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# Chapter Seven: Claws of Nepal
“*The heart lies with the one it yearns to please.” –Anonymous.*
***NEPAL, 1990***
\
Unlike the other girls who somehow found their way to the Monastery in the Himalayas. Jamari Archibald was dropped off at the Monastery by her own mother.
Her mother was a New Yorker and a Christian missionary in the heart of Nepal even while she was pregnant for Jamari.
Jamari's father was murdered in New York shortly before he could join his wife in Nepal.
Angry extremists wanted her dead because she would dare preach the full Gospel of Jesus Christ to them. She had been beaten, and warned on several occasions but continued to stand firm in her resolve, knowing that The Lord was on her side.
Yet death lingered heavily in the air. Ruth Archibald, Jamari’s mother could sense it as she was a woman who walked deeply in the supernatural. Ruth pledged in her heart that if her death was the price to pay for others to hear the Gospel, then she was willing to die.
But she was almost due for delivery, and didn’t want her own child to die without having to see the world for what it was, and perhaps, carry a new flame of change for a new generation. She had faith in Christ that her daughter would bring beauty to the world, and in her heart she already knew just the perfect name for her.
Jamari…with Arabic roots meaning Beauty.
Ruth could tell from the excessive nausea and repeated morning sickness she was having that she was going to have a girl. It was an *old wives tale* of telling what the gender of a baby would be.
•••••••
\
Time was running out, she needed to find a place for her unborn child. Caelum was her only option…Truth is, it wasn’t an option. It was the only place she had people she could trust.
In the dead of the night on a windy Monsoon evening, Ruth Archibald mounted a horse and travelled all the way into the Northern part of the Himalayas. Caelum, meaning sky, was a Christian Monastery built into the top of a mountain. Blistering and unfavorable weather made it almost impossible to find. And so the clergymen who ran the Monastery devised means to get people to them.
It was a spot marked on a piece of paper… When asked why they didn’t just leave a direct map to the Monastery, the Archpriest replied, “The Monastery finds those who seek it with genuine intentions.”
But Ruth wasn’t just anyone. She had deep ties with Caelum, and that meant she didn’t have to follow the rules set for others who sort the Monastery.
A shocking turn of events occurred the moment she got to the Monastery. Her water broke as she knocked on the Monastery’s large doors with ring shaped knockers.
“What the devil are you doing here at this ungodly hour, Mrs. Archibald?” Came a voice she had grown fond of, over the last five years.
“I was looking for a Saloon, pick a guess, Hans.” Ruth had a way of being playfully sarcastic even in serious moments.
“Ah, you’re just in luck. I know the perfect hair stylist.” Hans replied, stepping aside to let Ruth in.
A few minutes later and they had converted a whole room into a makeshift medical theater room. Thankfully, a lot of the nuns were midwives and that made the whole process more systematic and easy going…Well at least as easy as being in labor can get.
Ruth asked Hans to stay behind, for moral support…which he turned into stand up comedy when he the room was getting tense.
“Okay, my question is quite simple. Are you having a rock or a baby?”
“Hans Schneider!!” Ruth screamed. “If you don’t get away from me I will get off this bed and have this baby while beating you to death.” She added calmly, yet forcefully…and sarcastically, of course.
“Hey don’t bite the messenger.” Hans replied with his hands in the air.
A few more hours, and a girl with the finest blue eyes was born.
Jamari.
•••••••
After her birth, Ruth left the region on even greater and more daring adventures as a missionary for the Gospel of Jesus Christ as she was led by The spirit of the living God.
Jamari was put under the direct care of the Archpriest of the Monastery. Hans Schneider.
Hans raised her like a daughter. Ingrained in her moral values of high standing. Taught her that life was sacred. By ten, Jamari had mastered four languages and knew her way around three more. Hebrew, Latin, Spanish, German, a little Afrikaans, a little Japanese, and Korean.
He taught her how to fight with a katana, and how to give every man their due honor even in battle. Jamari was well schooled at the Monastery by the nuns. Her manners were impeccable, and she understood balance. Jamari understood that all men could not be equal, but all men could bring value in their respective duties in life.
By the time Jamari was twenty five, she already knew enough to move onto the next phase of her life.
Covert missions…
Something only Jamari could do since she was the most trained. Ashanti Tanko had arrived a year earlier. Nakano had been around since the year 2011.
Both still had a lot of training to undergo.
Hans told Jamari her father was murdered in New York shortly before he could join his wife in Nepal for Christian missions.
He told her how Homicide rates continued to soar high in New York, stirring Jamari to embark on a mission to the Monastery's contacts in New York.
“The contact's a guy named Alfonso, you say?” Jamari asked during the briefing.
“Yes, exactly.” Hans replied. “Over the last two years, there’s been a series of murders the media is calling the *Brooklyn hunger games*. It says people were lured into the basement of their buildings and ordered to kill each other for no particular reason. The place was a bloody mess, literally, when the authorities showed up. No survivors.”
“Who are they saying did it?”
“FBI thinks it’s hypnosis.”
“Hypnosis?”
“Yeah, autopsy shows a large shutdown in brain activity about thirty minutes before they died.”
“Where does Alfonso come in?”
“He knows who did it, but he’s not willing to talk. We need a face he can relate too, someone who knows pain as much as he does.”
Jamari giggled, sarcastically. “Thank you, Hans…for giving me ‘*world most hurt person.’ “*
“He was in the same building with your father when he died. The same basement.”
“Alfonso’s a survivor from a similar homicide.” Jamari said, her eyes widened in sudden realization. “But–“
“Your father was a victim of the *Brooklyn hunger games.* It was called *The Brooklyn massacre of 1988*. Fifty people died that day. Your father was one of them.”
“But there was one survivor.” Jamari was piecing the pieces together as her mind churned on what Hans was saying.
“Alfonso was an immigrant. Back then, parts of the U.S still had heavy issues giving green cards to immigrants, and so he lived in the basement of that particular building. Alfonso was there when the residents started butchering one another. A gory sight, but what appalled him even more was that the hypnotist, or more appropriately, the killer stood by the door and watched till it was all over.”
“But the news–“
“Called it a Nazi attack. Over half the residents were not Caucasian by skin color.”
“So we’re dealing with a copycat?” Jamari asked, riveted to Hans' every single word.
“That’s the problem. We don’t know. Alfonso claims to have seen someone who triggered the trauma of that evening in 1988, shortly before the Brooklyn hunger games. We believe we’re dealing with the same killer here.”
“When do I leave?” A new hunger had just been birthed inside Jamari. To bring justice wherever she could.
“Whenever you’re ready.”
Jamari stood up, indicating she didn’t mind leaving that moment.
“This isn’t a movie or some book where the heroes always get what they want in the end. You could die.”
“I don’t plan on dying…hopefully.”