John Jordan05 - Blood Sacrifice

by Michael Lister

  “You’re right,” I said. “Maybe I should kiss you again to show you I can do it without trying to take care of you.”

  “Well, if you think you should,” she said, stopping at the point where the path became the clearing.

  “I do,” I said, and I did.

  It was a nice kiss—even better than the first two—or it was right up until the guy with the knife cut in.

  He grabbed her from behind, putting his arm around her body and pulling her away from me, as he put the knife to her throat.

  I tried to remain calm, not react until I had a better handle on what was going on. He was just holding her, not cutting, not dragging her away.

  He was a shortish, thick, muscular man with an acne-scarred face and a buzz cut.

  “Old jealous boyfriend you forgot to tell me about?” I asked her.

  She didn’t respond, and I could see the fear in her eyes quickly approaching frenzy.

  “Just stay where you are and be cool,” he said to me. “Nobody’s gonna get hurt.”

  “Oh, that’s where you’re mistaken,” I said.

  “We just want the book,” he said.

  “We?” I asked, wondering if he was referring to voices inside his head or if he had an accomplice.

  “Hand me the book,” he said.

  “Hand it to him, John,” Kathryn said.

  “This?” I asked him, holding up the journal. “This is just some love poems I’ve been working on. You want me to read a couple to you?”

  “I ain’t playin’,” he said. “Hand me the fuckin’ book now.”

  “Or what?” I asked. “See, that’s the second time you’ve given me an order without a threat. I know. I know. You’ll argue that the threat is implied. And I’m not saying you’re wrong, but don’t you think it’d be far more effective if you said exactly what it is? You might even try growling a little when you say it.”

  “Give me the fuckin’ book or I’ll fuckin’ slit her fuckin’ throat,” he said, his voice angry and menacing.

  “That’s it,” I said. “Much better.”

  I considered my options. The distance between us was too great for me to rush him. He could cut her before I could even reach them. I wasn’t sure what he’d do if I didn’t give him the journal, and I wasn’t sure he did either. He was probably working for someone else, and they probably just told him to get the book, not what to do if I wouldn’t give it to him. Still, Kathryn was too upset to be any help and I couldn’t let this go on much longer. My best bet was to give him the book, get Kathryn back, then take the book from him.

  “Last chance, funny man,” he said.

  Kathryn screamed as the tip of the blade pierced her skin and a small dot of bright red blood appeared on her neck.

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “We’ll trade. Take the knife away from her neck and I’ll put the book on the ground. Then I’ll back away from it and you let her walk over to me. Then you get the book and run for your life.”

  “Yeah, okay,” he said, pulling the knife away from her neck, “but don’t you try anything slick.”

  I placed the journal on the ground and took two steps back from it.

  “Back up some more,” he said.

  “Let her go first,” I said.

  He released her and I took another step back.

  “Now, let her walk to me and I’ll continue to back away from the book.”

  He did.

  She took a few steps away from him, panicked, and began to run. He tried once to grab her, but missed and decided to go for the book instead.

  By the time Kathryn had reached me, he had snatched the book and was running toward the opposite side of the clearing.

  I smiled. Only water beyond the trees over there. He was trapped. The Intracoastal was too wide for him to swim across and he was too big for me not to catch him if he tried.

  “You okay?” I asked Kathryn.

  I had my arm around her and she was holding on to me, her body trembling with the wash of adrenaline.

  She nodded.

  “Can you run back to the abbey and let me go after him?” I asked.

  She started to nod, but her eyes grew wide, then she flinched.

  A sudden jolt from an unseen object swung with force connected with the back of my neck and I fell down face-first, the oak limb that had hit me landing beside me on the ground.

  I tried to get up, but couldn’t. I just laid there, watching as the second man joined the first and disappeared into the trees on the other side. A minute later, I heard a boat motor crank, grow louder as it passed by close to us, and then fade into the distance.

  “Are you all right?” Kathryn asked.

  I nodded slowly, but even that hurt.

  “You recognize either of them?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “What could be in Tammy’s diary to make them do that?”

  “Good question. Wish I’d’ve finished it.”

  “Sorry I freaked out,” she said.

  “You did fine.”

  “Remind me to tell you sometime why I did.”

  “Not now?” I asked, sitting up.

  “Not now,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  We stood, still staring toward the unseen waterway where they had escaped.

  “I can’t believe they have the diary,” she said. “You think they’re the ones who ransacked your room?”

  I shook my head. “My guess is they were his or her backup. When the ransacking didn’t work, he or she called them in, but that could have revealed far more to us than the diary will to them.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Two ways. First, who here would even know how to hire guys like that? But more importantly, the way they did it. Coming in by boat, attacking us, and escaping by boat down the waterway.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” I said, “the killer could have done it the exact same way.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “So you think maybe the killer came and left by boat?” Steve asked.

  “I think it’s a possibility. We need to check with the landings to see if anyone remembers someone launching late last night.”

  Steve nodded. “We also need to check with the houses and camps along the waterway. Boat may not have been launched because it was already in the water.”

