Nature of Evil

by Robert W. Stephens

  Marcus, utterly confused, could only stare at Etheridge.

  “I don’t know how to say this gently, so I’m just going to say it. Your father was murdered over a week ago. I’m sorry.”

  Sheriff Etheridge led Marcus and Angela through the county morgue. It was approaching midnight, and the place was deserted. Marcus stared at the floor as they walked down the long hallway. It was grimy and the tiles cracked. It looked like the place hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

  Etheridge pushed open a set of double doors, and they entered the room where the bodies were stored.

  “We didn’t get an ID on his body until yesterday,” Etheridge said.

  He walked to a metal door that contained Frank Carter’s body behind it.

  “Took a few days to get the dental records,” he continued.

  “You needed his dental records?” Marcus asked.

  Etheridge hesitated before opening the door.

  “Are you sure you want to remember him this way? We already got a positive ID.”

  “Open it,” Marcus demanded.

  Etheridge opened the door and pulled out the stainless steel shelf. Frank Carter’s body was covered by a thin blue medical sheet. Etheridge took a step back and allowed Marcus to get closer to the body. Marcus hesitated a moment and then yanked the sheet back.

  Angela turned away when she saw the faceless body of Frank Carter. Marcus wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. The pattern had been broken again, and he needed to absorb every detail. For the first time, a man had been killed. Father Moore had been attacked, but his life was spared. Marcus pulled the sheet back even more to expose the chest. They were there, the letters MAI carved into the flesh of his father.

  “It’s not him,” Marcus said. “Can’t be.”

  “The records confirm.”

  “Fuck the records!” Marcus interrupted. “It’s not him.”

  Marcus covered the body with the sheet and stepped away from the metal shelf. Angela lightly touched his arm, trying to give him some comfort, but he ignored her.

  “You said you saw him this afternoon?” Etheridge asked.

  “Just say what you fucking mean,” Marcus said.

  “His body has been here for almost a week,” Etheridge said calmly, trying to lower the tension.

  “And I’m telling you,” Marcus pointed to the body on the shelf, “that is not my father.”

  Marcus stormed out of the room. There was nothing to be gained in continuing to talk to Etheridge. He was getting tired of this country hick ordering him around. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Why hadn’t he contacted them when he found the body? Jesus Christ, the murders were all over the news and this asshole kept it from them? He seriously was jeopardizing the case and Marcus would do everything he could to get him fired. Politics. That’s all it ever was. This was Etheridge’s town, and he was damn sure he wasn’t going to let other cops in and tell him what to do. The man was arrogant and stupid. A dangerous combination. Etheridge had no idea what case he had blindly stumbled into. He was damn lucky Marcus hadn’t shot him and his deputy in the house.

  Angela took one last look at the body of Frank Carter. It was still covered, but she felt like the eyes were watching her through the blue fabric.

  She turned and nodded to Etheridge, thanking him for his help. Then she left the room.

  By the time Angela exited the morgue, Marcus had already left the building. She found him pacing beside her car in the parking lot. He was visibly shaken.

  “That wasn’t my father, Angela. I saw him today.”

  He stopped pacing.

  “I sat down with him in the kitchen and had a conversation with him,” he continued.

  Angela reached the car. She didn’t know how to respond.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said, seeing the doubt in her eyes.

  “I do. Why would you make that up?”

  Marcus did his best to calm down. He put his hands on the hood of the car and took deep gulps of the cold air. He tried to will his heartbeat to slow down.

  His cell phone rang. The volume was high, and it startled both he and Angela.

  Marcus reached into his pocket and removed his phone. He didn’t recognize the number but answered it anyway.

  ‘Marcus Carter,” he said.

  “Detective Carter, this is Anthony Hutchins. You gave me the journal to translate.”

  “Of course, professor, what kind of progress have you made?”

  “We need to meet right away.”

  The professor sounded on edge, maybe even scared.

  “What about late tomorrow morning?” Marcus asked. “It will take me a while to get there.”

  “I’ve already made the drive to you. I know it’s late, but I would prefer to meet tonight if possible. There’s a twenty-four hour diner just down the street from your office. Can we meet there?”

  CHAPTER 33

  MAI

  The street was deserted this time of night, and there were plenty of spaces for Marcus to park the car. He knew the diner Hutchins referred to. He had made many a midnight coffee run there. Hutchins had sounded terrified on the phone. Marcus could only suspect the journal was written by MAI himself. What else could have made Hutchins so frightened?

  Marcus and Angela entered the diner. It didn’t take them long to spot Hutchins. The diner was mostly empty. Hutchins was seated in the back booth. He faced the door and looked up when they entered. Marcus nodded to the bored waitress as they walked across the diner and sat across from Hutchins.

  “Professor Hutchins,” Marcus said.

  Hutchins pushed the large envelope containing the journal Marcus had given him across the surface of the table.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “I can’t tell you that,” Marcus answered.

  “It’s written by the person killing those women. Isn’t it?”

  “Is it a confession?”

  “It’s much more than that.”

  Hutchins looked down at the table. It was obvious to Marcus and Angela that the contents of the journal had shaken the man deeply.

