The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic Read online

  "You have been unconscious for two days. You are going to be weak for a while yet."

  "Navitas meus somes," Michael mumbled.

  "What did you say, Mr. Nickels?" the nurse asked.

  "I have no idea." As Michael said this, his body relaxed, his mind cleared, and he felt a flow of energy.

  "The police have some questions for you, Mr. Nickels, about the incident."

  "Incident! That son of a bitch shot my wife!" Michael shrugged off the officer’s hand and threw the covers off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, noticing as he did so that the IV was still in his arm. He grabbed it and yanked it out.

  "Mr. Nickels, that is not advisable," the nurse said with concern.

  "Advisable or not, it’s done; and I don’t want any more drugs or shots. Tell the doctors I’m checking out."

  As the nurse hurriedly left the room, she glanced at the officer and shrugged.

  "I guess he’s yours now." She closed the door behind her.

  "Well, Mr. Nickels, I do have some questions."

  "So do I; and the name is Michael. Mr. Nickels was my dad."

  "Ok, Michael, I’m Detective Jonathan Stocks. What do you remember about Tuesday night?"

  "Is Karin here, somewhere in this hospital? Neither you nor the nurse have said anything about her."

  "I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Michael, but she was pronounced dead at the scene."

  Michael hung his head into his hands and began to quietly sob. Detective Stocks moved to a chair and sat down to give Michael some space.

  "Michael, I know this is hard, and there is no good time for this, but I need to know what happened. You said he shot her. Did you get a good look at him? How tall was he? What color was his hair? Was he white or black? Anything I can go on."

  Michael hesitantly sucked in a breath that didn’t seem to want to be sucked in, and coughed. Feeling his energy start to flag, he wiped his eyes with the bed sheet.

  "I didn’t see his face; only the gun. He was wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt of some dark color. Blue, green, black; I don’t know. It was too dark to tell. I did see the hand that was holding the gun, and it was white. I guess he was about my height. As for his build, I would say he was a bit bigger than me."

  "What did the gun look like?"

  "It was a revolver; chrome colored."

  "Would you recognize his voice if you heard it again?"

  "He never said a word," Michael whispered so low the officer had to lean forward to hear him.

  "Nothing? He said nothing to you?"

  "No. He just stopped in front of us and shot her. No warning, just the sound of my life ending. It wasn’t even a big bang, just a small popping sound, so small of a sound to take the light of life away from her," Michael whispered.

  "Well, I think that’s enough for now, Michael. You had no wallet when you came in, so he must have taken it. Oddly enough, he didn’t take your wife’s purse. We have your address. We pulled it from your wife’s insurance card. Is there anyone you want us to contact for you?"

  "No, no one. We were all we had."

  Looking up at Detective Stocks Michael said, "He killed my wife for sixty five dollars."

  "We will find him, Michael, but I have to ask you not to leave town in case we need to talk to you again."

  "I’m not going anywhere now. What day is it?" Michael asked, staring out the window, seeing nothing.

  "It’s Friday."

  "Wednesday would have been our third anniversary. We were going to England for two weeks, then on to Scotland and Ireland." Michael spoke in a flat tone, feeling like he was going to be sick.

  "We’ll be in touch, Michael. I’ll send in the doctor." Detective Stocks headed for the door. As he placed his hand on the doorknob, he turned his head back.

  "By the way, you said Energize my body or something to that effect."

  "Huh?"

  "When the nurse was in here, you said Navitas meus somes. It’s Latin for energize my body. Did you take Latin in school?"

  "No. I never studied Latin. How do you know it?" Michael asked.

  "I was in the seminary for two years before I decided to become a cop."

  "What does Funditas Incinerate mean?" Michael asked.

  "Something like totally burn up. Where did you hear these phrases?"

  "I don’t know. I must have read them somewhere," Michael said, as he stared at the door beyond Detective Stocks.

  "It doesn’t make any sense. I have never spoken Latin before."

