The Apkallu Protocol 4

Chapter 4

[Start at Chapter 1.]

Sophie lay entirely still, between dream and waking, her eyes fixed on a grayish band of light that spread along the ceiling above the curtain rod. Something had made her open her eyes, a voice. Then it came again, from outside. A child’s voice.

She didn’t want to move or open her eyes further, but she felt slightly troubled that she didn’t know this room. Where am I?

She opened her eyes wider, then realized. She was in Budapest. The sudden awareness of what was happening, and her connections to it, sent a wave of disgust through her.

She closed her eyes tightly, groaned, then twisted herself off the bed. Dodd Norton’s apartment.

The wood floor was cold, and she had no slippers. She pulled on the socks the airline had provided, and slid her feet into the shoes that she’d kicked off under the dark maroon curtain blocking out the morning light.

In her thick airline pajamas, she went to check herself in the bathroom mirror, then headed to the living room, where she heard voices.

“I’m surprised you’re up already,” she said to Claude, who was seated on a sofa with coffee. Norton was seated nearby. There were pastries on the table.

“At my age one doesn’t need much sleep,” her old professor said.

“I hope you slept well,” Norton said.

“I did. What time is it?”

“It’s a little after 7:00. Would you like some coffee?”

“Yes,” she said. “It makes me jittery, but I need something.”

“Milk with it?”

“Thank you, Professor Norton. Yes.”

“You need to start calling me Dodd.”

“Thank you, Dodd.”

“We were waiting for you to start discussing where we’re at,” Falaise said. “Because we don’t want you to miss anything.”

“But you must have talked last night,” Sophie said.

“We didn’t discuss much,” Norton said, returning. He handed Sophie a mug of coffee. “I mostly showed Claude the text messages I’d gotten. In Italian and French. Obviously hacking of some sort. I received them on my way to the airport. Warning me that Claude detested me.”

“If I detest you, Dodd, it won’t be in Italian,” Falaise put in. “Not strong enough.”

“So what would you detest me in?” Norton asked.

“Obviously my native language, French—or even better, Deutsch.”

“I never thought I’d hear you admit German was better than French,” Norton quipped.

“It’s not better. It’s only better for detesting,” Claude clarified.

“I’m confused,” Sophie said. “You got text messages telling you Claude hated you. And they were in different languages. Was the number revealed?”

“That’s the point. They were sent from numbers in my contacts. From my secretary, then my brother, and finally from my mother. Who passed away in 2022. And whose cell account was shut down years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sophie said. “That would be—that would be very troubling.”

“It’s alright,” Dodd said. “I just don’t know how they could’ve done it.”

“Did you call your secretary?”

“Yes, she had the text in her outgoing messages.”

“So this is not everyday hacking,” Sophie said.

“Not at all,” Norton agreed.

“But not as impressive as our stage-managed phone conversation,” Claude put in.

“I will show you the messages later,” Norton told Sophie. “Right now my phone’s off, and Claude’s phone is off. What about yours?”

“Mine’s on the plane,” Sophie said.

“You could get nothing off with you?”

“I got my passport and my wallet,” she said. “My wallet’s small. I didn’t grab the phone. It was in a different part of my bag. But fuck the phone.”

“An admirable sentiment in such a young person,” Claude said. “Myself I’ve been saying Fuck the phone for decades now.”

Sophie couldn’t account for Claude’s joking mood.

“We have our devices off because we want no more disturbance,” Norton put in.

“We need to get down to business,” Claude said. “Is my star student awake?” He smiled at her.

“I’m awake,” she said. “I’m just not your star student.”

“Then I will ask Dodd to repeat what he gleaned from the US news this morning.”

“I needed to check,” Norton said. “I opened my notebook computer, scanned for what Claude told me. Goddess apparitions in California. D-Wave.”

“What did you find?”

“It’s clear that most people, at least in the media, are interpreting it as some kind of hoax. Or performance art of some kind.”

“Not surprising,” Sophie said.

