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Jovovich Manor
Rain fell and thunder crackled throughout the dark and gloomy night sky. The sound of howling wind, screeching through the leafy forest, filled the air. The faint pattering of running feet, splashing through water, echoed the thick vegetation. The calm and empty road that wound past the trees was suddenly filled with eccentricity as a dark figure burst from the foliage.
The dark figure limped down the road with haste and vigor. His bare feet splashing in the puddles, his heavy breathing left vapor in the air behind him. Blood dripped from the stigma that scarred his arms and legs. Tears dripped down his face and disappeared among the descending rain.
He thrashed at his own head with his decrepit, dying hands; attempting to efface the horrible thoughts and memories that plagued his mind. No matter how hard he beat his own head, this night would haunt his conscience for the rest of his life. He remembered back to this afternoon, the day showed such promise and such hope. All the happiness and potential that filled his heart was only a delusion that he himself fabricated.
Turning his head, he looked behind himself and took one last glance at what he was running from. A dark, elevated manor that protruded from above the tree tops. A single, obscure gargoyle statue perched upon the highest peak of the manor. Its cold eyes gazed upon the path that led away from the manor. The same manor that he was running down.
With his head turned, he did not see the pot hole that was in his path. His right foot slipped in and he tumbled face first onto the road. Pain surged through his leg, but it was soon overwhelmed by the pain that came from within his chest. Pushing himself off the asphalt, he looked at his hands with disgust. It took all his strength to keep his tremulous body off the ground. He slowly closed his eyes. Visions... -No- Memories filled his thoughts. The memories from earlier today. Tears seeped through his closed eyelids and cries escaped from his shut mouth. He could see everything clearly in his head; as if he were living the day over again
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It was this same path he had traveled down earlier this day. He sat atop a wooden carriage being pulled by 2 well groomed horses. A hat blocked the sunlight from his eyes as he gazed upon the majestic manor ahead. The manor already looked huge from a distance; but it grew bigger as he got closer with each passing second. Time seemed to fly by, because before he knew it he was stopped at the entrance of the manor.
Leaping down from the carriage, he landed gracefully on the gravel below. His heart pounded with each step he took towards the enormous entrance doors. Standing before the closed doors, he reached his hand towards the door knocker. He hesitated at the touch of the cold bronze to his fingertips and recoiled but only an inch. He took a deep breathe to calm himself, reached forward and knocked on the door.
Within a matter of seconds, the door opened as if someone was waiting for his arrival. Before him stood a very well dressed butler. He appeared to be well into his 70's, maybe even 80's. His gray hair was combed back; obviously an attempt to cover the bald spot on the top of his head.
"Greetings young master, my name is Gerard. How may the estate of Jovovich be of assistance to you today?" The butler said courteously with a bow. Looking at the butler, he never thought that it was possible to be so venerable with just two sentences.
"I would like to speak to Master Jovovich please. Is he not busy?" He replied to the butler with a bow.
"The master always welcomes visitors with open arms. Right this way sir-" Gerard lingered on the last word, as if inquiring his name, while opening the door wider for him to enter.
"Lazarith," he answered while stepping into the doorway.
"I'll take your jacket and hat Master Lazarith."
After placing them on a nearby hat rack, Gerard led Lazarith up a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a set of doors just as large as the front doors. Gerard opened the doors and gestured for Lazarith to enter. In the large room was a library filled with nearly thousands of books. The walls were lined with shelves that towered stories high. In the center was a single desk and behind it sat a young man. He appeared to be but in his twenties. Dressed in very expensive and fancy attire, he sat cross legged reading a black book with no title on the front, back, or spine.
"Master Jovovich. Sir Lazarith is here to see you," Gerard said as he entered the library. The young man, obviously Jovovich, immediately stood up and put his book on the seat.
"A visitor?! How exquisite! It is a pleasure Lazarith."
Jovovich's effervescent personality helped ease Lazarith's nervousness. Yet at the same time, unsettled him. He did not picture the owner of this manor to be such a lively, young man.
Lazarith bowed bowed respectfully and responded, "The pleasure is all mine Master Jovovich."
"Oh pish-posh! There's no need to be so deferential," Jovovich said grasping Lazarith's hand and gave him a firm but friendly handshake.
