Behold ! Page 8

  “And so you shall, at the very next dull moment we have,” Raquel assured her.

  Marrisa went off down the hallway toward the main lobby, ostensibly to find a directory to inform her of where Ham might be. Pris turned her gaze on Raquel to ask other clarifying questions about the recent events, only to find Clara gazing once again at nothing.

  “Clara?” she asked. There was no reply.

  IN THE MAIN LOBBY, which was closed now after hours, lights were dimmed and the only person in sight was a custodian running a floor buffer. Walking to the directory marquee, she ran a finger down the list of departments until she found the general in-patient ward. It was on the second floor, in the other wing of the building. Turning to look for the elevator, she noticed the custodian watching her leave.

  Looking back, she was shocked to see his eyes glowing a bright golden hue. Hurriedly punching the call button, she prayed for the elevator to arrive before he made a move toward her. She was afraid he was a demon. When it arrived, the janitor turned his back to her.

  Backing into the car, she glanced over to locate and press the button for the second floor. She had looked away for no more than two seconds, but when she looked back into the lobby, the janitor was nowhere in sight. The waited nervously until the elevator doors closed without incident.

  When she stepped off the elevator, she was in radiology, and it was closed. A sign on the wall pointed her to the in-patient ward, and she moved in that direction. Coming to a set of closed double-doors with no knob or pull handle, she could see down the long hallway to where a policeman was standing watch outside a room. Nurses and other staff bustled about on the floor, and she watched for several minutes, trying to judge her best way of getting them all into Ham’s room. The elevator behind her dinged.

  Freezing, she glanced around quickly, but she saw no place to hide and nothing to use as an impromptu weapon. Deciding instead to go with the lost, looking for the bathroom routine, she turned to see who else was getting off in radiology after hours. The custodian from the lobby stepped off and strode unthreateningly toward her.

  “I’m a little lost,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I was looking for the ladies room and...”

  His eyes flashed gold momentarily, and he smiled disarmingly as he spoke softly. “I respect your desire to stay out of trouble, but that is the second-most lame excuse anyone uses for being where they aren’t supposed to be.”

  “And what’s the first?” Marrisa grinned. “God, I hope you’re an angel; otherwise, I’m in deep doo-doo.”

  “I do so love all the colloquialisms of your language,” he said, chuckling silently. “I can help you get into Hamilton’s room, but I doubt seriously the rest of you can join in,” he said, still smiling.

  “How...okay, time to do some ‘splainin’ Lucy,” she said, the smile on her face being replaced by a frown of uncertainty.

  “My name is Uriel, and Raquel is my sister,” he said. “It was I who inhabited your body recently, a fact of which I am sorely remorseful. There was no alternative if I was to protect the anointed one and my sister at the same time.”

  “Wait, wait,” Marrisa stammered. “You inhabited my body and fought off the bad guys, including, apparently, a second-hierarchy demon?”

  Looking startled, Uriel lowered his eyes briefly, before looking back into hers. “Indeed, it was a first-hierarchy demon, Berith to be exact. He was a prince of the Cherubim before the great battle.”

  “So, you killed him, using my body?” Marrisa said, aghast.

  “No, it is almost impossible to kill any of my brothers and sisters, regardless whether they reside with my Father or...elsewhere.” He explained. “All I did was to destroy the vessel which Berith inhabited.”

  Shaking herself, Marrisa recalled her mission. “There’s plenty of time, I hope, to ask all the questions I have, but right now I need to get Raquel into that room,” she said, pointing down the hall. “She needs to ward it against demons? Did I say that right?”

  “Indeed, you said it exactly right,” Uriel replied. “And I can help you there. I can walk these halls freely in this vessel, thanks to the good man who actually is the custodian. Say hello, Carl.”

  The fire in Uriel’s eyes vanished, and a pair of soft brown ones regarded her humbly.

  “So, we gets ta be Archangel vessels, huh?” he asked, grinning. “Sumpin’ ta tell muh grankids ‘bout, cep’in I ain’t got none, and dey wouldn’t b’lieve me anywho.”

