“I assure you that wasn’t my call. I congratulate you, Mr. Penfield. You’re the first person other than me that he’s allowed past those gates.”
Penfield said nothing.
“There are only two rules,” Timothy continued. “You’re not to get closer than ten feet to him. You’ll be tempted to because it’s difficult to understand him from the injuries to his face. Don’t do it, though.”
“And the second rule?”
“If you upset him in any way, I’ll tell you to leave. It will not be a request.”
“I understand, Mr. Bachman.”
“My father wears a mask to cover his injuries. It will make it even harder to hear him.”
Penfield nodded.
“Follow me, please,” Timothy continued.
He led Penfield through the foyer, and they entered a study at the side of the house. It was difficult to make out the details of the room from the darkness. The only light was from the open door they’d just walked through.
Penfield could see the outline of a large desk at the back of the room. Long, heavy dark curtains hung from a metal rod on the wall behind the desk. A single, high-backed chair had been placed approximately ten feet from the desk, at least that’s the distance it appeared from Penfield’s perspective.
“Have a seat, Mr. Penfield,” Timothy said, and he gestured toward the high-backed chair.
“Thank you.”
Timothy turned and walked back through the same door they’d entered. Penfield walked across the room and sat in the chair facing the desk. He’d been in the room less than two minutes when a second door in one of the back corners of the room opened. A man wearing a black hooded jacket and dark pants entered. His gait was slow and measured. Penfield couldn’t make out any details of Bachman’s face for the doctor was looking at the floor as he moved, and his head was covered by the jacket’s hood.
Dr. Bachman pulled the chair out and sat. He placed his hands on the desk, but he didn’t look up at Penfield.
After several long seconds, Bachman asked, “What questions do you have for me, Mr. Penfield?”
Timothy had been right. It was difficult to understand his father, both from his slurred speech and the mask Penfield assumed he was wearing under the dark hood.
“I read your reports, doctor. You believed Marcus Carter was suffering from Dissociative Identity Disorder. Do you still believe that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“I’m wondering if it might have been something he faked, a way for him to get out of admitting his crimes.”
“But it is a way of ignoring the truth. The mind fractures to avoid the confrontation of trauma,” Dr. Bachman said.
“How did you get him to talk after all of those months?”
“It wasn’t his voice that finally appeared. Have you seen the recordings of our sessions?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry for the attack on you.”
“My own foolishness and vanity. I sent the guards away. I had them remove his restraints. Then he started talking, as if he’d been set free.”
“Was it a con? Remove my restraints and I’ll give you what you want?”
Penfield saw Dr. Bachman’s body react, as if he were reliving the attack there in the dark study.
“Forgive me for the pain this causes you,” Penfield continued. “It seems to me that Marcus primarily took on the personality of his partner, Angela Darden. Do you know why that is?”
“Perhaps he felt safest with her. She knew a side of him that hadn’t been corrupted. That’s how he wished to be remembered.”
“Is that what I should do? Talk about Angela? Bring up the good times that they had?”
Dr. Bachman said nothing.
“The FBI needs me to get him talking again. How do I do it?” Penfield continued.
“My advice to you, Mr. Penfield. Go home. Don’t get involved. The Marcus Carter you knew is gone, never to return.”
Penfield paused a moment.
Then he said, “There were some who believed Marcus had an accomplice. Did he ever hint at something like that?”
“He wasn’t alone,” Dr. Bachman said after a few seconds.
His words had been low, barely above a whisper.
“He told you that?”
“No, I saw it.”
“Who did you see?”
“At Central State, seconds before he attacked me. Marcus asked me if I believed in demons. That’s when I saw it, standing in the back of the room.”
“I saw the video. There was no one else in that room besides you and Marcus.”
Dr. Bachman’s hands started to tremble on top of the desk.
“I saw it. It was real.”
“What did you see?”
“A shadow in the shape of a man, only not a man. It consumed Marcus. It will consume you too.”
The shaking of Dr. Bachman’s hands extended to his entire body as if he were having a seizure. Penfield stood, but he hesitated to move toward the man.
“It will consume you,” Dr. Bachman roared.
Penfield turned toward the door.
“Timothy!” Penfield yelled.
Dr. Bachman’s son didn’t appear, so Penfield ran from the room.
“Timothy, I need you,” Penfield continued.
Timothy Bachman entered the foyer.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s your father. He’s having some kind of seizure.”
“I told you not to upset him.”
“I just asked him a few questions.”
“Leave. Leave now,” Timothy said, and he shoved Penfield toward the door.
6
The Darkness
The sun had set by the time Penfield got home and he’d forgotten to leave the porch light on. The cabin was in a remote part of town and there were no streetlights nearby. Still, he’d lived there long enough to be able to navigate the walk in the dark. He thought about his meeting with Dr. Bachman as he made his way inside and flipped the light switch by the door.
