Brooklyn Blood

by M. Z. Kelly

  There was no immediate response. It took almost a minute before the door swung open. We saw that Amy’s wannabe boyfriend was wearing a bathrobe.

  “Sorry,” Jake said. “I was in the shower. Busy day.” His dark eyes regarded me.

  “You remember Madison,” Amy said.

  Jake nodded, and we heard a woman’s voice somewhere behind him. “Jake, who is it?”

  He blanched, called over his shoulder, “Just a friend. I’ll be there in a minute.” He said to Amy, “Sorry, this isn’t a good time. My sister Jen is visiting.”

  Amy and I looked over his shoulder and saw a woman in a short, tight dress coming from the back of his apartment. She was attractive, in a slutty way. She placed a hand on her hip and said, “A friend, huh?”

  Having been Amy’s best friend for over two decades, I knew her every mood. The dark expression I saw on her face reminded me of the time in junior high when she’d clocked the girl who stole her boyfriend.

  “You’re the sister, huh?” Amy said, raising her voice. She looked back at Jake. “Tell me something, have you and Jen been watching old movies together? Maybe romantic comedies?” Her voice pitched even higher as she said to Jake’s sister, “Hey, Jen, you and Jake been watching Sleepless in Seattle?”

  Jake mumbled, “You don’t understand...”

  His words were cut off when Jen came over to his side and said, “What’s going on here?”

  Amy’s voice was even louder now, just short of a shout. “I’ll tell you what’s going on here.” She moved quickly, raising a knee and finding that most sensitive part of Jake Rogers’ anatomy.

  “Oww!” Jake screamed, stumbling backward. He went down, and Jen rushed to comfort him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Jen said to us as she tended to him.

  “Just delivering a message to your…” Amy flashed a pair of air-quotes. “…brother.” She said to Jake, “Go to hell, you shit-plunging asshole!”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “It is time,” Adam said, after unlocking the door and coming downstairs. He was with three other men, who were carrying ropes. His gaze moved between Mary and Colleen. “You have both sinned against the word of God, and now you must pay the price.”

  Mary felt tears stinging her eyes as she looked at Colleen. Her companion seemed surprisingly calm as she stood and said, “We’re ready.”

  The men took their time, making sure their hands were securely tied behind their backs. One of the men had a chain that he used to fasten their ankles together. When they were finished, they were led upstairs, where the man Mary knew as the Executioner was waiting.

  “You will be driven to the place where you will die,” the man said. “Do not resist or try to get away.”

  Mary tried to remain calm as the car that would carry them to their execution site pulled away from the curb. It was late, and the air was cold.

  The weather brought to mind a long-ago Christmas with her parents, before they divorced. She had wanted an American Girl doll and was disappointed when she saw that her present was an inexpensive doll that looked like it came from a secondhand store.

  “You don’t like your present?” her father had said sternly. “What’s the matter, isn’t it good enough for you?”

  “It’s fine,” Mary had said, forcing a smile. “I think she’s pretty.”

  Her father had reached down and slapped her across the face. As she’d rushed off to her room, her parents had gotten into a screaming match. It was her last memory of them being together as a family.

  “We’re here,” the Executioner said, as the car pulled to the curb, and Mary’s thoughts surfaced. She saw they were at the cemetery, the same place where the girl dressed as an angel had been murdered. “Hurry up. The disciples are waiting.”

  Mary and Colleen were roughly pushed through the graveyard until they came to a small clearing between two large headstones. She saw that Adam and the disciples were here, all eyes turning in their direction as they arrived. Then Mary saw the wood. It had been stacked up around a pair of crosses.

  “Let’s get them up,” Adam said. “Time is of the essence.”

  It only took a few minutes to secure them to the crosses, the Executioner making sure that their hands and feet were securely tied to the wooden beams. When he was satisfied, he moved back to the crowd and nodded to Adam.

  Adam carried a Bible as he pronounced sentence. “The wicked, those who have committed sin against the creator, shall be no more. They will burn in hell for eternity.”

  Taking a step back, Adam looked at the Executioner. The man who would send them to eternal damnation held out a lighter, flicked it twice, and tossed it onto their funeral pyre.

  THIRTY-SIX

  “It might be that Jen really was Jake’s sister,” I said to Amy when we got home and were working on our second glass of wine with Max.

  “Yeah, and I might be George Clooney’s wife.” Amy downed the last of her wine and looked at Max. “I hope your night was better than ours.”

  Max had a smile on her face, the same one I’d seen since she first met our new boss. “Can’t complain. Sonny and me are going to the movies Friday night.”

  “Damn,” Amy said, picking up the wine bottle. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for you. It’s just that...” Her voice broke, and she didn’t go on.

  I went over and put an arm around her. “Things will get better. It’s just more bad karma.”

  “I never thought it would be like this,” she sobbed.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “I’m desperate and single after leaving Stinky, and I’m living in a fuwking cemetery with a bunch of dead bodies. How the hell could my life get any worse?”

  Maybe it was even more bad karma, or just a coincidence, but we heard a blood-curdling scream. It was coming from somewhere above us—in the cemetery.

