“It’s really dark back there with the trees behind it. If we turn on our flashlights, we’ll be targets. I’m wondering if we should wait for backup.”
“Stan, a girl could be getting mutilated right now. And the missing officer?”
He held up his gun hand and motioned for me to follow him back to the double front door. “You open it, stay low, and I’ll go in with my pistol ready to fire, or at least ready to scare someone.”
I reached for the handle and paused. He nodded, and I slowly depressed the lever trying to remain as stealthy as possible. There was only a slight click. I cracked the door enough to see a soft glow against the side wall. And then I saw a moving shadow, and my heart skipped a beat. But I couldn’t panic. I held my breath, stayed low, and pushed the door open another two feet. The door knocked into something, and then I heard a clap of metal bounce off the stone floor. I nearly jumped out of my shoes as Stan slipped into the sanctuary. I put my head in, saw a metal chair on the floor, then looked up toward the altar. My eyes went straight to the back of a man’s head. The hair was dark.
Dr. Amaya?
“Get down.” No sooner had Stan lifted his pistol than I heard a pop, and then a swooshing noise coming right at us.
I dropped behind the last pew and looked up to see a bolt had punctured Stan’s arm.
“Stan!” I lunged for him, but he waved me off. “Get my gun,” he grunted, looking to the floor.
My eyes shot left and right, but I didn’t find a gun. I looked up and saw a naked man with a knife above his head, a crossbow off to the side.
“Stop!” I yelled.
He thrust his arms downward, but before he connected, his head snapped back. Someone had hit him or kicked him from behind. He dropped the knife, or at least I thought so. I ran up the center aisle, but the floor started tilting—I was having another dizzy spell. I reached for the top of the next pew but tried to push through. I had to keep moving
The man turned and eyed me. It wasn’t Dr. Amaya, but he looked familiar. He scanned the floor, then went to his crossbow, tried to quickly load another bolt. From the floor, a shoe swung in front of him and connected with his groin. He released the crossbow, stumbling forward. But he didn’t drop to the floor, not like I thought he would. Maybe the person had just grazed him.
With Stan yelling something I couldn’t decipher, I could now see Jasmine on the ground, blood coating her torso. She kept trying to kick at the guy. Now less than ten feet away, I saw the crossbow and dove for the handle. Just as I had it in my hand, I looked up to see the man disappear through a back door.
I crawled over to Jasmine, quickly assessing her wounds. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Father Abel carved me up pretty good, but I’ll live.”
Abel? As in Cain and Abel?
“He killed the others. He’s crazy. Get him. Go get that motherfucker.”
I saw her shirt off to the side and tossed it at her. “Press this against your open wound.” Then I got to my feet and scrambled to the door.
47
On the other side of the door, it was so dark I didn’t see the flight of steps going upward directly in front me. I tripped on the first stair and dropped like I was being yanked down by some invisible force, cracking my forearms on the unforgiving stone. I paused a second, took a breath, then heard a door shut above me.
This Abel person must have planned his escape. Sure he was naked, but he could find clothes. Probably had them hidden in the woods behind the church. This second floor might take him to another location in the back of the building where he could slip out into the thick of darkness. On top of being a Satanist, for him to carry out these acts, he had to be methodical, patient, and yes, a planner.
I groaned as I pushed off the step, the stabs of pain in my arms temporarily helping me forget about my headache. I reached for a handrail—there was none. With my balance limited at best, I bear-crawled up two flights of steps, banging my head against the dark wood door at the top. I paused a moment, wondering if Abel might be on the other side, holding another knife that he’d stashed in some cubby. I had no weapon. Maybe I should have grabbed one of those bolts. But if I’d done that, I might have skewered myself when I fell on the steps.
Without further analysis of my odds, I readied myself for the worst, slammed the door open, and took a single step.
I stopped. A chilled wind whipped loose strands of hair against my face. I was in one of the church’s two bell towers. Abel was also in the small space, on the other side of the bell, his bare backside to me, standing on the wall looking down.
A few seconds passed, then he said, “There are sinners everywhere in this world. We all need to be cleansed. None of us are perfect.”
I put a quick hand to my mouth, holding back a whimper. I remembered Jasmine uttering those same words.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure what I should do.
“No one understands the root of our problems, though.” His hands were at his side. He had no weapon. I heard sirens in the distance. I figured I should keep him talking until someone with experience in negotiations arrived and took over for me.
He looked like he was going to jump right off the tower. He might survive it; he might not. We were only two stories high, but he would at the very least sprain an ankle or break a bone or two.
Maybe making an escape wasn’t in his plans at all. Maybe he didn’t want to live.
Shit. I couldn’t help but engage with him. “But you know the root of our problems?”
“I’ve worked with the youth for some time. In this day and age, they are enticed by so many things.”
“You mean sick perverts like you?” My eyes went wide when I realized my thoughts had become actual words. I hadn’t intended on baiting him into an argument. I froze.
He slowly turned around, his hands by his side. He looked down—at the floor, at his body?—and I followed his eyes.
“I was castrated,” he said, now looking straight at me.
