by J. Fritschi
The Sterling Killer looked over his shoulder and saw the knife was almost in his reach. He leaned back and stretched his arm out with an open hand as he attempted to grab the knife, but it was just out of his reach. As he scooted back toward the knife, he momentarily loosened the grip of his legs around Father John’s neck and reached his shaking, outstretched hand back as far as he could.
Father John knew he was in trouble. The choke hold he was locked in was next to impossible to get out of. His vision began to fade to black and white speckles and he realized he was going to black out when, for a brief moment, he felt the tension in the Sterling Killer’s legs give just enough to allow him to twist free and in a swimming move, elbow him hard in the groin.
The Sterling Killer contracted like a salty snail, cupping his groin with both hands as he lay curled on the floor coughing, trying to catch his breath.
Father John was on his hands and knees next to him gasping for air. He felt like he had been trapped underwater, unable to find an ever distant surface. His eyes were blurry and saliva hung from his mouth as he choked and coughed for a breath.
When he finally regained some of his strength, he raised his head and looked around. Fire was burning out of control everywhere and the heat was as intense as a furnace. Sparks and embers cascaded down around them as the church began to collapse. The Sterling Killer squirmed in agony on the floor, but to Father John’s horror, the sterling silver knife was lying on the ground right next to him. All the Sterling Killer had to do was roll over.
Father John began to crawl slowly and deliberately towards the knife. As he got closer, he could hear him wheezing and coughing over the roar of the fire. Father John raised his arm and reached over him to grab the knife when the Sterling Killer opened his eyes wide as he realized what Father John was doing.
The Sterling Killer grabbed him and they struggled, tugging and hitting each other as they alternatively tried to reach out and grasp the knife with fumbling hands. Father John managed to kick the Sterling Killer off of him, sending him reeling backwards down the stairs of the stage, crashing into a fiery pew.
Father John got to his feet as he watched the Sterling Killer pick himself up. Father John bent down, grabbed the sterling silver knife and stood at the center of the stage surrounded by the inferno.
“You son of a bitch!” The Sterling Killer yelled as he looked at the heavens with clenched fists. He stood at the bottom of the stairs panting furiously as he glowered at Father John and then charged up the stairs in a fit of rage.
Father John readied himself for the impact, his left foot forward and his right foot back, shoulder width apart, with his knees slightly bent and his balance centered. His hands were held up chin high with the sterling silver knife clutched in his left fist.
The Sterling Killer had been waiting for his moment of revenge for what seemed like an eternity and now, all of his years of rage were unleashed. “Die son of God!” He spewed vehemently as he raised his hands to grab Father John by the neck.
Father John waited patiently and at the last moment, in one swift movement, he dodged the Sterling Killer to the left, kneed him in the gut with his right knee, wrapped his right arm around his neck in a choke hold and plunged the knife into his chest with bone crunching force. The Sterling Killer’s body went stiff as he gasped for air and then collapsed in Father John’s arms. Father John held him from behind as he slowly lowered his slumping body to the center of the stage surrounded by fire. He knelt next to his head as he watched his twitching eyes and lips with a morbid curiosity. It looked like he was trying to say something, so he put his ear to his mouth.
“I just wanted to be loved,” the Sterling Killer said in a hushed tone as he coughed on his own blood.
Father John felt empty and alone. How could he have done this to his brother? After everything he had been through, Father John should’ve had forgiveness in his heart for him. Was this how it was supposed to end? Was this God’s plan?
chapter 81
“I’M SORRY,” THE bald headed paramedic said solemnly. “There is nothing else we can do.”
Mike’s heart dropped to his stomach with an overwhelming sorrow and he felt like he was going to get sick. He can’t be dead. Not Big Pete. Everything around him spun in slow motion as his legs buckled and he dropped to his knees on the gravel behind the ambulance. The smell of acrid smoke filled the air as all the muscles in his abdomen and ribs constricted as he threw up. His throat and nose burned with bile as he dry heaved repeatedly.
