The Omen (13 page)

"There was a small mirror in the corner of the priest's room," Jennings said with difficulty. "Happened to catch my own reflection in it when I took one of the pictures."

Thorn's eyes moved to the photo, his face registering his shock.

"Rather unusual effect," Jennings said. "Don't you think?"

He swung the bare bulb closer to Thorn so he could see more clearly. There, in the photograph of Tassone's room, was a small mirror in a far corner, reflecting Jennings with the camera poised in front of his face. There was nothing unusual about a photographer catching his own reflection in a mirror, but in this case there was something missing. It was Jennings' neck, the head separated by a blemish of haze from his body.

On the following morning the news of {Catherine's injury made it easy for Thorn to excuse himself from the office for the next few days. He told his staff he was going to Rome to find a bone specialist on Katherine's behalf; in truth, he was going on a different kind of mission. Having told the whole story to the photographer, he had been convinced by Jennings to start at the beginning, to return to the hospital where Damien was born. There they would begin putting together the pieces.

The trip was arranged quickly, without fanfare, Thorn hiring a private jet in order to depart from London and arrive in Rome on runways blocked to public access. In the hours before their departure, Jennings busied himself in gathering research material: several versions of the Bible, three books on the occult. Thorn returned to Pereford to pack his bags, including a hat to mask his identity.

At Pereford, things were unusually quiet. As Thorn wandered through the empty house, he realized that Mrs. Horton was nowhere about. Her husband, too; the cars, were parked side by side in the garage with a certain finality.

"They're both gone," Mrs. Baylock said as Thorn entered the kitchen.

The woman was working over the sink, cutting vegetables, in the way that Mrs. Horton had always done.

"Gone out?" asked Thorn.

"Gone. Just up and quit. They left an address for you to send their last month's wages."

Thorn was shocked.

"Did they say why?" he asked.

"No matter, sir. I can carry on."

"They must have given a reason."

"Not to me, they didn't. But they didn't speak to me much, anyway. It was the man who insisted on going. I think Mrs. Horton wanted to stay."

Thorn gazed at her with troubled eyes. It frightened him to leave her alone in the house with Damien. But there was no remedy for it. He had to go.

"Can you carry on here if I leave for a few days?"

"I think so, sir. We've got enough groceries for a couple of weeks, and I think the boy will appreciate the peace and quiet in the house."

Thorn nodded and started to leave.

"Mrs. Baylock?" he asked.

"Sir?"

"That dog."

"Oh, I know, it'll be gone by the end of the day."

"Why is it still here?"

"We took it out to the country and let it go and it found its way back. It was at the door last night after .. . well, after the 'accident,' and the boy was pretty shook up and he asked if it could stay in his room. I told him you wouldn't like it, but under the circumstances I thought. . ."

"I want it out of here."

"Yes, sir. I'll call the Humane Society today."

Thorn turned to go.

"Mr. Thorn?"

"Yes?"

"How's the wife?"

"She's doing well."

"While you're gone, could I take the boy to see her?"

Thorn paused, studying the woman as she grabbed a kitchen towel and began drying her hands. She was the very picture of domesticity and he was suddenly confused as to why he so disliked her.

"I'd rather you didn't. I'll take him when I get back."

"Very good, sir."

They nodded to one another and Thorn left, driving his own car to the hospital. There he consulted with Dr. Becker who informed him that Katherine was awake and feeling relaxed. He asked if he might have a psychiatrist visit her and Thorn gave him the number of Charles Greer. He then went into Katherine's room, and she smiled weakly when she saw him.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Feeling better?"

"Some."

"They say you're going to be fine."

"I'm sure."

Thorn pulled up a chair and sat beside her. He was struck with her beauty, even in this condition; the sunlight streamed in through the window, gently illuminating her hair.

"You look nice," she said.

"I was thinking about you," he replied

"I'm sure I'm a vision," she smiled.

He took her hand and held it; both gazing into each other's eyes.

"Strange times," she said softly.

"Yes."

"Is it ever going to be all right?"

"I think so."

She smiled sadly, and he reached up, brushing a wisp of hair from her eyes.

"We're good people, aren't we, Jeremy?" she asked.

"I think so."

"Then why is everything going wrong?"

He shook his head, unable to answer.