  We all ran through the labyrinth of passageways leading from our living quarters before pushing open a door leading into the cemetery. The air was freezing, and we hadn’t taken the time to put on our coats.

  “I don’t see nothin’,” Amy said, turning around and scanning the grounds.

  “Me neither,” Max said. “‘Cept for...” She pointed across the grounds. “...there’s a fire.”

  Amy and I looked in the direction she was pointing and the faint red glow between a couple headstones about forty yards away.

  “Let’s check it out,” I said.

  We made our way across the freezing grounds. As we got closer, we saw that there was a fire beneath a couple of wooden crosses. We then heard the sobbing and realized there was a girl lying against one of the headstones.

  The girl stood when she saw us and said, “Don’t come any closer.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Amy demanded. “Tell us what’s happening here.”

  The girl began weeping, and her voice broke. “It’s the Strand. They tried to burn me alive.”

  I looked at my friends, then back at the hysterical girl. “What’s the Strand?”

  The girl lowered her voice as it choked with emotion. “God’s army.”

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  “What’s your name?” Amy asked when we got the girl to our underground quarters.

  “Mary.”

  Mary told us she was seventeen. She had stringy dark hair and olive eyes, and was slender but unkempt, like she’d been living on the streets. She reminded me of dozens of runaways I’d come across over my years in police work. She told us that she and a woman named Colleen had managed to free themselves from the wooden crosses. They got away because those who meant to burn them alive ran when they saw someone walking toward the fire they had set.

  Max brought over a mug of hot chocolate and handed it to the girl. “Where do you live?”

  She accepted the offering, at the same time wrapping the blanket we’d given her around her shoulders. “Different places. It depends on who Adam chooses.”

  “Who is Adam?” I asked.


  “The leader of the Strand. He’s the one who has been chosen.”

  My forehead tightened. “What’s the Strand?”

  “Followers of Adam.”

  I looked at Amy and Max, raising my brows. “When you said that Adam has been chosen, who chose him?”

  Mary didn’t look at me. “You know.”

  “Are you talking about God?” Amy asked.

  She nodded, her eyes remaining downcast.

  “How long have you been part of this group—the Strand?” Max asked her.

  “Since I left home and dropped out of high school when I was sixteen.”

  I took a seat next to her and waited until her eyes lifted and she looked at me. “I’m going to ask you something very important, Mary. There was a girl who was killed in the cemetery last week. Do you know what happened to her?”

  Her gaze fell away from me again, and she nodded.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  Her eyes became watery. “She was fallen. Adam chose her.”

  “You mean, he chose her to be killed?”

  “Yes, but it was the disciples.”

  I looked at my friends, wondering if the story could get any stranger. “Who are the disciples?”

  “They’re the ones Adam chooses to...” She sighed and brushed the hair from her eyes. “...to carry out his will.”

  “To do his killing?”

  She nodded.

  Amy came over to us. “What about the girl who was killed? Her name was Remy Powell. Why did Adam choose her?”

  “She was on the street a couple of weeks ago. Adam talked to her and said she asked him if he wanted to have sex.”

  “And that was forbidden.”

  Mary nodded. “Adam said it’s a sin to sell your body. He instructed the disciples to pass judgment on her.”

  “These disciples,” Max said. “Where do they live?”

  She sniffed and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Different places. They gather when Adam calls them.”

  “And they dressed Remy as an angel and killed her?” I asked.

  She nodded and stood. “I’ve got to go. If Adam knows I’m here...” She headed for the door.

  Amy went over and cut her off. “You’re not going anywhere. It’s not safe.” She motioned to the sofa. “We’ll protect you.”

  After a hesitation, tears began streaming down Mary’s face. She nodded and took a seat next to me again.

  I gave her some time to compose herself, then said, “When you were in the cemetery, you said they were going to kill you. Are you talking about Adam and the Strand?”

  Her tears came again as she pushed up the sleeve of her sweater. There was a skull on her forearm, with drops of red, meant to represent blood, dripping from its eyes. The name Iscariot was written in black ink below the skull.

  “I’ve been marked for death,” Mary told us. “Colleen and I escaped tonight only because the disciples saw someone coming and ran.”

  “You already told us that. Now, who is Colleen?”

  “One of the disciples, but she was my friend. She tried to save me.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “I’m not sure. She ran off after we untied ourselves.”

  “You said you were marked for death, Mary. Why is that?”

  “I was supposed to help, but I...” She broke down and didn’t go on.

  “You were supposed to help kill Remy, weren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I was to become a disciple if I did as Adam instructed, but I failed. Now I must die.”

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “What you planning to do?” Sophia asked her husband. He had put a gun in his waistband, his anger barely under control.

  “I’m going to kill Bobo. He’s not going to steal from me no more.”

  Sophia followed him to the door. “Wait, there has to be another way.”

  Alex stopped, his dark eyes boring into Sophia. “Some of my money is no longer in the bank. Bobo says he invested it. He lies.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe there’s some mistake.”