In some ways, he’d exceeded his expectations by getting to see Dr. Bachman, if you could call being in the same room as the masked psychiatrist as actually seeing him. Nevertheless, he’d learned next to nothing during their short meeting. Marcus’ doctor had clearly been crippled by the attack, both physically and mentally.
Penfield walked into the kitchen and heated a bowl of soup in the microwave. He was about halfway through eating it when his phone vibrated on the table in front of the sofa. He walked into the main room. He assumed it was McMahon calling to go over the details of his upcoming meeting with Marcus. He didn’t recognize the number, though.
“This is Penfield.”
“Mr. Penfield, this is Timothy Bachman.”
“Yes, Mr. Bachman. Is your father doing okay now?”
“He finally calmed down about half an hour ago.”
“I’m sorry my presence upset him. I did my best not to.”
“What were you talking about when he lost control, I mean specifically?”
“There were some fellow police officers who believed Marcus Carter had an accomplice.”
“This is who you think might now be committing these new crimes?”
“Yes, it’s just a theory, but a good one,” Penfield said. “I asked your father if Marcus Carter had ever hinted at something like that during their sessions.”
“What did he say?”
Penfield hesitated a long moment.
Then he said, “Dr. Bachman told me that Marcus wasn’t alone.”
“So, he did have an accomplice?”
“No.”
“But isn’t that what my father said?” Timothy asked.
“Your father told me that Marcus asked him if he believed in demons.”
Penfield waited for him to respond. He didn’t.
“Your father said something else,” Penfield continued. “He said that he saw a dark figure behind Marcus seconds before the attack. That’s when his convulsions started.”
“My father told me the same thing.”
“Today?”
“No, about a year ago. I woke when I heard him screaming in the middle of the night. I ran into his room. He told me he’d seen the darkness again. I didn’t know what he was talking about. I assumed it was just a nightmare. It took over an hour to get him to go back to sleep. The next day, we spoke at greater length. He said he saw the darkness at the foot of his bed, staring at him.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t either. It took a while for me to realize he was talking about an actual person. He also called it the shadow man later on. It was his mind playing tricks on him, though. Nothing more. He’s never recovered from what Marcus Carter did to him.”
“And my appearance brought it all back. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you can understand my reaction then.”
“Yes, it’s perfectly within your rights to be angry with me, but I had to try to speak with him. The FBI has no other leads.”
“There’s another reason I called, the main reason, actually.”
Penfield waited for him to tell him what it was. He didn’t, though, at least not for several seconds.
Then Timothy Bachman said, “My father made me swear that I’d deliver this message to you. I feel ridiculous for saying it.”
“Don’t. You’re a loyal son. I don’t know many people who would make the sacrifices you’re obviously making,” Penfield said.
“He asked me to tell you not to see Marcus Carter. He said the darkness will still be there and once it knows your face, it will never let you go.”
Timothy gave a nervous laugh.
“I guess you can see how crazy that makes me sound,” he continued.
“Thank you for the message, Mr. Bachman, and my apologies again for upsetting your father.”
“Good night, Mr. Penfield.”
“Good night.”
Penfield ended the call and placed his phone back on the table.
He should have been able to laugh off Timothy Bachman’s comments too, but he couldn’t. He’d seen things on other cases, things that couldn’t easily be explained or categorized.
Penfield thought about Dr. Bachman’s words.
Marcus asked me if I believed in demons. That’s when I saw it, standing in the back of the room.
Dr. Bachman obviously believed he’d seen something. His physical reaction, alone, was proof of that. Penfield had heard that kind of voice before. It was the sound of terror someone made when they were convinced that they were about to die.
The darkness. The shadow man.
Fear can do a lot of things to a person, Penfield thought. It can make you see things that aren’t really there. Had that been the reason behind Dr. Bachman’s visions? For that matter, did it explain the bizarre events of Penfield’s own life? He didn’t know and he wasn’t sure he’d ever discover the truth.
Doug McMahon was almost to Petersburg when his phone rang on the passenger seat. He answered it through his SUV’s Bluetooth system.
“Hey, Carly, what have you got for me?”
“They found another one. New Kent County.”
“Where was the body?” McMahon asked.
“In a vineyard at one of the local wineries.”
“I’m not that far from New Kent. Send me the address and I’ll head there now.”
“Got it. Good luck.”
McMahon ended the call. Carly Porter, one of McMahon’s agents, texted him the address for Settlers Landing Vineyards, one of the few wineries that could be found in the area.
He was almost to Richmond, the capital of Virginia, so he took the exit for I-64 East and drove for another half an hour before arriving in New Kent County. He knew the area well enough to realize that there wasn’t much there, which made it a fairly safe dumping ground for the killer.
