The Nail (standard:science fiction, 3420 words)
Author: Katherine Kendrick	Added: Sep 21 2005	Views/Reads: 3210/2280	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Our unusually innocent hero, Isos, has questions about his past. Madeliene, an unlikely friend, may be able to help him, but his religious scientist father is definitely hiding something big. . .

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

down – make yourself at home.' He looked around and seemed to read her 
thoughts, ‘Well, as much as you can anyway. Sorry, I just don't notice 
it anymore. It's all dad's work.' ‘And what's that?' ‘He's a 
scientist.' ‘So whose are these then?' As she dropped into a dark red 
leather armchair she picked up a chain of rosary beads which had been 
hanging on the animal claw-like arm. ‘You lied to me, you are a 
religious freak, but how, with a mad professor father?' ‘Well actually, 
I didn't say anything to your accusation, but even so, I didn't even 
lie to your assumption, because they're his, not mine. She raised an 
eyebrow. ‘A religious scientist?' ‘I know. Go figure.' ‘So are you 
going to tell me your name, or am I going to refer to you as freak for 
however long you want me here?' ‘Sorry,' he said, perching himself on a 
matching armchair beside her. ‘I'm Isos. You?' ‘Madeleine.' She leaned 
over to his chair and pushed him back in his seat. Suddenly her voice 
changed tone, and she purred, drawing the word out, while cupping his 
cheek in one delicate hand; ‘I-sos. That's a strange name. For a 
strange man. I wonder what other surprises you have for me.' His eyes 
widened but he made no moves to stop her as her fingers wandered down 
his torso and began unbuckling his belt. 

The Book 

These books you gave me, these stories seem familiar, like, I don't
know, not quite. But the names, the things. Like I know them, but the 
ones I know are quite different. Well, the people in this book are kind 
of – your ancestors. So it's possible some of the memories have been 
retained in your DNA. The Spearet recently published a paper purporting 
that the organic blueprint holds memories as well as a building guide, 
if you see what I mean. So that's why it doesn't seem quite right, 
because it was so long ago my memory has faded, like how our features 
eventually change over time. Sure, either that or the fact that these 
books were written quite a long time after the events. So they can't 
have been written by people actually involved then. Yes, that's right. 
I know what you're thinking, and of course you're right. If they were 
written by other people, much later on, then they probably got the 
story wrong. Don't forget though, even if they had been written by 
people at the time, who were involved, they probably would still have 
gotten it wrong. . . True. After all, your recollection of things we do 
is often pretty far from the truth – or in other words – my view. Very 
funny. So were my ancestors important then? To be written about? You 
could say that. Like royalty? Kind of. Dad! Why won't you answer my 
questions properly? No one can answer your questions for you son, 
you've got to find the answers yourself. You're a nightmare. 

