by John Stone
The look on Captain Wallace's face practically formed the letters “N-O” when Damianos proposed that he go with John to investigate the sand pit.
“I'm sure Detective Avers is perfectly capable of digging through a little sand without you. I'm starting to think you don't have much faith in your partner since you're doing everything in your power to hobble beside him everywhere he goes.”
“I haven't been hobbling! Look, I can walk just fine!” Damianos paced the length of the captain's office. “And it's not that I don't trust John. He's damn good at his job but this is my case, captain!”
“It's your case if I assign it as your case, Andre. You don't get to say otherwise even if you are the world renowned tamer!” Wallace's face was red with annoyance. “And if you keep up this insubordination, you'll be behind a desk much longer than this.”
“Captain!”
The shout was louder and more forceful than he meant it to be. The whole precinct seemed to fall silent and Damianos peered over to where many had been working at their desks or walking in with arrests and they all stared over toward the captain's office. Wallace also noticed that they now had an audience and his face grew an even harsher shade of scarlet.
Damianos nodded and closed the office door before turning back to his captain. He made sure to compose himself and brought the volume of his voice a few notches down when he spoke.
“Captain...the person doing this told Carlo to call me. Specifically me. Whether you like or not...this case is mine. It was given to me by the psychopath who is cutting people's feet off, by the guy who left Carlo up on a cross. I didn't choose this case and you definitely didn't assign it to me, but it's mine all the same.”
Captain Wallace, who had almost looked like a bomb ready to go off, surprisingly looked to be defusing. He rubbed his head in frustration and the usual annoyance he had when dealing with Damianos.
“I just want to tag along with John. He's driving. He'll be doing all the running.” Damianos took a step closer to the captain. “Please. I just need to be there.”
“Fine.” Wallace finally said. “Don't be wasting my time. I'll never give you another pass like this again. Next time you're not supposed to be out working in the field, you'll be in here and you won't even be able to look out the window.”
Damianos knew that was about as good of a “yes” as he was going to get.
“Thank you.”
Damianos left the office with an extra stride in his step just to prove he could walk.
**
Mostly, all Damianos and John in the sandpit was just that—sand. There was an empty and disused building, probably an equipment warehouse at one time, but there was no sign of anyone having been operating in there in ages.
Alan Davros had gone with them, just for the slim chance of finding anything, but he couldn't find even a single trace of bleeding anywhere in or around the building.
“Nothing.” Alan said.
“It's a dead end.” John said, folding his arms in frustration.
Damianos peered around the quarry. It was practically the definition of vacant—absolutely abandoned.
Damianos had a sensation run through his torso. He couldn't help but wonder what could have happened to those bodies, and he shivered, contemplating the endless horrible possibilities.
The quarry sure seemed empty...but he had to be sure. If there was any bit of evidence, no matter how small, its discovery could be a huge lead.
“We should drive around a bit. This place is huge.”
John and Alan were visibly irritated by the idea but went along with it. The drive was bumpy, with dust splashing against the windshield but showcased just how vast the quarry was. It was surrounded by dunes of shifted sand and debris and other crushed rocks. If there was any place to bury secrets, this pit to hell was certainly it.
Damianos pressed his head against the glass of the passenger window. Looking out at the heaps and mountains of sand, he couldn't help but think back to finding Carlo, strung up with his dangling feet. He never wanted to find anything like that again...but on this case, if he was able to find something, it would probably be just as bad.
There was something missing—something he wasn't seeing; beyond the breadcrumbs they were following. It wasn't physical or seen, but hidden behind all of the shoe boxes.
The thirteenth apostle...
“He's Judas.” Dominos’ thoughts were spoken aloud.
“What do you mean?” John asked.
“The thirteenth apostle. The one that betrayed Jesus. Carlo said that the man told him that he was the thirteenth apostle. Maybe the nutjob doing this sees himself as Judas.”
“Fascinating,” John raised a brow, clearly not impressed. “But how's that going to help us find the bodies?”
Damianos had no answer. No matter what the killer's motive was, it wasn't going to help locate the bodies at this point—unless there was some shop or house with Judas written all over it...and that definitely wasn't going to happen.
More and more laps around the quarry went by when even Damianos felt like they weren't going to find anything.
“One more lap around...then we'll go.” He said, feeling defeated.
On their way towards the exit of the quarry, John suddenly shouted out.
“You see that!?” He pointed toward the right of the car.
Dominos’ attention shot directly to where John was pointing—a white piece of cloth protruded from a sand dune, barely visible through the haze of dust. John immediately slammed the brakes and the car came to a screeching halt, a cloud of dust enveloping Alan's car behind them.
Damianos practically leaped out of the car, surprising himself with his own agility, literally hop along toward the piece of cloth. John and Alan were right on his heels while he limped his way over to the discovery.
With his cane, Damianos poked at the sand around the cloth until a clump of it fell away, its drifting grains slowly exposing what lay beneath—a hand...followed by an arm.
