Fury From Hell

by Rochelle Campbell

  Jennifer blinked again and realized that the High Priestess was just herself again. For some reason, that did not comfort her at all. “Where’s the Goddess?” she whispered.

  “She left. She said to tell you that you are a blessed daughter of hers and you will be taken care of. You are key.”

  “Key? What does she mean?” Confused, Jennifer looked back and forth between the women. They both had odd expressions on their faces. They almost looked in awe of her but there was something else something far more mundane but she couldn’t put her finger on. Shrugging this new piece of the puzzle aside, she pressed on. “I know what I’ve done. The Goddess brought it all back.”

  “Go on,” Lady Ariella encouraged.

  “The long and short of it is I killed four men — on Thursday night, the night I met Chad a dude tried to attack the Fury. Dumb move on his part; the Fury had taken over my body totally when he showed up. The other Saturday morning when I left the casino — the one on TV, you know, the blond guy. And the last two, on my way home after the Palmer murder early Saturday morning. I used the bullets on Palmer and the last two — so there’s the 3 bullets. The first murder was done using a weapon he had on him. A knife, I think.”

  The room was filled with a quiet tension as the women peered at Jennifer trying to gauge her emotional state. Jennifer saw they were not going to answer and remembered the other part. “She told me she told you not to tell me so don’t worry about it. I’m not mad at either of you. If I were you, and a Goddess said not to do something, I’d follow.”

  The women seemed a bit relieved but they were still watching her every move.

  “How do you feel about the killings?” Betty asked in a soft but firm voice. Jennifer looked at her friend but then turned to look deep into Lady Ariella’s eyes before answering.

  “I’m not so sure I can live with myself. I’m guessing the Fury picked me because of this checkered past I have and it figured it could push my buttons and get me to do whatever since…I already have a bunch of junk stuffed inside my head.”

  She dropped her gaze didn’t bother trying to get up off the floor. She laid there looking forlorn. Jennifer felt in that moment as if she’d never get up again.

  Lady Ariella saw and drew her lips firmly together and said, “The Goddess says you’re key. That means you’re blessed. Which further means we get the bath on you, and you two get to work — now! It’s 8:15. Get moving! Chop, chop!” The High Priestess clapped her hands. Betty unfolded herself and stood up gracefully holding out a hand to Jennifer. Jennifer didn’t take it. Instead she rolled over to face Lady Ariella and just laid there.

  “Go get ready, Kamali. I’ll take care of Jennifer.”

  Betty looked at Lady Ariella with a question in her eyes. The High Priestess nodded and waved her hand dismissing her gently. With a slight shrug, Betty put back on her slippers and flip-flopped her way out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

  Without kneeling or bending down Lady Ariella spoke to Jennifer in a tone that brooked no argument. “You will not give up. You have the Goddess fighting for you and entrapping demons on your behalf. Yet, you lie there as if the world were coming to an end. Get up, dust yourself off and make this day your best yet.”

  “But the reading predicted death —”

  “Not another word! And don’t repeat that horrific excuse for a divination session to Kamali. You have been hand chosen by the Goddess. Get off the floor and act like it.”

  The fire that glowed from the older woman’s eyes frightened her. Lady Ariella seemed more like a crazed evangelical minister than a Wiccan High Priestess. The fervor in her voice and tone infected Jennifer and she slowly sat up. With wooden legs, she got up and walked over to the stairs and climbed them without a backwards glance. Jennifer knew she would have to puzzle over and resolve her existential issues at some point in the future but that time would certainly not be today.

  ***

  Monday, November 12th, 8:47 A.M.

  “Murphy’s Law. Never fails,” Betty banged the steering wheel as she blew out an exasperated breath. They had been caught by every red light from East New York to Downtown Brooklyn.

  Jennifer absentmindedly rubbed her neck where a tiny patch of bumps had appeared shortly after emerging from the herbal protection bath.

  “Stop messing with it. It’s just a rash. You might be sensitive to one of the herbs we used. That bath is pretty strong.”

