The Essence of Darkness Page 9

  Guinnevere

  Drew pentagrams

  Like yours, my lady, like yours . . .

  She followed the directions and left the road for a dirt track that went up into the hills. If everything Cooper had said was true, it was even more terrifying. But she preferred that possibility to his insanity.

  She called him once she had arrived at her destination. Her fingers were trembling as she dialed the number.

  He picked up immediately.

  “I’m here,” she said.

  “I see the Jeep. That’s exactly what we need, Sweetie.”

  Finally, he had said something nice.

  “I was hoping I could come close to you,” Cooper continued, “but my condition won’t let me. I can’t really tell when this thing is going to take over. Do you still want to help me?”

  “Do you think I traveled over nine hundred miles to let you down now?”

  “I left the book at the foot of the big tree that you should be able to see to the right of the road.”

  “I see it.”

  “Good. Take the book with you. I think it’s some kind of very old witchcraft manual, a grimoire to be specific, or something like that. Until now, I didn’t believe in that stuff at all, but I have to admit that it’s real. Hurry. I feel the evil awakening inside me again.”

  Lauren stepped out of the Jeep and ran to get the book from under the tree.

  “I have it. What should I do with it now?” she asked.

  “The only specialist in the area who is qualified to translate this book is named Wilbur Ravenwood. He’s a well-known expert in paleography, the study of ancient languages. He’s retired but still working at home in Rochester. I wrote down his address and stuck it in the book for you.”

  “I assume I’m supposed to go there.”

  “Exactly,” Cooper replied. There was a pause punctuated by grunts of pain.

  “Eliott? Are you still there?”

  He coughed hard. It sounded like he was fighting hard to maintain control. “Lauren . . . take the book and ask him to translate it.”

  “Okay, but—”

  He interrupted her. “You will also need to buy all the equipment needed to take blood samples: syringes, test tubes, everything. Check with a hospital doctor if you have to.”

  “Okay, got it. Eliott?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you go to the nearest hospital emergency room to have a sample taken?”

  “Lauren, I already tried. I can guarantee it’s impossible. First go see Ravenwood; then get the medical supplies. Hurry! Every second counts. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

  He began to retch and vomit.

  When she heard what was coming up from his stomach, she understood that this was an emergency. “I’m on my way right now.”

  She dropped off the food she had bought him at the side of the road and then got back in the Jeep. She laid the book on the Jeep’s passenger seat and looked for the keys, not finding them in any of her pockets. Through the earpiece of her phone, she could hear Cooper moaning and struggling to speak between two agonizing convulsions.

  “Eliott! Stay with me! Say something!”

  She finally found the keys in the glove compartment and hurried to get started. Seized with panic, she stalled and had to restart the engine. Suddenly, the headlights began to flicker, as if the battery were failing.

  “Eliott! Are you there?”

  There were no more cries of pain—no more of any of the horrible noises coming from him.

  As she put the Jeep into first gear, she saw the trees shaking above the thickets in the flicker of the fading headlights. Suddenly, she heard hoarse breathing and a scream she couldn’t even attribute to an animal, much less to a human being.

  Without warning, the roof caved in under the impact of a mass that dropped on it, as if a boulder had fallen onto the car. She stomped on the accelerator and maintained control as best she could, yanking the steering wheel right and left. She managed to dislodge the thing from the roof. The Jeep skidded and then finally set off at full speed on the rough dirt road. She checked the rearview mirror out of reflex, but she could see nothing but absolute darkness. She was able to reach the road before the power failure spread to the entire circuit, which would have stopped the vehicle dead. The headlights gradually recovered their brightness. She patted the dashboard. Everything seemed to be working normally again.

  “Eliott?” she shouted into her hands-free device.

  The only response was silence.

  “If you hear me, I’m headed for Rochester. Hold on!”

