Jane Jensen - Gabriel Knight - Sins of the Fathers

Gabriel Knight: Sins Of The Fathers

Chapter I

I dreamt of blood upon the shore, of eyes that spoke of sin.The lake was smooth and deep and black as was her scented skin.

June 18,1993New OrleansDawn was barely perceptible, bleeding a diffusedgolden pink into the night sky. It was a tremulouslight that merged, mistlike, with the darkness.Out in the bayous on the edge of town, there wereone or two old men that, had they been awakeand watching, could have accurately predicted anunusually hot, unusually humid summer's day.But they were not awake and neither was GabrielKnight. He was sprawled naked under a thinsheet that badly needed washing, and into hissleeping mind something crept. Its invasion wasnot nearly as shy as the dawn's.A dream. The dream. Unfortunately, Gabriel'sunconscious mind did not recognize that it wasthe dream and was therefore as vulnerable as achild squatting in the middle of the road. If onlyhe were able to anticipate, he'd often thoughtupon waking, if his sleeping self could only recog-nize the tang of it coming, he might be able tosteel himself. Dread wears thin, images lose theirpower. He writes horror. He knows this. But nomatter what his conscious mind did to prepare,the images hit him square in the face as though hehad never seen them before, nor even imaginedtheir existence. This being the case the dreamalways was—that bad.He moans. He pushes down the sheet thatcovers him, as though trying to push away hissleep, but there is no one lying beside him to seehis distress, no one there to waken him, not onthis particular morning, and so it goes on.He sees a gathering in the distance and ap-proaches it, curious. A group of people are clus-tered together—men, women. There's a bonfire. Itisn't until he draws near that he notices some-thing odd about the people. Their clothes. They'rewearing old-fashioned clothes.Then his eyes fix upon a single man. He is notpart of the crowd. He stands to one side, but that'snot what sets him apart. His hair is worn long,most of it covered by a large, square black hat.Thick blond locks lay on the shoulders of theman's black cloak and those locks gleam like real

gold in the firelight. Beneath the cloak is a flash ofwhite collar. But it's the man's face that draws theeye. He's staring at something, face pale, eyeswide. He trembles and weeps. Fear and loathingare stamped indelibly on his features as if thehand of God had put them there.And then, just as if it were the very first time,Gabriel's dream eye turns to follow the man'sgaze. At first he only notices the fire. The pile ofwood that fuels the flames is high and broad, anenormous bonfire. The flames rear up over theheads of the crowd. Then he sees that there issomething in the flames, some matter, tall anddark, and it takes him a moment to categorize it inhis mind because, really, he's never seen anythinglike this before and the image will not register.It's a woman. They're burning a woman.It punches into him: shock, horror, guilt. Hefeels a terrible guilt, although he does not knowwhy. He's afraid, too, as he looks at her. He feelshelpless and nasty—like a child caught stealing—but it's a thousand times worse, as if what he'dstolen was . . .Her life.The woman's head is thrown back in the flames,a mute scream of agony driven to the sky. Hedoesn't want to watch, but he does. She slowlylowers her head and looks at him. Her face isunmarred yet by the flames, and it is a beautifulface. He can see now that she is dark-skinned.And she is young, oh, yes, but powerful andpiercing. She knows such things. She laughs athim, her cracked lips parting, her white teethgleam. Her disgust at his nasty ways is in herlaugh, as though she had spit on him instead oflaughed, and she might have, had he been closer.Then her face begins to melt and he moans withrepulsion. He doesn't want to see this! Doesn'twant to watch as her body is consumed! But itisn't the fire, and her face is not being consumed.It is being transformed. The face in the flamesrestructures itself into the head of a leopard. Itscreams at him in fury.And he runs, his dream self. Runs away, not overthe ground, but into the air. He plows through theblack night sky, higher and higher, toward thestars. He only wants to get away, but after amoment that mindlessness fades and he feels com-pelled. He must turn, must look.Far below he sees the circle of fire, though hecan no longer see the woman. The circle spreadsout into a large open hoop of flames, a burningwheel, then another circle springs up inside thefirst, two wheels of fire, spinning. And from thecenter something spins out, coming toward him,rolling in the air like a slow-motion bullet. Hetries to get out of the way, but as the object