by Paul Seiple
Michelle giggled.
As soon I hung the phone up, it rang. I heard Rebecca before the receiver made it to my ear.
“Is everything OK?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Michelle was playing and must have knocked the receiver off.” I placed my finger over my lips pleading with Michelle take the blame.
“I didn’t do it,” Michelle said, but Rebecca’s raised voice drowned out her plea of innocence.
“Don’t let Chelle run through the house, Michael. You better have some rules while I’m away.”
“We always have rules. How was your day?’
“Don’t change the subject. I better not come home and find my child has turned wild.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry.” There was a brief silence. I had to tell Rebecca about the impromptu road trip to Arlington, but I couldn’t tell her why. “Guess what? Reid called and wants Chelle and me to come visit.”
“Reid Hoffman? You haven’t spoken to him in years and he calls out of the blue and asks you to come visit?”
It sounded far-fetched. I wouldn’t believe it. And Rebecca had a keen sense for sniffing out lies. “Well, it’s more Barbara. She hasn’t seen Chelle since she was a baby. And you know they don’t have children. I think she just wants to feel motherly. Reid asked would you be coming, but I told him you were on set.”
“I swear to God, Michael, you better take care of my baby. Don’t get her hopped up on candy and soda. And never let her out of your sight.”
“I’m the best house husband in the world. How dare you even doubt me?”
“Uh huh. You heard me. I don’t make threats either. I make promises. Something happens to my baby girl and you’re going to hate life.”
I let out a short laugh, hoping it came across as sincere. “She’ll be fine.”
“I gotta go. We have another shoot tonight. When are you leaving?”
“In the morning.”
“Call me when you get there. Tell them it’s an emergency. They'll get me the phone.” Rebecca paused, then screamed, “Gimmie a goddamn minute, will ya?”
“What?”
“Sorry about that. They’re harassing me. Gotta go. Love ya. Kiss Chelle for me. And don’t turn our daughter into a sugar junkie.”
I hung up the phone and turned to Michelle.
“You lied to Mommy.”
The entire conversation was a lie. It tore at my soul to lie to Rebecca. But I soothed the wound by justifying it as a way of protecting her and Michelle. Maybe Reid felt the same way when he decided not to tell me about Norman.
“Why did you lie to her?”
“I didn’t want Mommy to worry. We got things under control, right?”
“Yep.” Michelle giggled again. “I want ravioli.”
I smiled. “OK, but you have to promise to go to bed without a fight tonight. We are both gonna need our rest. Tomorrow is a road trip.”
Twelve
Saint Louis, Missouri
“I don’t know why we had to come to this shithole to do this. There’s a priest on every corner in Chicago,” Hella said, shifting her body so that she was facing away from Sanford who was driving the rented scarlet red Cadillac.
“Chi-town is too hot,” Sanford said, pulling the car to the curb across the street from The Sisters’ Mercy Center for the Youth.
“I wasn’t asking you.”
“Well, I was telling you. I feel it’s my duty to also tell you that dress makes you look fat.”
“Now, now children, we will have no fighting in my kingdom,” Norman said from the backseat of the car. He grabbed the front seats and pulled himself forward so that his head was between Sanford and Hella. “Sanford’s right. They will be looking for me in Chicago.”
“Who’s they?” Hella asked.
“In due time, my dear. For now, let’s just look at Saint Louis as a new start.”
A priest, probably in his late twenties to early thirties walked out of the center with a group of kids. He dribbled a basketball toward the cracked asphalt platform with basketball goals on opposite ends. Neither goal had nets. One leaned considerably to the left. The kids followed behind like the priest was their favorite ball player. He shot a mid-range jumper that clanked off the metal backboard and the kids went chasing the ball.
“He’s cute,” Hella said. “I was expecting some old, shriveled man. Who knew God recruited hotties?”
The priest grabbed a rebound after a boy tossed the ball at the goal without looking. He dribbled behind his back, weaved in and out of kids, and shot a lay-up. The children cheered.
