Irrefutable Proof: Mars Origin "I" Series Book II (22 page)

Chapter Forty-Four

Hannah
Abelson was dead.

She
was sitting in her recliner in her living room. Dead.

Me,
Claire and Greg went to her house three days after I had spoken to her. I was
going so that I could get that confession from her.

But
no, Hannah Abelson had won out.
She wasn’t going to have to pay for what she did to Ghazi, or to Wilcox Books.
I wanted the satisfaction of retribution. I needed it. But it seemed she had
bested me.

We
had walked up the steps onto the porch, and got no answer when we’d knocked on
the door. But there had been light on in the living room. Through the curtains
at the front of the house we could see a faint white-ish glow, possibly from a
lamp. And then Greg went around back and could see through a window into the
living room, and there she sat.

He
came back around front and suggested we call an ambulance.

“Why
call an ambulance? We’ve got Claire.” I grabbed her arm and squeezed it. She looked
at me out the corner of her eye.

“Plus,
I’m on her emergency contact list. Remember the hospital?”

“She
does have a point,” Claire said.

“How
you gonna get in, Justin?” He raised an eyebrow. “Break a window? I don’t think
so.” Greg seemed sure he wasn’t going to like what I was going to say.

I
tried the door. It was locked. I looked at Greg. “This is an emergency. We
could just break the door down,” I said.

“I’m
calling Sean.” Greg pulled out his phone and stepped off the porch.

Sean,
our younger bother, was a police detective for the City of Cleveland and lived
on the other side of town. I definitely wasn’t waiting for him to get there for
me to get into that house.

“Come
on, Claire.” I pulled her down the steps and we headed around back. “Maybe the
back door is open, or a window.”

“And
what?” She chuckled. “You’re gonna climb through a window?”

“Don’t
be ridiculous.” I frowned up and pushed her in front of me. “I’m too fat to
climb through a window, and too old. You’re going to climb through it.” I was
fifty and Claire was only five years my junior, only she was in great shape.

“I
wonder where her husband is?” I said. Claire gave me a smirk. “What? I’m just
asking.”

Stepping
around Professor Abelson’s bike parked on the side of the house, I thought to try
the side door. Lucky for Claire, it was unlocked. When we opened it up, a
putrid odor smacked us in our faces as it rushed out the door as if it were running
from itself. Claire covered her nose with the inside of her jacket and went
into the house.

“C’mon,”
she said.

I
walked up the four stairs from the door to the main floor, side-stepping several
pairs of shoes that hadn’t made it all the way in the house. My eyes
practically shut, stinging from the smell, were starting to water. I started
coughing and felt my mouth filling with saliva, my gag reflex kicking in. I
pulled the collar of my sweater up over my nose and peeked around the corner. I
watched Claire walk past Professor Abelson and open the front door, calling out
to Greg to come in.

“What
the - ” Greg turned his head and closed his eyes as soon as he crossed through
the doorway.

“Sean’s
on his way,” he said, waving his hand in front of him like he could clear the
path of air going up his nose. “My God. Are we going to stay in here? I can’t
take this smell,” Greg said and stepped back into the doorway.

We
all just stood there, covering our noses and mouths and staring at Professor
Abelson, slumped in her chair, until I spoke up.

“How
long she been dead, Claire?”

“How
am I supposed to know? People think because I have a medical degree, I know
everything there is about medicine. I am not an ME.”

Claire
sure was getting cranky in her old age.

“Take
a guess,” I said, flatly, ignoring her attitude.

“I’d
say a long time,” Greg interjected as he headed off to the back of the house.

“Claire,”
I said, trying to get an answer from her.

“Well,
she didn’t just die today.”

I
rolled my eyes. “Claire, I know that. I talked to her three days ago. Could you
just guess as to what day? Please?”

“Uhm.
If I had to guess . . .” She said walking from side to side of the chair,
leaning in looking at Hannah and poking the body with her finger.

“Yes.
That’s all I ask. Just give me your best guess.”

“I’d
say three or four days,” she said standing up and giving me a nod. “But since
you talked to her three days ago, I’m thinking she didn’t die four days ago.”

“Claire.”

“Maybe
you killed her with your accusations.” Claire looked at me, and then pointed to
the table next to the chair. “Look, there’s her phone right there. She probably
hung up from you, was so scared about you accusing her of stuff that she had a
heart attack. And died.” Claire brushed her hands together and pursed her lips,
acting as if she had just determined the cause of death.

“Thought
you said you weren’t an ME.”

Greg
came walking back into the living room. “I’m guessing that when she sat down in
that chair she had just returned from a trip, because she’s still has unpacked
luggage back there.” He pointed back over his shoulder, toward her bedroom. “And,
here’s your evidence as to her whereabouts on her little trip.” He held up a
white stub. “According to this ticket stub, that trip was to Jerusalem.”

