see tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She said, 'My mother was incredibly secretive with me. I know almost nothing about her past. I think she was protecting me from something. I can barely believe I might have a chance to learn... about my past.' She resisted the urge to tell him how much she wanted to find out who her father might have been.

O'Connor did not flinch from the emotion on her face. He smiled placidly and said, 'Well then, let's begin shall we?'

'Where should I start?'

O'Connor opened the book at a random page and said, 'Here is as good as any place.'

Ardia took a deep breath and started to read, her voice trembling slightly.

'Um... The twenty-something of June, 1963. I can't read the handwriting very well. Sorry, I'll go on. Ah... I am bored and since nothing seems to happen to me, while I sit in my box and wait for the evening so Razmik will visit, I have decided to write about things that have already happened to me. I have been thinking a lot about the boy recently. The boy from the night in the rain. I don't remember it as well as I used to and I am afraid that if I don't write it down soon then I won't remember it at all.'

'It was the second night since my escape, I think. It might have been the third. What I do remember for sure was the rain. It was raining more heavily than I had ever seen in my life. When I lived in the other place we didn't see the outside much. We were taken outside for exercises sometimes and we had windows in some of the rooms, so I had seen rain before. But it was never anything like what I saw that night. That night, the rain was so heavy that being outside was like jumping in water. We had a swimming pool in the place before and I fell in once, still wearing my clothes. I remember how wet I had been when one of the men pulled me out, just seconds later. How quickly I had been soaked all the way through my clothes. Being outside that night was almost as bad as that. It was hard to keep your eyes open and, when you could, the rain was so heavy you couldn't see through it.'

'I had been walking on the road and I was going to walk all night. But when the rain came and I couldn't even see where I was going, I decided I had to stop. I sat at the side of the road. My bottom was so wet already that it didn't seem to matter if I sat on the wet ground or not. I tried holding the blanket I had taken from the wall in the Doctor's office over my head, but it was no good. The rain was so heavy it just poured through the blanket. In the end, I kind of wrapped it around me. It wasn't any good for the rain but at least it kept the wind off me a little bit.'

'And I sat there. I just sat there in the rain for hours. There weren't any cars out in the storm so I had nothing to distract me from the hole in my stomach. I hadn't eaten since I left the other place. I was so so hungry. And so cold and wet. I was getting dizzy and couldn't feel my feet. I think I was going to die. I think I would have died if the boy hadn't come along.'

'When I saw the light coming through the rain, I hid under the blanket even more. I was afraid it might be the men come to take me back to the place from before. I couldn't help peeking out at the car as it went past. That was when I knew it wasn't anyone from the place before. It was only a little car. In the place before they only had big Jeeps and vans and trucks and they all had the picture with the tree on them. I had never seen a car like this one before except in pictures.'

'The car went right past me and then I was sorry I had hidden. I was so miserable, I was probably going to die from the misery if the cold and the hunger didn't do it first. I should have stood up and waved. I could have begged for food or help. That's why I couldn't believe what happened next. The car stopped. Well, it didn't really stop. It kind of floated along on the water on the road until it wasn't going anymore. Then it came backward to me.'

'The car stopped alongside me. Then the door opened and I saw the boy. He wasn't really a boy. He was a man-boy. He was big like a man, but he looked like a boy. I had never seen anyone like that before. In the place before there were only children and big men.'

'He spoke to me. I think it was Russian he was speaking but he wasn't very good at it. I couldn't figure out what he was saying to me. Then he said something in English. He said it to himself. He said something like “dammit, how do you say...”. My English is really good. It was one of the things that the doctor got me to learn. I think he did it to see how quickly I could learn English. When I learned it really fast it was one of the only times I think he was happy with me. Learning things quickly was one of the only things I could do that seemed to make him happy.'

'The boy was surprised when I started talking English to him. He took me into the car with him and we started driving again.'

Ardia stopped reading and looked at O'Connor with questioning eyes. He nodded and said, 'It seems to me you are going to find out the end of the story I was telling.'

Ardia said, 'This is you? She's talking about meeting you that night?'

O'Connor nodded and said, 'It sounds like it. Go on, go on now. I want to hear more. I have been waiting quite a while to get some mileage out of that journal.'

Ardia opened her mouth to say something else and then she seemed to realize there was nothing else she could think to say. She turned her face back to the book in her lap and started to read again.

'He gave me some bread and cheese and I think that was one of the ways he saved my life that night. I was so hungry, I ate all of it. I don't think he meant me to eat all of it. I don't think he expected me to. When I saw he had wanted some of the food, I said I was sorry and he said he would stop at a farm somewhere and buy food.'

