Recluse:The Induction by Philip John Walibba
Chapter Six
Rodriquez ran back out on to the elegant praca Pio Street panting for breath. His encounter with the priest had more than convinced him of the afterlife but what gripped him most was the clergyman’s bizarre behavior. Rodriquez had been called many things in his lifetime but never before called deceased. Reaching out his bloodied hands, he felt for his face. It was intact and it still felt real. His entire body reeked from pain. What was even more startling, the man had tried to kill him.
The crazed man had spat at Rodriquez, turned pointing to the image in the mirror.
‘Your soul is not welcome in here Rodriquez, the crimes you committed are indeed grave, very grave!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Rodriquez still shaken had gone on to ask. The man with eyes wide had then paced across the full length of the room, stopped abruptly and said.
‘You came here seeking for answers didn’t you? Then listen carefully to what I have to say. Your soul is in grave danger Rodriquez. Once in millennia, a damned soul is given a temporary leave of punishment. You’re that soul. Hell’s armies will be unleashed to find you. A few souls here on earth are your guardians, your only hope, use them. But first, you must find them.’
With enlarged eyeballs, the priest had grabbed onto Rodriguez’ shoulders saying, ‘Trust no one because even amongst them, the enemy lurks. You must go from here Rodriquez, leave now. They are coming. It has begun!’
The man however, had underestimated the fury that burned inside Rodriquez.
He waved for a cab. A yellow Moto- taxi pulled over and he climbed into its rear. He guessed that by the time someone discovered the priest’s corpse, he would be long gone. Whipping blood off his chin, he stared down at the bloodied brown envelope in his hand. Rodriquez still couldn’t comprehend the mirror image he’d seen. He couldn’t imagine his Natalia trapped in another world.
'Where to Amigo?' The cab driver, a young man with ruddy features asked.
Rodriquez worryingly noticed that the young man repeatedly frisked his black messy curls with one arm while the other loosely clung onto the stirring wheel.
'Governor’s island police station.' Rodriquez answered in reply.
Rodriquez also noticed that the young man weaved through the Expressa Presidente João Goulart traffic like a formula one racer meanwhile his crinkled crack filled eyes kept constantly darting at Rodriquez through the rear-view mirror. Rodriquez stared right back. A sudden nervous expression flashed across the young man’s face as he floored the cab’s accelerator towards Ilha do Governador- Governor’s island-in the Guanabara Bay area.
Motioning to the cab driver to park at the back of the station, a relieved Rodriquez paid up, alighted and dashed through the gray metallic door. He flew down the stairs into the dimly lit deserted police basement that housed his locker. Undressing, he removed the phone from his trouser pocket placing it into his locker, dumped the bloodied black and white polka dot shirt and brown corduroy trousers into a bin before stepping into the shower. And as the cold sprinkles drained off his and the priest's blood, he saw in the mirror a different man. Stubble had sprouted all over his square jaws, neck and chin, and yes, he still carried the red and black escorpiao tattoo plastered on his right breast and still wore the two bullet scars on his torso but, the look in his eyes was different now, dark and narrow. He changed into the light blue Polícia Civil– Civil Police-uniform before sticking the Taurus pistol neatly into its holster. Next, he tore open the bloodied envelope retrieving its contents, a 32GB single white flash driver which he slipped into his front trouser pocket. Satisfied, he took the stairs before turning left where he was met by saddened and downcast faces from his unit.
The first to approach him was the Oficial de Cartório Policial -Police Crime Register Agent- Sergeant Marco Camargo, whose shaggy hair rested near his chin.
‘Am terribly sorry about Natalia, how are you holding up man?’ he asked shaking Rodriquez’ hands.
‘Thank you Marco, but am fine.’ Rodriquez replied in a low tone. From behind the Mahogany desk emerged Constable Miguel Santos, a shorter version of Sergeant Marco Camargo. He walked up to Rodriquez, his dark almond-shaped eyes downcast.
‘I’m sorry bro.’ he muttered sadly.
‘Am sorry too bro, but thank you.’
Santos was closely followed by Regina Guimaraes, her mud-brown eyes filled with tears. She ran up to Rodriquez hugging him tightly. Next was Perito Criminal-Criminal Expert – Constable Selton ‘Selli’ Mello, Larzaro Villar, Taís Santoro Ramos, Joao Batista da Rocha- a.k.a Alves, Ana Maria Varela, Inspetor de Polícia-Police Inspector- Almeida Pacheco, and finally his boss, Delegado- Police Delegate- Antonio Francisco Oliviera. All queued to offer their condolences as Rodriquez kept wiping tears off his forlorn face.
It was late evening when Antonio Francisco Oliviera dropped Rodriquez off at his house in the Jardim Guanabara neighborhood.
‘My advice to you son is that you take these next few days off,’ Antonio said, his bald head and no-nonsense facial expression examining Rodriquez, ‘Don’t you worry about the car you got vandalized, we are working out something to get you a replacement. But like I said to you earlier, don’t do anything stupid and if you need any help, call me.’
Antonio stepped back into the black and white striped Mobile forensic unit van as Rodriquez stood outside by his small metal gate and watched the van draw away. In his arms he held a lavishly decorated green ceramic urn containing Natalia’s ashes.