**
Several hours after they had found what lay beneath the sand, the quarry was ringing with sirens and flashing with red and blue lights. Damianos had immediately called Dr. James Darby while Alan had called the lab. The evidence they found was abundant—all twelve bodies.
The dozen corpses were all dressed in white robes and were covered in bruises. Sand seemed to fill every orifice of their bodies. When the doc turned over one of the bodies, and delicately untied the cordon around the neck, there was what looked like twelve scars and welts, as if they were whipped.
The scars were remnants of what the killer no doubt saw as divine wrath but Damianos saw it for the pathetic, depraved act that it was. Senseless murder was bad enough—no one deserved to be tortured and mutilated.
Dr. Darby turned back to Damianos.
“We need to get a better look at the victims as soon as possible. If this one's any indication, there's going to be a whole lot to see.”
**
Examining the bodies of the twelve victims was a tall order so Dr. Darby called in colleagues from the hospital's morgue to help him with his task. They had to perform a dozen autopsies as soon as they possibly could. Even with assistance, it would take an extensive amount of time before they could determine the time and manner of death.
What they did find after the preliminary examination, however, was even more evidence of the nightmare they had stumbled into.
All of the victims had been severely beaten—whipped, mostly—just prior to death and all of them had been shackled to each other. Dr. Darby couldn't help but shiver at the thought of how helpless the victims must have felt. The whippings and the chains weren't something he usually saw. The victims were treated as less than human, punished for whatever sick reason the murderer had to hurt them. Worst of all, it was clear what state they had been in during the horror—they had been enslaved.
**
Damianos could feel his heart pumping over the engine of the car. He had felt it
before...the anticipation, the nervousness, the fear. That feeling of hopefully on the last lap of a case was full hope, but also worry that it wouldn't really be the end.
“How you feeling?” John Avers asked from the driver's seat, as if he could read his mind.
“Peachy,” Damianos said. “You?”
“Ready to cap this one off.”
The entire precinct was on the hunt, their first priority being the bearded man who owned the Apostles Club downtown—the man Carlo had described.
Carlo. His mutilation was one thing Damianos was at least going to get some payback for before this was over.
When they finally pulled up to the club, it was barely even recognizable as one. There was no neon lights or pictures of their featured attraction. There wasn't even any indication of their hours of operation. It just looked like an old cabaret which had long since closed its doors.
A front—a facade—it had to be...camouflaging its true colors.
“You manage to get a warrant for this?” John asked.
“...do we need one?” Damianos replied with a smirk.
John shot him a very judgmental look that Damianos just brushed off with a shrug.
“I figured we could just try and sneak through the back.”
“Oh, you figured that, huh?” John groaned, looking from Damianos to the building, the gears very visibly grinding away in his head. “You know what? Fine. We'll do this your way.”
“Mr. Avers, you surprise me,” Damianos laughed. “Here I thought, you'd want to be doing this the boring way.”
“Any other day, sure...but as long as you've got that limp, I have to be your legs...or car, I suppose. Let's drive around back.”
Almost the moment they turned into the alley, they saw the limousine that Carlo had described, that belonged to “the boss-man”. There was no way that it could be a coincidence and actually comforted Damianos a little. No matter how abandoned the building appeared, it couldn't hide the fact that at least they were on the right track.
“Let's make a pass but let's be natural. Don't want to attract any attention.” Damianos said.
The car passed the limo and Damianos tried to sneak a peek at any sign of anyone inside but its darkened windows proved to be a problem. They kept driving down the street, turning down a side road before parking the car.
“Alright,” John nodded, making sure his gun was loaded. “If I'm not out in five, send in backup.”
“Oh no,” Damianos scowled. “I may be handicapped but you're not going to ditch me like some prom date. I'm not just going to sit here and wait.”
John's face tensed up as he rolled his eyes, looking over toward the back door of the building.
“I would never ditch a prom date.” John said after a moment.
“Good,” Damianos limped out of the car. “Then we won't have a problem.”
“Look, I'm not exactly comfortable having to keep an eye on where you're stepping. So—maybe it's best you hang back a little. If there's any trouble, it'd be nice to know you have my back.”
“Works for me. Just don't go too far ahead.”
“Try to keep up.” John said with a thin smile.
John turned to approach the building while Damianos got on the radio and hastily called for a backup at their location. They'd be arriving in a matter of minutes but John was already far ahead. Damianos felt a little helpless, not being able to keep up with his partner, but made up for it by keeping as alert as possible.
As much as it was a struggle to walk, Damianos knew that they'd need to at least be a little fast if they had any hope of solving the case. A short distance ahead, John stood near a door, his gun drawn, having stopped to let his partner catch up. Damianos appreciated the gesture, despite feeling a little embarrassed.
The back door had been left ajar.
“Keep an eye out,” John said. “Remember, five minutes...you send everyone in.”
