The Third Gate (20 page)

In the sandalwood-fragrant room, Logan watched. After another minute, Rush blew out the candle and put the amulet aside. Quietly, he walked back to the foot of the bed, examined the instrumentation. Then he returned to her side, waiting.

Jennifer Rush’s breathing grew louder, almost stertorous. The room seemed to darken, as if strange, antique mists were gathering.

All of a sudden, Logan became alarmed. He did not know why it was, not exactly—but for some reason his fight-or-flight instinct began to go off, five-alarm. It was all he could do not to leap to his feet and run from the room. He felt his heart hammering, struggled to get himself under control.

From the bed, her breathing grew more labored.

Rush turned on a digital voice recorder, which he placed on a nearby tray. Slowly, he bent over the bed. “Who am I speaking to?”

Jennifer’s mouth worked, as if trying to form words. Logan saw her hands ball into fists, as if from the effort.

“Who am I speaking to?” Rush asked again.

A hissing sound emanated from Jennifer Rush. “
Nut
,” she said in a dry, distant voice. Or perhaps it was “Set”—Logan could not be sure. All he knew was that merely speaking this syllable clearly took enormous effort.

“Who am I speaking to?” Rush asked a third time.

Again, Jennifer’s mouth worked.
“Mmm … mouthpiece … of Horus.”

Rush adjusted the recorder, seemingly encouraged.

But Logan did not feel encouraged. It wasn’t only the chill sense of evil that had come over the room, all too similar to what he’d experienced the day of the generator fire. It was also the evident strain, both physical and emotional, that Jennifer was undergoing.

“Can you tell me about the seal?” Rush asked. “The first gate?”

“The … first … gate,”
she repeated.

“Yes,” Rush replied. “What should we—”

Suddenly, Jennifer’s eyes bulged, their whites a sickly green in the faint light of the instrumentation. The tendons of her neck stood out like cables.
“Infidels!”
she said.
“Enemies of Ra!”
Her head rose menacingly from the bed; a half dozen of the EEG leads popped loose and fell away.
“Leave this place. Or else He Whose Face Is Turned Backwards will feed upon thy blood and take the milk from the mouths of thy children. The foundations of thy house will be broken, and thou will die an endless death in the Outer Darkness!”

Logan rose quickly from his chair. Her voice was infinitely more awful for being a mere hissing whisper. Instinctively, he put a hand out to calm her. But the moment his skin touched hers, he was staggered by a flash almost like lightning: he felt the presence again, implacable, violently angry, its hatred radiating toward them from the blackness of the abyss. With a groan of dismay he sank back into the chair.

As quickly as it began, the imprecation ceased. Jennifer Rush fell silent. Her head sank back to the pillow and lolled to one side.

“That’s it,” Rush said. He snapped off the recorder, returned to the monitors at the foot of the bed. He seemed oblivious to the brief but terrible drama Logan had experienced.

Logan passed a hand over his forehead. “Is that—typical?”

Rush shook his head. “The very first crossing—the first that made contact, I mean—was actually beneficial. It helped pinpoint the location of the tomb with greater accuracy by providing a point of triangulation. But after that …” Rush sighed. “It’s almost as if the entity now understands who we are, why we’re here.”

Logan glanced at Jennifer Rush, supine on the bed. Now he felt even more like a fool: assuming such experiences had been pleasant for her, congratulating her on her abilities. He looked back at Rush. “Is all this trauma really … really necessary?”

Rush returned the look. “Most spiritual exchanges at the psychomanteums back at CTS are pleasant. But then, they usually involve loved ones who have recently passed over. This … this is a very different animal. Remember that Jennifer won’t have much memory of the actual crossing. That’s what the Versed is for. We’ll try a few more crossings in the days to come. If they aren’t of any additional help, then …” He shrugged.

Logan glanced back at the woman on the bed. He knew that some people, particularly March, thought she was faking, grandstanding—perhaps at the urging of her husband, who after all as head of CTS had something to gain. But after seeing this crossing in person, he felt absolutely sure there was no fakery. Something—someone—had been speaking to them through Jennifer Rush. Someone who was very angry indeed.

