by Lowe, Tom
BLOOD OF CAIN
ALSO BY TOM LOWE
A False Dawn
The 24th Letter
The Butterfly Forest
The Black Bullet
Blood of Cain
Blood of Cain
A Sean O’Brien Mystery/Thriller
Tom Lowe
K
Kingsbridge Entertainment
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Blood of Cain – Copyright © 2013 by Tom Lowe. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, photocopying, Internet, recording or otherwise without written permission from the author. Please do not participate or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Published in The United States of America. For information, address Kingsbridge Entertainment, P.O. Box 340, Windermere, FL 34786
Library of Congress Cataloging in–Publication Data. Lowe, Tom 1952-
Blood of Cain by Tom Lowe – 1st edition
1. Cain and Abel—Fiction. 2. The Prophet—Fiction. 3. Carnival, County Fair —Fiction. 4. Ocala National Forest—Fiction. 5. Ireland—Fiction Title: Blood of Cain.
Blood of Cain is distributed in ebook and print editions. Printed books available from Amazon Inc. and bookstores.
Cover design by Damonza
Formatting and digital conversion services by Jennifer Lassiter
First Edition: December 2013. Published in the U.S.A. by Kingsbridge Entertainment.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
After I write “The End,” I get tell how it began. This page of the novel is where I have the opportunity to thank those who’ve helped me. Although Blood of Cain is a work of fiction, some of the material related to experiments into government covert human mind control is based upon information gathered from declassified documents related to CIA experiments and testing during the 1960s. A special thank you to Todd Garner, Ph.D. Thanks to John Wortman for his consultation on guns and ballistics. Thumbs up to Tom Greenberg and Greg Houtteman of EO MediaWorks for the design of my website, tomlowebooks.com
A big shout out and thanks to my daughter, Cassie, my first beta reader. To Jannell Parque, Author’s Accomplice, for proofreading; Damonza for cover design; Jennifer Lassiter for ebook and print formatting. I want to thank my family for their strong support for each novel that I write. This includes Natalie, Cassie, Christopher, and Ashley. A drum roll and special thank you to my wife, Keri. I’m grateful for her spot-on suggestions, listening skills, patience, smile, and sense humor. Keri, you are my inspiration and truly the wind in my sails.
In memoriam: to Sadie, a little bit of her lives on in the character of “Max.” We miss you.
And now to you, the reader. If you’ve read other books in the Sean O’Brien series, here’s a toast to you. Welcome back! If this is your first venture into the journey, I hope you enjoy Blood of Cain.
For Cassie
“I’ve learned a lot about good and evil. They are not always what they appear to be.”
- Charles Van Doren
BLOOD OF CAIN
Contents
Prologue
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Prologue
County Kerry, Ireland - 1970
Kate Flanagan was glad that the confessional booth would keep her from looking the priest in the eye. Father Thomas Garvey’s sapphire blue eyes had a strange power, she thought. It was a power not of this world. But he was a priest, someone who walked a straighter path under God’s direction. He was a man of God.
Then why was she so physically attracted to him?
It had begun six months ago when Father Garvey first moved to the parish and started delivering mass at St. Vincent’s Church. Kate had sat in the pew with her husband and listened to Father Garvey speaking in a soft, yet deep voice when he led the service. His angular face was movie-star handsome. He had thick, dark eyebrows and combed his black hair straight back. Although the priest would be scanning the congregation as he spoke, she felt that his eyes sought hers, connecting, even if only for a few seconds at a time. He was somehow linking with her deepest most personal thoughts, her soul. She could feel it. Kate would catch herself fantasizing about him, her face flushing, the damp warmth smoldering under her Sunday dress. Then she would silently pray to God to forgive her for sinful thinking, and of all places, in our Lord’s house.
She tried to put that out of her thoughts as she entered the confessional booth. Before she left her home, she had spent extra time fixing her dark, shoulder-length hair, and applying blush and lipstick to her oval face and full lips. Now, she waited. How long had it been since her last confession? Was she the first to speak or was it supposed to be the priest? Think. She waited a half a minute. She could hear a farmer’s tractor, the diesel straining, pulling a load up the road outside the rural church. She looked at her watch. Too early for her husband Peter to be picking her up. She heard a sheep cry, its bleating coming from a field behind the church. Then there was the long, confident stride of someone approaching. Kate felt her breathing quicken. She heard Father Garvey take his seat. She could feel his physical presence just beyond the thin wall. She looked at the lattice grid and cleared her throat. Her heart beat faster, and she dropped down on her knees, making the sign of the cross. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
Father Garvey said nothing.
