Danny Tobey - The Faculty Club

He placed his hand on Sarah’s forehead and whispered to himself, eyes closed.

Then he looked over at another figure, in golden robes. It was Bernini.

He whispered into Bernini’s ear. Bernini nodded, then cupped Sarah’s face in his hand.

“Why did you come?” he asked her, shaking his head. “We would have let you live. You realize that, don’t you? Now we have to harm you.” Bernini frowned, disgusted. “We are not barbarians.”

I raised the crowbar in my hands like a baseball bat. One good swing, I thought. But I’d have to cross the length of the altar first, in plain view. Even if I made it, what then? I was outnumbered. Helpless.

Sarah moved so quickly she caught the henchmen off guard. She broke free with her right arm and landed a punch across Bernini’s face.

“I know exactly what you are,” she spat.

He nearly collapsed. The man was eighty years old, for God’s sake.

With everyone watching Bernini, I took a careful step, crowbar in hand, toward the machine.

Bernini brought a finger to his lip and inspected the blood.

He sighed.

“It’s okay,” he said to her gently. “I understand.”

The priest lit the silver box. There was a cascade of red sparks, and then a plume of smoke and salmon light burst through carved inscriptions. It was on a chain, being swept back and forth by the cruel-voiced priest. The light reflected on his cold eyes. The smell hit me-acrid smoke with strange spices. The priest was chanting to himself and swinging the box.

The light grew, and the half-dressed men surrounding us began pounding their drums. The women dancers advanced from the shadows and began their wild movements. I saw whipping hair and spinning bodies.

“Is he ready?” Bernini asked, looking at John on the slab, naked and bound.

John went crazy, thrashing against the chains on his arms and legs. One of the thugs put his weight on a lever, pulling the chains tight and pinning John to the stone.

A loose rock cracked under my foot.

Shit.

I jumped off-course into a shadow.

The priest dipped two fingers into the box and painted a bright stripe of ash across John’s forehead. He did the same to Bernini. Smoke was filling the room. The ash reflected the light. I could barely see through the haze. I moved behind a column and came face to face with a masked figure with no eyes. I swung the crowbar toward his skull.

Just before contact, I saw it was a statue. One inch from breaking my wrists and bringing the entire V &D down on me. The drumming grew louder. Gears were turning inside the machine. Leather belts threaded the wheels and pulleys, pulling the jointed arms in competing directions, making them twist and bend in a skeletal dance.

The men pushed Sarah toward a wooden pole. The sun pole, Isabella had called it, linking the sky to the underworld. They tied Sarah’s arms behind her, binding her to the pole. She was in the center of hell. Bernini spoke to her soothingly. “An animal is sufficient… truly… a lamb… or a goat… But…” A cold chill ran down my spine. “Only because you’re here…” He shook his head. “Only because you’ve left us no choice…”

Oh, God, no.

He smiled sadly. “I would not have you die for nothing.”

“You son of a bitch,” Sarah yelled.

The medieval executioner turned his knife to her.

I broke into a run.

The executioner lifted the blade over his head.

Point-down toward Sarah’s heart.

One push… I thought, running…

The priest tossed his head back and howled.

… one push… crowbar through the gears…

He raised his arms and a stream of light shot above him.

… shove it right through the spokes…

The priest nodded and the executioner brought down the knife.

It cut through the air.

I screamed-louder than I imagined possible, from someplace deep inside-a guttural NO that cut through the room and echoed back from every stone. The executioner froze, his knife just above her neck, my crowbar less than a hair from the central spinning gear. My voice shook with fury. “Let her go,” I shouted, “or so help me God I will kill you all.” Our eyes were locked. Nobody dared move.

There was silence in the room now.

The dancers crouched on the ground, feral, their long wet hair stuck to their faces. The drummers were still.

I saw the stare of masks from all sides.

A hundred lifeless faces accusing me.

“If you hurt her,” I said, “you all die.”

My words echoed.

Bernini came at me, hand up, palm forward. Caution! it said. You have no idea what you’re doing…

“Stay back,” I yelled.

The medieval men were inching closer from all sides.

“STAY BACK. ALL OF YOU.”

I pressed the crowbar against the spinning metal, just slightly-a stream of sparks shot out. The gear slowed almost imperceptibly, but the second it did, the room filled with unbearable screaming from the masked figures below me. Bernini’s face rippled with pain. He let out a terrible squealing noise as if I were twisting a knife between his ribs. The screams came from all around me, hundreds of voices. Stop, Bernini cried.

I pulled the crowbar back, horrified.

For a moment he just stood there, catching his breath. He coughed a few times, a wounded, rattling cough. Then he looked at me with those penetrating eyes. I thought of the first day of school. He looked fragile, and above all else, tired.

“Let her go,” I said to him.

“If I do,” Bernini said quietly, “you will hurt the machine.”

“If you don’t, I’ll destroy it.”

“No,” he said, “you won’t. You’d have nothing left to bargain with.”

“So what? You’ll all be dead.”

He shook his head. “Not fast enough to save her.”

The executioner leaned into Sarah and pulled up slightly against her neck with the knife.

“So you see,” Bernini said. “We have a stalemate.”

For once, I was a step ahead of him.

“Not exactly,” I said.

I raised the crowbar, ready to press it forward and slow the gears again.

Bernini raised his eyebrows, unsurprised.

So calm. Like he knew what I was thinking before I did.

“You’ll torture us, then?” he asked mildly.

I nodded. “If you make me.”

“We won’t let her go, Jeremy. You know we can’t. You’d only be torturing us for sport.”

I hated this man! How could he be so sure I was bluffing?

“We’ll see about that,” I heard myself say.

To my own shock, I shoved the crowbar forward and slowed the wheel.

Bernini’s head jerked back and his eyes rolled up. He cried out. His torso twisted and he fell forward on his knees. His arms locked in rotation, one inward, one outward. Veins popped up along his skin.

Shrieks, from around the room-hundreds of terrible cries.

I felt a wave of horror. And at the same time, I felt powerful. I loved her. They wanted to murder her. Was I wrong to do this? Was I wrong to stop?

I pulled the crowbar off the wheel and the screams stopped instantly. The pain was unnatural, and it vanished with unnatural speed.

“Let her go,” I cried, my voice breaking.

Bernini stared at me, half-collapsed, on his elbows.

For the first time ever, I saw him look surprised.

“I didn’t… think…” he gasped, wiping a sleeve across his mouth, “… you… had it… in… you…”

I was going to shatter. There was nothing left.

I was an empty vessel.

I looked at Sarah, and she mouthed, “I love you.”

Bernini sighed.

“I think, Jeremy,” he said, “that you deserve to know the truth.”

“It must have hurt,” Bernini said, “when you didn’t make the cut. I’m sorry about that. Your friends had the physical presence of presidents. Prime ministers. Very valuable. You… You do not. Not quite.”