Vincent explained, “I tried to console Bethany but my spirituality had died the day of that gunshot. I tried, for her sake, to hide my antagonism to God. Yet with all my words of faith her depression seemed to be getting worse. I stayed at home to make sure she did not kill herself – she often said at least then she could be with our little girl again. Then my father told me he had just been diagnosed with bone cancer – he died a short time later. My disappointment with God had turned from anger to rage. I was determined not to lose Bethany. Then, one day, I was watching a documentary about a war in Africa. They showed pictures of a mass grave that the UN had discovered and I saw the decomposing body of a little child in a dress. It tore at me to realize that is what my little girl looked like in her grave and I was incensed! That is when I took the only course of action that I could to counter my feelings of helplessness and hopelessness.”
Vincent went on to say that he approached Bethany and asked if maybe they had to see their tragedy as some sign to make sure others did not suffer as they were. He admitted he only wanted to have revenge, but he knew the only way to get her involved was to use her kind nature as the necessary leverage to make her see that killing the trash of the earth would be an honourable, and even godly, thing to do.
Apparently, they started looking for drug dealers, prostitutes, gang members, anyone who the world was better off without. Ironically, his work with his ministry had given him the skills to track down information as to who was involved in these sorts of activities. They reasoned they were helping humanity – yet it seemed he was more concerned with the pleasure of vicarious revenge than any social good that might come from their activities.
He claimed that by the time his daughter’s murderer was released, a little earlier than the two years due to prison overcrowding and his good behaviour, he and Bethany had killed at least thirty individuals. He had been careful in disposing of the bodies so only a few had been found, but he had made sure that whenever they killed someone they used a different technique so no pattern seemed to exist and nobody would expect a serial murderer and make apprehension of the killer, or killers, a huge priority.
When I asked about the guy who killed his daughter he laughed, “I was determined to get revenge on that piece of trash even if the cops wound up connecting me to his death. And I saved something really special for him. I once read about a guy who had fed his victims to rats. We caught up with the guy, tied him up and put him into a coffin I had made especially for him. It had a tube running from it so we buried him alive, with bunch of rats, in the desert. I had smashed his hands so he couldn’t kill the rats and the tube ran from the box all the way up to the surface so nothing would suffocate in there. We camped and I checked on sounds coming from the box. His screams finally stopped on day four. So then I rolled a boulder over the spot and we left.”
When he told how he killed the man who had killed his daughter I could not help but think of the similarities of Vincent and Mark, and Bethany and myself! It was not just the way he killed the man who killed his daughter – the symbolism of Mark’s killing the lawyer who took his family away and Vincent killing a man who took his daughter away was weird enough. However, here was a couple who hunted people who deserved to die. And that was not all that these missionary serial killers had in common with us. The age difference was about the same. And Vincent seemed to be charismatic and intellectual, yet also an idealist who had experienced immeasurable pain and had soured on his religion and ideals.
Vincent continued, “After we killed that punk we did not stop, although we decided that maybe we should try to space out the killings more so we did not wind up getting sloppy and getting caught. Bethany was totally committed to our work as well – in fact she sometimes was critical of my reluctance to kill more often. It seemed to provide her an emotional release. Then it happened.” I asked what had occurred and he continued in a faraway sort of manner, staring past me, “Bethany and I had racked up quite a body count in the course of several years. And of course we started getting a bit more careless. One time, late at night, we had placed a body in the trunk of our car and were pulled over for a burned-out headlight. The cop said he had the authority to ask me to leave the car there overnight but we were lucky and he let us go ahead and drive anyway.”
“A few days later Bethany and I were attempting to determine who might make a good victim, and she came across an article about a man who had been arrested for trafficking women from Mexico across the border and selling them as sex slaves. The police had to release him though due to some technicality. She suggested a Molotov cocktail might be appropriate. I warned her about his probably being involved with organized crime but she was insistent. So we stalked the guy until we found him parked in front of a strip club. Bethany had the bottle and lighter, while I had a gun. We walked up to his car and called his name like we were friends. When he answered I started talking to him through his window and Bethany lit the cocktail and tossed it into the passenger side of his car. Within maybe one or two seconds he was in flames.”
Then Vincent took a deep breath and said, “That was when it happened!” He explained, “We stood there for a moment and watched as the guy helplessly thrashed around while his skin was burning off. The screaming was awful, but Bethany was laughing hysterically. Then we heard another voice screaming out in desperation. We could not see inside the inferno but it was a woman’s voice. We had to leave before anyone came out so we ran away just after we heard the woman’s voice. The next day the news reported that a young woman had died in the car as well as our target. We later found out he had a compartment in the back where he would transport Mexican women to his clients. The woman burned alive but probably not as fast as the smuggler.”
Vincent continued, “Bethany took the girl’s death really hard. She started having nightmares and turned to marijuana to calm down. The problem was that she started to disassociate from reality. Perhaps it was the trauma, maybe she was borderline schizophrenic anyway and the drug pushed her over the edge, or perhaps both – it really did not matter. She escaped into her own world, a world of denial – an alternate reality. One day she started talking about when Jennifer would return, as if she were merely on a trip. She even seemed to repress all her memories of any of our killings.”
