Black Angel The Passing - Chapter 3

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Aug 28, 2005
Hi Jinnie, thanks for posting a reply, Can you please let me know how to keep a thread open so I can keep posting chapters in one single post like you suggested.

Thank you

Mark Silgram

Okay, after a fast and furious second chapter, The Passing reveals more on what went on in chapter 1 while advancing the story a little further..

Alias Fans, if you can let me know which styles you prefer and which you may think I'm better writing at, including any thoughts and feelings on this chapter it will be much appriciated.

Thank you


Black Angel - by Mark Silgram

The Passing – Chapter 3

Fontevrault Abbey, France.

John Wood slowly inhaled the pure crisp air, looking out over the valley far below. Snow sparkled in the early morning sun, sprinkled on trees like caster sugar. His fingers cold, sticking to the ice coated wooden barrier; he exhaled his throat tingling with ice, feeling purified. Only sound, the wind swirling, jabbing him with its icy fingers. Taking off his snow coat, he wrapped it around his shivering sister; Maria.
Guilt spreading through out, her gaunt face, she looked into his,
‘John, I’m…’
‘Maria; you need to stay warm.’

Fingers squeezing his, the sunrise bathing them in a warm cleansing glow, she ushered,
‘John it is so be beautiful up here. It’s made these last few months……..’ her voice tailed off.
Hugging her, feeling her shaking he whispered into her ear,
‘Our father would have been so proud of you Maria, your strength, your courage….’

A shadow of deep sadness passed over his face, voice quivering,
‘……I just wanted to…I’ll find a cure Maria.’
She pulled away and wiped a tear from his face with an icy finger,
‘Stop John, please stop punishing your self….you’ve already given me so much more.’

Pulling away, she dove a hand into her snow coat and pulled out a small silver weather beaten sphere,
Her English rose cheeks, a smudge of brown birthmark glowing, she passed it to him.
Opening the sphere; his heart leapt upwards, clawing at his throat,
‘Where‘d you get this?’
Sniffing a laugh, Maria said
‘Well…….five months ago before I became ill. During that; heat wave in May.
Paul and me; decided to take a picnic to the Lake mum and dad took us to every summer…….’ Snow tumbled off her boot ‘because it was sweltering hot…..I suggested a swim. Within seconds Paul had pushed me in and that’s when my toe hit something round and metal’ she then shrugged a ‘the rest is history’.
Jaw aching grin he spurted a suppressed laugh. Opening the sphere, he took out a solid silver figure of Richard the Lion Heart.
Resting on the barrier; Maria sucked in buckets of oxygen,
‘We were just kids back then when we found it. ‘She took out a bottle of water, from his rucksack taking a big swig,
‘You were always the historian John’ she said dryly, passing him the bottle.

Wiping the lip, a habit since childhood, barely containing his excitement he said,
‘During the third crusade, Richard I, or ‘Richard the Lion Heart’ as history fondly remembers him as; journeyed to the Holy Land earning great valour for his successes against Saladin. On his return home he was captured by an old enemy; Henry VI of Germany. There he stayed, a prisoner; until he barely regained enough strength to escape. Badly wounded and exhausted he found himself at this very Abbey. Monks sensing he was close to death battled to sustain him for several days before he started slipping in and out consciousness. Later historians would debate if he did indeed slip into a feverish dream. But the myth goes. An angel visited him; giving him a choice; the gift of life in exchange for protecting a box ‘The Foreshadow.’

Studying engravings on the sphere, he placed it roughly in the snow, pulling out a piece of carbon paper, crouching down grasshopper style he started to make a rubbing,
‘Years ago, twenty to be exact I came across a piece of manuscript, the night my Special Operations team assisted Detective Inspector Jack Thornton……….