"If we were terrible people," she said quietly, "then I'd say 'Okay.' Maybe this is what we deserve. But what did we do wrong? What did we ever do wrong?"

"I don't know," he whispered hoarsely.

She seemed so vulnerable and innocent, and he was flooded with emotion.

"You'll be safe here," he whispered. "I'm going away for a few days."

She had no reaction. She didn't even ask him where.

"It's business," he said. "Something I can't avoid."

"How long?"

"Three days. I'll call you every day."

She nodded, and he slowly rose, leaning over to gently kiss her bruised, discolored cheek.

"Jerry?"

"Hm?"

"They tell me I jumped."

She gazed up at him, her eyes puzzled and childlike.

"Is that what they told you" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why should I do that?"

"I don't know," whispered Thorn. "That's what we'll have to find out."

"Am I crazy?" she asked simply.

Thorn gazed at her, then slowly shook his head.

"Maybe we all are," he replied.

She reached up and he leaned down again, bringing his face close to hers.

"I didn't jump," she whispered. "Damien pushed me."

There passed a long silence, and Thorn slowly left the room.

The six-seat Lear Jet was empty save for Thorn and Jennings, and as it streaked through the darkened skies toward Rome, the atmosphere within was silent and tense. Jennings had his research books spread out around him and prodded Thorn to remember everything Tassone had told him.

"I can't," said Thorn with anguish. "It's all a blur."

"Start at the beginning. Tell me everything you can."

Thorn recounted his first meeting with the priest, how the priest followed him, finally cornering him and soliciting the meeting in the park. It was at that meeting, the second that he had recited the poem.

"Something about . . . rising from the sea . . ." Thorn mumbled as he struggled to recall. ". . . About death . . . and armies ... the Roman Empire ..."

"You've got to do better than that."

"I was upset. I thought he was crazy! I didn't really listen."

"But you did listen. You heard. You've got the key to this, now spit it up!"

"I can't!"

"Try harder."

Thorn's face was filled with frustration and he shut his eyes, forcing his mind in a direction it refused to take.

"I remember ... he begged me to take communion. Drink the blood of Christ. That's what he said. Drink the blood of Christ..."

"What for?"

"To defeat the son of the Devil. He said drink the blood of Christ to defeat the son of the Devil."

"What else?" urged Jennings.

"An old man. Something about an old man ..."

"What old man?"

"He said I should see an old man."

"Keep going ..."

"I can't remember ... !"

"Did he give you a name?"

"M .. . Magdo. Magdo. Meggido. No, that was the town."

"What town?" pressed Jennings.

"The town he said I should go to. Meggido. I'm sure that's it. That's where he said I should go."

Jennings excitedly rummaged through his briefcase, retrieving a map.

"Meggido . . ." he mumbled, "Meggido ..."

"Have you heard of it?" asked Thorn.

"I'll just bet it's in Italy."

But it was not. Nor was it to be found listed in any country on the greater European continent. Jennings studied his map for a full half hour before closing it and shaking his head with dismay. He glanced at Thorn and saw that the Ambassador had fallen asleep. He did not wake him, turning instead to his books on the occult. As the small plane knifed through the midnight sky, he became absorbed in the prophesies of the second coming of Christ. It was linked with the coming of the Anti-Christ, the Unholy Child, the Beast, the Savage Messiah: 

... and unto this earth comes the Savage Messiah, the offspring of Satan in human form, sired by the rape of a four-legged beast. As young Christ spread love and kindness, so the Anti-Christ will spread hatred and fear . .. receiving his commandments directly from Hell.

The plane touched down with a jolt. Jennings grabbed for his books as they fell in disarray around him. It was raining in Rome, the thunder rumbling ominously above them.

Moving quickly through the empty airport, they made it to a waiting cab; Jennings catnapped as they moved slowly through a downpour toward the other side of the city. Thorn sat in numbed silence as they passed the lighted statuary of the Via Veneto, remembering how he and Katherine, once young and full of hope, wandered hand in hand down these very streets. They were innocent and in love; he remembered the smell of her perfume and the sound of her laughter. They discovered Rome in the way that Columbus discovered America. They claimed it as their own. They made love in the afternoon here. Now, as Thorn gazed into the night, he wondered if they would make love ever again.

