Swane's Residence, Old Compton Street, London. Year 2006.
Midnight. Droopy silver crescent and dotted stars. Wet streets and moist ambiance.
The shadows round the tattered edges of the corner walls slided gently.'Thud.'
Eilert Swane woke up from the noise from his locked door. About time, he thought. His dreams about Degaliel were too long and unbearable to carry each time he awaken to find himself all alone in London. Someone had broken the spell he had cast on his door.
Eilert Swane felt for a baseball bat from the dressing table. He glided silvery to the chest of the walls, the powdery moonlight splashed on his features. He had barely aged since the Exodus, except his head full of white mane and some crowfeet beneath his eyes whenever he grins. The Exodus happened a hundred and fifty years ago in mortal time line.
'Identify yourself! This is your only warning!' Eilert threw his voice into the dark living room as he sneaked stealthily into the kitchen for sharper weapons.
'It's me. You fucking bastard! What the fuck did you do to your door?' A throaty voice which Eilert had not heard from over a decade, cawed out indignantly.
Eilert felt for the switch and lighted his house. A tall pale man in pilot sunglasses with dirt brown suede climbed over the white couch with his soiled shoes and threw his branded bag over the coffee table.
'Suicides.' Smiled Eilert Swane as he disarmed himself of the iron bat and went into the kitchen, 'It's a defensive ward. Scotch?' He dug into the cupboard and tugged out two old fashioned.
'Want them with rocks.' Requested Suicides thinly as he took off his sunglasses, revealing his blood red pupils. He relaxed himself in the comfort of a proper home, switched on the television through the remote and tossing channels after channels. 'Any games on?'
'Dunno. Haven't been watching them for a while.' Said Eilert as he handed an old fashioned of Scotch over. He settled himself in an armchair facing Suicides.
'Why the need for the ward?' Asked Suicides, barely looking at his host. As he drank his Scotch, his mouthful of canine teeth glistered in the shine of the alcohol. 'Haven't they by now get the general idea that you can't be hurt at all?'
'I had indeed destroyed their worlds. And that general idea? It's not so true after all.' Eilert drank his Scotch in a grimace shot and started pouring from the bottle again.
'Ah. That wickedly beautiful lass of Cherubim? Whassa' name? Degaliel? It's a pity they don't make angels like that anymore.' Chuckled Suicides over the sound of the television displaying a football match. 'You know where is she now?'
'They should be preparing for the final stage, seeing that the date is set.' Answered Eilert Swane.
'Oh. So they know the date? Do tell.'
'Yes. Just got it yesterday, from Degaliel.' Eilert went for his third shot, 'It's the 19th of August, 2007.'
'You know something? My folks had nominated me to reign.' Snorted Suicides as he pulled out a dog-eared notebook of names. 'And these people will fucking get it when they die pissing and goes to my Hell. What a boy, that traitor Ndmh! Manage to rebuild the freaking City on his own. I say, here's to that boy!' Suicides raised a toast.
'To Ndmh.' Cheered Eilert quietly as he touched his old fashioned to Suicides'. 'Yeah. What brings you here all the way?'
Suicides peered sideways at Eilert Swane and said, 'I've found the last book.'
St. Owen Psychiatric Nursing Home, London.Eilert Swane turned from the heat of the afternoon into the air conditioned admission office of the nursing home. He looked around the dozen of people and saw her towering high and flawless in front of the vending machine. Some men were looking at the beautiful creature in mesmerising stares and unable to look away. Only Eilert knew that they were looking at an archangel, one of the last surviving Cherubims that Oriaries had stationed on Earth for its defense against the Inferno. For he was able to see her three pairs of flagging wings and the halo that emitted from her core. Despite losing the physicality of the Fire Of Judgment, Eilert Swane could still see souls. The glorious angel sipped her pipping coffee in ecstasy. The Cherubims had counted to three hundred then, but as the Heaven burst, most of them had perished in heartbreaks and absolute sorrows.