  She left the dirt road and burst onto the asphalt road in a scream of burnt tires. She glanced at the package on the passenger seat and then reached out to grab it without taking her eyes off the road. She put it on her lap and undid the knot to remove the piece of blanket. She turned on the ceiling light to look at the object, to make sure it was the book of incantations. Without question, the book was very old, maybe several centuries old. It gave off a pungent smell of old leather, blood, and dirt. But one dominating odor she couldn’t identify. If death had only had one stench for all its variations, that would have been it. She found the ancient cover truly repulsive, with its eye-catching symbols like bramble thorns and effigies with distorted, intertwined bodies. It reminded her of Dante’s circles of Hell. Going through its pages would have revolted her to her core. This book reeked of pure evil. She wrapped it in the blanket and put it back on the passenger seat.

  The clock on the dashboard showed 1:50 a.m. It was unreasonable to wake the expert paleographer in the middle of the night, even though this case might interest him greatly. She would start by finding a twenty-four-hour market to buy Eliott’s blood-sample supplies. Then she would sleep for an hour or two and visit Ravenwood first thing in the morning.

  When she arrived in Olean, she left the Jeep in the parking lot of the shopping center she had been to earlier. The market was across the street. She put on a thick jacket under her raincoat because it had grown cold outside. She jogged across the vast parking lot to warm herself up. The streets were deserted, swept by light rain that fell in intermittent waves. She was going to use a covered walkway that ran the length of the shopping plaza. But when she saw a bunch of young men horsing around, beer cans in hand, she changed her mind and walked in the rain.

  They whistled as she passed them.

  “Hey! Where are you going, little lady?”

  She ignored them and continued toward the pharmacy.

  “Hey! We’re talking to you, slut!” shouted another one.

  The bright lights at the entrance blinded her for a moment. This type of overly powerful lighting, combined with the security cameras installed outside, was designed to deter attacks and robberies during the night. At the nearest cash registers stood two young men who gave her a greeting when she entered.

  “Hi there. I’m looking for the aisle where I can find the necessary equipment to . . .” she searched for her words, as the question could be confusing, “take a blood sample.”

  Their smiling masks slipped for a second. Only problematic clientele would generally request such products.

  “You’re looking for syringes, right?” stammered one of the clerks. Suspicion tainted their recovered smiles.

  “Yes, that’s right. That’s exactly what I’m looking for. I’ll also need some test tubes. Do you sell those?”

  At that exact moment, four of the young loiterers who had harassed her outside in the parking lot entered the store. They had followed her. The employees were now wearing defensive, closed expressions and kept their cell phones in their hands, visibly ready to call the police at any time.

  “We carry syringes, but don’t have any test tubes. Sorry, ma’am,” one of them told her, sounding panicked.

  Upon hearing the clerk’s words, the four drunk delinquents approached Lauren.

  “Okay, then, I’ll just get the . . .”

  She avoided saying “syrin
ges” when she saw the hoodlums approaching her.

  “I’ll get that item. Thank you.”

  One of them imitated Lauren’s voice, exaggerating the high notes. “Okay, then, I’ll just get the syringes. They’ll be perfect for my little evening shoot-up after my dildo session, tee-hee-hee.”

  The cashier pointed to the nearby aisle with hand shaking and without taking his eyes off the delinquents, who had now surrounded Lauren. They laughed and blocked her way when she walked toward the aisle. She slipped her wallet into her inner pocket and used the opportunity to unhook her weapon from the holster and remove the safety.

  “Hey, bitch, where are you going like that? Don’t you think it would be nice to do some shopping in here where it’s warm? We need a few things too, but we don’t have much money. You can help us with our shopping.”

  That one was big, with a shaved head under a hood, dark, bulging eyes, and a prominent jaw that moved as he nervously chewed gum. Lauren figured he must be the leader.

  Another behind him clicked open his switchblade and waved it at her with a perverse smile.