  “Well, Carl, there was a little difference for you and I; my use wasn’t consensual,”

  Marrisa said, blushing when she thought how she made it sound like they had been intimate.

  “Nutin’ much mo’ inimate dan havin’ a angel inside ya, huh?” Carl replied, reading her face.

  Grinning, Marrisa extended her hand in the time-honored gesture of friendship. “Nice to meet you Carl, but Uriel and I have places to go.”

  Shaking her hand, Carl said, “My pleasure, ma’am,” and then his eyes flared golden again. “Follow me,” Uriel said.

  Taking a pass card from his breast pocket, he swiped the sensor on the wall and the red light turned green. There was a soft click, and the right-hand door snicked open about two inches. Slipping his fingers into the crack of the handle-less door, Uriel pulled it open and stood aside; allowing Marrisa to enter first. They walked abreast up the hallway to Ham’s room, and stopped in front of the officer.

  “There’s a mess in there I need to clean up, and this is my helper,” he said to the officer. His eyes flared brightly, and a warm, welcoming smile sprang onto the officer’s face as if he had just recognized a favorite long-lost relative.

  “Certainly, Carl, go right on in,” he replied readily. “You too, miss.”

  As soon as they entered, Ham was on high alert, as was the officer seated on the other side of the bed.

  “Sorry, you can’t be in here,” the officer said. “And what happened to Phil?” he finished, reaching for his sidearm and radio simultaneously.

  “Its fine, Daniel,” Uriel said, holding out his hand placatingly. His eyes glowed a mellow gold and the other officer relaxed noticeably.

  “Oh, well, alright,” Daniel said. “I’ll just wait out in the hall.”

  When the door closed, Ham looked from Marrisa to Uriel and back. “Are you okay, or are you being held hostage by this demon?” Ham asked fiercely. He had his right arm drawn back, fist clenched.

  “I’m good, Ham; it’s fine,” Marrisa rushed to assure him.

  Uriel, for his part, chuckled softly. “Well done, young warrior. Your world needs more willing spirits such as you.”

  “Sorry, Raquel’s eyes glow white, so I figured a different color meant...” Ham said by way of explanation.

  “All of my brethren have slightly different influences on their vessels,” Uriel explained. “But if the eyes are any shade of white, silver, golden, or even a light bronze, in one case, there’s an angel inside. It’s the red, yellow, and bright green eyes of which you need be wary.”

  Moving about the room, he was gesturing and muttering under his breath. “We can’t stay very long, but perhaps Marrisa can fill you in on what has happened today while I finish my warding.”

  Three minutes later, Ham knew the basics, and the room was well guarded. “No demonic presence or servant can enter this room now,” Uriel informed them. “If they are forced into the room, their bodies will die instantly.”

  “How long will the protection last?” Ham wanted to know.

  “It is not the room, but you who are warded, young warrior,” Uriel informed the gaping teen. “Any room you are in is likewise warded against demonic intrusion.”

  “And how long will that last?” Ham insisted.

  “Until I remove it,” Uriel said simply.

  SIXTEEN

  FOR THE NEXT HOUR, the three women exchanged tidbits of information in hushed tones in the ICU waiting room. Marrisa had made her way back to them and filled Clara/Raquel in on Urie
l’s doings, including her possession. Raquel had likewise filled them in on what she had learned while outside Clara’s body.

  “War is coming, and soon,” Raquel informed them solemnly. “There are hordes of demons amassing in the communities surrounding several major metropolitan areas, and Oklahoma City is one of the targets. It would appear the Bible Belt isn’t as secure as local ministers would lead their flocks to believe.”

  “Are these hordes of demons in cloned bodies like we discussed before?” Pris asked.

  “Exactly, and they’re being led by their prime supplicant, or zero patient, as the case were,” Raquel replied.

  “Prime supplicant? Zero patient?” Marrisa repeated, clearly puzzled.

