Legacy of Judas - Book One

by Aragon, Christian

  “Like I said, please feel free to move about the house and see if anything stands out to you. Right now this is murder and a kidnapping. We need your input, if you can, finding anything or think of someone who might do this. We’re already looking into industrial espionage, but considering the violence that just doesn’t seem likely.”

  Journal entry LXI

  The detective’s memories were practically scarring his mind. No, detective, you’ve never seen anything like this. No one has. He was in a state of mild confusion upon seeing the house and property for the first time when he drove up. An officer was waiting at the hole which used to be the front door. The detective stepped in slowly while getting his latex gloves fitted properly. This is when he first caught the stench of blood and foulness. For a moment he hesitated, closed his eyes, and then waited for the physical reaction to pass as much as possible. Upon opening his eyes he was in pure detective mode and mentally inventorying everything he saw, every odor he inhaled, every flavor lingering in the air. He’s an exceptional detective and does this job out of an innately endowed propensity for the work.

  Scars from the quills in the ceilings and walls; large holes which tapered in slightly, those holes appeared to be punched through the tiling without shattering it. The good detective was only one step in the house while taking these details in. His periphery had already seen all the blood and body parts, but he would be concentrating on those later as it was these other unique details holding his attention. To the left of the rather large foyer is a large room for entertaining guests as well as family time, watching television, playing games, etcetera. The room’s shattered decorum looks to have been minimalist but elegant. To his right is a large dining room with what he discerns to be a single cut, three inch thick by ten-and-a-half foot teakwood dining table with all its curves and burls left in as part of the design. There was a trimmed off curling on one end where the roots once grew from and a curvy end opposite where the teak branches formed. The chairs, ten in all, appeared to be built perhaps from the same teak, and just as with the table possessed all their curls, twists, and odd shaping conducive to the way teak grows. This was Martha’s table, and one of her absolute favorite things in the world, and the detective paid special attention to it because the entire dining set was shattered into pieces. Teak is a hardwood! A VERY hard wood! This set was in splinters and chunks on the floor and imbedded in the walls of the dining room.

  In front of the detective is a curvy staircase splitting the rest of the foyer into two wide halls; one, looking from front door, leads to the kitchen and the other to a door, presumably to a basement or work area.

  Now that he’d mapped what he could immediately see, he could turn his attention to the pool of blood just in front of him with a severed and shattered hand laying in it. The hand appeared to be from a Caucasian male, and wasn’t severed cleanly from the wrist, but instead had been twisted, smashed, and then ripped off the end of the arm. The only part of it which stemmed from the wrist at all was near the base of the thumb with the flesh torn diagonally up to just south of the head of the pinky metatarsal; the knuckle. Four of the five metacarpals were protruding from the torn flesh and they were all shattered at different lengths. Shortest to longest was the metacarpal of the pinky to the metacarpal of the index finger. The metacarpal of the thumb was still mostly tucked within the flesh around it. Upon his inspection he surmised the thumb was popped off at the joint of the wrist when the hand was torn away. The tendons are snapped and dangling out while the muscles of the hand were also torn apart from the force of whatever did this. No blades were used. This is the detective’s style of investigation throughout each and every room of the house, detail by detail by detail meticulously.

  The details I need aren't his investigative abilities, but the highlights, though I have no choice but to dredge through his very detailed work ethic.

  In the dining room he finds the victim's stomach and intestines tacked to the walls with sharp objects he can't readily identify; they're the tips of quills broken off after affixing the entrails to the walls. He found the victim's legs popped out of socket at the top of each femur, but the flesh around the top of the femur was twisted and torn. The man's legs were ripped off like someone eating chicken twists the thigh or wing off the chicken rather than cutting it. Both legs also appeared to have seasonings on them, and one thigh had a large cleaver stuck in it.

  The detective was incredibly careful in moving about. He made sure to not disturb a single smattering of blood or random piece of flesh. In the living room he found the other hand positioned on a video game controller as if it were separated while the victim was playing the game. The detective knows instantly it's just a sick joke and continues his investigation.

  The door down the hall by the staircase led to a workshop down in the basement. Tom loves woodworking and his shop would make anyone jealous even if they weren't a woodworker. Even the detective felt just a tinge of envy over Tom’s workshop. Even with all the tools in there, nothing was out of place. If there was a room which could've been turned into a shop of horrors it was that one. Coming back up to the main floor there was another door in front of him under the staircase as he exited the workshop. It was just a small bathroom for guests, and very clean as well.

  He checked each step as he ascended to the second floor. There were blood splatters which appeared to come from the removal of the hand inside the front door as told by which side of the detective the spattering was on. At the top of the stairs was another set of blood splatters and a lot of blood on the floor leading to the master bedroom. The second tier of the home is horseshoe shaped around so he took the other direction to avoid the blood. He was curious how there could be so much blood at the top of the stairs but not on the stairs coming up. It was just one of many questions he was amassing.

