The Church Read online

  The Church

  by

  Wisdom King

  Copyright © 2017 by Wisdom King.

  For more information about the author, write to the author from [email protected].

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  ”I can’t breathe...” she thought, her eyes fixed to the cold white fixtures before her.

  The ceiling of the hospital was a stark white. The long fluorescent lights created dashes across her vision, making it seem as if she was looking down on the white dashes on the highway as the car drives fast through the road. The thought nearly lulled her to sleep.

  “Don’t sleep, dear. Come on, stay with me.” One of the nurses mumbled as they sped through hallway after hallway.

  I can’t breathe.

  Her body was contracting. Every nerve within her being felt like exploding. Not a single pore in her cells could get a gasp of air.

  Tell me it’s just a dream...

  With the little energy she had left in her bones, she fished a small slip of paper from her pocket. It was crumpled and some of the ink was smudged. In a panicked frenzy, her hands found themselves fumbling through the railings of the bed, looking for a friendly hand. She reached for the palms of a young woman. Her head snapped back to look at the patient’s face

  “Calm down, dear. You’re going to be fine.” She whispered near her face.

  Disgruntled as she was, she knew she was far from fine. Nothing felt right. Everything was out of place and her mind was racing – wondering – if she would ever see the light of day again.

  “Please.” She managed to croak out from her rusted throat. Her whole body started to tremble. The very air of the hospital felt too constricting for her troubled lungs. Insistently, she pushed the slip of paper against the hand of the nurse. “Please...” A tear ran down the side of her cheek. All she could see were troubled faces looming over her limp body.

  Everything hurts...

  The nurse took the piece of paper and shoved it deep into the pocket of her scrubs.

  “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry, okay?”

  That was the last thing she heard before the world went black.

  ”We’re losing her!” The doctor howled as he tried to hold down the patient. The beeps were getting faster and panic was beginning to set in the intern’s system.

  “What the fuck do I do?!” She thought as she turned the patient to her side. The edges of her mouth were foaming up and her eyes were rolled back. The scene, to the young woman in her inexperienced scrubs, was all too frightening. The patient was shaking all over

  “Nurse! What are the symptoms?” An older woman in her 40’s looked down at her notes.

  “Seizures, loss of consciousness. On the way here, we noted that she had difficulty breathing.”

  “Her skin is red.” Another nurse said as she inspected the patient. “...very red.”

  “Shit.” The doctor whispered under his breath. “We need to get a blood sample. Keep her steady.”

  “You there!” He said to the young intern. “Hand me a syringe, please.” She hurriedly grabbed an unopened pack of needles and a small syringe and fixed it up. With nervous hands, she handed it over to the doctor.

  “Alright...steady...” He said as he pushed the needle through the layers of the patient’s skin. As it found its way through her veins, the patient started panting like a dog on a hot, summer day. Each gasp sounded more painful than the one before. Lucidly, she started slurring out incoherent sentences one after the other, trying to stitch together a complete thought, only for the words to end up in a big pile of nonsense before her. After drawing a few milligrams of blood, the doctor handed the syringe over to the young woman.

  “You know what to do.” She carefully took the device in her hands and transferred the contents in a tiny vial and labeled it. In a frenzy, the young woman ran down the quiet halls of St. Peter’s Hospital. As she was about to reach the end of the hallway, she heard it. It was a long, dragging note, piercing through the quiet of the night. Her heels ran as fast as they could until she reached the lab. She handed over the vial to one of the specialists in charge and looked at the clock hanging just above her head.

  It was 1:54 A.M.

  “Fuck.” She whispered. From the end of the hall, she heard the muffled sound of the doctor trying to revive the dead patient in Room 36. She was 20 feet away from the room but somehow, she could hear the defibrillator’s zaps, the doctor’s agitated commands, and the sound of her own pulse going berserk. It was her first night on call, and by the grace of the Devil, someone is already hanging on the brink of death.

  “We’ll send the results back as fast as we can, Cheryl.” One of the specialists told her. She gave him a quick nod before heading back into the patient’s room.

  What she saw inside the room was the abhorrent image of death. As she stood there by the door, she could see the woman lying down with her blouse halfway open and the doctor putting the defibrillator back in place. Her mouth was stuck in a half-opened state and her eyes were only halfway closed. Her skin was still a bit red all over and the expression that was permanently etched on her face as she laid there was full of pain. With a sigh, the doctor glanced at his watch.

  “Time of death, 2:10 AM.” He said before walking out the room in disappointment. The older nurse wrote the time down on the chart before placing it back on the bed.

