Apocalypsis 1.08 Seth

EPISODE 8
SETH

Lübbe Webnovel is an imprint of Bastei Lübbe GmbH & Co. KG
Copyright © 2011 by Bastei Lübbe GmbH & Co. KG, Cologne, Germany
Written by Mario Giordano, Cologne
Translated by Diana Beate Hellmann, Los Angeles
English version edited by Charlotte Ryland, London
Editors: Friederike Achilles/Jan F. Wielpütz
Artwork: © Dino Franke, Hajo Müller
E-Book-Production: Dörlemann Satz, Lemförde
ISBN 978-3-8387-1460-8
All rights reserved
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LVII

May 15, 2011, Ile de Cuivre, Mediterranean Sea

Y
ou betrayed her. You sold her out. They will kill her and it will be your fault.

He could not think of anything else, as they unstrapped him to get him out of the room, and the thought filled his mind with the bitter disappointment of having failed. Peter could feel that the drug that Creutzfeldt had injected into his system was quickly wearing off. He could remember every little detail of the interrogation, the terrible fatigue and the overwhelming grief he had felt whenever he told a lie, and the clarity and purity of the truth. But this did not lessen his feelings of guilt about selling Maria out. He had told them everything. Absolutely everything. It had been so easy. So terribly easy.

You should have been stronger. Stronger!

Too late. Peter was sure that Maria’s murderer was already on his way to Montpellier. Another thought washed over him, blended with the feeling of guilt like an antidote against a deadly toxin.

What if you really are crazy? What if Maria and the amulet are just figments of your paranoia? Then everything would be fine. Accept that you are crazy and everything is fine. It is very simple.

But in the end, it was not that simple. Because Peter was unwilling to believe that Maria was nothing but a hallucination. Maria was real, and his guilt was real. He had kissed her. And he had sentenced her to death.

Peter was only dimly aware that the two male nurses were not taking him back to the hospital cell on the upper floor. Instead, they were below sea level. The air smelled of salt, seaweed and sewers. This helped Peter to regain his senses and he made out a dirty stone staircase under his feet. A wooden door opened onto a lightless room. An overwhelming stench oozed out of the room like a poisonous bubble. The two men pushed him forcefully into the cell and locked the door.

Silence. All Peter could hear was his gasping breath, the pounding of his heart, and the sound of the sea above him. The stink of feces hung in the air. Peter tried to breathe shallowly so that he would not throw up. Seeing anything was impossible in the darkness. It took him quite a while before he noticed that he was not alone in the cell.

This realization brought him immediately to his senses. Peter tried to see something in the darkness. But for the moment, he could only smell the pestilential odor of sewage. Then he heard soft shuffling and gasping sounds coming from the rear corner. As his eyes began to adjust to the darkness, he could make out a figure curled up in a ball, restlessly rocking back and forth.

»Hello?« Peter called into the darkness.

No answer, just the shuffling and gasping.

Peter wondered for a moment what he should do and then he began to crawl towards the figure in the corner. His hands touched something mushy, something putrid. He was overwhelmed with disgust. But he fought the urge to vomit and, cursing under his breath, he wiped his hands on the hospital gown he was wearing. Now he could clearly see the figure that was sitting in the corner, terribly afraid of Peter, trying to crawl away, mumbling.

»Hey, hello! My name is Peter Adam. Who are you?«

Why do you ask? You know the answer!

The figure crawled slowly to the side. Peter leapt at the naked man and knocked him to the ground. The man began to scream.

»Coraxo cahisa coremepe!« The man flailed around with his arms and legs.

Peter fended off the blows and tried to grab the man. Finally he managed to wrestle him down and twist one of his arms behind his back.

»Coraxo od belanusa!« The man began to whimper, as he lay prone under him, gibbering incomprehensible words. »Please not again, cahisa uirequo, beware, fair little flower! Ope copehanu. Mercy! Angel of the night, azodisa siatarisa, the black milk od salaberoxa faboanu, Amen!«

»Shut your trap, Kelly!« Peter screamed at the skinny naked man who was lying under him, and then he threw him violently onto his back so that he could look into his face. There was not the slightest doubt. Despite the darkness and the feces and blood smeared face, Peter recognized the Englishman. The man who had murdered Ellen.

»Please, not back into the hall, Micama!« Kelly stammered, trembling with fear. »Iisononu cahisa!«

Every single day since Ellen’s death, Peter had at some point imagined how it would be to kill Kelly. One day. One sweet day. He had prepared a little speech that he wanted to deliver before sending Kelly off to hell. Every day. Every frigging day. Until the hatred that he was feeling for Kelly had formed a scab, which became a natural part of the person Peter Adam, like an inoperable ulcer. Something that was now part of him, for better or worse, discharging its poisonous secretions day after day after day. Something that would kill him one day.

And now he had him. Kelly. The lousy jerk. He could knock his brains out, right here and now, on the stone floor that was covered with Kelly’s feces.

Peter was gasping for air. The hatred he was feeling for Kelly mixed with the guilt of having betrayed Maria.

»Iisononu basajime, Micama!« Kelly whimpered quietly, adding, »Vaunala cahisa, Master! Kill me. And yet! Death, come here – I do not fear you. Please, kill me. Vaunala cahisa.«

»You lousy little rat! Shut your trap!« Peter drove one of his knees into the chest of the emaciated Englishman to keep him on the ground. Then he grabbed Kelly’s head. Kelly just stared at Peter and went limp.

