A Life of Death: Episodes 9 - 12 (3 page)

Dr. Mayna now seemed much more interested, and she leaned closer.

Dr. Kamal said, “The ankh isn’t just used for unions. It is symbolic of truth. It is on tombs, too, throughout Egypt. There are a variety of beliefs, lots of speculation.” He waved his hand in a circle, indicating that the discussion was still ongoing in research circles.

“Dr. Kamal, is it possible that people still participate in the old religions of Egypt?”

“Oh yes,” the visiting professor answered without hesitation. “It’s called
Kemetism
. Many people still practice the rituals, although not including human sacrifice. That’s a rarity.”

“But it happens?”

“Yes, on occasion.”

I mulled over his answer for a minute before moving on. “Well, one of the last clues to the Egyptian connection is how they were killed.”

“Burnt,” Dr. Mayna supplied for me.

“Yeah,” I replied, my silent question visible on my face.

“That’s very common for human sacrifices,” the visiting Egyptian professor supplied, “in many cultures on many continents, from the Aztec to the Celts. Although, most scientists would say ancient Egyptians wouldn’t make that list.”

I stared at the floor, wondering what else I could tell them without winding up coming off like a crackpot loony.

“I know there’s more,” Dr. Mayna said, her tone softer and more understanding. “We can’t help if we don’t know.”

I glanced up at her. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try us,” she said, a simple smile playing at her lips. Dr. Kamal just look intrigued.

I took a deep breath and let it out.
What do you care?
I asked myself.
You’re gonna be gone in a couple days anyways.
Even if they do blow you off, at least you’ve confirmed your research.

Jessie elbowed me and shook his head, mouthing, “No.”

“Okay, fine—”

“Jesus, Alex!” Jessie shouted. “You know, I’ve gotta live in this town after you leave, right? You want me to be the laughingstock everywhere I go?”

“You do a good enough job at that on your own, Jess. You don’t need my help.”

He clenched his jaw.

“I know for a fact that the murderer’s a woman,” I continued, “because—”

“You are one,” Jessie shouted sarcastically and gave a forced laugh. I glared at him. Turning to Dr. Mayna, Jessie asked, “You mind if I walk around a bit? This rooms a little stuffy, and if Alex is going to embarrass himself, I don’t need to be here for it.”

She nodded. “There’s a small exhibition on loan from the museum down the hall if you’d like to wander through it while we talk.”

“Sounds freakin’ spectacular!” he growled, lifting the back of the chair and slamming it down as he got up. The door hissed closed as he left.

Both professors raised their eyebrows to me once in the same silent, curious question once he’d gone.

I licked my lips, counting the seconds while trying to resummon the courage to admit to my visions. “Look, I can… do something. Most people don’t understand it, and really neither do I, but it works and it’s real. That’s about all I can say to justify it though.” I took another breath. “The truth is that I have visions. Some might call it being psychic, but I can’t read people’s minds—at least not living people’s minds.”

They both look confused and somewhat skeptical now.
At least it’s not the other way around. When strangers learn about it, they’re normally pretty sketchy and think I’m nuts as soon as they hear the words “visions” and “psychic.”
I decided to run with it. “I’ve had the ability since I was in high school, and basically it allows me to relive people’s murders.”

Dr. Mayna’s mouth dropped open and Dr. Kamal perched his chin on a closed fist, thinking with eyes that seemed to be reassessing me. I guess it made sense. He was the one that seemed to believe in Egyptian gods. If they’re real, why not unexplainable abilities?

“So, how does it work?” the local professor asked in a whisper.

I shrugged. “Basically I have to touch something someone was holding when they were murdered. It’s like the things people touch are imbued with a memory of something so traumatic. I can somehow trigger that memory. Then I see what happened through their eyes.”

“So, you die—you experience their death?” she asked.

I nodded.

“How many times have you… died?” asked Dr. Kamal.

I tried to count, but various visions came to mind, flooding me with images and sensations that were too overwhelming. “God, I don’t know. Honestly, too many to count.”

A twinkle appeared in Dr. Mayna’s eyes. “Can you change it?”

“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “It isn’t time travel. I can’t change what’s happened. I can’t even control what’s going on. I hear what’s said and see through the victim’s eyes. I even hear their thoughts as though they were my own. It’s really hard to distinguish between them at times and gets confusing. I feel their pain. I know what it’s like to be shot, stabbed, drugged, bludgeoned, whipped, and even fall to my death. It’s never pleasant.”

“That’s horrible,” Dr. Mayna said, the truth of my experiences finally dawning on her. “How can you stand it?”

“I don’t have a choice. I can’t control it besides watching what I touch and staying out of battlefield museums…” The mention of that Civil War trip with Paige so many years before dredged up the memories—the visions of the cannonier Able, the families lost, and soldiers that died. A shiver ran down my spine. “I just stay away from places where lots of killing and murder occurred. It can all be pretty bad.”

“So how is this relevant to the serial killings?” asked the visiting professor.

“Well, there wasn’t much left of the victims for me to touch and actually get a vision. However, Junior Lee, the first victim, somehow managed to keep a few of his belongings from burning too much, probably a rookie mistake on the killer’s part. We never found evidence remaining like that in any of the other murders. The positive thing about it, and the later twist tie I found between a victim’s bound hands, was that I was able to relive their murders. I heard her voice and got a couple brief glimpses of her.”

Both professors were again leaning forward, Dr. Mayna almost to the point of falling out of her chair.

“The killer wears a costume, a dog head like in this picture.” This time I pointed at the figure.

“Anubis,” Dr. Mayna whispered. “It’s a ritual to Anubis and Osiris.”

“And it is not a dog,” Dr. Kamal interjected. “It is a jackal.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Both Jessie and I had been wrong. “Thanks for the clarification.”