  From across the landing he could see the door to the master bedroom ajar just a couple of inches. As he maneuvered around he saw a face peering out through the cracked door. More scars in the walls from quills and more unanswered questions.

  Finally he reaches the door of the master bedroom. The officers warned of what he'd find in that bedroom, but the sight of the face looking out of the room made him uneasy, so drew his weapon, and proceeded slower than he had previously. From this angle, as he swung open the door very slowly, he could see the man’s naked and brutalized torso on the bed, and as the detective slowly opened the door more his mind registered the impaling quill originating from several feet above the entry wound in the middle of the chest, through torso, the mattress, the box spring, and well planted into the floor below the bed. As the door swung wide his eyes followed the contours of the quill upward until he sees the victim's head set atop the broken end of the quill.

  The good detective has no clue what the quills are or where they came from. He's intelligent enough to know the question is there, but to not get too hung up on anything ‘til it's one of the last questions to ask.

  The scene is disturbing for the detective beyond what his training and previous experience will allow for, but he sticks with his training and instincts nonetheless. Blood is on every wall, the ceiling, the floor, every piece of furniture; almost every single thing in the room has blood on it. He continues scanning the room for anything which might indicate ritualistic cult activity, Satanists, or anything else which could bring his experiences from past cases to bear. Nothing he saw would bring even a shred of tangible rationale.

  But then something he scanned stuck out in his mind; blood is on everything in the room, except a jewelry box, an antique, ornately carved, whitewashed jewelry box. No blood on it; not a drop. He turned around and faced the bureau opposite the bed. A mirror atop the bureau reflected the head torn from its body and set upon something his mind is still trying to fathom. The head is staring at him as he approaches the jewelry box and opens it. Even with the latex gloves on he can feel the grain of the old wood. He thinks for a minuscule moment that it feels as if he might get splinters han
dling it, but while sliding his fingers across it the latex doesn't catch on anything. He opens the box and in the center among the various loose necklaces, bracelets, rings, and earrings, there was a red-dyed, leather-clad ring box with symbols tooled into the leather on all six sides. The symbol on top of the ring box is a heart with an arrow through it, which gives a strong indication of the meaning of the other symbols.

  The detective knows he has too many questions already. He presumes the ring box to contain an heirloom by the wear on the leather, and then he decides to put the ring box back as he found it without opening it. Why was this jewelry box left clean despite there being blood everywhere else, including underneath it?

  There was plenty for the crime lab to sort out and test. The jewelry box being coveted somehow from the carnage that took place indicated another family member may be able to shed light on what transpired here. The dead man strewn about the house was in none of the family photos, so he's most likely an innocent bystander who lives in the neighborhood. He must've stumbled into something by mistake, and then was made an example of. The detective needs the lab tests on these sharp objects to see if any further clues can be gleaned, but first and foremost he needs to get the daughter here. He now had a plan of action and put it into motion.

  Fast forward to the three of us sharing the space Vic once called home.

  Journal entry LXII

  “Vic!” I called out to which she casually turned her head to acknowledge hearing me.

  “The jewelry box in your parent’s bedroom …” and for a few moments she continued to look about as if puzzled, in shock, and distraught over what she was seeing, which she was, but with far fewer questions than the detective had. After a few more moments of her meandering gaze she looked to the detective and asked in a somewhat meek tone if she could go upstairs, to which he nodded and warned her to watch her step up there.

  Just as the detective did, Vic took the long way around to the master bedroom. Upon entering she saw the blood and hole in the mattress and a few tears rolled down her cheeks for the innocent man dying with nothing to do with any of this. She also felt just a touch of relief over the dead man not being either of her parents. She turned and saw the jewelry box, and then opened it. Upon seeing the time-worn ring box she placed a hand over her mouth in a futile effort to stifle a cry. She knows the history of the contents.

  Numerous generations back, on Martha’s side of the family, a small, yellow diamond was gifted to a daughter in the family as a wedding gift. It wasn't worth a great deal because of its small size, but it was rare and it was perfect. This started a tradition with the mothers and daughters each handing down a different colored diamond along with the collection of the previous diamonds.

  The tradition changed just a little in the late 1800’s when a rather affluent relative added to the collection a perfectly clear five karat white diamond. Before that particular mum handed down the collection of diamonds to her daughter she had an engagement ring and a wedding ring made; one of yellow gold and the other of white gold with the two rings made to come together as one, each intertwining with the other. The set was fashioned by the best jeweler in her city, and with all the diamonds collected by the previous generations of women in the family. Her daughter did not yet know of the large diamond or the rings all the diamonds had been fashioned into, as her mother wanted it to be a surprise. So when an acceptable suitor asked for her daughter’s hand in marriage his request was granted under the condition that her parents provided the wedding ring as well as the expense of the wedding.

  The young man agreed and was presented with the engagement band, and then told he'd be given the wedding band the day of the big event.

