by M. A Wallace
Billy held a hand up. “Whoa, Clifton? That Clifton, as in, Lorraine Clifton?”
“That is so. I learned later that Steven's introduction to the cult caused a rift between him and his wife, causing their split. She found a successful career working for various colleges across the country while he remained the owner of a Tex-Mex restaurant called Five-Alarm Fire. He's a nice enough man after a casual encounter. You speak with him for five minutes, and you come away with a good impression. Spend much more than that, though, and soon his dark side would manifest. He believed that he was the incarnation of Leviathan, the great beast of the sea, come to wreak havoc upon the earth. I confess, again I confess, that I was more curious than shocked at his statement. I wondered upon what evidence he might have drawn this conclusion. He said it was self-evident.”
Michael said, “Tell me, Father, was Steven Clifton in the habit of wearing sunglasses all throughout the day, even in the dark? Did he shave his head bald?”
The vicar looked up, brought out of his reverie. He said, “Yes. Why, do you know him? Do you know what has become of the Prophesiers?”
“I saw him once. Maybe. I don't know what has become of the group, only that father and son are dead, There's a girl in the hospital awaiting word on whether she'll need surgery for her shoulder. There's a whole group of students and faculty traumatized. There's who knows how many drug addicts and pushers out there waiting for their product. If they really did mean to destroy humankind, they were off to a good start.”
The vicar collected himself, smoothing down his robe. He said, “I believe I have one more thing to tell you, Detective. It may be of use to you as you continue your investigation in these matters.”
Michael said, “Yes, Father, what is it?”
“They are based here in Cumberland County, but they have chapters all across the state. I know because, I was once a member. In my weakness, I confess that I went to their revivals, watched them suffer bites from snakes. Though the snakes were not poisonous, I felt tempted to put my own arm in the basket for a time that the Lord might judge me. I grew more uncomfortable with the group as time passed, and so I left my parish in Erie County for a smaller, more remote location. Perhaps Theodore and his son followed me here. I do not know. Perhaps it is merely coincidence. I suppose it does not matter now. I have people who need ministering to, people who look to me for guidance. Though the Catholic Church is no longer a place for young men and women, those of my generation still come every Sunday.”
Michael put away his notebook, upon which he had been scrawling notes the whole time. He said, “Father, would you happen to know the names of the people involved in this group? It seems to me that this is a drug cartel masquerading as a religious community. I'd like to refer this matter to the DEA and the FBI, if at all possible. They're more capable of handling matters like this than the borough police.”
“Of course. I know a handful of names. I'll write them down for you. Mind you, I don't know who is alive or dead. I don't know how many people have dropped out. When last I was there, there were about three hundred people between Cumberland, Erie, and Dauphin counties.”
Michael hit an open palm with his fist. He said, “Of course, that explains the library cards.”
“I'm sorry, what?”
“Nevermind, Father. It's not important.”
“Yes well....if you'll give me a moment, I'll give you what you ask. Let's see now...”
4
Lorraine Clifton's body was found on a Monday morning after her secretary discovered the president's absence. She called the Vice President of Student Affairs, who also reported not having seen her. Since Lorraine had not called in sick, the sixty-seven-year-old secretary named Corrine called the police station only to find an unfamiliar voice answer. Neither Theodore nor Kevin came to the phone. She managed to say to the woman on the line that the president was missing, and could someone please check on her to see if she was all right?
Michael Ross was called to the scene, fearing the worst, hoping as he drove up that it would be the last time he would have to visit Shippensburg University. When he saw Lorraine's body, the pool of blood beneath her, and her vacant expression staring into infinity, he felt the same curious detachment that he always felt upon seeing a murder victim. He knew that later he would feel emptiness, misery, depression, and intense sadness at her death. He remembered seeing her morose Saturday morning, then seeing her upbeat Saturday afternoon. Whatever she had found in-between, whatever strength she had called upon, it had not been enough to save her from Theodore Kenny.
He made a cursory inspection of the scene and of the body. When he turned her over, he discovered what Theodore had meant by “the third six.” Lorraine had six bullet wounds in her back, two between the shoulder blades and four in the middle of her back. Two of the four sat close together, side by side, across the spine. The other two of the four sat higher up, forming a curve. Together, the wounds looked like a gruesome smiley face. Michael turned away, unable to look at it, knowing that while the coroner would make a joke of it, he would never be able to see the humor in a violent death.
Beside him, Billy McGee asked, “This was done by the guy you bagged at your house, wasn't it?”
Michael said, “Yeah, it was. Lorraine was the 'second six' that he mentioned. I was supposed to be the third. Guess it didn't turn out that way.”
Billy stared at the corpse for a long moment, then said, “Hey, you want to get out of here and grab a coffee?”
“Sure, if you don't mind me having a strawberry banana smoothie.”
Billy clapped Michael on the shoulder. “Man, you're such a weirdo. I swear. I really don't know why I like you so much.”
Together, they walked out of the president's residence towards their parked car and the other work that awaited them.
###
Thank you for reading.
SUBSCRIBE to my newsletter and receive an email when a new book is released.
