Free Essays on Whartons Ethan Frome: Unselfish and Stupid Ethan :: Ethan Frome Essays

Unselfish and Stupid Ethan Frome Ethan Frome was an unselfish man, he paid special mind to the interests of others and acted to serve them as opposed to himself. In spite of the fact that this disposition is typically viewed as a brilliant trademark it end up being Ethan Frome's demise. The entirety of Ethan's difficulties were an immediate aftereffect of his unselfishness and exacting good norms. The existence that Ethan lived, the plot of the story, could have been definitely changed, and no doubt improved had Ethan thought about the impacts of his activities and choices upon himself. Ethan was a clever man, he had high dreams for himself as a specialist, and he needed to have a real existence away from the incessant drudgery of life in Starksville. At the point when his mom passed on leaving Zeena without a spot to go, Ethan, being the thoughtful man he was, offered to wed her since he felt committed to do as such. This choice anyway shut out his desires for a superior life. With the end goal for Ethan to get instruction he should have cash. With the end goal for Ethan to get cash he should sell the homestead. What's more, with another spouse to deal with he couldn't in any way, shape or form oversee it. Ethan's choice to wed Zeena had shackled his social portability and had realized the reaction of Zeena's discontent. Ethan further welcomed on the fury of Zeena when he decided to engage with Mattie. Ethan minded a lot for Mattie and didn't' need Zeena to take her from him. Since Mattie was not appropriate to be a house keeper and much of the time committed errors Ethan would assist her with her tasks. Ethan additionally console her and attempted to conceal her inadequacies from Zeena. Anyway his endeavors to help Mattie wound up harming him. Zeena was undoubtedly mindful of Ethan's partiality to Mattie; she implied this when she kept Ethan and Mattie out of the house. Other than aiding Mattie with her errands Ethan went to bat for her and supported her before Zeena. At the point when the feline broke the pickle dish when Zeena was away at seeing a specialist Ethan made a special effort to attempt to cover it up. He composed an arrangement to get some paste and set up the dish back so that Zeena wouldn't take note. At the point when that arrangement fizzled and Zeena found the messed up dish, Ethan was happy to assume the fault rather than Mattie.

Endangered species 3 Essay Example For Students

Jeopardized species 3 Essay Jeopardized Species Everywhere throughout the world there are types of creatures and plants that are supposed to be jeopardized. By calling them jeopardized, researchers state that they figure the species will get wiped out if something isnt done about them. A lot a bigger number of animal categories are currently undermined with elimination than ther ought to be a result of numerous reasons. An animal types becomes imperiled when there are less and less people of the species every year. There are numerous endagered species like the great Siberian tiger or the intriguing Polar Bear, which one day may be terminated and we may never observe it again. There are two various types of causes that definitely chopped Down the quantity of these jeopardized species:Direct CausesDirect Causes is the point at which the creatures are deliberately pursued, caught, angled, whaled, or seled to annihilation. Chasing for sport has been liable for jeopardizing such creatures as the Polar Bear and the Siberian Tiger. However, the risk of most species that are pursued or caught today results fundamentally of business exercises. Among the creatures that have gotten jeopardized for business reasons are a few types of whales, including the tremendous Blue Whale; a considerable lot of the spotted felines, for example, the Cheetah; and a few sorts of Alligators, Crocodiles, reptiles, and snakes. the Whales have been kiled for their oil, the felines for their hides, and the reptiles for their skins. Generally, these creatures arenow protectedby law, either undr global understanding or by neighborhood laws. Creatures may likewise be slaughtered when they meddle wiyh human action. Wolves became imperiled on the grounds that they went after domesticated animals. they were pursued and caught by domesticated animals holders in such huge numbers,that they disapeared from most pieces of the existence where they once lived. Once in a while murdering one animal groups influences the number of inhabitants in another. Farmers in the United states poisined prairie hounds in light of the fact that these rodents ate the grass and made tunnels under land that was needed for dairy cattle. By murdering prairie hounds, the farmers caused the complete annihilation of the dark footed ferret. Roundabout CausesThe major circuitous reason for endangement to creatures throughput the world is the departure of a spot to live. As the sympathetic populace increments : more land is required for homesited, for the developing of harvests, and fpr yeilding the minerals and powers that individuals need. Numerous creatures that live in the incredible timberland, for example, the monkeys of the Amazon Basin in South America and the lemurson theh island of Madagascon in the indian sea are vanishing quick. They are not vanishing since they are being murdered but since the trees that give their and cover are being chopped down for amble and for space to develop crops. In focal Africa the mountain gorilla is directly jeopardized in light of the fact that its timberland home is being chopped down. The equivalent is valid for the Asian primate and orangutan. Another backhanded reason for endagerment has originated from compound poisining of the enviorment. At the point when the synthetic DDT was widley utilized in the U.S to control bothers, it washed off the plants to the dirt and afterward into streama, waterways, and seas. There it was taken up with food by little ocean animals.When fish ate these creatures, they, as well, accumalated the poisin in their frameworks. What's more, when winged animals, for example, osprey, bald eagles, and pelicans ate the fish, the synthetics influenced the eggs laid by these flying creatures. They started to create eggs with shells so meager that they broke when the guardians sat on them to keep them warm. A few winged animals quit laying eggs totally. Critical thinking (school clothing standard) EssayOther poisins, for example, mercury, which is utilized in farming and industry, and polychlorinated biphenyls, knowmas PcBs, have discovered their way into seas. There they are taken in

Argumentative Essay Topics For Middle Schoolers

Argumentative Essay Topics For Middle SchoolersUsing argumentative essay topics for middle schoolers can give them a thorough understanding of critical thinking. Many students will take a topic such as the death penalty and relate it to a variety of topics in order to find out how to discuss an issue so that their peers can understand it. When they do this, they will be able to see how others feel about the topic.Argumentative essays are very important, as they can give students the skills they need to be able to analyze various ideas, and then come up with different types of arguments. It is very possible to get an understanding of these things, and know how to think when dealing with these issues. By showing their peers that they can have their own opinions and bring up a variety of topics, they will be better prepared for college.Other students will benefit greatly from having their thoughts analyzed by their younger classmates. This can give them the chance to pick up the concept s and ideas that they may not have learned during class. By having an individualized environment where they can discuss issues and build a solid foundation for the future, they will be much more knowledgeable than those who were taught the same material every day. This is great for teens, but is even better for those who want to get into graduate school or in business.The benefit of argumentative essay topics for middle school students is that it will give them the opportunity to make connections between different ideas. For example, if a student is debating the death penalty, they will need to make a point about the death penalty in a situation where they are trying to relate it to other areas of life. This is one of the main reasons why they should take up the subject, because they will get the chance to connect their own ideas with other theories and principles.High school students are in a unique situation. They are very susceptible to suggestions and ideas from their peers, but at the same time they are in a position to make their own decisions. For them to be able to make good decisions, they need to be able to use logic and reason to help determine the best course of action.When writing an essay, it is always a good idea to make sure that the topic is solid and well supported. That is what will make the topic a profitable one, as readers will get a great insight into how the topic was presented. Having a solid foundation for the essay will also ensure that it will stand the test of time.Argumentative essay topics for middle school students will allow them to build their knowledge and develop a better idea of how to deal with different situations. With a good structure for their writing, they will also become more aware of the skills they need to be able to have their own opinions and weigh those in a variety of situations. By writing in the style of a real debate, they will also gain an understanding of the audience.