That was how he had found
Degaliel. Several years he had spent in the hospital from recovering from his injuries, he had returned to the Tainted Seal of Samuel where he first descended to burn sinners a hundred and fifty-seven years ago. He learnt that the local authority had tried to explain the town's wreckage with an unfortunate event of gas explosion and they were the survivors. It seemed that when Eilert returned to the town, it was in the process of being rebuild. Just as Eilert was leaving, he was made to follow a distant mewing of a fox. The fox had lead him under the spoils of a deserted mansion where he had found Degaliel paralysed with grief in the depth of a stony well.
Eilert Swane walked over and introduced himself to the angel at the vending machine, 'Hi. My name is Eilert Swane. Are they here already?'
The angel as if was pricked by the mention of Eilert's name, frowned intensively and stared venomously at him. She allowed their silence sheared by, as if trying to tell Eilert how much she had loathe him. With a swift glance. Eilert had saw her reaching for something in her jacket.
'Eilert!' Higelot called out as he walked towards them. He pumped Eilert's hand heartily and led him to the admission counter. Balthial was unbearable to look at in her wheelchair. She stared glassy into the blank air, her body shriveled into a frail frame of an old woman whom looked like a thousand years old. Balthial had a feeding tube dangling from the innards of her nostril and her bony fingers wrapped in sores and wrinkled skin clasped onto each other as she rocked forth and back in her wheelchair, muttering to herself mindlessly.
'I have failed Oriaries...' Higelot hung his head in shame.
Eilert patted Higelot on the shoulder, 'You offered your best. There is not much you could do for a person who refuse to be heal. So this is where she wants? And you? Will you be going back?'
'I reckon not.' Replied Higelot, 'I can't leave her here alone in this place. As much as she hated my presence, I have promised Oriaries and I will see to this task until the very last breath.'
'I will visit you guys more often. Erm. Do you remember Vvael's dying wish?' Asked Eilert softly.
However they had delay in aging in regards to mortal longevity, they are still vulnerable to the human cycle of sickness and death. Vvael upon spending his waking hours caring for Balthial had caught on her madness. He had gone insane for most of his mortal livelihood and published a book on the War Of Judgment and Exodus. For the last couple of hours on his deathbed, Vvael became sober and had requested Eilert to seek and destroy all the publications. Eilert had traveled far and wide around the world since, and had burned all Vvael's books saved one.
'What about it?' Said Higelot absent-mindedly as the nurse led them to Balthial's ward.
'I know where the last book is.'
Jane Masaki's Funeral, Melbourne, Australia.
The evening skies hang lowly with flashing bits of lightning crackled amidst its humid atmosphere.
Rain approached cautiously, scouting with its herald and sister - the wind, fussing outside the funeral parlour.
Eilert Swane and Suicides got out of their rental car that they had parked in front of the funeral parlour. They entered the parlour and settled themselves at the back row of the attendees. A tall blond was giving an eulogy in front of a huge picture of an Asian looking girl. The blond was having difficulty giving her ill prepared speech as sounds of muffed crying kept perturbed from the background. Someone was apparently torn from the death.
Jane Masaki looked so young and innocent in that picture without the glitter of her makeover. They found the happiest picture that Masaki was ever caught in, where she smiled the heartiest, her brown mane tossed in the breeze and a secret twinkle in her eyes. The twinkle of hope. This was her picture before pornography. Her parents were in a corner, looking rather flushed with embarrassment than sadness. They kept staring with incredulity as boys and girls from the amateur porn industry entered the parlour to pay respect for the tragic fate of Jane Masaki.
'Oh sing it. This is so cool.' Whispered Suicides at the corner of his lips. He had kept his pilot shades on and looked as if he was enjoying the funeral. 'They are porn people!'
'Who's funeral is this?' Asked Eilert. The muffled cries got more and more hysterical as the tall blond struggled to finish her speech.
'What you seek is in the coffin, boy.' Said Suicides as he buttoned his coat and moved towards the front seat with a grieving redhead, 'Get your own dinner, I would probably see you in the next morning.'
Suicides sat beside the redhead, 'Surely it is too cruel to be alone at this moment of time. My name is Bob. How are you acquainted with the deceased?'
Eilert had to get closer to the coffin, he walked to the altar and bowed to the picture. When asked if he would like to view Jane Masaki, he agreed.