Police sirens groping the night like a dirty old man in massage parlour, John’s boots splashed in the mud, pelting towards the house, more police cars skidded to a halt just behind him. Officers jumping out carrying shot guns. Keying his radio he barked orders,
‘Delta teams one and two secure the perimeter’ frantic shouting, swirling of wind then static,
‘This is Black Rook, roger that’
‘This is Unicorn; radio that White Knight; team is in place, awaiting further orders over’

John, looking down the sights of his sweeping Berretta, wind slapping his face like a scorned woman, watched in gut retching horror; flames pluming out of a window instantly engulfing James McDonald a young enthusiastic police officer of Delta Team one. James’s petrified screams stabbing John’s heart he raced over to him, but within seconds the terrified officers legs gave way, legs melting into mush, bubbling skin dripping into the ice coated mud. John grasping James’s hands, he desperately tried to pull him up, wispy almost liquidly charcoal smoke billowing around them. Sweat glistening on his brow he felt James’s finger nails digging into his palms, before his hands bubbled and eventually melted into an oily black liquid.

John all the while keeping assuring eye contact, watched helplessly as
James slipped away, the last image to haunt him until the day he died, that of the officers exposed pumping veins arteries, blood rapidly draining being replaced by a black liquid substance, his petrified eyeballs finally bursting; his life; gone.

The ground rumbled under John’s feet as a blazing apple tree, groaned plummeting down onto another frightened Operations officer, Fred Lambert, driving him down full force towards the cruel solid ground, his head bouncing with sickening crack.
John looked to his left; to see a long time drinking buddy; Tom; desperately pumping the air with ear piecing blasts of his shotgun seconds before his chest violently exploded spraying John’s face with sticky blood. Bursts of roaring fire briefly lit up the muddy field. Swarm’s of his once rational men, now screaming in terror pummelling the earth with bullets. Utter blooded carnage lay before him; his men completing John’s horror, like rapid wolfs; his colleagues, turned viciously on each other.

His radio slippery between his fingers, he roughly thumped the button, throat dry he horsed,
‘Delta team one can you read me…..’ static, faint whispers of souls in pain, inhuman screams ‘….Unicorn please respond over’ cry’s of intense pain ‘for god sakes….Black Rook respond!’
With each passing second he felt his chest tighten. He now felt totally alone.

Unearthly darkness clinging, faint whips of unearthly smoke, wafting around him, knees buckling he thudded to the ground, clasping his ears. Feeling excruciating burning pain, he deathly heard; sounds of children not screaming, not crying; but singing. His eyes feeling like; someone was sticking white hot burning needles into his eyeballs. For the briefest of seconds, could have been longer, he could see a sun dial and six children all dressed in Quaker style clothing, all holding hands circling it, singing,
‘….ring a ring a roses…pocket full of poses…’

Then nothing but the sound of falling rain and the crackling of fire, his radio burst to life, a familiar voice,
‘White Knight…..this is Blue Two, please respond over’
Staggering to his feet he crocked,
‘This is White Knight…reading you loud and clear please state your position over’
‘White Knight, I have the girl in my arms, we’re approaching the roof, switch to protocol Alpha 17, over’
Swinging his binoculars towards the roof he could just make out a tiny figure running to the edge of the building; built in the Stuart era;
‘Copy that Blue Two’ John feeling a fresh surge of life coursing through his veins keyed his radio and barked,
‘Black Rook if you can read me, Delta team one is down I repeat; team one is own, if you can read me, initiate protocol Alpha 17, over.’

Stealing a second for himself he looked up skywards, rain splashing his eyes; gritting his teeth, he waited.

Thanking god for mercy his radio sizzled to life, a deep plum voice spoke,
‘White Knight this is Black Rook forming a human net now; over’
Bursts of flames, roaring of wind he watched two tiny figures tumbling through the air, before being cushioned by Delta team.