“Can I at least play with him first?” Hella asked.
“Very professional,” Sanford said.
“You’re one to talk about professional. I see the way you look at me. You want this, don’t ya?” Hella ran her hand up her thigh. “You want it, don’t ya, big boy?”
“That’s enough,” Norman's words ricocheted around the car with a sternness that warned against carrying on with the banter. “There will be no pleasures of the flesh for either of you. Are we clear?”
Two teenagers walked up to the priest. He handed one the ball and patted the other on the shoulder. The teens gathered the children in a half-circle. One began to demonstrate the proper way to dribble the ball while the other talked to the children. The priest waved and headed to a small building next to the community center.
“That’s the church?” Hella asked.
“Give the whore a dollar,” Sanford said.
Norman placed his hand on Sanford’s shoulder, but did not speak.
“Sorry,” Sanford said.
“You are a whore as well, Sanford. As am I. You two need to get over this sibling rivalry you’ve got going on. We are a family of whores. A system of evil built to bring this world to its knees. Our dear Hella will be the voice of our violence. Treat her with respect.”
An older model sedan pulled up in front of the small church. A chubby, balding priest with a beard emerged from the driver’s side.
“That’s Father Frederick. The first to be silenced.”
Sanford chuckled under his breath.
Hella turned and faced Norman. “Really? Not the cute one?”
“Frederick is well-respected. He’s fought against evil much longer than the little heartthrob priest. You, my dear, are a vixen; you’ll break him in no time. Frederick is a statement kill.”
Norman didn’t make many mistakes and when he did, he never made the same one twice. When he hatched his plan to have his son set the fireflies free, he let George pick the victims leading up to the ultimate kill — his other son, Michael. But George screwed things up by letting his ego taint the future. Norman wasn’t going to allow Hella’s libido screw up another plan — a plan that went much deeper than the shallowness of killing priests for spreading the word of God. There always was a clear-cut map to Norman’s path of destruction, but only he could read it.
Light faded, leaving a faint red hue, almost like a last dying breath from the Sun. A futile attempt to hold onto the day that was about to rest in eternal sleep. Father Frederick would share a bed with death soon as well. The younger priest left the church and walked back to the community center. The children, playing ball, formed a straight line, and followed the two teenage boys into the center. In a blink of an eye, all outside life ceased to exist. Laughter was replaced with obnoxious silence.
“The priest will hold a twenty-minute prayer session before asking the teenagers to walk some of the children home. He will drive the rest to their homes. He will leave Frederick to prepare his weekly sermons. This gives us all night to strike the match that brings Armageddon. Sanford, you’ll need to stand at the door just in case something goes wrong.” Norman turned to Hella. “There is no longer a need to keep the rage locked inside of you. Remember the thirst? Now is the time to get drunk on death.”
Hella smiled and opened the car door.
Norman placed his hand on her shoulder. “But don’t finish him off too soon.
I want to drink from the cup of debauchery as well.” He winked at her.
Hella stepped out of the car. Her black heels clacked against the asphalt. The V-shape neckline of her dress dove well below her cleavage, almost to her navel. The dress, tight around her hips, flared below the waist giving the impression of flames as she walked across the street. She was a vision of beauty to Norman. Death and destruction. His Babylon whore.
Hella disappeared into the church. Sanford walked in the remnants of her shadow and stood inside the front door like a bouncer.
Father Frederick was working on a sermon about forgiveness and listening to Mozart’s Piano Concerto No.1 when the knock against the doorframe startled him. He looked up to see Hella peeking into the room, her red hair clinging to wood. An eerie foretelling of the fire that was about to burn in the house of the Lord.
“I’m sorry to bother you father, but…” Hella stepped into the room. Her excitement couldn’t be contained. Her nipples pushed against the purple fabric. She ran her fingers between her breasts, down to her bellybutton. “I have sinned. I’ve been a bad, bad girl. A very bad girl.”