“It’s going to be alright,” Kate consoled him as she rubbed his back. “I’m here for you. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. It was anything but okay. How did he allow this happen? Big Pete was his best friend, the only one who cared enough to confront Mike when he was throwing his life away on drugs and alcohol. Mike was the best man in Big Pete’s wedding, even though he told him that his soon to be wife was a money grubbing whore. Mike was at the hospital when Little Petey was born and cried when Big Pete asked him to be his Godfather.
Mike was sweating and shaking as bile hung from his mouth and nose. He began to sob uncontrollably as he looked up to the Heavens. “Why Big Pete? Why not me? Take me instead.”
Kate clutched Mike’s head and held his face to her bosoms as she began to softly weep.
What the fuck was Mike going to say to Little Petey? How do you explain to a twelve year old kid that his dad is never coming home again? Mike held Kate tightly in his arms as tears streamed down his face when he heard something incomprehensible from the back of the ambulance.
“Holy shit!” The female paramedic exclaimed in disbelief. “He’s breathing.”
Mike and Kate separated as Mike stood up and gazed into the back of the ambulance in disbelief. Did he hear her right?
“I’ve got a pulse,” the bald paramedic said enthusiastically.
Mike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Big Pete must have been dead for a couple of minutes. How was this even possible? And then two words drifted through his head like phantoms in the night; divine intervention. But Mike didn’t believe in divine intervention; or did he? After all of the things he saw happen tonight that could not be rationally explained, he was starting to believe that maybe there was something to Father John’s divine intervention. How else could he explain how they made it through the walls of fire without so much as a first degree burn or how the flames parted like the red sea when Father John walked back into the blazing church and now Big Pete coming back from the dead? It was miraculous.
Mike turned around in a euphoric haze and watched the brilliant, flickering flames shooting out of the church wondering what happened to Father John and the Sterling Killer. Did they make it out in time or did they burn to death? Did Father John perform one more act of divine intervention on Big Pete before he died?
Two fire trucks finally arrived with moaning sirens and flashing lights as they pulled up to a stop in front of the church with a shush of their air brakes. Firefighters dressed in heavy coats and backward shaped helmets scrambled with hoses as a latter extended from the top of one of the trucks towards the roof of the church and a firefighter climbed up it. Rainbow sprays of water glistened against the fire’s glare.
Mike turned to check on Big Pete in the ambulance as the paramedics worked frantically to keep him alive. It all seemed so surreal. He put his arm around Kate and held her close to his side.
“He’s going to be alright,” she said like she was looking for approval as she looked up at Mike with wishful eyes. “He’s going to make it.”
Mike’s head was swimming. Big Pete was going to make it. It was all going to be alright. He could feel the elation in his chest. It was like ecstasy. Mike let out a deep sigh of relief.
In the distance, he heard a voice call out. “Medic,” someone said urgently. “We have a survivor!”
Mike and Kate both turned and against the backdrop of the burning church, watched as two firefighters dragged someone, with his arms dra
ped over their shoulders, towards the ambulances. It looked like Father John. It better not be the Sterling Killer. Mike would personally put a bullet in his head if it was him.
Two paramedics rushed to retrieve a gurney from the back of the other ambulance as Mike stumbled over, skeptically examining the semiconscious man. He watched puzzled as the firefighters and paramedics carefully lay his smoldering body on the gurney and began to wheel him to the rear of the ambulance. Mike tried to get a good look at him, but as they hoisted him into the ambulance, all he could see was his soot covered face.
“Is it Father John?” Kate asked timidly.
“I don’t know,” Mike said with a scowl. “I can’t tell.”
They watched as the medics cut his robe off and placed an IV in his arm and an oxygen mask on his face. He could see the man’s eyes blinking and it looked as though he took the oxygen mask off his face and said something to one of the paramedics.