“Let
me see that.” I went over and took the stub from Greg and he turned around and returned
to the back of the house.

“Claire,”
I said. “This is crazy. I told her I was going to Jerusalem. I told her when I
was going. Do you think it was her who shot at us?”

“Well,
she probably killed Ghazi. She set the fire at your publishing company, and . .
.”

Who
would have thought a little old lady would be such a sinister, cunning
murderer.

 “The
note, Claire. The one in Sanskrit. Maybe she did write that note . . .” I looked
at Hannah Abelson, slumped in that chair. “I don’t know, though. I would have
already been dead when I got the note if she was trying to kill me in
Jerusalem. I just got it when I got back.”

We
were going through Professor Abelson’s things in her bedroom when Sean arrived.
He couldn’t believe we were in “this woman’s house,” and that we could be
brought up on “criminal charges.”

Blah,
blah. Blah, blah.

But
he changed his tune when Greg fished out a copy of both of my books, and a
brown mailing wrapper from the back of her closet. The wrapper, postmarked 1998
and addressed to Ghazi, had my name and house number as a return address. She
must have gotten it from Ghazi, probably after she killed him.

When
Greg found it, Claire looked at me like she had been spooked by a ghost.
“That’s why she came to the U.S. She was looking for you.”

“Yeah,
but when she couldn’t find out anything because I’d left the translation for
ten years . . . She probably wasn’t sure if I knew what was in them or not.”

And
then something clicked. I smiled at Claire. “Professor Abelson found me alright,
but instead of killing me, she’s going to help me. Help me get her notes on the
Voynich Manuscript,” I directed Claire. “Get whatever you see and stick it in
your purse.

Sean
saw me and took in a deep breath and shook his head. “I didn’t see that,
Justin.”

“See
what, Sean?”

After
I got everything I could find, and thought I might need, I told Claire, “Call
the coroner.”

Chapter Forty-Five

March, 2012

I’d
been going over the Book of Enoch, again, and getting nothing. Since I’d gotten
back from Israel three months ago, I must’ve re-read that thing fifteen times.
I was in my office at Case, hiding out from students and other faculty.

There
didn’t seem to be any difference in the Ge’ez copy and the Dead Sea Scrolls
copy except for I knew the Ge’ez copy was six thousand years old and had never
deteriorated. The copy found with the Scrolls was in fragments. I figured that
the Ge-ez copy might just be written on the same material as the AHM
manuscripts, if, like Dr. Sabir thought, they were related.

I
was doing everything I could to decipher the clues without having to deal with the
Voynich Manuscript. There had been minds much greater than mine that had
failed. People who had dedicated their lives to learning what it said. Plus, I
didn’t even have a copy of the whole thing, and didn’t know how to get a copy
of it. I just had the pages from Professor Abelson’s house that looked like she
printed it off the Internet. And if I went back to Yale to examine it, I
wouldn’t be able to remember all that gibberish to come home and write down,
photographic memory or not. If that was what it took, deciphering the Voynich
Manuscript, to find out how to build spaceships and rid the world of disease
once and for all, then those things were lost. Forever.

To
clear my mind, I decided to take a walk. It was a cold, breezy March day, but
the wind didn’t seem to bother me. I had put on my black wool coat, black hat
and gloves. I made my way up Ford Avenue, toward Euclid. My head tucked down
into the collar of my coat, and my thoughts somewhere else. Millions of years
in the past.

 As
I walked, I decided to go to Q’doba. I thought maybe lunch would help me think.
I waited at the light to cross over to Mayfield when I heard, “Hello, Dr.
Dickerson.”

“Can
I help you?” I said, glancing over at Nikhil Chandra. He was dressed in grey
corduroy pants, white shirt, and a Navy pea coat.

“Don’t
you remember me?”

“How
can I help you?” I asked, again.

“What
a difference a day makes.”

“It’s
been longer than a day since I’ve seen you. How about months? And how could I
not remember you coming into my home with your lies.”

“I
understand you’ve attempted to see the book.”

“I
just accused you of being a liar. You don’t have anything to say to that.”

He
smiled. “No.” He hung his head and looked at me out the side of his eye.

“What
do you want?” I asked.

“You
went to see the Voynich Manuscript?”

I
swear, that man never answers one of my questions. Fine, I wasn’t answering his
either.

“And
you didn’t tell me you wrote another book.” he said.

How
does he find out this stuff about me?
My God, everyone always knows my business, and I don’t even know what I’m doing
half the time.

“How
do you know that?” I asked.