I asked, “Did you stop?” He shook his head, “No I continued alone but my motivation changed. I had lost all traces of respect for God. Oh yes, I continued my mission but from then on my targets would be random, in the same manner as God!” I asked, “Like God?” He threw his stick into the water, “Yes, like God! Sure, most of my victims still have it coming, if for no other reason than being useless eaters, but I began to kill others who were in society’s eye’s innocent. God kills capriciously and so would I from then on. Of course I have the decency to at least set quotas for each year. That keeps me from being sloppy but also allows me to continue in the satisfaction of taking revenge on humanity and their creator!” He laughed, “Maybe my renunciation of my own sexual needs is my way of punishing myself for my membership in the human race. Nevertheless, that was when I informed Bethany that sex was God’s way to trick people to keep creation going and we should stop playing the game. She agreed when I said it would help her in her spiritual development which was evolving into some mystical escapism from reality.”
Things became much clearer to me. Bethany had found some sort of satisfaction in her role as a vigilante killer until she accidentally took an innocent life. Apparently she could not come to terms with it and separated from reality. I guess I knew how she had felt, but perhaps I had a stronger personality and could see the bigger picture. Whatever the case, I had never allowed myself to be torn apart by circumstances that had caused an innocent to die. I had never, ever planned on hurting someone who did not deserve it, so I felt I was not totally at fault.
I wanted to ask Vincent if the reason he had wanted me to fight the young woman in the basement was to tear apart my ego and cause me to disconnect, like Bethany h
ad, but I did not want to cause him to question my loyalty since such a question might cause him to doubt my intentions.
Vincent then asked, “You wanted to know how many I have killed. I lost count but it must be a couple of hundred by now. I take my prey mostly from Seattle, Portland and sometimes from San Francisco and Sacramento. Want to know why?” I replied, “Please tell me.” He shook his head, “Someday the system will fall apart. All societies grow, flourish and then consume themselves like the life of a star. History will soon repeat itself. The cities will be hell on earth and most people will die. Those that don’t will form mobs. The suburbs that are filled with soft, spoiled sheeple will not survive this anarchy – the soccer moms and their families will find themselves on the bottom of the food chain. However, a large enough minority have guns and some survival instincts left. They will kill off all the mobs but before it’s over most people will be dead. However, whoever survives will also run out of resources. By then even the most ethical and moral churchgoer will kill just to feed his or her children the flesh taken from their victims. That is when these new mobs turn their attention against each other. People will form groups based on ethnic or religious similarities and that is when tribalism will rule. The people blessed with psychopathic traits will be like the alpha males and females of a wolf pack. They naturally will survive and assume leadership. Problem is, as the society consumes itself the leaders have to compete with each other at home and abroad. This will be when conditions are ripe for the final war that will cleanse the civilization as we know it.”
I asked, “So what is your plan for this pessimistic future you are predicting?” What will save you …or I meant to say us? He smiled, “After nations no longer exist, after the survivors have lost faith in their new leaders who had no vision to prepare when they could have, they will desire true men and women with a predatory instinct and insights to see trends to rule them. People are stupid and scared creatures. They want protectors – and the best ones are those who preyed on them in the first place. So in other words a pack of sheep needs a wolf to give them hope and security. That is when they will recognize the power of those who went off the grid and beg them to lay the foundations of a new society.” He paused and caressed my cheek, “Are you prepared to share in power with me when the end comes?” I said I was, and at that moment I really found myself believing in him. What felt so unusual was I rarely had any respect for any sort of authority, but I found myself willing submit in any way he wished at that moment – he could have my loyalty, my mind and even my body if he wished.
I assured him that he had my loyalty. He apologized and asked, “So you understand why I only select victims from large cities?” I nodded my head. He asked, “So is it really killing if those people are going to die anyway?” I replied, “Maybe it isn’t.” Then he hit me with the big question, “So, you are okay if I bring you a homecoming queen who spends her weekends at a puppy shelter and ask you to cut her throat?” I took a deep breath and replied, “Do I get to watch the pigs eat the body afterwards?” He seemed positively delighted with my answer although at that moment I felt a tug at my soul perhaps. I wanted to please Vincent and be part of his vision, but I hoped he would not make me take the life of a truly innocent person.
Vincent elaborated on his apocalyptic views and I patiently listened in silence. Finally he inquired, “So, are you certain you want to be my new disciple? Are you willing to do anything I ask?” It felt so right to assure him, “Anything!” He then asked, “Are you more loyal to Bethany or to me?” I hesitated for a moment. I was unsure what he wanted me to say. Yet as he peered at me I finally replied, “I am loyal to you first.” He then surprised me, “I see. Well then remove your clothes and lie over there on the grass.” My mind rushed at that moment – I had not expected such a request, especially since he had said he had renounced intimacy. Yet I did comply with his command. As I tossed my things aside and lay down I was anxiously awaiting him to join me. I put my promises to Bethany aside. I was not scared of pregnancy since my body had not returned to normal due to the stress I had endured as well as Bethany’s thirst for my blood. Of course, anything was possible and that just added to the excitement I was feeling.