  “I went to the bank myself. Almost a million dollars has been taken.”

  “Maybe you should...” Sophia stopped in midsentence. She was about to say he could go to the authorities, but she knew that would put everything she and Maria had worked for in jeopardy.

  “Do what?”

  “Maybe you should talk to Bobo, demand that he return the money.”

  “I’ve already done that.” He headed for the door. “The time for talk is over.”

  When he was gone, Sophia got her sister on the phone. “He’s planning to confront Bobo, and he’s got a gun, Maria.”

  “There’s security here. I will alert them, make sure he doesn’t get inside the building.”

  “The accounts, did we get the money moved from Bobo’s accounts to the offshore bank?”

  “Close. I finally get Bobo’s account numbers. I just need another day or two to complete everything.” She laughed. “Bobo doesn’t realize the money he stole from your husband is about to be stolen from him.”

  Sophia exhaled, dragged a hand through her long brown hair. “I don’t trust Alex when he angry like this. I going to get Isabel from Armando and stay in a hotel until things get settled.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’ll be in touch when everything is done.”

  After ending the call, Sophia tossed what few belongings she had in a bag and headed for the door. In a couple days, she and Maria would be very rich women. Bobo would be dead, her husband would be headed to divorce court to give up what little he had left, and she would have Amy Ross to back up her story. Maybe everything would go just as she and Maria had planned. She crossed herself and said a prayer for Tata.

  THIRTY-NINE

  After questioning Mary, I called Detective Hammond and told him what was happening. He told me not to let the girl out of our sight and said he and his partner would meet us at the cemetery within the hour.

  I then made a call to Officer Davis and told him what happened in the graveyard and about the woman named Colleen. I gave him a description of her, based on what Mary had told me, then added, “She’s on the run from a cult that calls itself the Strand, so she’s probably hiding out somewhere close by. She might even still be in the cemetery.”

  “I’m on patrol, a couple of miles from there,” Davis said. “I’ll swing by there now and see if there’s any sign of her.”

  After ending the call, I huddled with Amy and Max, out of Mary’s earshot, and told them what was happening.

  Max offered her opinion to Amy about how to proceed. “Madison and me need to keep a low profile, so we’ll just play this like we found the girl and don’t know anything more.”

  “Agreed,” Amy said. “As far as everyone’s concerned, we saw the fire in the cemetery and found the girl. We say nothing about our little investigation.” She looked at me. “You okay with that?”

  I nodded. “Yes, but I’m going to ask Hammond and Jenkins if they’ll let me sit in on any interviews. I’ll play it like it will be a learning experience for me, since I’m in reform school.”

  “Count me in,” Max said.

  Jenkins and Hammond arrived at the cemetery an hour later, took a look at the area where the fire had been set, and interviewed Mary. We caught a break when Officer Davis found Colleen, last name Reynolds, hiding in the graveyard and brought her to Balfour Chapel. Amy babysat Mary while the detectives questioned her first.

  They let Max and me sit in on the interview, after Jenkins gave us the admonition, “Be sure to keep your mouths shut. We’ll do the talking.”

  The detective’s back was turned as we followed him to a room off the main chapel, while Max mouthed the word asshole.

  Colleen Reynolds looked to be in her thirties. She was a bit on the heavy side, with dark hair and blue eyes. Hammond, who smelled of alcohol, took the lead in questioning her.

  After Reynolds confirmed what Mary had already told us, including how Remy Po
well had died, the detectives asked her how she became involved with the Strand.

  “My husband Michael was already a member when we met. When we eventually got married, Adam performed the ceremony. After that, Michael and I became disciples.”

  “What did that mean exactly?” Hammond asked.

  “We helped find converts, people who would join the Strand, and spread Adam’s word.”

  “Tell us about Adam,” Jenkins said. “What’s his last name?”

  “He doesn’t have one. When he was chosen, God anointed him only as Adam so that he could deliver his message to the world.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “I have no idea. When he wants to meet the disciples, he sends word.”

  “How does he do that?”

  “He calls one of the members, who spreads the word to the others.”

  Hammond and Jenkins were clearly frustrated by the responses, not getting anything that would lead them to Adam or any of his followers.

  We took a short break and left the conference room, where the two detectives vented, leaving Max and me out of the discussion. I exchanged glances with Max, who did an eye roll as Jenkins discounted what Reynolds had said. I then made the decision to speak up.

  “There was a murder upstate a couple days ago, in the city of Binghamton,” I said. “The vic was a prostitute named Gracie Thomas. She was dressed as a mime, and posed in a graveyard. I think it might be linked to what happened to Remy Powell.”

  Jenkins, who was in his thirties, with red hair and blue eyes, scowled at me. “How do you know about that?”

  “I read something about it online and think there might be a connection.”

  “Why is that?” Hammond demanded.

  I was frustrated and, despite my best efforts, had trouble keeping my voice even. “Because the victims in both cases were prostitutes and were killed in cemeteries. There was also a message left on a headstone in the Binghamton case, something about the shadow of darkness being cast from the earth.”