  With a rueful grin, Jennifer answered tartly. “Most people would stop taking something that’s causing them to break out.”

  “Yeah, and most people don’t have demons trying to take them over and make them kill people and…stuff.” Betty finished lamely when Jennifer pierced her with a warning glare. Betty had to do something to ease the tension that had been built by her ill conceived attempt at levity. She fiddled with the radio and found an easy listening station. “Is this good? Or, do you want you rap stuff?”

  Jennifer swung her gaze outwards and watched the veritable parking lot that was Flatbush Avenue. Sighing, she checked her phone; it was 9:07 A.M. “We’re going to hear it from Clift,” was Jennifer’s only response.

  “Doubt it. We were up late and if he wanted to reach us he’d have called already.”

  “So, why don’t we hit the jewelry stores first? We can call Clift and Yearwood and let them know when we’re onsite at the first jewelry store.”

  Jennifer looked over and snorted when she saw that Betty’s brows were furrowed and her face contorted. “Yeah, I know Miss By-the-Rules. You’d rather go in and clock in as mandated in the manual…” Jennifer said with a guffaw.

  “I’m not that anal! But, time is money and we’re behind schedule. So, yeah. Let’s go straight.”

  Traffic seemed to start moving a bit and Betty slammed her fist against the dashboard when it stopped again. “Okay, that’s it!” She dug behind her seat and pulled out the portable strobe siren and put it on the Hybrid’s dash. Betty plugged it in and started honking as the siren blared.

  “No way. Is this really happening? Two of your precious rules broken on the same morning!” Jennifer hooted with laughter as cars began to veer in every direction freeing a path for the Acura Hybrid with the grim looking hardcore plain clothes policewoman in the driver’s seat.

  ***

  November 12th, 1:27 P.M.

  Jennifer and Betty had just gotten back into the car when Clift called them.

  “Feinster where the hell are you and Holden?”

  “Just left the seventh jewelry store; no one’s seen the woman.”

  He grunted and said in a gruff voice, “Probably should have called you sooner. The chick is his daughter — Chelsea Rennkler. When we went to the next of kin it was her who opened the door.”

  “Sonofabitch!”

  “Sorry ‘bout the late notice, Feinster. Good news though. Babs has some foreign hairs on Rennkler and a half of an index fingerprint pulled off that damn cufflink.” The grim grin was evident in his voice.

  “So we’re running them?”

  “Yeah, call you as soon as we know something. Guess you two should come on in.”

  Cursing soundly, Betty threw her phone onto the backseat. Jennifer knew better than to ask and just waited. Betty cursed again and started the car before saying tersely, “The woman’s Rennkler’s daughter. We’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  “How do they know?”

  “When they went to inform next of kin it was her.”

  “Damn! So we’ve got nothing.”

  “Babs found some hair and a half of a print off the cufflink.”

  “Half a print’s not enough to conclusively prove anything.”

  Betty shrugged, “It’s all we’ve got right now,” blowing out a breath to keep from screaming her frustration, she continued. “Clift said come in.”

  “What for? We’ve got nothing. We —”

  Betty’s phone rang again. Jennifer dived in the back and answered, putting it on speakerphone.

&
nbsp; “Holden.”

  “Oh, Holden. Clift here. Since Yearwood and I are working this angle with the prints and hair, why don’t you go back to Resorts World? We were thinking that you had gotten us all of the surveillance discs but we see you didn’t. What about the parking lots? The employee entrance? Other cameras? We’ve only got the main casino floor entrance discs.”

  “On it.”

  “Thanks,” he clicked off abruptly.

  Without another word, Betty put on her signal made a u-turn and headed towards the BQE to get into Queens as quickly as traffic would allow.

  ***

  Monday , November 12th, 2:03 P.M.