Kate folded her hands in prayer, waiting. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”
“When was your
last confession?”
“I can't remember, Father.”
“Our Lord, Jesus, remembers.”
“Yes, Father. I'm sorry.”
“What is it you wish to confess?”
Kate paused a moment, her hand rubbing the rosary beads she carried. “Father, I confess that I haven't been completely honest with my husband.”
“You have lied?”
“Yes, I haven’t been completely truthful with Peter.”
“In what way?”
“We have been married for three years. The last two years I have been trying to become pregnant. The Lord hasn’t blessed us with a child yet, and I believe it is my fault.”
“Why do you feel this way?”
“I think God is punishing me because I have unclean thoughts, thoughts of others.”
“Other men?”
“Yes, Father. I am so ashamed. I love my husband. I really do, but there is something happening to me that I don't understand, these feelings inside me. He can tell that all is not right. He asks, but I lie to him and pretend all is fine. Over and over I lie. He is a good man. I seek absolution … penance, Father.”
“That's why our Lord brought you here, Kate.”
She held her fingers to her lips. “How do you know who I ...”
“Our Lord knows all.”
“But you're not …”
“Not what? You haven't been chaste in thought and word, have you, Kate?”
“No, Father.”
“You haven't used sex for its sole purpose of procreation. It has been self-gratification, hasn't it?”
“Yes.”
“That violates the Word.”
“Yes, Father.”
“And you seek absolution? Yes? You desire to be fruitful under God’s command?”
“Yes, and I’m sorry for being deceptive to Peter. Am I forgiven, Father? What is my penance?” She closed her eyes and stroked the rosary beads.
The door to the confessional flew open. Kate, still on her knees, looked up at Father Garvey in the open doorway. He said, “I am your penance. God, has sent you to me.”
“What?”
“Stand up.”
Kate slowly stood. He entered the booth and stepped next to her. He smelled of testosterone and lilac soap. His dark blue eyes fiery. Intense. His lips were moist. Square jaw-line as hard as granite. He placed his big hand on her shoulder, his fingers massaging her, working his way down to the small of her back.
“Please, Father …”
He leaned closer and whispered. “Sex is for procreation. God has delivered you here for a reason, Kate. Sometimes we fail to understand His plan. You cannot deny divine providence.” He stroked her face gently, the tips of his long fingers moving over her cheek, lips, and down to her breasts. He leaned in to kiss her, slowly, his lips soft, his mouth warm and hungry for her.
She broke away for air. “I can't!”
“You can! And you will because God has a greater plan for you, Kate. You can atone. Impure thoughts can be absolved.” Father Garvey skillfully forced his right hand up her dress. His hand was wide and strong, fingers firm as he stroked her inner thighs. He kissed her again. This time Kate felt her lips part, his tongue touching hers, his fingers arousing heat and wetness inside her. She wanted him, wanted him to take her. Suddenly, he lifted her out of the confessional, carrying her like a child in his powerful arms. She felt fragile and yet sheltered.
He walked by the front pews, through the open door in his office, and set her down on a large wooden desk, spilling papers onto the floor. He cupped her face in both of his large hands as he kissed her. She moaned, her tongue meeting his. His hand was under her dress, fingers entering her. She gasped, leaning her head back, eyes closed, her heart racing.
‘Dear God!’ she thought, glancing out the window as a car pulled into the parking lot. It's Peter. Kate made a move to get off the table.
“No!” shouted Father Garvey.
“My husband's outside. I must go to him.”
“And you will, Kate. This won't take long. God works miracles. Your husband didn’t get out of his car. He’s being delayed for a reason. Don’t you see the bigger picture, Kate?” He pushed her back down, one strong arm holding her shoulders, the other ripping off her panties. His finger moving inside her wetness.
Kate looked over her shoulder and could see her husband patiently waiting for her, the car window up, Peter listening to music. She was frightened, a dark sadness filling her pores, her eyes burning. “Please let me up. My husband’s here.”
Father Garvey pulled her to the edge of the table and pushed open her legs. She slammed her fists against his chest. “No! Please,” she begged, biting her lower lip. Within seconds he had penetrated her. The pain was intense. Hot tears streamed down her face. Father Garvey reached for her chin, holding it with one hand and turning her head toward him.
“Look at me, Kate. Look into my eyes as I enter you.” She looked at him, his face twisted, eyes fiery, nostrils wide. He pushed back and forth inside her, each stroke penetrating deeper. The priest said, “He who comes to the sacred table of the Lord without faith, communicates only in the sacrament and does not receive the substance of the sacrament whence comes life.” He drove deeper into her, his penis throbbing, ejaculating.
