The Second Coming

by J. Fritschi

  Kate sat back in her chair with a furrow of concern on her brow. She could see that Father John was beginning to get upset.

  “You mock religion for causing wars yet scientists create the weapons that are used in those wars to kill thousands of people, including the nuclear bomb. Religion does not condone violence, we condone peace. We cannot be responsible for fanatics that kidnap the name of religion for their own gain.”

  “I respect your right to your opinion Father, just as I hope you will respect my right to my opinion. I don’t think there is anything that I can say to make you change your mind just as there is nothing you can say to make me change my mind.”

  “Haven’t you ever had something happen to you that you couldn’t reasonably explain?”

  Kate’s mind flashed back on a near drowning experience she had when she was a child.

  “Just because there is no reasonable explanation for how something happened doesn’t mean there is a God.”

  “I think you say that you don’t believe in God because you are afraid your peers in the scientific community will mock you, but deep down there is a part of you that still believes.”

  It was true. There still was a part of her that questioned how she had been saved. There wasn’t anyone who took the credit for saving them and she remembered feeling as though she had been levitated out of the pool by a mysterious force, but her scientific side wouldn’t allow her to fully accept that.

  “I believe in natural selection more than I believe in intelligent design.”

  “I’m sorry that you lost your faith. Maybe something will happen to restore it before it is too late.”

  Just then the door to the interrogation room opened and Mike stuck his head. “Is everything alright in here?” he asked in friendly tone.

  “Yes Detective. Everything is fine,” Father John assured him. “We were just having a spirited discussion on the merits of science and religion.”

  “Are you all done with the test Father?” Mike asked eagerly.

  “Yes I am Detective. Is alright if I leave now?”

  “Yes Father. I’ll be in touch with you,” he told him as he offered him his hand. “One last thing Father; does Dr. Wilson have your permission to show me the results of your test?”

  “She does indeed Detective. I have nothing to hide. Remember it is I who came to you. I am simply following the path that God has laid out before me.”

  Mike shot Kate a smug smirk and gently tipped his knit covered head with a wink. Kate stood in the corner with her arms crossed with a rigid smile.

  “Thank you Father,” Kate said politely as she offered him her hand.

  Father John grasped it with both of his tender hands and looked her compassionately in the eyes. “God bless you both,” he said solemnly as he stepped through the door and disappeared down the hallway.

  “It looks like you owe me dinner,” Mike said proudly.

  “You’re incorrigible, you know that?” she said as she sat down and began to calculate the score of the questionnaire. Mike paced the room, occasionally trying to sneak a peek over her shoulder. When she was done she sat back in her chair and exhaled with a frown on her face.

  “What’s the matter?” Mike asked.

  Kate shook her head. “He scored higher on the test than I thought he would.”

  “What does that mean?” Mike asked eagerly.

  “It means that we need to do more psychoanalysis to determine if he really does have Dissociative Identity Disorder,” she replied in a disturbed tone. “But it certainly makes him a person of interest.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Mike said emphatically. “I better have Axe keep a tail on him until you can get a psychoanalysis done.”

  “I guess I owe you dinner,” Kate said as she got up from the table and placed her files in her briefcase.

  “Don’t sound so excited,” Mike said sarcastically. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

  Kate looked at him with a flirtatious grin. She had dated his type before. The clever and ever so confident risk taker that made her mind throw up red flags, but he was also the rugged, physical type of man that made her want to take a chance. Could she keep up with him? Could she tame him? These were the challenges that she failed at in the past that she now wanted to succeed in. She looked at him with a cunning grin as she pulled a business card and pen from the side pocket of her briefcase and wrote her home address on the back of it.

  “Pick me up at 7:00,” she told him as she handed him her card with her long, elegant fingers.

  “I look forward to it,” Mike told her politely as he slipped the card into his shirt pocket and showed her to the door. “Thank you for coming in today. It was a pleasure to meet you and I appreciate your time and help.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied as she turned and sauntered down the hall with the swagger of a runway model.

  Mike removed his knit cap and rubbed his hand over his stubble in wonderment. Ever since he came out of his coma and stopped living the life of excess, things were going his way; first Father John and now Kate. Maybe he needed the coma to get sober and maybe he needed to get sober to see things more clearly and to be able to solve the case and start a meaningful relationship with Kate. Maybe the Sterling Killer did him a favor when he hit him over the head? Mike pulled his hat on. It was now up to him to keep his shit together.