Vincent stood over me and stated, “You are quite beautiful…such a waste really, but for the greater good we all have to make sacrifices.” I propped myself up on my elbows and asked, “What do you mean?” He knelt down beside me, clutched my throat with his left hand and squeezed; not enough to totally prevent my breathing but I had to struggle to gasp for air. In a monotone voice he explained, “I am truer to my convictions than you. That’s okay for now but you must strive to extinguish the lusts of your body as I have all these years.” I nodded as best as I could and he released my throat. He continued, “You must not provoke me like this again.” I replied, “I won’t! I am sorry!” He smiled, “I know. However, I needed to make sure you were more loyal to me than to Bethany – or your ex-husband. Now I know – mostly I think.” I sat up and he explained, “I can resist any temptation, even you. Now you must put all your trust in me and no other. Get dressed so we can go home.”
His words caused confusion in my mind – especially saying he mostly knew I was loyal. As we approached the truck the word “mostly” made me curious. I finally asked what he meant once we were on the road but he just said he would tell me soon enough – that I only had one more test. I reflected on the events of the afternoon. I was disappointed that Vincent had not taken advantage of the moment. Perhaps in the future he would feel comfortable in putting aside his rejection of physical intimacy. What really felt strange though was that I felt no guilt towards Matt or Nicole in this regard. It was as if they no longer existed. And with each and every passing day that followed it became harder for me to even visualize what they looked like. As for my children, the same seemed to be happening, although I did wonder about them more than Matt or Nicole. It seemed my old life was gone – no longer holding a meaning to me anymore. Vincent and I spent the next few days working on the windmill and Bethany was busy trying to teach me how to sew. She praised me on my developing skill and said that by winter I would be able to create a quilt.
It was still hot outside but it seemed the nights were getting a bit cooler. Vincent and I would sit on the porch and discuss history and society. I never really got tired of him sharing his take on world events. Then, one evening during the annual meteorite shower he said the time had come. As several meteors fell at once and illuminated the sky, he said that very soon I would pass the final test. When I asked what that would be, he merely promised to let me know in the morning and told me to go and get a good night of sleep.
Chapter 8
When I awoke the next morning Bethany was already up and making breakfast. I got dressed and she greeted me with a hug as I walked into the kitchen. As she broke an egg she said, “Vincent told me how much fun you two had watching the meteorite shower. I am so very happy you and Vincent are spending so much time together.” I replied, “I like spending time with you as well Bethany.” She laughed, “I know but he really likes to talk about politics with you. You two seem so very much alike.” Her words were ironic as Vincent and I shared more than I cared to tell her about.
At that moment Vincent came in through the front door and sat down. He motioned for me to sit down beside him and stated, “You have to write one last letter to your ex-husband. Before I disposed of your calendar I had noticed his birthday was listed for August 15th. I think this would be the time to send one last greeting and tell him you two are truly finished.”
I had actually forgotten about Matt’s birthday – as well as Nicole’s which was on August 21st. Vincent started to repeat his demand, “Tell him it is over and that you will never see each other again and…” I interrupted him, “Don’t worry! I will write the letter and then you can review it for approval. Can I have a pen?” He reached into his pocket for a pen and I started the letter.
Yes, Vincent wanted me to write a farewel
l letter. The strange thing was that at that moment I was all too eager to comply. Bethany brought me a steaming cup of coffee and a cigarette which helped me focus as I wrote, “Dear Matt…” and then I told him that, while I missed the children I knew he would do a fabulous job in raising them properly. I went on to tell him that my love for him no longer existed and that it was time for both of us to move on. I said that I would let him raise the children as he felt was best but that neither he, nor the kids, would ever see me again. I signed it “Regards, your eternal friend, Melanie Johnson.”
I handed the letter to Vincent and he read it over. He nodded his head and smiled, sort of grimacing, “Absolute perfection!” As he got out of his chair I asked him for another piece of paper. He handed me one and I wrote to Nicole thanking her for her friendship and signing it exactly as I did on Matt’s letter. I asked that both letters be mailed together.
I did not try sneak in any code into either letter. I really meant it this time. This phase of my life was over as far as I was concerned and as weird as it might sound I was content with my new existence; for some reason it all made sense. Yet, when Vincent had left the room, and Bethany’s back was turned, I suddenly felt a tear run down my cheek. I thought that was odd since I did not think I was feeling sad.
I wiped away the second tear before Vincent came back into the room. He announced, “This is the big day!” While Bethany was finishing preparing breakfast he leaned over close to me, “I’ll be hunting for your test. When I bring back the trophy you can prove your loyalty to me.” I was a bit taken back. At that moment Bethany left the room and there I was at the table with Vincent talking about someone’s impending death. He said, “I think I will go down to San Francisco this time. It’s nice this time of year. So maybe we should start out easy…a young prostitute perhaps?” I thought about what was being planned. Suddenly inspiration! My request, of course, totally caught him off-guard.
Deliverance from Evil Page 10