The Case Of Brady V. Maryland - 1857 Words

There are several cases that have gone through the United States Supreme Court where prosecutors have not disclosed evidence to the defense, that could in turn help the defense’s case such as in the case of Brady v. Maryland, 373 U.S. 83 (1963),† the U.S. Supreme Court held that the suppression by the prosecution of evidence favorable to an accused upon request violates due process where the evidence is material either to guilt or to punishment, irrespective of the good faith or bad faith of the prosecution† (Judge, 2015). Other cases that show where officers of the courts credibility is put into question can be found in United States v. Bagley where â€Å"also clarified that impeachment evidence must be disclosed to the defense† (Judge, 2015), this had to do with police informants who the defense could have impeached their testimony, and in the case of Kyles v. Whitley, 514 U.S. 419 (1995), â€Å"imposed upon the prosecutor an affirmative duty to learn of any favorable evidence known to the others acting on the government s behalf, including the police, and a resulting duty to disclose that evidence to the defense† (Judge, 2015). The above mentioned cases all deal in some form with a person’s right to be able to have a fair trial when they are charged with a crime, and shows examples where the prosecution is required to disclose all evidence even when it is in favor of a defendant. It is important that police officers be ethical especially while on the job. An officer’sShow MoreRelatedBrady V. Maryland, 373 U.s. 83887 Words   |  4 PagesBrady v. Maryland, 373 U.S. 83 (1963) This case came about because John Brady was convicted and sentenced for the crime of murder along with another man, and it was found after the sentencing that the prosecutor did not turn over a crucial piece of evidence to the defense which included a confession by the other man. During the appeal process on behalf of Mr. Brady the â€Å"Court of Appeals held that suppression of the evidence by the prosecution denied petitioner due process of law and remanded theRead MoreBrady Vs. Maryland Case968 Words   |  4 PagesBrady Vs Maryland Brady vs. Maryland was a landmark United States Supreme Court case in which the prosecution had withheld from the criminal defendant certain evidence. The defendant faced his conviction, arguing it had been contrary to the Due Process Clause of the Fourteenth Amendment to the United States Constitution. Maryland prosecuted Brady and a companion, Boblit, for murder. Brady admitted being involved in the murder, but claimed Boblit had done the actual killing. The prosecution had withheldRead MoreThe Pre Trial Process1592 Words   |  7 Pagespreliminary hearing. The right to a preliminary examination is made up of different sections of Amendments to the United States Constitution. The preliminary examination is a preliminary hearing to determine if there is probable cause justifying sending a case to trial. During this hearing a defendant accused of committing a crime has the right of a trial by jury. A defendant has a right to remain silent and this cannot be used against him. No person can be forced to testify against themselves. A defendantRead MoreOrigins Of The United States1260 Words   |  6 Pagesapplication of the law with respect to the myriad and complexity of cases that are heard before the Court. Two such cases in which there was witnessed a distinct ideological change in the opinion of the Supreme Court with respect to the Sixth Amendment include Betts v. Brady (1942) and Gideon v. Wainwright (1963).2 These two cases pondered and deliberated the argument over the course of twenty-one years as to whether defendants in a criminal case are entitled to court appointed counsel under the guaranteesRead MoreThe People versus Tyronne Johnson1116 Words   |  4 PagesThe Assistant District Attorney, Queens County, New York, Claude Stuart was the lead prosecutor in a murder case, titled, People v. Tyronne Johnson. Johnson was tried for the murder of Leroy Vann Tony. Johnson was convicted of murder and sentenced to the term of 20 years to life. After serving 13 years of the prison sentence, the conviction of the defendant was overturned. There was a determination that the prosecutor, Claude Stuart withheld evidence from the defense which was the reason theRead MoreEthics : Ethics And Credibility1111 Words   |  5 Pagesavoid punishment, to save fac e or even to make their cases look better can lead to termination of their employment. As in Proverbs 11:3 (ESV) â€Å"The integrity of the upright guides them, but the crookedness of the treacherous destroys them†. One lie by a law enforcement officer can destroy them and not only that but it makes the department that they work for lack credibility when they need it the most such as having the ability to testify in a court case, and it makes the pubic question the whole departmentRead More Gideon Vs. Wainwright Essay691 Words   |  3 Pages United States Supreme Court cases are argued and decided on Constitutional grounds. All arguments and decisions are based on interpretations of the original Constitution and, more often, on Constitutional amendments. nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;GIDEON v. WAINWRIGHT nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;nbsp;In June 1961, Clarence Gideon was arrested and charged with breaking and entering in Bay Harbor. He was tried in a Florida Circuit Court in August 1961. Gideon stated in Court that he was unable to affordRead MoreHow The Justice System Is Run? Essay1211 Words   |  5 Pagesthe case. Investigations are often susceptible to mistakes, human error and an array of outside factors they have little to no control over. The varying factors in each investigation can sometimes create a situation that ultimately leads to a wrongful conviction. There are also people in the justice system that deliberately fabricate information or evidence, manipulate a situation or witness, or influence the case in some way to achieve the outcome they desire. The prevalence, causes and cases ofRead MoreViolation of Fourteenth Amendment Due Process Rights542 Words   |  2 PagesFACTS Appellant Brady was found guilty of first degree murder by the Maryland Court system. During his trial hearing Brady admitted to participating in the organization and forethought of the crime with a partner, although plead that he himself did not commit the crime. After disclosing his involvement, Brady’s lawyer admitted to his guilt but asked for a lesser penalty since Brady didn’t commit the murder. Before trial Brady’s council asked for all relevant information to the trial and were givenRead MoreThe Role Of Dna Analyst On The Rights Of The Defendant1827 Words   |  8 Pagesare outlined by the laws of the federal and state governments. The prosecution must share every element of their case against the defendant with the defense. There are variations in terms of the responsibility of the defense to share their case materials. Traditionally, the defense shares the reports and opinions of their experts along with any other documents pertaining to the case. There are certain terms that help a scientist to understand the process of the court. First, a scientific expert

Societal Norms Of Domestic Violence - 2500 Words

Abstract Each situation within society has its own guidelines to follow and is determined based on a particular group. There are many social norms surrounding acceptable behaviors within society. This paper will examine societal norms in relation to behavior from a domestic violence view and explore the batterer’s and victim’s perspective. Keywords: domestic violence, batterer, victim, social norms, theories Domestic Violence a Social Issue Everyone is different with a unique set of values which shapes our beliefs and views that affect our personal behavior. Domestic violence can happen to anyone no matter the race, ethnicity, or social economic status. According to Babcock, Gree, and Robie (2004), domestic violence is a learned behavior and is defined by the North Carolina Coalition Against Domestic Violence (2014) â€Å"Is when two people get into an intimate relationship and one person uses a pattern of coercion and control against the other person during the relationship and/or after the relationship has terminated. It often includes physical sexual, emotional, or economic abuse.† When defining the parties involved in domestic violence disputes, a batterer and/or victim can be male or female. For the purpose of research results we will discuss the batterer being male and the victim as female. The process of understanding domestic violence includes understanding human behavior in the social environment a nd examining battering from a batterer’s perspective.Show MoreRelatedAlcoholism Is A Strong Predictor Of Job Loss Amongst Men829 Words   |  4 Pagesperceived positive societal gains from social drinking. Results of the study indicated that males who consumed alcohol at a similar rate of their peers were considered the most popular. Alternatively, those who consumed greater amongst of alcohol than their peers were social ostracized. This study indicates that individuals who are willing to conform to group standards in regards to alcohol consumption are more likely to be excepted than individuals below or above the norm. The present study conductedRead MoreRelation Between Traditional And Modern Societies Essay1199 Words   |  5 PagesIntroduction: According to family violence clearinghouse, intimate partner violence consists of physical and sexual violence, emotional abuse, intimidation, harassment, economic abuse damage to property and threats or sexual abuse towards an intimate partner. Whilst intimate partner is defined as spouses, co-habiting partners, dating partners, boyfriend/girlfriend and separated or divorced partners. (Rayner-Thomas, Fanslow, Dixon, 2014, p. 4) Sociologist, Emile Durkheim was well-known for his understandingRead MoreThe Peace Domestic Violence Agency1315 Words   |  6 PagesThe PEACE Domestic Violence Agency (PEACE) has a mission of reducing the victim trauma, empower the survivors, and lastly, promote the recovery of the victims in the city of Portland. PEACE does this through the use of the direct services by trying to reduce the incidence of sexual assault and domestic violence through education all while striving to challenge societal norms and beliefs that condone and perpetuate violence in the community. Part One: In this paper, a stakeholder is the key to theRead MoreThe Prevalence Of The Human Papilloma Virus ( Hpv )1576 Words   |  7 Pagesserving as a median for the rest. This study explores these social, educational, cultural, and behavioral factors and how they influence the high prevalence of HPV in the Caribbean. Literature Review In The Influence of Early Sexual Debut and Sexual Violence on Adolescent Pregnancy: A Matched Case-Control Study in Jamaica, Joy Noel Bumgartner et.al conducted interviews with 250 pregnant and sexually experienced females between the ages of 15-17, but never-pregnant, neighborhood-matched controls. TheirRead MoreThe Effects Of Domestic Violence On Children780 Words   |  4 PagesDefinition/History/Statistics Historically, domestic violence has been a devastating social problem affecting individuals from every segment of the American society irrespective of race, class, age, religion, sexual orientation, nationality and economic status. Although, men to a smaller extent experience domestic violence, it is usually understood as a women s issue; which inadvertently affects children. Approximately, 85 to 95% of victims are females (Laney, 2010). Every 9 seconds in the UnitedRead MoreViolence Against Women Is A Women’S Health Issue Stemming1465 Words   |  6 PagesViolence against women is a women’s health issue stemming from the cultural acceptance of the power dynamic between men and women. Specifically, men are socialized to be more powerful, commanding and assert themselves in the public sphere. While females are socialized to be more docile, reserved, obedient and to consume as little space as possible – both physically and figuratively. This mindset is something t hat adversely affects the health of women, taking away her autonomy, and subverting herRead MoreDomestic Violence Related Crime Throughout West Virginia1208 Words   |  5 PagesDomestic violence is a universal problem that can affect an individual of any age, gender, race, education level, social class, or culture. This type of violence is considered to be one of the most widespread public health crises in the United States (Black et al., 2011). The purpose of this essay is to create a plan for a program that addresses domestic violence-related crime in West Virginia. To begin, significant information in relation to domestic violence will be provided. This will be followedRead MoreGender Stereotypes And Gender Identity Essay1310 Words   |  6 Pagescreating stereotypes and societal norms. Males are groomed to be leaders and protectors and women to be nurturers and housewives. These stereotypes control not only young children but the adults that are raising them. Lois Gould, author of X: A Fabulous Child’s Story, details how it would be difficult to be a unisex child not only because of peer alienation but also because the judgement parents would inflict because they too are slaves to societal norms. These societal norms negatively affect genderRead MoreIntimate Partner Violence And Sexual Relationships1379 Words   |  6 PagesIntimate Partner Violence One of the biggest problems that have been happening in some households over the last numbers of years is intimate partner violence (IPV). IPV has been identified as a world-wide public health concern (Kulwicki and Miller, 1999). The term intimate partner violence has been defined as the physical, emotional, verbal, or sexual abuse between a person and their spouse, this includes cohabitation and marriage. This type of violence will usually involve harm/control from oneRead MoreDomestic Violence : A Social And Legal Problem1344 Words   |  6 PagesHistorically, domestic violence has been viewed as a private issue to be dealt with between partners. It wasn’t until the 1970s that intimate partner violence (IPV), also known as domestic violence, became recognized as both a social and legal problem. Policy and lawmakers have been avidly defining the roles of the criminal justice system and communities in responding to domestic violence since its official acknowledgements as a pu blic issue. Male Victims’ Experiences with Domestic Violence Our societal

