by Aiden James
“Having said this, I am sure you have gathered Deshawn was beheaded,” he told him, and then glanced at Jack for further confirmation. “The weapon used remains a mystery, since the cuts on his neck were in a serrated pattern the forensic specialists in Alabama are unfamiliar with. A full autopsy was performed earlier today, from what I understand, which revealed little else other than death was nearly instantaneous.”
“What do you mean by ‘nearly instantaneous’?” Jeremy asked warily. “So, he suffered a lot?”
Francisco shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with Jeremy’s question, like he hoped they would skip over the actual lurid details of Deshawn’s death.
“I am afraid his suffering was extensive,” he told them. “The post mortem report indicates that although decapitation was the most-likely cause of death, he probably would have bled to death from the first injury, castration.”
Jack shuddered, immediately drawing the attention of the other three.
“I must admit I thought the same thing, Jack, when you mentioned Genovene’s bedside reference in your latest dream,” said Francisco. “The police have yet to find either his head or genitals. But, there is more. The federal authorities have now made sure you can never return to your once-promising lives in Alabama by pinning this tragedy on you both.”
“How in the hell can they do that??” said Jack, immediately incensed.
“It is not as far-fetched as either of you might think,” replied Francisco. “A connection has been created between you two and Martisha Jones. The scenario plays out like this: Deshawn threatened to turn you both in for the $250,000.00 federal reward, and so you had his girlfriend kill him in exchange for a promise to let her eventually give your whereabouts away after you made it safely into Mexico. There is a supposed clause in the reward that would have allowed her to still collect up to a third of the money, roughly $83,000.00. Once Deshawn was out of the way, the two of you murdered her so that your intended destination would remain a secret. Also, the FBI claims to have received a tip from an unidentified source in Tuscaloosa who told them you both will not actually leave the country until after you have killed as many people as possible, by detonating a series of bombs at your school’s upcoming graduation ceremonies.”
“What a bunch of bullshit!!” Jeremy seethed.
He stood up angrily and moved over to the cabin’s bar, staring longingly at the row of half-full decanters behind a locked glass door. Then he turned to face Francisco again, more perplexed than angry.
“Wait a minute...do you mean Martisha’s actually dead?”
“Yes,” Francisco replied. “If not for Jack’s dream of Genovene, it would be hard to say for sure. But, yes, she is dead, based on the available evidence.”
“Are you saying Genovene killed her, then?” asked Jack.
“Yes...I believe she killed both Deshawn and Martisha. We have already discussed the oddities surrounding Deshawn’s death. Now here is what Juan told me right before we boarded this plane. A woman’s body was found in a dumpster behind a place called Pepper’s Gym. Are either of you familiar with the place?”
“Yeah, I’ve worked out there and often shot hoops with Deshawn,” said Jeremy. “He’s been employed by the gym for awhile. In fact, I’d planned for us to go see him there tonight, since he was scheduled to work this evening.”
“We intend to still visit that establishment in our search for the Cristal Del Sol, but I fear Genovene may have already recovered it,” said Francisco. “Back to this woman named Martisha Jones…. The recovered body has yet to be forensically identified, although a handful of credit card receipts and notes found near it have been linked to her based on the card numbers and preliminary handwriting analysis.
“After the early searches for Ms. Jones throughout Alabama and near her parents’ home in New Orleans turned up fruitless, the federal agents decided to go ahead and officially state the victim is her in order to further strengthen the local citizenry’s determination to help find you both,” he continued. “I originally thought this quite perplexing; given how hasty and careless such a move would be without DNA or dental confirmation. It is sadly ironic in light of what Jack told us about Genovene wearing Martisha’s skin. The body found behind Pepper’s Gym suffered significant trauma to the muscular tissue, and the brain was drained out through two incisions in the base of the skull. In addition, the body is missing all of its skin, hair, and both eyes.”
“I suppose she suffered quite a bit, too,” observed Jack, grimacing.