'We drove. I don't how long we drove for. And we talked for a while. He was very nice. I was so grateful to him. Then I fell asleep. I don't know how long I was asleep either. When I woke up, it was still night time so I can't have slept longer than a few hours. I don't sleep much. That was another thing the doctor was interested in. I felt a lot better after eating and sleeping. We talked some more. Then we saw lights up ahead of us. They weren't the lights of a car. It was a house. It was a farm house and it looked like the people in the house might be getting up to go to work on the farm. The boy stopped the car. He told me he was going to ask the people in the house if they had any food or milk that they would sell him. He told me he was going to try and get some cream for me. I remember the way he smiled when he said this. He was so good. I was so happy he had found me.'

'He wasn't inside very long when the vans came. Two of them. The vans would have made me nervous anyway. I hid low in the car. When one of the vans stopped by the car I could see the drawing on the side. It was the same drawing that was on all the cars at the place from before. The tree in the circle, standing on a hand. They were men from the place before. They never looked at the car, they just went inside.'

'I knew they were looking for me. I knew it. I knew they would be back out in a little while to look in the car. And if they found me, they would take me back. I knew I was sad and wet and cold and scared and hungry in the new place. Outside. But I also knew it was better than going back to the place before. So I opened the door to run away. Then I stopped. I thought about the boy. I thought about how nice he had been and I wanted to remember him. On the floor between the seats was a small book with a cross on it. I took it. I feel bad about it now, but then I was just so scared and so in a hurry that I just took it. Then I ran away, back into the horrible night. At least the rain had stopped.'

'I still have the book. It's a book of stories about a man named Jesus. And there is a name on the front page with some writing. I think it's the boy's name. And I think the other words are where he is from. I know Ireland is a place. That was in our books. And his name is Connor. Connor O'Connor.'

Ardia looked up from the diary and said, 'I don't believe it.'

O'Connor looked as if he was somewhere else. Maybe he was away in Georgia in the 1960s. He smiled.

'Is that how she got in contact with you again? Your address on the bible that she stole?'

O'Connor nodded and said, 'But that wasn't until a long time later. Several years passed before I spoke to her again.'

Avril was going to ask more questions when the van lurched to a stop and one of the Kokourek Brother's roared through the grill, 'We're here!'

CHAPTER 35

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An excerpt from the journal of Damien Slayer

Dear diary and all that shit. I know it has been a long long time since I made an entry in this journal. Just flicking back through the pages I can see what my last entries were about. They were about the second string of attacks in Washington. The ones that ended with Avril Corcoran.

It's not much of a wonder that I haven't recorded anything since then. Since the attacks, since I had to run again, I haven't had the opportunity. I know years have passed since then. But if this journal is ever going to be able to help me to prove my innocence then I must return to making regular entries and logging everything that I do.

Maybe that's part of the problem, though. When I started this journal, it was just meant to be an outlet. A way to express all of the feelings that had wrapped me up since what happened to Penny. Then, over time, the journal evolved into a kind of a log of my activities. I have some kind of poorly defined sense that I might be able to use this journal some day to prove my innocence. Not as the whole proof, but as a part of it. To prove I am not a serial killing rapist. The problem is that I care less and less about proving my innocence and more and more about finding the thing.

One way or the other, though, I have decided to return to writing in this journal. Even if it is only to help keep me sane. Even if it never helps me. Even if I am still one of the most wanted men in America when this thing is all over.

My next few entries are going to be fairly eclectic affairs. I am going to gather the details of my last few years of activity together over the next few entries, to try and bring the journal up to date.

The most important thing is how much I have learned in the time since the events in Washington. I visited some sites in Europe, as I mentioned planning in previous entries. They were cold, as cold as cold could be, but I was able to use snippets of information to narrow down the possible location of a fourth site. A site that is much more recent. A site that might have been active as late as the 60s. There's a lot of speculation in that. A lot of it is actually based on old shipping records from a laboratory supply company that was based in West Berlin, at the time that the other sites may have been active. It's not much but it's a lead.

I have also been in contact with the infamous Father Stryker. Now there is an enigma. The man is as sane as he is not. I know he is connected with the Order. I think he has to be a member, really. Except for his behavior. When I met Father Stryker for the first time, he was receiving the ministrations of not one, not two, not even three, but four prostitutes. At the same time, he appeared to be after drinking the bones of two bottles of old Scotch. And by old, I mean the $300 a bottle sort.

It's very hard to tell when he doesn't have an answer or when he is being tight lipped for security reasons. Half the time he carries on as if he gives so little a shit about the rules of the Order that he is telling me whatever he knows about whatever I ask. Then there are other times when I feel like he has to be holding things back. One thing he has not been shy about is that the Order has information it is not sharing. Information it hasn't shared with any of its agents.

I can't let the events of Washington repeat themselves. And they are overdue to repeat themselves if the cycle I have observed is still continuing. Any day now, I am going to pick up a newspaper and find out that it has happened again. I can't let what happened to Avril happen again. Or Penny. That can never be allowed to repeat itself. But, unless I move quickly, then there will be nothing I can do.

So that leads me to my decision. I am going to contact the Order. I know I will be exposing myself to them and I understand the risk. I am going all in on this one and I haven't even looked at my cards. I don't have a choice, though. Time is counting down now.

I am going to Rome.