  Yearwood was munching on a Cuban sandwich and sipping from a large Styrofoam cup filled with coffee while perusing the obituaries online. He was in his cubicle hoping no one would bug him about his morbid pastime. As he scrolled through, one image made him pause. He squinted at the good-looking blond guy. He looked…familiar. Yearwood knew he had seen this face before but he couldn’t figure out where. His brain was still soggy from sleep deprivation. He clicked through and read more about this particular recently deceased man. Yearwood read that Derrick Palmer was murdered on Saturday morning; burned to death. He set the sandwich down and picked up his coffee and slurped two more huge sips. Concentrating he tried to force where he’d seen this guy before but he was still tired. He shook his head in disgust and kept flicking through the images of the recently departed. He knew he’d remember, sooner or later.

  Fury Abatu kept the recollection from the man. It was not sure what he would do with the information and how that would affect its regaining entry to the original host. Feeling harried, Abatu clamped down hard on Yearwood to keep him under control but he was male and more unruly than the demon was used to…

  ***

  It was almost ten o’clock in the evening and the entire team was poring over the discs Feinster and Holden had picked up from the casino. The warrant Clift put through allowed them to get copies of every disc they could find including some recently trashed discs that were not yet destroyed. They even gained access to the back-up logs and the archived feeds.

  Bleary-eyed and needing food, drink and sleep Feinster pushed back noisily from her computer and stood up yawning loudly. She caused a chain-reaction and within moments the other three were shutting down their machines.

  “No word about the hair or the half-print?” Yearwood asked stretching and bending in an attempt to get the crick out of his back. Clift shook his head and commented while scratching himself.

  “You think we’d all be sitting here pawing through hours of footage of parking lots, employee comings and goings and the secret john discs if they had?”

  They all got a good chuckle out of that.

  “Yeah, pretty surprised they have a camera in each stall,” Betty said.

  “But think about it,” Yearwood clicked off his monitor. “If you are trying to steal something wouldn’t you go to the bathroom to hide it so you can get out of the casino with whatever it is?” And that’s when it hit him. He remembered where he’d seen Derrick Palmer…with Jennifer at the casino early last Saturday morning!

  Abatu roared its displeasure. For furies, men were so much harder to manipulate! Abatu wished for just a moment it was a black-eyed demon. Then, it realized what it wished and shuddered, fervently wishing the Ancient One had not intercepted that thought.

  Yearwood stared at Jennifer with undisguised disgust but the Fury pushed that feeling aside, made him break eye contact and influenced him to tilt his neck to crack it using more force than was necessary to cover his sudden stillness.

  “Dude! You’re creepin’ me out! You look like you might drop and do fifty push-ups, or something. Quit it!” Feinster said, and walked away shaking her head. He had just proven to Betty, yet again, how odd he truly was.

  Holden said nothing. To Jennifer, he looked more like he had a revelation more so than he needed to do a cardio workout. However, she kept that observation to herself. She’d discuss it with Betty, or Lady Ariella, later and walked briskly to catch up with Betty.

  ***

  Yearwood watched Holden hurry away and fumed. He turned around to face his cubicle forcing himself to sit calmly without banging his fist on the desk as he felt like doing.

  Clift rolled his chair back and peered over at Yearwood’s back and called out to him. “So, I thought you were leaving?”

  Taking deep breaths, Yearwood waited a beat before speaking. “Yeah, thought I was but I had an idea regarding the Gerimo sting. I’m going to work on it, develop the idea a bit more before sharing it. I know the Rennkler case is priority but we can’t let the multi precinct sting fall by the wayside either. Probably head home in about thirty. You should head on out. We’ve got to get back on it tomorrow and work this Rennkler case, maybe, from some other angles.” He flipped on his computer and it whirred to life with a high-pitched whine making his ears hurt a bit.

  The Fury clamped down on his anger; it knew that he was close to the edge but being within him was more than the Fury could have hoped for. It was a brilliant stroke of genius to have found him — he was partnering with the original host! The Fury infused him with peace and tranquility which brought his inner rage down a few notches enough for him to play it cool for Clift.

  He heard Clift grunt as he hefted his weight out of the chair. “Night, Yearwood. Don’t stay too late.”