  chapter 50

  MIKE WORKED AT his desk following up the few leads he had, calling the father’s old teachers, friends and acquaintances. He was discrete in his questioning and presented himself as a writer doing a piece for a religious periodical. Nothing turned up as everyone said positive things about the father. There was nothing in his past that would give an indication that he had any mental problems. He was a model student who never got into trouble for drugs or alcohol and was involved with after school programs and even started an after school club for religious minded people like himself called the Sacred Heart Institute for Moral Advancement. The mission statement of the club was to “Provide a safe and friendly haven for those who wish to follow the teachings of our savior Jesus Christ”. Father John led the group on religious retreats skiing, hiking and fishing, where the members could be at one with God. One teacher remarked that the club was a huge success because it was an all inclusive club and many people joined the club not so much for the religious aspect as for the activities. Father John used that time with those people to talk with them about the teachings of Jesus Christ, and did so in such a way as to not be overbearing or threatening. By the time they were finished with the year, a lot of the students came around to his way of thinking. The teacher went on to say that John’s gift was that he didn’t make you feel like he was judging you or preaching to you. He made you feel like you were a part of something, no matter how devoted a follower you were. Mike was impressed by their unconditional loyalty and support even after all of these years.

  He went on line and entered the father’s name in Google and searched the web for any information. The only things that came up were a link to the Abbey and a link to Baylor University where there was an article in the archives about Father John when he was a student there. Evidently there was another student by the name of Mathew Jamison who was involved in a terrible accident that left him paralyzed from the waist down. It told the inspiring story of how John Carpenter, a sophomore at Baylor at the time, went to go see Mathew who was deeply depressed and suicidal. After speaking with John, Mathew began to come out of his depression and worked hard at his physical therapy and credited John with his full recovery.

  “Without John Carpenter, I wouldn’t be walking and I would most likely be dead,” the student claimed. “It was divine intervention. His healing powers touched my soul.”

  The article went on to tell about how Father John went to see Mathew every day after the accident and spoke to him about the powers of prayer and faith. He worked with Mathew on his physical therapy and through hard work and “trust in the lord our savior
”, Mathew was walking well ahead of schedule. One of the doctors at the time remarked about Mathew’s miraculous recovery.

  “I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it,” the doctor was quoted as saying. “This is the most amazing recovery we have ever seen. It truly is a miracle.”

  As Mike read the story he shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t believe in miracles and thought the only reason Mathew walked again was out of his own sheer will and determination which he gave the father partial credit for inspiring in him. The word miracle was thrown around too often and loosely in his estimation and he believed miracles, like luck, were the result of hard work meeting opportunity, but he had to admit that John’s selfless giving was remarkable. Mike wished he had something that he so fervently believed in that he could devote his entire life to it unwaveringly. Even now in the face of all of the evidence against him, the father steadfastly kept his faith. It was incredible.

  It was getting late in the afternoon and Mike started to wrap things up when his cell phone rang. It was Big Pete.

  “What’s up partner?” Mike answered the phone.

  “I’m just headed back from the Abbey,” Big Pete replied, his cell reception breaking with the static of a bad signal.

  Mike strained to listen. “How did it go?”

  “There is a reverence for the father that is hard to understand or believe.”

  Mike laughed in acknowledgement. “No shit, huh? You won’t believe some of the shit I’ve heard and seen today.”

  “It’s like this guy is the second coming of Christ,” Big Pete said incredulously. “He has people thinking he walks on water.”

  “Did you learn anything new?”

  “Interestingly enough, I did, but I don’t know how useful it is,” Big Pete replied in a deflated tone. “The mornings after the nights of the murders, Father John did not attend the morning prayers and there is a window of time between 9:00 pm and 12:15 pm the next day that he is unaccounted for. He told the abbot that he was recovering from his dreams.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Mike asked incredulously. “That seems like a pretty big coincidence to me.”

  “No shit, but they all believe him.”

  Mike shook his head. “How long did it take you to drive there?”

  “Around three hours.”

  Mike processed the time line. “Let’s say that Father John left the monastery around 9:00 pm at night. That would put him in the Bay Area around 12:00 am. That would have allowed him enough time to abduct the first two victims, move their bodies to the churches and still make it back by 12:15 pm the next day.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Big Pete acknowledged. “But there is a problem with that theory.”

  Mike let out a deep breath. “The night I was attacked, it was only around 11:00 pm. Could he have left earlier that night?”

  “The abbot said he has never missed a nightly prayer.”

  “It doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t possibly have been in Oakland at 11:00 pm then.”

  “Not unless he can be at two places at once.”

  This was troubling. There had to be a logical explanation. Maybe he wasn’t the Sterling Killer. Fuck! What did that mean? Back to square one? He had to be the Sterling Killer. It all fit together too nicely for him not to be.

  “Are you going to be there when I get back?” Big Pete asked as his reception cut in and out.

  “No. I’m just getting ready to leave. I’ve got a date with Dr. Wilson tonight.”

  “Wow, you didn’t waste any time. Was she any help?”

  “Listen to this,” Mike said encouragingly. “Father John’s mother died while giving birth to him.”

  “Why are you so happy about that?”

  “Don’t you see? It provides the reason for why he has created an alter personality and he scored high on a screening questionnaire so now we have to request psychoanalysis to determine if he has a split personality. I’m keeping Axe on his tail.”