The Church 

Isos often went on long walks through the city, just observing the
people, as he had been when he met Madeleine. Frequently he ended up 
chatting to strangers who seemed in need of someone to talk to, other 
times he paused while looking at a particular building or perhaps a 
tree, and sometimes he just kept walking the hours away, until by some 
subconscious push, found himself standing outside his own front door. 
This time he found himself staring at a huge carved stone building. 
From a distance the outer walls gave a mosaic mottled impression, but 
as you got closer the details became clear in their minute detail. The 
craftsmanship was to an impressive standard, with intricate depictions 
of people and animals weaving in and out of one another, tiny strokes 
of the chisel illustrating every eye and claw. Above the carved walls 
stretched tall towers, atop each a statue of a different saint, a 
different miracle. Mesmerised by the pictures he had been unconsciously 
taking steps closer and was now at the top of the big stone steps and 
standing before the huge wooden doors, with their black iron supports 
strapping the old wood in. Well, why not? he thought, and stepped 
inside. The intricate details were multiplied a hundred fold inside, 
rendered even more glamorous as many of the friezes were coated in 
shining gold leaf. The columns arched above, framing stained glass 
windows telling stories and fairytales. A robed man stood opposite him 
at the far end, with a congregation of people facing him, rapt. He 
seemed to be telling a story about pride and vanity, reprimanding them 
like a strict headmaster for the evil thoughts they obviously had, and 
in fact were probably having at this very moment, about riches and 
pleasures that would only lead them into disrepute, and eventually, 
hell. He listened for a few minutes, feeling a heat rising in his 
stomach and spreading to his limbs. The back of his neck started to 
prickle and he could feel his ears going red. Every word the priest 
said sent another jolt of anger through his body, and he glared with 
increasing fury at the captivated faces of the people watching. Finally 
he could hold it in no longer and and exploded in a stormy splutter; 
‘FOR GOD'S SAKE!' The priest froze mid word and the flock twisted in 
their seats to see who had made the noise. ‘What are you saying!? How 
can you say it is for God's sake? God told you to love your neighbour, 
not search for his imperfections and character flaws, forbid them, and 
then punish him for his nature. God told you to be giving and generous 
and you steal the last pennies of the poor so that they can't buy bread 
and milk, so that you can build these golden structures to taunt them. 
Bread is more precious than gold!' He paused, aware his face was bright 
red and moist from the heat he was creating. He was unsure where this 
ferocity had sprung from, and evidently, so were the others in the 
room, as they were staring at him with mouths wide open. They all 
paused in that position for a moment; them gawking at him and him 
eyeing them bitterly back. The priest was the first to regain control, 
‘Blasphemy!' he shouted, whipping out a long bony finger and pointing 
it at Isos. ‘How dare you enter the house of God and criticise his 
word?!' ‘His word?!' Isos laughed long and hard at this. His deep 
laughter echoed through the spacious room, seeming to multiply and 
surround everyone. Finally he stopped and looked at the congregation. 
Leaning one hand on the nearby pew, he said to them ‘Can you believe he 
just said that? Accused me of ruining the word of God? Honestly, it's 
like talking to a brick wall.' Then he realised they weren't laughing 
with him. In fact, he observed, they were actually staring at him with 
expressions ranging from fear to disgust to actual anger. He raised an 
eyebrow at them. ‘What?' ‘Get out!' The priest screamed, ‘Get him out!' 
The group were spurred into action and surged forward. ‘What are you 
doing?' he cried as they surrounded him and began pushing him towards 
the door, ‘Jesus said love each other – have you all gone mad?' 
‘Blasphemy!' they screamed, becoming as red as he had been during his 
outburst. ‘Blasphemy what?!' he said in their faces, exasperated. ‘I'm 
not, he is – ‘ he pointed at the priest, ‘and who would care anyway if 
you're not hurting a creature on earth, you think God would give a 
monkeys if you said his name for no good reason every now and then? 
It's hardly murder. . . ‘ They shrieked in disbelief at this 
disrespectful madman's words – why was he coming into their church, 
disturbing the peace and yelling these dangerous and ignorant things? 
The lurched around him, pushing and jostling' ‘Out, out, out' they 
chanted, toplling him from his feet. He was swept outside by the crowd, 
some of whom chased him, but by this time he didn't need to be asked 
again and ran all the way home, heart thumping against his ribs. What 
had come over him? 