  The wedding day arrived and the young man was presented with the ring box, clad in red-stained leather with different symbols for Love tooled into each side. He had not yet seen the ring inside, but chose not to look because he wanted to see it for the first time with his bride-to-be when he opened the box to put it on her finger.

  And so this all played out in near fairytale fashion. The young bride was radiant and gleaming with happiness when her husband-to-be opened the ring box and for the first time. Outside the ring was finally seeing daylight to the delight of the young couple and her parents. The young bride’s smile to her mother and father told them instantly how grateful she was for this gift as she momentarily slipped off the engagement band and handed it to the groom, and then he slipped the joined bands onto her finger for the first time. The curves of the intertwining gold came together like matching puzzle pieces, and for the first time all of the diamonds were together as they should be and shown in all their brilliance.

  The tradition changed in that diamonds were no longer collected and handed down, but that ring set was. It was given to the best suitor, and then presented to the next bride in the family. The diamonds and the bands were almost lost more than once due to financial calamities, fires, even just good old fashioned greed. But by some luck the set survived each trial and tribulation and always managed to stay in the family.

  It was to be Vic’s next, presented to her by Vincent, and handed down to him by Tom and Martha. At first a few tears ran down her face, but that subsided quickly as she seemed to have an epiphany. Her brow furled a bit just as the detective stepped in.

  “I have a feeling there's something going on here that you know about, Miss Nyles. You just spent a lot of time flying to the U.K. where you were there for barely one night before coming right back to the states just in time to need to come here. We're already looking into what possible dealings you might have so far from school and the U.S., bu-” Vic cut him off there.

  “My boyfriend resides in the U.K. We had a falling out and I thought if I went to see him we could work things out. That's all.”

  “Interesting the timing of your trip happens the day before the U.S. Ambassador to the U.K. turns himself in with severe case of crushed nuts and confessing to raping and murdering numerous women over there.”

  “Detective…?”

  “Abathar. Detective Jonah Abathar.”

  “Right, I've got it this time. Are you accusing me of making something good happen in the world while investigating the disappearance of both my parents and the killing of some random guy in my parent’s home?” And with that she pocketed the ring box in the London Fog she's been in for better than two days and walked out of the room. Detective Abathar knew he just said something stupid, but still had to do his job.

  “That's evidence you just took out of here!” Abathar exclaimed as he chased Vic down the stairs. But this was a ploy on Vic’s part. She wanted him out of the room so the jewelry box wouldn't be seen hovering in the air when I picked it up to look at the underside.

  Warehouse was written in blood on the bottom panel of the box. Carefully I set it back down in the same spot it had been before. Detective Abathar will find out about this sooner or later, and later is preferable.

  I went downstairs to find Vic and Abathar arguing on the front lawn. Several uniformed officers were slowly making their way towards Vic as she was getting extremely agitated and looked as if she might get hostile.

  “Miss Nyles, please! I understand it's an heirloom. We’ll treat it with the utmost respect. If you want to you can put it back in the jewelry box yourself and I promise on my life it will be handled as little as possible and as gently as possible. Please?”

  “Vic!” I called out and she feigned being a bit panicked looking around at all the police until she found me.

  “The warehouse.”

  Vic turned her attention back to Abathar and feigned acquiescence; dipped head, almost pouty bottom lip, shoulders dropped in faux defeat. The detective walked her back into the house, and then a few minutes later they came back out and he was still giving her reassurances of the incredible delicacy with which those belongings would be handled. He even asked her if she wanted to go back in and just be with the belongings. Vic shook her head, and then waited at the curb for a taxi
she was told would be along soon.

  When Vic was in high school she was invited to go have some fun with some of her friends. They said they knew a place where they wouldn't be bothered and could hang out. The eldest of the teens had his driver’s license and drove the group to a place they simply referred to as the warehouse. Well, teens being teens, I guess, they would get a little rowdy with the throwing of rocks at the warehouse windows from inside the building. But on this occasion, and unbeknownst to the teens, one of those rocks took out the window of a passing car. The police were called and Martha had to pick up Victoria from Juvenile Hall. That was an interesting place. Perhaps one day I'll write more about it.

  What all of this meant as we left Vic’s parents’ home is that someone has been dipping into Martha’s mind for secrets. We know it was Martha’s mind because she kept that whole warehouse situation a secret from Tom.

  Journal entry LXIII

  The taxi finally arrived and we were on our way. The driver, a very nice young man named Kassa who immigrated to America from Ethiopia. He introduced himself as, “Kassa the Cabbie” and was talkative, but fun to listen to; upbeat, which we needed if even for a moment. Despite everything going on Vic exercised great patience with Kassa the Cabbie and participated in his conversation. She even managed to grin slightly as he amused himself with a corny joke here and there, to which he'd respond to himself by saying, “Yeah, I entertain me.” We were within a block or so of the warehouse when our quaint and comedic taxi driver decided to drop a nugget of wisdom he'd brought with him to the states.