Father Frederick put down his pen, grabbed the remote to his cd player, and turned off the music. Hella walked closer and put her hands, palms down on the priest’s desk. “I can’t help myself, Father. I try to be good. I really do.” She pulled the V-neck to the sides exposing her naked breasts. “But I have the Devil in me, Father.” Hella crawled onto the desk, letting her hair cascade over Father Frederick’s bald head. The smell of lilac swarmed his nostrils. She took his ear between her teeth, and moaned. “His rod of iron burns me so good.”
Father Frederick pushed Hella away. She lost her balance and fell back into a chair.
“You like it rough, huh?”
“How did you walk into the house of the Lord, demon?”
Hella laughed. “I’m no demon. I’m just an innocent little girl who’s lost her way.” She ran her fingers over her erect nipples. “Can you help me find my way, Father?”
Father Frederick didn’t answer. Instead he recited ‘The Lord’s Prayer’. Hella interrupted him at 'lead us not into temptation.' “And what fun is that?”
“Yes, what fun is that, Harold?” Norman said, standing in the doorway with Sanford behind him.
“I thought you were dead?”
“He knows you?” Hella asked.
Norman walked around the desk and sat on the corner facing Father Frederick. “Do you think your father was worried about the consequences of temptation when he slept with my mother?”
“My father had an alcohol problem. The demons blinded him.”
“Demons, demons, demons. Your father was a drunk. And my mother was a whore. Religion played no part in it. And there is nothing supernatural about the beast I've become. Just good, old fashion rage. Evil born and breed in this world.”
“Let me pray for you,” Father Frederick said.
“When you grew up, erased your past, and converted to Catholicism did you pray for your father?”
“Yes…and your mother.”
Norman laughed. “Wasted breath. Do you want to know what I did when I grew up? I murdered my wife. I'm a little unclear about those Commandments you preach about. Is it OK to murder if your wife is an adulteress? Or is it…”
“There is still time to repent.”
“For what? In my God’s eyes, I have not sinned. That’s the problem with your religion. Repent and all is forgiven. Killer and victim can be neighbors eternally in heavenly bliss.”
A creaking sound came from the front office, followed by a slamming door.
“Sorry, I forgot my Bib..,” the young priest froze as he came upon Sanford blocking the doorway. “What’s going on?”
Sanford swung at the priest who ducked and caught the giant in the ribs with a jab. The punch, deceivingly powerful, doubled Sanford over. The priest pushed by Sanford into the room. Hella was sitting in a chair, twirling her hair. Norman stood up and faced the priest.
“Father, what’s happening?”
Sanford grabbed the priest’s shoulders and tossed him against the wall, knocking a portrait of Pope John Paul II to the floor. Sanford swung, again the priest ducked, and the giant's knuckles cracked the plaster wall. The priest caught Sanford just behind the knee with a sweeping kick. Sanford’s knee buckled. The priest landed another jab against Sanford’s jaw. No effect. Sanford stood up, smiling. The priest threw another jab. Sanford caught the punch in his left hand and pushed the priest back, who stumbled over the corner of a rug. As he was falling, Hella lunged from her chair, grabbing a letter opener from the desk. She jammed it into the top of the priest’s head.
“Father Samuels,” Father Frederick said, standing up.
Norman put his hand on Father Frederick’s shoulder forcing him back down. “Sit down, Harold. Our business is not finished.”
“Is it too late to repent now?” Hella asked, grinning, with specks of blood, resembling freckles, on her face.
“You’re an abomination in the eyes of the Lord,” Father Frederick said.
“Oh, talk dirty to me, Father.”
“Enough,” Norman said. He sat back on the corner of the desk. “Where were we?”
“We need to get this over with,” Sanford said. “Cops will be here soon.”
“Forgive his impatience, Harold. But my friend does have a point. For many years, I’ve wanted to pay your father back for helping make me the person I am today. But it looks like the drinking beat me too it. So, I guess I’ll just return the favor to you.”
“You don’t have to do this,” Father Frederick said.
