by David Beers
“Yes, sir. The research we completed last night points toward a backwoods view of Christianity. Things that are still sometimes practiced in the deep south, though it’s been dying off quickly in the past decade. There is a similar strand of Catholicism, Opus Dei, but only in the ritualistic abuse that people put on themselves. Da Vinci Code type stuff. The backwoods version we’re talking about, focuses on Jesus Christ’s suffering—”
“Hold on, Phillips. What makes you think that’s what we’re dealing with here? Some redneck Christianity sect?”
“The way Ryan Goleen was killed,” Christian said, his voice ice that’d been frozen in the arctic tundra for a thousand years. “There’s a history of crucifixion in these sects. Often times they crucify animals as a ritualistic sacrifice, but within the past fifty years, there’s at least two records from South Florida where people were crucified.”
“That’s a weak connection, guys. Goleen was strung up, not put on a cross.”
“But his body formed a cross,” Christian said, and Tommy noticed he didn’t use the word sir. “The cross on Mrs. Brown’s face is another piece of evidence as well.”
“Alright. Let’s say you’re right,” Waverly said. “What does any of this have to do with you?”
Christian’s mouth remained closed, so Tommy continued. “These sects believe God speaks directly to them during some of the ritualistic abuse they perform on themselves. God is an active part in their lives, active in the sense that while they can read the Bible, they can just as easily talk directly to Him, if they perform the rituals regularly. Now, these sects are different as there’s no formal organization, but most believe that God will send someone to cleanse the world before Jesus returns. The Second Coming will be more of a glorification than a reckoning. Jesus won’t dirty his hands with it, because the one before Him will have killed off the wicked.”
“So this psycho believes Windsor is basically Jesus reborn?”
“Not, exactly, but close. He’s the one that will make the way for Jesus,” Tommy said.
“So why is he killing people?”
“Sacrifices to Windsor. When they harm themselves, they’re giving sacrifice of their body to Jesus, and the same with animals. We think this is his way of letting Windsor know ‘God’s plan’.”
“Why did he take Christian’s mother, then?” Waverly asked.
“We’re not sure, sir. If our theory is correct, then harming the savior’s mother wouldn’t make sense.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
Silence fell across the room.
“Okay. Look, I don’t really buy all that. It’s too fucking flimsy, but it doesn’t really matter. Tell me what your plan is.”
If the theory was bad, the plan might even be worse. The plan wasn’t exactly nonexistent, but they were working off of basically nothing. Bench helped create it; Christian had been silent for the most part. He seemed concerned with only getting back to Veronica’s house, though her place was under twenty-four hour surveillance. It was like the kid knew he couldn’t save his mother or Luke, and so all that mattered was keeping someone else from being abducted.
“We still have agents scouring through storage companies, though getting warrants for the companies that won’t let us in is a growing problem. We’re focusing on storage units in the Atlanta area, as we don’t think our guy is transporting bodies over long distances. We are going back to the care facility where Mrs. Brown resided, checking to see if there were any unusual visitors preceding her abduction and murder. They’ve been blocking us, so we may need a warrant there as well. We’re tracking all of Luke’s credit card purchases, as well as Mrs. Windsor’s, in case the killer needs cash. We’ve got twenty-four hour surveillance on both my girlfriend and Christian’s. Today we’re going through Christian’s history to understand if there is anyone that might have harmed him in the past, and we’ll be sending protection to them as well. Many of his professors are already being watched, though we haven’t alerted them—“
“So basically,” Waverly interjected, “we’re waiting on this guy to strike again.”
“Yes, sir.”
Another long pause, and when Waverly spoke, emotion filled the room. “Look, Luke is one of ours, and this son-of-a-bitch has Christian’s mother. I don’t need to tell you what the hell I’m thinking, because you’re thinking it too. Don’t let either of them get harmed. Christian, you there?”
“Yes.”
“When we get off the phone, I want you to call me back privately, okay?”
“Okay.” Christian didn’t so much as nod.
“I don’t want anyone knowing what we’re doing. The press doesn’t know about Luke or Mrs. Windsor. Keep it that way. I want this motherfucker thinking he’s safe and can take whoever he wants. Use local police, hell—local militias if they have any down there—and make sure everyone that could be a target is watched constantly.”
“Yes, sir,” Tommy said.
“Call me, Christian.”
The line went dead and Tommy looked at his partner. He didn’t glance up from the speaker.
“You better go call him.” Tommy turned to Bench. “New reports came in thirty minutes ago; you need to use the bathroom or anything? Or you ready to look through them?”
“Let’s get started,” Bench said.
Christian stood and silently left the room.
“IT’S ME,” Christian said into his cell phone.
“How are you holding up?” the Director asked.
Christian stood in the FBI’s parking lot. It was six in the morning and cars were pulling in. He stood in between two parked vehicles, so that he’d have semi-privacy while he spoke. Christian could have gone to his office for more privacy, but he couldn’t stand being between walls anymore. It made him think of the four walls Goleen stared at while dying. The four walls his mother might be staring at right now.
