The Search for Artemis - By P. D. Griffith Page 0,13
filled his mind, speaking to him so loudly that it blocked out all the other noises around him.
“Landon, you must run. It’s the only way out.” Her voice was so audible as if she was screaming into his ear, yet it chimed soft and soothingly, like honey—the voice of an angel. “I can help you. If you want to understand what is happening to you, . . . If you want to remember, . . . If you want to be safe, . . . I can help you.”
Landon looked all around, searching amid the myriad of spectators that congested the sidewalks for the one speaking to him. But he couldn’t find the serafin who’s voice filled his mind. To his left, though, he saw the two suited men waiting just outside the bus’ drop zone, afraid to get closer should the bus fall.
“I am very close,” she said. “And I am waiting for you . . . but you must run!”
He wasn’t sure why, but he felt he could trust her. Without hesitation, Landon darted out from under the bus and forced his way through the wall of spectators on the other side of the road. The bus continued to float, dangling in the air, but Landon stopped paying attention to it as he sprinted to the end of the block.
However, after he turned the corner, he couldn’t tune out the sound of crashing metal and squealing tires that reverberated through the streets once it dropped back to the asphalt, falling as if the invisible string holding it up had snapped.
“There is an alley beside the Cathedral of Saint Christopher. I am waiting for you there. Just follow the sound of the bells.”
Landon halted in his tracks and looked toward the sky, listening for the rhythmic chime of heavy church bells.
Blurrung! Blurrung! Blurrung!
The tonorous sound of the bells reached Landon’s ears. They were loud . . . and near. Kickstepping, Landon continued through the city, letting the sound guide him, and soon he found himself standing across the street from the massive gothic cathedral that stood as a beacon of hope in the middle of the Financial District.
He was arrested by the sight. Two monolithic towers reached toward the clear blue sky and framed the intricately ornamented façade. They were adorned with statues of saints and grotesque gargoyles, and the outline of brass bells could be seen through the long, narrow windows. Above the center entryway, a massive circular stained-glass window shone like a mosaic of precious gems. Its colorful panes depicted numerous Bible stories Landon’s mother had told him during his childhood, ranging from Moses descending Mount Sinai with the Ten Commandments, to Noah’s Ark, to David slaying Goliath.
“Hurry! They’re coming!” The angelic voice jolted Landon back to purpose.
He looked to the side of the cathedral and noticed a narrow, dark alleyway on its right. He rushed over to it, eager to find his guardian angel and finally be safe. There, in front of him, stood a beautiful woman waiting beside the open door of a large, black sport utility vehicle.
“Well, hurry up!” she said forcefully as she waved Landon into the large vehicle. “We don’t have much time before they find us.”
Landon didn’t hesitate and quickly jumped into the SUV through the open door.
CHAPTER THREE
SANCTUARY
Landon sat on the long, tan leather bench in the back of the SUV unaware of their journey’s end. The windows were tinted on the inside to a shade that made it impossible to see anything outside of the car. Torn between eager anticipation to reach their destination and unease over his decision to enter the car, Landon nervously rubbed his thighs, as the car weaved through traffic.
He felt something coarse on the right leg of his jeans; he looked down and saw the brownish-red crust that had formed and hardened over the weeks. It was his mother’s blood. He’d haphazardly rubbed it on his leg the fateful night when he found her lifeless body amidst the books.
Landon choked up, but quickly wiped away the tears that welled up in his stormy grey eyes with the back of his hand. He was more confused now than ever before. It had been three weeks since he ran away from home and he was no closer to understanding what happened that night. He didn’t know if he was responsible, if he was merely a victim of a tragic sequence of events, or if that night wasn’t the at all the tragedy he believed it to