"Now what is it I can do for you?" he asked.
"Well, I won't lie. I didn't come to make small talk. I came to ask you for a favor. And there is no subtle way of asking this and there is no point of beating around the bush either," Lazarith took a deep breath and readied his next words. He noticed that Gerard was no longer in the room, but he thought nothing of it.
"Death is a plague that affects all of humanity. And not two days ago, my wife died of a terrible illness. I grieved at her bedside; not even leaving to eat. And suddenly I remembered stories I had heard from the townspeople. They say that you had once awoken a dead boy who had been trampled by a carriage. And a woman who drowned in the lake as well. They say you can raise the dead."
A serious look came over Jovovich but was quickly replaced with a smile. "So I see my work is infamous throughout the town. And I had tried so hard to keep quiet about it too," Jovovich laughed.
"Just as you have, I will not beat around the bush. The stories you hear are true. I can raise the dead. And that question you are 'dying' to ask is true," Jovovich laughed at his own pun and then continued, "Yes I can and will bring back your dearly departed wife."
Lazarith's eyes widened and his face lit up. "You can re-" Jovovich interrupted him with a gesture of his hand.
"Come with me. We not a moment to spare. The longer we wait, the harder it is to retrieve a spirit from the afterlife," Jovovich turned and walked further into the library. Lazarith following behind him. He could not even believe it himself. He would be reunited with his wife. Tears of happiness streamed down his face.
Jovovich opened a door that led directly to a descending staircase. The staircase was lit with candles that lined the walls. It was completely silent except for the sound of their feet stepping on the granite staircase. Dragging his fingers along the cool, smooth surface of the wall, Lazarith came to a realization.
"Wait, my wife Natalia is in the carriage outside," he said.
"Fear not my friend. Gerard is already on it."
"Already on it?" Lazarith thought to himself. "But he wasn't in the room when we discussed this. He left bef-. . . . No, he couldn't have already known. . . . Could he?" He kept his thoughts to himself and continued following.
Coming to the end of the stairs Lazarith looked around the room before him. It was a large room, but appeared small due to the fact it was packed full of tables and bookcases. In the back of the room was a large door and beside the door was the unmistakable coffin of his deceased wife. In the middle of the room was a large symbol, which appeared to be drawn with chalk. The symbol was circular with what appeared to be the Star of David in its center. Strange writing lined the symbol, as well as various other shapes. Inside the Star of David was the symbol of Ouroborus, the snake eating its own tail. And laying in the center of all this was the corpse of his wife, Natalia.
Suddenly, Lazarith was skeptical about the whole idea of bringing back the dead. Jovovich must have already knew his intention for visiting. And why was he so eager to help?
"Why is she already here? How did you? What's going on?" Lazarith asked.
"Calm down Lazarith. What kind of necromancer would I be if I didn't know the intention of your visit. When you live in seclusion from society the way I do. You learn that people don't just stop by to say hello. They always want something. And frankly, this is all I have to offer," Jovovich's words helped ease Lazarith a little, but he was still unsettled by doubts.
"Well.... Maybe I should think about this a little longer. Maybe raising the dead is not something humans should attempt. I mean, defying god is madness."
"Jovovich stopped and looked back at Lazarith as if he had spoken a taboo word. "Madness? This is not madness! Animating the dead is not a mere act of insanity! Any mad man could claim to have spoken to this so called 'god' of yours. Hear his words and write them down in this petty book of yours called The Bible. It takes a real man of intellect to bring a soul back from the afterlife."
Insulted and dumbstruck by Jovovich's words, he could not think of a proper retaliation. Speechless, he simply stared at Jovovich.
"But enough of words," Jovovich quickly followed up. "I'm man of actions, not talk."
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Suddenly, Lazarith was back on the asphalt in the rain. His memories faded from his mind and he grasped the reality around him. Memories are memories for a reason, and the present is now. Standing up he looked back upon the manor. His tears joined the rain, the pain in his heart was all that he could feel now.
"If memories are the past. Then my thoughts of Natalia are behind me. If the present is now, and she is gone, there is only one way to join her..." Lazarith thought to himself. He turned, smiled sadly; tip toed silently down the path, and was never heard from again.
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