  I nodded. “It could’ve been stolen or borrowed or the killer could be the owner.”

  Kathryn, Steve, and I were standing at the far edge of the clearing looking down into the Intracoastal in the last light of the day. The waterway resembled a small river, only too straight, too square, too symmetrical for the meanderings of Mother Earth.

  “You realize if you had turned the diary over to me like you should have, we’d still have it,” he said.

  “Yeah, but then we wouldn’t have this clue.”

  “This clue? I’d much rather––”

  “I’m kidding. Sorry I didn’t turn it over to you sooner.”

  “It was left for him,” Kathryn said.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he said, “it’s evidence.”

  “He’s right,” I told her. “I should have.”

  In the darkening day, the water in the Intracoastal looked black, its surface flat as slate.

  “What were you thinking?” he asked.

  “That I’d read it first.”

  “Well, what’d it say?”

  “I had just started it.”

  He shook his head. “I could arrest you for obstruction.”

  I nodded.

  “Were you ever going to give it to me?”

  “The moment I finished it,” I said.

  “I thought you were out of it after last night?”

  “I did say that, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t count. I didn’t believe you.”

  “Steve, he saved my life,” Kathryn said.

  “You gonna arrest me?” I asked.

  “Our search of the abbey didn’t turn up anything
and I should have the prelim in the morning.”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you’re gonna work this thing, you might as well work it with me.”

  “Do I get a badge and a gun?”

  “No,” he said. “You get bossed around and the privilege of making me look good.”

  “In other words,” I said, “my dream job.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “There’s a beautiful woman at the abbey looking for you,” Sister Chris said as Kathryn and I emerged from the path near the cabins.

  Long after Steve had left, we had lingered in the woods together.

  “Of course there is,” Kathryn said. “Happens everywhere he goes.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, it’s a real problem. Actually came here to hide from them.”

  “Will you just toss me aside now,” Kathryn said, “after all we’ve shared?”

  “What all have y’all shared?” Chris asked.

  “Depends on who it is,” I said.

  “Who is it?” Kathryn asked Chris.

  “I think she said her name was Anna.”

  “Uh oh,” Kathryn said.

  “What ‘uh oh’?” Chris asked.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  Chris’s eyes widened at my tone. “In the chapel.”

  “It’s a sign,” Kathryn said.

  As I began to walk away, she started singing, “He’s going to the chapel and he’s gonna get married.”

  Turning, but continuing to walk, I said, “You’re not a nice person.”

  “You have no idea,” she said. “But you’re gonna find out.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said, adding to Chris, “Pray for her, would you?”

  Growing up, Anna had been my older sister Nancy’s best friend. In high school, when our attraction began to blossom, the two years that separated us seemed insurmountable. After graduation when Nancy fled our family, Anna left for college. Four years passed before I saw her again and, by that time, she was married.

  Several years later, following the breakup of my life and the first breakup of my marriage, I came home, began rebuilding, and not coincidentally became the chaplain at the same prison where Anna was a classification officer. Since then we had been a big part of each other’s lives, until I had told her that if I were going to make my marriage work a second time, I would need to see less of her.

  My marriage had not worked the second time despite my best efforts, and I was now without Susan or Anna.

  The last time I had seen Anna, she told me she was leaving the institution for a job in Central Office. Only a few months had passed, but it seemed a lot longer.

  The chapel was dim and cold, the creaks of the pews and beams above them the only sounds. I looked around to make sure we were alone, and though I saw no one, I got the feeling we weren’t. Was this place and all the talk of the supernatural making me more sensitive to an unseen realm, or just more imaginative? And then it occurred to me that the two could be far closer than most people think. Maybe it’s primarily through creativity and the use of the imagination that we access the spiritual.

  Anna was on the far end of the back pew to my right, kneeling in prayer, backlit by the votive candles behind her. She looked like a dark-haired angel, and I was sure I had seen something like this before in my dreams.

  Seeming to sense my presence, she turned her head and looked up at me, her humble posture and tentative expression childlike in its beauty, and it broke my heart.

  When she smiled, I walked along the pew toward her. Standing, she took a few steps toward me, and hesitantly we embraced.

  She felt familiar in the best possible way and I held the embrace longer than I should have, but she didn’t pull away until I did.

  “It’s good to see you,” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Without responding, she eased down onto the pew and I sat beside her.

  “I really am,” I said.

  She shrugged. “You had to try to save your marriage. Besides, maybe it is best we don’t see each other.”

  As if continuing where we had left off, I could tell we were both still vulnerable, raw from emotional exposure and the pain we had inflicted upon one another.

  “I was dead wrong,” I said.

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “And yet here you are,” I said, “and you’re back at PCI where you know we’ll see each other every day.”

  “It doesn’t take a lot of insight to see that my words and actions don’t match,” she said. “Doesn’t mean they always won’t.”