Okay. Wow.
I couldn’t imagine why that had happened. Had he allowed it? Was it forced upon him? There had been instances where convicted rapists were given the option of being castrated for reduced time in prison.
I swallowed hard before saying, “Are you trying to prove how tough you are?”
“Before I started killing kids, I thought it was me. I thought I had the issue, so I tried to correct it.”
I could hear car doors slamming shut, the din of voices.
“That still didn’t work, so I castrated myself.”
Okay. Holy—
I blinked hard. “Why didn’t you get help from a psychiatrist?”
He lifted his arms to the sky. “Because I realized there was only one way to save our world, and that was to sacrifice the people who were sent to me.”
Coming out of my shock from the unbelievable confession, I was now in full-blown anger mode. I tried to control it, but it was nearly impossible. “Sent to you? What are you talking about?”
“We all have a preordained destiny. Those kids were meant to come to confessional at the community center. To sit and share their sins with me. They were chosen. And I have been as well.”
“Kids make mistakes. That’s part of being a kid. They shouldn’t be put to death because you have some kind of wet-dream fantasy of killing people.” I spat out the last few words.
“You don’t get it.”
“No one gets it, Abel. You are fucked up. Royally.”
He shook his head, then looked off. “I have evolved. Most people never get the chance, never seize the opportunity that I have. Hopefully, people will continue our work…my work. To take it to another scale we can’t even conceive of.”
“You can think whatever you want, but you killed someone’s child, someone’s brother or sister, someone’s friend. That isn’t right or justified. How can you even think otherwise?” My face was screwed up tightly in a grimace. I was thoroughly disgusted.
&n
bsp; He stood there for a moment and didn’t say a word. He had this weird peace about him, as if he were still lost in his own crazed world and would be protected. Then he looked at me and released a full breath.
“That was their fate.” He looked down a second, and then lifted his gaze. “And this is mine.”
With his eyes still on me, he dropped backward. I ran to the side of the wall and saw him hit the ground with the crown of his head.
He was dead. But Jasmine was alive.
48
Over the next few hours, I watched one body carried off in a body bag and another on a gurney. Paramedics ensured us that Jasmine’s wounds weren’t life-threatening. I told her how proud I was of her for fighting back.
“When I thought I was going to die,” she said, choking on tears as the gurney sat on the edge of the ambulance, “I told myself if there was any way that God could get me out of this, I would change. I wouldn’t care what other people thought all the time; I’d be a good person, treat other people how I wanted to be treated. And, more than anything, I’d make sure that every girl knew…” She paused a second, grabbed my hand as she took in a jittery breath. “I will tell every girl that they don’t have to allow their boyfriend or some other mean girl to beat the crap out of them or treat them like shit.”
She quickly covered her mouth.
“What is it, Jasmine?”
“Well, I also told myself I’d stop cussing so much. And I already screwed that up.”
I told her again how proud I was of her, told her not to be so hard on herself. She thanked me for not giving up on her.
Just then Cristina ran up. “Brook got the scoop from Stan on our drive over here. Jasmine’s going to be okay?”
I nodded.
“That’s cool,” she said, trading a quick smile with Jasmine.
A paramedic was about to shut the door, when I said, “Did Abel ever mention anyone else besides the others that we know he has killed?” I recalled Abel using the term “our” before he’d jumped off the ledge.
She thought for a moment. “No. no one else.”
“Not even Mia?”
“Unfortunately no. Look, since I’m confessing all of my sins here, I need to—”
“No need, Jasmine. Brandon told us everything.”
“I’m embarrassed by what I did. It just shows how desperate I was to be accepted. How I thought having the starting quarterback as my boyfriend made me better than everyone else.”
“Live and learn, right?”
She tried to crack a smile, then winced from the pain of the carvings in her stomach. “I really have no idea what happened to Mia. She hasn’t really been part of our clique for a long time.”
A flash of the video I’d seen when Mia exited the high school zapped to the top of my mind. “So was Mia part of this Nightsteppers group?”
“She loved animals way too much.” She coughed out a single chuckle, putting a hand to her side. “Mia wasn’t into the group retribution thing. Actually, I think she kind of moved on after I came between her and Brandon. Didn’t seem like she cared very much.”
Cristina jumped in. “Hey, you want me to hang with you on the ride to the hospital?”
“That would be cool.”
It warmed my heart to see Cristina reaching out to care for someone else. She reminded me that Leo was coming in town over the weekend just before the doors shut. I didn’t have a chance to say another word. No doubt, that had been her plan.
I heard my name being called and flipped around to see Stan walking up with the end of his arm stump covered in bandages. Dr. Amaya was two steps behind him. I wasn’t sure what he was doing here.
“Is your arm okay?” I asked.
Brook approached and asked the same question.
He held his arm up. “It’s about ten inches long. I still have the wingspan of a three-year-old.”
The bolt had actually punctured Stan’s prosthesis while grazing his stub. But it had also severed a cable in his fake arm, making it clamp down so hard on his stub, it began to cut off blood circulation. It had taken firemen almost an hour to remove the damaged prosthesis.