Breaking Boundaries free essay sample

â€Å"And the group from Wisconsin will be climbing Mt. Zion!† The cheers filled me with excitement and eagerness.  ­Although I had heard shocking  ­stories about being 6,000 feet up, I didnt let them get to me. I was determined, confident, and fearless. But on day one, my hips were chafing from the 60-pound backpack, my feet were blistering from the never-worn hiking boots, and – with my stubborn attitude never wanting to show defeat – my thoughts were driving me ballistic.  ­Cemented into my mind was a no-quitting, impossible-is-not-a-word attitude. But I realized that this trip would test my attitude in every way possible. â€Å"And for lunch, we will each be getting four crackers, a piece of cheese, and a piece of sausage.† I had waited all day for this? Nine hours of climbing for four crackers? And warm cheese from the bottom of a backpack? I tried to open my mind to being satisfied with so little. We will write a custom essay sample on Breaking Boundaries or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page After devouring the food, I realized that this was my reality for the next seven days. I had to be satisfied with what I was given. There was no choice but to feel energized. This realization hit me hard. I was one day in with seven ahead of me. All the comforts of home had been stripped away. Meals were not created to  ­satisfy my taste buds, but to fill me with enough calories to continue the climb. Directions were not loose rules I was encouraged to follow, but strict guidelines to save my life. The heights I faced had no seatbelts to keep me strapped in, and were life-threatening dangers. This new reality was hard, but there was no turning back. I had to deal with what lay ahead of me. Sitting in snow with the air no more than 20 degrees made huddling one of the best parts of the trip. Going through this unimaginable journey with these 14 people made the nights bearable. Climbing 6,000 feet taught me a quality I will be forever grateful for – strength. I found the strength to get up every morning, the strength to have a positive attitude about the climb, and the strength to let down my walls. I realized that its okay to be pushed beyond what I thought I could do. I learned that expressing weakness is not a defeat, but rather a gain. I learned to trust myself and the others climbing with me. This could have been taught in no better place than above the clouds. Coming back from this trip, I felt determined, confident, and fearless. But each of these qualities took on a new meaning after my summit. My stubborn attitude and refusal to be weak changed to more openness and ability to let my walls down. Mt. Zion – and each one of its 6,000 feet – changed me in a way nothing else could have.

Media Reaction free essay sample

Introduction The media reaction to immigration problem in the United States is as diverse as the cultures and people it impacts. While there does exist some common public and political views there is also factual information which could alter those positions. The media piece, discussed here, found on the website: Los Angeles Times Politics.. This paper will use the media format to address the questions on the media reaction toward immigration. What is the historical framework on this issue? On March 26, 2009, Sen. Richard Durbin introduced the Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Acts of 2009, known as the DREAM Act. What is the political content of this issue? The DREAM Act is a bill that was reintroduced within the U. S. in 2011. According to Wikipedia (2013), â€Å"The DREAM Act is the latest issue in Immigration Reform. The DREAM Act is the Development Relief and Education for Alien Minor Act changed the lives of illegal immigrants. We will write a custom essay sample on Media Reaction or any similar topic specifically for you Do Not WasteYour Time HIRE WRITER Only 13.90 / page The DREAM Act extended price cuts for in-state college tuition and speeded up the citizenship process. † Conditional Permanent Residency allowed an individual to work, drive, and travel aboard for long periods, up to 365 days in total for six years. What message does the media piece attempt to portray? Per the article, the Republicans were against the DREAM Act wanting to deport the immigrants back to where they came from. What message does the media piece attempt to convey? Was the media coverage biased or unbiased? Was the issue sensationalized or portrayed objectively? How might the media coverage effect the public perception of the issue? Does encourage or discourage prejudice, discrimination or stereotyping? The article attempts to provide perspective which addressed both the concerns and different views of the DREAM Act immigration issue in the United State. The coverage present here was bias and portrayed objectively. Carol P. Harvey, â€Å"The exploration of the immigration policy and reform is a volatile and complicated issue socially, politically, and legally. â€Å"This media presentation reinforced that with it media representation of the â€Å"DREAM Act,† proposed by the Democratic Congress and opposed by their Republican counterpart. † â€Å"It further present arguments that Obama’s program, done by executive action, does not give such immigrants legal status but it at least protects them from deportation from two years. Amendment sponsor Steve King, is a strident opponent of relaxing U. S. immigration law. He said any changes to U. S. policy should be enacted by Congress, not orchestrated by the present. † (Mascaro, 2013). If you were a manager affected by this issue and its media coverage, what inclusion strategies from this week’s reading might you implement to moderate the media’s effect on your employees and to promote inclusion in the workplace? As a manager I would include all workers in the workplace. If the worker is undocumented or not, while in the work environment by law all workers are to be treated equally and fairly. The globalization of the work place, and the diversity it brings has all employees thinking of themselves as more than just an American, as such I cannot and should not take any action or allow any which maybe discriminatory or prejudicial in nature. I would uphold all the laws and policies of the company and until told otherwise, I would treat all employees on the presumption that I or the company did not â€Å"knowingly† higher an undocumented worker.

The Emancipation of Slaves essays

The Emancipation of Slaves essays Slavery was a struggle for over ten million African Americans during the seventeenth century. Hundreds of groups and individual abolitionists attempted to overthrow slavery, enduring what they had to and willing to accept any consequences in order to get their points across. Through the numerous groups, countless movements were started, laws were issued, and all types of propaganda and literature were sprawled about the country. Slavery may have ended in 1865 but the legacy was carried on until the time of the Civil Rights Movement in the nineteen hundreds and traces are still evident in America today. Through many years of struggling and turmoil the abolitionists, especially William Lloyd Garrison, managed to emancipate slaves and to end slavery. The most influential and well-known abolitionist is the great William Lloyd Garrison. Garrison was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts in 1805 (William Lloyd Garrison 329). Garrison at age twenty-two heard another famous abolitionist, Benjamin Lundy; give a speech on the abolition of slaves. Garrison was deeply inspired by Lundy and began preaching against slavery and joined Lundy in his quest. Garrison became the junior editor of The Genius of Universal Emancipation which was owned by Lundy (Aptheker 3). Garrison attempted to convince people that immediate and complete emancipation was necessary (William Lloyd Garrison 329). A slave trader by the name of Francis Todd filed suit against Garrison for writing about him. Garrison had said how terribly Todd treated his slaves. On April 3, 1830, a jury found Garrison guilty within fifteen minutes for this had taken place in the South where slavery was deemed a necessity and a way of life. The jury sentenced him to a one-hundred dollar fine or six months in jail. Garrison, not having enough money to bail himself out and refusing to accept money from several supporters, proudly entered the Baltimore Public Jail. Garri...