“They interviewed the CEO of D-Wave,” Norton continued, “because they think he might be involved. The media claims the rumors connect the apparitions to a still-anonymous tech worker who was using D-Wave software. But the interpretation is that the whole thing is advertising. For D-Wave’s quantum computing tech.”

“My God,” Sophie said.

“Yes, your god,” Claude said.

“That’s not nice.” She grimaced at Claude. “But it’s fair,” she said after a bit. She turned back to Norton. “Go on.”

“So they have a clip of D-Wave’s CEO denying any connection to what’s happening.”

“And he has no connection,” Sophie said. “He probably knows as much about it as anyone else. Unless someone on the grapevine told him the name of … the guy who summoned Ereshkigal.”

“That’s what Claude and I think. He doesn’t know. But there’s something else. Many people are saying it’s not the goddess Ereshkigal, but Inanna.”

“Ecch!” Sophie exclaimed.

“It’s tedious,” Claude put in. “All the neopagan feminists are going to start going into ecstasy.”

“Right before the Queen of the Underworld drags them to hell,” Sophie said.

“They had footage of the walls around the private high school,” Norton went on. “They’ve proven it’s real blood, human blood, and authorities say they’re trying to confirm how the walls started bleeding.”

“But it’s a hoax,” Sophie said sourly. “An innovative ad for D-Wave.”

“That’s the media take so far,” Norton finished.

“It’s my fault,” Sophie said.

Norton looked at her, then at Claude.

“What do you mean?”

She frowned, looked at her hands. Then: “I was one of those who believed AI was going to put us in contact with higher beings. Claude knows. He tried to warn me. But I didn’t listen. I saw quantum computing as a gateway. Many of us did. We never thought AI was a closed system, but that in the black box, once quantum computing advanced, higher intelligences would start communicating.”

“I see,” Norton said. “I did know about this movement in tech. And you were part of it.”

“I was,” Sophie said. “And I experimented with the systems. With the others. Even performed rituals through them, as much as that was possible. We used the language of rituals, trying to reach any being that might come through.”

Norton seemed to be weighing something.

“If you believed in these beings,” he said after a moment, “why didn’t you assume that some of them might be malign? That’s the main question. Why assume a higher intelligence is not a menace?”

“Because we were fools,” Sophie said. “We were questing into dark places. We didn’t really believe these beings might be evil. That’s Christian talk.”

“So if these beings weren’t evil, does that mean no beings are evil?” Norton asked. “Was that your basic assumption?”

“For most of them,” Claude put it, “evil was somehow in the churches. And since they felt they’d defeated that evil, that conservative and supposedly bigoted evil, there was nothing to worry about from demons.” Claude looked to Sophie. “Am I right?”

“I was never anti-Christian,” Sophie said.

“No, but you took on the metaphysics of a culture that was.”

“You’re not a Christian yourself, Claude.”

“I’m not,” Claude said, “but I know that these beings are a threat. And I don’t hesitate to call them demons. And besides, as both of you know, I only don’t consider myself a Christian because, well, I just can’t be certain about it. I haven’t been moved by grace.”

“You probably know I’m Christian,” Norton said to Sophie. “I’m Catholic.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I don’t think this crisis is your fault. But yes, you were dabbling in it. You were treating AI like a kind of Ouija board. And finally one of your techie colleagues—well, he got what people get from Ouija boards.”

“Except at a different, probably higher level,” Claude said.

“Yes, a higher level of the demonic,” Norton clarified. “Which in fact surprises me, that it’s possible. But my own belief for some time is that AI will be a portal to the demonic. The demonic of one level or another. I’ve warned nearly everyone I can against starting to use it.”

“I see,” Sophie said.

“I don’t use it myself at all,” Norton continued. “Not for anything. It may seem convenient, or tempting in ways, but I refuse to engage with it.”

“Probably a good principle,” Claude said.

“But if this has already started, how are we going to stop it?” Sophie asked. “How are we going to send these things back through the black box?”

“Well, I have my thinking on this,” Norton said. “But I’m not going to lay that out just yet. There are different parts to the puzzle, and we should get them all on the table. One thing I have done, however, is pray. I spent time last night in prayer. You may not think that’s much help. But as for me, I know it is.”