  Yearwood felt a clap on his left shoulder as the veteran cop headed to the locker room. He turned and watched him lumber away as loathing and anger filled his mind. He swung back to his computer and typed in his password. He knew his raging emotions really had nothing to do with Clift. It was all about Holden and how her Oscar award winning performance towards him for the past two years. He had been emasculated by a woman…yet again. He was still seething about Babs’ rejection.

  While Holden had brushed him off kindly, unlike Babs Strickland in Forensics, the gorgeous curvy bombshell had said no to him over and over just as she had done with every other man in the precinct. He hadn’t felt bad because no one had scored. But with Holden, she’s kind, gives him the time of day, and actually went for a coffee with him a few times. She strings him along and then goes for a guy like Palmer? Smooth, suave, refined and clearly a ladies’ man. Holy Holden lied. In addition to being a weirdo atheist, she, in actuality, could not be trusted. Holden just didn’t want any of the men in the precinct. Yearwood understood now. Holden was too good for the likes of the guys in the precinct. Holden was just like Officer Strickland — just not as beautiful.

  Yearwood bared his teeth in a feral grimace as he thought about the buxom blonde that humiliated him in front of the dykey Feinster. His facial expression would have frightened his colleagues if any of them had been around.

  The NYPD home page came up and he went to the one link that he and all of his cronies had always avoided. It was the sole link that would allow him to exact his revenge on Holden and make her pay for all she had done to him and his buddies in blue in the 85th precinct.

  With grim satisfaction, he clicked on the Internal Affairs link and proceeded to file an anonymous report giving all of the details he could find about Holden being with Derrick Palmer mere hours before his death.

  While Yearwood didn’t feel she had a thing to do with the man’s demise, he would love to see her squirm while under the watchful eyes of their fellow internal rats. The more he typed the better he felt.

  Prodded and buoyed by this male host’s high energy, the Fury unwittingly assisted and added in a few details that would lend more credibility to the accusation. The demon knew better than to provide Yearwood with the exact means of death and the disembowlment aspects of the body. However, the Fury helped with suppositions as to how the pair could have gotten to the hotel and the location of Palmer’s car. He also brought into question whether Holden had a gun other than her police issues that might be unregistered.

  Almost laughing, Yearwood finished his e-mail and clicked
send. Shutting down the computer for the second time that evening he felt so good he started to whistle as he walked to the locker rooms.

  The Fury settled into the background of Yearwood’s mind. It watched as he showered; his mind and emotions cooling in as the tepid water hit him full force. More pensive than ever before in its long life, the Fury wondered if it had just helped, or hurt, the original host by allowing the male host to contact Internal Affairs. The Fury wondered how this would impact finding Kyma Barnes’ killer and avenging the woman’s soul…

  ***

  Tuesday, November 13th

  Walking up the stairs into the precinct minutes before seven in the morning, Betty hurried while Jennifer moved more slowly. She was scratching her neck absently where some pieces of the herbs from her twice daily bath had stuck to her skin again.

  Trying to distract herself, Jennifer tried to map out the day in her mind. She knew that the team was spinning their wheels waiting for the results from Forensics to come in. She needed to get back to work on the Barnes case and input the queries in both the national and international databases. She needed to see if there were any similar cases to the murders of Barnes and the woman in Castleman’s case in Missouri.

  Jennifer prayed that the analysis would come back today for the Rennkler case and give them a name or ten to chase down. She was getting tired of the desk work. Hurrying down to the locker room, Jennifer didn’t notice Doug Freeman from Internal Affairs watching her as she passed right by him with her head down scratching her neck.

  ***

  By the time Jennifer got to her cubicle, the rest of the team was nowhere to be seen. A scribbled note on a Post-It on her monitor told her to go to the small conference room.

  “Damnit! Why didn’t they just wait for me? They knew I was here.” As she got up, her cell phone rang. She looked at the screen and swore. She sat back down and took the call.

  “Chad this isn’t a good time.”

  “Well good morning to you, too, sunshine! How was your weekend?”

  “I spoke to you Sunday. It was fine but it didn’t end that great. Picked up a new case that I can’t blow.”