The Bank 

It was a while before he left the house again. He hadn't told his father
about the incident in the church, he was sure he would be angry, and 
Isos was already dealing with a tight feeling in his gut whenever he 
thought about it. He was thinking about Madeleine a lot too, and 
decided to try to find her. However, when he went to the place he had 
found her first she wasn't there, and he realised he had no idea where 
else to look for her. At a loss he started walking. It was early and 
the sun was lifting itself lazily. The street was busy and groups of 
people chattered to each other as they went on their way. He walked 
past a window, absent mindedly glancing in. And there she was, standing 
in a queue for the cashier. He couldn't believe it – what were the 
chances? He walked quickly to the entrance, suddenly unsure of what he 
was going to say. He walked in and to his surprise, everyone in the 
bank turned round to look at him, Madeleine saw him and a scared look 
shot to her face ‘Isos, no!' ‘What? What's wrong?' And then he saw 
what. There was a man wearing a balaclava standing beside a cashier, 
pointing a revolver at her as she hurriedly emptied her draw of cash 
into a black holdall. A real bank robbery, he thought. I didn't think 
people actually did that sort of thing anymore. Well, this clearly 
wasn't the time to start contemplating the frequency of gunpoint raids 
in this day and age. ‘Don't move!' said the man, swinging the gun round 
to point at him. Isos looked at the other people in the bank, all of 
whom were now staring at him. He took a step towards the man. ‘I said 
don't move!' the man looked angry. ‘This is a bad idea, you know.' Isos 
said matter of factly to him. ‘Madeleine whimpered. ‘Shut up Isos, just 
let him take the money and get out of here and we can all go home. He 
turned to her. ‘But he won't get out. He's going to get caught this 
time. And even if he wasn't going to, this is no life.' Her face 
twisted and body seemed to drop an inch, she glanced at the man, who 
was watching them closely, but for some reason hadn't told them to stop 
talking yet. ‘What do you care?' she hissed. He looked at her for a 
moment and then turned away from her, focusing his attention on the man 
with the gun. ‘You can't do this. But it's not too late. I can help 
you.' The man snorted. ‘Sure. Help me straight into jail.' He shot a 
look at the cashier, ‘don't slow down, fucking hurry up.' ‘If you don't 
listen to me now, you will be there for sure, I can't tell you how I 
know, but I know. This is your second chance. Listen to me, give me the 
gun. 'Isos took another step towards the man, his face pleading. ‘I'm 
warning you, stay there.' Isos looked deeply into the man's eyes for a 
minute, and the room of people watched, gripped in the moment that 
seemed to drag and drag. They nearly jumped, as suddenly he started 
walking towards the man, briskly and in a straight line. The man didn't 
move, just kept the gun pointing straight at Isos, watching him 
advance, like a deer caught in headlights. But just as Isos was a few 
steps away the man shouted ‘Stop! I'll shoot you if you take one more 
step, I swear to God I will.' ‘God won't help you unless you help 
yourself.' Said Isos calmly and took another step towards him. The air 
seemed solid as every movement, watched so intently by so many pairs of 
eyes, stretched out to its longest possible period. As he pressed on 
the trigger, the raider's hand quivered, knuckles white with tensity. 
Isos had a serene look on his face, unafraid and in control. The 
cashier had finished stuffing the bag and was watching the scene with 
her mouth slightly open. The robber seemed transfixed by Isos' solid 
gaze as if peering past their glassy surfaces and into some deeper 
universe. Still his hands clutched the gun ever tighter and they began 
to shake under the pressure. Madeleine closed her eyes for a moment, 
afraid to watch the worst - and then it happened. She heard a loud bang 
and her eyes flew open; in only a split second hundreds of horrific and 
blood filled images flashed through her mind. But when she looked she 
saw that the noise was of the gun hitting the ground as the robber 
dropped his arms to his side and sighed. As all eyes in the room 
watched in disbelief, Isos bent down and picked up the gun, regarding 
it with interest. Then he stepped forward and to the astonishment of 
the onlookers, put his arms around the man. At this the lost soul 
pulled his balaclava off and subsided into heaving sobs on Isos's 
shoulder. Madeleine gaped, all energy gone, the tenseness of fear still 
aching in her muscles. As they all slumped a loud crack rang through 
the room. Madeleine whipped around to see where the noise had come 
from. In the doorway stood a man in a blue uniform, feet planted apart, 
arms ahead, meeting to form a V, the point of which held the source of 
the sound. 

The Report 

The Catholic Church today released a statement discrediting Professor
George Themo, the man who claimed to have cloned Jesus Christ. 
Professor Themo, a microbiologist, claims to have successfully 
extracted small samples of DNA from the nail which is famed to have 
been one of those which pinned Christ to the cross. The nail is kept 
under high security in the highest room of The Duomo in Milan, and 
officials maintain that gaining access to it would be impossible, 
particularly to non-religious parties. Pfr Themo insists that he 
created a test tube baby with the specimen and then raised the child 
himself, keeping him unaware of his extraordinary ancestry. The affair 
came to light when three weeks ago Isos – as Pr Themo had named the 
child – was sadly shot by a policeman who mistook him for a bank 
robber, when in fact Isos had seconds earlier disarmed the real robber. 
In this remarkable story, eye witnesses in the bank declare that Isos 
placated the robber ‘miraculously', without the use of force. Despite 
firm denials of any plausibility of the story by the Church and also 
many high profile biologists, Pr Themo has gained a large following of 
people who believe his remarkable story. 

Epilogue 

Madeleine was shaking as she put down the newspaper and walked to the
bathroom. Her tiny apartment was usually spotless, but since the 
incident at the bank she had fallen into a depression, and now clothes 
were strewn across chairs and tables. Sighing she walked to the 
bathroom. Beside the sink lay a small white stick, its cardboard 
packaging perched on the other side. Slowly she stepped towards it and 
picked it up. Turning it round in her fingers she gazed at the tiny 
indicator patch. Thirty minutes later she was still frozen, staring at 
the little dot. Red. For positive. 


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