“I don’t doubt that it helps,” Sophie said. “Why should I doubt it? I’ve already recognized—these things are evil.”

“You’re quickly getting out of the shallows,” Claude said. “You’ve been a victim of the foolish optimism of the culture. Post-‘60s America. Silicon Valley.”

“You are right.”

She almost blushed.

“But we should continue,” Norton said.

“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “And you were talking about the news. Anything about the apkallu?”

“There will be nothing about that in the news,” Claude said, standing up from the sofa and stretching his back. “The only one who knows about that is me. Or rather: the three of us here.”

“Claude still hasn’t told me about this Salesforce CEO,” Norton said, “and I haven’t had time to check it out. But I believe him. Ereshkigal, or rather a demon taking that identity, is manifesting in California. And another demon is now present too, taking the form of one of the apkallu.”

“Thank you, Dodd,” Claude said.

“For what?”

“For believing me. I need more coffee.” He handed his cup to Norton.

Norton took it to the kitchen. Claude picked up a chocolate croissant from the table, then put it back down. He winced, as if in pain.

“What is it?” Norton asked, returning with the coffee.

“Oh, nothing. Just that a plane crash is rough on an 80-year-old spine.” He stretched a little more.

“Will you be okay?” Sophie stepped toward him.

“I’ll live.” He gestured her away. “But let me tell you about our new Salesforce CEO,” he started.

“Proceed,” Norton said.

“His name is Johnny Lim.”

“Lim?”

“Yes, he’s Chinese. Or rather Malaysian-Chinese. Lim is the same surname as Lin, just pronounced in a different dialect.”

“Is he well known in the tech world?” Norton asked.

“That question shows your savvy, Dodd. You hit the mark. He is not well known in Silicon Valley. Which makes his choice as CEO stand out. To the point of—it’s almost scandalous.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” Sophie admitted.

“Johnny Lim is 41,” Claude went on. “He comes from a wealthy Chinese family in Malaysia. Not Singapore, but Malaysia. He studied computer science at Stanford, then returned to Kuala-Lumpur and started working. He became known as one of the go-to smart guys in Southeast Asia. And here’s his claim to fame. Five years ago he basically, almost from scratch and with very little VC capital, took over the e-commerce market in Malaysia and Indonesia. He took it over from a well-established company that thought they were the local Amazon. He was an underdog and defeated a major player. He did it quickly too.”

“Impressive,” Norton said.

“Yes. He proved he was smart not just as a techie, but as a business strategist.”

“So he was hired for that,” Norton said. “I mean, that’s why Salesforce hired him.”

“Not so fast,” Claude said. “He led an interesting life, mostly starting after his big e-commerce triumph. First, his father died, leaving him a fortune. Or rather a second fortune, after the one he made in e-commerce. Then he began to add the Asian playboy profile to his tech wunderkind profile. And September last year, he was visiting a friend in La Réunion, a rich guy who also happened to be an amateur pilot.”

“La Réunion,” Sophie said. “That’s part of France, yes?”

“Yes,” Claude said. “It’s technically part of France. It’s an island in the Indian Ocean, off the east coast of Africa.”

“Amateur pilot friend,” Dodd said. “I can guess why you mentioned that detail.”

“You guessed right,” Claude said. “They had an accident.”

“What happened?”

“The plane went down in the ocean. Johnny’s friend, the pilot, died in the crash. But Johnny managed to survive. He got out of the plane before it sank.”

“Quick thinking,” Norton said.

“It was a very lucky escape,” Claude said. “But it wasn’t over yet. This was some distance from the island. And he wasn’t rescued until the following day. 30 hours later.”

“He was in the water?” Sophie asked.

“Yes. Floating in the Indian Ocean. Injured, but not seriously. But floating under the scorching sun for at least half the time. He was nearly dead when they picked him up.”

“And this is the new Salesforce CEO,” Norton said.

