Face Behind the Mask
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1 Nothing but Darkness
Chapter 2 Enter Dr. Kindley
Chapter 3 You Want My Story?
Chapter 4 A Cup of Coffee
Chapter 5 One and the Same
Chapter 6 Blood Trails
Chapter 7 Trying to Kill the Pain
Chapter 8 Regarding Hannah Davis
Chapter 9 Concerning Krabinays
Chapter 10 A Game of Chess
Chapter 11 Cold November Rain
Dixie’s Epilogue Nothing Lasts Forever
Chapter 12 Always with You
Chapter 13 An Apple Peel
Chapter 14 Enter the Oracle
Chapter 15 A New Neighbor
Chapter 16 Fat City Stabber
Chapter 17 Enter Caroline Saucier
Chapter 18 Lunch at Morning Call
Chapter 19 Another Chance
Chapter 20 The Silver Pen
Chapter 21 A Shield that Protects
Aucoin’s Epilogue A Good Cop
Chapter 22 Worthy of Hating
Chapter 23 Bridgette, Queen of the Loa
Chapter 24 Darkness Once More
Chapter 25 Two Years Later
Chapter 26 Postcard from New York
Chapter 27 Alexia’s Unfortunate Evening
Chapter 28 Lullwater
Chapter 29 Eversoll
Chapter 30 Will to Power
Chapter 31 A Truth Revealed
Chapter 32 The Scent of Fear
Alexia’s Epilogue All’s Well
Chapter 33 A Year after Emory
Chapter 34 A Dinner Meeting
Chapter 35 GEIST
Chapter 36 Just One More Time
Chapter 37 Finally Found a Home
Chapter 38 The New Blind Moses
Chapter 39 A Cuff Link
Chapter 40 Sobs of Sorrow
Chapter 41 Not What You Think
Tania’s Epilogue Her Sister Was Home
Chapter 42 The Conference
Chapter 43 It Was There
Chapter 44 The Operation
Chapter 45 Sounds of War
Chapter 46 Knight Priory of Saint Madonna
Chapter 47 Always a Smile
Chapter 48 Worthy of Admiration
Chapter 49 The Same as You
Chapter 50 The Mercy of Death
Chapter 51 Being a Shield
Chapter 52 I’ll Be There
Chapter 53 Face Behind the Mask
Chapter 54 Sins of the Father
Epilogue
Support Indie Authors and Small Press
Afterword
Acknowledgements
About the Author
More from Leo King
Recommended Reading
Grey Gecko Press
Face Behind the Mask
Sins of The Father: Book Three
By Leo King
To the magnificent authors of Team Armageddon
for making this trilogy possible
Face Behind the Mask is the third and final volume in the Sins of the Father trilogy. Sam’s story begins in The Bourbon Street Ripper, continues in the second volume, A Life Without Fear, and concludes in Face Behind the Mask.
It's not about murder or even voodoo…
…it’s about Sam…
…and the silver pen…
…remember that.
— Leo King
Prologue
Date: Wednesday, August 26, 1992
Time: 10:00 a.m.
Location: Tulane University, Doctor’s Lounge
Downtown New Orleans
Seated on a leather couch, his back straight as a board, Dr. Lucius Klein sipped on a cup of dark-roast coffee. His arms stayed at strict right angles, and he stared straight ahead. He was silent, his expression contemplative.
An older doctor with thinning hair sat beside him. “You know, you don’t have to wait for her to wake up. We’ll contact you and your associates directly.”
Dr. Klein peered at him the way a professor would regard an unruly pupil, and he spoke with his German accent. “With all due respect, Dr. Hoffman, I am not here to visit her.”
Dr. Hoffman rubbed his forehead. “Right, so why are you here again?”
“I’m here to stop someone else from seeing her.”
“Who?”
On the other side of the doorway came the gentle squeak of wheels. Dr. Klein narrowed his eyes. “Here comes ze quack now.”
The door opened. In came a gray-haired man in a wheelchair, pushed by a pale woman with both lips and hair the color of dark blood.