  "Well, you did an excellent job pronouncing it. You were hit on the back of the head. Head wounds are funny. They can cause all sorts of strange things to happen. Take it easy and get some rest, Michael." Detective Stocks left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Michael sat staring at the door, thinking back over the shooting, berating himself for not doing something; for not moving faster, for being frozen in place when Karin needed him most. His face twisted into a snarl of self-disgust. I don’t remember getting hit on the head, but I have the lump to prove it happened. I really wish I had fried that bastard like I dreamed I did. Michael was jolted out of his thoughts when the door opened and a middle aged man in a white, lab coat entered.

  "Mr. Nickels, I hear you want to check out. Now, now, don’t look at me like that. We aren’t going to stop you, if you insist, but I would like you to hear me out. I’m Dr. Baker. I have been checking on you for the last couple of days."

  Dr. Baker was tall and slim with a kind face, round, wire framed glasses, and graying hair. He wore a stethoscope around his neck with the end tucked into the left, breast pocket of his lab coat, and a couple of pens in the other pocket. He walked to the end of the bed and picked up the chart. Flipping through the pages, he looked at Michael over the top of his glasses.

  "You were unconscious when you were brought in by ambulance. You suffered trauma to the back of your head, and your right hand looked like it had been slightly burned. There were no blisters, but it was very red. The head wound looked more like that of a fall than an attack. It was nasty, but did not require stitches, and the x-ray showed no fractures. The coma was caused by the increased inter-cranial pressure. We did a C.A.T. scan, but there was no hemorrhaging. I would like for you to stay a few more days, for observation. Head wounds are not to be taken lightly, and concussions can be very dangerous."

  "Thank you, Doc, for looking after me, but I feel fine, and I have arrangements I must make for Karin’s funeral."

  Michael looked stricken again and choked on the last word. Doctor Baker’s face softened as he looked at this young man grieving for his lost wife.

  "I know. You can make arrangements to have your wife transferred to wherever you like when you are ready. I am sorry, but we had to perform an autopsy. It's state law in cases like these," Dr. Baker walked around the bed and placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder, seeing his distress.

  "You can check out any time, against my recommendation, mind you."

  Michael glanced up about to say something, but the doctor cut him off.

  "Yes, I see you want to leave. I want your promise that you will come back in a few days for a follow up on that head wound. I personally will not let you leave this room without it."

  Seeing the resolve and the compassion on Dr. Baker’s face, Michael realized that he kind of liked this doctor.

  "Ok, Doc." Michael smiled slightly as he looked at him.

  "There’s a good fellow. The nurse will be in shortly with your release papers and an appointment reminder. My offices are on the east side of town. The address will be on the reminder. I’ll see you early next week. Make sure, in the meantime, to get plenty of sleep and plenty of fluids." Doctor Baker squeezed his shoulder gently and headed for the door. He turned around before closing the door.

  "I would advise some grief counseling, as well, Mr. Nickels. As bad as it seems now, it will get worse. Trust me on this."

  Michael sat on the edge of the bed and thought again of Ka
rin; her eyes, her smile, the way she woke him up with a kiss in the mornings. The tears started flowing again.

  "This can’t be real. She can’t be gone. How could I let this happen? I should have done…." Then Michael remembered the doctor telling him his hand was burned when he was admitted. He looked at his hand. Nothing appeared wrong. He felt no pain, and the coloration was normal, if pale. I charred that guy to ash without a thought. Then he snarled.

  "The bastard had it coming! If only he wasn’t dead so I could kill him again." Michael got up and walked to the closet. He found his clothes on a shelf. He grabbed them and moved into the bathroom. Pulling off the hospital gown, Michael turned to the sink and turned on the cold water. Glancing in the mirror, he thought, I need to shave. Karin hates beards. He felt his legs start to give way and grabbed the sink, clutching the porcelain so tight his knuckles turned white.

  "Get a hold of yourself!" he nearly yelled at his reflection.

  "Pity won’t help you find any answers." Steadying himself, Michael splashed cold water on his face twice and then dried it with the hand towel hanging on the wall. He started getting dressed and heard the door to his room open.