“Most likely,” said Francisco, quietly. “I believe the only way Genovene could effectively disguise herself as Martisha was by clothing herself in the living tissues of her victim, skinning and mutilating the young woman while still alive. Whatever the draining of her brain represents is hard to say, other than it could be similar to ancient rituals for absorption of a person’s intelligence and personality that are still prevalent among the cannibalistic tribes of South America and Southeast Asia.”
“And, then Genovene masquerading as Martisha seduced Deshawn in order to murder him,” observed Jeremy. He returned to his seat by the window. “Who were the witnesses that saw them together?”
“There were many who saw them together that afternoon at a bar called Lucky’s. But, from what the report I received this morning stated, it was his younger brother who actually saw them go up to Deshawn’s apartment together.”
“Lavernies,” said Jeremy softly.
“Yes, Lavernies,” Francisco confirmed. “He and his roommates heard Deshawn’s screams and tried to rescue him. By the time they broke down the door, it was too late. I am saddened that this young man’s last image of his brother was the same one the police found later. He was further shaken by the fact Martisha Jones escaped from the apartment without being seen by him or his roommates. The deadbolt and windows were still locked from inside the apartment when he managed to get in. But for a creature such as Genovene….”
Forced to again contemplate the scope of Genovene’s cunning wickedness, everyone became silent. It wasn’t until they approached the U.S. border near Texas that anyone spoke again. This time, Rafael took it upon himself to run through their itinerary for when they reached Birmingham. Afterward, they were served a lobster dinner from a chef also provided by the Essenes’ friends in San Jose. Despite the exquisite cuisine, Jeremy and Jack barely picked at their plates.
After dinner, Juan gave Francisco the latest updates on the situation in Alabama. Francisco stood up and excused himself from the others’ presence, stating he needed to confirm final preparations for their return to Tuscaloosa, so they wouldn’t lose valuable time once they landed in Birmingham.
“You both might as well try and relax from now until we arrive in Alabama,” advised Rafael once Francisco left the cabin. “There is a television below the bar, and Francisco told me Bishop Florentes has a collection of action movies we can watch. Keep in mind they feel the same way we do about films that are racy or violent.”
Jack took the initiative to look in a drawer next to the TV, and soon picked out a movie he and Jeremy once liked as kids, “The Raiders of the Lost Ark”. When he showed it to Jeremy and Rafael, both said ‘why not’. It proved to be an effective distraction until the plane ran into more turbulent weather as they closed in on Birmingham.
***
At 12:23 a.m., Francisco rejoined them.
“We almost were forced to land in Huntsville,” he said, fastening his seatbelt for the rough descent. “We expected a mass exodus from further south, and if you look below us, Interstate 65 is jammed with traffic from Montgomery all the way to Nashville, Tennessee. The highway heading south from Birmingham is effectively blocked down to the Gulf.”
The long lighted line from thousands of vehicles creeping northward at a snail’s pace seemed surreal against the orange-tinted glow from the seven towers approaching Tuscaloosa.
“Is that what I think it is?” Jeremy asked Francisco as he motioned to the unusual haze s
himmering in the distance.
“Yes, that is the ‘arc’,” he confirmed. “Presently north of Mobile, its course might normally be catastrophic. Almost ten miles across, with destructive forces far greater than an F7 tornado, the towers are presently hovering at five hundred feet. If they remain like that until they reach their destination, perhaps the small towns in their path will still be here when the sun comes up again.”
The Cessna descended toward a runway located along the northern end of Birmingham International Airport. It skidded lightly on the pavement until it came to rest in front of a small hanger near the east side of Highway 79.
Rafael organized the group, who were soon ready to run over to a military-styled helicopter waiting for them near the hanger. After Francisco took a minute to give instructions to the Cessna’s pilot, Rafael ordered his men to go, urging Jack and Jeremy to keep up. The air outside the plane was hot and sticky, though not suffocating as when they changed planes in Costa Rica. The chopper’s huge blades sent powerful gusts of wind toward them as they ran to it and climbed aboard. Near the end of their jaunt Rafael’s leg gave out, forcing them all to pull up until they could help Francisco lift him into the cargo bay.