“Is there a Detective McCormick here?” The black paramedic yelled.
“Right here,” Mike said dumbfounded as he stepped forward.
“He wants to talk to you,” the paramedic offered as he slid over.
Mike carefully maneuvered his way into the ambulance and looked at the white of the man’s eyes. Was it the Sterling Killer or Father John?
“I killed him,” the man said with a hoarse voice.
“You killed who?” Mike asked for clarification.
“I killed my brother,” the man replied with a smile. “I killed the Sterling Killer.”
“Are you sure he is dead?” Mike asked concerned. “How do you know?”
“I stabbed him in the heart,” he admitted with a shaky voice.
Mike let out a sigh and looked at the paramedics with raised eyebrows. “Where is he now?” he asked eagerly.
“I couldn’t get him out in time.”
“Are you sure he didn’t escape before the fire got him?” Mike asked skeptically. “Did you see his body burn?”
He shook his head somberly. “He’s dead. There is no way he could have escaped.”
Mike examined his face with piercing eyes. “You’re sure that he is dead?”
“I’m sure,” he said softly as his eyes blinked lazily.
Mike let out a sigh and looked around at the paramedics with cautious eyes and then back at Father John. “I’ll get your statement later, but for now, don’t tell anyone anything about what happened in there.”
“How is your partner?” he asked slowly. “Is he recovering alright?”
“I’m going to go check on him now,” he replied hesitantly.
“He’s going to make it,” he said in a whisper. “He’s not going to die.”
Mike glared at him. “How do you know that?” he asked bewildered. “Did you…” he paused, uncomfortable that he was even considering the possibility. “Was it divine intervention?”
“It is what you think it is Detective,” Father John replied proudly.
Mike stepped away from the ambulance disgusted. What was he thinking? He didn’t believe in divine intervention any more than he believed in the Satanic Codex. He was going to blow the lid off of this case and expose everyone involved as an accessory to the crime.
Epilogue
THREE MONTHS PASSED since that fateful night. The wound to Mike’s head had healed and his hair was growing back thick and wavy. He was sober, but was still suffering from PTSD when Father John contacted him and told him that his dad had passed away and invited him to the memorial service.
At first Mike wasn’t going to go because there was a conspiracy to cover up the Satanic Codex and the fact that the Sterling Killer was Father John’s twin brother. Mike was furious and threatened to go public, but the chief and the mayor strongly reminded him that he didn’t have any proof and that it was his word against the Carpenters’, who were denying everything. The chief and mayor told him that nobody was going to believe such an incredible story and that the Carpenters had threatened to sue for slander if they went forward with it.
The only people that could corroborate Mike’s story were Big Pete and Kate. Big Pete didn’t remember anything that happened that day and Mike didn’t want to put Kate in any danger. The only reason he agreed to go to the memorial service was because Kate called him and asked him to meet her there. She wanted to talk to him and since they hadn’t spoken in quite some time, Mike was willing to meet her anywhere. His heart longed for her and he could sense that there was something wrong in her empty voice. She had been through an unimaginable experience and he felt responsible.
Mike followed the procession of mourners like grazing cattle into the great room of the Claremont Country Club, funneling into the sterile room that overlooked the tree lined fairways and manicured putting green. Flowers were displayed on top of rich, antique tables that were dispersed evenly amongst the couches and chairs that people with drinks in their hands were beginning to nest in.
This was the type of social gathering that only a few months earlier Mike would not have entertained coming to without having at least a couple of drinks before, during and after. He watched the nameless faces clutching their drinks like life preservers and felt like he was drowning and no one was going to throw him a line, or offer him a drink. He wiped away a thin layer of perspiration that was forming on his forehead and upper lip.
