Links to previous chapters are at the end of this chapter
Radu-Chapter XXXXI (A Novel by Patrick Kelley)
7 pages approximate
Michael left after Agnes’s funeral, determined the time had come to return to his family. He did not even bother to ask Khoska to come with him. He was in fact quite angry.
“I know you are upset with me,” Khoska said.
“Agnes would never have agreed to be cremated,” he said. “What gives you the right to make such a decision?”
Khoska looked at him strangely. He had already went over this with him once before, and he was positive Agnes as well had discussed it with him.
“She was hardly in her right mind those last few days,” Michael stubbornly insisted. “On the other hand, I can easily say the same for us all lately. The idea that she might have come back under some satanic curse”-
“You doubt this still, even after what you went through, here in this very church, with that vile creature?” Khoska demanded.
Michael bowed his head as if in prayer. For a minute, he was silent. Khoska waited in awkward silence, not wanting to push him to admit the evidence of his own experience.
“I don’t know what to believe any more,” he finally said. “What I do know is my family needs me. Someone is evidently determined to wipe out our entire family. So far, they have achieved a remarkable rate of success. If you insist on staying here, I will not belabor the issue.”
He left the next day, as Khoska placed Agnes’s urn next to the now empty one for his niece Lynette, as he wondered at the power of Marlowe Krovell. He had somehow managed to wear the both of them down, to weaken their defenses sufficiently to enable him to victimize them. Lynette was one thing. She was young and her faith was new. Despite her strength, she did not have Agnes’s bedrock of faith on which to call. Nevertheless, he deduced Agnes’s main area of weakness-her devotion to the children under her care. She never should have brought them with her. That she could not bear to leave them behind provided evidence of the one chink in her armor of faith.
Khoska remained glum all through the day, and into the night, as he continued to pray and meditate. He then removed himself down to the basement and, retrieving the old keys, he accessed the safe that held the powdered bones of Cornelieu Codreanu. Either they had failed him or he had failed in their application. Now, there was only one vial remaining. The others had proven worthless at protecting both Lynette and Agnes.
That night, as he slept, he dreamed of Agnes in her bed. She cried as she looked into the mirror.
“How, poppa, can you help us now? Why should you bless the damned?”
She hid her face, and as Khoska approached, he heard a voice call to him in a hushed tone from behind him. He turned to see Lynette, smiling at him. He awoke with a start. There was the vial at his bedside where he left it.
“Of course,” he said. ‘That is it. Why did I not know?”
He arose and ate. After he bathed, he spent the remainder of the day in quiet prayer. In every application, he had blessed the relic, which was not a sacred relic at all, but the bones of a grasping, power hungry and possibly fanatical madman. In so doing, he actually lessened its power, had perhaps even gone so far as to make it completely worthless. By the end of the day, he was in an inspired state of near frenzy.
He blessed the sacred wine of the Eucharist. Then, without blessing the bones, he added them to the wine.
“That was the whole problem,” he said in wonder, as he dropped down on his knees before the icon of the Archangel Michael.
The demonic entity that possessed the person of Marlowe Krovell was itself under a peculiarly malicious curse. The blood of the righteous or the innocent alone could sustain him. The blood of sinners was as poison to him. Yet, only the truly faithful, the very ones necessary to sustain him, could repel him. Therefore, the demon found itself faced with a quandary. In order to feed, he had to wear down the faith of those whose blood he needed to survive. Their assured salvation gave him strength and sustenance. Yet, the bones of Codreanu would destroy him, already would have had Khoska not foolishly blessed them. He felt like a complete idiot. Now, however, he felt waves of faith and even profound peace sweep through him.
Neither Lynette’s death nor that of Agnes would be in vain, he vowed. He allowed himself no further recriminations. Such would not bring either of them back. Perhaps it was necessary in order for him to grasp the truth. They should both be alive now, and would be if he had discerned the truth in time. Yet, his faith was not sufficient to see it. He begged forgiveness for his lack of faith, and vowed to carry on the fight, for which he now felt assured of victory. He had to win. He could not allow such abominable evil to prevail. It would make a mockery of the deaths of the two people he loved the most.
By nightfall, he had a not completely unexpected visitor. The Metropolitan Abraham, who in fact had presided over the funeral of Sister Agnes, promised he would see him in a few days. He no longer dreaded it, as he would have a few months ago.
“Where is Michael?” he asked. Khoska remained bowed in front of the Archangel.
