Severed

by Corey Brown

  Cody pauses, thinking. His eyes narrow and he frowns.

  “It was the oddest thing,” Cody says, slowly. “Not even the Federal Government could do what Malveaux did. That son-of-a-bitch had balls. As soon as the mob was out, The Bull was in and no one, not even the Feds, could stop him. He was like a one-man freight train.”

  Cody’s eyes lock with T'biah’s and another revelation comes to him. Cody knows Malveaux had not done it alone.

  “Are you saying,” Cody says, still looking at T’biah. “That Malveaux was the Devil?”

  “Not at all,” T’biah replies, shaking his head. “But Remy was in league with him. It was Abaddon who gave Malveaux the wealth and power. How else could he have pushed out the organization, how else could he have eluded prosecution? It would be too much for just one man.”

  Cody knows it is true but refuses to say so. Instead, he says, “That’s a load of crap. The Bull was just a rotten cop who leveraged his position. There were a lot of police captains who were busted back then for corruption. What, were they all Satanists?”

  T’biah shrugs. “It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me. What’s done is done. Only God can reverse history. So far, it has only happened once. And not in this galaxy.”

  “But what about Celine?” Suzanne says. “Where does she fit in?”

  T'biah looks at Suzanne but hesitates before answering. “She was Malveaux’s daughter,” he says. “I fell in love with Celine, made love to her.”

  Cody points at David, his face a scowl. “You’re saying that man is Celine Malveaux’s son?”

  “He is,” T’biah says. “David was raised by the Carlsons, I saw to that, but Celine is his biological mother.”

  “Now I know you’re full of shit,” Cody says. “Thirty years ago Celine Malveaux was found murdered in a house over in Chalmette along with Henri and Adele Savoy, five other police captains and two of their wives. Celine never had a child.”

  “Thirty-three years ago,” T’biah says, moving closer to Cody. “It was thirty-three years ago, not thirty. And she did have a child, my son. Tell me, do you know why they never found the killer?”

  Cody’s expression grows angrier. “Who cares? My son, a real person, is in real trouble and I’m talking to a nut-job about good and evil and a thirty year old----uh, pardon me, a thirty-three year old murder case.” Cody shakes his head. “Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?”

  “Humor me,” T’biah says, his tone taking on the same anger showing across Cody’s face. “Answer the question. Do you know why didn’t they find the killer?”

  “I don’t know, it was Mafia payback and no one ratted out Carlos Marcello. There were hundreds of people who wanted a piece of Malveaux, street thugs, mobsters, even cops. Who gives a shit?”

  “Oh, it was payback all right. But the mob had nothing to do with it.” T'biah taps his own chest. “I’m the one who killed them.”

  “Yeah, right,” Cody says. Then he stops. “What about Remy? Did you kill him, too?”

  “At the time, I thought so. The Savoys, Lacombe and all the other followers, yes, I killed them. But apparently not Remy. They never found him, you know. He should have died but somehow he must have been revived.”

  Cody has no trouble remembering the day the story broke. The evening news had grainy footage of cops standing around the Chalmette house, emergency vehicles parked helter skelter and sharp, black and white photos the next day on page one of the Times-Picayune.

  He had only been about ten years old but Cody remembered clearly how the Chalmette murders were committed. Except for Celine Malveaux, all had been bludgeoned to death, heads crushed, faces smashed. But Celine had been split open, gutted from vagina to sternum.

  “This is how I know about being too late,” T'biah says, quietly. “I was too late to save her, my beautiful Celine was butchered before I could get there. So I took their lives in retribution.” T’biah’s eyes mist over and he does not bother to dry them. His voice grows husky, barely a whisper. “She died in my arms, she died wanting one more kiss.”

  T'biah shakes his head, shakes off the memory, there was no time for self-pity. “After that,” he says. “I found the Carlsons, gave them my son and I ran. I went to an outland, I was ashamed and….afraid.”

