CHAPTER 18: THE MARK OF THE BEAST

At the Alma Mater Home for the Aged, two figures emerged from the shadows as Suzanne left her grandmother’s unit. With their faces obscured by their hoods, they watched Suzanne sprint down the corridor into the lobby in silence.



Then suddenly, just as she was about to enter into the lobby, she stopped and turned around, as if sensing their presence. Suzanne strained to see in the dark, but all she could see was the spirit of Mr Firash on his rocking chair.



She was about to walk back to her grandmother's wing when the nurse called out to her. Suzanne turned back to the lobby and did not return.



“She’s the one,” the first figure said. Its voice sent a chill throughout the already cool wing and sent Mr Firash scrambling into his unit.



The second hooded figure in black nodded, remaining silent. It noticed the black cat coming back and motioned for the cat to come. The cat did not like what it saw. It arched it back, extended its claws and bared its fangs.



The figure in black stretched out its arm and in an instant, the cat was lifted off the ground. It became immobilized and started to meow in distress. The figure slowly closed its fist, causing the cat to let out a piercing multisyllabic yowl. The cat was being choked and strangled telekinetically by the hooded figure.



“Olivia Summers, you have been nothing but a disappointment,” the first figure tsked. Alarm crossed the cat's face but it was too late. The second figure then clenched its fist and the cat disintegrated to ashes.



Inside grandmother’s unit, the old lady blinked, her eyes starting to become hazy again as she struggled to hear the commotion outside. She stood up from her bed and dragged herself to the window with the aid of a walking stick. Sticking her head out, she could see nothing. The song Immanuel continued to play on rewind.



She shook her head and headed back to her bed, all the while clutching her chest. For some reason, her heart felt heavy. She could not understand it but she suddenly felt as if she had lost a loved one, and a tear began to form at the corner of her eyes.



***



Suzanne stood silently in the morgue with her fists clenched tightly. Tom was by her side with an arm around her shoulder. They both looked at the embalming table.



On it was the lifeless body of old man Hendricks. The mortician had cleaned up his body, covered him with a clean white cloth and was ready to slide him into the mortuary chamber.



The mortician told her that he had died from internal bleeding. He was sick and dying they said.



*Bullshit*, Suzanne thought, grinding her teeth. Hendricks had plunged the sacred blue dagger deep into his chest to take down the black mist with him. *He made a sacrifice, and no one even knows about it,* she thought angrily. She couldn't believe he was gone.



*I must not cry. I won't cry. I'll avenge you. *



The dagger was both a gift and a curse. Anyone stabbed with it would die in an instant and their spirit would disintegrate, leaving only an empty shell of their body behind. There would be no sending off Hendricks’ spirit to the rainbow bridge.



Once, when grandmother was much younger and more senile, she had told Suzanne the origin of the dagger.



“There used to be hundreds of them,” grandmother would say with a faraway look in her eyes. “All forged by the world’s very first clairvoyant as a gift to her apprentices.”



But over the centuries, many were lost. Some stolen by looters, others destroyed during the war while many others went up in blue flames, killing both the wielder of the dagger and its enemy, never to be seen again, very much like what had happened to Hendricks. Suzanne had no idea how many of the daggers were left now. Hers was tucked neatly in her little red toolbox. She would only use it as a last resort.



Earlier, Suzanne had gotten a call from Hans, her old friend. It seemed that she and Hendricks were not the only targets of the strange black mist. Around the globe, many of their fellow clairvoyants had been attacked. Like Hendricks, a number had chosen to sacrifice themselves, while a minority who did not manage to take down the black mist had succumbed to the attack, leaving behind mummified looking corpses. Now, there were only a handful left.



Hans had contacted those who were still unscathed to rendezvous with him in Seoul. They would have a better chance of defending themselves as a team. Suzanne and Tom were going to fly for Seoul on the next available flight. There was no time to lose.



In a way, Suzanne was glad grandmother no longer had the gift of a clairvoyant. The day her mind went cuckoo, she had lost her ability to see the dead.



*At the very least, she’ll be safe*, Suzanne thought.



“Suzanne?” Tom called out gently, applying pressure on her shoulder. Suzanne had been lost in her thoughts, she turned to face Tom and smiled at him. She was extremely was grateful to have Tom by her side.



They thanked the mortician and signed the papers. Hendricks had no family members so Suzanne had to sign the documents on his behalf.



As Tom drove them to the airport, Suzanne fished out a piece of paper from her jacket. The pathologist who had performed the autopsy on Hendricks had passed her a piece of paper they had found in his back pocket. Now that there were no more distractions, she decided to take a look at it.



Tom quietly switched on the dome lights of his Ford to give Suzanne a better view. Suzanne hunched over, and tucked a strand of loose curl behind her ear.



The paper looked like it had been torn out from a book. It was old and yellowish and the words were all but faded. Suzanne held the paper against the dome light and squinted her eyes, trying to make sense of what was written in it. The words were not in English.



*Hebrew?* Suzanne wondered. She sucked at languages. One time she met an Indian ghost and they had to use Google Translate just to understand each other.



Just then, something on the paper caught her eye. Suzanne blinked and held the paper closer before her mouth formed an ‘O’.



“Stop the car, “ she whispered.



“What?” Tom was confused. They were on a highway.



“Stop the car! Pullover!” Suzanne yelled.



Tom immediately swerved to the right and pushed the hazard light. He stopped the car and looked over at Suzanne, “What’s wrong? Suzanne?”



Suzanne’s face had gone pale, she pressed the paper into Tom’s hand and started to cry. She broke down, all the anxiety, grief and fear that had been building up in her was too much to handle.



“Shh….it’s alright Suzanne. It’s alright,” he hushed, gathering her into his arm. The brown faded paper fell onto Tom's lap. He kissed her mane and soothed a tearful Suzanne.



But had he seen the paper, Tom would have noticed a tiny drawing at the bottom of it. The drawing eerily resembled the mark on Suzanne's palm. Under it, Hendricks had scribbled a single English word.



It read ‘Armaggedon’.