“Now, as if we’re not all hurting enough, you call into my show to spread this spiteful blasphemy? For your own sake, Janet, I don’t ask, I demand that you repent your sins. However, you won’t do it here on my show, no. You can do that on your own time because, frankly, I, along with all the other God-fearing worshippers feel abandoned by you. Don’t bother calling back in if you come to terms with how ridiculous you’re being, we don’t want your wishy-washy type clogging up the lines while genuine Christians are trying to call in.”
Walter picked up the phone and slammed it back down on the receiver, ending the call. He glared at Karen in the producer’s booth and she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Pulling the microphone closer to his face, he relayed one final message.
“This concludes our show for the day, devotees. Remember to stand and worship in unison during these pressing times.”
The stark, red ON AIR sign flipped to OFF AIR. Walter pulled the headphones off his head and slung them across the desk. Rising up from his seat, he walked into Karen’s booth with long strides. She finally looked at him, with sympathy across her face, and he smiled.
“I’m going to level with you, Karen,” he said. “Unaltered, pure truthfulness.” He paused and took a deep breath, the smile descending into a blank expression. “If you put me on the air with another caller like that, I’ll punt you through that fucking glass. Do you understand?”
“I’m sorry, I mean, I didn’t know… you handled it so well, really, you did.”
“The last fucking thing I want is more attention averted towards this monumental barbarity.” He paused again, this time to light another cigarette. “Any personal calls?”
“Yes,” her voice cracked as she obviously fought to hold back tears, “a Milton Westmoore left a message for you. He said to tell you he had… located The Redeemer. He said you’d know what it meant.”
Walter’s eyes widened and his cigarette dropped to the floor. “It’s about time,” he said under his breath. “Pack your things, take the rest of the day off. I don’t need you.”
She was packed and departed within five minutes, not daring to say another word besides a solemn Have a good day before leaving. Walter hoped she wouldn’t call in later and quit, she really was a good producer. But putting him on the air with someone like that? Knowledge of events prior to her employment be damned, it was still inexcusable, especially for the final call of the day. You never end a show on a negative note. He was here to exert positivity into the souls of the devotees, to keep their faith gauge topped off. But, If Milton had finally located The Redeemer, all this doom and gloom may finally be over.
He dialed Milton’s cellular number on the office phone. While it was ringing, he caught another headline from a television in the main lobby: Gas leak in Orlando neighborhood results in explosion; eighty-two casualties.
“Milton speaking.” His voice was slightly slurred, not that of a drunk man’s, but a tired one.
“You sound like shit. Where was he?”
“Some scumfuck motel off Interstate 90, near Toledo.” He coughed violently and Walter pulled the phone away from his ear momentarily. “I’ll be back in Virginia with him by morning.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Worst I’ve ever seen him, Walt. Must have had about twenty-five whores in his room with him, licking all over him, pumping him full of drugs. He’s as pale as a ghost—I had half a mind to clear them all out but one, slit her throat and nurse him back to health myself.”
“I don’t think a whore’s blood will do the trick anymore,” Walter said. “He needs hard stuff. Real sinner’s blood.”
“Is anything lined up?”
“Doug’s got it handled. A few pornographers that specialize in the young stuff,” Walter said. A chill ran down his spine, jerking him in his seat.
“Forget I even asked, I don’t want to know anymore.”
“Well, it’s seven of them; the whole crew. That much blood will keep him topped off for a long time, then he can get back to preventing the bulk of this shit. But, I’m telling you, somebody in the congregation has gotta start keeping track of this motherfucker. Oklahoma City should’ve been a key indicator that someone needs to stick to him like glue, or September Eleventh.”
“It’s a whole other level this time,” Milton said. “He’s been off the radar for over three months.”
“You know it’s fucking horrible here, but some smaller European countries have had their populations halved from attacks. Fucking halved.”
“Who would’ve thunk that Christ himself would need a babysitter?”
Walter laughed, shaking his head. “Anyway, get him to the compound. I’ll go make sure everything’s in order.”
“See you soon.”
Walter swung by his apartment before setting out to the compound. He took the time to shower and shave, pack a bag and even eat a meal. He knew once he set foot inside the compound and alerted the congregation of The Redeemer’s soon-to-be arrival, he would have to remain within its confines until he was nursed back to health and sent back out to prevent tragedies.
Walter shifted the LTD into park and stared at the compound through the grimy windshield. The church stood on the corner, the compound in the middle taking up most of the property. The second and third floors were used as office space for the wide array of employees within the congregation. Walter felt lucky his employment didn’t require him to be on the grounds, though he did have to attend a bi-monthly evaluation of his performance.
On the far left side of the property were the dormitories and classrooms for students aged thirteen to twenty, who were paying their dues in order to secure a comfortable job within the congregation, and preparing to serve their life in devotion to the Lord. Walter attended and graduated from the program at eighteen years old and left to enroll at Duke University and pursue a degree majoring in Radio Broadcasting and minoring in Public Speaking. When he returned four years later, the congregation bankrolled his entire setup: the building, equipment, furniture and even a freshly paved parking lot with shade trees to park under. He loved radio, loved interacting with his community even more, but it could be tiresome. The congregation insisted on twenty-four/seven commercial free broadcasting. This meant keeping plenty of food, water and cigarettes nearby for his eight-hour shift, and a mandatory piss bottle underneath the desk.
