The Messenger (2011 reformat)

by Edward Lee

  "It'll just take a second. I haven't checked it since before the sun went down. Get your flashlight."

  Erik had plenty of doubts now. At least he got a good feel. She must just be some nutcase housewife who got off on teasing men. It's a good thing I'm a nice guy, he thought. You come on to some guys like that and then don't put out, you'll wind up getting it the hard way. But, no, that wasn't Erik's style.

  He'd set his tool bag down at the edge of the kiosk and he thought he'd set the flashlight down right next to it. He fumbled there now in the dark. When he looked to the side, though, he noticed something white. What the fuck is that? He squinted, then reached over. Picked it up.

  It was a white cowboy hat.

  "What's with the hat?" he asked impatiently. "Your husband's?"

  She was staring off again, distracted, only half listening. "Oh. No. It's the furniture guy's. He must've ... left it out here earlier."

  The furniture guy? So she had him back here earlier, it seemed. And the cable guy, too, he presumed. Erik thought about that a second, then shrugged. Sloppy seconds didn't bother him. Hell, I got a rubber in my wallet. But-

  He set the hat down on the picnic table. The furniture truck was still in the driveway, and so was the cable truck. "So those guys were back here earlier, and now they're back in the house working?"

  A pause. "Um-hmm. They were ... just finishing up when you came. They've probably even left by now. So...you don't have to worry about anyone...interrupting us."

  Erik guessed he bought the answer. The situation was easy to calculate. When the husband's out of town on business, Wifey packs in as much strange as she can. Nothing wrong with that.

  "But..." Erik looked back at the cowboy hat. "That looks like a pretty

  expensive hat. What, the guy just left it here?"

  "Forget about the hat," she said and faced him. Her nakedness radiated in the dark. She was almost glowing. "He'll come back for it tomorrow."

  Erik nodded, then he noticed something else in the grainy darkness. Something right next to the hat on the picnic table. It was a hacksaw.

  "What's with the saw?"

  "Uh..." She smiled. "The landscapers, silly. I told you, I had landscapers here."

  "Yeah, I know. To till your garden."

  She giggled. "They were cutting some dead branches off the trees."

  Erik chewed on that one. It made sense but still... cowboy hats, hacksaw, a brisket on the barbecue, and a whack-job naked housewife. The night was getting weird fast.

  Her mood switched; suddenly she was flighty again. "Now quit fooling around and get your flashlight. Check my brisket! Otherwise I'll have to light the torches and if I light the torches I have to put my nightgown back on."

  Erik got the flashlight.

  The bright beam bared down. A trace of smoke leaked out from under the barbecue's lid. It smelled great, like pork roast or prime rib. Erik was looking down at the barbecue, but...

  ...if he'd actually looked up and shone the flashlight past the kiosk, he would've seen two bodies.

  He opened the lid.

  He didn't have time to turn, to run, to shout. He didn't have time to react. He didn't even have time to feel the impact of the shock.

  WHACK!

  The bend of the crowbar hit him right at the top of the spine. The vertebrae shattered at once. Erik was quadriplegic by the time he had collapsed fully to the kiosk's floor.

  He was still alive, though. Brain cells still firing, eyes still seeing, thoughts still flowing. He simply couldn't move. He lay paralyzed, staring up.

  "Did you see?"

  Her voice fluttered down. She was standing above him, one foot on either side, hands on hips. She grinned down at him. "Did you see what was in the barbecue?"

  Erik, understandably, could only think now in unsorted fragments. His heart was slamming for all that had happened in the past few seconds, his horror and terror and fear all colliding. But, yes, yes.

  He had seen.

  When he'd opened the barbecue lid, two human heads looked back at him from the grill. The pork like waft of aroma had floated up amid steam. It was only a split-second glance but a split second was sufficient. The heads were roasting, crackling a little. One victim had a shaved head and goatee, the other broader, hair singeing off, clean shaven.

  Annabelle was now kneeling at Erik's side, breasts swaying, glee in her smile, as she briskly began to saw Erik's head off with the hacksaw. Erik died shortly thereafter.

