The Lost Symbol

With this offering of self, Mal’akh would establish his rank in the hierarchy of demons. Darkness and blood were where the true power lay. The ancients knew this, the Adepts choosing sides consistent with their individual natures. Mal’akh had chosen sides wisely. Chaos was the natural law of the universe. Indifference was the engine of entropy. Man’s apathy was the fertile ground in which the dark spirits tended their seeds.

I have served them, and they will receive me as a god.

Peter did not move. He simply stared down at the ancient knife gripped in his hand.

“I will you,” Mal’akh taunted. “I am a willing sacrifice. Your final role has been written. You will transform me. You will liberate me from my body. You will do this, or you will lose your sister and your brotherhood. You will truly be all alone.” He paused, smiling down at his captive. “Consider this your final punishment.”

Peter’s eyes rose slowly to meet Mal’akh’s. “Killing you? A punishment? Do you think I will hesitate? You murdered my son. My mother. My entire family.”

“No!” Mal’akh exploded with a force that startled even himself. “You are wrong! I did not murder your family! You did! It was you who made the choice to leave Zachary in prison! And from there, the wheels were in motion! You killed your family, Peter, not me!”

Peter’s knuckles turned white, his fingers clenching the knife in rage. “You know nothing of why I left Zachary in prison.”

“I know everything!” Mal’akh fired back. “I was there. You claimed you were trying to help him. Were you trying to help him when you offered him the choice between wealth or wisdom? Were you trying to help him when you gave him the ultimatum to join the Masons? What kind of father gives a child the choice between ‘wealth or wisdom’ and expects him to know how to handle it! What kind of father leaves his own son in a prison instead of flying him home to safety!” Mal’akh now moved in front of Peter and crouched down, placing his tattooed face only inches from his face. “But most important. what kind of father can look his own son in the eyes. even after all these years. and not even recognize him!”

Mal’akh’s words echoed for several seconds in the stone chamber.

Then silence.

In the abrupt stillness, Peter Solomon seemed to have been jolted from his trance. His face clouded now with a visage of total incredulity.

Yes, Father. It’s me. Mal’akh had waited years for this moment. to take revenge on the man who had abandoned him. to stare into those gray eyes and speak the truth that had been buried all these years. Now the moment was here, and he spoke slowly, longing to watch the full weight of his words gradually crush Peter Solomon’s soul. “You should be happy, Father. Your prodigal son has returned.”

Peter’s face was now as pale as death.

Mal’akh savored every moment. “My own father made the decision to leave me in prison. and in that instant, I vowed that he had rejected me for the last time. I was no longer his son. Zachary Solomon ceased to exist.”

Two glistening teardrops welled suddenly in his father’s eyes, and Mal’akh thought they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Peter choked back tears, staring up at Mal’akh’s face as if seeing him for the very first time.

“All the warden wanted was money,” Mal’akh said, “but you refused. It never occurred to you, though, that my money was just as green as yours. The warden did not care who paid him, only that he was paid. When I offered to pay him handsomely, he selected a sickly inmate about my size, dressed him in my clothes, and beat him beyond all recognition. The photos you saw. and the sealed casket you buried. they were not mine. They belonged to a stranger.”

Peter’s tear-streaked face contorted now with anguish and disbelief. “Oh my God. Zachary.”

“Not anymore. When Zachary walked out of prison, he was transformed.”

His adolescent physique and childlike face had drastically mutated when he flooded his young body with experimental growth hormones and steroids. Even his vocal cords had been ravaged, transforming his boyish voice into a permanent whisper.

Zachary became Andros.

Andros became Mal’akh.

And tonight. Mal’akh will become his greatest incarnation of all.

At that moment in Kalorama Heights, Katherine Solomon stood over the open desk drawer and gazed down at what could be described only as a fetishist’s collection of old newspaper articles and photographs.

“I don’t understand,” she said, turning to Bellamy. “This lunatic was obviously obsessed with my family, but —”

“Keep going. ” urged Bellamy, taking a seat and still looking deeply shaken.