The Impaler (23 page)

You’re really acting pathetic,
a voice said in her head, but Cindy ignored it, toweled herself dry, and put on her bathrobe. And just to prove to the voice that she could still play it cool, she padded downstairs to the kitchen and grabbed a cereal bar and a glass of orange juice.

When she returned to her bedroom and finally signed into her e-mail, Cindy found four messages in her inbox—two
general notifications from the university, which she immediately deleted; an opening-night congratulations from George Kiernan to the cast and crew; and an e-mail from her father titled simply,
The show.

But there was nothing from Edmund Lambert.

Nothing at all.

Her stomach sinking, Cindy deleted her father’s e-mail without opening it. She already knew what it would say: some version of,
Hope the show went well. Sorry I won’t be able to make it. Things are pretty hectic around
her
as usual. Keep up with your studies and talk to you soon. Dad.

Cindy never forgot that first e-mail from her father saying he was going to miss her main-stage debut; how he made the mistake of writing “her” instead of “here”—
“Things are pretty hectic around HER,”
he’d said.

A Freudian slip,
Cindy thought.

Of course, in the three years since her first role at Harriot, Cindy’s father never made that mistake again, but his absence at every one of her shows spoke volumes.
Don’t ever forget you come second,
Daddy Dearest was really saying.
Always second after new wife and new kid.

Yeah, things sure were pretty hectic around “her.”

And, of course, Cindy knew deep down that the
keep up your studies
tag at the end—always at the end—was just a slap in the face in case she didn’t get the gist of the previous sentence. For Daddy Dearest was not only saying,
Make sure you have a backup plan when this silly-waste-of-time acting thing doesn’t work out,
but also,
Don’t expect me to waste any of
my
time on your bullshit.

Cindy sat staring at her empty inbox for a long time, when suddenly the sinking feeling in her stomach rose to the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, and for a moment felt as if she would cry.

Who are you getting so upset over?
asked the voice in her
head.
Daddy or Edmund Lambert? At least Daddy Dearest took the time to e-mail you.

Impulsively, Cindy reached for her book bag, found the
Macbeth
contact sheet inside her dialects binder, and traced her finger over Edmund Lambert’s e-mail address. There was no number listed for him; only the number for the Harriot scene shop.

“You wouldn’t call him anyway,” Cindy said out loud. “Not after the thing with the rose. But you could always e-mail him.”

Maybe they’re one and the same,
the voice in her head persisted
. Daddy and Lambert. Maybe that’s why you’re so attracted to Mr. Soldier Boy—older guy, Daddy issues. What would Freud have said about
that
?

“Fuck you,” Cindy whispered, and shut off her computer.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath—tried to shut out all thoughts of her father and Edmund Lambert and forced her mind to focus on the day ahead. Her dialects class was canceled because of the show, but she still had her private singing tutorial at noon. She’d get her ass reamed for sure if word got back to Kiernan that she blew it off. But her voice lesson was in the music building, which meant she’d really have no excuse to stop by the theater at all today; no excuse to wander past the scene shop and perhaps run into Edmund Lambert. She could always hang out for a bit in the computer lab; linger just a little longer at her locker with the hope that—

You see?
said the voice in her head.
You just can’t keep your mind off of him. So fucking pathetic.

“Okay,” Cindy said, “if he hasn’t e-mailed or called me when I get back, I’ll e-mail him before I head off to the gym. After that, he can just keep up with his fucking studies.”

Pathetic and obsessed,
said the voice in her head.

Cindy laid the contact sheet atop her keyboard, making
sure that it was centered and its edges were perfectly parallel with the edges of the keyboard underneath.

Curiously, she felt better.

Obsessed,
repeated the voice in her head.

“Beyond obsessed,” Cindy answered, smiling.

Then she got dressed.

As Markham shuffled his notes, he became keenly aware of how the anticipation in the room suddenly ratcheted up a notch—could almost feel the other agents zeroing in on him and adjusting their antennae.

“Now then,” he said, “I’ll ask all of you to entertain the line of reasoning that led us to whom we believe to be the ‘I’ in ‘I have returned.’ The Leo slide, please.”