“He has returned home, to see to his wife and family,” Khoska replied. “I am frankly glad he has done so. His place is not with me but with them. How are the children?”
“The children are well,” he answered. “They will soon all be placed in fine homes, with families who will love them and raise them well, I am sure.”
“That would make Agnes very happy,” Khoska replied. “They were her life.”
“Aleksandre, let’s not beat about the bush any more, all right? This is awkward enough. You know why I am here. It is time for you to retire.”
“We have had this conversation before,” Khoska replied.
“Really, Aleksandre, you have no place in this city. You have no parish of which to speak. You are a shepherd without a flock.”
For the first time, Aleksandre rose from his attitude of prayer and turned to face the Metropolitan.
“You are my flock,” he replied. “Not just you, but the entire church. You are all blind, walking toward a precipice that will lead to your destruction. I can do nothing about that, but I can and will slay the wolf when he comes to slaughter you. Are you aware that Michael saved my life from the clutches of a woman who in fact has been dead for two years? Not falsely presumed dead, mind you-the recent autopsy performed on her remains verified that she has in fact been dead for that long.”
“Do you really believe she was dead that long, Aleksandre?” the Metropolitan asked sadly, albeit with a faint smile.
“Yes, I do-well, give or take a week or two. You do not have to take my word for it. Her name was Raven Randall, and she died a victim of murder, at the hands of the very man who raised her from the dead and used her as a subterfuge, as a distraction in order that he could get to Agnes.”
“Yes, indeed, the amazing Marlowe Krovell, I know, I have heard all about him. Really, Aleksandre. Of course it so happens she was also affiliated with this strange young man you took under your wing, whom ended up impaled on the upright beam of the cross I am happy to see you have had replaced. Oh, and that other girl, Sierra I think her name was. You know-the one who seemed to be the unwitting victim of a satanic type sacrifice performed here on this very altar.
“Would you like me to once again read to you the police reports on these people, these loathsome criminals whom you insist you saved and who were a part of your war against the devil?”
“Sierra was an unbeliever to the end,” Khoska reminded him. “Joseph sincerely believed. His death was a tragedy, regardless of his past actions.”
“Khoska, Khoska, Khoska, what can I say?” Abraham said in undisguised anguish. “Perhaps Joseph Karinsky was sincere, but more than likely, he was at best desperate to save his own skin from the fate he brought upon himself. At worse, he may have been-and I do hate to say this-playing you for a fool.
“I do not know who or what killed him, but whoever-or whatever-it was may have done you a big favor. A great lot of these troubles, Aleksandre, I fear you have brought on yourself. When you jump in a lake, you get wet. When you lie down in the mud, you get dirty. When you stick your hand in the flame, it burns, and so on and so forth.
“Now you, the self-described shepherd of us all, seem to think you are empowered to save us. I am afraid you are badly deceived. If anything, your endeavors threaten to destroy us. You have already lost almost your entire family. I don’t mean to sound cruel, but why could you not save them?”
Khoska looked at the Metropolitan with a barely disguised disdain that did not go unnoticed by his superior. By this time, Khoska did not care. He looked at most high-ranking officials of the church as though they were for the most part bureaucrats, barely functional ones at that, who cared more for appearances and propriety than they did the truly important spiritual issues of the Church. Unfortunately, such attitudes were indispensable in any rise in position of authority. It was but one of those fatal human flaws from which the church never purged itself. By this point, Khoska was not about to defend himself to the Metropolitan, whom he viewed as a well-meaning individual, but whose value beyond his job description was questionable at best.
“I need just a little more time,” he said at length.
“And you shall have it,” Abraham replied. “In fact, I am giving you a month-that is to say, I am giving you a month to find yourself new and suitable living arrangements. Your duties as a Priest are, I am very much afraid, over. You have now officially been retired. At this point, whatever activities you engage in are of your own volition, and are not to be assumed to have the permission or the blessing of the church.”
Abraham waited a couple of minutes, to give Aleksandre time to digest this pronouncement, but to his chagrin, Khoska betrayed no surprise in his reaction, only one of resignation.
“I did not want it to be this way,” Abraham continued. “You have left me no choice. Actually, I spoke up for you, believe it or not. I suggested you be promoted to Bishop. I believe Daniel would have been amenable, but too many others objected. You have kept yourself too insulated, Aleksandre. You have been an island unto yourself, here in this Catholic city without a flock to call your own, and with nothing or no one to recommend you.