  “Cheryl, tell Ralph to bring her down to the morgue.” She placed a gentle hand on her arm before walking out the room with the other nurse on duty. The young intern was left with the dead body of a woman that no one has ever seen nor heard of before. She whispered a light prayer over the dead body.

  She walked over to the end of the bed and picked up the patient’s chart. All of the necessary questions have been filled out - all but one: the patient’s name. She took a gander at her face again. She had a pretty face, with kind green eyes, full lips, and just a hint of freckles, artfully dusted across her cheeks. She remembered how those green eyes cried as they rushed her into the emergency room. She remembered how her trembling hand reached for hers as she struggled to draw her breath. She remembered how her lips contorted in pain as she tried to utter her last words.

  Pushing the thoughts away, the intern cupped the patient’s pockets in search for any proof of her identity. After a few moments of fumbling, she fished out the woman’s wallet from the backside of her jeans. Inside were a couple of banknotes, a driver’s license and a few receipts from 711.

&n
bsp; She looked back at the stiff in front of her. She raised her hands to shut the patient’s eyes before mumbling a quiet prayer.

  “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you...” As the holy words slithered from her tongue, all she could see was the desperation in the woman’s face, how she begged as she handed her the slip of paper.

  The paper! How could I forget about the paper?

  After giving a solemn “Amen,” she drew from her pocket the small, scrunched up piece of paper. Written in faded blue ink was a couple of digits and what seems to be a name of a church. She’s heard it before. Any religious practitioner knows the church by name. Her mind wandered through the endless possibilities that could emerge from the messily written text between her fingers. By habit, she walked around the room in an anxious pace, debating whether or not she should dial the number.

  “Please...”

  She tried to push the thought away.

  “Please...” A tear ran down the side of her cheek.

  After a few minutes of pondering, she decided to put her foot down. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and with a deep breath, she punched in the digits.

  The phone rang.

  The phone rang a second time.

  Then, a deep voice answered.

  “Hello?”

  Chapter One

  “Hello?” A young man slurred. With a disgruntled sigh, he sat at the edge of the bed and tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes. His head was pounding, his back hurt, and his throat felt drier than the Sahara. Exhausted, he glanced at the clock beside his bed.

  “Good morning, sir. Is this an inconvenient time?” A small voice chirped from the end of the line.

  “It’s 2 AM. You judge.”

  “I’m sorry...I’ll make this quick...umm...” She mumbled. Agitated, Kane Bamidele abruptly stood up from the bed and walked over to the window a few feet in front of him. He sat on the chair by the window and fished a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. It was a small room, with a lamp hanging low from the ceiling. The green wallpaper on the walls was starting fade and flake off on the edges. The floor was an artful mess of old wood, covered by a large, wine-stained carpet. The single light that illuminated the room came from the small bay window facing the buzzing streets of the city

  “Hold on, who’s calling?” He said as he raised one crushed cigarette to his lips.

  “Cheryl. I’m a nurse from St. Peter’s Hospital.” She mumbled. He took the cigarette out his mouth and ran a hand down his face in frustration. His head was becoming too heavy for his body.

  “Look, Cheryl. I am one conversation away from throwing myself off a goddamn cliff. If this is another one of those –“

  “Sir, do you know a woman named Marisol Campbell?” She cut him off.

  He paused, not knowing how to respond. Marisol’s face flashed before his eyes as the nurse muttered her name. He could feel the tension in the woman’s voice. He recalled the last time he talked to Marisol – how he had cut her off and disregarded her. Two weeks ago while he was at work, busy sorting through file after file, he received a persistent call from her. Now, hearing this woman utter her name in such a manner that would make anyone fear for it, his mind can’t help but wonder.

  “Kane...I need your help...” She whispered.

  “Marie, I don’t really have time for this.” He said as he scanned through paper after paper.

  “Kane, this is very...very important.”

  “I know what this is. It’s another one of your tin-foil hat experiments. Didn’t I tell you to keep your nose off that nonsense?” He laughed as he flipped through another folder.

  “You don’t understand, Kane. I –“. From the other side of the line, he heard the faint voice of a man.

  “Marisol?” She was covering the mouth of the phone, muffling the sounds of her conversation with the mystery man on the other side. After a few moments, she took her hand off the phone.

  “Kane. Something big will happen soon – and I mean really soon – and I need you in on the frontline of it. I know you’re busy and I know you think I’m going over my head right now, but please. I am asking you as a friend. Will you please...please help me?”

  He stayed silent.

  “Kane?”

  “Hey, I’m gonna have to call you back. I’ll give you my response in a few days. Just wait for my call.”

  “Listen –“

  He ended the call.

  That was the last he heard of her.