"Ospedale Generate," said the cabdriver as he came to an abrupt stop.

Jennings awoke and Thorn squinted out into the night, his face filled with confusion.

"This isn't it," Thorn said

"Si. Ospedale Generate."

"No, it was old. Brick. I remember."

"Is it the right address?" asked Jennings.

"Ospedale Generate," the driver repeated.

"E difierente," insisted Thorn.

"Ah," replied the driver. "Fuoco. Treanni piu o meno."

"What's he say?" asked Jennings.

"Fire," replied Thorn. ''Fuoco is fire."

u Si," added the driver. "Treanni."

"What about fire?" asked Jennings.

"Apparently the old hospital burned down. It's been rebuilt."

"Treanni piu or meno. Multo morte."

Thorn glanced at Jennings.

"Three years ago. Multo morte. Much death."

They paid the cabdriver and asked him to wait. He refused at first, but then, seeing the kind of money they shoved at him, he readily agreed. Thorn told him in broken Italian that they would like to keep him with them until they left Rome. The driver wanted to go call his wife, but promised to return.

Inside the hospital, they were immediately frustrated. As it was quite late, the people in charge would not be returning until morning. Jennings moved off on his own, seeking someone in authority while Thorn found an English-speaking nun who confirmed that the fire three years ago had reduced the building to ruins.

"Surely it didn't destroy everything," Thorn entreated. "There must be some records . . ."

"I was not here," she replied in broken English. "But they say it took everything."

"Is it possible that some of the papers were stored elsewhere?"

"I do not know."

Thorn grimaced with frustration as the nun shrugged, unable to offer more.

"Look," Thorn said. "This is very important to me. I adopted a child here, and I'm looking for some record of its birth."

"There were no adoptions here."

"There was one. It wasn't an actual adoption."

"You are mistaken. Our adoptions are done through the relief agency."

"Are there birth records? Do you keep records somewhere of the children born here?"

"Yes, of course."

"Maybe if I gave you a date "

"It's no use," interrupted Jennings.

Thorn turned to see him approaching, his expression set in despair.

"The fire started in the Hall of Records. In the basement. All the paperwork was there; it went up like a torch. Shot up the stairwells ... the third floor became an inferno."

"Third floor . . . ?"

"Nursery and maternity ward," nodded Jennings. "Nothing left but ashes."

Thorn sagged, leaning heavily against a wall.

"If you'll excuse me . . ." said the nun.

"Wait." begged Thorn. What about the staff? Surely some survived."

"Yes. Some."

"There was a tall man. A priest. A giant of a man."

"Was his name Spilletto?"

"Yes," replied Thorn excitedly. "Spilletto."

"He was chief of staff," replied the nun.

"Yes. He was in charge. Is he ..."

"He lived."

Thorn's heart surged with hope. "Is he here?"

"No."

"Where?"

"A monastery in Subiaco. Many of the survivors were taken there. Many died there. He might have died. But he lived through the fire. I remember they said it was a miracle he survived. He was on the third floor at the time of the fire."

"Subiaco?" asked Jennings.

The nun nodded. "The Monastery of San Benedetto."

Racing to the cab, they poured over Jennings' maps. Subiaco was on the southern border of Italy; to reach it they would have to drive through the night. The cab-driver complained, but they gave him more money, tracing the route in red pencil so he could follow it while they slept. But they were too keyed up to sleep; instead they turned to Jennings' books, studying them under the dim interior light as the small cab sped through the Italian countryside.

"I'll be damned . . ." whispered Jennings, as he gazed down into a Bible. "Here we go."

"What is it?"

"It's all right here in the Bible. In the bloody Book of Revelations. When the Jews return to Zion "

"That was it," interrupted Thorn excitedly. "The poem. When the Jews return to Zion. Then something about a comet..."

"That's here too," said Jennings, pointing to another book. "A shower of stars, and the rise of the Holy Roman Empire. These are supposed to be the events that signal the birth of the Anti-Christ. The Devil's own child."

As the cab pressed onward, they continued to read, Thorn pulling from his briefcase the interpretive text he'd once used to prepare a speech in which he quoted from the Bible. It provided the clarity they needed to make sense of the symbols in the scriptures.