“I’m not going to do anything,” Norman waved Sanford over. “My associate will do the honors.”
Sanford wrapped his arms around Father Frederick’s neck. One swift jerk, followed by a snap, and Father Frederick’s lifeless body fell to the floor. Sanford picked him up and sat him in the chair as Norman thumbed through the Bible, stopping at Isaiah 14: 12 — How you have fallen from heaven, O morning star, son of the dawn! Norman underlined ‘morning star’ with a red marker.
Thirteen
Arlington, Virginia
Michelle took a bite of a chicken nugget and tried to offer the rest to her teddy bear. When Linus refused, she tossed the piece of processed chicken back into the fast food bag and started to make the bear dance to the song on the radio. Michelle hummed along with Huey Lewis. I vowed not only to protect her life but her innocence. The world, specifically my world, was changing again. When things move in a downward spiral, innocence is one of the first things sacrificed. I wasn’t going to let that happen to my baby girl.
“Are we there yet, Daddy,” Michelle said, pausing to hear what song the DJ would play next. “Well, are we?”
“Just about, Chelle.” I started to sing along with Cyndi Lauper’s ‘True Colors’. My pitch made the perfect pop ballad sound like a cat in heat.
“Daddy, no. Don’t sing. You’re scaring Linus.” Michelle put the bear behind her back as if it were hiding. She smiled.
“I’ll spare Linus. We’re here.”
Reid Hoffman lived in a ranch-style house in a quiet suburb of Arlington. His lawn was immaculately kept with a white picket fence surrounding the front yard and perfectly sculpted hedges lining the right side of the driveway. A 1981 tan-colored Firebird and a new black Honda Accord were parked in the driveway. I pulled in behind the Accord. Reid was standing underneath his carport waiting for me.
“I have to pee,” Michelle said, racing by Reid.
I gave Reid a slight wave as I picked up Linus and the bag of half-eaten nuggets. This was awkward. It would have been nice to able to use the “have to pee” line to avoid the uncomfortable hello, but Chelle beat me to it.
“She’s growing up fast,” Reid said.
“Yeah, there is no slowing her down.”
“Come on in. You must be tired after the long drive.”
I regretted loading up on fast food burgers and fries wh
en the smell of homemade apple pie hit me as I walked onto the carport.
“Barbara’s been baking all day. We rarely have guests. No one wants to come to the house of the man who catches serial killers.” Reid laughed.
I feigned a smile. I’m not sure if I pulled it off. It felt more like a grimace.
“I know you’re pissed,” Reid said.
Pissed was an understatement. A sugarcoating of the level of anger I felt toward him. The nonchalance of his words made it worse. “We’ll talk,” I said, taking a play from Rebecca’s book of passive-aggressive arguing.
“Look, Daddy, Barbara made cookies.” Michelle held a chocolate cookie that was almost two times the size of her hand.
“Hi, Michael,” Barbara said, giving me a hug. “You look good.”
“You too. You seem to be adjusting to civilian life pretty well.”
Michelle snatched Linus from my grasp. “Come on, Linus. There’s someone you gotta meet.” She walked over to an orange-striped cat that was sleeping on the back of a recliner.
“That’s Rockford,” Barbara said. She put her hand on Reid’s forearm. “You two go catch up. I’ll entertain.”
Barbara picked up a glass of milk and walked toward Michelle. Reid tapped my shoulder. “Let’s go downstairs. I know you have some questions.”
I followed Reid down the stairs, unsure of what I wanted to say to him. I wanted to hurl curse words in his direction, hoping each one cut deeper than the previous. I wanted to punch him for knowingly keeping my family in danger for years. But there was a part of me that missed Reid. There was a bond between us that could never be broken, no matter how much damage was done. He gave me a future by silencing my brother and burying the fact that he ever existed. Reid gave me the opportunity to live a life in the light, far away from the shadows of my brother — and my father. I didn’t understand why he refused to tell me Norman was alive until now. And that led to a scarier thought — why tell me now? Something bad was about to happen.