McMahon found the turnoff for the winery easily enough, both from the GPS unit in his car and the multiple signs on the highway. He drove down a long, narrow road that ended at a large brick building with a wraparound porch. The parking lot was big enough for twenty cars and it was mostly filled with law enforcement vehicles from the New Kent County Sheriff’s Department.
McMahon parked his black SUV in the back of the lot. He climbed out and looked around the area. There was no one there, nor could he see any groups of people in any direction. He headed into the brick building that he assumed was the visitor’s center for the winery. It was empty. He walked around and found a small office in the back of the building.
“Is anyone back there?” McMahon asked.
A woman who looked to be around sixty years old exited a moment later. She was dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a light-blue polo shirt with the name of the winery on the upper breast pocket.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Agent Doug McMahon with the FBI.”
Before he could continue, the woman interrupted him.
“They already called in the FBI for this?”
“Could you tell me who found the body, ma’am?”
“My husband did, this morning. He saw the vultures circling overhead. He said he thought it was a deer carcass at first. Then he went out there and saw her.”
“Can you tell me which direction they went?” McMahon asked.
“I can drive you out there. It’s too far to walk.”
McMahon followed the woman outside. She led him to the back of the building where they climbed into a Polaris Off-Road vehicle.
“Are you one of the owners of the vineyard?”
“Yes, my name’s April Mosley. My husband and I bought the place a few years ago.”
“Does your property have any security cameras?”
“We have cameras inside the building we were just in, also above the front and side doors, but nothing that covers the fields or the entrance road.”
They drove down the dirt road in silence for a few more minutes before April stopped the vehicle beside a narrower path.
“They’re back there,” she said, and she pointed down the path.
McMahon looked but didn’t see anyone through the tall rows of grape vines.
“I don’t see them.”
“Just keep walking straight that way. You’ll eventually find them. I don’t want to get anywhere near her, not after what my husband described.”
McMahon climbed out of the vehicle and shut the small door behind him. April drove off before he could say another word.
He headed down the dirt path for another ten minutes before he heard the voices of the law enforcement officers. He looked to his left and saw the backs of five uniformed men. A sixth man dressed in a tan barn coat and jeans, presumably April Mosley’s husband, was standing several feet away.
McMahon walked up to him.
“Mr. Mosley?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Agent McMahon with the FBI. I spoke with your wife a moment ago.”
McMahon stopped when one of the New Kent County sheriffs walked up to him.
“You with the feds?”
McMahon looked at the man’s name tag.
“That’s right, Sheriff Read.”
“You got here much sooner than I expected,” Sheriff Read said, and he extended his hand to McMahon. “I’m Saul Read.”
“It’s a pleasure, Sheriff. I wish it was under different circumstances,” McMahon said.
“We all do.”
McMahon turned back to Mosley.
“Your wife said you were drawn back here because of the vultures.”
“That’s right. Figured it was a deer. I came back here to haul the carcass away. That’s when I saw her. Called the sheriff’s department right after that.”
“We knew to call you guys when we saw her,” Sheriff Read said.
He led McMahon over to the victim. She was on her back with her arms extended in the crucifix position. Her lower legs were crossed at the ankles. The letters MAI had been carve
d into her stomach. The cut on her neck looked deep, but there was a noticeable absence of blood on the body and on the ground.
McMahon kneeled beside the victim and examined her face or lack of one. The skin had been removed with the skill of a plastic surgeon.
“Looks like he killed her and then dumped her here after he removed the poor girl’s face,” Sheriff Read said.
McMahon said nothing.
“This is just like that other case, the one about ten years ago,” Sheriff Read continued.
“That’s right,” McMahon said.
“I thought they caught the guy who did it.”
McMahon stood.
“They did and he’s still locked up.”
McMahon looked back at the body. Her skin was a grey, ashen color and there were dozens of small chunks taken out of her, presumably by the vultures.
McMahon turned to Sheriff Read.
“Our forensics team is on the way. I’d appreciate it if we could make sure no one gets near the body.”
Sheriff Read got the hint. He turned to his team and said, “All right, boys, let’s back away. This is the FBI’s case now.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” McMahon said.
“Who the hell does something like this to another human being?” Sheriff Read asked.
McMahon didn’t respond.
He looked back to the victim. He knew they’d learn her identity soon. If the pattern held, she’d be a prostitute, almost certainly someone with a criminal record.
McMahon looked up. The sky was darkening and there would be a storm soon.
7
Central State
It should have been an easy drive back to Petersburg, Virginia. A storm had been threatening that morning, though, and the clouds finally opened by the time Penfield hit the highway. The car’s wiper blades had a difficult time keeping up with the pouring rain and Penfield struggled to see the road clearly.
Despite the bad weather, he still got to Central State Hospital on time. Penfield had just pulled into the parking lot when his phone buzzed. It was McMahon.
“Hey, Doug. I just got here.”
“I’m sorry, Alex, but I’m not going to make it. There’s been another killing.”
Nature of Darkness Page 5