Angels Demons Chapter 9397

Still he clawed on. Somewhere a voice was telling him to move left. If you can get to the main aisle, you can dash for the exit. He knew it was impossible. There’s a wall of flames blocking the main aisle! His mind hunting for options, Langdon scrambled blindly on. The footsteps closed faster now to his right. When it happened, Langdon was unprepared. He had guessed he had another ten feet of pews until he reached the front of the church. He had guessed wrong. Without warning, the cover above him ran out. He froze for an instant, half exposed at the front of the church. Rising in the recess to his left, gargantuan from this vantage point, was the very thing that had brought him here. He had entirely forgotten. Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa rose up like some sort of pornographic still life†¦ the saint on her back, arched in pleasure, mouth open in a moan, and over her, an angel pointing his spear of fire. A bullet exploded in the pew over Langdon’s head. He felt his body rise like a sprinter out of a gate. Fueled only by adrenaline, and barely conscious of his actions, he was suddenly running, hunched, head down, pounding across the front of the church to his right. As the bullets erupted behind him, Langdon dove yet again, sliding out of control across the marble floor before crashing in a heap against the railing of a niche on the right-hand wall. It was then that he saw her. A crumpled heap near the back of the church. Vittoria! Her bare legs were twisted beneath her, but Langdon sensed somehow that she was breathing. He had no time to help her. Immediately, the killer rounded the pews on the far left of the church and bore relentlessly down. Langdon knew in a heartbeat it was over. The killer raised the weapon, and Langdon did the only thing he could do. He rolled his body over the banister into the niche. As he hit the floor on the other side, the marble columns of the balustrade exploded in a storm of bullets. Langdon felt like a cornered animal as he scrambled deeper into the semicircular niche. Rising before him, the niche’s sole contents seemed ironically apropos – a single sarcophagus. Mine perhaps, Langdon thought. Even the casket itself seemed fitting. It was a sctola – a small, unadorned, marble box. Burial on a budget. The casket was raised off the floor on two marble blocks, and Langdon eyed the opening beneath it, wondering if he could slide through. Footsteps echoed behind him. With no other option in sight, Langdon pressed himself to the floor and slithered toward the casket. Grabbing the two marble supports, one with each hand, he pulled like a breaststroker, dragging his torso into the opening beneath the tomb. The gun went off. Accompanying the roar of the gun, Langdon felt a sensation he had never felt in his life†¦ a bullet sailing past his flesh. There was a hiss of wind, like the backlash of a whip, as the bullet just missed him and exploded in the marble with a puff of dust. Blood surging, Langdon heaved his body the rest of the way beneath the casket. Scrambling across the marble floor, he pulled himself out from beneath the casket and to the other side. Dead end. Langdon was now face to face with the rear wall of the niche. He had no doubt that this tiny space behind the tomb would become his grave. And soon, he realized, as he saw the barrel of the gun appear in the opening beneath the sarcophagus. The Hassassin held the weapon parallel with the floor, pointing directly at Langdon’s midsection. Impossible to miss. Langdon felt a trace of self-preservation grip his unconscious mind. He twisted his body onto his stomach, parallel with the casket. Facedown, he planted his hands flat on the floor, the glass cut from the archives pinching open with a stab. Ignoring the pain, he pushed. Driving his body upward in an awkward push-up, Langdon arched his stomach off the floor just as the gun went off. He could feel the shock wave of the bullets as they sailed beneath him and pulverized the porous travertine behind. Closing his eyes and straining against exhaustion, Langdon prayed for the thunder to stop. And then it did. The roar of gunfire was replaced with the cold click of an empty chamber. Langdon opened his eyes slowly, almost fearful his eyelids would make a sound. Fighting the trembling pain, he held his position, arched like a cat. He didn’t even dare breathe. His eardrums numbed by gunfire, Langdon listened for any hint of the killer’s departure. Silence. He thought of Vittoria and ached to help her. The sound that followed was deafening. Barely human. A guttural bellow of exertion. The sarcophagus over Langdon’s head suddenly seemed to rise on its side. Langdon collapsed on the floor as hundreds of pounds teetered toward him. Gravity overcame friction, and the lid was the first to go, sliding off the tomb and crashing to the floor beside him. The casket came next, rolling off its supports and toppling upside down toward Langdon. As the box rolled, Langdon knew he would either be entombed in the hollow beneath it or crushed by one of the edges. Pulling in his legs and head, Langdon compacted his body and yanked his arms to his sides. Then he closed his eyes and awaited the sickening crush. When it came, the entire floor shook beneath him. The upper rim landed only millimeters from the top of his head, rattling his teeth in their sockets. His right arm, which Langdon had been certain would be crushed, miraculously still felt intact. He opened his eyes to see a shaft of light. The right rim of the casket had not fallen all the way to the floor and was still propped partially on its supports. Directly overhead, though, Langdon found himself staring quite literally into the face of death. The original occupant of the tomb was suspended above him, having adhered, as decaying bodies often did, to the bottom of the casket. The skeleton hovered a moment, like a tentative lover, and then with a sticky crackling, it succumbed to gravity and peeled away. The carcass rushed down to embrace him, raining putrid bones and dust into Langdon’s eyes and mouth. Before Langdon could react, a blind arm was slithering through the opening beneath the casket, sifting through the carcass like a hungry python. It groped until it found Langdon’s neck and clamped down. Langdon tried to fight back against the iron fist now crushing his larynx, but he found his left sleeve pinched beneath the edge of the coffin. He had only one arm free, and the fight was a losing battle. Langdon’s legs bent in the only open space he had, his feet searching for the casket floor above him. He found it. Coiling, he planted his feet. Then, as the hand around his neck squeezed tighter, Langdon closed his eyes and extended his legs like a ram. The casket shifted, ever so slightly, but enough. With a raw grinding, the sarcophagus slid off the supports and landed on the floor. The casket rim crashed onto the killer’s arm, and there was a muffled scream of pain. The hand released Langdon’s neck, twisting and jerking away into the dark. When the killer finally pulled his arm free, the casket fell with a conclusive thud against the flat marble floor. Complete darkness. Again. And silence. There was no frustrated pounding outside the overturned sarcophagus. No prying to get in. Nothing. As Langdon lay in the dark amidst a pile of bones, he fought the closing darkness and turned his thoughts to her. Vittoria. Are you alive? If Langdon had known the truth – the horror to which Vittoria would soon awake – he would have wished for her sake that she were dead. 94 Sitting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati tried to comprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the candlelight, the camerlegno had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery that Mortati found himself trembling. The camerlegno spoke of kidnapped cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered cardinals. He spoke of the ancient Illuminati – a name that dredged up forgotten fears – and of their resurgence and vow of revenge against the church. With pain in his voice, the camerlegno spoke of his late Pope†¦ the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter, which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City. When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the room. Nobody could move. The camerlegno’s words hung in the darkness. The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a television camera in back – an electronic presence no conclave in history had ever endured – but a presence demanded by the camerlegno. To the utter astonishment of the cardinals, the camerlegno had entered the Sistine Chapel with two BBC reporters – a man and a woman – and announced that they would be transmitting his solemn statement, live to the world. Now, speaking directly to the camera, the camerlegno stepped forward. â€Å"To the Illuminati,† he said, his voice deepening, â€Å"and to those of science, let me say this.† He paused. â€Å"You have won the war.† The silence spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could hear the desperate thumping of his own heart. â€Å"The wheels have been in motion for a long time,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science is the new God.† What is he saying? Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing this! â€Å"Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation†¦ these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.† A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel. â€Å"But science’s victory,† the camerlegno added, his voice intensifying, â€Å"has cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.† Silence. â€Å"Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.† He paused. â€Å"Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science l ooks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God’s world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning†¦ and all it finds is more questions.† Mortati watched in awe. The camerlegno was almost hypnotic now. He had a physical strength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never witnessed on a Vatican altar. The man’s voice was wrought with conviction and sadness. â€Å"The ancient war between science and religion is over,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests – all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. Th ey are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from technology.† Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest’s every utterance. The camerlegno spoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure. Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the modern language†¦ delivering the ancient message. In that moment, Mortati saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. In a world of apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the camerlegno, realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church’s only hope. The camerlegno was talking more forcefully now. â€Å"Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species†¦ moving down a path of destruction.† The camerlegno paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the camera. â€Å"Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea. â€Å"To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the ch urch who points out the fallacy of this reasoning. â€Å"And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God!† The camerlegno had tears in his eyes now. â€Å"You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God’s hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have w e become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us? â€Å"Whether or not you believe in God,† the camerlegno said, his voice deepening with deliberation, â€Å"you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith†¦ all faiths†¦ are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable†¦ With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this church as I do†¦ looking beyond the ritual of these walls†¦ they would see a modern miracle†¦ a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.† The camerlegno motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC camerawoman instinctively followed, panning the crowd. â€Å"Are we obsolete?† the camerlegno asked. â€Å"Are these men dino-saurs? Am I? Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose our way?† Mortati now realized that the camerlegno, whether consciously or not, was making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the church. Vatican City was no longer a building, it was people – people like the camerlegno who had spent their lives in the service of goodness. â€Å"Tonight we are perched on a precipice,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality†¦ the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.† The camerlegno lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in. â€Å"The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.† Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated, but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The camerlegno was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was entreating anyone, friend or foe, to see the light and stop this madness. Certainly someone listening would realize the insanity of this plot and come forward. The camerlegno knelt at the altar. â€Å"Pray with me.