  “The only way a human being may give their body to Lucifer’s use is by becoming a supplicant to him; beseeching Satan as a god for guidance, and pledging fealty,” Raquel explained. “The Center for Disease Control uses the term Patient Zero to refer to the first person to become infected in a serious of patient exposures, or an epidemic. I wasn’t sure which phrase you would more readily understand, so I offered both.”

  A man in green scrubs with a surgical mask dangling on to leads from his neck pushed through the doors to the waiting room. As they were the only people waiting, Marrisa rose and all three turned to face him. His slumped posture and general body language said he did not have good news for them.

  “I’m Dr. Pashteen, Chief of Neurology, and I’ve been overseeing Detective Kratos’ treatment,” he offered in a mellifluous, sing-song cadence. “Frank is comatose and has brain damage from the concussion of the explosion. The brain is a marvelous organ, and can heal and reroute itself, given enough time and adequate brain cells in the right areas.”

  He explained in the way most doctors felt was necessary to share with waiting family. “Unfortunately, the amount of damage his brain has suffered is not only very serious, but also in those areas most important to his recovery.”

  “What does all that mean, in layman’s terms?” Marrisa asked impatiently.

  “I apologize, it is the nature of my job to try to help family members understand what is happening in the best way I know how,” he smiled as he glanced at the floor. Raising his head, he looked from one set of waiting eyes to the next until he had made eye contact with all three women.

  “It means, I’m afraid his chances of recovery are very small. We will keep him on life-support for as long as necessary, and will do everything we can to aid in his recovery.” He turned and began to move away.

  Clara gasped and her head rocked backward as if struck, but immediately righted herself as her eyes flared silver. Raquel said, “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”

  “What did you say?” Pris asked her.

  Marrisa recognized the passage from her husband Phillip’s funeral; it was from the Book of Revelation. Calling out to the retreating form of the neurosurgeon, she asked, “Can we see him?”

  The doctor turned back to them, embarrassment plain on his face. “Of course you may,” he replied. “Please forgive me for not offering right away.” He turned to the double-doors, keying them open with a pass card. “Right this way, please; or shall I allow you a few moments? I can send someone out?”

  Raquel spoke quickly before Marrisa could reply. “If you would be so kind; thank you. In about five minutes?”

  Dr. Pashteen nodded and allowed the door to close quietly behind him. As soon as the door closed, Raquel turned her blazing gaze on the other two. “Frank is the linchpin for all that is to come, we must see to his recovery right away.”

  “Did you not understand what the doctor just said?” Pris asked incredulously. “He’s in a coma, and not expected to recover.”

  “Oh, yea of little faith,” Raquel replied.

  The radio she had picked up off the counter in the kitchen squawked in her bag, and Marrisa’s hand dove into her purse to retrieve it.

  “I said, I need to know if I can let Hamilton Nichols leave the hospital unescorted. He’s being discharged and there’s no one here to take him home,” the radio announced.

  Without hesitation, Marrisa held the walkie-talkie up to her mouth and pressed the push-to-talk. “This is Mrs. Benson; I’m in the ICU waiting room with Mrs. Kratos, and we are guardians for Hamilton Nichols. Please escort him here, and do not let him come by himself. Is that clear?”

  The radio was silent for several long moments while Pris and Clara both looked at Marrisa with newfound respect for the audacity she had just displayed. Apparently, the police were feeling the same way.

  “This is Sergeant McElroy. Are you the same Mrs. Benson who is the mother of Priscilla Benson?” he asked.

  “I am,” she replied.

  “How did you get to the hospital unescorted? You weren’t supposed to leave the residence without effective escort, per the lieutenant’s explicit directions,” he fumed. “And where did you get a police radio from?”

  “I drove us here in my van, for which I have a license, and which is equipped to carry not one, but both of the wheelchair users currently with me. And Officer Omikawa left the radio for me,” she answered succinctly, and with just a little edge in her voice.

  “Yes ma’am, I understand,” he said, suddenly all cooperation. “I’ll personally be escorting Mr. Nichols to the ICU waiting room in short order.”