  I looked up at the large wood-carved crucifix hanging above the altar and wondered why life had to hurt so much. Art, religion, and philosophy had tried to explain suffering for as long as they had existed, nearly as long as there had been suffering, but ultimately every explanation fell short. The best they could do was offer companionship, the consolation, such as it was, that none of us were alone in our suffering. To me, that’s what the mystery of Christ’s crucifixion did most profoundly—vividly conveyed God’s intimate understanding of our pain and his mysterious presence within it.

  “I can’t help the way I feel about you,” she said, “that unquantifiable thing we share.”

  “Any more than I can you.”

  “But…”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I was going to say.”

  I didn’t know what to say either, and we both fell silent a moment.

  “Merrill said to tell you to get your narrow white ass out of the woods and back to the prison.”

  “You think my ass is narrow?” I asked.

  She smiled.

  “I love you, Anna,” I said. “I love to make you smile. I love being with you—even if it hurts.”

  “It’s just not fair to Chris,” she said. “My heart is so unfaithful.”

  Just hearing her husband’s name on her tongue made me feel guilty and ashamed, yet, in a warped way, it also felt like she was betraying me.

  “You’re right,” I said. “I’m asking you to do something I wasn’t willing to do. It’s unfair of me and…”

  “And?” she asked.

  “And I’m not about to stop doing it,” I said. “I can’t help but feel like I have the prior claim—that I’m the one being cheated on.”

  “I’m not cheating on you, John,” she said, her tone taking on an edge. “I’m not cheating on anyone. You left me, remember? You got out of Pottersville the moment you could. You didn’t ask me to go with you to Atlanta. You didn’t even say good-bye.”

  Just that quickly she had changed, and there was nothing I could say or do now to change her back. I had seen her like this many times before. Her strong will and mental discipline made her as stubborn as anyone I had ever met.

  “I thought I was coming right back. I’m sorry.”

  “I’ve heard,” she said. “You know what, I’m not gonna feel bad for you or guilty anymore. You left me—twice.” She shook her head. “That’s all I have to do—just think about that. That gives me enough anger to see more clearly.”

  She stood up abruptly. “I’ve got to go,” she said. She grabbed a file folder from the pew beside her and handed it to me. “I shouldn’t’ve come. I could’ve just told you this on the phone.”

  “It wouldn’t’ve hurt as much on the phone.”

  She shook her head and frowned at me. “I’m talking about this,” she said, nodding toward the folder. “It’s copies of Keith Richie’s file. After you read it, you’ll probably want to move him to the top of your suspect list.”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  The pounding I did on Kathryn’s door matched the heavy thump of my heart.

  “I knew you’d be back,” she said with a self-satisfied smile. “They always come back.”

  I pushed her in, closed the door behind me, and began to kiss her, spinning her around and pressing her against the door. She kissed me back, though not as passionately as
I was kissing her.

  “Anna get you going?” she asked, her words gasps.

  “Yes,” I said breathlessly. “That okay?”

  “Depends,” she said.

  “She made me angry and aroused.”

  We kissed some more, our hands beginning to explore each other’s bodies.

  “On what?” I asked.

  “Huh?” she said.

  “Depends on what?”

  “If you’re with me right now or pretending I’m her,” she said.

  I stopped. “I’m with you. I’m not pretending anything, but this isn’t right.”

  “Feels right,” she said. “God, I can’t believe I just said that.”

  I took a step back. “I really am sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “I find you very attractive and I guess I was just out of control enough to do something about it.”

  “Hey,” she said, pulling me toward her. “I like it. I don’t mind if you’re in love with her as long as I’m the one you’re making love to. Did I really just say that making love part out loud? I’m really not very good at this.”

  She then kissed me hard on the mouth and I kissed back. We did that for a while, both of us feeling the other’s bodies through our clothes, until finally we began to take them off.

  After a few minutes of awkward but fun fumbling, our clothes were in a pile by the door and we were walking toward her bed.

  Her body was full, round, and soft, and I liked the way it moved when she walked. Her small white belly sloped outward as if showing the first signs of motherhood, and I rubbed it gently.

  The cabin was cold and before I even touched her large white breasts, her nipples were erect. On the bed, she cupped my head with her hand and pulled me to them, but before I lost all control, I stopped.

  “You’re sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  She looked down at her nakedness. “Don’t get much more sure than this.”

  “I feel like I’m cheating,” I said.

  “You can only cheat on a married woman if you’re the one who’s married to her,” she said with a wry smile. “Now, shut up. Get out of your head. And fuck me.”

  I did, and then a little later I did again.

  Easing out of the bed where Kathryn was still sleeping, I dressed and carried the stack of exorcism books over in front of the fireplace. I had only taken Tammy’s journal when Kathryn and I had walked down to the clearing, leaving the other books on the swing. With all that had happened—the journal being stolen, the whack on the back of the head, and seeing Anna—I had forgotten about them. Fortunately, Kathryn had not. She had retrieved them while I was meeting with Anna. After adding a log to the fire, I opened the next book, Exorcism Nation by Howard Reese, and began to read.