With everyone aboard, Francisco gave the signal for the vessel’s pilot to lift off. The helicopter rose into the air and sped toward Tuscaloosa. As soon as they cleared the Birmingham city limits, Francisco motioned for Jack and Jeremy to join him near the cockpit. They struggled to keep their balance, the copter bouncing up and down on its journey south. Though the haze mostly shrouded them, the individual tower outlines were now clearly defined. The wondrous arc was far enough away to give the illusion it wasn’t moving. According to the pilot, the system had picked up speed since clearing Mobile’s city limits, now traveling at roughly forty miles per hour.
When the pilot informed Francisco they would soon be landing, he also advised that Jack and Jeremy needed to rejoin the others while he landed the helicopter. Francisco intended to go with them, but the pilot told him he had an important private message from the North American Essenes’ leader.
A few minutes after the brothers joined the others in the cargo area, the chopper landed in a large field on the western outskirts of Tuscaloosa. Rafael directed them over to a small barn sitting in the easternmost section of the field surrounded by trees on three sides. They waited for Francisco to join them, and then the helicopter flew off toward Georgia.
Rafael unlocked a side door and everyone stepped into the barn. The two dark maroon vans from the previous day were waiting for them. Before separating into two groups of eight men and boarding the vans, Rafael gave each one a dark blue pullover and baseball cap with a gold “World Express” insignia stitched on it. He encouraged Jeremy and Jack to join the others in putting the uniforms on.
“This is an extra precaution we take to give us an edge in case something goes wrong,” he explained. “So, we wear something different each time. Yesterday, we dressed in black outfits, and sometimes we dress to the ‘nines’ in silk suits.” He laughed. “But, tonight, Francisco thought these would work best.”
“Who’s ‘World Express’?” asked Jack.
“I have no idea, Señor Kenney,” he replied, chuckling as he said this. “Believe it or not, to have a group of Hispanic men wearing an unfamiliar brand sometimes is easier on us than when we wear more standard outfits with familiar names like ‘UPS’ or ‘Federal Express’, or even ‘Coca-Cola’.”
“Time is wasting, gentlemen!” Francisco announced. “We need to move quickly, for it is one o’clock already and we have much to do in the next few hours! Everyone needs to finish getting dressed and climb into the vans so we can get going!”
Familiar with this drill, Rafael and his men finished before Jack and Jeremy had even zipped up their pullovers. They were told to grab their shoes and climb into the van closest to them, where Rafael and Francisco, along with four others waited for them. The rest of the group piled into the other van.
“My earlier fear that we may be too late in our endeavor to find the Cristal Del Sol before Genovene has been confirmed by what I just learned,” said Francisco. He turned to face Jack and Jeremy while the vans sped out of the field. “Johannes Leibermann, the Superior for our North American brethren, informed me through his pilot that his men checked Pepper’s Gym, Lucky’s Bar & Grill, and Sherwood Apartments without finding it. If she does have the Cristal Del Sol, then nothing can prevent the Children of Elohim from christening the Blood Star at dawn.”
“So, I guess the end of the world’s about to start,” Jeremy observed, wryly.
He looked out at the near-empty bypass as the two vans merged onto Highway 82. Both vehicles swayed in the wind that had grown more forceful.
“Perhaps not completely, Jeremy,” said Francisco, glancing out the passenger side window as a pair of empty furniture boxes careened past their van. “But it certainly could mark the end of mankind’s reign on earth.”
“I thought all the materials in the basement of Dr. Quard-e-Lazim’s house were confiscated by the federal authorities yesterday afternoon, after they were discovered earlier by the local police,” said Jack, watching the worsening weather through the window closest to him. “How could Genovene or anyone else rebuild the Blood Star without that stuff?”