Where was Kate? What did she want to talk to him about? He was afraid she was going to break his heart, but as much as he dreaded that, he was still looking forward to seeing her. Having his heart broken by her was better than not seeing her at all. If he couldn’t be with her at least he would enjoy wallowing in his aching desire for her. He romanticized about her breaking his heart. It was better than never experiencing the rush of her allure. He would do anything for just one last tender moment of affection from her; all of these feelings from one night with her. She was magical.
As Mike gazed over the sea of mourners, he spotted Father John standing on the far side of the room next to the fireplace, holding a cherub faced baby boy. He was dressed regally in a white Cossack robe with a red chasuble over his shoulders like he just came from the Vatican. He was reservedly smiling as if he knew he was supposed to be happy, but was uncomfortable holding the baby. He made Mike sick. He was the height of hypocrisy.
Standing next to Father John, watching him with the admiration of a mother watching her son be baptized, was an exotic, olive skinned brunette with brilliant emerald eyes and full lips. Her hair was almost as long as her legs, which were covered by an exquisite black dress with a matching lace shawl. She was stunning.
Mike glanced around the room and found Kate leaning sensuously with a glass of wine in her hand next to a sun soaked window, talking with a lean, bearded man with bushy blonde hair. She was even more beautiful than the image Mike fantasized about in his head. Everything about her was perfect; her wavy dark hair, her cute, buttercup nose, her smooth jaw line and chin; but the thing that captivated Mike the most was her luscious, arching mouth. When she wasn’t speaking, she had a mischievous grin that could cast a spell on you and when she spoke, all Mike could imagine was placing his lips against hers as she softly devoured him. She was delicious.
Who the fuck was this shithead she was so demurely talking to? Did he have any idea how close to death he was right now? Mike sized him up. He was handsome enough, if you like grizzly ski bums, and although he appeared athletic, Mike knew he could end his life as quickly as the idea crossed his mind. Kate looked like she was enjoying his rugged attention so Mike did what any red blooded, jealous juvenile would do and proceeded to go over and put an end to their happiness.
“Hello Katy Kate,” he said as he leaned over and tried to kiss her on the lips.
“Hello Michael,” she replied as she turned her head modestly and offered him her cheek.
Mike stood tall and glared into the grizzly man’s eyes. “Mike McCormick,” he said firmly as he held out as his hand.
“Matt Carpenter,” the man replied disco
ncertingly as he grasped Mike’s hand and clenched it like a brick.
And then it clicked in Mike’s head. “Father John’s brother,” he said mildly relieved.
“Nice work Detective,” Kate said sarcastically under her breath.
Mike let go of the brother’s hand and looked at Kate surprised. She stared at him with raised eyebrows that said ‘I don’t need your petty jealousy’. There was an awkward moment of silence as Mike and Kate engaged in a staring contest. Her eyes were melting his heart and he finally relinquished like a scolded school boy and reluctantly turned to face Father John’s brother.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said as politely as he could muster.
“Don’t be,” the brother replied flippantly. “My brother says he is in a better place now, but I don’t buy that bullshit.”
Mike’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You know...” The brother said sarcastically. “My brother is the second coming of Christ,” he paused for affect. “At least that is what my father thought. Look at him over there; all holier than thou,” he said bitterly as he motioned to Father John holding the baby boy, surrounded by a flock of people. “Look, the son of God has a son!” He proclaimed mockingly. “God is a grandfather! I’m sure God and my dad are watching this together from Heaven proudly.”
Mike glanced over at Kate who was looking at him with her mouth agape.
“I didn’t know your brother has a son,” Mike said in disbelief.
“Neither did he until a few days ago. It must have been an immaculate conception. Let’s all bow down and worship the chosen one.” He glared at Father John in disgust. “Fuck that,” he said and then stormed off toward the bar.
Mike was taken aback. “Can you believe this?” He asked stunned as he stared in awe at Father John holding his son.
“That must be the baby’s mother,” Kate said reflectively. “Arianna.”
Mike looked down at Kate with regretful eyes. “How are you doing?” he asked pensively.