  Cody sees how painful this story is for T'biah. The guy isn’t faking, his emotion is real. But it is still just a story, all of it nothing more than a wild tale, a complete fabrication. On the other hand, just how did T'biah know about the vision, about those Riders thundering across the universe?

  “If you really did kill seven police captains and their wives,” Cody says, stepping toward T’biah, his tone softer, almost apologetic. “How do I know you didn’t kill Celine, too?”

  “Not her. I did not kill her, they did. The Savoys, her father, the whole cult all had a hand in it.”

  “There is no statute of limitations on murder. Why shouldn’t I arrest you?”

  T’biah raises an eyebrow. “We both know that isn’t going to happen.”

  Cody stops short, wants to prove T’biah wrong, can’t. T'biah’s complete self-assurance is irritating.

  Moving past T’biah, Cody starts toward the door and says, “Forget you, I’m out of here. Ms. Carlson, you coming?”

  Before Cody has taken two steps, T’biah catches his arm and spins him around. Cody tries to twist free, but T’biah’s grip is like a vise. Cody tries to take a swing with his free hand but before he can wind up, T’biah pins Cody against the wall.

  “Hey, come on guys.” Suzanne says, stepping back. “Don’t do this.”

  Ignoring Suzanne’s appeals, T’biah grits his teeth and says, “I’m growing tired of you, Cody Briggs. I have no obligation to watch over you.”

  “Tired of me? You’re a fucking whack-job, man,” Cody says, struggling against T’biah’s grip. “Give it a rest, let go of me.”

  “If I’m a whack-job,” T’biah says. “Tell me how you and Derek crossed paths five years ago. Do you think that was a chance encounter? Do you have any idea how hard it is to overlap time, to make it pass differently for one person so someone else can experience an event that already happened? I’m a whack-job? Why don’t you tell Suzanne how you wound up pinned under an invisible, fifty-foot long cottonmouth or why you’re the only one on that security tape from the parking garage? Remember it? There were three of us that night, you, Diazolón and me. Why didn’t we all show up on that tape, why just you? And I know where you went that night, Cody, after I left. I slid into the coming reality and saw you sitting there in your car, watching all that other world stuff, getting ready to lose your mind.”

  T'biah takes a fistful of Cody’s shirt and growls, “Who do think brought you back? You were visited by a rostid and almost blew your brains out. Remember that? You stuck your gun in your mouth, almost pulled the trigger, remember?”

  Cody does remember. The flood of memories rises in his mind like a sudden, unexpected high tide. He remembers distorted images and a feeling like his eyes were burning, he remembers places and worlds that seemed familiar but knew he'd never visited. Cody remembers hoof beats and the four horsemen, he remembers his friend Nick Wheaton ensnared by a serpent, a pair of scarlet puncture wounds on his neck.

  Cody’s eyes become glassy and start to roll back, a kind of ringing fills in his ears, or maybe it was a rumble, and his legs feel like rubber. He can taste the spicy tang of rotting meat at the back of his throat. And he has the sense of being pulled into some strange place. He can’t breathe, can’t move.

  T’biah presses Cody’s sprained shoulder hard against the wall. Cody grunts, the shock of pain sharpening his mind, bringing him back.

  “Uh-uh,” T’biah says, shaking his head. “Stick around, I need you here. You think I owed you all that? You think I had to be there for you? The answer is no, I didn’t. Now listen up, remember those women Doctor Harris told you about, the ones who miscarried babies that have no DNA? No DNA, how does a human baby not have DNA
?” T’biah brings his face close to Cody’s, his breath hot against Cody’s skin. “Here’s a newsflash, they weren’t human.”

  “My shoulder,” Cody says. “Let me---- ”

  “I know all about David’s movie, The Destroyer,” T’biah says, easing the pressure on Cody’s shoulder. “I know how it mirrors so much of what’s happened, and I know why. Nick Wheaton was investigating cops he thought belonged to a cult, even Doctor Harris told you that. Why don’t you believe me when I tell you Malveaux belonged to a cult? By the way, it’s the same one. The cops Nick had been chasing, do you know how they are connected to your friend Derek Simmons? Can you explain any of that?”