“I consider myself quite fortunate to have secured your retirement. You can live quite comfortably, if you choose to. Whatever the case, the doors of the church are henceforth closed to the public. Soon, officials of the Church shall inventory the property. What is yours, they shall transfer over to your possession. The rest shall be catalogued and delegated to where they might be needed and wanted.”
As he said this, Abraham focused his attention on the icon of the Archangel Michael, his foot upon the vaguely serpentine form as he prepared to plunge a sword into the heart of the demoniac best.
“It has come to my attention that this icon was formerly in the possession of a Greek Orthodox Church that burned to the ground some decades ago. I understand the party responsible for its transfer to your care did so at the behest and in honor of your grandfather, who was indeed a remarkable man of God. I understand you are quite attached to it. As it is not a legitimate church property, you may more than likely keep it, provided its transfer to you turns out to be valid and above-board.”
Khoska looked on, as though he had other matters on his mind.
“You know the Metropolitan Daniel’s life is in danger, do you not?”
Abraham looked at him strangely.
“I understand you heard this second-hand, from some one who supposedly heard it from the lips of your son. I believe the individual in question is someone who supports himself as a photographer for the Baltimore Enquirer-not among the most reputable of newspapers. How unfortunate that Phillip is yet in a coma and therefore unable to verify any of this.
“Aleksandre, Daniel’s life is constantly in danger. There are those who resent his outreach to other churches of the Christian community. Please-no longer concern yourself with these matters.”
“I am concerned not just for him, but for all of us,” Khoska replied, his exasperation getting the better of him and showing now in his voice. “The heretics whom I wrote to you about, and who are led by some person whose identity I am unaware of”-
“Aleksandre!” Abraham shouted, and then restrained himself as he sought to regain his composure.
“Please, Aleksandre,” he said. “Let it drop. I beg you. Daniel is going to meet with officials of not only Christianity, but leaders of other world religions. He is coming here to Baltimore in a few days. I assure you, he is well guarded. I want no nonsense to interfere with his plans, or to disturb his meditations and his preparations for the coming days.
“These heretics of whom you speak are a small number of malcontents who have somehow inflated their power and influence only in your own mind. There will always be heretics and malcontents. Twenty years from now their names will be forgotten, and others will arise to carve out for themselves a similar pathway to obscurity. The church and its people will go on forever, until God reclaims his earth in the name of the Crucified and Resurrected Lord Jesus. I believe that with all my heart. That is my faith, Aleksandre. I should like to think it is still yours.
“As for the Brothers Dracula, including Radu, they are mere historic personages, important in their day, but whose sole importance in our time belongs chiefly in the domain of the motion picture industry, to some degree to the Romanian Board of Tourism. If the heretics of whom you speak truly believe that Radu Dracula has somehow resurrected and leads them on a quest to world domination, well that is-well, that is interesting, and perhaps a little sad. Is it a cause for great concern? Not for me, Aleksandre-nor for any sane person, I hasten to add.”
Aleksandre Khoska was livid, though Abraham’s words were by no means unexpected. It would be easy for an outsider to conclude he was making way too much out of past events. After all, the Centers for Disease Control seemed certain the recent epidemic would quickly wind down to at least relatively manageable levels. They pronounced it unnecessary to impose quarantines on vast areas, as everyone initially feared would be required. Though the death toll was significant, it showed recent signs of abating significantly, as recent victims, for the most part, responded well to treatment.
The recent power outage, which afflicted the entire nation for a period of four days, ended quicker than anyone expected. The local police, state, and federal responses resulted in minimal looting and rioting in Baltimore and in other urban areas, and though it was an inordinate expense, fund-raising drives in addition to government assistance provided replacements for the vast quantities of spoiled food. The mere fact that elected officials found it to their advantage to debate over the amount of federal funds needed to repair the damage gave testament to the fact the damage was not as severe as initially feared.
Its cause even was traced-evidently a virus had insinuated itself at a previously unheard of level and shut down almost the entirety of the not only US computer systems, but in fact the entire world. It was quickly traced to the DVD of Toby Da Pimp, on which it was embedded within the video that portrayed the horrific murder of the youngest daughter of Doctor David Chou.
Now, Chou himself, presumably one of the main ringleaders of what law-enforcement officials identified as a terrorist plot, was in prison, awaiting certain indictment and prosecution, while yet another alleged conspirator, Detective James Berry, while still in hiding, would most likely be found soon.
