‘Who started the fire, Maria? We know it was no accident,’ the police questioned her over and over again. Maria did not utter a word. Her silence puzzled investigators. They could not blame her for anything. They did not have any proof of any wrong doing on her behalf. They washed their hands of the case and passed it over to the hospital’s psych ward.
The hospital’s psychiatrist and the local judge decided on sending her to CareForGirls. An institution set up by nuns for troubled, underage girls. She was to remain there until the age of eighteen and to be treated for shock and grief.
At the institution, Maria lost the only thing left to her. Her faith.
The institution was a fine example of a shiny shop window with all its goods on display. On paper, it was a great project. In reality, it was a prison for girls who got into trouble and society needed somewhere to get rid of them. The nuns thought of the girls as sinners and as such, needed to be punished. Thieves, whores, drug addicts all under the same roof. All made to work long hours for free at the monastery’s laundry service and bakery. The nuns received the money and the girls received a piece of bread, lukewarm soup and a good beating.
God was nowhere to be found.
Maria realized He did not exist. He was just a story, a fable made up for people like her parents to look good on Sundays, for people like Father Anastasio to place his dirty paws on young girls and for ‘wicked bitches’ like the nuns to use His name and abuse weaklings that had nowhere to go, no-one to turn to.
Intelligent as she was, she enjoyed listening to the psychiatrist who came from the hospital twice a week and had sessions with most of the girls. His job fascinated her. The way he tried to dig up memories, to get her to open up. To force her to see things his way.
What gave her more joy, though, was manipulating her fellow inmates. She loved how easy it was to get them to do something, to start a fight, to wind them up and watch them go.
Years went by and her eighteenth birthday came. She woke up a free woman. With her head up high, she marched out the gates. A woman with a plan. A deadly plan.
Twenty one years and dozens of bodies later, her flesh became one with the ground.
‘May her soul rest in peace,’ a worker at the crematorium whispered as he lit the fire.
A kind police captain waited outside to receive her ashes.
Chapter 48
Seconds after Ariadne’s leap
I rushed out of the room, running past Ariadne’s assistant who stood, frozen in shock, by the door. The thunderous clinking sound of glass breaking called her into the room. I maniacally pushed the elevator call button; my knees shaking in anticipation. As the doors opened and I jumped in, her assistant gathered enough strength to take a few steady steps towards the broken window. She looked down below and fell back. Her blood froze and her hand covered her mouth, silencing short, uncontrollable screams.
The patrol car awaiting my exit with a handcuffed Ariadne, had already called the incident in and both officers stood feet away from the twisted body, prepared to hold nosy people back.
Back and feet aching, sweating from all corners and with my heart beat racing fast enough to win the Kentucky Derby, I ran out onto the street. I paused at the sight of Ariadne’s body. In all my years of being called to examine body after body, I had never seen a jumper before. After being in free fall from the 14th floor, her body slammed into the solid concrete ground below. It did not look human anymore; it had lost its shape. Bones gave in and skin tissue spread across the grey pavement. Her arms and legs, bent in an unnatural way, emerged out of a large pool of dark red blood and gore.
The howling sound of the speeding ambulance’s siren startled me. The paramedics jumped out of the vehicle, only to realize the difficult task ahead. To gather all pieces of the body. I stepped back and fell down onto a metal bench, warm from hours under the Mediterranean sun. I ducked my head, not able to watch. Unlike the crowd that had gathered behind the yellow tape with their gadgets held high, hoping to get a glimpse of something gruesome to show their friends. Soon, the vultures of the media would arrive.
Society is in free fall too, circling around, heading down the toilet drain. Too much shit…
‘Costa?’ the familiar, sweet, concerned voice came from the figure towering over me.
‘I had just walked into the station, when the boys called it in,’ Ioli said. She sat down beside me, her right arm stroking my back.
‘Are you OK? You seem…’
‘I’m fine. Just taking a moment to scold myself for everything I could have done differently. I shouldn’t have confronted her. I should…’
‘You aren’t responsible for her actions. This was her choice.’
‘A choice she felt was the only one I had left her with.’
‘Then she got her wish. This was what she wanted. She chose this, rather than prison.’
We sat in silence for a while, in total contrast to the mayhem around us. Police and paramedics were coming and going, the forensics team opened kits and collected evidence, reporters shouted questions at every direction and of course, cell phones danced around in the air.
‘By the way, where the heck have you been?’ I asked.
She chuckled. ‘I wish I knew where to begin. It all started with a boy with stigmata and ended with me shooting his mother. She’s critical but stable.’
I stared at her for a split second. I exhaled deeply and bit my lower lip. I let it play around, grinding against my teeth.
‘Just another day on the clock, right?’ I finally spoke.
‘Just another day.’
EPILOGUE
The promontory of Sounio overlooks the wild waters of the Aegean and is home to the ruins of Poseidon’s temple, perched on the headland. The remains of the once grand place of worship are a sought-after site, offering majestic sunsets. A clear view of the great Greek sun dipping into the ocean, coloring the waves shades of orange.