Rush made a few notes on a clipboard, snapped off some instrumentation. “She’ll rest comfortably now,” he said. “As you’ll discover, she rebounds very quickly.” He pointed at the equipment arrayed before him. “Jeremy, I want to input some of this data into the computer right away. Would you mind staying with her for a minute or two while I get the analysis started?”

“Of course.” Logan watched as Rush picked up his digital recorder, then left the room.

For a minute, perhaps two, all was quiet. Logan, still shaken, tried to calm himself, tried to focus on evaluating and understanding what had just happened. Then there was a faint movement from the bed and he glanced over to see Jennifer Rush looking at him.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

She just shook her head. Then, suddenly, she reached out and grasped his wrist, tightly, almost painfully. He tensed for a moment, fearing another explosion of sensation, but there was nothing.

“Dr. Logan,” she said, her silky voice low and urgent, “when we spoke in the lounge, I told you I experienced what everyone else who ‘goes over’ does.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“And that’s true. I did—at first. But then I saw things that were completely different.
Completely
different.”

Her grasp grew even tighter, and her amber eyes held his own. There was something in those eyes, in that face, he couldn’t read.

“Help me,” she suddenly whispered, almost below the threshold of audibility.
“Help me.”

The door handle rattled. Immediately, Jennifer Rush released her hold on his wrist. She kept her gaze on him for another few seconds. Then, as the door opened and Rush stepped in, she slowly lay back on the bed—and passed out.

31

Logan sat at the desk of his small office in Maroon, looking at the laptop screen without really seeing it. It was very late—almost two in the morning—but he still felt too restless to sleep.

In his career as an enigmalogist, Logan had experienced many unusual and, at times, dangerous things. He had climbed the Himalayas in search of yeti. He’d descended to the bottom of Scottish lochs in a diving bell. For every half-dozen ghosts or spectral presences he’d debunked, there had been at least one other he’d been unable to explain away with science. He’d attended three exorcisms. But nothing in his wide experience had caused him quite the kind of unease as the invisible presence he’d felt beside Jennifer Rush’s hospital bed that evening.

He stirred in his chair, picked up a transcript of the “crossing”:

[Begins 21:04:30]
Q:
Who am I speaking to?
Q:
Who am I speaking to?
R:
(Unintelligible reply)
Q:
Who am I speaking to?
R:
Mouthpiece of Horus.
Q:
Can you tell me about the seal? The first gate?
R:
The first gate.
Q:
What should we—
R:
Infidels! Enemies of Ra. Leave this place. Or else He Whose Face Is Turned Backwards will feed upon thy blood and take the milk from the mouths of thy children. The foundations of thy house will be broken, and thou will die an endless death in the Outer Darkness.
[Ends 21:07:15]

The foundations of thy house will be broken
. That was part of the curse of Narmer, as Tina Romero had translated it for him. Logan wondered how much, if anything, Jennifer Rush knew about the curse.

He put down the transcript. There was something else. He tried recalling what it was Romero had told him.
An’kavasht—He Whose Face is Turned Backwards. A god of nightmare and evil, who dwelled Outside, “in the endless night.”

Outside. The Sudd.

Over the past several days, Logan had done research—via a special computer in Stone’s outer office with a satellite connection to the Internet—into the curses of ancient Egypt. They had a long and colorful history that extended far beyond the tabloid sensationalism of King Tut and Howard Carter. Logan had encountered curses before, of course: in Gibraltar, Estonia, New Orleans. In each case, there had been an anodyne, a counterspell: some method for deflecting or ameliorating the execration. Not so with the tombs of ancient Egypt. Despite all his reading, all his research, only one method for countering such curses seemed to exist: stay well away from them.

Irresistibly, his thoughts were drawn back to Jennifer Rush: to the almost desperate way she had grasped his wrist, to the look in her eyes when she asked for help. It was as if the scales had fallen from his own eyes, and he had seen her, and her terrible vulnerability, for the first time.