It was easy to conclude that the true instigators had misjudged and underestimated the capabilities of those they sought to undermine and destroy. Khoska, however, believed there was something missing, some component yet identified. Marlowe Krovell had masterfully used the reanimated corpse of Raven Randall to provide a distraction in order for him to wage his ultimately successful assault on his dear, sweet Agnes. Khoska could not help but believe that Marlowe Krovell was himself a minor player, no more important in the overall scheme of things than Doctor Chou or Lieutenant Berry. He was certain that some yet unknown person or entity manipulated things behind the scenes. Who was it? Could it be his demented half-brother and his abominable wife-or could it possibly be the mysterious Edward Akito? Perhaps it was some other person whose identity was beyond Khoska’s comprehension.
Khoska believed this was more than likely the case. His own son Phillip, a man who was a multi-millionaire leader of a previously successful and wide-ranging international crime cartel of nearly unstoppable power, himself turned out to be the merest of pawns.
Yet, Abraham stood now in judgment over him. No one could see the danger. Khoska however was far too aware, the true depths of disaster waited to unfold, when all least expected it. There was no need in trying to convince him further.
“Will you at least stay for dinner? I promise I will not bore you with my little conspiracy theories. I accept the pronouncement of the church fathers-as always.”
Abraham was stunned. It took a few seconds to respond.
“You-really mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
Abraham remained for over an hour, and joined Khoska for dinner. Yet, he seemed reserved through most of the evening. Finally, he rose to leave, but Khoska had one final request.
“Will you please administer the Eucharist to me, one last time?”
Abraham could not believe the request, yet Khoska was truly sincere.
“It has been years since a Priest other than myself has administered the Lord’s blessings unto me,” he explained. “It would seem as though I no longer have the authority to do so.”
Abraham performed Khoska’s request, and noted that Aleksandre seemed strangely at peace, for the first time in years.
“You have served the church well over the years, Aleksandre,” he said. “Your very determined efforts to bring to an end Voroslav Moloku’s hypocrisy we all look upon with a great deal of admiration. It is most commendable that you should act in such faith against the interests of your own son-in-law. Neither did you spare your own son when it came time to act for the good of the Church, to which we all appreciate that you have truly devoted your life. You have suffered greatly through the years. I and in fact all of us are well aware of this.
“However, all things must end, my friend. You will see, in time, that it is all for the best. If what you say is accurate, you should at least be aware that, whatever Satanic evil has been unleashed, the power of the Lord Jesus Christ would destroy it as easily without your continued involvement as it would with it. You have earned your rest, Aleksandre. We shall handle it from here on out. You have my word on that.”
That easily, his career ended. No longer would Aleksandre Khoska legitimately conduct a mass or lead a service of the faithful. For years, he lived as a shepherd without a flock. He was no longer even a lonely shepherd. He retained the title in retirement, but without any authority to utilize it, he was no more than a figurehead with a title kept out of respect for past services.
Soon, he would conduct his own personal inventory. He had money, enough saved over the years to retire in comfort, in a private home where he would certainly move the Archangel which looked down upon him now seemingly in knowing sympathy. He had clothing, as well as many books, and other personal items. What would become of the Church? A few days before he left, Michael had mentioned something about it becoming a private retreat, or perhaps an orphanage in honor of Agnes. She would have liked that.
However, until he had to leave it, he had precious little time in which to conclude his true business. Personal matters could wait. He slowly moved to Agnes’s room. He reflected on how it was in this room that both she and Lynette lost their lives at the hands of Marlowe Krovell.
He waited in vain for an answer on how to end his evil existence since the day of Lynette’s murder. He prayed endlessly, but no answer was forthcoming. At times, he felt abandoned. Then, upon the murder of Agnes, he ironically received the answer for which he waited so long.
He picked up the mirror into which she gazed constantly during her last few days of life, horrified at the image she saw, though no one else could discern the reason for her terror.
He touched the wine to his lips from within the flask that contained the last of the powdered bones of Cornelieu Codreanu. Then, he gazed down upon the mirror, still streaked with the dried tears of Agnes, a remarkable woman of God.
He muttered a quick and silent prayer as he gazed upon the tears of the virgin.
Previous Installments-
Part One
Prologue and Chapters I-X
Part Two
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
PartThree
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Chapter XXXIII
Chapter XXXIV
Chapter XXXV
Chapter XXXVI
Chapter XXXVII
Chapter XXXVIII
Chapter XXXIX
Chapter XXXX