Damianos waited for reinforcements to arrive while John moved swiftly through the back door, entering into the darkness of the building's insides.
**
John Avers had never been afraid of the dark—not even when he was a child.
He was always comforted that even if he couldn't see what was in the darkness, the darkness also shrouded him, taking him into its protection.
Slipping into the building, all he was greeted by was that familiar darkness and felt its chilling embrace wrap around his body. It whispered to him to not pull out his flashlight as it would give away his element of surprise.
He took a few moments to adjust to his new environment, letting his eyes grow accustomed to the lack of light. With Damianos crippled, it was well and truly up to John. He kept his breaths quiet and steady, not letting nervousness take control of him. He had to remain at ease, relishing and being open to accepting the unknown around him.
John Avers didn't just stay hidden in the shadow—he became a shadow, sliding against the wall silently, invisible amidst the blackened room.
Turning a corner, however, the darkness peeled away into a dimly lit room.
A row of people dressed in white robes were lying down on the floor, face down. A man stood in front of one of them whipping his victim's back until blood spattered with each crack. The victims were all screaming through their gagged mouths. There was terror in their eyes that came from a place of hopelessness, of feeling abandoned by anyone who could potentially save them. They had every reason to feel that way. They were helpless.
Standing near them was another man with a portable circular saw at the ready.
John remembered all of the shoe boxes. He remembered all of the footless corpses. He remembered the frantic search. Most of all, he remembered the maiming of Carlo.
The circular saw began to spin with a hiss.
For the first time in his life...John Avers feared the darkness.
**
“Get in here!”
Damianos was startled by John's arm emerging from the back door but complied without delay, quietly entering the building behind his partner. The dankness of the hallway was disorienting but Damianos kept focused. His eyes would adjust in due time.
“We need to stop this now,” John whispered. “By the time back up arrives, we'll already have lost one maybe more.”
“You found them?” Damianos whispered back, drawing his gun.
“Unfortunately.” Came the reply in the dark.
Damianos felt John's hand come to his shoulder and hold him back while they turned a corner. Damianos peered around the corner to find the same sight that John had no doubt found. A deranged massacre, with more shoe boxes prepared for the outcome.
“Let's do this.” Damianos said after taking a breath.
The two detectives moved swiftly, as they had been trained to do. Their guns were trained on the attackers and they were ready to protect the victims at any cost.
“Freeze!” Damianos roared. “Drop the weapons! Now!”
The two killers were taken aback by the surprise but their wide eyes quickly grew narrow with hatred. They moved with an almost feral ferocity, rushing the two detectives. The whip was raised, ready to snap on John's face before a bullet was discharged, finding itself in the man's chest.
The buzzing of the saw grew closer and closer. Damianos recalled Carlo's mangled feet and his blood boiled. Too many ankles had been exposed to that saw's dance and it needed to end.
Without a word, Damianos fired his own shot, hitting his target in the left temple.
The two depraved men fell to the floor without a sound, landing beside their crying victims. Damianos and John were quick to examine their enemies but neither of them was bearded—no sign of even a five o'clock shadow. They didn't match the description of “the boss-man”.
They weren't the man that they needed—but the limo had been outside.
“He's here somewhere,” Damianos said. “Let's fan out.”
Damianos switched on the lights of the building, hoping to make their tas
k just a little bit easier on them.
“Everybody, just hold on for a few minutes, okay? Help is coming and then you all can go home.” Damianos said to the panicked people still bound on the floor.
Words were spray painted onto the walls of the room. Among them were passages of the Bible, some that seemed surprisingly relevant to the case while others looked like nothing more than confused musings of a madman. Damianos couldn't help but think about the horrors that had taken place in the room. This was the second set of victims that they knew of but how many more could there have possibly been?
“Andre!” Came John's voice—Dominos’ real name meant it was urgent.
**
“I think it's him.”
When Damianos caught up with John, they were in a backroom of the building and there he was—the man they needed, cowering like a slug in a back office. His white and red robes were gathered around him like a pile of leaves, failing to fully conceal himself. He was crouching in fear, his eyes watery with anger and disdain, tears running into his beard.
The thirteenth apostle. The messenger of death. Judas.
“You're in very big trouble, pal.” Damianos said.
“I do not answer to the laws of man! Only God may judge me!” He spat. “The tamer, bah! You have no power in his domain, pretender! You are false! You needed to be shown the punishment that awaits you!”
“Is that why you asked Carlo to get me directly? You don't like me very much do you?”
“All those who are false deserve to be punished. All those who are false deserved to be punished. All those were are false deserve to be punished.” The man seemed to be in a trance-like state, staring at the floor and rocking back and forth.
“Was Carlo false? The man you crucified and mutilated?” Damianos felt his blood boiling.
“That swine consorted with demons, thus, he is a demon himself. Selling his soul to those who turn their back on God!” The man's attention returned to the floor. “All those who are false deserved to be punished. All those who are false deserve to be punished.”