  "Mr. Nickels, I have the release forms. You need to sign them before you can go." It was the nurse he had seen earlier.

  "I’ll be right out." He finished getting dressed and ran his hand through his hair, realizing that was a hopeless cause without a shower. He left the bathroom and found the nurse waiting by his bed.

  "The doctor said he would have an appointment reminder for me as well."

  "Yes. I have it here. Your appointment is for Tuesday at 9:15 am. The address is on the back." Michael took the card she handed him and tucked it in his shirt pocket. She also handed him a clipboard with some papers on it.

  "You need to fill these out and sign them."

  "Thank you. I’m sorry, I never asked your name," Michael said.

  "I am Linda Kern. There's no need to apologize. I understand you aren’t exactly in your normal frame of mind right now. My condolences on your wife, Mr. Nickels. Please give the papers to the nurse at the main desk on your way out. You’ll have to sign out there as well."

  "Thank you. Mrs. Kern, can I see my wife?"

  "Tell you what, you fill those out, and I’ll be back in ten minutes and take you down to the… I’ll take you downstairs to see her. You can pick up her personal effects while you’re there."

  "Thanks," Michael said softly not meeting her eyes.

  "I’ll be back in a few minutes." The nurse turned and left the room, pulling the door closed behind her.

  Michael looked at the clipboard in his hand and sighed. Removing the pen from the top, he started filling the forms out. Michael had finished filling out the forms and was standing, looking out the window into a small park about four stories down, when the door opened and Nurse Kern returned.

  "Are you ready, Mr. Nickels?" she asked.

  "I guess so," Michael replied faintly. Steeling himself, he turned and walked with the nurse out of the room and down a hall to the elevators. She pushed the down button, and the elevator opened almost immediately. They got on the elevator, and the nurse inserted a key in the panel and pressed a button labeled B2, then turned the key again and removed it. The nurse looked over at Michael to make sure he was ok. The elevator moved smoothly down, dinging as it came to each floor. They came to B2, and the doors opened. The nurse put her hand against the edge of the door to keep it open.

  "Just follow this hallway all the way to the double doors at the end. The coroner will be just inside. I have to get back to my other patients. Take care, Mr. Nickels."

  "You too, Mrs. Kern." Michael walked out of the elevator and down the hall, hearing the elevator doors close behind him. As he neared the double doors, all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He felt hot and weak all of a sudden, and his hands shook terribly.

  "Alcedonia," Michael said, feeling himself grow calm and his heartbeat slow down.

  "What the hell did I just say? I must have hit my head really hard." Looking down at his hands, they were now as steady as rocks.

  "What the hell is going on with me? I fry a guy with my hand and calm myself while speaking a language I have never studied or even heard before." Pushing the doors open, Michael walked inside and made his way to a desk just ahead on the left.

  "You must be Mr. Nickels. Nurse Kern said she was going to send you down. I’m Dr. Thomas, the coroner. If you would, please follow me. Your wife is in the next room." A man in dark blue scrubs stood up from his chair behind the desk and introduced himself.

  Michael followed Dr. Thomas to the far side of the room where there were two more doors. Dr. Thomas moved toward the one on the right. As he placed his hand against the push plate, he turned to Michael and asked, "Are you ready?"

  Michael heaved a sigh that seemed to come from his toes and replied, "Yes."

  Dr. Thomas opened the door, stepped into the room, and held the door open for Michael. Michael stepped through, watching the floor at his feet, unable to look up. He thought to himself, Karin would like this tile. Michael heard the door swing shut behind him and felt a hand grasp his shoulder from behind.

  "I know this will be small consolation, but she didn’t suffer. The bullet passed right through her heart causing almost instantaneous death. She would have felt nothing except the initial shock." Seeing Michael’s pained expression, he quickly added. "I will be right outside at my desk, if you need anything."

  "Thanks, Doc. I just need some time," Michael replied quietly.

  "Of course, take all the time you need."

