by Ken Lindsey
I reached for the Makarov in my shoulder holster but stopped as my fingers found the grip. There’s an old cop trick I learned years ago... but it couldn’t work twice.
I grabbed the handle and pressed the latch with my thumb, knowing without the shadow of a doubt it wasn’t going to open.
CLICK
Just as smooth as butter, the door released its grip and pulled open. I couldn’t believe it. Seriously, it made no sense. That’s the moment I convinced myself that I’d lost my mind. Beverly Anderson wasn’t there and Ford was stuck at the grocery store because some asshole slashed his tires. And me? I was acting like a lunatic, trying to kick down the unlocked doors of an innocent old church.
Still, I had to check. “Pastor Ford? Beverly? Is anyone here?” I took a step inside the foyer, my voice echoing lightly. I let the door close behind me and walked to the entryway of the sanctuary. “Hello? Pastor Ford? Mrs. Anderson?”
The only response was my own voice bouncing back at me from the high ceiling. Yeah. Apparently, I’m a maniac. I reached for my phone to call Kara, but found my pocket empty. Right, I’d pitched a fit on the way to the church and my phone had to be dying slowly on the floor in the Jeep. Possibly in pieces. At least no one was around to witness me being an absolute tool.
I turned to head back out to the Jeep, but finally heard a sound which didn’t come from me. I froze.
A muffled voice, a man shouting. Where the hell was it coming from? I scanned the sanctuary; there were pews, a few tables lining the wall, books everywhere. I took a step toward the pulpit and the voice grew louder.
CRACK
Glass shattered. A man screamed something I couldn’t understand. I bolted for the pulpit.******
Pastor Timothy Ford punches the woman again, hard in her abdomen. Spittle sprays from the corners of her mouth around the gag. She moans as snot and saliva and tears mix and flow from her cheeks and chin.
“Stop. Moving.” Even with the drugs working in her system, fully trussed and gagged, she was stronger than him. Ford knew he’d wanted her awake for the baptism. Knew that he needed to see the fires of sin go out in her eyes. He’d expected a struggle, but hadn’t anticipated just how weak he’d grown over the last several weeks.
“I know you don’t understand,” he told her as he lifted her up to kneel in front of the trough. “How could you? You’re blind and lost and you’ve given up your soul to the Devil.”
Beverly Anderson murmured and shook her head; her eyes were the size of silver dollars with pupils like black holes that had swallowed the irises. Eyeliner painted gray streaks in the rivulets of her tears, and her left cheek was swollen and bruised where he’d smashed her face with his elbow.
“It’s true. You can’t deny it. You’re an adulterer and a fornicator and a liar. If the world was just, you’d have been flogged and stoned in the street.”
Her body convulses as she sobs into the rubber ball-gag, coughing and choking on her own phlegm. She’s stopped pulling at the rope and wriggling. Her legs tremble beneath her, but she doesn’t push away from the baptismal pool this time. Timothy could see in her eyes that she’d finally given up.
Pastor Ford leaned down until his face was only an inch from hers and smiled a terrible smile that showed every one of his grayish-yellow teeth. “I’m going to save you.”
She dropped her chin to her chest and wept. It was a wet, blubbery sound that made his skin crawl. He snatched a handful of her hair and yanked her head up so he could look her in the eyes once again. She didn’t even flinch.
“I’m going to help you stand up. Don’t. Don’t. Do. Not. Play any games. Understood?”
The woman nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Good.” Ford straightened up and pulled her hair until she squealed. Then, he shoved his free hand into her armpit, grabbed a handful of soft flesh, and yanked her to her feet. Slaver sprayed from her stretched lips and she screeched into the gag until he released his grip. “Shut up!” he growled. Still grasping a thick handful of her auburn hair, he pulled her face toward his and smacked their foreheads together with enough force that stars popped into his field of vision.
Her knees buckled and he shoved her backward. She tumbled back into the trough, rear-end first, sending a swell of water out onto the floor of the basement. In an instant, the water swept one of the mirrors to the side, toppling it. The sound of the exploding glass was ear-splitting, but Beverly Anderson couldn’t hear it. She was convulsing in the baptismal pool, thrashing hopelessly beneath the water.
“DAMN YOU!” shouted the pastor, fighting not to slip in the mess of broken glass and soggy hay. “YOU RUINED IT!”
The candles on the floor are doused a moment later, throwing the room into near darkness. Timothy reaches into the trough and grabs her by the ears, pulling her head just past the surface. She gasps in half a breath, and then retches—spewing water and bile from the corners of her mouth and gushing a mix of blood and snot from her nostrils.
He jerks her head from side to side as she sucks in another wet, halting breath. “I have to save you. Just let me SAVE YOU!”