  “Listen, guys,” she said calmly, “I’m not looking for trouble. I’m in a hurry. I have a friend who’s in bad shape and I have to go help him. Can you let me—”

  “Shut up, bitch!” shouted the big guy, “We’ve heard enough out of you! We don’t give a shit about your needy boyfriend. We just want your money, so hand it over now, or we’ll cut you to pieces!”

  “Yeah, and your cell phone too,” added another one. “Give us your phone.”

  The fourth hoodlum, a tall punk as thin as a rail, with a rainbow-striped mohawk, stood by the clerks, threatening them with a machete. The two clerks stood paralyzed with fear.

  “I . . . I’ll give you everything I have,” Lauren said, looking scared, “but please let me go.”

  She pretended to reach for her wallet in her inner pocket and slipped her hand over the grip of her weapon, taking a firm hold of it. She took a step toward the group’s leader, the one she would have to “negotiate” with.

  “There, that’s better,” he said. “Hey, you’re a nice little piece—”

  A Desert Eagle .50 AE suddenly pressed against the hooligan’s nose, interrupting him.

  Lauren liked big guns.

  “Listen, you bastard,” she said dryly, “you’re going to let me through and tell your friends to drop their weapons on the ground. Understand?”

  She moved closer, crushing the young tough’s potato nose with the barrel of her gun. He backed up until he bumped into a display shelf. He stammered incomprehensibly.

  “I don’t think they heard you. Can you say it again?”

  She cocked her automatic and stared hard at him, her eyes icy.

  Click.

  “Drop your blades, guys! She’s not fucking kidding!” he shouted.

  They complied within a second.

  She withdrew the barrel and turned it toward the other three, whose fearful faces showed total surprise. They all stood as still as statues. She left them standing there, grabbed the syringes off the shelf, and exited the store without wasting any more time. She returned to the Jeep in small strides without looking back. The four delinquents remained in the warmth of the store, obviously in no hurry to leave.

  She started the car and sped toward the route to Rochester. Now the radio was playing a Led Zeppelin song. Robert Plant’s haunting voice filled the Jeep.

  If it keeps on raining, levee’s goin’ to break.

  If it keeps on raining, levee’s goin’ to break.

  When the levee breaks, have no place to stay . . .

  “Eliott,” she whispered.

  What was he doing now? Was he still suffering as much as when she’d left him two hours earlier? Would he manage to survive? She got out her cell phone and tried to call him several times, but in vain. Her thoughts were just an endless stream of unanswered questions, one after the other.

  She wasn’t tired and already knew she’d be up all night. That was just as well because she had a serious mission to accomplish. She knew nothing about Eliott’s illness, but she was determined to help him.

  To the very end.

  From now on, nothing could come between them.

  11

  When she was a little girl, Lauren Chambers dreamed of being a nurse. Just like her mother Sandra was, and just like her grandmother Mary had been. But the line of white coats was broken one rainy April day.

  Lauren, who was then nine years old, had been playing with the Brooks children, whose family had recently moved in across the street. She liked Tim, the oldest, and was happier to share his marbles and toy cars than she was the dolls of his seven-year-old sister Grace. Sometimes people who didn’t know her thought Lauren was a little boy, with her curly hair that hid her eyes and her mischievous laughter.

  That afternoon, since it was raining, the three children took shelter in the Brooks’ garage.

  Tim’s father Douglas was a police officer. Lauren watched him sometimes when he came home from work. She observed him secretly from behind the curtains in her bedroom, as he walked across the driveway in his elegant navy blue uniform after one of those gleaming squad cars—equipped with flashing lights—had dropped him off in front of his house.

  One day, Lauren asked her mother, “Mom, what’s a cop?”

  Sandra Chambers stopped doing the dishes.

  “We don’t say ‘cop,’ honey; we say ‘police officer.’”

  “Then what is a police officer, exactly?”

  “Well, Lauren, he’s a little bit like your mom, except he’s dressed in blue, and he saves people on the streets, not in hospitals.”