“Johnny Lim spent a long time in recovery, first in La Réunion, then in Paris,” Claude continued. “Then he returned to Kuala Lumpur. But he stayed out of the spotlight. He seemed a changed man.”

“How do you know all this?” Sophie asked.

“I’ve been digging,” Claude said. “I’ve been scouring the media. Malay and Singaporean media. There were many stories on Lim and what happened.”

“Okay,” Norton said, “and then?”

“And then suddenly, as far as I can tell, he’s in California being appointed CEO of a major US tech firm.”

“It doesn’t quite make sense,” Sophie said.

“No, it doesn’t,” Claude said. “Stock dropped over 20% on the news. But I think you both probably know where this is headed.”

“It’s not Johnny Lim,” Norton said.

“Exactly. It’s a fake. Johnny Lim is dead.”

Sophie made a sound halfway between a whimper and a whine of protest.

“You hadn’t guessed?” Claude asked her.

“I guessed,” she said. “But still …” Her eyes were wide with dismay.

Claude finally reached down and picked up the croissant he’d abandoned. He took a big bite. He smiled at them, the smug detective smile.

“What do you have in your bag?” Norton asked, businesslike. “You said you needed to show us some things.”

“We need a proper table for that,” Claude gestured grandly. He was chewing the croissant.

They stepped over to the dining table, switched on the ceiling light. Claude swung his slim brown bag onto the hardwood surface. It was a fine table, but nicked with use.

“You’re lucky you got that off the plane,” Norton said, gesturing toward the bag.

“I had no choice. As you’ll see.”

Falaise unzipped the bag as they sat down.

“First,” he said, taking out a slim folder, “we need to review a bit. On the apkallu. What do you remember, Dodd?”

“I only remember the basics. The apkallu were semi-divine sages. They were created by Enki, the god of fresh water, which the Sumerians believed rose up from the earth. Enki is a trickster god, a god of the waters that move underground. The apkallu were said to emerge from the water. They taught the first kings wisdom. If I remember correctly, there were seven of them.”

“Rather impressive,” Claude said. “I know it’s been years since you studied Mesopotamia.”

“I was fascinated by the languages,” Norton said to Sophie. “The cuneiform writing system. So I studied Sumerian and a couple of the later languages.”

“Dodd probably learned to read Sumerian in a month,” Claude put in. “Am I right?”

“No, you’re exaggerating,” Norton said. “I was working in Mesopotamian things for around a year.”

“And you could read it after that short time?” Sophie asked. “I mean, you could read Sumerian?”

“More or less,” Norton said, somewhat taken aback. “I have a photographic memory. And, well, I have a knack for new grammars.”

“A knack is not the word,” Falaise said. “You are basically Mozart.”

“Let’s continue,” Dodd said.

“Okay. If you’ll both allow me, I’ll just read a bit from the Greek historian Alexander Polyhistor. Of course the apkallu are mentioned in the cuneiform record, but those texts are mostly poetic. They are naturally vaguer, more allusive. But Polyhistor quotes from Berossus, the Babylonian priest of Marduk who composed writings on Babylonian history in Greek. Berossus’ writings were in prose—basically expository.”

“And we don’t have Berossus’ original text,” Sophie put in.

“Yes, you’re right. We only have summaries of it in later writers.”

“Berossus wrote sometime in the 3^rd century B.C., if I remember,” Norton asked.

“Yes, you remember that too,” Falaise said. “Until the 19^th century, when cuneiform was deciphered, Berossus was the West’s only direct Babylonian source about Babylon. But you both know all this. Let me get to the point.”

“Go ahead,” Norton said.

“I’m going to read what Berossus tells us about the apkallu.”

Falaise took a folder from his bag and removed a thin, stapled sheaf of photocopied text.

“According to Berossus,” Falaise began, “this is the very earliest stage of history, the antediluvian period, before humans were civilized. Of course it corresponds to the period Genesis records. The lawless age of Lamech and the mighty men in the earth.”

“The nephilim,” Norton put in.