The light in the room grew suddenly brighter and the woman’s terrified gaze shifted to something behind him. The trap door slammed open and he turned, letting go of her ears and dropping her head back under the water.******
Gravel crunches and pops beneath the tires of the SUV as David pulls into the parking lot of the Lakeview Church of God. He parks next to the Jeep he’s seen so many times before, and climbs out to inspect it.
“Gavin!” he shouts to the empty parking lot. When no response comes, he pulls out his cellphone, flips through the contacts, and presses the call button next to a picture of a donkey’s ass.
Immediately, tinny music whispers from inside the Jeep. He leans against the passenger-side window and sees the phone, lighting up and vibrating on the rubber floormat. David slides the bar to end the call, and flips through the contacts again until he finds the number for Gavin’s office.
“David? Did you find him?” answered Kara, her voice not as steady as he’s used to.
“I found his car. It’s at the church, like you said. His phone is in there on the floor, which isn’t super helpful.”
“He’s got to be there somewhere. Please find him and let me know what’s going on.”
David starts walking toward the church and ends the call. He pulls up the contacts one last time and hits the call button.
“Dispatch,” answers a woman’s voice.
“This is Lieutenant David Reeves. I need a patrol sent to me at the Lakeview Church of God.”
Chapter 17: Gunshots and Sirens
I peel the Makarov from my shoulder holster and start down the ladder. There’s not much light down there, maybe a few candles, but I don’t have time to find a flashlight. I can see Ford’s wild eyes staring out from the dark outline of his body. His hands are half-raised and it almost looks like...
He’s stark naked. Something splashes in the water behind him and he twitches, starts to turn toward the sound. I hop two rungs on the ladder, making sure he sees the gun. “Don’t move.”
It’s not easy work, climbing down a ladder while holding a pistol and keeping my eyes on a naked lunatic. I’m on the last step when a pair of feet, bound with rope, kick out of the big Tupperware trough behind the pastor. I almost miss it... or maybe I just have a hard time making sense out of it in the dark, with the chaos of flickering light and splashing and the nude guy staring at me.
In a flash, some deep, police trained part of my brain caught it. There’s someone in that tub, tied up, and under water. It has to be Beverly. She drowning.
“Move your ass!” I shout at Ford as both feet splash into the puddle that’s supposed to be a concrete floor. I rush to the trough, shoving him out of the way—he weighs next to nothing and falls hard. I barely register the whiny grunt he makes when his face hits the floor.
I reach both arms into the water and grab Mrs. Anderson from beneath he
r neck and midsection, pulling her from the water. She isn’t moving and her eyes are closed; she’s deadweight and bound awkwardly so getting her out of the water isn’t easy.
“Put her back, English,” says the pastor behind me. My heart drops as I realize how careless I’d been. I needed both hands to get Beverly out of the water, and Ford had gone down so easily... I’d dropped my gun and could now feel the muzzle digging into the back my scalp.
I didn’t move. “You don’t need to do this. You're a man of God, you have to let me help her.”
BANG
The gun went off not far behind me. It was deafening, especially in this dank tomb Ford had created. I wanted to grab my head, flinch away from, but I couldn’t without dropping Beverly.
He pressed the gun against my head again, “No, that is not. NOT. Not what I have to do. I have a mission. YOU. You wouldn’t understand. Put her back.”
“No.”
“I’ll kill you both. You’ve earned it, I’m sure. Sinner. You’re a sinner and a liar and a blasphemer. And. AND. And God will reward me for giving you discipline. Just. Like. Her.”
Beverly’s lips were turning blue. I had to do something, but had no clue what that thing was. “Please. She needs help now.”
I don’t know what he was doing, but I heard movement from near the ladder, where I’d come in. Ford leaned in until I could feel his hot, rancid breath on my ear. “I am helping her. I’m washing awa...”
There was a soggy thud, and I felt the gun fall away from my head. For the briefest moment I wondered if that was it for me. Maybe a kill-shot to the head would be as painless as they said in all the movies.
Then, I saw my Makarov skitter across the wet floor and Ford’s sweaty body crumpled, almost taking me with him when he hit the back of my legs.
“Is she alive?” David asked as he stepped over Ford’s unconscious body. He pulled a small knife from his pocket and started working on the ropes.
“I don’t know. Get her wrists, we need to lay her down for compressions.”
He did and we laid her gently on the wet floor. I ran two fingers on her throat, beneath her chin, until I found the carotid artery. It was slow, and took far longer than I’d hoped to find it, but she had a pulse.
I shouted, “Beverly!” and stuck my fingers in her mouth to check for blockages. “Mrs. Anderson! Hey!”
“This is Lieutenant Reeves,” said David behind me as I started chest compressions. “I need medical assistance...”
I blocked out his conversation by counting out loud, “...Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen....” I followed through with chest compressions until I hit thirty. Then, I tilted her head back slightly, took in a deep breath, and pressed my lips to hers. I blew out until I saw her chest rise, and then did it again.
