Speak the Dead

by Grant McKenzie

  “Something like that,” Jersey said grudgingly

  “But you have no solid evidence of either the murders or the kidnapping?”

  “Apart from two dead bodies, a missing woman, and a suspect on the run, no.”

  Lieutenant Morrell sighed again. “You’re out of your jurisdiction, detective, and there’s nothing I can do from here to help. I’ll pass the information on to the F.B.I. If you’re right, the kidnapper has crossed several state lines, which automatically makes this a federal case. You will have to stand aside on this one.”

  Jersey gritted his teeth, and lobbed one last grenade. “Don’t you think the mayor would be disappointed to find that not only did his interference help a multiple murderer escape arrest, but after tracking the suspect down, his only officer on the scene wasn’t allowed to bring him into custody?”

  There was a long pause before Morrell said, “You don’t know that Peter Higgins murdered his parents or kidnapped your witness. You also don’t know that he’s where you say he is. Unless you find proof, I would say you’re hanging from the end of a very thin rope. And just so we’re clear, Detective Castle, I’m holding the fucking scissors.”

  AFTER Morrell hung up, the phone automatically switched back to the first caller.

  “You answered the damn phone, didn’t you?” said Amarela.

  Jersey laughed, releasing a gust of frustration. “Yeah, I answered the damn phone.”

  “I don’t know why I try to help, you never listen. What did the lieutenant say?”

  Jersey told her, and when he was finished, Amarela said, “The only help you’re going to get is with cleaning out your desk. The boss is in full-blown, cover-his-own-ass mode.”

  “That’s probably just as well,” said Jersey. “I operate better when I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

  “One piece of information,” said Amarela. “I don’t know if it helps.”

  “Go on.”

  “The Higgins family changed their name—twice.”

  “That’s unusual,” said Jersey. “What was it before?”

  “Before Higgins, they went by Green. Peter was born under that name, but before Green, the late Mr. Higgins was Mr. Black. Mean anything?”

  “The minister who runs the church is Father Black,” mused Jersey. “Could be a relative. Brother, maybe?”

  “So Peter’s gone home.”

  “Yeah,” Jersey sighed, “but why?”

  80

  Sally stood in front of the bathroom mirror and wiped tears from her eyes.

  “You have your father’s mouth and chin,” said Helen from the doorway.

  Sally turned. “And my mother’s eyes.”

  “Yes,” said Helen grimly, “unfortunately so.”

  Sally was led downstairs to the kitchen. Thick curtains had been drawn across the shutters to further block the windows and the room was dim. Behind her, curtains in the living room were also drawn.

  Father Black took her arm and four large men took up position around them. Two in front, the second pair in the rear. If Sally had any thoughts of running, they were immediately dismissed.

  Father Black led her out the back door and down a short flight of steps to a gravel path that curved around a perfectly mowed lawn. As they walked, Sally heard the heavy scrape of metal on wood. She turned to see the giant front gates being secured with a metal crossbar.

  No one was getting in, she thought, and no one was getting out.

  Father Black squeezed her arm and led her to the church.

  81

  Jersey watched the gates slam shut and felt a deep hollow open in his chest.

  Beside him, Kameelah yanked the phone from her ear and cursed. “I’ve been ordered back to Seattle. The fucking F.B.I. called my lieutenant.”

  “What’s the murder of a nun compared to the public relations nightmare of entering a church without an invite?” Jersey asked dryly.

  “Man, if this was Stalinist Russia or Nazi Germany, we could just kick the fucking door down.”

  “Price we pay for freedom, I guess,” said Jersey.

  “So what’s our plan?”

  Jersey turned to Kameelah, his face devoid of humor. “We kick the fucking door down.”

  Before either of them could make a move, the sound of thunder rolled in from the west, the rumble growing in intensity until seven gleaming Harley Davidson Fat Boys turned the corner and roared into the meadow.