  “Oh, like on Netflix?”

  Her mother went back to the dishes. Her daughter had once again managed to overcome the restrictions on internet access.

  “Where did you learn the word ‘cop’?”

  The little girl burst out laughing when she heard her mother say the forbidden word.

  “From Tim, Mom! You know, the new neighbor. He’s always saying, ‘My dad’s a cop! My dad’s a cop!’ He even says, ‘My dad is the best cop in Los Angeles!’”

  The mother raised her index finger with authority.

  “Lauren, don’t use that word anymore.”

  The rain stopped, and a few rays of sunlight shone on the roofs of the houses. The three children went out again to play ball in front of the garage. Tim’s father’s service vehicle stopped in the driveway not far from them. Douglas Brooks got out on the passenger side and walked around the front of the Ford Crown to say good-bye to his colleague. As he passed by, he waved at the three children who were staring at him open-mouthed from the lawn. He was holding something in his arms. The children, intrigued, ran over to greet him. It was a fur ball, a little puppy. It had an injured paw.

  “Dad!” asked the ecstatic Tim, “Did you bring us a dog?”

  “That’s right, kids, and maybe this one will stay with us.”

  Tim and his sister Grace wrapped themselves around their father’s legs.

  “Hey,” said Tim’s father, “you must be the little Lauren I’ve heard so much about.”

  Lauren was speechless before this navy blue superhero from Netflix.

  “Hey,” he repeated, “you are the little neighbor girl, aren’t you?”

  “Umm, yes,” she finally answered. “And are you Tim and Grace’s dad?”

  “That’s right,” he answered with a smile.

  The two children let go of their father’s legs, so he was free to move around again. He crouched down in front of Lauren.

  “Do you like dogs, Lauren?”

  “Ummm, yes. My mom says you’re like a blue nurse, and you save a lot of people on the streets. Is that true?”

  “Yes, and I do even more than that.”

  “What else do you do?” She stroked the whimpering young puppy whose muzzle was buried in the policeman’s jacket.

  “Well, as you can see, I also save little dogs, and ev
en little cats. Not all the time, but it happens.”

  Lauren’s eyes lit up with such intensity that Douglas Brooks looked at her with concern. It takes little to touch the mind and heart of a young child. That day, Lauren Chambers’ fate was sealed.

  When she grew up, she was going to be a blue nurse.

  Twelve years had passed, and Lauren Chambers, now aged twenty-one, had graduated with a degree in general studies. Since childhood, she had held onto her dream of becoming a police officer. So before the beginning of summer 2008, she registered to take the entrance exam in September. She spent her vacation having fun with friends in Venice. Lauren was athletic. She was not afraid to play basketball with the boys and sometimes even got into scuffles. She got around by bike or skateboard, depending on her mood. She was a particularly lively young woman with a strong personality. It was wise not to upset her and wiser not to get in her way when she was upset. Her mother often wondered where she had gotten this stormy character. Under her sweet, young face with beautiful green almond eyes, Lauren could be formidable, a real dragon. But she had a lot of confidence and a remarkable sense of fairness. Her mother was sorry that Lauren was determined to pursue this path, regretting that she wouldn’t be a nurse like her, but she was convinced that Lauren would excel in the police.

  She wasn’t wrong.

  Lauren spent the month of August studying for the entrance exam. She passed with distinction. Her first year at the police academy was more than brilliant. In addition to having natural abilities, she threw herself into her work and was already studying complex criminal cases. For her second year, she was able to take a special class. In it were all the students who had the qualifications to become more than just cops. Some instructors in charge of their training worked in collaboration with the American intelligence agencies. Near the end of the school year, an FBI representative contacted Lauren. He invited her to enroll at the training center for the “Bureau,” as they called it. He explained the FBI’s activities to her during a meal they had together, and what the job of special agent involved. Four months later, Lauren started her training.