“Lieutenant,” someone shouted from upstairs. “You in here?”
“Down here!” David replied, as I heard the unmistakable sound of handcuffs ratcheting closed.
I started chest compressions again.******
When Pastor Timothy Ford awoke, he found himself in the backseat of a police car with a young woman waving a flashlight back and forth in front of his eyes.
“He’s awake,” she hollered and then snapped her fingers in his face. “You there?”
Timothy nodded and blinked drowsily; there was a hammering pain firing off in the back of his skull.
“You have the right to remain silent.” Her shirt was either black or very dark blue, and he couldn’t quite read the words on her badge. He nodded again. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney.” Timothy let his eyes droop and the woman swatted him on the forehead with two fingers, causing him to flinch and open his eyes again. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?”
The pastor nodded. “Where? When did I?”
“With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak with me?”
The sun was shining. A cool breeze floated nicely through the car, and he heard several voices carrying on outside. He looked over the police officer’s shoulder and saw a woman being wheeled to an ambulance on a stretcher. She was awake and bundled in blankets, with a very nice-looking suit jacket around her shoulders.
“No,” he mewled. “No. NO. Please no.”
The officer shook her head and offered him a disgusted look. Then she closed the door, leaving him alone in the back seat of the cruiser. Ford snuffed and groaned as he watched Beverly Anderson being safely lifted into the ambulance. She even smiled at an EMT before they closed the door.
Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as It whispered in his ear, “I told you, Tim-tim. You’re fucked.” The Voice laughed a shrill, piercing laugh that sent jolts of electricity through his bones. It laughed as the ambulance drove away, lights and sirens blaring. It laughed as the police and other emergency personnel dispersed. It continued laughing as Ford was driven away from his church. His home. His chance at salvation.
Chapter 18: The Dance
Beverly looks good. Her cheekbone is mostly healed; there’s only the slightest hint of a bruise now. She smiles as the hostess leads them to the table where Kara and I are already seated. Clark grips her hand as they walk, and I thought they looked as blissful as any couple has a right to.
“Beverly,” I said, standing when they got to the table. She leaned in and hugged me; Clark followed suit. I’m sure we looked like goons, three near-strangers embracing like long-lost family meeting for the first time in an airport. I didn’t care one bit.
As we broke the hug, I saw Mrs. Anderson wipe a tear from her cheek. “It’s so good to see you two,” she said as she stepped around me and gave Kara a demure kiss on the cheek.
“You too!” replied Kara, blushing as Clark followed Beverly’s lead again, and planted a smooch on her other cheek. She wore a light, form fitting evening gown, with a neckline that plunged almost to Heaven. Her hair was up, showing off her delicate shoulders, and her lips... well, let’s just say she looked amazing. To tell the truth, I’d had trouble keeping my eyes off her from the moment she got in my Jeep.
I may have run someone over; I wasn’t watching the road, so I can’t be sure.
We made small-talk for a while—the weather’s been nice, Kara got her shoes from a cute little boutique in Carson City, etc… When the food came, though, an awkward silence took over the table. We took turns offering half-smiles between bites, and nodding at the excellent wine.
When dinner was nearly finished, Beverly spoke first. She set her fork and knife down, killed what was left in her wine glass, and looked directly at me, “They told me the trial won’t start for another six months, or so.”
I hastily swallowed a mouthful of salmon, “Yeah. I heard the same thing. It means their trying to build a solid case; it’s a good thing.”
“We could talk about something else,” interjected Mr. Anderson. He was staring down at his plate, refusing to look at his wife in his defiance. Smart guy, she was staring bullets at him.
“Like what, Clark? Should we talk about what the Farmer’s Almanac says about this year’s snowfall again?”
He shrugged and looked up at her, not showing anger or looking defensive. It took the wind right out of her sails.
Beverly smiled and put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a little squeeze. “I’m sorry, love.”
He leaned over and kissed her; Kara took my hand under the table. Her fingers were cool and soft, and the touch sent a welcome tingle through my body.
“Did you hear they found another body in a dumpster?” asked Beverly as she refilled her glass with merlot.
Clark shook his head and chuckled, “That barely counts as a change of subject.”
The house band switched from smooth jazz and started a familiar tune: The Way You Look Tonight, by ol’ Blue Eyes. I stood, not letting go of my date’s hand, “Dance with me, Dollface.”
She rolled her eyes, but stood,
and we walked out onto the dancefloor. She moved well, eyes locked on mine, with her hands around my neck. We went around that dance floor silently, smiling and creeping closer to one another which each turn. I didn’t want the song to end, but way to soon, it did.
That’s when she raised up on her toes and kissed me. She tasted like honey and red wine, and her lips were supple and warm. I kissed her back with everything I had as the band started another tune. The moment, the music, the kiss… everything was perfect.
We kept dancing.
The End
Thank you so much for reading Volume One-
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-Ken Lindsey
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