  The seven bikes formed a loose semi-circle in front of the detectives before the riders shut off their engines. Each mechanical beast was kitted out western style with dusty leather saddlebags, circular two-quart water canteens and, within easy reach, the stiff coils of a calf-roping lariat.

  If the rodeo-grade lasso wasn’t puzzling enough, strapped across each gas tank was a fringed leather scabbard that appeared to carry in the case of two of the riders, a Winchester rifle, and in the other five, a long-barreled Remington shotgun.

  Jersey’s hand moved away from his gun and his mouth twitched in relief when the leader of the leather-clad pack pulled a dusty bandanna from around her mouth and slipped off her helmet.

  The woman’s hair was the stark color of a canary.

  82

  Sally was led down concrete steps to the cellar beneath the church. Once she was inside, the four guards left to join their families in the sanctuary above.

  Father Black checked the iron chain that bound Sally’s ankle to the podium.

  “It won’t always be like this.” His hand skimmed her bare ankle. “Once you accept your rightful place in our family, you’ll see just how wonderful life here can be.” His fingers ran up her calf and stroked the toned muscle. “The Seer is our link to God. You’re the deliverer of His message. You are vital to our Journey.”

  “But I don’t want to be a Seer,” said Sally, her voice soft, non-combative. “I just want to go home.”

  “But you are home, dear.” Father Black released her leg and stood tall. He stared deep into her eyes. “I know you were unprepared last time, that, in my excitement, I rushed you. I shoulder the blame for that decision. Twenty-five years without hearing the message made me impatient. But this time you must concentrate. You must bring us back the holy message.”

  “I would, if only I knew—”

  Father Black snapped up his hand as if to strike, but he held it fast, the muscles in his arm quivering. His voice deepened into a growl. “You will know the message when you hear it. All you need do is listen.”

  Father Black reached out to place his hands on either side of Sally’s face. He moved in quickly, his lips locking onto hers in a fierce kiss. Her eyes widened in shock as he sucked her lips between his own with an intense, bruising passion. When he released her, he spun away and moved quickly to his own podium.

  Sally looked over at Helen in disbelief, but the woman’s returning stare was so intense, Sally quickly turned away again.

  83

  Sister Mary Theresa slid off her bike and stretched her back. Her leathers creaked with every controlled movement and puffs of dust billowed around her like smoke. At the same time, her distractingly bright yellow hair reflected the sunlight like a ship’s beacon.

  The other sisters removed their helmets, too. Each one had dyed her hair a vibrant shade: purple, blue, green, red, orange, and pink. The hair was distracting, drawing you away from their faces.

  Jersey looked past the hair, but didn’t recognize any of the other six. They were all relatively young and looked in good physical shape—especially wrapped in leather.

  “Sister Gillian couldn’t make it?” Jersey asked while he tried to absorb and make sense of the unexpected scene.

  Sister Mary Theresa smiled. “Sister Gillian takes care of the mission. She finds the longer road trips a touch tiring now.”

  Jersey raised an eyebrow, unable to picture the older nun on a bike. “But she rides, too?”

  Sister Mary Theresa smiled wider. “Absolutely. She’s one of our most devoted angels.”
r />   “Angels?”

  Sister Mary Theresa spread her arms to encompass her pack. “What else would you call us?”

  Jersey was at a loss for words, so Kameelah stepped in. “What brings you here?”

  “Sister Fleur regained consciousness,” said the nun. “She told us more about the Church of a Sabbath Day’s Journey than what appeared in her notes. She also revealed more about Salvation, the woman you know as Sally.”

  “We found a few disturbing facts ourselves,” said Kameelah.

  “You know of Sally’s gift?”

  Kameelah nodded.

  “And the blood sacrifice?” Sister Mary Theresa asked.

  “We found a young girl’s blog on the ’Net,” said Jersey. “It was overly dramatic, but she was under the impression the church kills people in order to spark a vision.”