  It is coming at him too fast, everything makes sense but Cody cannot process it all. He doesn’t even try to answer.

  “Fine,” T’biah says. “Tell Suzanne what you saw down in the emergency room when I uncovered David. Tell her what David looked like.”

  Cody’s eyes go to Suzanne. He still doesn’t answer.

  T’biah presses his thumb into Cody bad shoulder. “Tell her.”

  Cody groans again, struggles to free himself. “Goddamnit, that hurts. Okay, okay I’ll tell her.”

  T’biah loosens his grip but does not release Cody.

  “That’s better,” Cody says, flexing his shoulder.

  “Go on, say it.”

  Again, Cody looks at Suzanne, waits a moment before speaking. “He was,” Cody says. “Well, he was in bad shape. He was all torn up. No, not torn up, he was torn apart. The front half of him was….completely gone.”

  Suzanne moves closer, confusion washing across her face. “I don’t understand,” she says. “What do you mean?”

  T’biah lets go of Cody and steps back. Cody glowers at him, rotates his neck, flexes his shoulder.

  “Tell me, what is wrong with David?” Suzanne says, pleading now.

  “Just what I said. He was ripped apart,” Cody waves a hand toward David. “That sheet is bloody because he doesn’t have any skin in front. Take a look. You can see his bones, his lungs, everything.”

  “But, that’s not possible. He’d be….”

  “I know, I know,” Cody says shaking his head, looking away. “David should be dead. It sounds crazy, but I saw him. Half of him was ripped away, I don’t know why he’s still alive.”

  T’biah straightens his overcoat, smoothing out the wrinkles then faces Suzanne. “What Cody says is true. David was torn apart. More precisely, ripped in two.” Looking at Cody, he says, “I can explain how it happened. I can explain why Nick was killed, why those babies weren’t actually human. I can explain everything. Care to hear it?”

  Cody frowns, almost not wanting to know, as if understanding everything that has happened in the past few days will be too much. He waits then nods and says, “Yeah, okay.”

  Just then, T’biah looks at the floor, falling deep in thought. Cocking his head, T’biah leans away, part of his face and right shoulder seems to blur, turn grainy then disappear. Cody glances at Suzanne. The expression on her face tells Cody she is seeing it, too. Cody hears some kind of soft hissing or rustling sound, like a cross between wind and wave. Suddenly, T’biah straightens, looks normal again.

  “Something has come up,” T’biah says. “I must leave. Cody, go to the church in the woods.

  That is where they will take him, I’m sure that’s where they’ll bring Todd. But be careful. They are after you, too.”

  “Who is after me?” Cody says.

  “Everyone, both sides. For now, trust only your friends and even then choose the closest ones.” Turning to Suzanne, T’biah says. “Stay with David. He is healing, growing stronger as time passes.

  Soon he will be well again.”

  Then T’biah is gone.

  Chapter 30

  Derek looks out the car window, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. The digital thermometer reads ninety-two degrees outside. He dials up the air conditioner. The government-issue Chevy Suburban coughs, idling roughly for a moment. He glances at the tachometer then at the temperature gauge. The truck is running hot. Derek checks the dashboard clock, shifts in his seat, turns the AC back down then looks at the clock again.

  Where the hell is Cody? It has been twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes since they had left the emergency room. They had agreed to meet in ten or fifteen. Derek’s phone call to the field office had not taken long and now he sits, restless, wondering why Cody has been delayed, wondering how long to wait. He thinks about calling Cody’s cell but decides against it.

  Derek considers some of what he has learned in the last few hours. Afraid his hand might actually be shot off, Lucas Kelley had been quick to offer suggestions as to where Todd might have been taken; a whorehouse under the Crescent City Bridge over in Algiers, a bar out on Airline Highway or maybe a hotel somewhere on the north side. In particular, Lucas had talked about drug deals that went down in a little back woods church south of Opelousas, two hours from New Orleans. When Lucas spoke of it, Derek knew immediately it was the same church Cody had talked about earlier this morning.