I thought it might be beneficial for Jennifer
, Rush had said.
Give her a chance to use her gift in a positive way
. But how could what he’d witnessed ever be considered beneficial?

There was a knock on his door. Logan turned to see—as if in response to his thoughts—Ethan Rush standing in the doorway.

“Come in,” he said.

Rush entered. He nodded at Logan, but deferentially, almost like a schoolboy conscious of some misdeed. He sat down in the chair beside the desk.

“Thoughts?” Rush asked after a brief silence.

“I think your wife should be spared any future crossings.”

Rush smiled slightly, then shrugged, as if to imply it was out of his hands. “I’m not happy about it, either. But Stone’s a hard man to say no to. And Jennifer has always been game.”

“And you’ve seen nothing like this before? In your studies at CTS?”

“Nothing of this magnitude. And nothing from such—such a temporal distance. As I told you, most of the experiences we’ve seen deal with recently deceased relatives or people—also recently deceased—who had lived in the vicinity of the crossing site. But, then again, Jen has a unique talent.” Rush shook his head.

“You mention a temporal distance. So you think that whoever is speaking through her might be contemporaneous with the construction of the tomb?”

“I don’t know.” Rush seemed unsettled by the question—or perhaps by the concept itself. “It seems incredible. But what other spiritual force would be found in such a remote place?” He paused. “What do you think?”

For a minute, Logan did not respond. “Earlier, when I implied your wife was channeling Narmer, I was being facetious. Now I’m
sorry I joked about it. In any case, whoever is speaking through Jennifer, I don’t think it’s Narmer. You see, the ancient Egyptians believed that after death, the soul persisted through eternity. As long as you knew the secret rituals, as long as you brought with you in your tomb all the possessions you needed for a physical, earthly life, your soul—
ba
—and its protective spirit—
ka
—would find their way to the next world.” He thought a moment. “Clearly, Narmer would have done this, would have moved on to the next realm. So perhaps whoever is speaking through your wife is someone else, a restless soul, adrift in the spirit world yet somehow tied to this place.”

“But a soul so ancient …” Rush stopped briefly for continuing. “How is such a thing possible? I mean, I, of all people, seeing what I’ve seen at the Center, am disposed to believe. I wouldn’t have brought Jen all the way out here if I thought it was impossible. Our own studies have shown it’s
theoretically
possible. But how …” He faltered into silence.

“There are numerous theories that might help explain,” Logan said. “There’s a belief that strong evil persists in spirit long after the physical body has perished. The greater the evil, the longer its influence lingers—not unlike the half-life of radioactive material. Your wife, with her unique sensitivities, may well be acting as a conduit for such an influence. You should think of her as a psychical weather vane—or, perhaps better, as an unwitting, and unwilling, lightning rod. A lightning rod does nothing on its own—it simply attracts.”

“But attracts who?” Rush asked.

“Who’s to say? One of the dead priests? Someone left to guard the tomb? Perhaps it might even be someone who died a hundred years ago, rather than five thousand.”

“But during her first productive crossing, she made some specific references to the site that helped us.”

“You mentioned that before.” Logan shifted in his seat. “I’d like to see those transcripts, if I may.”

“I’ll see what I can arrange.”

“I would also like a copy of your CTS records.”

Rush looked at him. “Which records?”

“Whatever you can give me. Trial studies, doctor’s reports, interviews with test subjects.”

“Why is that important?”

“You asked me for help. The more I understand of your work—of what Jennifer and the others have undergone—the better prepared I’ll be to help you.”

Rush considered this a moment. Then he nodded slowly. “I’ll burn a DVD for you. Anything else?”

“Yes. What’s so important about the first gate?”

“The first gate?” Rush seemed surprised by this non sequitur. “It’s the sealed entrance to the tomb. Stone was looking for any assistance in how to safely breach it.”

“Safely breach it,” Logan repeated. “He’s afraid of a trap.”

Rush nodded. “Narmer went to incredible lengths to secure his tomb,” he said. “It doesn’t seem likely he’d hand over the keys without a fight.”