Schaap obliged, and Markham rose from his chair, thrust his hands in his pockets, and walked casually to the far end of the conference table.

“On the screen,” he began, “is the traditional version of the constellation Leo. Schaap and I, with the assistance of our consultant in the classical studies department at NC State, began our research into the ancient cultures represented by the writing found on Donovan and Canning. Our consultant quickly pointed out that, in all of these cultures, not only do we see strong astrological traditions dating back to the beginnings of their written history but also the lion figuring prominently in their respective mythologies.

“Next we began to look specifically for mythological tra-
ditions connected to the time of year when Leo is the most visible: spring, when the lion returns once again to become visible among the stars. In other words, we took the phrase ‘I have returned’ as literally as possible. Schaap?”

“The most obvious place to look first was with the Ancient Egyptians,” he said. “Pretty much everybody is familiar with the way their gods are portrayed. You know, half animal, half human. But before we even began looking for a spring connection, our classical studies expert suggested we look somewhere else.”

“Right,” said Markham. “Given the history of each of the ancient cultures at the center of our investigation, as well as the documented borrowing and cross-fertilization of religions and mythologies between those cultures, our consultant said an Egyptian deity would be a stretch. Meaning, if we worked from the premise that the Impaler used each of the six ancient scripts to literally speak to a lion god or a mutation of such within those cultures—or perhaps, even to speak as the god himself—a through-line of an Egyptian deity would not work.”

“Now you’re losing me,” said Big Joe Connelly.

Markham was about to answer, but Alan Gates interrupted him: “May I, Sam?”

“Sure,” Markham said, taken aback.

“You see,” Gates began, “many scholars believe that, specifically with regard to Middle Eastern religions, one can trace similarities and borrowings from one religion to the next. For example, in the Christian religion, some scholars believe that the story of Jesus Christ’s resurrection was adapted from the Egyptian myth of Osiris, who was also believed to have been murdered and resurrected. Legitimate scholarship or academic conspiracy theory, depending on your point of view. Nonetheless, if I follow Agent Markham correctly, he’s saying that if one were to look for such a god emanating from the Egyptians—that is, a lion god that could
have permeated and/or mutated within all the ancient religions represented by the scripts on Donovan and Canning—well, you’re saying such an Egyptian god doesn’t exist, right, Sam?”

“That’s exactly right,” Markham said. “Especially since there is a better candidate that not only can be traced between all the mythologies in question, but that also fits nicely with a return in the spring. Next slide, please.”

Schaap clicked the remote, and the screen wiped into a drawing of what appeared to be two separate stone tablets. The first tablet was divided into three rows, each containing a procession of half-human animal-headed deities. A lion-headed god with strange ears in the center of the bottom row was slightly larger than the rest of the figures. The most terrifying image, however, was at the top: the head of a roaring lion peeking over the border of the tablet itself. The other tablet showed the rear of the lion. It stood on eagle-clawed hindquarters with a pair of large wings on its back.

“What you’re looking at,” Markham said, “is an artist’s rendering of the front and back of the Hell Plaque, or Lamashtu Plaque as some scholars call it. The original is in the Louvre, is made of bronze, and dates from the Neo-Assyrian period between the tenth and seventh centuries BC. It’s believed to be a type of healing artifact that was hung over the bed to ward off sickness. Most scholars agree that the lion-headed figure with the donkey ears at the center of the plaque is the demon Lamashtu, who in ancient times was thought to bring pestilence and disease. The lion-headed figure peeking over the top of the plaque in both the front and rear views is believed to be her husband, the demon Pazuzu, who was invoked to make Lamashtu go away.

“Upon its discovery, however, the artifact was originally thought to have represented the Babylonian goddess Eresh-kigal on her journey through the underworld. The lion-headed figure at the top was thus believed to be the Babylonian god
Nergal, Lord of the Underworld and Ereshkigal’s husband. Some scholars still cling to this original notion, and thus it is Nergal to whom I ’d like to draw your attention. Next slide, please.”