“Exactly,” Falaise said. And he began to read:

At Babylon there was in those times a great resort of people of various nations, who inhabited Chaldea and lived in a lawless manner like the beasts of the field. In the first year there appeared, from that part of the Erythraean Sea which borders upon Babylonia, an animal destitute of reason, by name Oannes, whose whole body was that of a fish; and under the fish’s head he had another head, with feet also below, similar to those of a man, joined to the fish’s tail. His voice too, and language, were articulate and human. And a representation of him is preserved even to this day.

“Yes,” Norton said. “He emerges from the Erythraean Sea. Which is a rather mixed geographical term. But usually refers to the sea near the Horn of Africa.”

“Right,” Falaise said. “But notice something strange in this text. According to Berossus, at least as Polyhistor quotes him, this first apkallu is described in contradictory ways. Berossus first says he is an animal destitute of reason—his exact words—then soon after describes him as having human language and being articulate.”

Norton seemed to be thinking.

“It sounds like a cable news anchor,” he finally said. “Was this maybe the first CNN?”

Falaise laughed heartily. “Very funny! Yes. I hope the Babylonians didn’t have to suffer that. But really, how can one make sense of the description?”

“It’s odd,” Norton admitted. “I don’t remember that aspect. The apkallu are destitute of reason, but also articulate, then later the teachers of humanity, like the Greek Prometheus.”

“It sounds like AI,” Sophie put in. “At least how some think of AI.”

“Excellent point,” Norton said, turning to her. “AI itself appears articulate, but no matter what it produces, it is destitute of reason. It has no consciousness, no more than a hand calculator does.”

“Yes,” Falaise put in. “And yet it somehow becomes articulate.”

“Like small children with a talking toy,” Sophie said. “They might think it’s alive and talking. But it’s just electronic circuitry. In this way any talking device is articulate.”

“Sophie,” Norton asked, “I’m curious on your position on the AI black box. Are you with those who’d argue that sentience can arise in it, as an emergent phenomenon?”

“No,” she said. “I never took that position. I think AI itself lacks consciousness. What I believed, with some others, was that it might function as a gateway, allowing higher intelligences to speak. The higher intelligence wasn’t in the software or functioning of the AI itself, but somehow got through the system. We believed quantum computing might open such a door.”

“It sounds like you more or less believed AI could be possessed,” Norton said.

“Yes, I now understand it that way. Possessed.”

“But what does this have to do with Oannes, the first apkallu?” Falaise broke in. “If there’s a worthwhile question here, it’s whether there’s any particular meaning to be gotten from the paradox in the text—that the apkallu is without reason but also articulate?”

“Honestly,” Norton said, “the likeliest explanation for the text is that Polyhistor is quoting a phrase the Babylonian writer put in Greek, but that for that original writer the phrase simply meant animal. I can’t recall such phraseology, but it would make sense. An animal, in this case, a fish, is a living creature destitute of reason. So the writer is saying this creature looked for all the world like a fish. But turned out to have reason.”

“That makes sense as a scholarly reading,” Falaise put in. “It’s to see the apparent paradox as just an issue of translation.”

“And Berossus, if I remember right, was known to write in a Greek that wasn’t quite fluent,” Sophie put in.

“Good,” Norton said. “Which would support the possibility that this is just a translation problem. But the real point at issue here, in any case, is not so much what this phrase means, but rather what Johnny Lim means—or rather the ersatz Johnny Lim that’s now running Salesforce. Because think about it, whatever this creature is, it didn’t come through a computer terminal.”

“Exactly,” Falaise said. “My reading is it came from the ocean. It’s physical. I stood near it. And it had the odor.”

“The Ereshkigal manifestations,” Sophie mentioned. “Of course they’re also potentially physical by this point. I mean, I don’t know for certain. She appears. But she made physical walls bleed physical blood.”

“What is physical anyway?” Falaise said. “You know my convictions on physics.”

“I know you basically have no convictions,” Norton said. “Or rather, your convictions are tangentially related to quantum mechanics. That there’s some kind of interlacing of consciousness and the physical. In any case.”

“Which, if I’m right about that,” Falaise said, “we can put these questions of physical or spiritual aside. Because we can’t really separate them. We just don’t know.”