† The College of Cardinals dropped to their knees to join him in prayer. Outside in St. Peter’s Square and around the globe†¦ a stunned world knelt with them. 95 The Hassassin lay his unconscious trophy in the rear of the van and took a moment to admire her sprawled body. She was not as beautiful as the women he bought, and yet she had an animal strength that excited him. Her body was radiant, dewy with perspiration. She smelled of musk. As the Hassasin stood there savoring his prize, he ignored the throb in his arm. The bruise from the falling sarcophagus, although painful, was insignificant†¦ well worth the compensation that lay before him. He took consolation in knowing the American who had done this to him was probably dead by now. Gazing down at his incapacitated prisoner, the Hassassin visualized what lay ahead. He ran a palm up beneath her shirt. Her breasts felt perfect beneath her bra. Yes, he smiled. You are more than worthy. Fighting the urge to take her right there, he closed the door and drove off into the night. There was no need to alert the press about this killing†¦ the flames would do that for him. At CERN, Sylvie sat stunned by the camerlegno’s address. Never before had she felt so proud to be a Catholic and so ashamed to work at CERN. As she left the recreational wing, the mood in every single viewing room was dazed and somber. When she got back to Kohler’s office, all seven phone lines were ringing. Media inquiries were never routed to Kohler’s office, so the incoming calls could only be one thing. Geld. Money calls. Antimatter technology already had some takers. Inside the Vatican, Gunther Glick was walking on air as he followed the camerlegno from the Sistine Chapel. Glick and Macri had just made the live transmission of the decade. And what a transmission it had been. The camerlegno had been spellbinding. Now out in the hallway, the camerlegno turned to Glick and Macri. â€Å"I have asked the Swiss Guard to assemble photos for you – photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Holiness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns. Blackened tongues. But I would like you to broadcast them to the world.† Glick decided it must be perpetual Christmas inside Vatican City. He wants me to broadcast an exclusive photo of the dead Pope? â€Å"Are you sure?† Glick asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The camerlegno nodded. â€Å"The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter canister as it counts down.† Glick stared. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas! â€Å"The Illuminati are about to find out,† the camerlegno declared, â€Å"that they have grossly overplayed their hand.† 96 Like a recurring theme in some demonic symphony, the suffocating darkness had returned. No light. No air. No exit. Langdon lay trapped beneath the overturned sarcophagus and felt his mind careening dangerously close to the brink. Trying to drive his thoughts in any direction other than the crushing space around him, Langdon urged his mind toward some logical process†¦ mathematics, music, anything. But there was no room for calming thoughts. I can’t move! I can’t breathe! The pinched sleeve of his jacket had thankfully come free when the casket fell, leaving Langdon now with two mobile arms. Even so, as he pressed upward on the ceiling of his tiny cell, he found it immovable. Oddly, he wished his sleeve were still caught. At least it might create a crack for some air. As Langdon pushed against the roof above, his sleeve fell back to reveal the faint glow of an old friend. Mickey. The greenish cartoon face seemed mocking now. Langdon probed the blackness for any other sign of light, but the casket rim was flush against the floor. Goddamn Italian perfectionists, he cursed, now imperiled by the same artistic excellence he taught his students to revere†¦ impeccable edges, faultless parallels, and of course, use only of the most seamless and resilient Carrara marble. Precision can be suffocating. â€Å"Lift the damn thing,† he said aloud, pressing harder through the tangle of bones. The box shifted slightly. Setting his jaw, he heaved again. The box felt like a boulder, but this time it raised a quarter of an inch. A fleeting glimmer of light surrounded him, and then the casket thudded back down. Langdon lay panting in the dark. He tried to use his legs to lift as he had before, but now that the sarcophagus had fallen flat, there was no room even to straighten his knees. As the claustrophobic panic closed in, Langdon was overcome by images of the sarcophagus shrinking around him. Squeezed by delirium, he fought the illusion with every logical shred of intellect he had. â€Å"Sarcophagus,† he stated aloud, with as much academic sterility as he could muster. But even erudition seemed to be his enemy today. Sarcophagus is from the Greek â€Å"sarx† meaning â€Å"flesh,† and â€Å"phagein† meaning â€Å"to eat.† I’m trapped in a box literally designed to â€Å"eat flesh.† Images of flesh eaten from bone only served as a grim reminder that Langdon lay covered in human remains. The notion brought nausea and chills. But it also brought an idea. Fumbling blindly around the coffin, Langdon found a shard of bone. A rib maybe? He didn’t care. All he wanted was a wedge. If he could lift the box, even a crack, and slide the bone fragment beneath the rim, then maybe enough air could†¦ Reaching across his body and wedging the tapered end of the bone into the crack between the floor and the coffin, Langdon reached up with his other hand and heaved skyward. The box did not move. Not even slightly. He tried again. For a moment, it seemed to tremble slightly, but that was all. With the fetid stench and lack of oxygen choking the strength from his body, Langdon realized he only had time for one more effort. He also knew he would need both arms. Regrouping, he placed the tapered edge of the bone against the crack, and shifting his body, he wedged the bone against his shoulder, pinning it in place. Careful not to dislodge it, he raised both hands above him. As the stifling confine began to smother him, he felt a welling of intensified panic. It was the second time today he had been trapped with no air. Hollering aloud, Langdon thrust upward in one explosive motion. The casket jostled off the floor for an instant. But long enough. The bone shard he had braced against his shoulder slipped outward into the widening crack. When the casket fell again, the bone shattered. But this time Langdon could see the casket was propped up. A tiny slit of light showed beneath the rim. Exhausted, Langdon collapsed. Hoping the strangling sensation in his throat would pass, he waited. But it only worsened as the seconds passed. Whatever air was coming through the slit seemed imperceptible. Langdon wondered if it would be enough to keep him alive. And if so, for how long? If he passed out, who would know he was even in there? With arms like lead, Langdon raised his watch again: 10:12 P.M. Fighting trembling fingers, he fumbled with the watch and made his final play. He twisted one of the tiny dials and pressed a button. As consciousness faded, and the walls squeezed closer, Langdon felt the old fears sweep over him. He tried to imagine, as he had so many times, that he was in an open field. The image he conjured, however, was no help. The nightmare that had haunted him since his youth came crashing back†¦ The flowers here are like paintings, the child thought, laughing as he ran across the meadow. He wished his parents had come along. But his parents were busy pitching camp. â€Å"Don’t explore too far,† his mother had said. He had pretended not to hear as he bounded off into the woods. Now, traversing this glorious field, the boy came across a pile of fieldstones. He figured it must be the foundation of an old homestead. He would not go near it. He knew better. Besides, his eyes had been drawn to something else – a brilliant lady’s slipper – the rarest and most beautiful flower in New Hampshire. He had only ever seen them in books. Excited, the boy moved toward the flower. He knelt down. The ground beneath him felt mulchy and hollow. He realized his flower had found an extra-fertile spot. It was growing from a patch of rotting wood. Thrilled by the thought of taking home his prize, the boy reached out†¦ fingers extending toward the stem. He never reached it. With a sickening crack, the earth gave way. In the three seconds of dizzying terror as he fell, the boy knew he would die. Plummeting downward, he braced for the bone-crushing collision. When it came, there was no pain. Only softness. And cold. He hit the deep liquid face first, plunging into a narrow blackness. Spinning disoriented somersaults, he groped the sheer walls thatenclosed him on all sides. Somehow, as if by instinct, he sputtered to the surface. Light. Faint. Above him. Miles above him, it seemed. His arms clawed at the water, searching the walls of the hollow for something to grab onto. Only smooth stone. He had fallen through an abandoned well covering. He screamed for help, but his cries reverberated in the tight shaft. He called out again and again. Above him, the tattered hole grew dim. Night fell. Time seemed to contort in the darkness. Numbness set in as he treaded water in the depths of the chasm, calling, crying out. He was tormented by visions of the walls collapsing in, burying him alive. His arms ached with fatigue. A few times he thought he heard voices. He shouted out, but his own voice was muted†¦ like a dream. As the night wore on, the shaft deepened. The walls inched quietly inward. The boy pressed out against the enclosure, pushing it away. Exhausted, he wanted to give up. And yet he felt the water buoy him, cooling his burning fears until he was numb. When the rescue team arrived, they found the boy barely conscious. He had been treading water for five hours. Two days later, the Boston Globe ran a front-page story called â€Å"The Little Swimmer That Could.† 97 The Hassassin smiled as he pulled his van into the mammoth stone structure overlooking the Tiber River. He carried his prize up and up†¦ spiraling higher in the stone tunnel, grateful his load was slender. He arrived at the door. The Church of Illumination, he gloated. The ancient Illuminati meeting room. Who would have imagined it to be here? Inside, he lay her on a plush divan. Then he expertly bound her arms behind her back and tied her feet. He knew that what he longed for would have to wait until his final task was finished. Water. Still, he thought, he had a moment for indulgence. Kneeling beside her, he ran his hand along her thigh. It was smooth. Higher. His dark fingers snaked beneath the cuff of her shorts. Higher. He stopped. Patience, he told himself, feeling aroused. There is work to be done. He walked for a moment out onto the chamber’s high stone balcony. The evening breeze slowly cooled his ardor. Far below the Tiber raged. He raised his eyes to the dome of St. Peter’s, three quarters of a mile away, naked under the glare of hundreds of press lights. â€Å"Your final hour,† he said aloud, picturing the thousands of Muslims slaughtered during the Crusades. â€Å"At midnight you will meet your God.† Behind him, the woman stirred. The Hassassin turned. He considered letting her wake up. Seeing terror in a woman’s eyes was his ultimate aphrodisiac. He opted for prudence. It would be better if she remained unconscious while he was gone. Although she was tied and would never escape, the Hassassin did not want to return and find her exhausted from struggling. I want your strength preserved†¦ for me. Lifting her head slightly, he placed his palm beneath her neck and found the hollow directly beneath her skull. The crown/meridian pressure point was one he had used countless times. With crushing force, he drove his thumb into the soft cartilage and felt it depress. The woman slumped instantly. Twenty minutes, he thought. She would be a tantalizing end to a perfect day. After she had served him and died doing it, he would stand on the balcony and watch the midnight Vatican fireworks. Leaving his prize unconscious on the couch, the Hassassin went downstairs into a torchlit dungeon. The final task. He walked to the table and revered the sacred, metal forms that had been left there for him. Water. It was his last. Removing a torch from the wall as he had done three times already, he began heating the end. When the end of the object was white hot, he carried it to the cell. Inside, a single man stood in silence. Old and alone. â€Å"Cardinal Baggia,† the killer hissed. â€Å"Have you prayed yet?† The Italian’s eyes were fearless. â€Å"Only for your soul.† Angels Demons Chapter 9397 Still he clawed on. Somewhere a voice was telling him to move left. If you can get to the main aisle, you can dash for the exit. He knew it was impossible. There’s a wall of flames blocking the main aisle! His mind hunting for options, Langdon scrambled blindly on. The footsteps closed faster now to his right. When it happened, Langdon was unprepared. He had guessed he had another ten feet of pews until he reached the front of the church. He had guessed wrong. Without warning, the cover above him ran out. He froze for an instant, half exposed at the front of the church. Rising in the recess to his left, gargantuan from this vantage point, was the very thing that had brought him here. He had entirely forgotten. Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa rose up like some sort of pornographic still life†¦ the saint on her back, arched in pleasure, mouth open in a moan, and over her, an angel pointing his spear of fire. A bullet exploded in the pew over Langdon’s head. He felt his body rise like a sprinter out of a gate. Fueled only by adrenaline, and barely conscious of his actions, he was suddenly running, hunched, head down, pounding across the front of the church to his right. As the bullets erupted behind him, Langdon dove yet again, sliding out of control across the marble floor before crashing in a heap against the railing of a niche on the right-hand wall. It was then that he saw her. A crumpled heap near the back of the church. Vittoria! Her bare legs were twisted beneath her, but Langdon sensed somehow that she was breathing. He had no time to help her. Immediately, the killer rounded the pews on the far left of the church and bore relentlessly down. Langdon knew in a heartbeat it was over. The killer raised the weapon, and Langdon did the only thing he could do. He rolled his body over the banister into the niche. As he hit the floor on the other side, the marble columns of the balustrade exploded in a storm of bullets. Langdon felt like a cornered animal as he scrambled deeper into the semicircular niche. Rising before him, the niche’s sole contents seemed ironically apropos – a single sarcophagus. Mine perhaps, Langdon thought. Even the casket itself seemed fitting. It was a sctola – a small, unadorned, marble box. Burial on a budget. The casket was raised off the floor on two marble blocks, and Langdon eyed the opening beneath it, wondering if he could slide through. Footsteps echoed behind him. With no other option in sight, Langdon pressed himself to the floor and slithered toward the casket. Grabbing the two marble supports, one with each hand, he pulled like a breaststroker, dragging his torso into the opening beneath the tomb. The gun went off. Accompanying the roar of the gun, Langdon felt a sensation he had never felt in his life†¦ a bullet sailing past his flesh. There was a hiss of wind, like the backlash of a whip, as the bullet just missed him and exploded in the marble with a puff of dust. Blood surging, Langdon heaved his body the rest of the way beneath the casket. Scrambling across the marble floor, he pulled himself out from beneath the casket and to the other side. Dead end. Langdon was now face to face with the rear wall of the niche. He had no doubt that this tiny space behind the tomb would become his grave. And soon, he realized, as he saw the barrel of the gun appear in the opening beneath the sarcophagus. The Hassassin held the weapon parallel with the floor, pointing directly at Langdon’s midsection. Impossible to miss. Langdon felt a trace of self-preservation grip his unconscious mind. He twisted his body onto his stomach, parallel with the casket. Facedown, he planted his hands flat on the floor, the glass cut from the archives pinching open with a stab. Ignoring the pain, he pushed. Driving his body upward in an awkward push-up, Langdon arched his stomach off the floor just as the gun went off. He could feel the shock wave of the bullets as they sailed beneath him and pulverized the porous travertine behind. Closing his eyes and straining against exhaustion, Langdon prayed for the thunder to stop. And then it did. The roar of gunfire was replaced with the cold click of an empty chamber. Langdon opened his eyes slowly, almost fearful his eyelids would make a sound. Fighting the trembling pain, he held his position, arched like a cat. He didn’t even dare breathe. His eardrums numbed by gunfire, Langdon listened for any hint of the killer’s departure. Silence. He thought of Vittoria and ached to help her. The sound that followed was deafening. Barely human. A guttural bellow of exertion. The sarcophagus over Langdon’s head suddenly seemed to rise on its side. Langdon collapsed on the floor as hundreds of pounds teetered toward him. Gravity overcame friction, and the lid was the first to go, sliding off the tomb and crashing to the floor beside him. The casket came next, rolling off its supports and toppling upside down toward Langdon. As the box rolled, Langdon knew he would either be entombed in the hollow beneath it or crushed by one of the edges. Pulling in his legs and head, Langdon compacted his body and yanked his arms to his sides. Then he closed his eyes and awaited the sickening crush. When it came, the entire floor shook beneath him. The upper rim landed only millimeters from the top of his head, rattling his teeth in their sockets. His right arm, which Langdon had been certain would be crushed, miraculously still felt intact. He opened his eyes to see a shaft of light. The right rim of the casket had not fallen all the way to the floor and was still propped partially on its supports. Directly overhead, though, Langdon found himself staring quite literally into the face of death. The original occupant of the tomb was suspended above him, having adhered, as decaying bodies often did, to the bottom of the casket. The skeleton hovered a moment, like a tentative lover, and then with a sticky crackling, it succumbed to gravity and peeled away. The carcass rushed down to embrace him, raining putrid bones and dust into Langdon’s eyes and mouth. Before Langdon could react, a blind arm was slithering through the opening beneath the casket, sifting through the carcass like a hungry python. It groped until it found Langdon’s neck and clamped down. Langdon tried to fight back against the iron fist now crushing his larynx, but he found his left sleeve pinched beneath the edge of the coffin. He had only one arm free, and the fight was a losing battle. Langdon’s legs bent in the only open space he had, his feet searching for the casket floor above him. He found it. Coiling, he planted his feet. Then, as the hand around his neck squeezed tighter, Langdon closed his eyes and extended his legs like a ram. The casket shifted, ever so slightly, but enough. With a raw grinding, the sarcophagus slid off the supports and landed on the floor. The casket rim crashed onto the killer’s arm, and there was a muffled scream of pain. The hand released Langdon’s neck, twisting and jerking away into the dark. When the killer finally pulled his arm free, the casket fell with a conclusive thud against the flat marble floor. Complete darkness. Again. And silence. There was no frustrated pounding outside the overturned sarcophagus. No prying to get in. Nothing. As Langdon lay in the dark amidst a pile of bones, he fought the closing darkness and turned his thoughts to her. Vittoria. Are you alive? If Langdon had known the truth – the horror to which Vittoria would soon awake – he would have wished for her sake that she were dead. 94 Sitting in the Sistine Chapel among his stunned colleagues, Cardinal Mortati tried to comprehend the words he was hearing. Before him, lit only by the candlelight, the camerlegno had just told a tale of such hatred and treachery that Mortati found himself trembling. The camerlegno spoke of kidnapped cardinals, branded cardinals, murdered cardinals. He spoke of the ancient Illuminati – a name that dredged up forgotten fears – and of their resurgence and vow of revenge against the church. With pain in his voice, the camerlegno spoke of his late Pope†¦ the victim of an Illuminati poisoning. And finally, his words almost a whisper, he spoke of a deadly new technology, antimatter, which in less than two hours threatened to destroy all of Vatican City. When he was through, it was as if Satan himself had sucked the air from the room. Nobody could move. The camerlegno’s words hung in the darkness. The only sound Mortati could now hear was the anomalous hum of a television camera in back – an electronic presence no conclave in history had ever endured – but a presence demanded by the camerlegno. To the utter astonishment of the cardinals, the camerlegno had entered the Sistine Chapel with two BBC reporters – a man and a woman – and announced that they would be transmitting his solemn statement, live to the world. Now, speaking directly to the camera, the camerlegno stepped forward. â€Å"To the Illuminati,† he said, his voice deepening, â€Å"and to those of science, let me say this.† He paused. â€Å"You have won the war.† The silence spread now to the deepest corners of the chapel. Mortati could hear the desperate thumping of his own heart. â€Å"The wheels have been in motion for a long time,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"Your victory has been inevitable. Never before has it been as obvious as it is at this moment. Science is the new God.† What is he saying? Mortati thought. Has he gone mad? The entire world is hearing this! â€Å"Medicine, electronic communications, space travel, genetic manipulation†¦ these are the miracles about which we now tell our children. These are the miracles we herald as proof that science will bring us the answers. The ancient stories of immaculate conceptions, burning bushes, and parting seas are no longer relevant. God has become obsolete. Science has won the battle. We concede.† A rustle of confusion and bewilderment swept through the chapel. â€Å"But science’s victory,† the camerlegno added, his voice intensifying, â€Å"has cost every one of us. And it has cost us deeply.† Silence. â€Å"Science may have alleviated the miseries of disease and drudgery and provided an array of gadgetry for our entertainment and convenience, but it has left us in a world without wonder. Our sunsets have been reduced to wavelengths and frequencies. The complexities of the universe have been shredded into mathematical equations. Even our self-worth as human beings has been destroyed. Science proclaims that Planet Earth and its inhabitants are a meaningless speck in the grand scheme. A cosmic accident.† He paused. â€Å"Even the technology that promises to unite us, divides us. Each of us is now electronically connected to the globe, and yet we feel utterly alone. We are bombarded with violence, division, fracture, and betrayal. Skepticism has become a virtue. Cynicism and demand for proof has become enlightened thought. Is it any wonder that humans now feel more depressed and defeated than they have at any point in human history? Does science hold anything sacred? Science l ooks for answers by probing our unborn fetuses. Science even presumes to rearrange our own DNA. It shatters God’s world into smaller and smaller pieces in quest of meaning†¦ and all it finds is more questions.† Mortati watched in awe. The camerlegno was almost hypnotic now. He had a physical strength in his movements and voice that Mortati had never witnessed on a Vatican altar. The man’s voice was wrought with conviction and sadness. â€Å"The ancient war between science and religion is over,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"You have won. But you have not won fairly. You have not won by providing answers. You have won by so radically reorienting our society that the truths we once saw as signposts now seem inapplicable. Religion cannot keep up. Scientific growth is exponential. It feeds on itself like a virus. Every new breakthrough opens doors for new breakthroughs. Mankind took thousands of years to progress from the wheel to the car. Yet only decades from the car into space. Now we measure scientific progress in weeks. We are spinning out of control. The rift between us grows deeper and deeper, and as religion is left behind, people find themselves in a spiritual void. We cry out for meaning. And believe me, we do cry out. We see UFOs, engage in channeling, spirit contact, out-of-body experiences, mindquests – all these eccentric ideas have a scientific veneer, but they are unashamedly irrational. Th ey are the desperate cry of the modern soul, lonely and tormented, crippled by its own enlightenment and its inability to accept meaning in anything removed from technology.† Mortati could feel himself leaning forward in his seat. He and the other cardinals and people around the world were hanging on this priest’s every utterance. The camerlegno spoke with no rhetoric or vitriol. No references to scripture or Jesus Christ. He spoke in modern terms, unadorned and pure. Somehow, as though the words were flowing from God himself, he spoke the modern language†¦ delivering the ancient message. In that moment, Mortati saw one of the reasons the late Pope held this young man so dear. In a world of apathy, cynicism, and technological deification, men like the camerlegno, realists who could speak to our souls like this man just had, were the church’s only hope. The camerlegno was talking more forcefully now. â€Å"Science, you say, will save us. Science, I say, has destroyed us. Since the days of Galileo, the church has tried to slow the relentless march of science, sometimes with misguided means, but always with benevolent intention. Even so, the temptations are too great for man to resist. I warn you, look around yourselves. The promises of science have not been kept. Promises of efficiency and simplicity have bred nothing but pollution and chaos. We are a fractured and frantic species†¦ moving down a path of destruction.† The camerlegno paused a long moment and then sharpened his eyes on the camera. â€Å"Who is this God science? Who is the God who offers his people power but no moral framework to tell you how to use that power? What kind of God gives a child fire but does not warn the child of its dangers? The language of science comes with no signposts about good and bad. Science textbooks tell us how to create a nuclear reaction, and yet they contain no chapter asking us if it is a good or a bad idea. â€Å"To science, I say this. The church is tired. We are exhausted from trying to be your signposts. Our resources are drying up from our campaign to be the voice of balance as you plow blindly on in your quest for smaller chips and larger profits. We ask not why you will not govern yourselves, but how can you? Your world moves so fast that if you stop even for an instant to consider the implications of your actions, someone more efficient will whip past you in a blur. So you move on. You proliferate weapons of mass destruction, but it is the Pope who travels the world beseeching leaders to use restraint. You clone living creatures, but it is the church reminding us to consider the moral implications of our actions. You encourage people to interact on phones, video screens, and computers, but it is the church who opens its doors and reminds us to commune in person as we were meant to do. You even murder unborn babies in the name of research that will save lives. Again, it is the ch urch who points out the fallacy of this reasoning. â€Å"And all the while, you proclaim the church is ignorant. But who is more ignorant? The man who cannot define lightning, or the man who does not respect its awesome power? This church is reaching out to you. Reaching out to everyone. And yet the more we reach, the more you push us away. Show me proof there is a God, you say. I say use your telescopes to look to the heavens, and tell me how there could not be a God!† The camerlegno had tears in his eyes now. â€Å"You ask what does God look like. I say, where did that question come from? The answers are one and the same. Do you not see God in your science? How can you miss Him! You proclaim that even the slightest change in the force of gravity or the weight of an atom would have rendered our universe a lifeless mist rather than our magnificent sea of heavenly bodies, and yet you fail to see God’s hand in this? Is it really so much easier to believe that we simply chose the right card from a deck of billions? Have w e become so spiritually bankrupt that we would rather believe in mathematical impossibility than in a power greater than us? â€Å"Whether or not you believe in God,† the camerlegno said, his voice deepening with deliberation, â€Å"you must believe this. When we as a species abandon our trust in the power greater than us, we abandon our sense of accountability. Faith†¦ all faiths†¦ are admonitions that there is something we cannot understand, something to which we are accountable†¦ With faith we are accountable to each other, to ourselves, and to a higher truth. Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed. If the outside world could see this church as I do†¦ looking beyond the ritual of these walls†¦ they would see a modern miracle†¦ a brotherhood of imperfect, simple souls wanting only to be a voice of compassion in a world spinning out of control.