“Do
you believe the things that you wrote?”

“Have
you been trying to kill me?” I turned and looked directly at him.

He
coughed. Almost choking. “Excuse me?”

“Do
you plan on doing it now? Right here in the middle of the day? Pulling out a
gun and shooting me. Right here on the street, in front of all of these people?
Or, maybe you have a knife?”

He
laughed. “I’m a priest. I’d think you’d feel safer with me than with anyone.”

“I
don’t know that you are a priest,” I said, moving in closer to his face.
“Where’s your collar.” I pointed to his neck. “Or have you since joined the
Navy? And I do know that you don’t work for John Carroll,” I said.

I
had finally got around to Googling him. I hate when people do that. Find out
your name and then Google it. But he knew where I lived. He knew about my work.
I needed to find out about him.

 “Now
you know my secret,” he said. “You want to tell me yours?” He stopped walking,
and stood there with his hands in his pocket.

“Uhm.
What I want is for you to leave me alone.”

“This
time I know that there is something more that you have. But you don’t have it
all yet.”

“All
of what?”

“Have
you ever read the Book of Enoch?”

“Yes.”

“The
Vedas?”

“Yes.”

“Very
old documents.”

“I
know.”

Why
would he mention those things to me? They were all the things that had been
included in that cryptic Sanskrit message. Perhaps he was the one trying to
warn me.

“None
of them have what you need. Enoch only tells the story of what he heard, and
what he saw. Not what he knew.”

“How
do you know what I need?” I asked.

“Tell
me, Dr. Dickerson, do you truly believe that ancient man’s advanced knowledge
was all from his own ability? That there weren’t any extraterrestrials that
came and impregnated the Neanderthal as you wrote in your book?”

“Is
there something you want to tell me?” I asked him, pointedly. “Why don’t you
just tell me what’s going on?”

“I
think perhaps you have things that you could tell me, Justin. May I call you
Justin?”

I
didn’t respond.

“I
think you may know more than me,” he said.

“And
what is it that you think I know?”

“The
truth. And I believe that you can uncover it all.”

“All
of what? I can’t uncover anything.”

“I
suspect you can.”

I
didn’t say anything. Could he know about man coming from Mars? Could he know,
from a source other than my book?

Nah.

He
couldn’t know. So, then maybe he wanted something else. Maybe I should be
afraid of this man. I stepped back from him.

He
smiled. “I’m a priest, remember? No need to feel afraid of me,” he said.

Evidently,
a mind-reading priest.

“Look,”
I said, undoing the belt on my coat and re-tying it tighter. “I don’t know what
you want. Or, for that matter, who you are, so I am going to end this
conversation now. Please, don’t bother me again.”

“You
must know that I am on your side. But there are others that might not be.”

Did
he know Professor Abelson?

“Did
you send me a message in Sanskrit?” I asked.

“No.
I don’t know Sanskrit. Why?”

“Just
wondering.”

“Dr.
Dickerson. I can help you get what you need.” He hesitated. “If you’ll let me,
but I can’t help you keep safe. You’ll have to do that on your own. Have you
seen that dark blue Taurus outside your house again?”

Without
acknowledging what he said, I turned to leave. He grabbed my arm and I pulled
away.

“Don’t,”
I said.

“I
know you didn’t get in to see the book at the Beinecke Library at Yale. And I
know the truth needs to be told. The world needs to know. We have to tell it.”

“We?”

“Yes.
We. It’s time for it all to come out and
we
. . .” he nodded his head
and lifted his eyebrows. “We need you to put all the pieces together and be the
one to tell it. We’re counting on you, Justin. There’s that seminar coming up
in Italy that I told you about the first time we met. Scholars – your peers –
are going to examine the Voynich Manuscript. I can still get you that
invitation.”

I
let out a long sigh and turned and walked – briskly – away from him. I just
wanted to get away from him.

What
was he talking about? Dr. Sabir had written that the answers were in the Book
of Enoch. Now this Nikhil Chandra seemed to allude to it being in the Voynich
Manuscript.  

Could
he really get me into the seminar? And even if he could, he couldn’t be sure
that if I had the Voynich Manuscript I’d know how to decipher it.

Yet
something shook inside of me, and then bubbled up and made my whole body tense.
It made me want so bad to turn back, run to him, and say,
“Yes! Get me in! I
want to go!”

But
I didn’t turn around.

Was
he still standing there? Was he following me? Who was it that he said I had to
keep myself safe from? Somebody in a blue Taurus?

And
now paranoia was starting to set in.

I
could have sworn that as I waited on the corner for the light to change, I saw
three dark blue Ford Tauruses pass by me. And the driver in each one of them
turned and looked at me.

Oh.
My. God.