  It took a few minutes, the grisly rip of each thrust of the blade resounding upward as all the blood pumped out of Erik's body. When the head was detached, Annabelle put it on the grill with the others and closed the lid.

  Annabelle wasn't going to eat the heads, by the way. She was a vegetarian. It simply occurred to her that cooking them would be appropriate. It had the right ring to it: cooking heads. She could see the tabloid headline now: psycho housewife cooks heads!

  It was just the kind of message she wanted to leave, and she knew that the Messenger was pleased.

  He walked her back into the house, actually more drifting than walking. She felt wistful and dreamy, the naked night-nymph wandering aimlessly down silent hallways. She killed the furniture man in the cowboy hat and the cable technician exactly the same way she'd killed Erik. By the time night had fallen, it was safe. No one would see what was going on in the backyard. The four landscapers she'd killed in the house, each in a separate room, cutting their throats during sex.

  She couldn't wait for the police to find the bodies, (especially the heads!). She couldn't wait for the message to be spread. She could feel the Messenger close against her from behind, lovingly walking her along, touching her with her own hands.

  She left the light on in the bathroom. She wanted to see him behind her in the dark, and after a moment, staring into the mirror's dark veins, she did.

  Did I do good?

  Yes.

  She took two of her dead husband's razor blades out of the dispenser. She smiled dreamily at the corroded face behind her.

  Now?

  Now, my dear.

  Her master's messages were done, and now it was time for Annabelle to be done, too. It was time for her to go to a new and exciting place where she could serve the Messenger and his colleagues directly.

  Thank you.

  Annabelle gashed her wrist, then painted the master's symbol on the mirror. Then she closed her eyes and grinned and very gently and slowly slid each razor deep into the sides of her throat, severing the major arteries to the brain. She leaned back, held her hands up as if to solicit the stars as the blood pumped in soft jets to either side, like crimson angel wings.

  Chapter Twelve

  I

  Jane poured the pizza sauce liberally into the center of the uncooked trust, then handed Kevin the rubber spatula. Try to spread it as evenly as you can, honey," she said. "You don't want too much in one place and not enough someplace else."

  "I know, Mom."

  When he was done, Jennifer grated a lump of fresh mozzarella over the pizza. While she did this, Kevin's eyes lost their luster and he wandered to the table and sat down. He looked dejected.

  "But, Mom," Jennifer was saying. "You know, you are sort of, aren't you?"

  Oh, Lord, Jane thought. "What, honey?"

  "Aren't you sort of, like, dating him?"

  "Steve? Of course not, honey!" Of all the questions! she thought. Kids were so precocious. It was something Jennifer had been edging at lately. "He's just a friend, so I invited him over for dinner, that's all. I don't even know him that well."

  "Yeah, but you like him, don't you?"

  "Just do the cheese, honey?

  "I think he's cool. I think you should date him."

  Jane frowned. "And when you're done with the cheese, you can start on the pepperoni. I'll start chopping up the onions and peppers." She glanced over her shoulder, looked at Kevin, who was still sitting sullenly at the table, chin in hand.

  "I wonder whe
n he's gonna snap out of it," Jennifer whispered.

  "He's upset, honey. He loved that little toad."

  "Sure, Mom. I loved Mel too, but it's not the end of the world. How long is he gonna mope like that?"

  "It takes time to get over things. And it will take Kevin longer because he's younger than you are."

  Such things were difficult to explain. Failing at it, she knew, was just another element of motherhood. "Make sure the oven's on," she said, trying to change the subject. "It needs to be preheated. And grab that bottle of oregano." They'd busied themselves a few minutes more, Jane chopping the onions and peppers, when the doorbell rang.

  "That's him!" Jennifer exclaimed.

  "It might not be, honey. I'm not even sure if he's coming. He might be too busy-he's a policeman." Jane hoped that it was him, though, but-With my luck, it'll be the people from The Watchtower. She set down the knife and was about to go to the door, but her daughter was already racing for it.

  "I'll get it!" Jennifer said, and scurried away.

  Jane rolled her eyes. Never a dull moment. Then Steve walked in with a big smile and a white cardboard box.