  Sister Mary Theresa steepled her fingers and leaned one hip against her bike. “That’s what Sister Fleur was trying to stop when she took Salvation away from this place. She believed that without a Seer, the church would have no reason for being. It appears she was wrong and the sacrifices continued.” She turned her head to look at the sealed gates. “This is an evil place.”

  “Created in the name of God,” said Jersey.

  Sister Mary Theresa faced front again. “Created by man for his own ego, detective. God has nothing to do with this.”

  Kameelah spoke up. “Do you believe Sally has this gift? Is it even possible?”

  Sister Mary Theresa shrugged. “The Lord moves in mysterious ways, and if He gave her this gift it should be celebrated, not exploited for evil.”

  “So, as Kameelah already asked,” said Jersey, “what brings you here?”

  Sister Mary Theresa fixed her gaze on Jersey. “Do you have permission to enter?”

  “No, we’ve been called off.”

  “But you believe Salvation is inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you planning to leave?”

  Jersey glanced at Kameelah. “No.”

  Sister Mary Theresa smiled. “Then we’re here to help.”

  Jersey turned to Kameelah again. “You should head back to Seattle. Staying here could mean your badge.”

  “You should come with me,” she said.

  Jersey shook his head. “That option ran out the instant Sally asked for my help.”

  Kameelah looked at the ground, her eyes hardening as she came to a decision. “I can’t join you.”

  “I know,” said Jersey. “Seattle needs all the good cops it can get.”

  Jersey turned to the nuns. “We know that Sally will be inside the church after the children are sent outside. At that time, the adult congregation will be preparing for their blood ceremony, and we need to be ready to move.” He turned to face the gate. “The first order of business is getting those doors open so we can get inside.”

  Sister Mary Theresa turned to her pack of nuns and quickly gave instructions. Instantly, two nuns broke right and two went left. Each pair glided their bikes silently away from the gate until they reached the far side of the two homes. Hidden from view of anyone looking out, the nuns propped their sturdy machines against the eight-foot stone wall.

  As Jersey watched, the ninja-black nuns hopped onto their saddles, stood up tall, and scrambled over the wall. One half of each pair carried a lariat, the other, a shotgun. The maneuver was so perfectly executed, Jersey wondered if the Mission of the Immaculate Heart had been recruiting women from the Navy Seals.

  84

  Sally could hear Father Black preaching to the crowd above. He was on fire, impassioned, telling them of his mistake in rushing the Seer to her task, begging their forgiveness, promising them glory and the rebirth of the church in God’s everlasting light.

  The crowd ate it up.

  “He’s a wonderful man.” Helen moved in close to Sally until her lips were mere inches from her ear. “But he’s consumed by the church and the legacy of his father. He doesn’t realize that God already made His judgment. Your mother tricked him, and he’s so blind he still doesn’t see it, even after all these years.”

  “What do you mean?” Sally asked.

  Helen moved behind Sally, her breath warm and moist on the young woman’s neck. Her voice crackled with hatred. “Your mother was a liar, a witch, and a whore who wanted every man to lust over her.”

  Sally stayed mute. How could she honestly defend a woman she barely remembered?

  Helen continued, “She twisted every message brought back from the Journey to suit her own needs. She told Father what he wanted to hear until he became putty in her hands and then her true colors shone. She molded him and slipped ideas into his mind. She was responsible for the death of the Whites. They were the bravest and the strongest of us, until your mother turned Father against them.”

  Helen continued to move in a circle until she was facing Sally. She licked her lips, but her tongue failed to provide moisture. “That was God’s judgment. The death of the Whites was the death of our church. Your father knew that.” Helen paused, then opened her lips to expose a jagged row of uneven teeth. “Why do you think he killed your mother? He was the kind one, the only one…” Her hand drifted to absently caress her crimson cheek, then she angrily snapped, “He knew exactly what an evil bitch she was.”

  Sally didn’t rise to the taunt and Helen appeared disappointed. She cocked her head to one side, puzzled. “Did you know that, too?”