  The church seemed like the place to start. No guarantees, but it was a decent lead and every minute wasted put Todd in greater jeopardy.

  Derek glances at the dashboard clock again, the glowing numerals reminding him another two minutes have slipped away.

  “Damn it,” Derek says, under his breath. “Come on, Cody. Let’s go.”

  As he speaks these words, three blue and white police cars roll into the parking lot. No emergency lights but the cops are definitely in a hurry, the cars bouncing hard on their suspension as they clear the entrance. Before the last cruiser brakes to a stop, a maroon Ford Crown Victoria pulls in, parking a few slots away. Two men exit the Crown Vic and join the waiting cops.

  Derek watches, a worried look spreading across his face. Three uniforms, two plainclothes. Five cops? Arriving together at a hospital emergency room? Something is up. But no emergency lights means something covert is up. The taller of the two detectives glances toward Derek, seems to notice the idling Blazer. It is too dark to be sure, but the cop looks familiar. Is it John Slater, Eric Hansen’s partner? Maybe. The group heads into the ER, the one who looks like Slater flashing one last glance in Derek’s direction. When they are gone, Derek kills the engine and follows them inside.

  “Yes, he’s here.” Derek hears Jamie’s voice from behind the wall of cops that surround her. “Is something wrong?”

  “What’s going on?” Gus says.

  “Everything’s all right,” one of the detectives says. “We just need to talk to him.”

  “Bullshit,” Gus says. “Five? It takes five of you to talk to him?”

  “It takes as many of us as I think we need,” the other detective says. No doubt now, it is Slater.

  “Actually, he’s not here.”

  The group breaks ranks and everyone looks at Derek.

  “Who are you?” Slater says.

  Derek shrugs. “Just a friend of the family.” He glances at Gus. “How’s Marion?”

  Gus hesitates, unsure of what Derek is doing.

  “She’s out of surgery,” Jamie says, stepping toward Derek, taking his hand. “She’s still critical, they say the operation was a success.” She kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you for coming.”

  Slater narrows his eyes. “You said he’s gone, who’s gone?”

  “Cody.”

  “How do you know we’re talking about him?”

  Another shrug. “I don’t, I guessed. You’re talking to his wife and father-in-law, when I heard you say you just needed to talk to ‘him’, I assumed you meant Cody.”

  The other detective moves closer. He is not as tall as Slater but probably just as old, a full head of wavy hair, oily skin. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t get your name.”

  “I didn’t give it.”

  A cop, Slater thinks. Or a lawyer, he’s way too cool.

  “If you’re looking for Cody Briggs,” Derek says, jabbing his th
umb over his shoulder. “He just left, I saw him get in his car and drive off. If you’re not looking for him then I apologize for interrupting but these folks have been through a lot.” He nods at Gus. “Marion nearly died today and she’s still in critical condition, you heard Jamie say so. How about it? Can we give them some space?”

  “How long ago did Briggs leave?” Slater says.

  Derek feigns a thoughtful look, scratches his jaw. “I just got here and Cody was just leaving, one maybe two minutes. He turned east on Saint Charles. I’m surprised you didn’t see him on your way in.”

  “What kind of car was Detective Briggs driving?” Slater says

  “Something white, two door, I think.”

  Slater fixes Derek with an intense look. “Briggs drives a Chevy,” he says. “A blue Impala, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “The Impala is in the shop,” Jamie says. “He’s got a rental and it is white, but I can’t tell you what kind. A domestic, I’m pretty sure.”

  Slater smiles duplicitously. “Very good. Thanks for your help.” He points to a beefy Hispanic cop and says, “Rufatti, you and Collins head out on Saint Charles. Don’t pick him up if you spot him, just call.”

  “Got it.”

  “Where was he going?” The other detective says to Derek.