“The apkallu is a fish-like creature,” Norton said. “Read the description again, the part about its head.”

“The text says that the whole body was that of a fish, but that under the fish’s head he had another head.”

Norton thought about it.

“It doesn’t suggest anything special to me,” he said. “A human-animal hybrid creature. And of course Johnny Lim, this fake Johnny Lim, has only a human head. No scales or anything like that.”

“He looks like a somewhat haggard Asian man,” Falaise said. “Tired out but highly intelligent. Sly. He has olive skin, but doesn’t look healthy. No, one doesn’t see scales on him. But one smells scales. I can promise you that.”

“Everyone can smell them, I suppose?” Norton asked.

“Yes, it’s distinct. For some reason they’re putting up with it. I mean, the Salesforce people.”

“They put up with Steve Jobs not showering,” Sophie added. “They’ll put up with anything to advance their company.”

“But Apple was Jobs’ own company,” Norton said. “This guy Lim, he’s basically out of nowhere. And replacing the founder? Marc Benioff was the founder, you said.”

“He was.”

“So what’s the board up to here?”

“We don’t know yet,” Falaise said. “But let me just read the rest of the introduction Polyhistor gives.”

This being was accustomed to pass the day among men. but took no food with them. And he gave them an insight into letters and sciences, and arts of every kind. He taught them to construct cities, to found temples, to compile laws, and explained to them the principles of geometrical knowledge. He made them distinguish the seeds of the earth, and shewed them how to collect the fruits. In short, he instructed them in everything. From that time, nothing material has been added by way of improvement to his instructions. And when the sun had set, this being Oannes retired again into the sea, and passed the night in the deep, for he was amphibious. After this there appeared other animals like Oannes, of which Berossus proposes to give an account when he comes to the history of the kings.

“It’s the myth of the divine being who teaches humanity,” Norton said. “In this case a being created by Enki.”

“Alright,” Falaise said. “So enough of the review. I want to show you something else. Something more interesting. This is why I had to get my bag off the plane.”

He took out another folder, this one clear plastic. He removed a yellowed sheet of paper with a pencil sketch on it.

“Look at these,” he said. “Here’s the first one.”

He handed it to Norton. Actually it wasn’t an original sketch, but a scanned and printed image of an old sketch. It was a sketch of one side of a cuneiform tablet. Sophie had stood up and come round the table to look at it over Norton’s shoulder.

“It’s Akkadian,” Norton said. “The language the Babylonians used.”

“Can you read it?” Sophie asked.

“Well, at one time I could. Let me try.”

Norton began to consider the first lines, to try to mouth the sounds of the marks he was seeing. Akkadian was a semitic language, written using a system adapted from Sumerian. He was beginning to get some of the sounds to appear in his mind when he suddenly felt the sketch reminded him of something. Yes, it was distinct.

He was in the house of the lady who lived next door to him when he was a little kid. He was often over there visiting her, and she was always sketching things. The paper she used was the same yellowish color as this sheet in his hands, and the lines of cuneiform text reminded him suddenly of the sketches she’d do of shelves of knickknacks and flowers. She had a mania for sketching imaginary shelves.

He looked up from the paper for a moment to clear his thoughts. He was getting nostalgic about his childhood, as if the lady were a second mother to him. He hadn’t thought about her in years.

“What is it?” Sophie asked, seeing his distraction.

“Oh, I was just remembering a woman I knew, a woman who lived next door when I was a child. She was very kind to me.”

He turned back to study the sheet, but felt a lump forming in his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his thoughts. I need more coffee.

Falaise meanwhile was looking at a second sheet he’d taken out of the file, similar to the first.

“I can’t read these myself,” he said, “but there’s a power in them. A power.”

Sophie felt her professor’s tone was somehow off. She looked at him. He seemed to be moved somehow, affected.

“What do you mean?” she asked him.

“It’s just that …” Falaise looked up from the sheet, eyes full of emotion. “It’s just this … embrace. It envelops us.”

Sophie was taken aback.