“It could be worse. It could have hit your other arm.”
“Or my leg, right? Then I’d be totally screwed for the Dallas Marathon next month.”
I was glad someone was able to see beyond the here and now, and with a little humor to boot. While I was relieved that Jasmine’s life had been spared—either by destiny or just dumb luck—we were no closer to learning where Mia was.
Dr. Amaya moved closer, touched my elbow. “I don’t know what to say about Father Abel. He, uh…”
“It’s not your fault, Doctor. One crazy guy, you know?”
I was actually relieved that Dr. Amaya wasn’t the killer. He’d done so much good in our community that it would have been hard to reconcile the good with this killing insanity.
“Ivy, before I forget, I wanted to apologize for my behavior at the community center earlier. It was rude and it just wasn’t me.”
“Thank you for saying that.”
For some reason, my mind replayed the last words from Abel. Hopefully, people will continue our work…my work.
Our work. It felt like a steel pole had been inserted against my spinal column. Was Abel working with someone? For someone? Our work. There was someone else. Maybe...
“Ivy, did you hear the doctor?” Brook asked.
“Oh, sorry. I missed that. Say it again?”
“I just said that today—well, since it’s after midnight, I guess it was yesterday—marked the three-year anniversary of the death of my wife and Mandy. I think that brought out a side of me that was bitter. Resentful even.”
I wasn’t sure I followed his last comment.
“You know how I said you remind me of my daughter? Well, I look at you and sometimes wonder, what if? What if Mandy were alive? What would she be doing right now? Would she be married? Have kids? Work for the Peace Corps? And I see all the great work you do, and I think I’m jealous in a way. That maybe Mandy should be doing these great things. I know that’s unfair and ridiculous. I’m just…sorry.”
He wiped the corner of his eye.
“It’s okay, really. I just wasn’t sure what had gotten you so upset.”
Brook and Stan waited a few seconds, then began to grill the doctor about Abel, if the MACC had done a background check on him to make sure he wasn’t a felon, to ensure he didn’t have previous issues in working with kids.
“We saw no signs of this,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “The board has strict guidelines to ensure everyone goes through a rigorous background check. Anything more than a speeding ticket, and they’re not even considered.”
“So, do you recall his background?” Brook asked.
He pursed his lips. “I’m sorry, no. The board handles most of that, just to make sure there is transparency with such an important task. I just recall him talking about growing up in El Paso, serving in a church there.”
“What church does he serve here in San Antonio?”
“I don’t think he’s affiliated with one.”
“Don’t you find that strange?”
“Actually no. We have so many good-hearted people who do this just to give back to the community, to help kids who might go in the wrong direction.”
“He was the wrong direction,” Stan said.
“I know that now.” He wiped his face, shook his head. “Maybe in your investigation, you’ll learn where things went wrong for Abel. He seemed like a good guy when we were on that hunting trip a few weeks ago.”
I grabbed his arm and squeezed. “The crossbow.”
“Right. I wasn’t very good at using it.”
I let go of his arm, my mind cranking.
“It was just you, Clifton, and Abel on a hunting trip together?” Stan asked.
He nodded. “It was a little strange at the time to think about a priest wanting to kill things. But, you know, it’s a different
world. I’ve never been hunting before.”
Another thought from my conversation with Dr. Amaya and Clifton stuck in my mind. Clifton had said, “Dr. Amaya is way too kind to hold anyone hostage.” I’d overlooked that comment earlier because the doctor had been so off. But the hostage remark seemed out of place.
“Doctor, if you’re not a big hunter, then why did you buy yourself a crossbow?”
“I’d given the same one to Clifton, so I thought I’d pick one up and try to get better at it. He’s been an enormous help to me over the last few months. Really has gone above and beyond his duties as a board member.”
I could see Brook about to jump in with a question, but I beat her to it. “How?”
“How what?”
“How has he helped you?”
“Well, he’s a former financial advisor, so he’s great at balancing budgets. Anything to do with numbers. Plus, he handles most of the legwork on the background checks. Because of all his old clients, he has contacts everywhere.”
Stan, Brook, and I all traded glances.
“Did I miss out on the joke?” the doctor asked.
Brook pulled out her phone. In looking over her shoulder, I could see her open an app and type in Abel’s name in the search bar. Before she finished she asked Dr. Amaya for Abel’s last name.
“Railey. You guys aren’t wasting any time, are you?”
I reminded him that Mia was still missing. He said he’d forgotten about it, frankly, with the death anniversary of his wife and daughter.
A moment later, Brook said, “Headline from a year ago in the local El Paso paper, Metro section. Local priest quits after minor retracts allegations of sexual relationship.”
“Does it mention his name?” Stan asked.
“Yep,” she said, flipping the phone around. “And that’s his picture right there.”
“Dear God,” the doctor said, running his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t know.”
Our work. “Doctor. Where does Clifton live?”
“He, uh…. Wait, what are you thinking?”
I didn’t have time to explain. “Where does he live?”
He gave us the name of a farm, and I grabbed Brook and power-walked to her car.
The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 72