“I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not, but I didn’t have you call me to discuss it. I talked to Phillips, and he said you’re holding back on this,” Waverly said. “I know what you did with Brown two years ago, though it hasn’t been widely publicized inside the FBI. I know about the connections your mind makes. Phillips hasn’t told me a lot, but he’s told me enough.”
Christian said nothing as the Director paused. He didn’t feel anger at Tommy for telling Waverly; Tommy would do his job regardless of what happened, and that meant alerting Waverly to Christian’s mental state.
“This is an order, so I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to assuage your feelings right now. Whatever is holding you back, or keeping you from making the connections that you usually do, I’m telling you to kill it right now. If you hold back on this and anyone else dies, you’re out of the FBI. I don’t know if that matters to you anymore, but that’s where we are. If you give it your all and we still fail, fine, but I’m not going to have you putting people at risk because of some mental block you refuse to face.”
Christian swallowed. Hate fueled him. Hate at the man on the phone talking as if Christian didn’t care about his mother or partner. Hate at the person who took them. Hate at himself for being so weak.
“Do you hear me?” Waverly said.
“Yes.”
“Good. You three call me tonight by six, and that’s at the latest.”
The line went dead and Christian slowly lowered the phone from his ear. He stood in the parking lot, people walking inside the building behind him. None looked at him. Most stared at their phones or listened to music pumping through their headphones.
Christian was finding it hard to focus. He couldn’t stop thinking about his mother, Veronica, or Luke. He was filling with emotions he barely understood. He didn’t have time for Melissa, didn’t even have time to talk to Veronica. There was work to do.
Everyone around him was screaming at him to go to his mansion, and even though he’d returned once, that had been the last.
It had to end, though. The Director was right. T
he emotions filling him now would be nothing compared to what he’d feel if—
She’s already dead. He is, too. You know that. Going back into your mansion may help you catch the killer, but it’s not going to save them.
Christian closed his eyes.
It was true. It had to be. Two days had passed since Luke’s disappearance and another since his mother’s. The killer wasn’t keeping them in some kind of limbo; it wouldn’t fit with his past crimes. He abducted and then he killed.
“Stop it,” his mother said. Christian opened his eyes and saw her standing directly in front of him. He didn’t avert his gaze like usual, not caring if people saw him talking to someone that wasn’t there. He looked directly at the image his brain projected, his mom in the flesh. “I might be dead or I might not be. If I am, then we had a great time together, and if I’m not, you sitting out here whining won’t help anyone. You’ve done more in your life than anyone I’ve ever met, and you’ve done it with a whole host of issues that other people can’t imagine. This is the most important thing that’s ever been put in front of you, and you better not cower from it, son.”
Christian reached up to wipe the tears from his eyes. When he put his hands down, his mother was gone, and only the parking lot lay in front of him.
“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”
He turned around walked back into the office.
A SMILE BLOOMED INSIDE LUKE, though his face remained motionless.
Mrs. Windsor lay before him, a dark pillowcase over her face. Her hands and legs were bound, most likely having tape or something else preventing her from speaking—as she was silent.
The Priestess stood in front of Luke, a little smirk on her face.
“You brought her,” Luke said. “Did you finally see it was too risky keeping her at your place?”
“There is no risk for me in any of this. I brought her because the Lord told me to. He said it’s okay if she gets to know you better, so that when you die, she’ll see the truth about her son.”
Luke knew he should stay quiet, but he couldn’t help himself. Pain could come at any moment from this woman, but prodding her—or anyone with such a mental state—brought him a bit of joy.
“Did the Lord tell you to keep Christian’s mother gagged and tied up?”
Her right eyebrow twitched, giving her a humorous look. “It’s necessary right now. She’ll be freed soon enough, though you won’t.”
“Did God talk to you about Veronica Lopez? Did you go see her? Is she being watched, like I said?”
Luke needed to be careful here. Mrs. Windsor was hearing everything and to give away too much could cause horrible problems later. Luke could fix them, of course, by simply killing Christian’s mother, but he didn’t want that just yet.
“What God says to me isn’t for you to hear, swine.”
Which meant yes. Luke’s plan was working, and Veronica Lopez would be brought here. He just had to hope that Christian was kept away long enough for her arrival. That was the missing variable that Luke no longer controlled. He set things in motion, of course—but Christian’s mind was special, as was his personality. Luke could plan and predict, but the power that rested in Christian’s head couldn’t be fully controlled.
“Well, I hope you hurry with whatever God told you. I’m sure the FBI is getting closer by the second.”
The woman glared at him for a moment, her face doing its little dance. Luke smiled and then watched as her hand closed into a fist and pain exploded across his face. She hit him directly in his already swollen eye. Blackness threatened to swarm, but Luke focused, and pushed it back. He concentrated on his breath as the stars in front of him faded, and he found himself looking at the Priestess again.
She smiled now.
Luke remained still.
Her death would hurt worse than she could imagine; he wondered if her God knew that.