Eilert went behind the white backdrop of the picture and saw that an opened coffin was situated at the center of the small room with flowers all over the walls. A girl in her early twenties was howling her lungs out in her wheelchair. Her arm was bandaged with a triangular sheet. She was bawling her puffy eyes out and couldn't cease to tremble in sweat. Her composure was convulsing in utter sorrow.
Eilert Swane looked into the grieving soul of Sarah Qwek and learnt the terrible tragedy behind her friendship with the deceased Masaki. Sarah Qwek hadn't died back then in Rios' Diner where Masaki had held hostage. Percy had shot Qwek in the left chest, where her left lung was blew and she had massive hemorrhage. Qwek had recovered through extensive surgeries and rehabilitations, although she could never partake in strenuous exercises again with a single lung in place. Of course, crying her eyes out like that toiled and tortured her body breathlessly, but Qwek didn't cared a bit about herself. Her bestie was dead.
Jane Masaki was still awaiting trial when she committed suicide in her cell. Her suicide was very brutal for she had bashed her head against the wall until she had bleed to death. There was so much blood afterwards and the botched marks on the wall had revealed that she had repeatedly smashed her head into the wall again and again in guilty fury. In her mind, Masaki was thinking about the little girl she had shot at Rios'.
Eilert Swane grabbed a chair and sat beside Sarah Qwek quietly.
After a while when Qwek gasped for air and ceased sobbing, she turned to Eilert, 'I'm... I'm sorry. How... how are you... related ...related to Jane?'
'Not at all.' Said Eilert truthfully, 'I'm here to recover a book.'
'Wha... What?'
Eilert pointed to a couple of books of the shawl on Qwek's lap. 'Bou Blanc. Did it belong to Jane?'
Qwek pulled up a tattered book titled 'To Hell With Heaven', and said, 'No. It's mine, but I've decided to bury... bury...' Qwek threw another crying fit at the thought of burying her best friend.
'Bury the book with her, I see.' Eilert nodded, 'I take it she likes the book? Have you read it?'
Qwek nodded as she blew her nose with a tissue. 'You... You read Blanc too?'
'Not really. Is he any good?'
Qwek smiled in her tears and shook her head. 'Blanc is probably the worst writer ever. But he is an interesting worst writer.'
'I know the good bits in the story. Tell me who do you think are the bad guys in the book?' Asked Eilert Swane.
'It's complex. Too complex. There is no such things as good or bad guys anymore.' Answered Qwek, 'We are all walking on a paved path.'
'And you can easily understand how it can happen to good people like her?' Said Eilert as he looked at the coffin.
'But Blanc said that there was no God at all. You can't walked on a paved path without its creator.' Asked Qwek.
'Blanc was mad when he wrote that. Tell me about the ending.' Said Eilert.
'Without heaven and hell, the human world eventually perished slowly and painfully.' Replied Qwek.
'Blanc was wrong. There is still hope for the living.' Said Eilert as he gotten up and folded his chair.
'I thought you wanted the book?' Asked Qwek.
'Not if you want to bury it.' Said Eilert.
'You want it to be gone. Do you know Blanc?' Questioned Qwek.
'He... He is a dear friend of mine. It is his wish to recover all his publications.' Admitted Eilert as he turned to exit the room.
'Wait!' Said Qwek as she rolled her chair, dropping all other books in the process. 'Blanc was a century old now. Blanc... Blanc had mentioned that the displaced angels now roamed our world. Are you...?'
Without turning back, Eilert returned his answer. 'I'm the one whom displaced them.'
Eilert Swane got out of the parlour and realised that it was beginning to rain. Suicides had took the car and no doubt comforting the redhead at this very minute. In the shower of the silvery rain, he thought of the distant Silver City being rebuilt by Ndmh, how he would missed Degaliel deeply next year when she had to return to Heaven and how Suicides will rule Hell. Eilert thought about his ability to see souls and his immortality. Unlike the other survivors of the Exodus, imbued once with Judgment, Eilert Swane could never die. Without death, he could no longer see Degaliel, or even Suicides. He would be alone in this world where everything decays and dies but him. Not that solidarity was ever a problem for him. Yes. Not a problem at all, for God will return. He thought all there was to contemplate about the end and beginning.
God will return.Comforted by that thought, Eilert Swane pulled up the collar of his coat in the cold and strolled away in the rain.
This concludes the running series of The Soothsayer.