  Michael heard the whisper of the doctor’s scrubs as he went out the door. Still afraid to look up, knowing that this time there would be no denying reality, Michael walked to the stainless steel table. He could see the edge of a sheet hanging down. The lights in the room seemed dim to him. Raising his head, Michael saw Karin’s face. She had a sheet covering the rest of her body up to her neck. She looked like she was asleep, peaceful even.

  "Oh, Karin, my love, what has he done to us?" Michael reached out and touched her hair. He felt the strands between his fingers and thought again how beautiful she was; then he couldn’t see anything through his tears.

  "He cannot hurt you anymore. He will never hurt anyone ever again. Forgive me, my love, for I have taken a life. I would do it again. I would do it a thousand times if it would change the way this turned out. Forgive me for not being able to protect you as I should have. If I had acted faster, maybe everything would be fine now." Michael laid his hand over Karin’s chest.

  "Reservo," he whispered, watching a faint light spread from his hand to engulf Karin’s body. When it fully covered her, it winked out.

  "Rest now my love, my life, and hopefully we will not be parted long." Michael’s head snapped up. Looking around, he got the distinct impression that he was being watched. No, it was not an impression. He knew someone was watching him, but looking around the small room, he was alone. He looked back down at Karin.

  "Farewell my love, but never goodbye." Michael turned and walked out of the room. As he came out, he saw Dr. Thomas stand up and turn to him.

  "You have my sincerest sympathy, Mr. Nickels. I have your wife’s belongings here." He held out a clipboard.

  "If you would just sign this, you can take them with you."

  Michael took the clipboard, realizing as he did so that he hated clipboards. They would always remind him of this tragedy. He signed the paper and handed it back. The doctor handed Michael a small box.

  "Doc, could you call me a cab please? I think I need to go home now and sleep. I’m not feeling very well."

  "Certainly, Mr. Nickels. You head on up to the lobby, and I’ll make the call."

  "Thanks, Doc, and thank you for all….you know."

  "Yes, Mr. Nickels, you are most welcome," Dr. Thomas said solemnly.

  Michael rode the elevator to the lobby and sat in a chair until he saw the cab pull up out f
ront. He arrived at his apartment, paid the cab driver from money he found in Karin’s purse, and walked mechanically inside. Once inside their apartment, Michael placed the box on the counter and went over to the couch. He could not bear the notion of sleeping in their bed right now. Michael stretched out on the couch and pulled a blanket up over himself, thinking he would never be able to get to sleep. As he closed his eyes, darkness enfolded him.

  Chapter Four

  Michael woke felling fuzzy and lightheaded. He glanced at the clock, 7:23am. Sitting up, he put his head in his hands in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. He got up and staggered towards the bathroom.

  "I’ll feel better after I’ve had a shower."

  He stopped in front of the bedroom door, then turned and went to the other bathroom. He couldn’t face going into their bedroom, not yet. Michael got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked out to the kitchen and made himself some instant oats, sat at the kitchen table, and ate them without really tasting them. Walking to the refrigerator, Michael took out the container of grapefruit juice and drank down nearly a third of the carton. He capped it and put it back, remembering the sour look Karin always got on her face when she would see him drinking grapefruit juice. Karin hated the bitter flavor.

  "How can you drink that bitter stuff?" She would ask.

  "Well, I have to balance out all the sweetness that I get from you," he would reply. Seeing her smile again in his mind’s eye, Michael blinked back the tears that threatened to start again.

  "I have too much to get done to start down that road again," he said.

  Michael went to the bedroom door and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Feeling lower than he could ever remember, he drew a deep breath and turned the knob. Pushing the door open, Michael entered, his eyes fixed on his dresser, avoiding looking at their bed or Karin’s dresser. He opened the top drawer and grabbed a pair of boxer shorts and a pair of socks. He opened the next drawer and removed a blue t-shirt. Closing the drawers, he went to his closet and took out a pair of jeans. As he turned to leave the room, the smell of Karin’s perfume hit him like a physical blow. Feeling his knees wobble, Michael stumbled from the room, slamming the door behind him. He threw all of his clothes on the couch and stood there with his eyes closed, trying to compose himself.