  "Hi, everybody. Boy, something sure smells good in here."

  What's in the box? Jane thought. It looks like something from a Chinese carryout. I told him we were making pizza!

  Everybody said their hellos, save for Kevin, who remained gloomy. Then Steve placed the box on the table in front of him.

  "How are you today, Kevin?"

  Kevin shrugged, saying nothing.

  "Kevin!" Jane complained. "Where are your manners? Say hello to Chief Higgins."

  "Hi, Chief Higgins," he droned. Slowly, though, his eyes drifted to the box. "What's in there?"

  "Well, I'm not sure, Kevin," Steve said, "but I think it's for you."

  "For me?"

  "Yeah. Why don't you go ahead and look inside."

  Curiosity dragged Kevin out of the funk. He picked up the box and carefully opened the lid.

  Then his face lit up. "Wow! Look, Mom!"

  A baby horned toad meandered about in the bottom of the box.

  "It looks just like Mel, only smaller!"

  "He's only a few weeks old," Steve said.

  "Steve," Jane said, "you shouldn't have. That was sweet of you."

  Kevin was bubbling over with excitement. "Wow, thanks, Chief Higgins!" Then, to Jane: "Mom, I'll eat later, okay? I'm not hungry right now. I'm gonna go play with him."

  "All right, honey".

  "I'm gonna name him Mel, Junior!"

  Kevin cradled the box in his hands and tromped to the next room.

  "That really did the trick," Jennifer said.

  It sure did, Jane thought. What a nice guy. After all he's had to do today, he took time out to do that. "That was very nice, Steve. Kevin was really getting down in the dumps."

  "It was nothing," Steve told her. "The Pet Smart was on the way anyhow."

  "Let me pay you for the toad."

  "Forget it. Let's eat some pizza; I'm starving."

  Dinner was a smashing success. They all traded talk back and forth while they ate. Steve spent a lot of time asking Jennifer about school, her favorite subjects and future plans. Jane could tell that her daughter liked him a lot. The cop side of Steve always seemed very businesslike and by the book, but tonight he'd left that all behind. Don't get your hopes up too high, Jane warned herself. This didn't really qualify as a first date; she didn't even know if he wanted to date. Take it a step at a time. Even if this never happens again, we all had a nice time.

  "I'll never order out again," Steve said, pushing his plate away. "That was the best pizza I've ever had."

  "Jennifer did it all," Jane said. "It's her recipe."

  "Jen, you should go into business for yourself. You'd make a fortune."

  "Thank you, Chief Higgins."

  "It's Steve."

  "Thank you, Chief Steve."

  Everybody had a laugh, then Jennifer rushed up. "I'll clear the table and do the dishes, Mom. Why don't you and Chief Steve go watch TV? There's Simpson reruns on. And, you know, you can go back into the den and watch it."

  Jane blushed outright. Jennifer, you're impossible.

  Steve smiled to himself, but played it off as innocent, knowing that Jane had been put on the spot in a big way. "That sounds like a perfect idea to me. It's my favorite show."

  He followed her out of the kitchen. "Sorry," she whispered. "I don't know what to say."

  "It's fine," he laughed. "Kids are kids."

  They stopped in the family room to quickly check on Kevin. He was totally preoccupied with the new toad, cautiously letting it roam the couch.

  "Kevin, make sure Mel Junior doesn't make a mistake."

  "You mean poop on the couch?"

  "Why mince words?" Steve said.

  Yeah, kids are kids, she thought. They left him be and went to the den. Jane tried to act nonchalant but there were some serious butterflies in her stomach. Nothing was going to happen, of course, and there were no expectations. It was simply the awkward situation.

  She felt relieved, though, when they were inside and she closed the door.

  More small talk as they sat on the couch. "Are you really a Simpsons fan?"

  "To be honest, I haven't seen it in years 'cuz I'm always at work. Put on whatever you like, just so long as it's not a cop show."

  The casualness about him put her even more at ease. They continued chatting, nothing heavy at all, just each talking in little bits about themselves, their likes and dislikes, where they'd been and where they'd like to go someday. He made it so nice and easy. Her nervousness flew away without her even realizing it; it was as though she hadn't been nervous at all. When he took her hand and held it, it seemed like they'd known each other a long time.