“Dr. Lazarus. You are too late, as usual.” Dr. Klein sipped his coffee loudly. “Samantha will be mine.”
Dr. Lazarus glared. “She’s not your property.”
“I beg to differ. I am ze only one who can save her.”
“The only thing you want is to increase your standing with ‘those people,’” said Dr. Lazarus, a fierce look in his eyes.
With a slap to his knees, Dr. Hoffman stood. “And on that note, I’m out. But, gentlemen, I will say this: Miss Castille is currently my patient, so until either of you get a judge to say otherwise, she’s my responsibility. We’ll all be lucky if that poor girl isn’t dead by tonight.”
He left without a backward glance.
Dr. Klein snickered, raising his cup in a mocking toast. “Do you hear zat, Dr. Lazarus? Dear, sweet little Samantha could die soon.”
Clenching his fists, Dr. Lazarus grimaced and then sat back. “You are a fool. You can’t possibly understand what’s going on with that girl. She’s cheated death already. She’ll pull through again.”
“Bah, how? Because of ghost und goblins? Preposterous. How you ever became a doctor amazes me.”
Dr. Lazarus’s expression darkened, if only for a moment. Then he shook his head. “You’ve never learned to accept that life contains things beyond your understanding. No matter. You can’t have Sam. The world needs her more than you will ever imagine.”
Putting down his cup, Dr. Klein smirked in a particularly unfriendly manner. “Oh, I disagree. Und this time, I have the ability to keep you away from Samantha for good.”
“Oh? And how will you do that?”
“With me,” a new voice said.
Another doctor, a younger one in a white coat, entered the lounge. The light glistened off his oily black hair and his small, rectangular glasses. His smile was as wide as it was condescending.
He leaned down over Dr. Lazarus. “A pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr. Ignatius Kindley. I’m an associate of Dr. Klein’s. We work for the same—well, benefactor.”
As Dr. Lazarus looked him over, his eyes slowly widened. On Dr. Kindley’s lapel was an ornate golden pin with the crest of a red cross and a golden crown.
“That crest. It’s the symbol of—”
“Indeed it is.” Dr. Kindley kept smiling. “We’ve been out of the game for too many years. So now it’s our move. I do so look forward to seeing who emerges victorious in the final round. Will it be us? You?”
He pushed up his glasses.
“Or perhaps the gods themselves.”
Part One
Chapter 1
Nothing but Darkness
Date: Friday, September 11, 1992
Time: 4:00 p.m.
Location: A Dark, Silent, Lonely Place
Sam Castille floated in a cold nothingness.
Am I dead? Is this heaven? Is this hell? Is this nothing at all?
Nothing but darkness surrounded her.
Everything that I went through. Everything I did. Was it all for nothing?
Nothing but silence answered her.
I’ve never felt so alone. So terribly alone. Is thi
s what it’s like… to be dead?
Nothing but numbness consumed her.
Then that silent, dark, cold void began to break. A slit of light cut across the blackness before her. As it widened, sensations started filling her being. She heard a steady tone beeping in time to the beat of her heart. She smelled her bitter sweat. She felt a contrast of chilly air and a warm fabric.
Suddenly, her vision filled with blinding light, and she felt unbearable, hot pain along the left side of her body. But the void of nothingness was gone, replaced by a world of shape and sensation—the world of the living.
Sam opened her eyes.
For a long time, she just lay there, taking in the ceiling of a very unfamiliar room. At first, she thought she might be paralyzed, like when she suffered from locked-in syndrome, but she was able to move her head to look around. The movement was painful. The skin of her neck felt tight and hot.
She was alone in what looked like a hospital room, the fluorescent lights above uncomfortably bright. Along the wall was a sink and near her bed was a privacy curtain. The door was open, leading out into a hallway. To her side was a steadily beeping heart monitor. Her left arm was heavily bandaged up to her neck, a catheter was inserted in her right arm, and both were bound by leather straps. Gauze was taped to the left side of her face. She was covered in sticky sweat and a stale odor.