  “I just told you Mike, he couldn’t have been there the night the Sterling Killer attacked you and killed Denise.”

  “I don’t fucking buy it. We’re missing something right in front of our faces.”

  “I can’t hear you,” Big Pete’s voice cut in and out. “I’ll try you back…”

  Mike pulled his cell phone away from his ear to look at his signal. It was strong. He placed the phone back to his ear. “Can you hear me now?” He shouted. When there was no reply he pulled the phone away and saw that the call had ended. Flipping his phone closed, he noticed the time was 4:06 and realized he should get going. He still had some loose ends to tie up before picking up Kate and he didn’t want to be late or in a rush.

  When he thought of his night with her, it was as if something was alive, dancing inside of him. Just the thought of seeing her again made him smile with anticipation. He wondered what she would wear and imagined it would be something teasingly provocative that would entice his every desire. That’s what he hoped anyway. Although at second thought, he realized it might be best if she wasn’t too provocative. He wanted to be able to hold a conversation with her without having his train of thought interrupted by his sexual longings. He did not want to make a complete ass of himself.

  A couple of cocktails would help inhibit his desires, but only a couple. He even gave serious thought to not having a drink at all, but that made his stomach tight because he never went on a date without having at least a few drinks and he wasn’t sure if he could actually go without, although if there ever was a time for him to try it, now would be the time. He hadn’t had a drink in 5 days and his body felt strong and steady and his mind clear and witty, all things considered.

  Not only that, but more importantly, he felt comfortable around Kate, even sober, like he could be himself. It was strange. He didn’t feel like he had to put on a show to impress her. They were both in the same field of work and there was a certain sense of comfort with that. In the past he drank to open the doors of his personality and to make other people seem more interesting. He had been afraid that if he didn’t drink, people wouldn’t like him and he wouldn’t like them. Not with Kate. She was different. They met when they were both sober which put Mike on a different playing field than he was used to and she seemed to have liked him sober so he didn’t feel the need to be intoxicated like he might have if the first time he met her he had been drinking. Maybe he would just have a couple of drinks...or not. It now seemed inconsequential to him and that was comforting enough.

  Maybe Kate was the type of woman that could make him want to change his life style. She was everything that any man could ever want and Mike knew that it would take a special man to make her happy and he wanted to see if he could be that man. Or was he just kidding himself. After all, he’d only met her once and he really didn’t know anything about her except that she was drop dead gorgeous and smart. Mike chuckled at himself. Sometimes his mind just went off on these tangents. He needed to get back to reality and get ready for his dinner date.

  chapter 51

  A MIST OF fog drifted in the dusk as Mike pulled his car in front of the slender, two story Victorian house. As he leaned forward and turned the throaty engine off, he peered out the windshield at the illuminated oriel bay windows that were stacked one on top of the other and bordered by picturesque trimming. Mike nodded his head impressed. The house was probably worth a fortune. Either she was doing very well professionally or she came from money. Mike glanced down at his thick, military issued watch. 1854. 6:54. Perfect timing.

  He sat up straight to check his teeth and nostrils in the rearview mirror to make sure there wasn’t anything embarrassing stuck in them. There were no visible stragglers. He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth and pinched his nostrils to be sure he got any remnants, grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat and then resolutely pushed the driver side door open and hopped to his feet. It was chilly and damp out as he glanced up and down the motionless street lined with cars p
arked bumper to bumper. He quietly clicked his car door shut as he turned and faced the light hanging like a halo in the mist above her porch.

  The neighborhood was eerily silent except for the yapping of what Mike imagined was someone’s little lap dog; probably a Chihuahua or some other annoying little rodent of a dog. With the flowers held down at his side, he used his opposite hand to dust off the front of his sweater and the pleats of his slacks. He took a quick breath and bounded across the cross walk, up the thick wood steps to the broad porch and pushed the black ringer. There was no sound so Mike stepped his left foot up onto the threshold and leaned his ear in towards the etched glass doors to see if he could hear anything. The muffled sound of music emanated from deep within the house so he cupped his eyes to the glass doors and peered into the foyer. He didn’t see anything except a closet door next to a mirror hanging on the wall above a small antique table that stood on a rich Persian rug. He stepped back down onto the porch, reached up and gave the antique brass knocker 3 solid raps.

  He shuffled over to the top of the stairs, whistling softly with the flowers in one hand and the other hand in his pocket as he glanced up and down the street at the rows of Victorian houses. They all looked the same and Mike wondered if anyone ever mistook a neighbors’ house as their own after having too much to drink.

  The faint sound of high heels clicking on the wood floor alerted him that someone was inside heading towards the door. As he turned towards the door, he adjusted his knit cap and held the vibrant burgeoning bouquet of flowers at chest level as the sound of cracking footsteps got closer and louder until they stopped. The mechanical sound of the dead bolt clunked over and the door swung open.