The ships below danced up and down upon the waves. Tour buses were unloading groups of tourists while the parking was full from Athenians on day excursions.
Ioli and I, ignored the dirt road leading up to the temple and preferred to hike down the peninsula. We reached mighty rocks, standing strong against the sea and fierce wind currents. I climbed on top of the tallest one and pulled Ioli up. She was holding the brass urn, given to me at the crematorium. Ariadne had no known next of kin. In her will, she donated everything to Athen’s University and requested to be cremated.
The sun was moments away from vanishing into the sea.
‘Am I suppose to say something?’
Ioli raised her shoulders. ‘Beats me.’
‘God, if you can hear me, please provide Ariadne with the peace she lacked in life.’
‘And please, can you do a better job at being God? Things are going to hell down here,’ Ioli added and then, crossed herself out of fear of blasphemy.
I took off the urn’s lid and held it up, high in the air. As I tilted it, ashes flew out into the open air and quickly scattered. The charcoal cloud vanished from in front of us.
‘A whole person, gone in a second…’ I whispered.
We sat down upon the rock, enjoying the scenery and the sound of the waves crashing into the rocks.
‘Don’t lose your faith, Cara,’ I said.
‘It’s not so much about losing my faith. It’s a feeling of disappointment. Disappointment in God, society, church… the whole system. Life should be so much more than this.’
‘Maybe this is all just a test or at least that is what my grandma called life.’
‘Well, it feels like a fucking tricky algebra test. It could at least be a multiple choice test.’
‘You’re a weird one, Cara.’
‘That’s rich coming from you.’
We both laughed out loud and it felt revitalizing.
Soon, seagulls squawked around us, as the birds came to land for the night.
‘We better be heading back up before total darkness,
’ Ioli said.
It got darker by the minute and if it were not for the temple’s bright spotlights, I believe we would still be wandering around.
The next day, life continued as it always does. A morning kiss, the day’s first rich aromatic coffee, the uphill journey to work, the smile of co-workers, my office chair.
Ioli sat buried in paperwork concerning her stigmata case. I, too, had tons of forms to fill in.
The loud, discordant sound of the incoming call lifted our heads out of the papers.
A new day, a new case.
The end.
About the author:
Luke Christodoulou is an English teacher (MA Applied Linguistics – University of Birmingham), a poet and an e-book author. He is also a great book-movie-coffee-Nutella lover. His first book, The Olympus Killer, was released in April, 2014. It became one of the bestselling thrillers of 2014 in various Kindle categories. The second stand-alone thriller, The Church Murders, was released on April the 3rd, 2015. Death Of A Bride followed a year later. Both books received wide critical and fan acclaim. He is currently working on the fourth book of his planned Greek Island Mysteries book series. He is, also, the author of 24 modernized Aesop Fables, a modern take on thousand year old fables. Stories for all ages, including advice for parents (discussions, games, activities, morals, questions).
He resides in Limassol, Cyprus with his wife, daughter and newborn son.
Hobbies include travelling the Greek Islands discovering new food and possible murder sites for his stories.
Find out more and keep in touch:
https://twitter.com/ @OlympusKiller
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Greek-Island-Mysteries/712190782134816
http://greekislandmysteries.webs.com/ (Subscribe and receive notice when the next book in the series is released)
Feel free to add me: https://www.facebook.com/luke.christodoulouauthor
Note to readers:
First of all, thank you for choosing my book for your leisure.
If you enjoyed the book (and I hope you have), please help spread the word. You know the way! A review and a five star rating goes a long way (hint hint).
For any errors you may have noticed or questions about the story, let me know: [email protected] and they will be fixed on the spot!
Praise for THE OLYMPUS KILLER
(Greek Island Mystery #1 – Stand-alone thriller)
Voted four times as BOTM on Goodreads
BOOK OF THE MONTH (May 2014) - Psychological Thrillers
BOOK OF THE MONTH (June 2014) - Nothing better than reading
BOOK OF THE MONTH (October 2014) - Ebook Miner
BOOK OF THE MONTH (April 2015) – Modern Good Reads
‘...unlike many crime thrillers I have read before--which tend to be heavy and depressing by their very nature and the crimes and events upon which the plots are constructed--I did not find that to be the case with this novel. Quite the contrary. Mr. Christodoulou adeptly weaves anecdotal humor into the novel, along with Greek mythology, history, rich and flavorful Greek culture and food--all without detracting from the seriousness of the events--while bringing the story to brilliant life. For life is what continues to happen despite tragedy striking and heinous crimes ripping people's worlds apart.’
AuthorM.J.