“I considered the same thing, Jack, until Johannes advised that the three federal trucks moving this material to Atlanta for analysis and safe storage never reached their destination,” said Francisco. “The dispatch office in Atlanta reportedly received a distress signal that the trucks were under some kind of attack around one-thirty this past morning, when just east of Anniston, Alabama. The trucks began their journey from Birmingham shortly after eleven o’clock the previous night, and should have already been deep into Georgia when the call came in. The dispatcher on duty sent a team of agents to find the trucks. They recovered only one of the vehicles, stripped clean of everything, including the four-man crew charged with protecting the crates on their way to a heavily guarded storage vault in one of Atlanta’s largest commercial banks.”
“I suppose there’s no trace of the other truck’s drivers and guards, right?” said Jeremy.
“That’s correct,” Francisco confirmed. “It could be that these men and women realized what they were transporting, and got a wild urge to head south to the Caribbean with the aspiration of living out their days in the highest prosperity. But, I do not think so. In the recovered vehicle, several streaks of human blood were found near the top of the truck’s cab, where the roof was torn off. In addition, another large blood smear was discovered along the base of the vehicle’s rear sliding door. After the attacks we survived today from Bochicha’s emissaries, a similar assault on these unsuspecting guards seems likely.”
“So, you’re saying that’s how Genovene retrieved the raw ingredients to the Blood Star, and she either will or already has reconstructed it?” asked Jack, grimly certain this was true.
“It presents the most plausible likelihood, and leaves me apprehensive about our future existence, my friends,” said Francisco, sadly. “I keep thinking about Genovene’s last words to you, Jack, in your latest dream. She told you to stay away from her, which was the opposite of her earlier requests for your assistance.”
“Regardless, we’re still going to look for the Cristal Del Sol, just in case that bitch hasn’t got her claws on it yet, right?” asked Jeremy.
“Yes, that is the plan,” Francisco sighed, as if already resigned it would be a useless endeavor. “As you can see, Juan is taking us closer to the University’s campus and we should reach Hyacinth Street in a moment.”
The area was a ghost town, so unlike a normal Friday night in Tuscaloosa. Nearly every place of business was closed up and dark, with only an occasional venue with lights on. Traveling up University Boulevard on the way to Hyacinth, Jack counted only three people visible on the sidewalks or in the two open Laundromats along the way. Jeremy commented this did not bode well for graduation
ceremonies scheduled the following evening, and Francisco informed them the event was now postponed until next week at the earliest, according to the helicopter pilot.
Juan pulled the van onto Hyacinth, with the second van giving enough space to not seem conspicuous. Soon, the large green and orange neon sign for Pepper’s Gym came into view. At first glance, the gym seemed deserted. Once the van passed by the main entrance, Jeremy spotted Pete McCormick sitting in a chair next to the gym’s front desk.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Jeremy mused softly, and then looked over at Jack. “I swear to God that kid has absolutely no life, man. It would figure he’d be here on a night like this!”
“He knows you, right?” asked Jack.
“Yeah, he does,” said Jeremy. “I guess it means I won’t be able to go in there after all.”
“Go in there for what?” asked Francisco.
“Deshawn’s duffel bag, man,” Jeremy replied. “That’s where we hid the Cristal Del Sol when those Israeli assassins were after us. If we’d only known about ya’ll before then, you’d probably have it locked up safely in that freezer of yours back in the castle, and none of this shit would be happening. Not to mention Deshawn would still be with us.”
He grew sad again, but Francisco kept him focused on their present situation.
“So, you think the bag is still in there?”
“Yeah, I do,” said Jeremy. “Unless Genovene’s been there first, of course, but we’ve already discussed that possibility from here ‘til next Tuesday. If she hasn’t found it, and if I knew my buddy as well as I believe I did, his locker would’ve been the safest place he’d have thought of.”
“Surely he locked it up, eh?” said Francisco. “Do you know the combination to his locker?”
“Yes,” said Jeremy. “Pepper’s management recently updated their system to a keypad lock as opposed to the padlocks they used for years. The code to Deshawn’s locker is easier for me to remember than my own telephone number. The combination’s two, twenty-four, sixteen, thirteen, and eight.”