  A roar erupted from above their heads as the audience cheered Father Black’s announcement of the reopening of the Houses of Blue and Green. The cellar door opened amidst the noise and Aedan entered. He was dressed in his flowing black robes with the silk hangman’s hood clutched in his hand.

  He practically ran to Sally’s side, his eagerness forcing his mother to one side.

  “Are you ready?” Aedan asked. His frantic eyes bore into her, the white orbs a roadmap of red veins and his dark-matter pupils so large they practically swallowed the stormy brown of each iris.

  Sally shook her head. “I’ll never be ready.”

  He grabbed her right arm and squeezed the muscle, his sharp thumbnail cutting into flesh. “I can break this one, too.”

  Sally winced and groaned. “Okay, okay.”

  He let go and stood back. “Do you know what Father wants to hear?”

  Sally shrugged and Aedan jerked forward so quickly, she feared he was going to snap her neck. Instead, he pushed his forehead against hers and locked his stare.

  “I don’t know what happens on the Journey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper yet sparking with malice. “I was too young to witness your mother’s travels and hear the messages she delivered, but I know my father. He needs you to tell the congregation that their loved ones have traveled to the Promised Land where they are safe and happy and bathing in the glory of His light. You may receive messages for individuals from those who have crossed over, but the most important message is the one for Father. You need to tell him of the church’s future, of its rebirth and renewed strength. If you remember nothing else, remember that or the pain you have experienced so far will be nothing to what is to come. Do you understand?”

  Sally wanted to avert her gaze but there was no escaping Aedan’s piercing coal-black eyes.

  Aedan pressed his forehead harder against Sally’s until her skull was about to crack.

  “Yes,” she blurted. “Yes, I understand.”

  Aedan released her. “I’ll be watching.”

  He retreated to the cellar door just as Sally’s podium shuddered in preparation to ascend.

  85

  Jersey gazed across the meadow parking lot to watch Kameelah climb into her Jaguar. Her body was stiff with reluctance, and her face dark with regret. Jersey offered up an encouraging smile as she waved goodbye before he swung the gates closed and crept onto church grounds.

  It had only taken the four agile nuns a few short minutes to tie up the guards and unlock the gates, gaining him entry.

 
With the seven leather-clad angels on foot around him, Jersey quickly moved toward the front door of the central church building. Secure in the impregnability of their massive front gates, the church hadn’t posted any other guards aside from the two, now unconscious, gatekeepers.

  Once the pack reached the walls of the church, the angels spread out to peer through wooden slats and see inside.

  From over the shoulders and heads of a packed audience, Jersey watched a massive wood-burning fire pit, contained inside a circular metal pan, rise to the ceiling on coiled strands of tensile steel.

  Behind the fire, Father Black’s face glowed with anticipation as he raised his hands to the ceiling in perfect pace with the fire. And then, filling the void where the hearth had been, a small woman in a flowing white dress, her left arm cradled in a matching white sling, ascended from a hole in the floor.

  She had shock white hair and glistening green eyes: Sally.

  When her podium locked into place, everyone inside the church jumped to their feet and applauded.

  Jersey used the distraction to move to the side of Sister Mary Theresa.

  “Sally’s inside,” he said.

  “When do we move?”

  Jersey mulled it over. “The children are a problem. Once they’re outside and the real ceremony begins, we should be able to rush in, grab Sally and get the hell out before they have time to rally against us. I don’t see any weapons, so if we can do it without violence, so much the better.”

  Sister Mary Theresa nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

  Jersey moved back to his position and waited.

  Once the crowd had settled down, Father Black indicated it was time for the children to leave.

  Jersey and the nuns moved quickly out of sight as the front doors opened and at least forty pairs of tiny feet rushed down the steps and vanished in a thunderblust of excited noise into the maze of gardens.

  86

  After the children exited, Sally looked out upon the excited congregation and wondered what she was going to do.