Matthew and Luke were smoking in front of the twelve-foot, solid golden cross in the middle of the roundabout. They were a couple of twenty-somethings who jumped straight from graduation into low-level accounting work for the congregation. Walter didn’t know them extremely well, but he knew they were a couple of kiss-asses. The way they spoke and dressed pissed Walter off, only rivaled by their biblical names. He hoped he could walk past them and up to the door without them noticing him.
“Walter!” Matthew shouted. Luke waved.
Fuck me.
Walter half-smiled and walked over to the duo, nodding as a greeting.
“What brings you to the compound, brother Walter?” Matthew asked. Before Walter could merely internally facilitate a response, Matthew continued. “Ah, I see it in your eyes, brother Walter. You come bearing… good news?”
Walter lit a cigarette, again pondering the passage on his lighter. “Is that a guess?”
“Call it faith,” Matthew said, smirking as if he was a genius of verbal maneuvering.
“Well, you’re right. The Redeemer’s been located.”
“Oh, that’s just pleasant news,” Luke said. “I hate to say it, but I truly was beginning to get worried.”
Matthew glared at Luke, his eyebrows pitched and his left fist clenched hard enough for a vein to protrude on his forearm. Apparently Matthew wasn’t just a kiss-ass, but a hard-ass, too.
“I think we were all beginning to get somewhat worried,” Walter said, attempting to break the tension. “Within a reasonable stance.”
“Speak for yourselves,” Matthew said. “I knew The Redeemer would show once he was re
ady.”
Walter took a long drag off his cigarette and chuckled. “He didn’t show, Milton found him in a motel room with enough whores to tempt the pope.”
“Blasphemy!” Matthew shouted. Both of the young men appeared shocked. “I don’t believe that for one second! Telling fibs in general is a sin, brother Walter. But about The Redeemer? How dare you spew such hatred in my presence.”
Walter shrugged and walked away. He didn’t have to listen to that shit, especially not from a pathetic brownnoser like Matthew who was barely old enough to shave.
Walter dropped the end of his cigarette on the white marble steps that lead up to the main compound, stepping on it. His stomach always knotted before walking inside. It wasn’t the people inside that made him feel intimidated, it was simply the building itself. Somehow it was just… eerie. The way it was perfectly clean on the inside and outside, even though he never once saw a maintenance person or a maid, or the way it almost seemed bigger on the inside than it did on the outside. The entirety of the outside and inside of the building was white marble with solid golden trim, with the occasional perfectly pressed Oriental rug to tie the room together.
He walked through the lobby, where several private congregation-members-only prayer groups were active, and walked up the stairs to the second, then the third floor. The third floor was dedicated to executives and other employees high upon the tribal hierarchy.
Meredith stood from her desk with a wide, beaming smile. “Walter, it’s so good to see you!”
Walter, caught off guard, simply nodded and curled his lips. Meredith walked around her desk and gave him a tight, welcoming hug, then patted his shoulders as she backed up, like a mother sending her child off to a big-boy program. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Walter cleared his throat and quickly glanced around the room. “I’m here to see Mister Durant,” he said, trying to sound authoritative.
Meredith sat down and pressed a button on the buzzer. “Walter Brickner here to see you.”
“Send him in!”
Walter nodded once more at Meredith and walked through the door, closing it behind him. Chuck Durant, the president of the congregation, was standing by the window smoking a cigar, overlooking a soccer match being played outside amongst the students.
“I think your secretary just raped me.”
Chuck turned around, laughing and holding a hand over his stomach. “What?”
“I’m only half joking,” Walter said tapping out another smoke. He hadn’t planned on smoking in Chuck’s office but, hey, he was smoking. “Last time a woman got that handsy with me, I spent the next morning picking through my pubes with a little comb.”
“And now I know one of my favorite employees had crabs,” Chuck said, still laughing and shaking his head. He set his cigar down in an ashtray and walked around his desk with an extended hand. Walter accepted the handshake. “How the hell are you, Walt? I’ve been listening to your show when I can, the other hosts’ timeslots as well. You’ve really got a good racket for us going.”
“I don’t know how good it could be, not having commercials and all.”
“We both know we don’t deal in currency,” Chuck said. “It’s about how many listeners you get. The more listeners, the more people send their kids to our teaching program and the more people show up for Wednesday and Sunday service. It’s an investment, if you really need to look at it from a business standpoint.”
Walter nodded, not knowing how to respond. “I came bearing good news. Milton has located The Redeemer.”
Chuck slumped against his desk and expelled a light chuckle. “Now, that really is good news. Where was he?”
Walter filled Chuck in on everything Milton had told him, not sparing any of the details. Chuck seemed less surprised than Walter had expected. Walter knew it wasn’t unlike Christ to go off the radar, but whores, doing drugs? Truth be told, he always assumed he just holed up in a cave somewhere, like a child in his room refusing to do his chores. But it made sense. When the sinner’s blood began to wear off, he craved sin, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to commit what had to be done to get his ultimate, long-lasting fix: kill. Instead, he went for the small fixes. Sex, drugs, who knows what all else.