† The camerlegno motioned out over the College of Cardinals, and the BBC camerawoman instinctively followed, panning the crowd. â€Å"Are we obsolete?† the camerlegno asked. â€Å"Are these men dino-saurs? Am I? Does the world really need a voice for the poor, the weak, the oppressed, the unborn child? Do we really need souls like these who, though imperfect, spend their lives imploring each of us to read the signposts of morality and not lose our way?† Mortati now realized that the camerlegno, whether consciously or not, was making a brilliant move. By showing the cardinals, he was personalizing the church. Vatican City was no longer a building, it was people – people like the camerlegno who had spent their lives in the service of goodness. â€Å"Tonight we are perched on a precipice,† the camerlegno said. â€Å"None of us can afford to be apathetic. Whether you see this evil as Satan, corruption, or immorality†¦ the dark force is alive and growing every day. Do not ignore it.† The camerlegno lowered his voice to a whisper, and the camera moved in. â€Å"The force, though mighty, is not invincible. Goodness can prevail. Listen to your hearts. Listen to God. Together we can step back from this abyss.† Now Mortati understood. This was the reason. Conclave had been violated, but this was the only way. It was a dramatic and desperate plea for help. The camerlegno was speaking to both his enemy and his friends now. He was entreating anyone, friend or foe, to see the light and stop this madness. Certainly someone listening would realize the insanity of this plot and come forward. The camerlegno knelt at the altar. â€Å"Pray with me.† The College of Cardinals dropped to their knees to join him in prayer. Outside in St. Peter’s Square and around the globe†¦ a stunned world knelt with them. 95 The Hassassin lay his unconscious trophy in the rear of the van and took a moment to admire her sprawled body. She was not as beautiful as the women he bought, and yet she had an animal strength that excited him. Her body was radiant, dewy with perspiration. She smelled of musk. As the Hassasin stood there savoring his prize, he ignored the throb in his arm. The bruise from the falling sarcophagus, although painful, was insignificant†¦ well worth the compensation that lay before him. He took consolation in knowing the American who had done this to him was probably dead by now. Gazing down at his incapacitated prisoner, the Hassassin visualized what lay ahead. He ran a palm up beneath her shirt. Her breasts felt perfect beneath her bra. Yes, he smiled. You are more than worthy. Fighting the urge to take her right there, he closed the door and drove off into the night. There was no need to alert the press about this killing†¦ the flames would do that for him. At CERN, Sylvie sat stunned by the camerlegno’s address. Never before had she felt so proud to be a Catholic and so ashamed to work at CERN. As she left the recreational wing, the mood in every single viewing room was dazed and somber. When she got back to Kohler’s office, all seven phone lines were ringing. Media inquiries were never routed to Kohler’s office, so the incoming calls could only be one thing. Geld. Money calls. Antimatter technology already had some takers. Inside the Vatican, Gunther Glick was walking on air as he followed the camerlegno from the Sistine Chapel. Glick and Macri had just made the live transmission of the decade. And what a transmission it had been. The camerlegno had been spellbinding. Now out in the hallway, the camerlegno turned to Glick and Macri. â€Å"I have asked the Swiss Guard to assemble photos for you – photos of the branded cardinals as well as one of His late Holiness. I must warn you, these are not pleasant pictures. Ghastly burns. Blackened tongues. But I would like you to broadcast them to the world.† Glick decided it must be perpetual Christmas inside Vatican City. He wants me to broadcast an exclusive photo of the dead Pope? â€Å"Are you sure?† Glick asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. The camerlegno nodded. â€Å"The Swiss Guard will also provide you a live video feed of the antimatter canister as it counts down.† Glick stared. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas! â€Å"The Illuminati are about to find out,† the camerlegno declared, â€Å"that they have grossly overplayed their hand.† 96 Like a recurring theme in some demonic symphony, the suffocating darkness had returned. No light. No air. No exit. Langdon lay trapped beneath the overturned sarcophagus and felt his mind careening dangerously close to the brink. Trying to drive his thoughts in any direction other than the crushing space around him, Langdon urged his mind toward some logical process†¦ mathematics, music, anything. But there was no room for calming thoughts. I can’t move! I can’t breathe! The pinched sleeve of his jacket had thankfully come free when the casket fell, leaving Langdon now with two mobile arms. Even so, as he pressed upward on the ceiling of his tiny cell, he found it immovable. Oddly, he wished his sleeve were still caught. At least it might create a crack for some air. As Langdon pushed against the roof above, his sleeve fell back to reveal the faint glow of an old friend. Mickey. The greenish cartoon face seemed mocking now. Langdon probed the blackness for any other sign of light, but the casket rim was flush against the floor. Goddamn Italian perfectionists, he cursed, now imperiled by the same artistic excellence he taught his students to revere†¦ impeccable edges, faultless parallels, and of course, use only of the most seamless and resilient Carrara marble. Precision can be suffocating. â€Å"Lift the damn thing,† he said aloud, pressing harder through the tangle of bones. The box shifted slightly. Setting his jaw, he heaved again. The box felt like a boulder, but this time it raised a quarter of an inch. A fleeting glimmer of light surrounded him, and then the casket thudded back down. Langdon lay panting in the dark. He tried to use his legs to lift as he had before, but now that the sarcophagus had fallen flat, there was no room even to straighten his knees. As the claustrophobic panic closed in, Langdon was overcome by images of the sarcophagus shrinking around him. Squeezed by delirium, he fought the illusion with every logical shred of intellect he had. â€Å"Sarcophagus,† he stated aloud, with as much academic sterility as he could muster. But even erudition seemed to be his enemy today. Sarcophagus is from the Greek â€Å"sarx† meaning â€Å"flesh,† and â€Å"phagein† meaning â€Å"to eat.† I’m trapped in a box literally designed to â€Å"eat flesh.† Images of flesh eaten from bone only served as a grim reminder that Langdon lay covered in human remains. The notion brought nausea and chills. But it also brought an idea. Fumbling blindly around the coffin, Langdon found a shard of bone. A rib maybe? He didn’t care. All he wanted was a wedge. If he could lift the box, even a crack, and slide the bone fragment beneath the rim, then maybe enough air could†¦ Reaching across his body and wedging the tapered end of the bone into the crack between the floor and the coffin, Langdon reached up with his other hand and heaved skyward. The box did not move. Not even slightly. He tried again. For a moment, it seemed to tremble slightly, but that was all. With the fetid stench and lack of oxygen choking the strength from his body, Langdon realized he only had time for one more effort. He also knew he would need both arms. Regrouping, he placed the tapered edge of the bone against the crack, and shifting his body, he wedged the bone against his shoulder, pinning it in place. Careful not to dislodge it, he raised both hands above him. As the stifling confine began to smother him, he felt a welling of intensified panic. It was the second time today he had been trapped with no air. Hollering aloud, Langdon thrust upward in one explosive motion. The casket jostled off the floor for an instant. But long enough. The bone shard he had braced against his shoulder slipped outward into the widening crack. When the casket fell again, the bone shattered. But this time Langdon could see the casket was propped up. A tiny slit of light showed beneath the rim. Exhausted, Langdon collapsed. Hoping the strangling sensation in his throat would pass, he waited. But it only worsened as the seconds passed. Whatever air was coming through the slit seemed imperceptible. Langdon wondered if it would be enough to keep him alive. And if so, for how long? If he passed out, who would know he was even in there? With arms like lead, Langdon raised his watch again: 10:12 P.M. Fighting trembling fingers, he fumbled with the watch and made his final play. He twisted one of the tiny dials and pressed a button. As consciousness faded, and the walls squeezed closer, Langdon felt the old fears sweep over him. He tried to imagine, as he had so many times, that he was in an open field. The image he conjured, however, was no help. The nightmare that had haunted him since his youth came crashing back†¦ The flowers here are like paintings, the child thought, laughing as he ran across the meadow. He wished his parents had come along. But his parents were busy pitching camp. â€Å"Don’t explore too far,† his mother had said. He had pretended not to hear as he bounded off into the woods. Now, traversing this glorious field, the boy came across a pile of fieldstones. He figured it must be the foundation of an old homestead. He would not go near it. He knew better. Besides, his eyes had been drawn to something else – a brilliant lady’s slipper – the rarest and most beautiful flower in New Hampshire. He had only ever seen them in books. Excited, the boy moved toward the flower. He knelt down. The ground beneath him felt mulchy and hollow. He realized his flower had found an extra-fertile spot. It was growing from a patch of rotting wood. Thrilled by the thought of taking home his prize, the boy reached out†¦ fingers extending toward the stem. He never reached it. With a sickening crack, the earth gave way. In the three seconds of dizzying terror as he fell, the boy knew he would die. Plummeting downward, he braced for the bone-crushing collision. When it came, there was no pain. Only softness. And cold. He hit the deep liquid face first, plunging into a narrow blackness. Spinning disoriented somersaults, he groped the sheer walls thatenclosed him on all sides. Somehow, as if by instinct, he sputtered to the surface. Light. Faint. Above him. Miles above him, it seemed. His arms clawed at the water, searching the walls of the hollow for something to grab onto. Only smooth stone. He had fallen through an abandoned well covering. He screamed for help, but his cries reverberated in the tight shaft. He called out again and again. Above him, the tattered hole grew dim. Night fell. Time seemed to contort in the darkness. Numbness set in as he treaded water in the depths of the chasm, calling, crying out. He was tormented by visions of the walls collapsing in, burying him alive. His arms ached with fatigue. A few times he thought he heard voices. He shouted out, but his own voice was muted†¦ like a dream. As the night wore on, the shaft deepened. The walls inched quietly inward. The boy pressed out against the enclosure, pushing it away. Exhausted, he wanted to give up. And yet he felt the water buoy him, cooling his burning fears until he was numb. When the rescue team arrived, they found the boy barely conscious. He had been treading water for five hours. Two days later, the Boston Globe ran a front-page story called â€Å"The Little Swimmer That Could.† 97 The Hassassin smiled as he pulled his van into the mammoth stone structure overlooking the Tiber River. He carried his prize up and up†¦ spiraling higher in the stone tunnel, grateful his load was slender. He arrived at the door. The Church of Illumination, he gloated. The ancient Illuminati meeting room. Who would have imagined it to be here? Inside, he lay her on a plush divan. Then he expertly bound her arms behind her back and tied her feet. He knew that what he longed for would have to wait until his final task was finished. Water. Still, he thought, he had a moment for indulgence. Kneeling beside her, he ran his hand along her thigh. It was smooth. Higher. His dark fingers snaked beneath the cuff of her shorts. Higher. He stopped. Patience, he told himself, feeling aroused. There is work to be done. He walked for a moment out onto the chamber’s high stone balcony. The evening breeze slowly cooled his ardor. Far below the Tiber raged. He raised his eyes to the dome of St. Peter’s, three quarters of a mile away, naked under the glare of hundreds of press lights. â€Å"Your final hour,† he said aloud, picturing the thousands of Muslims slaughtered during the Crusades. â€Å"At midnight you will meet your God.† Behind him, the woman stirred. The Hassassin turned. He considered letting her wake up. Seeing terror in a woman’s eyes was his ultimate aphrodisiac. He opted for prudence. It would be better if she remained unconscious while he was gone. Although she was tied and would never escape, the Hassassin did not want to return and find her exhausted from struggling. I want your strength preserved†¦ for me. Lifting her head slightly, he placed his palm beneath her neck and found the hollow directly beneath her skull. The crown/meridian pressure point was one he had used countless times. With crushing force, he drove his thumb into the soft cartilage and felt it depress. The woman slumped instantly. Twenty minutes, he thought. She would be a tantalizing end to a perfect day. After she had served him and died doing it, he would stand on the balcony and watch the midnight Vatican fireworks. Leaving his prize unconscious on the couch, the Hassassin went downstairs into a torchlit dungeon. The final task. He walked to the table and revered the sacred, metal forms that had been left there for him. Water. It was his last. Removing a torch from the wall as he had done three times already, he began heating the end. When the end of the object was white hot, he carried it to the cell. Inside, a single man stood in silence. Old and alone. â€Å"Cardinal Baggia,† the killer hissed. â€Å"Have you prayed yet?† The Italian’s eyes were fearless. â€Å"Only for your soul.†