The woman went to Mrs. Windsor and took the bag off her face. She pulled the tape from her mouth in one quick motion, and to Mrs. Windsor’s credit, she didn’t say anything, though the pain she felt was written across her face.
Finally, the Priestess left without saying anything else. Luke heard the padlock click in place.
He looked at Christian’s mother, and despite the pain he felt, gave a sad smile.
Time to go to work.
CHAPTER 19
C hristian spent the day with Tommy and Bench. They went through Christian’s entire history, outlining everyone that could be a possible target. Plans were set in motion to watch them, most without the potential targets being aware of their new protection. The key to Tommy’s plan was ensuring that everything looked exactly as it should. Nothing out of the ordinary, so they could lure the killer out.
Christian finally left the office at eleven that night. He called Veronica on the way home, ensuring that she was okay. She said the car was still outside her house, and hadn’t left her the entire time. The two cops had even sat on her floor at work.
“They follow me to the bathroom. Or at least, the bathroom is visible when I’m in it. It’s lovely.”
Christian didn’t smile at the joke.
He wanted to go to her house and sleep there, which for him was something akin to lighting himself on fire. He couldn’t, though. Not tonight. He was going somewhere else, and for once, going inside that place was more terrifying than spending time with people outside of it.
Christian made it home and went to his bed, laying down and taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes.
He started in the mansion’s foyer. He looked at the staircase in front of him and saw trails of blood beginning to leak all the way down here. It wasn’t an inch thick on the floor like in other areas, hadn’t even reached where he stood, but it would soon—without a doubt.
He pushed the thoughts away.
He didn’t climb the stairs, but turned right. Something might be in here with him—but it didn’t fully control the place yet. Christian still held some sway, and he felt his mansion expanding as he moved through it. An entire hallway was constructed as he approached it. He didn’t know how long he could keep control over the mansion, nor how deep the voice had permeated the building, but he had some time.
He just needed to use it.
Christian found himself looking at a large rotunda. The hallway dead ended into it. The rotunda was shoddily constructed, using only stone, but the necessary pieces were there. He couldn’t enter or control the Priest’s room, but at least for now, he could use this.
A television sat in front of him, and a chair in front of it. The chair was made from the same stone as the rotunda, nothing like the comfortable furniture he usually sat in while watching the horrors take place.
He sat and the television clicked on.
Christian looked above him and saw no vents. He heard no whispers at all.
Go, he thought.
THE FIRST THING Christian sees is that the Priest is no priest. He is, in fact, not a he at all. He is a she.
Christian’s eyes widen as he stares at the girl, though her face is still clouded. The girl is a teenager and she’s standing in an old church. The pews are all wooden without any cushions on them. There are only five. The girl is in the main aisle and she holds a book pressed against her chest.
Christian walks closer and sees that it’s a Bible.
The girl is crying.
“Why?” Christian says.
The girl, of course, doesn’t look at him—she doesn’t hear him at all.
She has been staring at a large wooden cross standing on the pulpit. A plastic Jesus rests on it, looking cheap and almost humorous in its attempt to show the savior’s suffering. Parts of the cross have been painted red and Christian assumes that’s to portray Jesus’s blood. The whole thing looks like a Halloween display that charges two dollars for a tour.
The girl breaks her stare and walks outside the church. Christian follows. They go to a field in the back where there’s a hole in the ground with four people
around it. One of them is the preacher, who stands at the head. He’s a fat man who’s unshaven, and he’s sweating profusely underneath the afternoon sun. Sweat stains have spread through his short sleeve, button up shirt. It was white this morning, but now his perspiration shows large swaths of his skin through the shirt.
“And the Lord said, we’ll all turn into dust again,” only ‘again’ sounded like ‘ehgin’.
Christian ignores the preacher but watches the girl. She walks up to an older man, perhaps in his forties. Christian sees the disapproving look the man gives her, though he says nothing, and the girl keeps her eyes on the ground. She clutches the Bible to her chest as if it were a shield.
The preacher finishes speaking and the older man looks down at the girl. “Go on. Give it to your mother.”
The girl moves to the grave and kneels. She reaches in (Christian has to walk closer to see) and lays the Bible down.
There is no coffin inside, but only a body. It wears a purple dress, but the face is bruised and battered. Purple skin and split cheeks, showing bone beneath. The throat is still swollen with large blue veins trying to burst from it.
The girl stares for a moment longer, and then almost scurries back.
Christian keeps on looking until everyone leaves and the world around him goes black.
CHRISTIAN BLINKED as the video ended.
“What is this?” the voice asked. “A new room? One hastily created, clearly.”
Christian looked above him and saw the vent, though it hadn’t been there when he first started watching the film.
“My question is, Christian: why do you want to catch her? You do realize what you could be right? A god, right here on Earth. That girl would die for you. She would, and has, killed for you. She’ll continue to. Why don’t you want that?”
Christian sighed but said nothing. He looked at the television in front of him, wishing it would go on. Wishing he could know what happened to the woman in the dirt, and why.