Did Walter even want to know?
Meredith showed him to a spare bedroom on the first floor. Like everything else within the compound, it was flawless. Except the damn mattress; it was as firm and tough as a two- dollar steak. He tossed and turned all night, dreaming of a variety of things, some good, bad or just plain preposterous.
He awoke to violent shaking and touchy hands. Meredith was pushing on his chest, shouting his name. He sat up in bed, clutching his heart. “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”
She was visibly taken aback by such vulgar language, and she recoiled as if she had touched a hot burner.
“Well? What is it?”
“Mister Durant needs to see you,” she said, now domineering rather than sensual. “He’s in his office.”
Walter marched through the hallway and up the marble stairs, his heart pounding against his breastplate, threatening to break loose. When he slung open the door, Chuck was also still donning his pajamas, but Milton was also there, drenched in sweat from head to toe.
“The Redeemer escaped,” Chuck said, not taking his eyes off of Milton. “Someone left him unattended for a precious Big Mac and fries.”
Milton was huffing air like a beached fish. “I didn’t think the bastard would really run off!”
Chuck raised a hand and slapped him across the face. “You watch your fucking mouth!”
Milton held the side of his reddening face and stared at the floor, flushed with embarrassment.
“Now,” Chuck continued, “let’s get down to brass tacks here. He can’t have gone far, he’s in the area, probably relishing in more sin.” Chuck looked at Walter, anger burning through his normally relaxed features. “You’re going to go find him and,” he motioned to Milton, “you’re gonna take this stupid fuck with you. If either of you so much as step foot inside the compound without him in hand, I’ll see to it you both end up in The Pit.”
Walter had heard rumors about The Pit during his days in the academy, but that’s what he thought they were: rumors. Apparently not. Images of a black, snake-filled hovel, reeking of human decay and iron blood, piercing with screams of the damned passed through his mind.
“You have my word,” Walter said. “We won’t return until we’ve got him.”
Chuck grabbed Milton by his collar and shoved him forward, and the duo walked outside together in the light drizzle.
The green backlit clock on the radio stated it was just after 2:00 AM when they pulled out of the compound in Walter’s LTD.
“This just in: Scott Scarborough, head coach for the women’s basketball team at Sodipepper High, has been accused of raping more than half of the young women on the team, most underage. Once allegations surfaced late this afternoon, he was found at Mermaid’s Point with a self-inflicted gunshot to the head.”
Walter snapped off the radio, not turning it on for the rest of the night.
The duo walked out of the sixth strip-club they’d been to in the last two hours. They had canvassed most of northeastern Virginia, visiting strip-clubs, brothels and motels known to be used for sex transactions. Milton was obviously starting to give up hope, but not Walter. He flourished during these types of moments. He would either figure it out or get thrown into The Pit, and then it wasn’t his problem anymore, was it? Besides, he doubted Chuck would actually throw him in. Maybe Milton, though.
Walter looked up and down the street, hoping for a miracle.
“It’s over,” Milton said. “We’re fucked.”
Walter’s eyes squinted in what seemed like a random direction. “Huh.”
Milton looked in the same direction, then back at Walter. “You wanna fill me in or should I piss my fucking pants for you first?”
Walter nodded in the same directio
n and, this time, Milton looked a bit longer. Above a shackled brick building with boards in place of windows, a big, bright pink sign stood: The Male Box. It was a gay club, one of the few in northeastern Virginia.
“Wait, you don’t really think-”
“You got a better idea?”
Walter thought the place would probably stink of desperation and cheap beer like any other bar, but in truth it kind of smelled like Fruity Pebbles. They each did a few laps around the club, maneuvering through hopping clubbers. Nothing.
“I’m telling you,” Milton said, “we are fucked.”
“I’ve got an idea.”
Walter approached the bar with a few Benjamins laced in his palm.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, smiling. He was clean cut and mostly wearing leather. “You look like an Old Fashioned, maybe a Manhattan kind of guy. Bet you’re married, too. Your wife know you come to gay clubs at four in the morning?”
“What I do with my time is my business,” Walter replied. He quickly grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked it toward himself. His face showed fear and confusion, but it melted away when the cold hard cash hit his palm. “Where can a guy have a really good time around here?”
The man slowly pulled his hand away, eyeing the cash. “Around back,” he said, swallowing hard. “The door under the blue light.”
Fresh air wasn’t on the menu when they walked in; only the salty smell of semen and the musk of sweat mixed with sex. Doors lined the hallways under blue fluorescent bulbs. Most of the doors were closed, the rooms occupied, but a few stragglers were chatting or resting in the hallway.
Walter approached a man sitting on the floor, covered with sweat and huffing for air. “You see a guy around here? Long brown hair, bit of a beard.”
The man smiled and nodded. “That brother wore my ass out.” He laughed. “He don’t tire out, neither. I think he’s in one of the rooms over there.” He pointed across the hall.
Milton tried the door. It was locked, and he raised his hand, about to knock on the door.
Blood and Blasphemy Page 12