Engaging with the Media Product Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 750 words - 1

Engaging with the Media Product - Essay Example The first one, filtering, occurred when I decided to ignore some aspects of the show and processed the rest of it, depending on what I was interested in. Next came meaning matching, during which I matched the concepts about vampires shown in the show with the ones I already had knowledge about. Finally, when I encountered a message of which I had no knowledge of, or which went against my previous knowledge, I constructed a new meaning for it after evaluating what I watched on this show. While watching The Vampire Diaries, I was particularly interested in a vampire named Damon. Therefore, whenever there was a scene involving Damon, I would pay extra attention to his way of talking, and his attitude to others. As a result of processing all the scenes involving Damon, I can now recall the phrases used by him depending on the situations he faces. Moreover, my mind took in all the information-old and new-that I gained about vampires and other supernatural beings in general, perhaps due to my interest in them. On the other hand, there were messages that I unconsciously filtered out, such as the dates of previous centuries which the show’s characters would state when they would recall instances of the past. Another message which I filtered out was the words used by Bonnie (the name of a witch in the show) whenever she casted a spell. This is because the words used by her were part of a different language which I did not understand. Thus, during the scenes she caste d spells, my mind automatically tuned out and instead focused on the outcome of those spells. Once my mind filtered in all the scenes and messages which I paid attention to, I automatically matched them with what I already knew from before. For example, whenever I think about vampires, I imagine someone who looks like a normal human being, except that he/she has longer and sharper canines and has a thirst for blood. I have learnt this concept because I