Monday, May 31, 2021

Introducing Arcadia's End

 



Hank entered the dusty bedroom to find a scene of chaos. Straight ahead of him, a woman lay choking, her laborious breathing raspy. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, heard the crackling of each gasp. The air around her quickened, warning of the suffocation that was imminent.

What in the fresh hell is this, He thought. 

"How long has she been sick?"

It was obvious the woman was seriously ill. A cancer patient or maybe tuberculosis. 

"Watch her very closely," Rodrigo said next to him. He had approached Hank at his office two days ago, begging for help from the private investigator 'who used to be a cop'. Of Hispanic descent, the young man was barely out of his teens yet hard labor had already lined his face and calloused his hands. Or maybe it was the stress. Hank knew about the stress. The past year had been nothing but one trouble after another. 

"Watch," Rodrigo whispered.

"Why?"

"It's being cut as we speak!" Rodrigo nearly screamed.

Hank studied her more closely. The dark bags under her sunken sockets gave the impression of being beaten. An observation that wasn't without credibility, he knew. He had noticed the bruising on her arms as soon as he entered. Rodrigo looked away quickly, a wry expression on his face. Suddenly, a  stream of chunky vomit exploded out of the woman. She moaned, half slumped out of the bed. She said something in what sounded like Spanish but Hank knew wasn't. It was an ancient dialect. It was Mayan. 

"You said a crime was being commited. Best I can tell, you're kicking her ass. Maybe I should run you in."

"It's not me!" Rodrigo cried. "The crime is happening right now, as we speak! Can't you see?" 

Hank turned on him. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

"Her hour is being cut," Rodrigo said slowly, as if to a child. "Once your hour is cut, there is nothing that can be done. I've seen it before. They just die."

"What does that mean?"

"She will be dead in a few weeks."

Hank shook his head. He felt a physical chill pass through him. He knew what Rodrigo was getting at. Descendant. A fallen deity was causing this woman to whither away.

"How do they do it?" He asked.

"I don't know and I don't want to know! I stay away from the Brujo."

"The Brujo."

"Yes."

"Can't you call a doctor?"

"For what? There is nothing a doctor can do. I stay away.  I don't want my hour cut too!"

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Hank asked, seething. "What did you hire me for?"

"Find him and stop him before it's too late! You know Descended, at least that's the rumor. You can help her! You must!"

Hank swept his gaze around the room, noting the static electricity in the air, the hair on his arms stood on end. He walked to the edge of the bed and put a hand on her forehead. She was burning up. 

"What's her name?"

"Olivetta."

He bent to her ear. "Olivetta, did a Descendant do this to you?"

Perspiration rolled off of her face as she nodded once and closed her eyes. She mumbled something under her breath. A chant or prayer, Hank couldn't tell. He felt dizzy as if her illness was catching. It had been this curious fact that had finally caused him to acquiesce and take Rodrigo's case. 

"Olivetta, which Descendant? What deity did this to you?"

"The Brujo," She whispered. "Ch'ul tot! Ch'ul ch'en! Ch'ul vita chopol tamjmec ali jcruntatique!"

Rodrigo screamed and covered his ears. His mouth uttering the words as they poured out of her. Hank looked from one to the other, incredulity in his features. He walked to the other side of the bed. As he did, her eyes never left him. He creaked open a window and threw back cream-colored shades.

"What did she say?" 

Rodrigo's distress spilled out in a loud, coughing sob. He whirled onto Hank and pulled him back by the shoulder. "It's not just a Brujo," He screamed. " He is here! It's J'ac'chamel!"

"Who?"

"J'ac'chamel is cutting her hour!"

"Who is that?"

"He is the giver of the process of death," Rodrigo said with sad finality. 

"And?"

"Nothing can be done. She will be gone soon."

"I'll check it out, Rodrigo. But you have to be straight with me. Is J'ac'chamel Descended?"

Rodrigo's manic eyes were glassy. He raised both hands as if to ward off an invisible attacker. He wiped his nose on his left sleeve then stared down at Olivetta who had succumbed to sleep.  

"J'ac'chamel has Descended. He lives and the Maya are without hope. The giver has come."

"Is it like magic?" Hank asked his mind suddenly on Hecate.

Rodrigo choked back a sob and wept into his hands. Hank turned and stared outside the tiny shack. His face betrayed none of the fear that he suddenly felt.