Panic welled up inside of her as she remembered the last time she was bound in such a manner. Dallas Christofer, the new Bourbon Street Ripper, was torturing her. He had managed two cuts before Rodger Bergeron, the only detective left on the case, had arrived and stopped him. The two had fought, and Dallas had overpowered Rodger, but then Sam had freed herself and helped Rodger destroy the copycat killer.
As those awful memories assailed her, she realized she was straining against the straps. The veins in her arms began to pop out, the straps creaking. Just as she felt the straps start to give, she relaxed, panting. She wasn’t in the Castille Mansion. She wasn’t being tortured. She was in a hospital. She was safe. But where was she? And how had she gotten there?
Sam closed her eyes and focused on remembering what had happened. All she could recall was a fire in her townhome right after learning that Rodger had died.
Then she remembered that Michael, Rodger’s partner, had been killed a week before that.
And then she remembered that Richie, her boyfriend, had turned out to be Dallas. He had committed suicide when he had realized what he had done.
The memories opened a floodgate within her heart. Before she realized it, tears were running down her face. They burned.
Oh, God. Everyone is dead.
Rodger. Michael. Richie. My poor, sweet Richie.
They’re all dead. I’m the only one left.
The heaviness crushed her heart.
Turning her head to the side, she saw raindrops hitting the window. More memories returned. It had also been raining the night Rodger and Michael had first visited—the night everything began.
Tears continued to flow painfully down her cheeks. She was the only survivor of Vincent Castille’s madness.
Vincent.
Just thinking of him, the original Bourbon Street Ripper, pulled her heart from the presses and plunged it into fire. Even knowing that Vincent was actually her father wasn’t enough to extinguish the inferno of hate. From beyond the grave, he had managed to mastermind everything. The serial murders, the random deaths—all were him using Dallas and voodoo spirits called loa to continue his evil work.
But for what reason? Try as she might, she couldn’t remember why Vincent did it. She only knew it was something horrible.
A voice came from the hallway. “All right, time to check on Miss Castille.”
That drew her from her thoughts. Seeing the shadow of someone approaching, she quickly straightened and closed her eyes. She wasn’t ready to speak to others just yet. A moment later, she felt someone standing over her.
Cracking one eye open, she saw an African American nurse taking notes on a clipboard. As the woman turned, Sam shut her eye again. She then felt the nurse move around her. She smelled of sanitizing lotion and chewing gum.
“Hmm. All seems normal.” The nurse mopped some sweat off Sam’s brow.
As Sam lay there, however, she also began to feel other presences, ones she couldn’t see, hear, or smell. Were these the voodoo loa? Were they perhaps even ghosts?
Memories of what had happened continued flooding back.
Did Vincent really contact me from the spirit world?
Did I really make a pact with the queen of the loa?
Did I really fight my way out of my home as it burned around me?
“Checkin’ the blood pressure.” The nurse attached a strap to her right arm. Within seconds, it tightened.
Memories returned with every breath. Soon she was certain of what had happened that night. Most of her life, she had thought she was mad. It turned out to be a powerful possession.
When she was five years old, Vincent put the loa Marinette inside of her. Now Marinette was dead, killed by her own hand.
Now, I have Bridgette, the Loa Queen.
“Not bad.” The nurse released the blood pressure strap and moved to her other side.
Sam frowned. Despite knowing she had made a pact with Bridgette that night, she couldn’t feel her. It was like the loa queen was gone.
Bridgette, can you hear me? It’s Sam. Let me know you’re OK.
Nothing. Not a single whisper or nudge.
The last thing she could recall was passing out on her front lawn. I was badly hurt, wasn’t I?
As Sam struggled to remember, the nurse started unwrapping the bandages from her left arm. Searing pain shot through her like venom. She jerked upwards and screamed. “Holy shit that hurts!”
The nurse fell back, hand to her chest. “Good heavens! Don’t scream at me like that. Oh, Lord, girl. You ‘bout gave me a heart attack.” She leaned against the wall, catching her breath.