Watching Jack Thornton staggering towards him, the house behind them; violently shook,
‘Move move, move the buildings going to’
A flash of white light, the ground shook with cruel malevolent force, a deafening explosion, the building curved, blasting outwards, raining bricks and glass. The shocking force of the explosion flung John’s twisting body, driving him to the ground, face smacking into the wet icy grass. Every single bone aching he staggered to his feet. Resting for a moment, hands on knees spitting a wad of sputum, his throat feeling scratchy, he watched for a second, Jack carrying Angela safely in his arms, when a charred piece of paper fluttered in the air before landing on the ground in front of him. Curious he picked it up, the jagged half burnt page, studying it; he relished, the page, wasn’t made of paper but of an aged old cloth; parchment.

The page consisted of equations, ancient text and future dates written in spidery handwriting. His fingers moved to radio this ‘evidence’ in; when he stopped. Shadow passing over his face he looked harder at the page, heart plunging towards his stomach, his head dizzy with shock; one name in a jumble of ancient equations; Maria.

Maria crouched beside him and said softly,
‘John what date is it today?’
John, barely registering her; his eyes fixated, continued rubbing furiously,
‘Hmm; 6th October; why?’
She put a comforting hand on his,
‘Ten years this day; ten years when she left you standing at the’
Spittle flying out of his mouth, he gripped her shoulders tight, anger burning in his eyes, he spat
‘I’m not one of those people you counsel at the Bureau and psycho analyze. You know nothing Maria. You can’t imagine how I feel. How I felt. So don’t pretend you do!’

Hands dangling, arms resting on the wooden barrier he blew through his teeth before sighing heavily. His chest tightened; to say he was sorry for his outburst wouldn’t even be nearly enough to dampen the pain he just caused her. And he was sorry, very sorry.
‘Maria; I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I apologise, please forgive me….’ He left the sentence hanging in the air wishing he used it to hang himself with it.
From the corner of his eye he watched a wad of spit dangle for a split second from her mouth, before plummeting into the valley way below them.

She turned to look at him, mischievous grin on her face,
‘Not done that since Danny Briscoe tried to ‘gold fish’ kiss me behind the bike sheds at school.’ They both laughed, the ice truly broken.
‘I’m glad you didn’t hold back John; it makes me feel…well normal…like this illness isn’t a part of me’
He turned to face her, smiling more broadly than a Southerner. Folding the sheet of carbon paper, he took out the charred manuscript,
‘For ten years now, both me and Jack have searched for the sphere of Richard I; known to follows as ‘The Fore coming’ pooling our savings into hiring a professional team of divers to comb that Lake; yet still we didn’t find anything’

Holding both pages for Maria to see he overlapped them, her eye twinkling with
A flicker of a flame; inscribing on the rubbing; not only matched the parchment but; revealed more.
Looking up skywards; hot bubbles of excitement mixing with anxiety of the unknown, bile fluffing at the back of his throat; looking up he noticed the starting of an ellipse.
‘Maria the manuscript refers to a single moment in time not far from now. The ellipse has started so we don’t have much time; Maria; I need you to trust me…….’
‘Of course I trust you John; you’re my brother.’
He crouched down and started to clear the ground of snow,
‘Suppose Maria, your illness is linked to the sphere, somehow’

She crouched back down feeling compelled to help; it felt natural; clearing a section of snow she revealed a straight line burnt into old wooden beams, a knot in her stomach growing into a burning ball of terrifying dread.
‘I can feel it John, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before; but the truth is I’ve always felt it; drawing to me. The first nightmare I can remember having as a little girl over and over was seeing a sphere and a sun dial. I’m scared….’ The last of the snow cleared, they both stood up, and found themselves standing in the middle of a gigantic ancient hexagon, burnt into the floor of the abbey. Single tear trickled down her harrowed face as a knife edge drew a bead across her exposed skin drawing flushes of blood.
‘I’m so frightened John; because I know; what I’ve always known. The passing; is inevitable.’


Chronic Lurker
Aug 23, 2003
Aurora, CO
I also closed the chapters in General Fiction - you only need to post in one area.

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