“It’s Egyptian then,” Dr. Mayna whispered to herself, staring at the floor in thought.

“A ritual sacrifice of resurrection,” Dr. Kamal added. “It was done in ancient Egypt to help ensure the dead passed Anubis’s test of worthiness and were resurrected into paradise, or
Aaru
.”

I digested the information for a minute, deciphering his thick speech combined with the few unfamiliar terms. Thinking back to the few encounters I’d had with the murderer, I remembered her words:
You are my golden bull, my flesh sacrificed in her honor.
“You know, in one vision she called the victim a golden bull and flesh sacrificed in her honor. That’s got to mean something, but I haven’t quite figured it out.”

Dr. Kamal fielded the question. “Makes sense. Apis was a god symbolized by a bull. Eventually Osiris, god of the underworld, replaced him. To many, the bull is still the most important of all the sacred animals in Egypt. The animal has often been attributed to Osiris. Saying her sacrifices represent a golden bull might mean they are the best she can offer. Bulls were often seen as kings who moved on to be deities before the New Kingdom. Little is known of rituals at that time, but it makes sense that it would be a burnt offering.”

“How about
in her honor?
” I asked.

Dr. Kamal’s brows knit in thought. “So, she actually said
in her honor,
not
his honor?
” asked Dr. Mayna.

I nodded.

“Normally the sacrifice would be to honor Osiris, or possibly Anubis,” she said in contemplation. Turning her attention to the other professor, she asked, “Could she be referring to Anput?”

“Who’s Anput?” I inquired.

“Anubis’s wife: another jackal-headed god, or goddess as it were. It’s possible.” Turning his attention to me, he asked, “Were there jars, bowls, things that might hold the mummified remains of the sacrifices?”

I shook my head. “Not that we found, and I didn’t see anything in the visions.”

“So the people weren’t mummified at all?” he asked.

“Nope.”

He paused to caress his scraggly beard, then shook his head. “I don’t think she’s referring to Anput then. There were spells in
The Book of the Dead
used to bless various parts and usher the dead into the underworld, helping them move past Anubis’s weighing-of-the-heart test by balancing their heart and good deeds against Maat’s feather. This would allow them into Aaru, but the only references to Anput deal mainly with mummified remains and organs stored in vases and pottery. She must be referring to someone else.”

“But who?” Dr. Mayna asked. “I just don’t know. Maybe it was something personal.”

“I’m not sure either, but I remember her chanting something,” I added. This caught both their attentions.

“What?” asked Dr. Mayna, unblinking.

I thought for a moment, remembering the visions, but everything was distorted gibberish, muffled and incoherent through the flames lapping at my flesh, the searing pain, and the drug-induced immobilization. I sighed in resignation. “I can’t remember.”

“Then try harder,” Dr. Mayna urged. “You’ve got to remember it. It has to be—”

“You don’t understand,” I spat, the haunting memories whittling my patience away. “I was being burned alive. I was drugged and couldn’t move. The flames were roaring in my ears, and the pain was more intense than you ever want to know. Have you ever been burned alive? Try it and see if you can focus on the words some murderer is chanting in the distance. It isn’t just a matter of remembering the damn words. I couldn’t hear them in the first place.” I clenched my fist, trying to stifle the anger and frustration that had built up over the years. I held up a hand. “I’m sorry. You just don’t realize how bad it is. Every day I wonder whether it’s a blessing or a curse. It seems to be a curse that I’m forced to live with, but I can’t ignore the visions. I live with them, every day. I can remember hundreds of them. I don’t know how many times I’ve died. The only thing I can do is try my best to put killers away and find some absolution and comfort for the victims, many of which are still stuck here.”

“Like ghosts?” she asked.

I nodded, allowing my shoulders to slump.

“And they talk to you?”

“Rarely, but yeah. I can’t see them, but sometimes they can communicate. Normally it’s just through the visions, them revealing to me their horrible murders.”

“Okay, I can see that this really bothers you, and I’m inclined to believe you.” She waved a finger between her and Dr. Kamal. “But we’re both scientists dedicated to studying the past, finding evidence… proof.”

I chuckled. It was nice to feel something that brought that emotion back up. “I know exactly what you mean. I’m a detective. Do you realize how difficult it is approaching cases and looking at them from both sides? It’s a balancing act. I can never tell my supervisor or any of the officers I work with the truth, aside from my partner. And he only believes me because we’ve worked so well together for so many years. He’s seen the results. If anyone else knew, I’d be ostracized. They’d have me drummed off the force.”

“Then why did you tell us?” Dr. Kamal asked.

I shrugged. “I’ll likely never see you again, and you have information I need to stop this woman from killing again. It was a shot in the dark.”

He nodded, satisfied with the explanation.

“And have we been able to help?” asked Dr. Mayna with a curious and somewhat anxious look in her eyes.

I shifted in my seat, sitting up a little straighter under her gaze. “Yes.”

“Then maybe you can help us.”

This time Dr. Kamal and I both looked at her, a bit confused.

“I—no, here at the university we’ve been trying to piece together some events from the past. There are a few skeletons people have uncovered and shipped to us to investigate. We can sometimes determine whether a broken bone occurred prior to death based on bone growth, like if it’s fused back together, but mortal injuries don’t show those; they are often harder to determine if the broken bones were the cause of death or happened after the person passed.”

“So… what are you asking?”

“I’d like you to take a look at them and see if anything comes to you. Maybe you’ll have a
vision
.” Her emphasis of the final word seemed like a mixture of anxious skepticism with a shot of curiosity. I didn’t care for her tone.

I looked around the small office and the ancient artifacts. “How old did you say they were?”