A drawing of a winged, sphinxlike figure with a long-bearded human head labeled
Nineveh, 800–700 B.C.

“In some manifestations, Nergal is often portrayed an-thropomorphically—with a man’s head and the body of a winged lion. Next slide, please.”

Another drawing, from a stone tablet, with a lion-headed deity between two other gods—a procession of some kind, in which one of the more human-looking gods holds a long spear. Markham could feel the agents lean forward.

“In this case,” Markham said, “the portrayal is reversed, more Egyptian, and we see Nergal with the head of a lion, wings, and the body of a man. I’ll hold off on commenting on the long spear for now. But, in addition to presiding over the Underworld, Nergal appears in his early manifestations to have been a solar deity, as well as a god of war and pestilence. He also became associated with the destruction brought on by the summer solstice, the dead season in the Mesopotamian planting cycle, and was often referred to as the Raging Prince. His main center of worship in Ancient Babylonia was the city of Kutha, now known as the archaeological site Tel Ibrahim in Iraq.

“Like the Ancient Egyptians, lions and lionlike gods figured prominently in Ancient Babylonian mythology. Indeed, many scholars specifically trace Nergal’s mutation throughout nearly all Middle Eastern religions, including Judaism, in which he was first identified with Satan, only later on to be demoted to one of Satan’s demons. In fact, Nergal is mentioned by name in the Bible’s Second Book of Kings.

“However,” Markham continued, “given the obscurity of the god Nergal in the collective consciousness, Schaap and I
were somewhat skeptical until our classical studies expert convinced us that only Nergal could give us the through-line we were looking for. Many scholars argue that the ancient Greeks adapted Nergal into Ares, their god of war—better known as the Roman Mars—and associated him with the red planet just as the Assyrians did when they assimilated Ner-gal into their culture. Furthermore, our man at NC State went on to tell us that scholars believe the cult at Kutha followed an annual worship cycle of Nergal in the spring to ensure a bountiful harvest and to pacify the god into showing them some mercy during the summer.”

“The spring,” said Big Joe Connelly. “The return of Leo to the nighttime sky.”

“That’s right,” said Markham. “And so we too must come back to Leo.”

The screen wiped into a complex astronomy chart.

“Now,” Markham said, “upon closer examination of Leo and its pattern across the sky from winter into spring into summer, Schaap and I found something interesting. If you look carefully at the chart on the screen, you’ll notice the sun gets progressively closer to appearing in Leo until it enters the constellation around the middle of August. The summer solstice, the very moment when Nergal is said to wreak havoc on mankind, occurs on June 21st this year. Since the hottest of the Mesopotamian months are July and August, that the sun and Leo should be connected at this time is only fitting. You’ll remember, scholars believe Nergal in his early Babylonian manifestation was a solar deity. However—next slide, please.”

A close-up of Mars in the constellation Leo with the dates
June 3–July 22, 2006.

“If you look at the trajectory of Mars, that very planet that the Ancient Assyrian astronomers came to identify with Nergal himself, you’ll see that this year Mars, the god of
war, will appear in the constellation Leo at the height of the summer solstice. Mars transits Leo only once every two years.

“If one were to look at the current progression of Mars toward Leo in conjunction with how the murders have progressed in methodological detail, it opens up the possibility that, in the Impaler’s mind, he and Nergal are progressing toward each other, too. Perhaps the Impaler is trying to join with the god. Or more likely, in my opinion, perhaps he sees himself as a sort of Leo Minor, progressing with him toward his return. Leo consists of nine stars, Leo Minor is often represented by only three. Both return to the springtime sky at roughly the same time. And since the gravestone I discovered at Willow Brook is both plural and directly west of the spot at which Rodriguez and Guerrera were sacrificed, perhaps our boy sees himself as a servant to Nergal, a right-hand man, if you will, facilitating his return—which, of course, will all go down during the summer solstice. Now, what exactly will happen when Nergal returns? Well, your guess is as good as mine at this point. Clear slides for questions, please.”

Silence, everyone thinking—some confused, some disbelieving.