»Yes,« he said. »Kill me. Please!«

Peter tightened his grip around Kelly’s head and was ready to slam it against the stone floor. Again and again and again.

Do it! Why do you hesitate?

Good question.

Because it is too easy.

As easy as it was to sell out Maria. As easy as it was to make a deadly mistake. As easy as it was to walk into a trap.

Peter let go of Kelly’s head and he let go of Kelly. With a moaning cry of pain, Kelly crawled on all fours into the corner at the far end of the cell.

Peter forced himself to breathe calmly and think rationally. Not so easy when you were held prisoner in a stinking dungeon, while the residues of some unknown drug was still circulating through your body.

Kelly continued to moan and babble in his corner.

»Why didn’t you kill me, Micama? No one will be spared. No one will get away. Laraji same darolanu matorebe, many hundreds of thousands uncounted that only fall to the scythe. Oxiavala holado.«

»Do you know who I am?« Peter asked him.

For a moment, there was silence in the corner. Then:

»Peter Adam. Ohyo! Ohyo! Noibe Ohyo!«

»Why do you want me to kill you?«

»Oanio yore vohima, Saitan. Ool jizod-yazoda od eoresa cocasaji, Saitan.« He began to sing softly. »What today is yet green and fresh, will be cut down tomorrow: the noble narcissus, ornament of the field, many fair hyacinths, the Turkish posies…«

Peter crawled over to Kelly, who was so scared that he tried to back away immediately.

»Calm down. I just want to talk to you. Tell me why you want me to kill you.«

Kelly stared at him like a frightened animal.

»Soon he will begin to cut and we can only suffer,« he sang. And then he whispered, »Because there are things that are far worse than death, Peter. You know that. And we in the darkness, we need to see. Telocahe! Casaremanu hoel-qo.«

»How did you get here, Kelly?«

»Bajile madarida. You brought me here. You came during the night. You took me out of the desert. Bajile hoel-qo. Where are you, little sun? The night chased you away, the night, the enemy of the day.«

Kelly wanted to get away from him but Peter held on to him.

»Was it on the night you murdered Ellen?«

Kelly gave a hoarse laugh and continued to sing his gloomy old songs. Peter began to shake him.

»I am warning you, Kelly!«

»Yes, kill me, Peter Adam! Vaunala cahisa! Save me. And if the last day turns into night, I will leave my valley of darkness.«

Peter pushed Kelly away from him. »For fuck’s sake!«

»I did not kill her, Micama faboanu.«

»What did you just say?«

»I did not kill her, Peter.« Suddenly he spoke clearly and distinctly. In the voice that was familiar to Peter. In the voice of the self-assured Kelly whom Peter had met in Turkmenistan.

»If you didn’t do it, who did?« Peter asked, gasping.

»You did. Casaremanu hoel-qo. I saw you, Peter. She screamed so badly. Odo cicale Qaa! She begged you for mercy, cahisa afefa, rain from the clouds, kissing the green grass.«

»SHUT UP!« Peter yelled and tried to kick Kelly, who managed to get out of his way. He needed a while to calm down. It was obvious that Kelly was completely insane. But perhaps he was still lucid enough to give him some answers.

»If this were true, why would I have spared you?«

»Because
they
need me.«

»Who the hell are
they
?«

»Why do you ask? You know the answer, Peter. Vonupehe doalime. The Light-Bearers. Noco Mada, hoathahe Saitan! Hoathahe Seth.«

»I have no idea what you are talking about. The Light-Bearers? Are they the people who are holding us prisoners here? What do they want from you and me?«

Once again, Kelly became frightened and curled up in a ball, babbling under his breath. »You know it, you know it, you know it. Beware, fair little flower!«

Peter began to shake him. »Stop the shit, Kelly! I’m not in the mood for your little games. Who are these Light-Bearers?«

Abruptly, Kelly sat up and started sniffing as if he were picking up a scent.

»What now?«

»Shhh!« Kelly hushed Peter with a wave of his hand. »Micama dodasa. He is coming.«

Kelly’s entire body began to shake.

»Who is coming? Damn it, Kelly, tell me who the fuck is coming.«

»
Wearily Electors
!« Kelly replied, trembling from head to toe. »Oh,
Wearily Electors
! Ohyo Micama, ineffable Caosagonu!«

»What are you babbling, Kelly? Wearily Electors? What kind of English is that? You mean ›Weary Electors‹.«

»
Wearily Electors
!« he insisted and said each syllable with the same force.

»Well, whatever. What is this supposed to mean? Tired Princes? What does that mean?«

»He is coming!«

»Who?«

But Kelly was no longer responsive. He was just whimpering and humming under his breath. Peter held the skinny Englishman in the darkness and dirt of the cell until he calmed down and the haze lifted from his eyes.

»Who is coming, Kelly? Who are these people?«

»You should – shhh, shhh – get off this cursed yolaci if you want to live, Peter Adam.«

»Do you know a way to get off the island?«

Kelly nodded.

Peter became suspicious. »If that is the truth, why are you still here?« he asked. »Why haven’t you fled?«

»Baeouibe od emetajisa laiadix. There is a reaper who is called Death. Today he whets his knife so that it will cut much better. I am too weak to do it. It is caosaji. Dangerous. Shhh, shhh.«

»Show me the way, Kelly.«

»You have to ataraahe dooainu aai. Do something for me. Hoathahe Saitan! Everything comes at a price in life.«

»What do you want me to do?«

Kelly moved closer to Peter, so close that Peter could smell his foul breath.

»Kill me!«