  “What happened?” He could feel his pulse going wild beneath his skin. Anxiety was beginning to settle in his system. Marisol Campbell is an impulsive woman, capable of things that any person with a sane mind shouldn’t do. She picks up the scent of trouble almost every single time she walks out of the door, and like an excited puppy, she runs after it uncontrollably.

  “She was taken to the ER about an hour ago by a total stranger,” Cheryl muttered nervously.

  “And?”

  “She didn’t make it.”

  “Marisol Campbell was once an impulsive woman, capable of things any person with a sane mind shouldn’t do.” He thought as he dropped the cigarette to the floor.

  “FUCK!” HE SCREAMED as loud as his lungs could manage. A few pedestrians walking on the sidewalk jumped in surprise as he repeatedly hit his head against the steering wheel, causing his old Honda to honk incessantly with each smack against the horn. It wasn’t until an old lady knocked on his car window did he stop.

  He looked at the time on the dashboard. It was near 3 AM. “Have I been doing that the whole time?” He thought. Powerless, he threw his head back against the car seat and shut his eyes. It all seemed to go by so fast. One moment he was singing in an intoxicated slur in a bar downtown, the next moment, he gets a phone call telling him that one of his closest friends just died.

  How could I let her go alone?

  As if a spite from God, heavy drops of rain suddenly started pelting down his windshield, comically matching with his disposition. As he sat there in the comfort of his car watching each drop race down the glass, he remembered two weeks ago like it was just yesterday. He heard the desperation in her voice, and he chose to ignore it.

  Some weeks ago, Marisol called him up at work. She said it was urgent news. In an excited voice, she relayed the information about a project she was working on solo. Kane thought nothing of it. To him, journalists always have a nose for things that are half the time not even there to begin with. Marisol was an impulsive, headstrong woman who would do anything to unearth secrets that no one even dared to think were even true. And that, even to a seasoned private investigator like Kane, was nonsense.

  Being a low life PI was the only way he could make a living now...if it can be called a living. With his brawny figure and intimidating stature, Kane Bamidele has been dubbed as a man to be feared in the force while he was a police officer. He was constantly putting his partners in danger. He toppled down case after case with such recklessness that even his superiors thought it was best to let him go, not only for the safety of his colleagues but also for his own.

  This took a huge toll on his record and he blames it on the one thing that has led him to the position he is in right now. Kane is one of the less than 400 people diagnosed with an extremely rare disease called the Urbach – Wiethe Syndrome, which has damaged a considerably large amount of his amygdale during his childhood. This untreatable disease has rendered him immune to almost everything frightening. Bugs, horror movies, and even the mere thought of death doesn’t faze him. This, along with his innate aura of intimidation, has made him a force to be reckoned with in his four years as an officer.

  However, this feat also led to his inevitable downfall. Two years after being promoted to a detective, working in organized crime, he was dismissed from the force. During one encounter with a known drug lord in the Upper West side, he broke into the apartment alone, nearly killing himself and the prime suspect in the process. This is only the tip of the iceberg in his book. He also has
a handful of police brutality cases on his record and a reputation for cutting corners. His bravery and recklessness eventually paved his way into the world of private investigation - with the help of a couple of his friends, of course. With the majority of his contacts being journalists, these people became his meal tickets. They led him into jobs that no one dared to take and he gave them results in return. To Kane, no stone should be left unturned when it comes to business – but only the type of business that matters to him.

  “And look where it got her.” Frustrated at the thought, he turned the keys in the ignition and drove off to the hospital. After chugging down a quarter of can beer, he had agreed to meet Cheryl by the emergency entrance of St. Peter’s. Amidst the chaos in his mind, he tried to recollect his troubled thoughts. Bits and pieces of the night before popped into his head. He remembered Freddy, his long-time friend and now co-worker, calling him up at 10 in the evening, telling him in a drunken haze to “get his black ass to The Barracks because the party is lit.” Despite the despair settling within the pit of his stomach, Kane laughed.

  Freddy had always wanted to own a drinking bar, and now, after a mere 5 years of backbreaking work, he finally opened his first one: The Barracks. It was a small establishment situated under an apartment building in downtown New York, and what Kane saw inside by the time he got there that night was the epitome of your typical American party lifestyle. Booze was overflowing, the smell of cigars was in hanging in the air, and left and right, there was some couple making out. The bar now felt like a world away, and that glorious night, barely a few hours ago, now felt like a hundred years past.

  After a few minutes of driving through the light 3 AM traffic, he finally reached the hospital. Standing by the large entryway to the emergency room was a small woman, with her hair tucked neatly into a bun. She wore clothes that looked as if they were a day old and her face was a deathly pale color. With a grunt, Kane picked up the jacket resting on the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. He splashed through the puddles as he ran towards the entrance.