Sam was still shaking from the sudden jolt of pain when another nurse—a young, strong-looking guy—rushed in. “Ester, is everything OK?”
Ester waved him off. “Yeah, Marty, it’s all right. Go… go tell Dr. Hoffman that Miss Castille is awake.”
Sparing Sam a glance, Marty left. As Ester came back over, Sam tensed the muscles in her left arm. Another hot slice of pain shot through her nerves. She hissed and relaxed, but the pain barely ebbed. “What happened? Did I get burned?”
Ester’s lips turned down. “Yeah, hun, you got burned. Pretty badly.”
Seeing pity in her eyes made Sam feel a surge of indignation. Who the heck is she looking at like that?
With a “tch,” she craned her neck. “So, where am I?”
“The burn unit at Tulane.” Ester held the clipboard to her chest as if it were a shield.
“Tulane Hospital.” Sam flexed her left arm. The pain was a throbbing, constant, inescapable heat. “What day is it? How long have I been out?”
Ester cleared her throat. “It’s September 11th, hun. A Friday. You’ve been out for ‘bout two weeks.”
“Two weeks.” Sam laid her head back down. “Unbelievable.”
That movement made the left side of her face hurt. Instinctively, she tried to touch it, but she was stopped by the leather straps. She wrinkled her brow. “So, Ester, why am I tied up?”
“To stop you from hurting yourself,” a new voice said from the doorway.
A middle-aged doctor with thinning hair, wearing green scrubs, entered the room. Sam felt like she had seen him once before. Marty stood nearby, his arms folded. His expression was both curious and wary.
“You must be Dr. Hoffman.”
Dr. Hoffman took the clipboard from Ester and examined it. He then smiled in a way that looked pitiable. Again, she felt an indignant surge well up within her. It was humiliating to be regarded in that way.
“How are you feeling, Sam?”
She stared at him, feeling more incredulous every
second. “I’m bewildered and confused. I wake up and I’m hurting like the Devil’s been cooking me. I’m tied up to stop me from hurting myself, whatever that means. I smell and feel like crap. And I’ve got people looking at me like I’m crazy. You tell me how I should feel!” Her neck muscles strained with discomfort.
He leaned forward and rested his hands on the side rail. “Yes, I can see how that’s confusing. You know, Sam, this is the third time in your life that I’ve treated you. The last time was a few weeks ago. You had passed out while driving your car. And before that, when you were five years old, your grandfather brought you here after you suffered a collapse.”
“Don’t call Vincent my grandfather!” Sam yelled with such force that both Ester and Dr. Hoffman stumbled back. Marty started to come forward, but he stopped when Dr. Hoffman held him back.
“Let Miss Castille speak. She obviously has a lot to get out.”
Tears again threatened to spill from her eyes. “That damn bastard. He took everything from me. He stole my past. He stole my future. He stole my life. He’s nothing to me!”
Dr. Hoffman slowly approached, holding out his hands. “I’m sorry for bringing him up. Given what Vincent has done, I can’t blame you. I just wanted to point out that I’m familiar with treating you. I’m on your side, Sam.”
She nodded, just wanting the conversation to end. All that pain was tiring.
“So let’s talk about your injuries, OK?”
She nodded again, just wanting to slip back into sleep. Emotions this painful were even more tiring.
“All right. Your townhome had caught on fire. You fell out of the attic. When you did, you suffered deep second- and third-degree burns to your left extremities, the left side of your torso, including your left breast and buttocks, and to the left side of your neck and head. You’ve been spending two hours a day in oxygen treatment.”
She felt sick to her stomach, trying to imagine her torn-up, burned-up body.
“When you landed, you broke over a dozen bones. Actually, it’s a funny story, because at first we thought it was every major bone in your body, but it must have been a mix-up with the X-rays. After stabilizing and moving you here, we did a second set of X-rays. You got away with only broken legs and a few cracked ribs.”