  “It’s all right, professor,” Marcus said.

  Hutchins looked up. Fear filled his eyes. He began.

  “The journal was written by a priest who lived in Rome in the late 1940s. He feels like a fraud. He’s convinced all of the priests around him can hear God’s voice. But he can’t hear anything, not even a whisper. So he decides to commit an act of evil just to get God’s attention. He murders a young prostitute named Bianca Rossi and leaves her mutilated body in an alley. But he still doesn’t hear God. So he commits more and more acts of murder, each one more heinous than the last. Finally, he begins to hear a voice. It tells him how proud it is of the priest. This, of course, terrifies him. The voice speaks to him several more times, and one day it tells the priest it’s a demon. But the priest is no longer afraid. In fact, he rejoices. Because if the devil exists, than so must God.”

  “I don’t suppose the writer named himself?” Marcus asked.

  “His name is David Lombardi. But I don’t see how he could be the killer. The man would be over eighty years old by now, even if he was still alive. He does give his new name, and I think that’s the one you’re interested in.”

  “His new name?”

  “There’s a story in the Old Testament. Moses is talking to God, and he tells God his people will want to know God’s name as proof that he actually spoke to God. God tells Moses his name is ‘I Am.’ He says, ‘Tell them “‘I Am’” has sent you.’”

  “M.A.I.” Marcus said the letters slowly.

  “It’s the opposite spelling of ‘I Am.’ He’s saying he’s the opposite of God. He’s saying he’s the devil.”

  Marcus opened the folder and removed the photocopy of the journal along with an accompanying translation by Hutchins.

  “He describes his crimes in such horrible detail,” Hutchins said, sounding like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

&nbs
p; “I’m sorry we put you through this. I didn’t know,” Marcus said.

  “I’ll pray you catch him. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep until you do.”

  Hutchins slid out of the booth and exited the diner before Marcus or Angela could say another word or ask another question.

  Angela slid the translation to herself and looked at the first page of the translation. She read the first lines out loud.

  “I am emptiness. I am loneliness. I am despair.”

  It was almost four o’clock in the morning before Professor Hutchins got home. He entered his house, feeling completely exhausted, but probably still too on edge to go to sleep.

  He flipped on the light and laid his leather satchel on the floor near the front door. He removed his coat and tossed it on a nearby chair.

  Hutchins made his way through the house, turning on lights as he went through the front room and down the hallway to the back bedroom. It was childish to be afraid of the dark, he thought. But right now he was scared of his own shadow.

  He entered his bedroom and quickly locked the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair.

  How could that damn detective have gotten him involved in this? He claimed he didn’t know what was in the journal. Well he should have at least suspected something. How could he involve him without at least warning him and giving him the option to say no?

  Hutchins kicked off his shoes and undid the buttons of his dress shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it on the floor beside his shoes. He took off his pants and also tossed them on the floor. He opened the bottom drawer of the dresser beside his bed and removed a pair of worn, gray sweatpants. He slid them on and pulled back the covers of his bed.

  The bed sheets were a bright white, and the black snake that slithered across the bed stood out in stark contrast. It hissed at Hutchins and then slid further under the covers and made its way to the foot of the bed.

  MAI had found him. There was no other explanation. Hutchins spun towards the door to flee but saw a man in black blocking the doorway. He was tall and broad shouldered. Hutchins knew he didn’t stand a chance against him.

  Hutchins suddenly remembered the gun in the top drawer of his nightstand. He flung open the drawer and saw it sitting there. He pulled out the gun and aimed it at the man in black. The man saw the gun but didn’t seem worried about it at all. He calmly walked towards Hutchins.

  Hutchins had practiced firing the gun more than a dozen times at the local shooting range. He knew he wasn’t an expert marksman by any means. But he was a fairly decent shot, and how could he miss at such a close range?

  He pulled the trigger. He expected to hear the crackle of the gun and see the impact of the bullet in the man’s chest. But there was nothing but a hollow click. Hutchins pulled the trigger again and again. The gun was empty. He always kept it loaded. The man in black must have found the gun and emptied the rounds.

  By this point the man in black had made his way across the room and was only a few feet from Hutchins. Hutchins saw a long, metal object drop out of the sleeve of the man’s sweatshirt. The knife was several inches long, and the edge of the blade shined from the light on the nightstand.

  Before Hutchins could run, the blade was inside his neck and then out again. The knife struck the main artery and massive amounts of blood began to spurt from the wound.

  Strangely enough, Hutchins had not felt the blade enter his body. He had seen it coming towards him. In fact, the movement of the man in black’s arm seemed to be in slow motion, as if Hutchins were watching a slasher film frame by frame. He felt a slight pressure on his skin. But there was no pain. The only way he knew he had been injured was when he saw his own blood spray the man in black.

  “I am emptiness,” the man in black said.

  The intruder’s voice also appeared to be playing back in slow motion. It was distorted and garbled. But he could understand it nonetheless.

  Hutchins still could not feel any pain, but he knew the strength was leaving his body. He was growing tired and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep.

  He raised his hand to his neck. It was wet, and he could feel the warm blood flow across his hand and between his fingers. He tried to keep the blood from leaving his body, but it was useless.