  Next, their eyes were finding each other's. If anything, it was more deliberate for her than for him. They were sitting closer, and soon the small talk wasn't making it anymore, their faces closer as they spoke, their words growing softer. It was all too natural when they began to kiss.

  The kisses were light, gentle. He seemed very delicate and caring. God, I can't believe how fast this happened, Jane thought, but it's just...so...nice...

  She hadn't even thought about things like this for so long; she felt like an eighteen-year-old on prom night. With her job, the house, the bills, and the kids, sometimes she'd wondered if she'd ever have time again for a romance, and that's what she knew now: that that's what she wanted. She was almost afraid to ask herself how much she wanted tonight...

  They started to embrace, then. They started to kiss harder.

  A distant voice floated into the room: "Dhevic, an expert in the field..."

  Must be some dumbass documentary, Jane thought. They hadn't even been paying attention to it. Jane and Steve kept kissing.

  "...an alarming proliferation of what we think of as cult-motivated activity" came another voice now, in a slight European accent.

  The words shattered Jane's concentration. Did some guy on TV just say Steve pulled back from the kiss, not alarmed but clearly diverted. He looked at the television with interest. Damn it, Jane thought. What is that?

  "Sorry, but this sounds like it might be important," Steve said, sitting up on the edge of the couch seat.

  Jane went lax, trying not to sigh out loud. She frowned at the television screen and saw a tall man in a dark suit. A camera was following him from behind as he seemed to be leading it through a well decorated house. Long dark hair threaded with some gray hung over his shoulders. His footsteps echoed on the floorboards.

  "From East Coast to West Coast, from north to south." The European accent again. "America is steeped in a history of demonological activity. This house right here, Suit Manor, proves a prime example."

  Tacky as it was-like some overdone cable show about haunted houses or UFOs-it wasn't a documentary. It was the local news station, which often ran features like this toward the end of the hour. The scene cut to a dusty fl
oor, where multiple human outlines lay. The outlines seemed to be formed from old, dried blood.

  "The Suits were recluse millionaires, twin brothers. They invited a plethora of guests to what they referred to as a 'celebration of the vernal equinox. An orgy ensued, which quickly transformed. The Suits murdered eleven people in the effort to incarnate the demon Baalzephon."

  Jane couldn't have been more perturbed. What business did this schlock have on the local news? She crossed her arms, smirking. Steve seemed intent on the program.

  She still hadn't seen the face of the long-haired man on TV; the camera kept following him from behind. Now the clatter of his footfalls on the wood floors changed over to crunching: he was walking through a forest. Let me guess, Jane thought. Now it's a haunted forest. Jeez. Eventually he emerged into a clearing and Jane saw what the area really was. A graveyard. But clearly it was nowhere in Florida.

  "Prospect Hill, Rhode Island," came the voice-over as the camera panned across old granite tombstones. "The summer of 1987. Jacobi Mather, a direct descendent of the pre-Revolutionary witch hunter Cotton Mather, on this very ground, held a Black Mass on the Feast of Sahmain, and allegedly summoned the Morning Star himself, the Lord of the Air and the Deceiver of Souls-also known as Lucifer."

  Even Jane gasped at the program's next cut, and Steve hitched up an inch on the couch. Now the camera was roving across a very familiar sight: a school. The voice-over continued, "The quiet town of Danelleton, in Central Florida. The time-a few days ago..."

  Jane leaned closer, next to Steve. "Wait a minute. That looks just like."

  "It is," Steve said. "How do you like this stuff? On the local news."

  Now the footage showed the long-haired man, still from behind, walking in front of a pillared dormitory building. "The Seaton School for Christian Girls," said the accented monotone. "Just days ago, demented postal worker Carlton Spence went berserk and murdered a nun, a teacher, and a half-a-dozen religious students. He crucified them, and then, before he took his own life, he left this sign."

  The camera cut to a shocking close-up. On the shower wall, drawn in blood, was the bell-shaped symbol with the star.