“I don’t know what to say,” Falaise continued, tears beginning to brim in his eyes. “She’s here. She will do this. She has such … power.”

Norton dropped the sheet on the table and rose quickly to his feet. The three bulbs in the ceiling lamp above them flared brighter and suddenly burst, shards of lightbulb glass falling down onto the table.

Sophie cried out and stepped back toward the wall, retreating to a nook between the corner and a large display cabinet.

Norton was already making the sign of the cross over himself. “Dear Lord, we are sinners,” he prayed, his voice loud but quavering. “Protect us from this evil. Protect us, Lord. Dear Lord, protect us.”

“And you,” he said suddenly, shifting tone, “—whatever demon you are—I command you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit to leave this place. I command you—in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit—leave this place now!”

Falaise had stood up too, pieces of the burst bulb falling from his shirt front. He gazed at Norton, eyes wide, as if coming out of a trance.

“Protect us, Lord. Protect us,” Norton repeated, making the sign of the cross over himself. “Most gracious Mother Mary, I stand here sinful and in sorrow for my sins. Hear my petition. Intercede for us. I come to you, most gracious Mother. Drive this demon from our presence.”

He had stepped toward Sophie and Falaise, moving them toward the living room, toward the sofa. Then he stood there next to them, eyes closed, praying.

They closed their eyes too, began to repeat his words after him.

Finally, after some minutes, Norton opened his eyes. It seemed the attack was over.

They stood quietly near the sofa, gazing at each other, breathing heavily.

“I believe it’s gone,” Norton broke the silence.

“What was it?” Sophie said, still in a fright.

“I suddenly realized something was warping my mind,” Norton said.

Still choked up, Falaise didn’t speak for a moment.

“It was terrifying,” he finally uttered, almost in a whisper. “I was being pulled. It was almost magnetic. I was being convinced to give in to it.”

They looked to Sophie.

“I could feel something present,” she said, “but didn’t know what it was. A kind of disjunction, something in the air. I mostly saw it in you two—influencing you. I saw it in your faces. That’s what frightened me.”

“I was looking at the sketch of the tablet,” Norton said, “and my thoughts were somehow dragged to my childhood. To the woman who lived next to us. I began to feel nostalgia, that I missed her.”

“Were you close to her?” Sophie asked.

“Not so close,” Norton said. “She was a neighbor. I visited her as a kid. Her husband had died. But that’s—that doesn’t explain my reaction. My emotions were for something that wasn’t really the memory of that neighbor. I was being diverted. Away from reading the tablet.”

“Whatever that presence was, I feel exhausted by it,” Falaise said. “It almost unhinged me.”

“It was a demonic attack,” Norton said gravely.

“Careful, Claude, you’ve a shard of glass on your shirt there.” Sophie pointed.

He looked down, began carefully picking off the glass. He bent and placed it on the coffee table.

Sophie looked to Norton.

“It was your prayers that drove it away,” she said.

“I believe so too,” he said. “But that’s not a power I have, but the power of the One I’m praying to.”

“Demons do not like those names you uttered,” Falaise said.

“You’re right,” Norton said. “They don’t. Which is something you should think about.”

“I perhaps should.”

Norton nodded slightly. Then: “It’s best if we take those scanned pages, the things in your bag, and go somewhere else,” he said. “We should leave here for a bit. Perhaps look at them outside, in the sunlight.”

“Good idea!” Sophie said.

“I’d be glad to get outside too,” Claude added.

Norton went to the kitchen and got a small dustpan and hand broom. He carefully shook the shards of glass off the documents, then brought them to the sofa, then did the same with Falaise’s bag. Falaise put them back in the folders and the bag.

“I’ll clean up the glass when we get back,” he said.

“I have to put on actual clothes,” Sophie said, gesturing to the airport pajamas.

“We’ll wait for you,” Falaise said.

Sophie stepped toward the hallway leading to the bedrooms, but hesitated halfway there. She realized she was suddenly afraid to enter her room alone. She made the sign of the cross over herself, clumsily, then steeled herself and continued walking.

[On to Chapter 5. »»]