  “I am loneliness,” the man continued.

  The man in black pushed the knife back into Hutchins’s neck a second time. He yanked it out, causing Hutchins to spin away from him. The second stream of blood sprayed the white sheets of the bed. Hutchins looked down. He could see the snake again. It was getting drenched by his blood, but it didn’t try to slither away this time. It seemed to enjoy the warm bath of blood.

  Hutchins dropped to his knees. He looked up at the man in black. He couldn’t see his face because of the low hood of the sweatshirt, but he knew the man was looking at him.

  Then Hutchins fell all the way to the floor. His blood began to pool on the carpet.

  “I am despair,” the man in black said.

  Hutchins was losing his vision. The last thing he saw before he died was his shoes and clothes on the floor beside the bed.

  CHAPTER 34

  Find Me

  Marcus called Sergeant Ramsey after his meeting with Professor Hutchins. He told him about the priest David Lombardi who killed women in Rome over sixty years ago. He had taken their faces, just like MAI did today. Had MAI read about the killings and decided to reenact them here? Marcus had done an internet search for Lombardi and the Rome killings and turned up nothing. Would police records still exist from back then? Sergeant Ramsey promised to put someone on the search and ordered Marcus to get some rest. Marcus wanted to argue. He didn’t think now was the time to lie down. But he was tired, more than tired. He couldn’t even think straight. So he and Angela decided to go back to her house.

  He didn’t think they had intended to make love. But they seemed to fall into it naturally. It was somewhat aggressive like the time before, each clutching and clawing at the other. He didn’t know if this was the result of two people who were deeply hurt and needed an escape, or if this was the start of something bigger. He was concerned about starting a relationship born from pain. It would seem to have no hope for the future. But in other ways he couldn’t afford to worry about that now.

  Angela had fallen asleep afterwards, but Marcus couldn’t do more than drift in and out of consciousness. His mind was too active, and he awoke at the slightest sound.

  “Why won’t you find me, Marcus?” the voice said.

  It was a soft voice and female. It sounded to Marcus like it was coming from the other side of the room. Had Angela gotten up? Had he fallen asleep much longer than he thought and not noticed her climb out of bed?

  Marcus turned to Angela to see if she was still there. She was fast asleep. It couldn’t have been her voice. So who was it?

  Marcus saw a figure move in the shadows. His gun was in his coat pocket, which was lying on a chair several feet away from him. He had been careless to leave it out of his reach.

  Leah Grey slowly stepped out of the darkness and stood near the foot of the bed. She looked down at Marcus, not even paying the slightest attention to the sleeping Angela.

  “Why won’t you find me?” she repeated.

  “I try, but you keep running,” Marcus said.

  “You’re not looking in the right place.”

  “Where should I look?”

  “The sins of the father,” Leah said.

  Marcus leaned over to the nightstand and turned on the small lamp. He turned back to Leah, but she was gone. It had been nothing more than a dream. That had to be it. Perhaps the other sightings were as well.

  There was a nagging thought buried in the back if his mind, that unmistakable feeling that you’re forgetting something. But the harder you think, the farther and farther away the knowledge drifts.

  He was beginning to remember now, though. Leah was trying to tell him something he already knew, something he had manage
d to forget years ago. It had not been easy. In fact, he had thought it would be impossible. The dark secret. The sins of the father. He somehow knew the message in the snake’s belly had been for him. It always had been for him. He was just too blind to see it. He was too overwhelmed, and he couldn’t admit it to himself. But now there was no denying it. The dark secret had come out of its hiding place. It wrapped its coldness around him and wouldn’t let go. He would have to finally confront it. He would need to kill it, not just push it away again. This time would be different though. He was older, stronger. This time he would not be afraid. He would not be that scared little boy. Everything began to suddenly make sense. MAI had learned the dark secret, and he was determined to be the punisher. He would make Marcus pay for the sins of the father.

  Marcus rolled over and watched Angela sleep. He was glad she was finally able to get rest.

  Marcus told Angela about his dream the night before. He told her about seeing Leah Grey in the cemetery and then again outside his home. He told her how Leah had vanished each time. Angela was patient with him, never interrupting his story, just taking in every detail. He had been terrified that she would laugh at him, tell him he was crazy, tell him he was grasping for the thinnest of theories. But she didn’t say any of those things. Did her silence mean she agreed with him or did she simply not know what to believe?

  Marcus asked to borrow her car. He said he needed to get back to his father’s house. She agreed he needed to go there, but she insisted on coming along. Marcus was glad she had taken that stance. He wasn’t sure he could face this alone.

  As they drove away from her house, Marcus thought about the faceless man under the blue sheet. He was still convinced the man in the morgue wasn’t his father, but he suspected Angela thought it was. But he knew she didn’t want to contradict him and upset him further. Either way, his father was obviously connected to the victims in some way. It made sense the killer had left a clue for them in the house. They just hadn’t gotten the chance to find it on their last trip.

  They made the drive early in the morning before the sun had even risen. It seemed the coldest day of the year, and the car took a long time to warm up. There had been no traffic on the drive over, but it still seemed to last forever.