  Pris gaped at her mother. “Go Mom,” she gushed.

  Raquel also nodded her beaming countenance in approval. “These are becoming desperate times, and call for desperate measures.”

  Three minutes by her watch, Marrisa observed Ham turn the corner from the elevator lobby toward them. A tall, red-haired, muscular policeman with a huge handlebar mustache strode beside him.

  “Sergeant McElroy, I presume?” Marrisa said, rising and offering her hand.

  He shook her hand firmly, maintaining his grip longer than necessary. “I don’t know whether to arrest you, hug you, or both,” he said, finally releasing her hand.

  “I don’t know you well enough to hug, and why would you feel you could arrest me?” Marrisa replied coolly.

  “Why would I feel I could...you me why would I think I should?” McElroy replied, flustered.

  “No, I said what I meant,” Marrisa smiled. “Perhaps you haven’t been briefed on what capabilities our young super heroes have as of yet.” She grinned at Ham, and then Pris.

  “Super heroes? Ah, no ma’am, I don’t believe I have,” he admitted. “There have been some rumors, but I’ve learned to stick with facts during my 12 years on the force,” he informed them.

  “Let’s just say, unless I wanted to go with you, I don’t think you could make me,” she answered boldly.

  Sergeant McElroy was aghast. He had never had anyone appear so utterly confident that he could not exercise his authority over them, and it showed plainly. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?” he finished, his voice a mixture of curiosity and something near contempt.

  “No, you really don’t want me to do that, unless you’re a good swimmer,” Ham replied.

  Clara, Priscilla, and Marrisa all burst into simultaneous giggles.

  “Are you all on drugs?” the sergeant asked. “Did they give you something after the incident at the Kratos residence? I need to call for some additional officers to escort you to a safe location,” he finished, reaching for his radio.

  Ham glanced at the radio as he drew it from its holster, and watched as he pressed the talk pad. “This is Sergeant McElroy. I need six officers to the ICU waiting room forthwith.”

  He held the radio slightly away from his ear, anticipating a reply. When none was forthcoming, he repeated his request, twisting the knobs on top in an attempt to get some response. The radio was dead. McElroy tapped the radio against the palm of his beefy hand, turning the power knob off and on several times.

  “Huh, it was fully charged when I ca
me on shift two hours ago,” he said, more to himself than the others.

  Remembering Marrisa had a radio, he looked at her. “Mrs. Benson, I’ll need to recover the radio Officer Omikawa gave you,” he said, holding out his hand.

  “Certainly,” Marrisa replied, handing the radio to him. “And I didn’t say Omikawa gave it to me, I said he left it for me.”

  Raquel had been smiling throughout the exchange, and was about to speak when McElroy keyed the radio. Nothing happened, and he went through the same routine he had with his own. Patrick McElroy wasn’t born at night or last night; he smelled a set-up.

  “What exactly is going on here?” he asked plaintively.

  “Please, allow me to demonstrate,” Ham offered. The others watched in earnest to see what new skills he might have discovered. “Don’t be alarmed, I have no intention of hurting you,” he concluded, addressing the now smirking officer.

  The radio McElroy had placed in its holster sprang from the leather case and bounced off the ceiling tile overhead, rattling it in its frame. It then made a circuitous loop around the room before coming to a stop two feet in front of the Sergeant’s face.

  When the shocked policeman reached for the walkie, it danced away from his hand as if they were magnetic opposites. Dawn rose on the startled officer’s face, and he realized the rumors he had heard were at least partially true. The big man stumbled toward a waiting chair and collapsed into it, bouncing it several inches backward.

  “So you see, I really don’t need police protection, I have my own,” Marrisa said proudly.

  Raquel called the officer by his first name. “Patrick, you’re a wonderfully devout man, and my Father loves you for your faith. Have faith now that what you see and hear in the near future is all for His good and His will.”

  The door of a storage closet opened twenty feet down the hall, and Uriel stepped out in his host body. “I heard your call,” he said without preamble. “How may I serve?”