Kate screamed. “No! Dear God, no.” She looked over her shoulder and could see a small statue of the Virgin Mary. A painting on the wall of the Last Supper. Through the office door, across the sanctuary, was a stained glass window depicting Christ ascending to heaven. The room was spinning. She was nauseous, vomit rising in her throat. She looked out the other window into the parking lot. She could see the sky growing dark. Peter stepped from the car and walked around to the trunk. He got an umbrella for Kate, like he always did. She watched him and wept. “Peter, dear Peter,” she whispered. The clouds opened into a hard rain, engulfing the old church with the roar of a waterfall. Lightning cracked and thunder rolled, smothering the final grunts of Father Thomas Garvey.
1
Central Florida, near Daytona Beach, present day
Of all the rides in the carnival, Courtney Burke felt safest on the ride that scared many people. She liked the double Ferris wheel the best. She loved to ride it at night, wind in her face, hair blowing, and the lights of the town like stars twinkling in the valley. She rode after the crowds had gone back to their cozy homes, gone back to warm places where beds had real pillows. On the double Ferris wheel, she was free. It was as if she had wings, flying high above the evil that crawled across the ground like the rattlesnake slithering on its belly. As a girl, she remembered almost stepping on a rattler behind her uncle’s barn, the same barn where bad things had happened. But that was in another world, a world that couldn’t hurt her again. Now, at age nineteen, she was free, free to travel the country with the carnival, free to ride the Big Wheel.
Courtney lowered the safety bar in the seat, pinned her long raven hair into a ponytail, and turned toward the ride operator. He was cute, she thought. Maybe two years older than her. She smiled, the dimples showing, her blue-green eyes wide, catching light like the crest of a breaking wave on a moonlit tropical beach. “Just a quick ride, okay, Lonnie?”
“I don’t know, Courtney. We’re gonna get caught one of these nights, sneaking back to turn on this wheel.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, huh? C’mon let’s ride a wheel that turns but never takes you anywhere, unless you let it. Pretty please, Lonnie.”
Lonnie Ebert lifted his baseball cap and ran his hand though dirty blond hair that hadn’t been washed in two weeks. He glanced around the carnival grounds, his lean face unshaven, eyes searching for a sign of movement. Most of the carnies were asleep, stoned on weed, or in honky-tonks knocking back cheap whisky chased by cheaper beer. He licked his dry lips and looked at Courtney, her smile the brightest thing in the shadows of the midway. “I do things for you that I wouldn't do for no other girl.”
Courtney smiled. “I know, and I d
on't take it for granted. Okay? Press the button.”
“All right, but we gotta make it quick. If Big John catches my ass he’d fire me, or worse.”
“He’s gone to town. I saw him leave. C’mon, start this thing. I wanna to feel the rush.”
“Five minutes. Tops.” He pressed the green start button, the black dirt under his thumbnail visible as the lights popped on and the Big Wheel lurched into motion.
She grinned. “Thank you! Can you stop it at the top on the second time around for a minute? I love the feeling of being that far up. I’ve never been in a jet plane. But up there I'm on top of the world.”
Lonnie blew out a pent-up breath, ran his tongue on the inside of his cheek, and looked to his right, down the midway. “Just for a few seconds, and one time only.”
Courtney gripped the safety bar, electricity surging through the motors, gears groaning, metal popping, the Big Wheel defying gravity and lifting the double wheels higher into the night sky. She rose above the lingering smells of the midway, the spilled beer and half-eaten corndogs and cotton candy stomped into the sea of damp sawdust, the stench quickly replaced with a cool night breeze of wild honeysuckles as the Big Wheel turned skyward in the warm summer night.
She sat in the center of the seat and glanced up at the harvest moon. It seemed so close, so big and bright. The wind whipped her hair as she raised her arms. Tonight, I'm a bird, a dove flying high above the world. She looked down. Lonnie smoked a cigarette and paced near the operator's stand, the tiny orange glow the only movement on the ground. Up here the wind caressed her face under a big yellow moon, and the stars seemed almost within her reach. She held her breath as a meteor streaked across the deep purple with a welder's spark of fire that sliced a fleeting crack into the heart of the heavens.
The Ferris wheel lifted her higher, almost to the summit of its cycle, the wind picking up. As the Big Wheel crested at the top, it descended quickly, going through its spinning cycle. She held her hands up and made a contorted, funny face at Lonnie, zipping by him on her way back to the top. “Yeeeeessss! I'm a bird,” she sang the words.