‘A journey of fast paced kills and sharp turns through the exotic Greek islands. The location descriptions were wonderful, descriptive and accurate. It is well written with intense action and superb characterization (foul mouth Ioli Cara and a couple of very Greek grandmothers were highly enjoyable). As seductive as a Sudoku puzzle, the writer has crafted an ingenious plot with nothing less than stunning revelations at the conclusion. In short, if you want a book that will shock and thrill you, read this one.’ Author J.Salisbury
‘Truly a mystery to rival Patterson.’ Ruth Rowley, USA
‘An excellent, spellbinding psychological thriller.’ Jimmy Andrea, UK
‘The Olympus Killer is one amazing book...’ Raghavendra. India
‘I highly recommend this book to everyone...’ Kristin T, Canada
‘An interesting twist on the usual psychological thrillers, I found it well-written and also quite interesting in terms of the Greek mythological elements to it.’ Mrs G., UK
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JMTRPTE
AMAZON UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00JMTRPTE?*Version*=1&*entries*=0
THE OLYMPUS KILLER
“As Dawn prepared to spread her saffron mantle over the land, Zeus the Thunderer gathered the gods to the highest peak of many-ridged Olympus, and spoke to them while all listened: ‘Hear me, gods and goddesses, while I say what my heart prompts. Let none of you try to defy me...”
HOMER, The Iliad, Book VIII
Chapter 1
The bright Greek sun had just sunk into the ocean.
It had been a beautiful sunset. The way the light jumped upon the waves, enflaming the waters of Vathy Bay, was spectacular.
‘‘Eye candy,’’ Stacy thought as she ambled past the colorful, little fishing boats, all lined up, waiting for their masters to arrive before setting off for the night’s late catch.
Stacy realized that this was the first time she had truly been alone since her divorce was finalized last week, back home in L.A. Her socialite friends had persuaded her to get away from it all and the very next day they were on their way to the Greek island of Rhodes.
It was so quiet and peaceful by the rock where she had sat and stared at the full moon. She gazed upon the shadowy, still ships sleeping on the dark horizon, before taking off her red Manolo Blahnik heels and carefully climbing down to lie on the golden sandy beach, isolated by the rocks from the rest of the world. All the aloneness felt a tad weird after being surrounded by crowds of every age and color imaginable, just a few days ago at Faliraki, Rhode’s main club scene. After Rhodes, the gang headed to the island of Ko where they continued to party hard. She smiled as she remembered them all lined up on the bar counter at Jackson’s Beach Bar dancing the night away. Now, she was enjoying the serenity offered by the island of Samos. Jennifer, Ginger and the rest of the girls had done a terrific job taking her around the Greek islands -island hopping as Ginger liked to call it- to help her forget him. Him. She wondered what The God was up to at the moment. That’s what everyone called him at the company.
‘‘Hmm... to everyone but me,’’ she thought. Deep down, certain feelings lingered in her, but she could no longer bear the pain of staying with him.
‘‘Cheating bastard,’’ she said to herself and closed her eyes.
‘‘Beautiful night.’’ A voice from behind her interrupted her reverie.
Startled, she let out a brief scream as she leaped to her feet and turned towards the direction of the voice.
‘‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,’’ the handsome, black haired man rushed to say, the moonlight revealing his sparkling green eyes as it danced across his face.
‘‘I don’t scare that easily,’’ she replied, trying to catch her breath. ‘‘You surprised me, that’s all. How long have you been there?’’
‘‘Oh, I’m not a stalker,’’ he joked, mocking her with his smooth, relaxing voice. ‘‘I come here to write.’’ His whole face lit up as he produced a silver Parker pen and a thin red notebook out of his backpack as evidence.
‘‘So you live here?’’
‘‘No, only been here a couple weeks. I’m on holiday too. Alone,’’ he pointed out. ‘‘Tom Smith,’’ he said, stretching out his right hand.
‘‘Stacy Anderson,’’ she replied. Her hand fitted perfectly into his. It felt strange using her maiden name again. Even stranger was the fact that she felt comfortable with this man she had just met. Ginger would have been so proud to see them sitting side by side in the sand, making small talk as the Aegean Sea caressed their feet.
‘‘So what are you writing about?’’ Stacy inquired.
‘‘It’s a thriller!’’ he announced, deepening his voice and taking on a scary tone. They both laughed. It had been a while since she had laughed and meant it.
‘‘I love thrillers,’’ she said with flirtatious excitement. It was the last thing Stacy Anderson ever said. As the knife hit her chest and penetrated her heart, Stacy tried to catch a breath and scream out, but her mouth was quickly covered by Tom’s left hand. His right hand lifted the knife again and the blade flashed silver in the moonlight. Blood was dripping from its sharp end as he stabbed her again with more passion this time and with obvious exhilaration in his devilish green eyes. All seven hits were to her heart. Tom leaned in close and slowly unbuttoned her bloody shirt, taking his time before turning his attention to the button of her jeans.
He gazed upon her beautiful naked body, gently touching her fake breasts. They were perfect, probably the best money could buy.
Then, with savage fury, he plunged the knife between Stacy’s legs, burying it deep inside her, before slicing viciously upward. He stopped when he was pleased that the pomegranate in his bag would fit. He stood up admiring his work. He then walked into the water and with a smile of satisfaction upon his face, Tom swam away.
*****
AMAZON:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JMTRPTE
AMAZON UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00JMTRPTE?*Version*=1&*entries*=0
The Church Murders: A stand-alone thriller (Greek Island Mysteries Book 2) Page 20
