Chapter 10 Memory Of The Dead

• Liam’s ragged breathing gradually turned soft and shallow as the old scenes played right before his eyes like a flashback.
• It was midday, and the bishop was leaning over the washbasin, his wrinkly hand pressed against the tap for support. He was coughing uncontrollably and spitting out blood all over the gray ceramic as he struggled to breathe.
• “Father, are you alright?” One of the nuns asked.
• “Maybe we should fetch a doctor for you. Things are getting worse,” a young priest standing beside her added.
• The old bishop spat out another blob of blood and finally took a deep breath. His shaky arm slipped from the tap and slapped the washbasin’s smooth countertop.
• Still trembling from the ordeal, he slowly looked up and saw his face in the mirror. For a moment, his resolve trembled as he looked into the bloodshot eyes of his reflection, but he quickly made the cross with his shaky fingers.
• “The Lord shall protect me, my child. There is no need to panic,” he said, splashing cold water on his face and washing his bloodied lips. “This is merely a test of my faith, and I am confident that I can… see this through.”
• But the priest still seemed perturbed by what he had seen.
• “Father, your condition is deteriorating quickly. First, it was the rash, then came the fever, and now the blood. Surely, you realize this is taking a turn for the worse,” he said in an anxious voice.
• The bishop smiled at him and replied as gently as always, “Perhaps this is a punishment for my sins. If the Lord wishes to test me, then I will bear my cross like a faithful lamb.”
• “But you could at least consult a doctor.”
• “And what good would that do, my dear brother?” he asked. “This illness has no cure. The best hospitals in the country have been trying to treat it, but they all say they can only provide supportive care.”
• “I think it’s just a bad case of the flu,” the nun joined in, trying to lighten their worries.
• But the priest wasn’t convinced.
• “I know what a flu looks like. This is different,” he replied and turned to the bishop. “He has already lost the natural color of his cheeks, and his eyes are sunken in their sockets. This is no flu.”
• The bishop breathed a sigh and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “I will be fine. Perhaps all I need is some good rest and faith.”
• Liam watched like a silent spectator as the bishop lay down on his bed and spent the afternoon tossing and turning like a fever-ridden leper.
• As he moved around, the bedsheet seemed to hurt his skin, and he started scratching his rashes. Soon, it got so bad that he clenched his teeth and groaned in agony.
• When the bishop finally got up from his bed in the evening, he took a nice, cold shower, and that seemed to eventually ease his suffering. He then changed into a new set of robes and put on his rosary before heading into the prayer hall again.
• As the bishop knelt to offer his prayer to the Lord, a stranger dressed in a black suit and red tie walked into the church, carrying a black briefcase.
• “Good evening, Father. How goes the day?”
• The bishop turned around and smiled politely. “Good evening, my child. Everything is in perfect order.”
• “It doesn’t look that way,” the stranger replied, taking off his black aviators. “You are sick, and the infection is spreading fast.”
• “This too shall pass,” the bishop replied, forcing a smile. “We must all have faith in the Lord.”
• “Or maybe you should have faith in modern medicine,” the stranger retorted. “You can continue praying, but prayers alone won’t heal you. This infection has already claimed three hundred lives all across the country, and only a handful are showing signs of recovery.”
• “I understand your concern, and thank you for your kindness, but there is no cure for this disease. It is just another modern mystery for which science has no answer,” the bishop replied. “My dear sister works at a hospital, and she already told me they don’t even know what caused this infection in the first place.”
• “She is right, but that doesn’t mean there is no cure,” the stranger replied and put his briefcase down on the pew. With a couple of precise clicks, he opened it, revealing a dozen glass vials filled with a strange blue liquid. “The hospitals may not have access to it, but this right here is the cure.”
• The bishop stared at the vials and the long syringe cushioned between them.
• “What is this?” he asked suspiciously.
• “An experimental antidote. Something that can ease the symptoms and destroy the infection at its root.”
• Still skeptical, the bishop shifted his gaze from the briefcase to the stranger in the suit. “Why don’t you offer this cure to the hospitals instead? Wouldn’t that save many more lives?”
• “This was meant to be a secret. The antidote is still in its testing phase, and the clinical trials won’t be complete even by the end of this month. It’s going to take at least half a year for it to hit the market,” the stranger replied.
• “Then why are you offering it to me so readily?” the bishop asked.
• “Because you have always been kind to me, Father. Your flock needs you, and I would hate to see anything happen to you during these difficult times.”
• The bishop's easy mannerisms and relaxed expression indicated that this stranger was a familiar face, and he had known him for quite a long time.
• Still, the very thought of injecting himself with a strange substance filled him with worry. Something about it just didn’t feel right.
• “I think it is best if you leave me to my fate. My job is to serve my Lord faithfully and protect my flock,” he replied. “I thank you for your kindness, but I prefer to suffer like the common folk instead of trying to outrun my fate.”
• “And what happens when you die?” the stranger cut in sharply. “There will be no one left to tend to your flock, then. The town of Black Spring will fall into chaos only because you are too self-righteous to accept my help.”
• “It’s not—”
• “I will leave it here, just in case you change your mind. And please remember to inject it into your arm. Dark days are coming, and this town will need a guardian.”
• With those final words, the stranger strutted off and disappeared into the mellow dusk.
• Still skeptical about this new antidote, the bishop was about to close the briefcase and put it away when he was suddenly seized by a fit of painful convulsions.
• His eyes bulged outward, and a rabid hunger made him grind his teeth.
• “No! Stop it!”
• He screamed, scratching the wooden pew and stomping his leg like a wild beast.
• When the seizure finally passed, the bishop was drenched in sweat and foaming at his mouth. His whole body had tensed up, and he could hear his heart hammering inside his chest.
• In a fit of desperation, the bishop turned around and grabbed the syringe filled with the same green antidote and pulled off the blinding cap.
• A searing pain suddenly shot through his neck, and he fell to his knees, wheezing uncontrollably. Blood mixed with saliva dripped from his mouth as he bent down.
• “Lord, please have mercy!”
• He cried, injecting the needle into his left arm.